Ashburn_A [Sub] Urban Fantasy Novel
Page 27
Blackness dropped on my mind like a heavy stage curtain when I heard a familiar, dark voice in my head and saw the giant black goat step out from one of the stables. He stared me down with glowing red eyes, clearly not happy I was there.
You are in violation of our agreement again, enforcer.
“About that,” I said. “I was hoping we could come up with a new arrangement.”
Silence.
“Here’s my proposition,” I said, trying to keep my voice strong as I raised my free hand and pointed to the barn’s wooden shelf with the glass jars on it. “I want the Kanari that contains Marie’s soul.”
It is one of my favorites, the voice said inside my head.
“You stole it from her.”
She gave it willingly as payment. What do you offer in exchange?
I held up the bottle with the Baron’s spirit trapped inside. I wasn’t certain, but the goat seemed surprised.
“You know what this is,” I said. “The Baron’s spirit is worth much more than that of a mere human.”
If you are attempting to deceive me—
“I’m telling the truth, and I want to make things right between us.”
The voice laughed.
I do not know who or what you are, but you are not Ahriman’s enforcer, and as such, you do not know my true name, which means you have no power over me. Tell me why I should not kill you now.
“You could try,” I said. “But you didn’t do a very good job the first time. And even though I may not be the guy you’re used to dealing with, I’m definitely Ahriman’s enforcer now. I carry all of his authority, and I have all the powers and knowledge of my predecessor.”
Then why not take what you want?
“I’m running things differently in Ashburn from now on. If I have to, I will destroy you. But at the moment, there’s no need for that, since we both have something each other wants. You have Marie’s soul, and I have the Baron’s, complete with his true name written down on a sheet of paper inside the bottle. He’s a powerful loa, and he’d be yours to command. Frankly, I think you’re getting the better deal here. Or we can fight to the death right now. It’s your choice.”
It was a long wait for the Mendes Goat to decide our fate, but five minutes later, I walked away from the barn, still alive and holding Marie’s soul in my unsteady hands.
Chapter 54
I SAT IN JOHN’S garage for half an hour, trying to figure out how to put Marie’s soul back where it belonged. In the end, I realized the only person who could help me was probably Marie herself.
When I finally got my nerve up to enter the house, Sybil and Marie were sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, two cups of black coffee in front of them. But Marie’s cup remained untouched.
“How is she?” I said.
“Ask her yourself,” Sybil said as she raised her mug toward the motionless Marie. “She can talk. And she seems to know what’s going on—more or less.”
I sat down next to Marie, but she kept her eyes on Sybil.
From under the table, Shadow grumbled like he wanted to say something.
“You have to tell her what you want her to do,” Sybil said in a quiet voice.
“Marie,” I said. “Can you look at me, please?”
She turned her gaze until it rested on me. Her light brown eyes that had mesmerized me when I first met her were gone—replaced by two milky, vacant orbs.
“I have something for you,” I said, placing the Kanari in front of her. “But, I don’t know how to do what needs to be done. I could try, but I’m afraid I’d only get one shot at it, and I don’t want to take any chances. Can you tell me what to do?”
“Only the one who removed it can replace it,” she said slowly, straining with every syllable.
I felt my eyes water up a little. Her answer was the one I’d been afraid of hearing.
“There has to be another way,” I said, looking to Sybil for hope—anything at all—but she looked away and shook her head. “Maybe I should’ve let the Baron escape and take you with him. I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t expecting a reply, but I saw the struggle on Marie’s face as she tried to form her words.
“He would not have taken me with him,” she said. “I know this now.”
Marie reached out, picked up the Kanari with her ti bon ange trapped inside, and hugged it close to her chest like it was her child.
“Thank you,” she said as she handed the Kanari to me with care. “Will you keep this safe for me?”
I nodded as I took the Kanari, keenly aware she was trusting me to protect her soul.
“I know where it will be safe until we can figure out how to return it to you.”
She nodded slightly, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“I was right about you after all,” she said. “You are more than a demon. You are also a good man.”
Epilogue
EVEN BEFORE I could see him, I knew Ahriman had entered the crowded bar and was about to ruin my night of watching my Ashburn neighbors belting out their favorite tunes through the wonder of the karaoke machine.
He sat down in the chair opposite mine, like a shadow of death.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this job,” I said, doing my best not to let my face show how much I wanted to attack him.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You will do exactly what I ask of you.”
“I did the best I could this week, but—”
“I was watching. You performed—adequately—and not wholly terrible for your first week. You should go home, make some of your beloved music, and enjoy the charms of your girlfriend. Have a little fun or read a book. Hell, walk that damn dog of yours. And try to get enough rest so that you’re ready the next time you are needed to perform your duties.”
He raised an espresso cup to his lips that hadn’t been there a moment before and took a sip.
I still had lots of questions, but before I could say anything, there was a break in the karaoke music, and I heard the beat I hated so much—the one from my posthumous hit, Blood Blister—as a plump brunette took the microphone and prepared to sing.
I shook my head, glanced up at the flat-screen TV hanging above the bar, and saw something that made my night even worse.
The late-night television host was interviewing none other than the famous one-hit wonder who had finally made his first comeback in over fifty years—the one, the only, the used-to-be-famous, David Steele.
He was interviewing—me.
I turned to Ahriman, ready to barrage him with angry accusations of foul play, but he was no longer there.
My head reeling, I watched as a healthy version of me joked and laughed with the television host and held up a full-sized album cover of my latest release. A few minutes later, my impersonator walked over to the small studio stage, strapped on my favorite guitar, and took the mic, ready to perform.
I felt paralyzed and sick to my stomach.
Since I’d arrived, I’d assumed John was the one who’d gotten the raw end of our deal—that no matter how much I didn’t want to be stuck in Ashburn, at least it wasn’t as bad as dying, trapped in my old body.
But I’d been wrong about that—dead wrong.
Ahriman and John had tricked me into coming to Ashburn, inhabiting John’s body, and taking over his job. I didn’t know the reasons for their actions yet, but I was going to find out. And when I did, I’d leave Ashburn for good and reclaim my identity, even if I had to destroy Ahriman and John to do it.
I picked up my shot of Maker’s Mark and took a sip. When I set the glass down on the sticky tabletop, the slide guitar from one of my favorite songs started playing in my head. When I heard the chorus, I nodded and took another sip. The singer was right—the wicked never had a chance to rest.
***
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my amazing set of Beta Readers for their help in making this the best book it could be.
Thank you, Mom, as usual, for being a great reviewer of my work. You always make the best catches that no one else finds. I appreciate your love and your critical eye!
Kristen Paul, thank you for your strategic insight into the story arc—what was working and what wasn’t—and for your near-daily encouragement to keep writing!
Kevin McMahon, you’ve read each of my books, usually more than once, and as always, you had great comments, insights, and comments on this one. I can’t thank you enough!
And then there was Amy Wade. Without you, this book would not exist in its current state. Thank you for being my Urban Fantasy expert and for all the conversations and perspective during the prep for the story, throughout its execution, and as a Beta Reader. Amazing. I am eternally grateful!
Oh, and of course, a very special thanks to Ashburn, VA, my suburban home for so many years now. I might give you a hard time here and there, but you’re a good place to live. Thanks for having me.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Copyright © 2018 Michael W. Layne
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover Photography and Design by Michael W. Layne
Photograph of the Australian Cattle Herder was used under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license as provided by Zingpix and altered for the design of the cover. Thank you!