by Ryan Attard
“Right here.”
I pointed at Amaymon who set down the Necromancer he carried on his shoulder and allowed Greg to take him away, towards a regiment of Knights.
Akasha looked at Amaymon. “I was given to understand the Necronomicon was a book.”
“It is,” I replied, not even bothering to contain my glee. “He swallowed it.”
“He swallowed it?”
Amaymon chuckled. “Phrasing, babe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Amaymon, piss off the people who we’re trading our lives with.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one with the whole cat-ate-my-homework idea.”
“Where is the book?” Akasha snapped.
“It’s somewhere,” I shot back. “And yeah, we can get it back. Provided you meet certain conditions.”
That was apparently the last straw for Jared, who until now had been quietly observing from the sidelines.
“Conditions?” he spat. “What gives you the impression you can dictate conditions?”
I ignored him.
“Hey, aren’t you a guy short?” I asked Akasha. “Where’s the mustache guy?”
“Mustafa had urgent business to attend to,” she replied.
“And look at me when I’m talking to you,” Jared snapped.
I obliged him. “Yeah, conditions. Mine. Keep up, dummy.”
A vein throbbed in his temple.
“Here’s how this is gonna work,” I said. “You guys can take the book. In fact, I want you in particular, Jared, to take the book and shove it up your ass. But that’s beside the point. You guys get the book and in exchange I get Abi back, all charges against me dropped, magical and real, and you fix the mess you caused.”
I looked at Gil. “The precinct, the Bentley house, the cemetery, the whole damn mountain: fix it. This happened because the Grigori have no respect for what we do, how we operate — with people, rather than against them — and people got hurt. Good people. So fix it.”
Gil gave Akasha a sideways glance but the latter remained impassive.
“Third,” I continued, “and this is the most important one: this shit can never happen again.”
“Excuse me?” Jared said. “You want to break the rules, do whatever you want, and not pay the price?”
“Cut the bullshit,” I said, getting in his face.
No one did anything to stop me.
Jared’s eyes remained steady but I could smell fear coming from him. This guy was not the fighting type.
“As I told Greg, you kill me, kill my loved ones, and all you get is a pile of dead bodies. But you’ll never find the book. And I know you want the book — hell, you need it. You’re scared shitless of something, and you’re gathering all the assets you can in preparation for this.”
I backed away a step. “I don’t know what it is that you’re doing, and I don’t care. But the moment you fuck with me or my family again, I will make it my life’s mission to hunt down each and every one of you, and make you pay.”
I grinned at Jared, making him flinch.
“Starting with you, asshole.”
At the same time, I held out my hand and Amaymon pressed the Necronomicon into my palm. They stared as I held the book without any side effects.
I offered it to Akasha. “Do we have a deal?”
She looked into my eyes and nodded. “Yes. We promise to be more… mindful, in the future.”
Jared’s eyes widened. “Now hang on, Akasha. As the judiciary member of the Grigori-”
“The decision is made, Jared,” she replied coldly.
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that I am your senior,” she replied. “I hold the second rank of this organization, and thus my word is final.”
“I beg you, Akasha, do not listen to him. Don’t be a slave to your emotions.”
Akasha’s entire demeanor changed. Suddenly, it was as if I was looking at a bomb about to go off. I felt more magic in her than I expected, magic on par with that of the Seven Deadly Sins or perhaps an archangel.
Instinctively, I took a step back.
She turned to Jared. “A slave?”
Jared froze on the spot and looked like he was trying not to soil himself. There were very few words that could offend strong black women in positions of power.
‘Slave’ was definitely one of them.
“Leave,” she barked and Jared scrambled so quickly I thought he was going to leave skid marks on the ground.
Akasha looked at the Necronomicon, still in my hands, and craned her neck.
“Evans!”
From one of the SUVs emerged the largest man I’d ever seen.
Easily eight feet tall, roped with muscles and a comically small head, when he emerged the SUV tilted back to its original place.
I could almost hear the vehicle sigh in relief.
The giant man walked towards us with deceptive grace. He held his trash-can-sized hands out and I plopped the Necronomicon in one of them. At the same time, Abi took a step and hid behind Amaymon.
I watched as the giant closed a fist around the book and turned to look at Akasha.
“Don’t let him get to you,” he said, with a voice full of kindness.
Akasha smiled and patted his giant forearm. “Thank you, Evans,” she said. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
The giant looked at me, squinted, and gave me a slight nod, before returning to the SUV.
“That’s new,” I muttered.
“Evans,” Akasha said. “He holds the eighth seat in our organization. He’s also my retainer. We thought it was best to bring one of our heavy hitters, given what happened last time.”
“You started it,” I said as I watched the giant struggle to get back into the SUV.
Hang on.
How come he could grab the book without any protection and not keel over?
I watched the giant and caught a glimpse of it — a white ink tattoo on the back of his neck. He was too far for me to make out the details, but I recognized a talisman when I saw one. The Necromancer’s words echoed in my head and I did a quick calculation: the book’s curse only worked on living beings because only they were subject to the cycle of life and death.
The talisman made sense now.
“A golem,” I said.
Akasha smiled.
“Very perceptive,” she replied. “Yes, I’m afraid the real Evans is quite shy and doesn’t go out much himself. But his talents are undeniable: he managed to create the first ever organic golems.”
She turned to Gil. “Clearly, the Necronomicon is not simply a Necromancy tool, as we first suspected. Henceforth, I must declare it a Warlock artifact, due to its summoning properties. Do you have any objection to that?”
“No, Ma’am,” Gil replied.
That took me by surprise. I don’t think I’d ever heard Gil utter the word ‘Ma’am’ in my lifetime.
She glared at me when I grinned.
“We will need it safe,” Akasha continued.
“I have just the place for it,” Gil said. “It will be hidden out of the country, in a family-owned specialized prison in the middle of the Polynesian region. Given the large abundance of running water and volcanic activity, no one will be able to trace its exact location.”
“Excellent,” Akasha said. “Make preparations immediately.”
Gil nodded and looked at me, smiling for a second before she and Mephisto began walking towards her limo.
Greg offered me a hand.
“I’m sorry again for deceiving you,” he said. “But I can honestly say it was an honor fighting by your side. I hope to have the pleasure again someday.”
I grinned and shook his hand.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Greg,” I said. “My suggestion: get out more.”
He laughed. “Yes, I might do that.” He winked and began walking away. “I might even watch that American movie.”
“The Mummy,” I said. “Watch it and thank me later.”
; He raised a hand and got inside the SUV occupied by Evans.
Only Akasha remained.
“Game’s over,” I said.
She giggled.
“This one, perhaps,” she replied. “Manipulating the Grigori — that was a dangerous move.”
I shrugged. “I seem to remember something about you liking danger.”
From behind me, I heard Amaymon and Abi make gagging noises. I turned, frowning at them, and found both trying to look innocent.
Akasha laughed and pressed a piece of paper into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“My real number,” she replied.
That shut up the two idiots behind me.
I raised my eyebrows.
“You tried to have me killed,” I said.
She shrugged. “A far more interesting second date than most, wouldn’t you agree?”
I stood there, speechless.
“Besides,” she went on. “Dating you would really piss off Jared. And your sister. Oh, and before I forget…”
She stood very close, rose on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips against mine.
“Told you I’d kiss you the next time I’d meet you,” she said, with a wink. “Call me.”
I watched her walk towards the SUV with Evans and Greg in it. All the vehicles simultaneously roared to life and gently drove away.
“That was interesting,” Abi said. “Are you really gonna call her?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“You said it yourself, she did try to kill you,” Abi said.
“Yeah, but that just means she’s into some really kinky shit,” Amaymon supplied. “Besides, did you see that ass?”
“Not helping, Amaymon,” she said.
“Oh, come on,” he countered. “A hot chick who can take action, loves danger, and dating her would piss off both his sister and a group of pricks who tried to have us all killed — why is this even a question?”
I shrugged and looked at the number. I tried weighing the pros and cons, but let’s face it, I’m a guy.
Amaymon was right on this one. It was a no-brainer.
“Ah, what the hell,” I said, pocketing her number, before turning to the both of them. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 31
The phone rang in my office.
It was a full day after the whole Necronomicon-Grigori thing, and I was looking forward to a day of eating, sleeping, and maybe calling a certain girl and planning a date.
Lord knows, I deserved it.
I picked up. “Hello?”
“Mr. Ashendale.” The voice sent a cold chill down the back of my neck.
I glared at the receiver before pressing it back to my ear.
“Alan Greede,” I said. “To what do I owe this… What the hell do you want?”
“To thank you, of course,” he replied.
“Thank me for what?” I asked. “The Necronomicon is gone, probably halfway around the globe by now.”
“Ah, yes,” Greede replied. “Your sister has it, if I’m not mistaken. Gil Ashendale.”
Hearing him mention Gil by name made my stomach churn.
“She certainly has quite the reputation.”
“Then you know what she’s capable of,” I shot back. “Better stay away from her.”
“Indeed,” Greede said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to mess with my plans. Not yet anyway.”
I scoffed. “Good luck with that, whatever they are. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Turn on your television, Mr. Ashendale.”
“What?”
Greede sighed. “Your television. I know you like to keep the remote on the coffee table.”
My eyes transfixed the remote, exactly where he said it was — exactly where I always left it.
The bastard had been inside my office, inside my house.
I looked around, scanning for signs of the intruders, maybe a hidden camera.
“Turn on the news,” Greede instructed.
One push of a button later and I was staring at live coverage of a highway wreck.
Trucks and containers were piled on one side, like an effigy, complete with smoke billowing from them. Cars marred one side, blocking the highway completely, accumulating together so that the helicopter shot made them look like ants.
Even the concrete was shattered, pulled apart into small islands of black, revealing the innards of modern infrastructure.
The news anchor was saying something but I didn’t care. I was too busy looking at one of the containers, at the black SUVs around it, and the carnage and destruction that law enforcement and ambulances had yet to quell.
I had seen enough of Gil’s tactical vehicles to recognize them in my sleep and now I was seeing them in a nightmare.
“What have you done?” I growled into the receiver.
I could feel the plastic bite into my palm and heard the creaking of the receiver, but none of it mattered.
Nothing, except the psychopath on the other end.
“I told you,” Greede said. “I always get what I want.”
“You killed her,” I said. “You killed my sister.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Greede replied. “Your sister was nowhere on site. Neither were the rest of the Grigori.” He chuckled. “As if I would be so lucky. All I have is a bunch of dead soldiers… and a certain book, of course.”
The plastic creaked louder at my ear.
“This ain’t over.” I heard my voice low. My free hand was shaking.
No. I needed to be calm, steady.
“You hear me?” I spat into the receiver. “This ain’t over. I’m gonna hunt you down, you son of a bitch, and when I find you, you’re gonna regret the day you crossed paths with me.”
Greede chuckled and started saying something, but I never heard it.
The receiver snapped in my hand, breaking apart. In a fit of rage, I punched the phone, shattering the keypad.
Amaymon came in, silent in his cat form, but his presence was unmistakable.
“What happened?” he asked.
A million emotions raced through me, stemming from my initial meeting with Greede, all the way up to the effort I had gone through to get the Necronomicon.
And now it was in the hands of a mad man, one who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
A man who had to be dealt with, permanently.
My mind settled on that one thought, finding peace in the single-mindedness of it all, forming it into one notion:
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
I turned to Amaymon. “We’re going to war.”
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Author’s Note
Writing a book is never easy, but this one felt less hard than others. By now, Erik and his pals are just an extension of the madness in my head, and I cannot wait to start the next one.
But writing is not just about me — I’ve always insisted that, by communicating with my readers and fans, I could create a better world for you to inhabit.
And the best part
is, you guys always come through for me.
This year, I would like to specifically thank:
J Staffey, Robert Loblaw, Hector Santiago, Alan Kleynenberg, Trevor Hook, Thomas Altum, Pete Ffrench, Ann Newman, Dennis Kelly Jr., Teresa Stump, Linda Collins, Lisa Marriott-Smith, Linda Sue Stephens and Stephanie Gooding.
These wonderful people — as well as a few more who wished to remain anonymous — were my beta readers (I call them Ninjas). They read the book beforehand and sent me feedback, often with encouraging words that kept me from the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I still get nervous hitting that publish button, but when I know there are fans like them — and you — out there, who support me and my dream, it makes all the hard work worthwhile.
So, sincerely, Thank You.
Ryan Attard
About the Author
Ryan Attard is the author of the Legacy series, the Pandora Chronicles, and the Esper Files.
Hailing from a faraway island, it wasn’t long until Ryan began creating his own imaginary friends and writing down their adventures.
As Egan Brass, he writes the Esper Files — a tale of super-powered individuals set in a steampunk universe.
He also dons a cape and a mask, and spends his free time learning Victorian insults in order to both confuse and enthrall his foes.
He’s also one to write his bios in the third person.
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://ryanattard.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Enkousama
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RyanAuthor/