The Dueling Grounds worked on a very basic principle. Each person had one soul and one body, so when your body and soul died at the Dueling Grounds, your soul was sent back home with your body rather than the person actually dying.
But Mordred had an excess of Souls on him when he stepped into the ring.
So, each time we had killed him here, one of those Souls didn’t have a body to ride back home to—because the other Souls kept his body locked down at the Dueling Grounds, refusing to let go. As a result, the safest place for everyone in the world to take a chance at having a near-death experience, ended up being the most dangerous place to one specific, real specimen of a bastard.
Mordred. King Arthur’s illegitimate son.
Ultimately, we had whittled him down to one last Soul, which he had somehow managed to consume for himself, bonding it with his own soul like an extra battery.
I had managed to steal three of his Nine Souls.
He had fled to Fae to recover and we were a couple weeks away from a supposed meeting about a bullshit charity he had established—the Round Table Initiative—a charity designed to openly discuss magic with the public. With humans.
Which I knew would cause a panic, likely starting a war with Regulars against Freaks.
My plan was simple. Kill him before that appointment.
Coincidentally, that probably meant heading to Fae to dig him out of Camelot. And I needed to go to Fae to come to grips with my Fae childhood. I had a block as a result of dabbling in too many magic buckets and needed to go take a walk on the wild side. That was the theory, anyway. But it was the only one I had.
A nice little banished Fae woman named Alvara had suckered me into buying that theory by telling me she might be able to help me, and that she had friends who might have answers on me being a Catalyst. Something I’d heard quite a few people call me, but had found no solid information on what it meant.
All I knew was that the Catalyst had something to do with a world-ending war heading our way. Since so many entities from different pantheons seemed to agree, I had admitted that it was probably legitimate. And with so many Freaks, Legends, Gods, Monsters, and other powerful beings suddenly choosing to move to Missouri—the Gateway to the West—the facts lined up.
I just didn’t know whether being the Catalyst was a good thing—to end the war—or a bad thing—to start the war. And that was a pretty important question to learn the answer to.
I felt my shoulders tightening again, so I counted to ten, took calming breaths, and thought of more random book quotes.
The price for answers on the Catalyst—and hopefully my flashbacks—was to take Alvara, and her daughter Alice, with us to Fae—let them see home again. And since I needed her help, I couldn’t just take off for Fae without her, or I might risk the flashbacks hitting me right when I faced off with Mordred.
Simple as that. Quick road trip, get some answers, kill Mordred. Two weeks at the most.
Even I didn’t buy that, but I was trying to stay positive. It was more productive than sobbing in a corner and clutching a teddy bear. Because when you’re knee-deep in shit, there’s no use standing still and complaining about it. Just start walking out of the shit. Obviously.
I had a few things to take care of here, before gallivanting off to Fae. The very real risk of time-slippage while I was away made it very important that I lined up my ducks in a row before leaving St. Louis. What if a year or two passed while I was in Fae for a few days?
I had an Hourglass artifact that would easily fix this problem but using it would draw the Fae armies on top of me like a swarm of flies to shit. I’d checked around, even asking my definitely insane ancestor Matthias for several other ideas to reduce that time-slippage, but we hadn’t come up with anything reliable.
The only sure way to make sure that the world didn’t burn in my absence was to move quickly while in Fae. A day, tops. Hopefully find Mordred the moment I wrapped up my business with Alvara and Alice and then kill him. If he was in Fae, St. Louis was probably fine. It was if he disappeared that I needed to seriously consider getting back out—to make sure he didn’t destroy St. Louis while I was traipsing about with fairies.
Chapter 3
Achilles let out a loud breath, snapping me out of my daze. “You know, I used to like war, fighting, chaos…” he said, trailing off to watch Alex whoop the shit out of his veteran Myrmidons. It was a testament to Alex’s skill that Achilles wasn’t chastising his men for repeatedly losing. “Then I met you. Watched you play at war,” he said soberly, shaking his head. “Ruined it for me.”
I winced. “Sorry, man.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is. I learned war with bronze blades and chariots. But you guys are fucking insane with your fancy outfits, wings, murder-corns, and death-clouds.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing at his description, causing Talon to look up and check on me. Achilles scowled, thinking I was laughing at him, so I waved a hand good-naturedly. “You’re not wrong, Achilles. Myself, I try not to think too hard about those aspects.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think I’ll just stick to training Alex. If I could find a dozen men like him…” he said wondrously to himself, shaking his head at the idea.
It would be both terrifying and amazing.
We were silent for a time. “Anyway, I’m trying to say that everyone is having nightmares about what went down that night with Mordred,” he muttered. “Like that Soul business. It rubbed everyone the wrong way. Midas is still hesitant to host the next Fight Night. Just in case…” He pointed at the men sparring with Alex. “You’ll notice they aren’t using blades. And Alex hasn’t killed everyone here. Just in case. No one wants to be the first to test their bravery to see if the sanctity of the Dueling Grounds still works. After what you did.”
I sighed. “But there were absolutely no fatalities. Everyone survived, right?”
Achilles snorted. “Sure. But what if next time it doesn’t work? You could have at least warned us ahead of time,” he added in a low growl. “Scared the living hell out of every powerful person in town. If this All War ever does happen, I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of Freaks rallying to your cause after that terrifying display of power.” And I could tell he wasn’t being sarcastic. He truly believed that every major player in town was likely now on Team Temple.
Since he ran the most dangerous bar in town for Freaks—a Kill, as they were known—he heard all the gossip. Achilles Heel was where the nightmares of the supernatural world went to kick their boots up after a long day of mayhem. So…it was probably not far off base.
I shrugged. “If I had known ahead of time how it would all play out, I would have warned you. It was a last-minute idea. A sliver of a hope.”
“Hope,” Achilles grunted, arching a brow. “Speaking of, have you talked to Anubis about…you know. Feeding his Souls to your new Masks?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. Soon.”
Achilles leaned back, laughing nervously. “Your funeral, man. Your fucking funeral,” he said, holding up his hands in an innocent gesture.
The math came down to this. Of the original Nine Souls I had promised to return to Anubis, the King of Hell, I had used three to power my new Horseman Masks, Ruin—formerly known as Baby B—had eaten one, Mordred had consumed one, and the rest had been returned to Hell. If we were grading a school paper, I had earned forty-percent—a solid F.
And me officially becoming the Horseman of Hope had almost killed the Biblical Four Horsemen, for some still-unknown reason. The worst part was that, even though the Souls I had fed my Masks had calmed them down somewhat, I was on a timetable to find three new Riders for them.
Or things would get dicey, and the Biblical Four Horsemen might not survive the cosmic tension I had accidentally caused.
So, although that night felt like a victory…tallying up the actual score didn’t make me feel very good about it all. I had solidly earned a participation trophy for not dying. That wa
s it.
And now I needed to talk to my coach, Anubis.
I glanced over at Talon. His white spear –his Eyeless—wasn’t in sight, but I knew he could call it into existence with a thought. Anubis had told me I would need to find Talon a blue Devourer—a stone able to eat Souls—in order to help me stand against Mordred. But that had been before I tricked Mordred into fighting me at the Dueling Grounds where we succeeded in taking eight of his precious souls away.
So…was a Devourer still important?
Odin had one in his legendry Spear, Gungnir—and he’d told me, all the big kids have them.
Unfortunately, mine had been destroyed in the fight with Mordred and by powering my Masks. I still had the black blade—which I had dubbed the Feather—but it didn’t have a haft or a Devourer anymore. Just a blade with two feathers hanging from the tang—unicorn feathers identical to Grimm, hence the nickname.
But when I put on my Horseman Mask, a white chain with black thorns appeared, allowing me to use it similar to a bladed whip.
Except my Mask had also been damaged in the fighting, and I didn’t dare put it back on until I knew how to fix it.
Achilles was shaking his head at something Alex had done. “It’s almost like he was perfectly designed to murder people in combat. Like, oh, I don’t know, a Horseman.” Then Achilles shot me a very, very dry look. “It would be ironic if a Horseman happened to save his life, earn his trust, and basically put him back on his own two feet. Hypothetically speaking. Almost like a storybook ending. A happily ever after.”
I grunted, folding my arms. “It’s not easy being this great, Achilles. I mean, I know I make it look very easy, but it’s a hard job being a Horseman. I’ve got to pick out my socks—every morning, I might add. And then the day really gets challenging.”
Achilles rolled his eyes. “You have a butler. I win.”
I held up a finger. “My butler is a closet sociopath. Did I tell you what he did after the Mordred fight? When I returned home, panicked out of my mind?”
He smirked, his interest piqued. “No.”
So, I told him the full story about the Airsoft assault as I ran for my life clad in a tiger-skin rug through the halls of Chateau Falco, sparing not a single embarrassing detail.
It felt nice. It hadn’t then, but I had recovered from my welts a week later, so I could smile about it now. Dean and his stupid rules. Break them at your peril.
Chapter 4
Achilles burst out laughing as I finished the story. “Okay, yeah. That’s tough love for you.” His laughter trailed off, and he was silent for a time. “All kidding aside, you’re pretty lucky to have Dean. Kind of like a stand-in dad, or a godfather, maybe. Just like you stepped up to become a dad for Alex.”
I thought about that for a moment, nodding absently. He had a good point. “And you think the icing on the cake is to hand Alex a Mask—to become one of this new herd of Horsemen? A job that is pretty much guaranteed to pit the world against him?” I shook my head. “I don’t know, man.”
“Well, who else are you considering?” Achilles finally said, leaning back in defeat.
“Matthias told me to pick my best friends.”
Achilles snapped his fingers eagerly. “Yes. Do that—”
“Or,” I interrupted, holding up a finger. “Pick my worst enemies.”
His excitement deflated. “Oh. Well, don’t go asking me, man. I hate you and everything, but I’m allergic to the crazy shit you get into.”
“Achilles,” I said in a serious tone, “I can honestly say that the thought never crossed my mind.” I enjoyed the stark frown on his face. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure you have to be mortal. The Biblical Horsemen were mortal.”
Achilles glanced over at me. “Is that a guess or did someone tell you that?” He seemed genuinely curious, not hinting at some secret answer he knew.
“Not in the slightest. Even Matthias has very little idea of what he did—what impacts it will have. The Biblical Four Horsemen are equally stumped,” I muttered, letting out a breath.
Achilles grunted. “They still recovering in Bali?” he asked.
I nodded, crossing my ankles. “Yeah. Othello wanted to get them as far away from me as possible. Just in case Mordred returns. When Mordred returns. Can’t risk them dying from a cold, or Mordred killing them because they’re weakened by a cold.” I waved a hand. “Matthias joined them to see if he can learn anything useful for me. How their Masks work, or how it all ties together.”
Achilles folded his muscular arms, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Still no idea how it’s all related?” he asked. “Why your Masks are making them sick?”
I shook my head. “No idea. Which is why I’m hesitant to involve any of my friends in this mess. Even though I’ll have to involve three unfortunate souls eventually.”
“I think eventually means pronto, judging by what you’ve told me.” I grunted my agreement. “Yours is still damaged?” he asked. I nodded, touching the coin on my necklace. “Can I see it?”
I thought about it for a moment, and finally shrugged. I touched it and the Mask detached, no longer a coin. I set it on the bench beside me, remembering how it occasionally zapped people if they touched it. It hadn’t zapped Callie, though…hmm. I hadn’t thought about that in a while.
Too bad Callie was away on mysterious business of some kind. Everyone was being rather tight-lipped about it, probably assuming I would rush off to Kansas City if I heard something as mundane as a rainstorm was rolling in. But Alucard had received a call from Roland, Callie’s old mentor, and had decided to pay the City of Fountains a visit. I’d ask him when he got back.
Callie had made it very obvious she didn’t want any handholding. She had some demon problems to deal with, and I had this…well, a freaking buffet table of drama to deal with…
Holding tryouts for my Varsity Team of Horsemen.
Mordred and his Round Table Initiative.
Carl disappearing to bring his people back to St. Louis—when the Elders had been unilaterally banished from Earth long ago for some scary reason. And he wanted them to swear allegiance to me…
Being King of St. Louis and keeping an eye on the various supernatural families in town.
My Fae flashbacks and how it tied into the Catalyst thing.
The Knight of the Round Table I had stashed in Fae—who I had yet to actually meet.
And perhaps the three powerful artifacts my parents had left me: the Hand of God, the Hourglass, and the War Hammer.
Anubis had told me I still had godly ichor in my veins, and he probably had an opinion on how I had managed returning—or not returning, as the case may be—the stolen Souls. Because we had made a deal. I get him the Souls back, and I no longer have to be the Guide to Hell, and I get two get-out-of-Hell—or death—free cards.
Which meant…I might be able to bring my parents back.
So, I could ask them some very pointed questions before murdering them again for lying to me—even if only by omission—about so many things.
I let out a breath, once more forcefully calming myself. I didn’t really want to kill them, I just didn’t understand why everything they had done had been so secretive. My life—and my battles—would have been a whole lot easier if I had known what they had set up. And why.
Achilles was leaning over the Mask, murmuring to himself as he studied it.
The golden line down the center of the Mask seemed to shift like flowing metal—because I had used Merlin’s ichor—stolen from the Round Table—to hold it together; I had been fresh out of extra souls after feeding the other Masks. In retrospect, I wasn’t entirely sure that had been a good idea, but that was the story of my life, and there was no use crying over spilt milk.
Achilles let out a long whistle, leaning closer to inspect the crack down the center. “That’s hardcore, man. I once saw War shoot Death in the face with a 44 Magnum.” He met my eyes. “Point blank.”
My eyes widened. “Oh?”
Achi
lles nodded. “Just a slight puff of dust. No mark at all.”
Damn. I’d hoped to finally hear the cause of the impact craters I had seen on Death’s bone Mask. If not a point-blank shot from a horse pistol, what the hell else could have done it?
“And that’s Merlin’s blood holding it together?” Achilles asked, sounding amazed.
“I think so.” I admitted. Because that was really just a strong hypothesis. I had no way to verify if it really was Merlin’s blood or if it was something else entirely. “I’m not sure it’s holding it together, but rather strengthening it. It never fully broke, to get technical.”
“How do you permanently fix it?”
“I think it needs a family,” I admitted tiredly. “They seem to function best as a team. And in pairs, to balance each other.”
Achilles gave me a meaningful look. “Back to the original question, then.” I nodded. “Hope…” Achilles said pointing at the dark gray, quartz-like Mask before him. He trailed off meaningfully, glancing over at the Darling and Dear satchel by my feet. With a tired sigh, I reached inside and pulled out three more Masks, also all made of some kind of stone or quartz. They didn’t vibrate this time, which was a relief. I pointed to the white one, first. “Despair, to balance Hope.” Next, I pointed at the green and then gold Masks. “Absolution to balance Justice.”
Achilles’ mouth hung open as he studied them. “That’s curious. The Biblical Riders are named after more tangible things—actions or events: Death, War, Conquest, and Famine. But yours are more…” he waved a hand, grasping for the right word. “Concepts? Ideals? Creeds?”
I shrugged, not having an answer. I had named them on a whim, but it had felt like the names had been pulled from me. I put the Masks away to signal the end of discussion, since Alex was shaking hands with his sparring partners. I couldn’t help but notice the impressed, respectful looks on these hardened warriors’ faces. Then he was walking towards us.
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