by ST Branton
My glass landed back on the table a little more heavily than intended. She was making me nervous.
“Just curious. It looked like you two got along pretty well. I would have assumed he’d leave you a forwarding address or something.”
There is no need for this “forwarding address,” said Marcus cheerfully. You have inherited my family’s medallion, and thus, you have custody of my spirit. It is an honor.
At the moment, it didn’t really feel like one. The beginnings of a headache were putting down roots in my temples.
“I don’t think he has one,” I told Jules lamely, desperate to change the subject. “Want me to go get us another round?”
She cast a glance over toward the bar. “Yeah, why not? There’s a guy up there who’s been checking you out since we got here. Maybe you can make a new friend.”
I believe your life would be positively enhanced by the addition of more friends.
“No thanks. I’ve got enough men in my life as it is.” Grabbing both my glass and Jules’s, I headed up to the bar and set them in front of the bartender. “Can I get a refill?”
He gave me a friendly smile. “Sure. Give me just a second.”
It made me uneasy to stand with my back to the whole room, so I sank strategically down on one of the barstools to wait, scanning the area. Everyone in there was dressed better than me, drinking in dresses and button-downs, with phones and jewelry on full display. From a security standpoint, the finery didn’t make me feel better.
Rocco and his ilk had nice things, too.
But if they had gold watches, I had a sword, and I was pretty sure that would give me the edge if some shit happened to go down. Bringing this particular sword to a gun fight no longer made me nervous.
Be at peace, Victoria. There are no threats here. Even without a body, Marcus’s smirk was audible in my mind. The amorous gentleman at the end of the bar is keen to make your acquaintance, judging by the way he keeps turning toward us. Perhaps you ought to take Jules’s advice.
“No.” My voice stayed low. It was still strange to talk to Marcus out loud, but he couldn’t read my mind, which was both good and bad. “And how do you know there are no threats here? Can you read minds or something?”
I am simply both observant and experienced, if you must know. And besides, this location is much too refined for the likes of any underling. And if Lorcan himself were here, I’m sure I would know.
“And you’d tell me, right?”
Of course.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my would-be admirer start to slide off his stool and approach me. He might’ve given me Deacon flashbacks if he were even half as attractive. “Shit.”
“That guy isn’t coming to give you trouble, is he?” The bartender had returned with fresh drinks while I was preoccupied.
I turned to him, willing my nerves to steady up so that the drinks didn’t spill everywhere. “Ah, no. I was just leaving anyway.” Then I scuttled back to the table where Jules was waiting, an amused smirk on her face. I put her martini in front of her. “Don’t you say a damn word. Just drink.”
Jules swirled her olives around the glass, examining me again. “You know, I seem to recall you having a different attitude toward meeting boys in bars during college,” she said slyly.
This sounds like a tale I would very much like to hear.
Burying my face in my hands, I groaned. “Let’s not do this right now.”
I disagree. Let us proceed. Marcus’s invisible grin only widened with every passing second.
“Is it Ezra’s friend?” Jules prodded, somewhat gleeful. “What’s his name? The cop?”
“First of all, he’s FBI. He made it a point to let me know.”
“Ooh, spooky.” Another sip of the martini disappeared behind her lips. She was obviously enjoying this torment of my soul, and I couldn’t really blame her. It had been a long time since we’d last been able to just hang out as friends.
But she was really digging in here. “Second, I can’t believe you already forgot his name. You met him like a week ago. It’s Deacon.”
“Right.” She shrugged in a sue-me kind of gesture. “I know so many law enforcement guys, Vic. He’ll have to stand out if he wants me to remember him.”
“What?” I asked. “His face isn’t enough?”
“Aha!” Jules slapped the table. “You do like him! I knew it!” Her giant smile was so infectious that I found myself returning it across the table.
“Shut up. I never said that. I plead the fifth.” A blush threatened to creep up into my cheeks, but I forced it down through sheer willpower. I’d never hear the end of it if she saw me blushing over Deacon.
“That’s total crap, and you know it,” Jules said. “You’re incapable of physical attraction unless you like the guy too.”
Glancing away, I took a deep, purposeful pull from my beer. “This conversation is turning into slander.”
Jules rolled her blue eyes. “Would you stop being so defensive? I’m happy for you! I haven’t seen you exercise this much emotional capability since…” She trailed off, and we both were quiet for a minute. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it.” But the seed of melancholy had been planted, and in my tipsy state, I felt it spreading. The rest of my beer went down in one swallow. “I should go, though. I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”
“Okay.” She sighed, got up from her seat, and put her arms around me for a big squeeze. “Look after yourself, Vic. And don’t be a stranger. I’m always here for you.”
“I know.” The only smile I managed this time was a little bit sad. “Thanks, Jules. I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t offer to walk out with me.
CHAPTER THREE
Marcus was quiet for a while as I walked down Brooklyn side streets, winding my way toward a destination he didn’t know. My feet walked themselves through the dusky shadows of New York’s night. They knew where we were going, even if my heart didn’t want to admit it.
You never told me much about your past adventures.
I ran my fingers along the medallion’s chain. The feel of its gold links soothed me somehow. “I bet you wish she would’ve finished that story, huh?”
Personally, I was glad she hadn’t. Hearing about myself from back then, before life had broken into a million unrecognizable pieces, still hurt—not as much as it used to, but a little more than I wanted to admit. It just made the “what-ifs” start full force in my brain.
What if my parents were still alive? What if I lived in a real house and had a real job, and lived a real, normal life?
What if none of this had ever happened?
I will always be interested to hear of your life, should you choose to share it with me. We are family now, after all.
The medallion warmed against my skin as if to let me know that Marcus was there, walking in spirit beside me. Closing my hand around the chain, I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Maybe someday. Not today.” It took me a second to choose the next words carefully. “When we get to where we’re going, I’m gonna take this off, okay? I’ll put it back on when I’m done. I promise. I just need to be alone for a while.”
I always felt a shade of guilt whenever I removed Marcus from my neck, essentially cutting him off from my plane of existence. It was hard to imagine what that was like for him. Then again, we hadn’t become one person after he died. I was still entitled to all the privacy in the world. Maybe it just felt weird to be so totally in control of something.
For once.
Take whatever time you need. I will be here when you are ready.
Marcus could be annoying. He could be worse as a voice in my head than he ever was in the short days he spent by my side. But he remained steadfast, and he had a knack for finding the right words to say.
That was all I could ask for, really. And he was right—the dead Centurion was the only family I had.
> The medallion sat heavy in my right pocket as I crept down the row in Cypress Hills, picking through the darkness for the all-too-familiar marker in the ground. It was flat and tidy, and it bore nothing but their names. Edward and Loretta Stratton, born apart, died together.
“Hey, guys.” I knelt carefully in the grass beside the marker, brushing stray specks of dirt and grass from the simple engraving. It had been all I could afford inside such a famous cemetery, but more than that, I wanted their resting place to match who they were. Humble, sweet, kind, and settled down in a world much, much bigger than them.
The silence in a graveyard has its own texture, its own soft weight. In the days when my loss was still fresh, I’d come to Cypress Hills a lot just to sit in front of the plot and cry, shielded by the somber stillness. It was the one place where I was never bothered. No one gave me a second thought, but at least, in the cemetery, they gave me space.
I breathed in the cool night air and shut my eyes. Memories—some vivid, some vague—slipped through my mind, one after the other. There I was, coloring at the kitchen table with Mom, scribbling a new set of crayons down to nubs. There was Mom, tucking me into bed, leaning over to kiss my forehead the way she did every single night. I smelled her mint and lavender soap.
“I love you, Victoria,” she’d whispered.
And then I saw Dad launching me down the street in front of our house at a run, pushing the bike forward with all his might, yelling, “Pedal, Victoria, pedal! You can do it!”
His voice was stronger than Marcus’s.
A tear sneaked out the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheek, pulling me back to the present. Even with my eyes open, Dad’s voice echoed from the past, full of hope and promise.
“I don’t know, Dad,” I said softly. The grave marker blurred, and a sigh escaped me. “I started all of this for you, for you and Mom. Now it’s so much bigger than all of us. You taught me to be strong and I am, but is that strength enough to level against the gods?” No answer, of course. So I provided my own. “It’ll have to be.”
I had spent so long thinking that Rocco Durant was my endgame, that everything would sort itself out once he was dead. Then I learned about the gods. Now, I was barreling down a whole different warpath, one that I hadn’t even had the luxury of choosing for myself. But sometimes, the most important paths chose you.
I traced the letters of my parents’ names with my finger. It was difficult not to wonder how they might have felt if they could see me now. The hunt for justice had made me a criminal, and it had stained my hands with blood and ash. It was a far cry from taking up the family business of check cashing, or whatever the hell they wanted my life to be.
Stability? None. A roof over my head? Technically. A warm, loving family environment? Well, I had an ancient soldier in a pendant around my neck.
The breeze sifted through my hair, bringing me back to my bike in the street and Dad running behind me. He was still shouting. “Pedal! Pedal! You can do it!” And as I went sailing over the pavement on my own for the first time, he let out a whoop of unfiltered joy. “Yes! Look at you go!”
Instead of crying, I smiled this time. Maybe I could stand in the face of the gods. Luck hadn’t been on my side in five years, but strength and determination were solidly in my corner. If I could take down a mob-boss-turned-vampire, I sure as hell could keep moving forward to see what the gods had in store.
The sword hilt shifted in my bag as I got to my feet. I patted it and blew a kiss to my parents. The flower stand beside their plot stood empty. “I’ll bring some next time,” I said sheepishly. “I’m a little short on cash right now.”
Hail, Victoria. The medallion settled in its customary position against my sternum. It warmed each time Marcus spoke, sort of like a weird little heartbeat. He didn’t ask about where I’d been, or why I required privacy. I didn’t tell him.
“I’ve made a decision,” I declared, leaving the iron fences of Cypress Hills behind me. “Obviously there are things that need to be done, and I’m the one to do them, for better or worse. Whatever the gods are planning, we’re gonna get to the bottom of it. But I’ll need your help.”
Were you not fully committed before? He was not hurt or accusatory, only curious.
“I mean, I sort of didn’t have a choice, dude. It was either get involved or let you drown in the river. We’ve talked about this.”
True. I have always been an excellent recruiter.
“Very funny. But seriously, what’s our next move?” The grimy, fangless face of the vamp I’d dispatched before meeting Jules flashed in my mind’s eye. “We’ve been chasing these bloodsucking douchebags for weeks, and I feel like we’re just running in place.”
Things have been conspicuously slow, he admitted. I too had hoped another clear avenue would have presented itself by now.
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s just—if I’m going to save the world, I need to know what kinds of threats I’m facing. Seems only fair.”
I only wish I could direct you exactly, but I’m afraid the whims of the gods are fickle. The sole constant is crushing war. Which will mean more or less total annihilation for humans. They are being very serious when they speak of world domination.
“Basically, you’re saying they just want to screw us over any way they can.” I frowned. “Wow. Love that.”
No. They want to own this planet like they used to. Screwing you over is simply a fringe benefit. He paused. You will need to improve your performance if you want to have any hope of stopping them. There was a close call in the alley earlier. If I did not know better, I might think you were getting sloppy.
“What? Come on. It’s been a couple weeks at most. How can I already be getting sloppy?”
Good question. You are fortunate to have made excellent friends with a Roman centurion, then.
I groaned, suddenly anticipating many more blasphemously early mornings spent swinging at the air with a sword. “Okay, okay. I’ll do better. But we need more than just practice. I can get as kickass as I want, and we’ll still be shit out of luck without any leads. I’m tired of waiting for their next attack. It’s time to try taking the offensive.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I dragged myself out of bed before dawn the next morning, maneuvering gingerly around the curled-up cat who lay purring in the center of the blankets. A splash of freezing water shocked the fog from my brain. One pair of sweatpants and a torn sweatshirt later, I slipped the medallion over my head. “Hey. You ready?”
I don’t really sleep anymore, so yes, I’m ready. Are you?
“I don’t get any readier than this.”
A pair of filled water drums, the big kind made for office coolers, rested near the foot of my bed. As a pre-training exercise to get me in the right mindset, I had taken to lifting these things in lieu of actual weights. I held each one of them over my head, pausing long enough that my arms begin to burn, before I slowly eased them down until they were parallel with the floor. The muscles in my back and throughout the rest of my core woke up and shouted at me.
“You know what I really like?” I said, to no one in particular. “Being strong enough to do this kind of crap!” I found it both exhilarating and empowering.
Not bad...for an amateur.
“Dude.” I laughed a little breathlessly as I did another rep. The water sloshed and I slowed my pace, focusing on control. “Let me have this.”
But military pressing water wasn’t the main objective—just a little diversion I used to stoke the fires of confidence at whatever ungodly hour it was. Once the jugs had come back to rest on the floor of the loft, it was time to get down to business.
Bending over, I picked up a training sword that was missing a big chunk of the blunt blade. “Remind me to find some replacements for these. We really did a number on them.”
A worthwhile sacrifice. Your sword work is improving. I’d rate it a hair above terrible now.
I rolled my eyes, then got to work. The busted trai
ning blade still created a satisfying whish through the air when I swung it. I had to hold it tighter than usual so its unbalanced weight wouldn’t send it careening out of my hand. The loft—and my furniture—still bore the scars of my very first vampire encounter. The last thing I needed was to wreck my own place all over again.
Fortunately, my warm-up drills were becoming second nature. The act of swinging had been transformed from an awkward, clumsy movement to something approaching gracefulness. I still didn’t look half as cool or majestic as Marcus cutting down goons five minutes after being pulled from the river, but at least progress was being made.
I never thought I’d be proud of my swordsmanship someday.
Good. Watch your feet. A clever opponent will exploit your balance to his own advantage.
Of course, it helped that I had Marcus talking in my ear. How many people can say they’ve been trained by a Roman centurion?
“Can I ask you something?” I stepped forward, twirled, and brought the training sword down in a slashing arc.
Anything. As long as you mind your feet.
“Uh huh. How often did Kronin actually need to use his sword?” He fell silent. “Be honest, Marcus.”
After the war, sightings of the Gladius Solis were rare. The gods’ great violence took on a different, more subtle nature once they were banned to Carcerum. Acts of deceit, subterfuge, espionage. Even in a realm of peace and beauty, their thirst for power couldn’t be satisfied.
“They sound like us. But how many times did you personally see Kronin use this thing?” Jabbing at the air, I envisioned the spot where a vampire’s heart would be.
Once. Marcus paused. Something I wasn’t used to. The day he died.
“Lucky him.”
You are not living in times of peace, and you do not carry the authority of the greatest being who ever lived. Now, picture your foe before you.
“Already on it.” Rocco Durant’s ugly mug was still my default as far as the face of my worst enemy went. Some part of my brain had a hard time processing the fact that he was gone, that I had really killed him. Obviously, there had been other fights since then, during which I’d seen other vamps, but Rocco’s death remained surreal.