by J. P. Rice
“I know that too. It seems to be my specialty. So, Hel just provided some materials for your printers?” I asked, trying to put all the pieces of this puzzle together.
Warren said, “No, she provided the final necessary element. An underworld Goddess. She helped seal the spell that produced the first successful death card. From there, the project was simple. Produce a death card for you and that would be that.”
He stared through the hole in the plywood covering the window. “But Heavens to Betsy, we couldn’t make it work. Try as we might, there was always a complication. So we attempted the procedure with other individuals and that panned out. From the rituals, some cards were produced with random names, different from the names we had summoned. That’s where your father’s card comes in.”
I fought back the urge to choke him out, so I could hear the rest of the story. But dammit, it was hard.
Flapping sounds filled my ears and broke my concentration. I turned and saw a stream of crows pouring in through the opening in the plywood. The Morrigan’s helpers flew over to the bodies of Danu and Flidais. Working in unison, they gripped the bodies and lifted them unsteadily off the ground.
The Morrigan instructed, “Take them back to Clara Spiritus. I’ll be back soon to take care of their souls.”
As the crows carried the Goddess’s bodies away and cleared away some of the smoke in the room, I turned back to Warren.
His eyes bulged at the sight of Mo’s crows and their handiwork. He shook his head and faced me. “When your mother saw Nuada’s death card, she hatched the plan to frame you for the murder. She had a crew following you for days. But she hadn’t expected your grand escape. She thought you would stay with the body long enough for her henchmen to get there, pinning the murder on you.”
Warren coughed and swallowed a few times before he spoke with a scratchy voice, “Then that fell through because your friend over there crusaded for you and convinced the Celtic Gods that you had nothing to do with Nuada’s murder. You owe her your life. They were ready to string you up or hand you off to Merlin.”
I put my arm around Mo and rubbed the back of her shoulder. “Thanks, pal.”
“So basically this whole operation was an elaborate way to take out Junipher?” asked the Morrigan.
Warren nodded in agreement. “Precisely. When the framing failed, they moved the operation here. Everyone knew you’d find out about it and they were hoping you wouldn’t be able to resist your anger. With Merlin’s defense mechanisms, they wanted to lure you in while the place was occupied. I know they weren’t expecting her to show up.” He tipped his forehead at Mo.
“Chalk that up to gross miscalculation. How many people were involved in this?” I wanted to know.
He narrowed his eyes in thought. “About a baker’s dozen. Mostly Gods and Goddesses. I felt like the bell of the ball being a mortal human.”
Something seized my attention and an image appeared in my head. The running brook. The man kneeling on the grassy bank with his back turned. Washing my father’s golden armor. His hand rising to the top of his head and pulling back the hood.
The man turned toward me as he drew back the brown material. The lucid face that I had envisioned a thousand miles away was sitting right in front of me.
A light red mist clouded my vision. My hands sprang forward and grabbed hold of Warren’s fat neck. He gagged, and I applied more pressure, my thumbs digging in as I tried to crush his Adam’s apple. He tried to resist, and we crashed to the ground. My lips trembled as I inhaled through my nose and claimed revenge for my father.
The Morrigan gripped my forearm and tried to tear me away, her sharp nails sinking into my flesh. She said, “We need him to testify to the other Gods.”
I didn’t want to stop. As his face turned a dark shade of purple, I wanted nothing more than to avenge my father’s death. But this wasn’t a worthy opponent. He was a puppet to my mother. Typical that she hadn’t shown her face and sent other people in her stead. Always avoiding danger.
And in typical cowardly fashion, she was the driving force in the death of my father.
The Morrigan used the butt of her hand to smack me in the head. “Hey. Let’s go. Fire’s spreading.”
I released my killer grip and Warren gasped for air, as smoke poured in through the hole in the wall. In the haze, we both jumped to our feet.
A voice sounded from the window. “You shouldn’t have opened your mouth.”
Through the lingering smoke, I saw Merlin’s face outside the busted plywood. Hastily, I tried to whip up some magic to counter his attack. But before the Morrigan or I could act, Merlin pointed his staff at us and sent an invisible force across the room.
I didn’t know what to do to defend myself so I dropped to the ground and the Morrigan followed suit. I tried to grab Warren on my way down, but I missed. The technomancer took the brunt of the magical attack and groaned in pain.
The magic lifted him up and tossed him across the room, his body spinning and rotating. He slammed headfirst into the wall and collapsed to the ground. I jumped up and searched through the smoke for the legendary wizard. The Morrigan hopped up and made a beeline for the window.
From across the room, she yelled, “He’s gone. We need to drag Warren outside.”
I spun in a circle and noticed the fire was expanding. As the harsh smoke made my eyes water, I grabbed Warren’s ankles and pulled him toward the exit. I dragged him through a couple of rooms and out the front door.
I got him outside and let go of his feet. I rubbed my eyes, and it took me a few seconds to correct my vision. When everything came into focus, I saw the Morrigan kneeling next to Warren, checking his pulse. She looked up at me and shook her head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Now the Gods will never believe us,” I said and stared at the burning warehouse with smoke pouring out of the cardboard covered windows. The sounds of firetruck sirens filled the winter air.
The Morrigan said, “We better get ghost.”
“What about him?” I pointed at Warren.
“Someone is already on the way for him. We better leave before the firetrucks show up,” the Morrigan suggested. “And you need some of Goibniu’s juice cuz you’re looking old.”
I reached for my wrinkled face.
“You need a lift to get there?” she asked.
“No. I’m good.” I had the Sphinx to help me out.
We walked toward the street and the Morrigan waved to someone. Osiris was approaching rapidly wearing his classic Egyptian attire. He rushed over to Warren, attempting to free his soul before the authorities showed up.
As we walked away from the flaming warehouse and headed for my ride, I couldn’t get over how cowardly Merlin was with all his sneak attacks. He and my mother were made for each other.
Chapter 30
Fresh off a trip to Pleasure Island to drink the elixir of youth, I walked into the Triskele Room in Clara Spiritus and received a light golf clap from the Celtic Gods and other attendees. Smiling, I waved and made eye contact with the Morrigan. I knew this wouldn’t be an induction ceremony, and with the recent deaths of a few members, I hadn’t expected anything elaborate.
I became engulfed in a conversation with Lugh, but all I could think about were the recent events.
Mabon, the Youthful God, had backed up the Morrigan’s story to the rest of the Gods. Mabon had overheard a juicy conversation between Merlin and Flidais and relayed it to his counterparts. It put Merlin on the outs with the Celtic crew. The Morrigan had told me that she had heard whispers of the Magic Council being dissolved or Merlin being stripped of his association.
As great as that was, the Celtic pantheon hadn’t heard the entire story about how the operation had been set up to kill me. They’d only found out the details of a plan to set the final spells to activate the false death cards.
Staying in line with her character, Brighid had righteously denied being part of the dark plan. She had tried to claim that I was behind ever
ything. That round of applause probably killed her. The Morrigan had told me that the situation was causing serious tension among the Gods. Good. Cherries on top were always nice.
The fire in the warehouse had destroyed all the death card printers. With Warren the tech wizard dead, the brains behind the operation had been eliminated. Two Goddesses who were part of the operation had also died. I had a good feeling no one would be attempting to reproduce death cards again.
My dragons still hadn’t budged, and I worried about their destiny. Perhaps I was being impatient. When I thought about it, I’d only found them a few weeks ago. With my father’s passing, I wanted to start a new family. I needed a new family.
I still hadn’t been able to talk to Thor. Loki wanted me dead so that I wouldn’t interfere with any of his future plans. I had to watch my back for Norse hitmen until I made contact with the God of Thunder.
Justinian had settled back in with the wolves. I held out hope that he would chase his dream and move to New York. Octavius seemed to be stalling on the date and time for the duel. He wouldn’t make a firm commitment.
Gareth had been making his rounds on the party scene, crashing at a different house almost every night. He’d forced his friends to call me up late night a couple of times so that he could make drunken small talk. Each time he’d forgotten the previous conversation and basically repeated himself. Otherwise, he seemed like he was living his best life.
I took pleasure in the Goblin Queen’s demise. Cheering anyone’s demise seemed morbid, but I’d liberated the children of Sleepy Willow from the constant goblin kidnappings. In fact, I’d destroyed two death factories. Burned one down and razed the other to the ground. Just thinking about it gave me a warm feeling that spread through my chest.
I saw my mother at the table in the corner with catered snacks. Alone. I pounced, my feet skipping across the stone floor. As I pulled up next to her, a shit-eating grin developed on my face.
“Why, hello there,” I said.
“Oh,” her voice cracked. “Can’t believe you’re spreading those lies.” She pretended to busy herself in choosing food.
I cut straight to the chase. “Tell me who has his soul. I still can’t believe you killed him to get to me.”
“What are you talking about?” Her hand shook as she spooned some whole grain mustard onto her plate.
“Don’t play stupid. I know you’re behind everything. Tell me where his soul is so the Morrigan can sort it out,” I growled soft enough so that the other guests wouldn’t hear, but loud enough so my mother knew I meant business.
She stabbed a square piece of cheddar with a toothpick and set it on her plate. “I know a few things too. I know you set up my husband to take the fall for all this.”
Even when she was caught, the lies still flowed freely. I said, “That’s some serious gaslighting lady. That’s exactly what you did. You should have heard him whimpering right before Merlin ki...”
“Stop, right there,” she warned, pointing a toothpick at me.
“What’s wrong? Afraid of a little truth bomb?” I asked and nudged her shoulder.
She stared me in the eyes for ten seconds. I prayed for her to take a swipe at me so I could whoop her ass in front of the Celtic Gods. Instead, she turned up her nose, then spun on her high heel with her small plate of corned beef bites and cheese. “It’s been quite a pleasure.” She sighed mockingly and charged off into the sea of Gods.
The Morrigan approached nodding her head. “Hell of a ride, kid.”
I grinned and nodded in return. “Hell of a ride.”
“So, what’s next?” the Goddess of Death asked.
“Not much. Trying to lie low for a while.” With my dragons hopefully on the way, I didn’t want to get involved with anything major right now.
“Like that’s going to happen,” teased the Morrigan.
The Dagda nestled in next to us. “Ladies, how are we?”
The Morrigan rolled her eyes. She had a strange relationship with her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.” She punched my shoulder, turned around and threw a handful of potato chips in her mouth. Crunching loudly, she headed toward Cerridwen and her obsidian cauldron.
An awkward silence ensued, and I smiled politely at the Dagda. No offense, but the God had been a dick to me in most of our previous encounters. He thought I was a bad influence on his wife, Mo. How rich.
He rubbed his chin and spoke in his soft, husky voice, “I wanted to know if you could assist with this never-ending winter in Pittsburgh. If you are willing to help me out.”
In a roundabout way, he was asking me to sneak into the Red Cavern of demons and steal his magical harp, which controlled the seasons. “I’d love to, but there’s not much I can do. I got no way of getting in. I can try, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“It would be appreciated mightily. If you can infiltrate and return my harp, I’ll post for you,” he said, staring up at me with raised eyebrows.
My jaw dropped and my eyelids flickered. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
He nodded affirmatively. “I’ll formally nominate you for the position Maeve vacated. That would put you in close proximity to your best friend.” He thumbed toward the Morrigan.
Still stunned, I realized this changed everything. “Let me see what I can do.”
“I see I’ve piqued your interest. Keep in contact.” He bowed his head and went for the corned beef bites.
“Will do.” I didn’t know how I would get into the Red Cavern, but with a chance to become an official deity on the line, I’d figure out something. It was finally happening. I wished my father were around to hear this. He would have told me I was being stupid for even worrying about becoming a Goddess, but deep down, I knew it would give him satisfaction.
I kissed my fingers and blew the kiss up to the heavens for my father. I still had unfinished business with his murderer. But first, it appeared I was headed for the place that had burdened me with an unbearable amount of emotional trauma. The place where I’d been covered in lava. The demonic underworld called the Red Cavern.
Sapphire Scales
The Scarlet Dragon Saga
Book 3
J.P. Rice
Copyright 2019 by Jason Paul Rice
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination.
Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic
Chapter 1
I opened the passenger’s door and jumped out of Owen’s car before it stopped. The sole of my right boot hit a patch of ice and my leg swung up in the air. The momentum took my body with it and I fell on my ass, landing solidly on the snow. I rolled over on my knees and cursed under my breath. So much for my dramatic arrival.
Titania flew out the open passenger’s door. “You all right, toots?”
“I’m doing awesome,” I groaned through the pain to my dragonfly friend. I got back to my feet and raced carefully up the steps to the park, grasping the railing to avoid another fall.
The frantic screams of the citizens under attack sobered the comedic moment and refocused my attention. We had been driving in Owen’s car when the call had come over the police scanner app on his cellphone. Reports of a giant ice monster terrorizing the Montrose Hill Ice Bowl. The community had put together an afternoon football game to raise money for charity. And some demonic goon had crashed the party, killing and maiming the altruistic citizens.
My eyes darted around the park, which comprised a little league baseball field without a homerun fence that blended into two basketball courts. Next to the courts were swings, two port-a-potties, a merry-go-round and two unidentifiable plastic riding creatures on coiled st
ands.
Everything was covered in snow and ice with plenty of blood staining the open field. I wondered if this thing had come out of the woods behind the basketball courts. People were down. Some dead. Some injured.
Emergency sirens screamed and not a second too soon. These people needed medical help, not to mention the injured were sitting ducks, ripe for this sadistic monster’s pickings.
Where was that son of a bitch? I surveyed the frosty landscape for the monster who could blend in with the snow and ice.
There he was. Back by the basketball courts.
The Iceman cometh. I had to be careful with this tricky immortal. Standing over ten feet tall, the creature, who was coated in an enchanted shell of ice, had the body shape of a muscular man. Frozen brown-tinted blood speckled his white body. His icy blue eyes didn’t contain pupils and intensified his scary look.
As I got a closer look, his arms were longer than a human’s, and his knuckles scraped along the snow as he chased a young girl around a merry-go-round. No. I took off from the batting cage and sprinted across the infield toward the little girl.
“Get the fook away from that precious child,” I muttered as I increased my pace when I hit the outfield, remaining careful of the treacherous footing conditions. I peeked around as I ran.
Assessing the damage, I counted about ten people who appeared dead and about fifteen more injured and bleeding into the milky landscape. Families were huddled up but weren’t trying to escape.
A father hugging his daughter screamed, “Don’t run away. That’s when he kills.”
Those seven words explained everything. The people weren’t frozen in fear. They had seen their friends and family torn to shreds in their evacuation attempts, prompting them to stay put.