Brimstone Blues: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Yancy Lazarus Series Book 5)
Page 28
Honestly, being there felt like an impossible dream. Somehow, we’d beaten Asmodeus, escaped Hell, charmed our way past Arawn the Horned, and gotten back to Inworld. Almost impossible, yet there we were.
I hooked my thumbs into the waist of my new jeans, fresh off the rack, and eyed the house as I puffed on a half-finished cigarette. The place was a sprawling two-story of white brick, edged with dark brown crown molding, blocked in by a huge front porch lined with square columns. Arched windows with heavy drapes lined the first floor, while more windows—these shuttered up nice and tight—adorned the second story. Despite the size of the home, the front yard was rather small, covered in vibrant green grass, edged with carefully manicured bushes, and sealed away from the street with a black wrought iron fence.
The house was a beauty, but not a standout. At least not in the Garden District where all the homes were big, well cared for, and expensive as shit.
Still, I puffed on my smoke, because though the house looked normal, it wasn’t. Maybe it would’ve fooled some Rube, or even the majority of the halfies tromping around the Big Easy, but I was a world-class mage, and I could smell the reek of arcane power from a mile away. Heavy-duty wards and high-powered offensive constructs radiated energy from the yard like the heat from a bonfire.
“It’s okay,” Levi said, nudging my shoulder, his hand that of a dumpy gas station clerk in need of a little sun. I turned and gave him a sidelong look, before nodding and snuffing my cigarette with a minute flow of air. With his hand still on my shoulder, I pushed my way through the gate. From one step to the next, the view changed. The house was still there, but now it looked like something out of a war zone. The white bricks were covered in meticulously painted on symbols:
Some that cast and maintained the elaborate illusion, concealing the premise.
Others that spurred on passersbys, urging them to keep right on moving.
More still that acted as safeguards against scrying.
The lush green grass was gone, replaced by loops of razor wire, which ran in front of raised earth berms. The front door had been reinforced with metal, and the windows were likewise covered with thick steel shutters, studded with heavy rivets. Cameras dotted the perimeter, sweeping left then right, left then right, accompanied by flashing red laser sensors, which would pick up movement even if covered by a veil. High-tech and expensive. On the upper balcony, several fortified machine gun nests looked out on the street—though none of them were currently manned.
I made for the door, Levi trailing behind me, but faltered as a patch of air on the porch shimmered, and a guard stepped out of thin air—except this wasn’t just any guard. Nope, it was a hulking female Sasquatch with burnt auburn fur and a pink bow in her hair. Winona Treesinger. She stared at me with giant emerald eyes, then her mouth opened in shock as she surveyed Levi and me in turn.
“You’re back,” she whispered, the sound like the buzz of a hive of bees. A heartbeat later, she was in front of me, her giant simian arms wrapping around me as she lifted me up in a bone-crushing bear hug that threatened to break ribs. “I told them you would return. Azazel is powerful, but your spirit is strong, Yancy Lazarus. Well-fortified.” She set me down, then scooted back, holding me at arm’s length, surveying me from head to toe. “You looked frayed. Changed from the last time I saw you, but you live, mage. That is good.”
She offered me a brilliant smile, which lit up her whole face, before turning to Levi, folding her hands in front of her chest and bowing deeply. “Cheauka, Brother of the Deep Earth. It is good to see your face again. You have brought him home.” She rushed forward, slinging her arms around Levi in a move that left the poor MudMan squirming, clearly uncomfortable. Obviously, Levi was not a hugger. Reluctantly, she let go, then reached up and wiped a fat tear from beneath her eye.
“Look at me, weeping like a young whelp,” she said, “while you—our honored guests—are forced to remain outside. Come, let me show you in. The War Conclave is in session, but for this, I think they will take a break.”
She turned and loped toward the entrance, her long legs eating up the ground. Levi and I had no choice but to follow. She pushed open the reinforced front door, which thrummed with primal energy—tightly constrained—and ushered us through a neat mudroom with hardwood floors and up a set of wooden stairs to a hallway lined with rooms. We passed a closed door on the left, and a plush bathroom on the right with a claw-foot tub, before finally stopping in front of a plain brown door no different from any of the others.
But once again, appearances could be deceptive. This room was also heavily protected—but with sigils to guard against eavesdropping ears and prying eyes. A perfect command center. Winona stole a quick look at Levi and me, her grin growing even wider, then knocked on the door with the side of her fist, thump, thump, thump. She waited for a count of five. When no one answered, she turned the knob and shouldered her way in.
“Winona,” barked a familiar voice, icy and severe. “We are in War Council—this had better be a matter of life and death.” The door swung all the way in, revealing Arch-Mage Borgstorm, glowering at us from behind an enormous wooden table covered with a slew of maps and papers. She was a striking woman with smooth skin, high cheeks, and bright green eyes, always searching and judging. She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was going to say died as she spotted me.
I edged past Winona and headed into the room, feeling dizzy as I swept my gaze around the space. Everyone was there. Ferraro. Greg. Chief Kong. Drukiski. Even Sir Galahad— knight of King Arthur’s Court, and protector of the Holy Grail. They all stared at me, speechless. Thunderstruck. But it was the last man in the room that stopped me dead in my tracks. A sharp-dressed fella with movie-star good looks, thick muscles, and a wavy 1920’s hairdo, who looked like he’d just stepped off the set of The Great Gatsby.
James Sullivan. Battle Mage. Badass. Traitor. And son of a bitch.
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
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If you want to read more awesome Yancy Lazarus adventures right this minute, check out Flashback: Siren Song, and Flashback: The Morrigan—two great Lazarus novellas that offer glimpses into Yancy’s strange and wild past. Already read those? Then be sure to check out MudMan! a novel entirely devoted to the great-gray Murder Machine, Levi Adams!
Yancy Lazarus Reading Order
Strange Magic (Yancy Lazarus Episode One)
Cold Hearted (Yancy Lazarus Episode Two)
Flashback: Siren Song (Yancy Lazarus Episode 2.5)
Wendigo Rising (Yancy Lazarus Episode Three)
Flashback: The Morrigan (Yancy Lazarus Episode 3.5)
Savage Prophet (Yancy Lazarus Episode Four)
Brimstone Blues: A Yancy Lazarus Novel
***
MudMan (A Lazarus World Novel)
Other Works by James A. Hunter
MudMan (A Lazarus World Novel)
***
Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)
Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance (Book 2)
Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord (Book 3)
The Artificer DLC 1.1: A Viridian Gate Online Novel
About the Author
Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a
former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thailand. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.
Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.
Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.
Dedication
This one is for the true-blue Yancy Lazarus fans—the folks who love this series and these wonky characters. I couldn’t do this without your constant support and continual motivation!
Special Thanks
I’d like to thank my wife, Jeanette, and my wonderful kids, Lucy and Sam. They are my constant motivation and inspiration. A special thanks to my parents, Greg and Lori. A quick shout out to my brother Aron and his whole brood—Eve, Brook, Grace, and Collin. Brit, probably you’ll never read this book either, but I love you too. Here’s to the folks of Team Lazarus, my awesome Alpha and Beta readers who helped make this book both possible and good:
Megan Meyers (aka Teal Canary), Bob “Gunslinger” Singer, Dan Goodale, Nell Justice, Jen “Ivana” Wadsworth, Amber McKee, and the amazing eden Hudson—the coolest writer on the planet. They read the messy, early drafts so that no one else had to; thanks guys and gals. And of course a big thanks to my editor, Tamara Blain who rocked this book (if you need editing, go to her, she’s seriously awesome: www.acloserlookediting.com/ ).
—James A. Hunter, October 2017
Copyright
Brimstone Blues: A Yancy Lazarus Novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by James A. Hunter and Shadow Alley Press, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
JamesAHunter@outlook.com