When I met the ground, I let my body roll with the gravity and sprang back up, never breaking stride as I ran across the springy grass. I followed Wilcox into the building. Given how grievously wounded she was, Wilcox was surprisingly spry. She made it to the door before me and slammed it behind her, gaining a precious headstart as I wasted valuable seconds breaking the heavy glass with the hilt of my sword. I reached into the hole I’d made and unlocked the door from the inside to let myself in.
I ran up the Z-shaped stairs, only sparing a second to glance out the window at the mess hall. I couldn’t see into the courtyard from this angle, but I was high enough to see the occasional jinni soar up into the open air above the courtyard. Deirdre, Mergen and Egya—as well as thirteen loyal jinn—seemed to be making short work of Wilcox’s minions. The battle would be won—victory without casualties.
Well, victory with very few casualties, I thought as I made it to the seventh-floor landing.
I could hear the door to the communal bathroom fly open. Wilcox was taking refuge in a defensible room. She still had one good hand and a gun, which made her very dangerous indeed. I had no idea what her plan was. I doubt she did, either.
She’d lost, and now she was cornered.
Cornered rats don’t make plans.
But they also don’t hesitate to do anything bat-shit crazy to get out of said corner.
I pushed open the bathroom door. Three gunshots rang out. Looking up, I saw light stream through three bullet holes about a foot above my head.
Thank the GoneGods I’m short.
“Not ‘gone’ gods if you’d let me finish my ritual, you bitch!” Wilcox screamed back.
“Wilcox,” I said. “It’s over.”
“NO, IT’S NOT OVER! They’ll come back! They have to!”
“Your ritual failed. And even if it succeeded, I doubt it would have made a difference.”
Wilcox didn’t respond. Instead, I could hear her mumbling to herself. I had to really concentrate to hear what she was saying … and as soon as I was able to lock onto a couple words, I knew her plan.
Crap.
I burst through the door and saw exactly what I’d expected. Nate on his knees, Wilcox’s gun at his head. She was chanting the Incan incantation.
If she couldn’t sacrifice several hundred kids to the gods, then she could still give them one.
And now that Nate was no longer under Sal’s protective spell, nothing would come to possibly save him.
Nothing—except for me.
Without hesitation or second thought, I hurled my dirk at Wilcox. It whirled through the air in dazzling slow-motion. She tried to veer to the right, but she wasn’t fast enough. Instead of the sword splitting her down the center of the skull, it hit her just above her left eye.
Wilcox went down with a sickening thud.
Nate burst into tears—but not tears for his dead cousin. They were tears of relief, joy—tears of emancipation, of one who had finally found freedom. Sure, Nate had called me a bitch at Dr. Dewey’s vigil, but in all of this, he was just as much a victim as anyone else. He muttered one word over and over again, and this time it wasn’t “bitch.” It was “sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry … SORRY.”
I thought he was looking at me, but he wasn’t. He was staring behind me. I looked over my shoulder.
It was Sal. I guess in all the chaos, the apu had found a way out of the mess hall courtyard and came up here to see if he could help, too. That’s the thing about protectors. It’s not easy for them to stop loving those they protect.
Sal walked past me, drew close to Nate and gave him a powerful hug. As he held Nate, he turned to me and said, “What now?”
I shook my head. I honestly didn’t know, and at the moment I was staring at Wilcox’s body. I killed, I thought as I pulled my sword out of her skull. And not a Class C Other this time. A human. Even if I argued self-defense …
“No one will ever know what you did here,” Sal said.
This was one instant where I was glad for my little quirk of speaking my thoughts aloud.
What the apu did next was nothing short of astonishing.
He spread his hands out across the marble tiles of the bathroom floor, and right before our eyes everything turned to rock, slowly absorbing Wilcox’s body into it. Within moments she was gone, along with any trace of what I had done to her.
I made my way down the stairs and back across to the mess hall to find that the battle was, indeed, over. Wilcox’s jinn had all been dispatched, and Egya’s jinn were standing, frozen statues on the stone fountain. And as for the humans? Many were standing near Mergen, happy to have his protective presence near them. But even more rushed to the doors as Sal and I pried their gates up high enough for a safe exit.
By the time everyone had exited the mess hall and felt the refreshing air of the fields outside, the humans spontaneously decided to hoist Egya and Deirdre in the air and crowd surf them like rockstars. Egya was quick to get down—evidently, he did not like the attention, or the heights. But Deirdre—the changeling warrior—had finally found some acceptance here. They loved her for being a warrior. For being different. And for using that difference to save their lives.
None of them seemed to notice me, which was good. I’d lost my cherub mask somewhere in the climb over the mess hall, and the last thing I wanted was to be recognized. I was sure I’d be rewarded for saving them by being attacked. And I wasn’t sure I had it in me to kill another, even in self defense.
I might have helped save hundreds of lives—but I did so by tarnishing my own, newly human soul.
As I wandered around the field, I happened upon an item hidden in the grass. I knelt down and, to my surprise, found the cherub mask. Touching its ceramic cheek, I imagined that I caught a glimpse of my father’s own struggles in that angelic face.
Sometimes doing the right thing hurts, I thought, and then spoke aloud:
“But that doesn’t make it wrong.”
Epilogue
Sirens climbed the hill as the students sat outside waiting for help to arrive. As best as I could tell, no one was hurt. Sure there were some scrapes and bruises, a few bloody noses and whatnot, and a hell of a lot of terrified, most likely emotionally scarred kids—but no deaths. Well, no deaths except Wilcox … but given how Sal’s magic worked, I was pretty sure her body was absorbed into the bathroom floor of seventh landing of McConnell Hall forever.
She was gone for good. But considering what she tried to do, I could live with that.
Really, I could.
I didn’t wait for the police to show up. I just walked behind the mess hall and into Gardner Hall’s basement, where my room and bed waited for me. I figured that if the police needed to speak to me, they could come find me where I belonged. In bed, under my covers and away from anyone or anything.
Crawling into bed, I sighed and closed my eyes. Barely a second went by before there was a knock on the door.
I ignored it.
Then another knock.
I ignored that, too.
But when a heavy fist knocked a third time, I sighed heavily, got up and opened the door.
I was expecting a cop or ten, but when I saw Justin’s bloodied smile, my heart stopped beating for a couple seconds (and believe me, I know what it feels to not have your heart beat).
“You left,” he said. There was no scorn or anger in his voice. Just matter-of-fact, like he was trying to process what happened.
I didn’t say anything.
“The cops will want to talk to you. Well, not you, but the girl with the cherub mask.”
“They’ll find me eventually.”
Justin smirked. “I’m not so sure. I told them I was pretty sure the girl with the angel face was actually an angel who took to the sky after she saved us.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “What?”
“I mean—not many know who you are … I mean, really, truly are. And those of us who do—Sal, Nate and, well, me—we all said the same thing. And
that’s not all. Word is getting out. Dozens of students all saying you’re gone. Like Superman or something.”
“Supergirl, you mean?”
“Super-whatever,” he said, drawing me in close. With gentle hands that held my tight, he wiped away a few loose strands of hair from my face. “Thank you. And not just from me. From everyone. You saved us.”
I blushed. “I had help.”
“You did … and we’re thankful to them, too. But the kid who emerged from the almost politically incorrect white sheet said you were the one who figured it all out. You were the one who saved us.”
“I guess,” I said, looking down.
A firm and kind finger gently lifted my chin so that I was staring directly into Justin’s impossibly beautiful eyes. “Thank you,” he said again as he leaned down and kissed me.
I resisted at first, but feeling his warm lips on my own, I leaned into it. It was the first time I’d kissed anyone. Alive, that is. I died when I was fifteen, before I’d had any serious suitors, and now that I was alive again … well, kissing was good.
Eventually, we pulled away from each other and I thought, Does this mean were an item?
“An ‘item’?” Justin asked, laughing. “What are you—from the sixties?”
“Ahhh, actually, that expression is from the fifties,” I said. Hey, if I was going to think out loud, I might as well embrace it.
“OK, then,” he said, kissing me again. “We’re an item.”
I shook my head. “No—not yet. I need to tell you something. And I’m not quite ready. But I don’t want to start this with a lie … so … no. Not yet.”
He withdrew, narrowing his eyes. “Not yet, but … there’s hope?”
Right thing to say, I thought (and this time in my head). “Oh, there’s more than hope,” I said. “But I need time to … to figure out how to be a college student first. How about while I’m figuring it out, we have a couple dates? Real dates. Court me like I’m a Scottish gal from the nineteenth century.”
He smiled, stepped back and curtsied. “As you wish.”
“Actually,” I said, “Scottish suitors didn’t curtsey.”
“Oh … I figured that with the skirt—”
“Kilt.”
“—they curtsied. No?”
“No,” I said, grabbing his hand and guiding him to my door. “They bowed.”
Standing outside my door, Justin bowed. “Like I said, as you wish.” And with that, the boy with impossibly beautiful eyes and perfect black hair took his leave to give me time to figure out how to be … well, how to be human.
Again.
The next days saw a flurry of activity. Over one hundred human students dropped out, more Others moved in and the university finally found a return to normalcy that—given the circumstances—wasn’t very normal.
Deirdre, Mousey Girl (whose name, I discovered, was Aimee), Egya and I buried the gargoyle, whose real name was George Paul-Henri Gardien III. We found a quiet spot not too far from the neon cross and laid his stones to rest. Since Georgie was a guardian Other, Deirdre gave him a warrior’s funeral as the rest of us said our farewells.
Aimee cried.
And so did I.
But Georgie got his farewell. And in this new and terrible GoneGod world, that had to count for something.
Days passed and the routine of college life started to become … well … routine. Classes, dates with Justin that ended with PG-13 kissing, hanging out on campus … the university routine I figured must have taken place in-between the wild party scenes from the old college comedies. I was just finding my rhythm when one day—about a month after the 03 party—I opened my mailbox and pulled out a letter from the Library of Other Studies—apparently it was open again and I was to report to work starting Monday. I guess Dr. Dewey, the Old Librarian, had put in my application before he died.
GoneGodsDammit!
I mean … Oh, yay!
Monday morning I walked into my first day of work. A funny-looking woman who wore a bright blue blazer and red pants greeted me. She had a name tag that read Jennifer Brovavick and a smile that said Ask me anything.
I handed her the letter.
“Katrina Darling? I heard they were going to send me a little helper. I was half expecting an elf.” She chuckled at her own joke, but when I did not, her face went solemn. “Sorry. I take it this must be difficult for you.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“You did know David. Correct?”
“David?”
“Yes, the librarian who …” She looked at the back of the room.
“Dr. Dewey,” I said. “Yes, I knew him. He was the first friend I made here.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I nodded.
Jennifer Brovavick stood perfectly still for a moment before reaching into her jacket. “I found something amongst his stuff—he left you this.” She handed me an evelope with my name on it. “Take your time.”
She walked away, leaving me with a letter that was quite literally from beyond the grave. With hesitant hands, I opened it. Inside was a short note:
* * *
Dear Ms. Darling,
Regarding your inquiry as to who donated the McMahon tartan. Upon investigating the matter, I discovered that a Miss Charlotte Darling donated it. Suspecting that she is a relation of yours, but unable to give you her number directly due to university confidentiality clauses, I gave Miss Darling a ring and—
* * *
No, no, no, no!
* * *
discovered that she is indeed your—
* * *
“Kat … Katrina!” I heard an old familiar voice call my name.
* * *
mother. She informed me that she will be up for a visit at her earliest convenience. I do not know if I crossed any lines by mentioning your employment at the Library of Other Studies and—
* * *
“Yoo-whooo … Kat, dear. It’s me. It’s—”
* * *
wanted to give you a heads-up just in case I did.
Your friend,
David Dewey, the “Old Librarian”
* * *
“—Mom,” the voice called out.
I groaned. GoneGodsDammit.
And this time I meant to say it out loud.
* * *
The End
Continue the GoneGod World series in book two, Family Matters.
More from R. E. Vance
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About the Author
R.E. Vance lives in Edinburgh with his wife, one year old kid and imaginary dog where he enjoys a beautiful city, whisky (Scottish spelling, not mine) and long walks. All he really wants is to write stories based in Paradise Lot (and elsewhere). All he really hopes for is that his child is healthy (ten fingers, ten toes and at least two eyes are a good start) and that eventually he can can get a real dog so that he can have an excuse to go on even more long walks.
Read More from R.E. Vance:
www.paradise-lot.com/gonegodworld
Fateful Vampires: A Romance Begins
Cheri Schmidt and Tristan Hunt
Fateful Vampires: A Romance Begins © 2017 Cheri A. Schmidt
* * *
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including inf
ringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Fateful Vampires: A Romance Begins
A mythic romance blossoms...a dark legend discovered.
As vampires rise to power in England, love must conquer.
It's a dark time in England's history, as wars are being waged and the plague is sweeping across Europe, the mythic reign of vampires is about to begin.
Lady Sophia, a virtuous young maiden sent to a convent in Northumberland after the death of her mother, has her world turned upside down when she falls in love with a brave young page determined to become a knight under her father’s charge. When the most powerful vampire in the land sets his eye on Sophia for a wife, the young lovers must do the unthinkable to survive.
From the award-winning Fateful Vampire Series comes the much anticipated prequel...the story that starts it all...Fateful Vampires: A Romance Begins.
If you like the magic of Harry Potter and the romance of Twilight then you’ll devour Cheri Schmidt’s steamy, imaginative series.
Chapter 1
Sand Castles
Northumberland County, England
Bamborough Castle,
Eastern Shore of the North Sea
The Year of Our Lord, 1340
“You’ll have to run faster than that!” Beon shouted.
Sophia giggled as she pushed herself, trying to speed up, the feel of sand beneath her feet bringing a smile to her face. As did the mirth she could hear in Beon’s voice.
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 195