Goddess Scorned (The Forgotten Gods Series Book 2)

by ST Branton

  Likely not in an abandoned slaughterhouse.

  “And thank goodness for that.”

  I punched Monk’s name into the search bar on my phone. On the outside, the venerated tech mogul looked like an average guy surrounded by amazing things.

  “He looks like he could be a math teacher,” I remarked. “A math teacher with seven luxury cars.”

  Was it as simple as that? Money could go a long way to establishing an army. Maybe Monk was the prime investor bankrolling whatever was in the works behind the gods’ invisible curtain? It certainly seemed possible—the guy looked rich enough to buy whole continents.

  Which raised a whole new set of questions. What was he funding and why?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Anticipation cut through my efforts to sleep that night, despite the major bed upgrade and the forty-minute hot shower. Lying on my side in the dark, I ran through all the possibilities I could think of as to who SplitScreen might be.

  A random blogger? Or just a whackjob conspiracy theorist?

  Or maybe a bigwig at Monk Industries who had too much at stake to use their real name?

  I rolled onto my back and slipped the medallion around my neck. “Hey, Marcus?”

  Hail, Victoria. What bothers you at this early hour?

  “How big do you think this is? Like how deep does the rabbit hole go here?”

  Are you asking me what level of trouble you may find yourself in, should you see this through to the end?

  I smirked. “Yeah, more or less.”

  Marcus took his time to reply. Then he said, It is trouble of the highest order. A deep and roiling ocean. There are hidden depths and currents you cannot hope to see until you are already drowning. But I will do my best to guide you and keep you afloat, even through the worst of times. We shall not be defeated.

  The smirk on my lips softened into a real smile. I closed my eyes. “You got that right. These techheads won’t know what hit ‘em.”

  He was quiet for a while. Then he said, It is possible that this place has become entrenched in the gods’ dealings while we were busy cleaning up after Lorcan in New York. Promise me that you will be careful.

  “Yeah, of course.” I stifled a yawn. It figured that as soon as he started getting serious, my sleep drive would start to kick in. “I’m like an old pro at this, remember?”

  You are a young professional at best. At worst, you are simply young.

  “That’s why I got an old guy like you to help me out.” I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. “You just said it yourself, man. We’re not going to let this beat us. All we have to do is meet up with this SplitScreen guy and find out what he knows. I’ve done this a million times before.”

  Are you comparing this person to one of your mob men back home?

  “They’re called mobsters,” I said, grinning into the pillow. “And if SplitScreen is anything like Frank, then this is going to be a piece of cake. Trust me.”

  I trust you implicitly. But I do not trust others, and it is the others who hold the power at the moment.

  “That’s why we’re here.” I was mumbling now, sliding inevitably down toward sleep. “To get it back.”

  ***

  The big plate glass window on the front of Adam’s Rib, a little bistro wedged precariously on one of San Francisco’s slanting side streets, both surprised and worried me. I hesitated on the approach, trying to see inside at an angle without looking too conspicuous. Doing this, I understood why my enigmatic contact had chosen it—peering inside proved to be difficult.

  “Guess we’re going in blind,” I said to Marcus.

  Do you know any other way?

  A little bell chimed sweetly as I stepped across the threshold and into the presence of an empty reception counter. The sign standing nearby read: PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF. Following SplitScreen’s instructions, I took the table in the back-left corner, just out of the window’s range. It was then that I noticed the place was almost empty.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, last night’s confidence ebbing away. Was this a set-up?

  As if on cue, Marcus murmured, I do not like this.

  “That makes two of us. I feel like I’m about to be ambushed.”

  “Hi, welcome to Adam’s Rib!” said a cheery voice angling in from over my shoulder. I looked up into the sparkling blue eyes of a waitress with a wide smile. Not the ambush I was expecting. “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “Yes.” My throat felt very dry. “Could I get a water, please?”

  The longer I sat there, the more my brain screamed at me to get the hell out, SplitScreen or no SplitScreen. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being tricked.

  Or that I was being watched.

  “Of course,” the waitress said. “Here, I’ll leave you a menu to browse while you wait.”

  “Thanks.” She walked away, and I turned my attention back to the giant window. Why did it make me so damn nervous? And where was SplitScreen? Only two other people occupied the restaurant besides me, and they were ensconced in their own little corner. A terrible thought occurred to me. “Marcus,” I whispered. “What if this place is a front?”

  What do you mean?

  “I mean, what if it’s not really a restaurant? I could’ve walked straight into a Trojan Horse just now.”

  Traditionally, the Trojan Horse did the walking.

  “I’m not asking for a damn history lesson. I’m saying that I think we’re in danger.”

  Probably, but it is too late to retreat now. You must be vigilant. Do not let anyone surprise you.

  “Including the waitress?”

  Especially the waitress.

  Right on cue, she approached with a glass of water. I made a concentrated effort to wipe all hints of suspicion off my face.

  “Here you are!” She just could not stop beaming directly into my eyeballs. “I’ll give you a few minutes, okay?”

  She thought I was being stood up. “Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Where the hell was SplitScreen?

  Two more minutes ticked by in slow motion. I checked my phone once for emails, then twice. On the third pass, Marcus gave me an auditory nudge. Victoria. Observe.

  On the other side of the window, a small hooded figure came up to the door. The bell chimed. Their eyes were obscured by a giant pair of aviators, but the direction of their face made it look like they focused on my table. They made a beeline for me.

  I kept my mouth shut until the stranger had slipped into the booth across from me. They’d pulled a hat down over the glasses, and the whole lower half of their face was obscured by a thick black scarf. We stared at each other.

  “Tell me what you know,” SplitScreen said.

  I blinked.

  SplitScreen was a girl.

  She was also absolutely stone-faced, and the rainbowed reflective lenses of her aviators acted as an impenetrable defense against me. I’d expected her to unwrap the scarf from her face, but that was apparently not happening anytime soon. Her hands stayed under the table, out of sight. It made me nervous.

  Was this chick packing heat?

  “Spit it out,” she said. “You said you had something good.”

  The touch of impatience jolted me back into real time. To my dismay, making something up was a lot harder with those damn aviators boring into my skull.

  I would strongly advise you to not mention the gods at this juncture.

  So naturally, my brain took the other path. “Monk is working with vampires.”

  That is not exactly what I meant.

  “Keep your voice down,” SplitScreen murmured. “Also, Vampires? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Her head was turned just to the side, presumably so she could monitor the view out the front of the restaurant. Over her other shoulder, the smiling waitress angled back toward the table, but as soon as she saw my new companion, she made a neat U-turn.

  I would have spent more time questioning it if I wasn’t so relie
ved.

  “Look, I saw your blog about the bodies,” I said.

  “There are a lot of those.”

  I pursed my lips. “The ones without blood in them.”

  “Uh huh. And your groundbreaking conclusion is vampires? Twilight much? I think I’m going to have to pass on this.” She scooted her chair backward. “Thanks anyway, I guess. And if anyone asks, which they shouldn’t, you never saw me, and you don’t know who I am.”

  “No, wait.” Desperation threatened to weave its way into my voice. “That’s not the whole story. It’s way bigger than that. I need your help.”

  She paused for a moment, on her feet. I could see her mulling it over, the gears turning behind her full-face getup. “You need someone’s help. But probably not mine.”

  Then she pushed the chair in and strode toward the door before I had the chance to say anything else. I stood up, too, but it was too late. SplitScreen was out the door.

  Hmm.

  “Shut up. Don’t you say a damn word.” Watching her bundled form hurry toward the crosswalk, I sighed into my water. “Now what?”

  I have received strict instructions not to say a word.

  “Ugh. Marcus—”

  As I stood their talking to thin air, a dark van swooped up to the curb, barely stopping as the side door slid open. One second, SplitScreen was there, and the next, she was gone in a cloud of exhaust.

  “Holy shit! Did you see that?” It had not been my original intention to follow the blogger—even I had enough common sense to know that was a bad idea—but unless I’d hallucinated the last fifteen seconds, I had just witnessed her kidnapping.

  And that changed things somewhat.

  “Come on.” I was talking to Marcus, even though he really had no choice in the matter. “We’re going after her. This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Go quickly. The nectar in your veins is not enough for you to outrun a steel chariot.

  “It’s enough for me to try.” I brushed past the poor waitress on my way out, nearly spinning her around. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I just really have to go.”

  She called after me. “Thanks for stopping in!”

  I reached the sidewalk just in time to catch the boxy back end of the van whipping left at the end of the block. The light at the intersection turned yellow, then red, and I took the opportunity to dart into the flow of traffic, zig-zagging around cars as they slowed to a stop. A chorus of half-angry, half-bewildered honks tracked my progress across the street, but as a native New Yorker, the noise barely registered in my consciousness.

  I popped up over the opposite curb and dashed headlong after the retreating van. “Hey, can you read that plate for me?” I asked Marcus. “You’re sort of all-knowing now, right?”

  He frowned audibly. As I’ve said before, my access to the world is currently limited to what your senses can provide. And your vision is far from perfect. I think we need a pair of correctional lenses.”

  “Oh, that is bullshit!” But instead of wasting time and breath arguing with him, I pushed my legs harder. Another main street crossed up ahead, and this one was even more clogged with traffic. Not only that, but I spotted a narrow back way, which I knew from experience likely led to shortcuts.

  While the van nudged its way into the crawling stream of cars and trucks, I zipped back across the asphalt and down the alley. Narrow urban spaces were quickly becoming my new native habitat. I guessed there were some things every city in the world must have in common.

  At least this one didn’t reek of garbage.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I scrambled over the dead-end wall and hit the ground running on the other side, keeping the main street city traffic on my left. The area beyond the alleyway turned out to be residential, dotted with fences, lots, and the occasional hedge. When I finally found access to the roadway again, at first, I couldn’t see the van anywhere.

  “Damn it to hell! I think—”

  Over there.

  The roof of the van drifted in the middle lane, twenty feet away. It was trying to carve a path, but midday traffic in San Francisco was just as unforgiving as its East coast counterpart. But, of course, as soon as I laid eyes on my target, the current picked up again. I needed to find a way to game the system and fast.

  That was when I noticed the pedestrian bridge crossing over the street. “Aha!”

  It was behind me in the wrong direction, but if I played my cards right, I could totally make up the difference. Or I hoped I could. Out of time, I sped toward the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. Although it wasn’t a warm day, the sun beat down on the top of my head, and I felt weirdly exposed. A stiff breeze pulled its fingers through my hair.

  I positioned myself over the correct side of the bridge and gazed down at the traffic passing below. The height hadn’t looked like much on the ground, back when this had seemed like a good idea, but I felt the reliable old lurch in my stomach. Was I really about to fling myself off a city bridge just to try and catch up with a getaway van?

  Yep.

  The railing, made of strong metal piping, held my weight nicely. I perched on the rungs long enough to scout my landing prospects and get a feel for the black van’s most likely route. There was an on-ramp in the near distance. It was probably heading for the freeway, which meant I had to get to it first or else I’d lose my mark for sure.

  I stepped up higher on the railing, swaying in the breeze, eyes narrowed against the unrelenting sunshine. Directly below, a flatbed carrying what looked like a dumpster emerged from the shadow below the bridge. It was full of all kinds of weird garbage, but the thing I cared about the most was a slab of old foam resting across the top.

  “Look at that,” I said to Marcus. “It’s like the universe wants me to do this kind of stupid shit.”

  I would tell you not to, but I know it will do no good, he responded. Instead, I will request that you please attempt to preserve yourself. It would be an apocalyptic disaster if I had to find another hero, particularly in my current form.

  “No promises,” I shouted, then lunged.

  I pushed off the bridge with my back foot, catapulting into the air and crossing my fingers that I’d calculated correctly. The colored gleam of traffic fell away and then came rushing up to meet me way too fast. It was stupid, but I shut my eyes at the last second. If idiocy was going to wipe me off the planet, I didn’t want to see it coming.

  Instead of asphalt, my face struck the rough foam with all the grace of a botched Olympic dive. The edge of my molars dug into the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, and the shock of impact reverberated through my whole skeleton, but when I rolled over and snapped my eyelids open, the cerulean blue of the sky beamed down at me. Moments later, the familiar scent of trash assaulted my nostrils. “San Francisco smells like ass.”

  Surely, you did not think this cushion rested atop a bed of flowers.

  “Ugh.” Gripping the edge of the shipping container, I pulled myself up on the rim and sat with my legs dangling over the hitch, peering over the roof of the cab for signs of the van. As expected, it signaled right and slid onto the freeway ramp almost as soon as I’d found it again. This time, luck was on my side. My driver followed suit.

  I let out a sigh of relief. One crazy jump I could manage, but trying to switch rides would’ve been a total nightmare.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat on that rectangle of foam, hunched over to protect myself from the wind. Every now and then, I poked my head up to make sure we were still tailing the van, and as soon as I saw it veering down the exit in front of us, I knew it was almost time to bail.

  “Marcus?”

  Yes?

  “Full disclosure: I don’t really know how to do this part.”

  You are about to find out. It’s like all great adventures. Did I ever tell you about the time I battled a Griffin?

  “Not now, Marcus,” I shouted.

  Making sure my grip was as tight as possible on the side of the container, I leaned down to t
ry and get an idea of how fast we were actually moving. A loose strand of hair whipped into my face, bringing with it a sour stench. I grimaced. Maybe we weren’t rocketing along at highway speeds anymore, but it still felt way too dangerous just to drop off the side.

  Then the truck took a curve, and my center of gravity swung down, nearly solving the problem for me.

  Victoria!

  “Oh, shit! Shit!”

  The force generated by the turning truck swung me dizzyingly outward before it crushed me up against the metal siding of the dumpster. My arm twisted, and a sharp, hot pain shot down from my shoulder. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I swear time stretched out for an instant or two.

  The truck began to slow down, and its body straightened up, leaving me hanging like a damn windsock from the edge. I started to pull myself back up one-handed. Then, I saw a red traffic light coming up and embraced the lightning bolt of luck that had just been bestowed upon me. As the truck rumbled to a halt, I dropped ten feet to solid ground.

  “That was way too fucking close,” I muttered, darting off to the curb. Some car behind me emitted a confused little honk, but I didn’t even look. I’d lived in a major metropolitan center long enough to know that eventually they’d see something weirder than a girl jumping out of a dumpster on a flatbed.

  Are you all right?

  “I’m great. It’s not every day that I get to make a truck full of garbage look that cool.” More importantly, I’d caught a glimpse of the black van on the other side of the intersection, making a right. “I mean, I don’t smell as cool as I look, but don’t worry about it. We need to move.”

  If I hadn’t been sure about having heightened abilities before, booking it down that stretch of road made the transformation abundantly clear. Marcus was right—I couldn’t quite keep pace with the van, but it wasn’t shaking me off, either. I might have even gained some ground.

  It felt pretty damn amazing. Not quite up to leaping a building in a single bound but amazing nonetheless. For the first time in years, there was a sense that things were getting better. In some ways, anyway.