by CM Raymond
He and his friends could barely walk, let alone fight. He pulled Willa and Chem in close, trying in vain to shield their bruised bodies. It was over. Elijah knew it. But a sense of peace washed over him. In the face of adversity, they did what they could. They didn’t run. They fought like heroes.
A brilliant flash blinded him, and when he looked up he couldn’t believe his eyes. Between him and Alarawn stood an overweight, bearded man in full academic regalia—cap and all. The gown and white hood flapped in the wind.
The man raised his hands overhead as if to give a benediction.
The creature sprinted at him, snarling and hissing.
The don began to chant:
“Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.”
His final line sung, the man let forth a barbaric cry and charged at the giant beast. A massive explosion shook the square. Its power knocked the three professors over.
Willa was the first to her feet.
“Grandpa!” she screamed into the empty night air.
But there was no response. Edwin Weil and the ice creature had vanished.
The hail ceased.
A light snow fell in its stead.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
The desk on the far side of the room sat empty. Most of the students hardly noticed the absence, but for Willa, it was cloaked in sadness. At times she would glance over, hoping he would mysteriously appear.
But, of course, Sean was gone.
“Poetry continues to teach me, to move me. Each year, I become a different person—the lines are different—they change as I change.”
The basketball player and his doting fans didn’t hear her. A mousy girl in the front row continued taking notes, jotting her own lines of poetry in the margins, but the rest of the class seemed generally numbed to the core. Their disengagement broke Willa’s heart, but they had to find inspiration on their own. Her power wasn’t able to make people love learning. But she had discovered that it was meant for something.
“Our life is filled with choices, and often those choices seem predetermined. Do we work for joy or security? Do we follow art or science? Do we accept war or peace? But if poetry can teach us anything, it’s that there’s always another way, a third choice. We don’t have to hide from this world, but neither do we have to become tainted by it. In this, the lines of the bards are invaluable. I leave you all with a call to life from one of our greats:
“Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.”
The students filed out, most with little more than a nod to the part-time instructor. Their brief foray into the world of verse had ended, and they all had other things to fill their time. Final projects, end-of-the-semester parties, summer job applications. These things took precedence. And for once, Willa could sympathize.
Over the final months, she had realigned her priorities, as well as her expectations. It was time for a change. Time for a new choice.
Willa wouldn’t be teaching in the fall.
Willa pivoted from the counter directly into a customer waiting behind her. Coffee rolled over the lip of her mug and scalded her bare hand.
“Shit.”
“Déjà vu.”
A smile spread on Willa’s face as she looked up at Elijah. He looked exhausted but seemed strangely unbothered by that fact.
“Hey,” she said, grinning like a fool.
“It’s really good to see you.”
Since the battle at PPG Place, she had seen Elijah only a few times, and each time he greeted her the same way. She was beginning to believe he meant it.
The poet and the historian found a table near the window. The early May sun warmed her thin frame. She watched Elijah scratch at his chest, at the scar that lay hidden beneath his button up.
“It still bothers you,” she said.
“It still itches, if that’s what you mean. But I wouldn’t say it bothers me anymore. I kind of like it. It reminds of where I’ve come from. And of what I’ve become.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve decided to stay in Pittsburgh. Piece together enough classes to keep food on the table. I’m thinking I can do some good around here.”
Willa’s eyes widened. “You sound like him.”
Elijah smiled. After they recovered from the fight, Elijah had told her and Chem all about Gabrijel, the ghost that haunted the historian—and how he had departed after that night at PPG Place. “Fulfilled his mission,” was how Elijah had put it. Chem refused to believe any talk of spirits and the beyond. He had mumbled something about believing in science. But it made sense to Willa. She had learned how the past could maintain its grip on the present.
“That’s not the worst thing in the world,” Elijah said. “He taught me a lot. About the importance of taking care of a place. Of really caring. It’s time to stop being so objective, I guess. Get my hands dirty.”
Willa chuckled. “Funny, coming from a historian.”
“If the last couple of months have taught me anything, it’s that history can be personal. It has to be.” He paused. “I’ve also thought a lot about Brooke since that night.”
Willa looked down; her eyes stung. She pictured her grandfather and the monster he died defeating.
“I know it hurts,” Elijah continued. “You won’t believe this, but Brooke Alarawn was a good person, at least at the start. Her intentions were noble—no matter how misguided. She loved this city, but she just didn’t know how to love it, if that makes sense.” Elijah paused. “She didn’t have the right kind of support. Not like we did. I’ll never forget what your grandfather gave for us.”
Willa looked up and nodded. “I’m sure it was important for him. Paying back the universe for past missteps, or something like that. ‘Invictus.’ That last poem he used, I think he meant it for me. I think he wanted me to know that his decision was his own and that we should be free to make our own choices. To not let the failures of others hold us back. I don’t think he wanted us to live in guilt.”
Though she said it to comfort him, she also knew that it was true. And Willa didn’t feel guilty about Edwin’s death.
She felt angry.
Rex Bertoldo’s body was never found, and Willa couldn’t fight the notion that maybe he wasn’t the one taking orders from Brooke. That he had been in control all along.
His words haunted her as much as Sean’s death. That this was all about her.
Elijah took a sip from his coffee. “So, what about you? What are you going to do now?”
Willa smiled. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. She thought about telling Elijah about The Guild, but decided not to worry him. For weeks following the fight, she waited for bearded men in strange robes to descend from the heavens and take her away. But they never showed. Near the end of the semester, a new thought struck Willa. They wouldn’t come for her, because they still didn’t kno
w about her. Maybe, in Edwin’s final act, he not only saved her from Cold Steel, but from The Guild as well. If they looked into the use of new magic, or the commotion caused by her that night, they had no reason to believe it was anything other than Edwin, slipping back into his old vices. In his death, he absolved her of their punishment.
Edwin was wrong, about magic necessarily getting out of hand when she got involved. She knew she could control it, as long as she fought for the city and not for herself. But he was right about one thing—straying from the Canon was far too dangerous. She would paint her own picture going forward, but she’d still color within the lines he had taught her.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “All my life my grandfather guided me. Now I guess I’ll have to find my own path.”
“Yeah…” Elijah said. “About that.”
“What?” Willa looked up at him perplexed.
“Well, it’s just that I’m not exactly experienced at all of this. Having powers and all. And now, with Gabrijel gone, I don’t really know what to do. Whatever gift he gave me is still in my veins. Chem’s promised to help me find a cure, but in the meantime…”
He left those words hanging, willing her to fill them. But she kept quiet.
“You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” he asked.
Willa straightened her back. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Elijah sighed. “If I’m going to do this, and do it well, I’ll need some advice. Someone to talk things through with, you know? I’ll need—”
“A teacher,” she said fighting back a smile.
“Let’s call it a colleague,” he finally answered.
Willa stared down at her coffee. For some reason, Sean’s comics came to mind. She looked back up at Elijah.
“So, where do we begin?”
EPILOGUE
A man in a perfectly pressed suit walked across the main dining room of the upscale, South Side restaurant. He weaved through the kitchen and down a back set of stairs. A low ceiling topped the tight hallway. The air was musty and damp.
Passing storage rooms and racks of foodstuffs, the bald man rapped his knuckles on a solid oak door.
It wasn’t a secret knock, nor was it casual.
It demanded entry.
“Come,” a muffled voice said from the other side.
The room was nothing like the hallway—ornate and lit with warm, indirect lighting. It had a sweet smell. Deep reds and blacks gave it an air of importance. A pool table and wet bar on one side made it look like some overdone man-cave. Cribs, Pittsburgh edition.
Across from the bar, a man reclined on an ornate leather couch. His feet were propped up on a table. Ice cubes, swimming in brown liquor, filled the tumbler in his hand. Age seemed lost on him, though he must have been somewhere between forty-five and sixty. Turning over a hardbound volume, he dropped his feet to the floor and stood with a certain ease.
“Welcome, my friend. Would you like a drink?” He waved toward the bar.
“Is it done?” Rex asked.
The man tisked. “Always straight to business with you. Yes, it is finished. Alarawn Industries has already been sold to the highest bidder. The paperwork was signed this morning, and you should receive payment in your account by the end of business tomorrow. Although I have to say it wasn’t easy. Paperwork alone was a nightmare, what with the board chopped to hell. Or should I say murdered at the hands of ‘corporate terrorists.’ At least the papers are buying that lie. But why the hell did everything get so out of hand?”
Rex laughed. “Out of hand? Everything went precisely as expected.”
“Really?” the man asked, behind raised eyebrows.
“Of course,” Rex replied. “Why do you think I convinced Alarawn to hire the historian? Who do you think gave Brooke the suggestion to use the serum on herself? Do you think all of this could have happened by chance?”
The ageless man joined Rex’s laughter.
“Well, then. Sit down. Tell me more about your masterful orchestration.”
Rex’s laughter ceased. “After you.” He spread his hand out toward the seat in deference.
The man dropped onto the couch.
In one practiced move, Rex reached into his jacket and drew a Sig Pro. He sank three rounds into the chest of the man on the couch.
Rex wiped the gun, tossed it on the couch, and turned to leave the building.
Rain fell hard on his shoulders as he walked out onto the streets of the Steel City.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Friends!
Thank you so much for reading Catalyst (and for reading these notes). I love this book, and I’m thrilled that you decided to give it a chance.
Three years ago, I (Lee) was functionally unemployed with no clear path or vision for what I wanted to do in life. I was bored, broke, and more or less bumming each day away on my couch. Then my buddy Chris told me he had an idea for a book about adjunct professors in Pittsburgh and everything changed.
Writing with Chris filled me with the kind of energy my life had been missing for years. I’d stay up until dawn researching steel making and poetry and martial arts. Hours would disappear while I edited and re-edited drafts, trying to craft the perfect paragraph. But writing a good story takes more than enthusiasm. It takes certain skills—knowledge of story structure and character development and prose—skills I severely lacked at the time. The result of all that blind passion was The Catalyst, a book that I loved dearly, but which had some serious structural flaws.
If we had stopped there, I would have been happy. I wrote a book that I liked and had a ton of fun doing it. But we didn't stop. We kept writing AND we kept learning. Some just the two of us, a few with a team of writers. We kept Chem and Willa and Elijah in the back of our minds, waiting for us to try again.
Twenty books later (you can find them below these notes), Chris and I decided we couldn’t put our first characters off any longer. They were a part of us, and we had to give them their due. We pulled the Steel City Heroes from publication, tore the books apart, and spent months rewriting and reworking them, refining what we loved about the originals, while reanimating them with what we’ve learned since about writing good stories.
And like Elijah Branton emerging from the cauldron, Catalyst was reborn. And I couldn’t be happier.
So, thank you thank you thank you for reading this book that was three years in the making. If you liked it, I’d love to hear your thoughts (and an Amazon review wouldn’t hurt either, hint, hint). If you’re anxious to know what happens next for our plucky academics, don’t worry. The next three books are already written and will be released over the next two months. (In fact, depending on when you get to these notes, they’re probably already out).
Sign up for our newsletter so you don’t miss it and tell your friends to do the same. AND, if you keep turning, you can read the opening chapters of Corrosion, Steel City Heroes Book 2.
See you in the Steel City,
Lee
Sign up for their newsletter for updates, new releases, and promotions. When you join the community, you’ll get a FREE copy of their fast, fun thriller, The Devil’s Due: https://www.subscribepage.com/chris_and_lee
If you liked Catalyst, keep reading. There’s a lot more to come for Elijah, Willa, and Chem in Corrosion, book 2 of the Steel City Heroes saga!
You can also check out the other series by CM Raymond and LE Barbant.
The Rise of Magic is a future fantasy series that initiates an enormous and sprawling storyline that opens a world of forty books written by over ten authors. Set in The Kurtherian Gambit Universe, The Rise of Magic follows the origins of Hannah, a young woman from humble roots, who finds the magic inside of her might just be enough to fight an unjust regime that has taken over her city. If you’re looking for a badass heroine with heart and snark, you’ll love this series! But beware, take one step down The Age of
Magic path, and you’ll be walking for a long, long time!
Want more snarky heroines? Well, Chris and Lee also have an urban fantasy series about the mythic gods return to earth in their series with ST Branton, Forgotten Gods. The tagline is: The gods are real, and they’re assholes. And it couldn’t be closer to the truth. This series is fun, fast, exciting, and a little irreverent. Vampires, werewolves, and all manner of monstrous creatures serve the unknown powers of old, but the story centers on the humans who make the heroic choice to fight them. Join Vic and her crew as they attempt to save earth from the gods who want it back. You won’t forget, Forgotten Gods.
Chris and Lee Online
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