by T. A. Pratt
I thought of the Beast of Sunlight Shores. Whatever had killed the cultists – my cultists – was even more vicious than that creature had been, and may have been trapped under a similar seal. I hate coincidences. I’ve been around too many gods in my life to entirely believe in random chance.
“When did you last hear from the cultists?” I asked.
“They have a satellite phone, and their leader Ambrose called me just yesterday, to tell me they’d found something remarkable – but that was a claim I’d heard before, only to be confronted with a fist-sized piece of misshapen rock, or something that might have been the blade of a flint knife. Perhaps I should have taken them more seriously.”
“It’s not your fault, Pelly. None of us took it seriously, because we didn’t think it was serious. But now... you have to move on this thing. Get Rondeau to help you – he can consult oracles – and make Nicolette help, too, tell her if she doesn’t cooperate I’ll make her life miserable when I get back in town. Find this thing, whatever it is. My hope is that it only ate all the cultists because it had been trapped for who knows how long, and it was starving. If we’re lucky, it won’t need to feed again for a while, and it’s just curled up somewhere in the valley. At least we’re not in the middle of Manhattan or something.”
“And if we can track this creature?”
I chewed my lip. “There aren’t a lot of people left who owe me favors, huh? Perren River, on the council of sorcerers in Felport, was always fond of me, and still has gang connections with the Honeyed Knots, if we need muscle or trackers. I already owe the Bay Witch a favor, but she’s unpredictable, and she might help out if we asked sweetly. Try to track down whatever assistance you can, but in a pinch, send in Squat to fight the thing. He’s immortal, at least. If all else fails, hold the line and wait for me, and when I get back...” I shrugged. “I’ll do what I can. This thing getting loose is my fuck-up, and I should be the one to fix it.”
It was hard not to notice that the death toll among my cultists was way higher than that among the Eater’s cultists. In the Eater’s fucked-up way, he took care of his people.
I really need to do better.
I will remember the ones who fell in my service. I didn’t honor them in life, but I can honor their memories. And when the time comes, if I can, I will avenge them.
Here I am, in the room where I rose from the dead one month ago today. A few days ago I thought I’d done pretty good, but now, once again, I have to face the fact that I’ve cost people their lives by being thoughtless. Not so long ago I would have refused all responsibility – I didn’t ask these people to worship me, they chose that for themselves, it’s no business of mine if they got themselves killed – but I can admit my own part in it now. Their deaths are not wholly my responsibility, no, but I could have prevented them, if I’d taken a little more care.
I don’t have much longer, maybe just a few minutes, and –
Well, hell. There’s the door, appearing out of nowhere, but looking like it’s been there forever. Swinging open now.
And death is a door that, when it opens, you have no choice but to walk through.
FROM THE DESK OF NICOLETTE
(Pelham and Rondeau, you boot-licking fuckwits, if you find this, make sure Marla gets it when she drags herself out of the dirt next month.)
Dear Marla,
Forgive my handwriting, ha, but it’s not actually mine, obviously. I’ve compelled one of the maids in this shitty Vegas hotel to take dictation. I lured her in with magic – tickled her brain with the idea that there was a kid crying in here, scared and alone, she’s the compassionate kind – and once she got here, I snared her with a charm. She’s only mine for half an hour, but that’s plenty of time.
So, you’re a death goddess, huh? Yeah, I know. You thought you could keep it a secret from me? You’re so stupid. How do you literally become a god and still be so stupid? I may be just a head, but my hearing’s fine, and you let a few things slip, and more importantly, Tweedle-Rondeau and Pelham-Dum are crap at keeping secrets. They think because they put me on a shelf in a closet that I lost the ability to listen. Plus there was the fact that you should have died all those times and didn’t and, oh, yeah, the fact that you somehow kept me alive even though I’m just a head. It all kind of added up, and then I got confirmation.
Oh, and hey, I’m real proud of you. My nemesis is a goddess? They say you can judge a person by the quality of their enemies, and you are one primo enemy, so that just elevates me even higher.
By the time you read this I’ll be gone. Squat and I are hitting the road. Yeah, I brought him over to my side. First I just told him some of this shit you’ve done – the deaths you’ve caused, your ruthless political moves, how you snapped the neck of your last lover, how you caused the death of some of your closest friends, how even your old friend Dr. Husch wanted to murder you – I just told him what an asshole you are, basically.
I hardly even had to lie! Of course I did lie, also, because, why not? Once I had Squat basically on my side I got him to sneak around and spy a bit and, whaddya know, he found your stupid little journal. He was really worried about getting caught, so he read just far enough to find out I was right about you being a goddess, and about your month-on, month-off arrangement. (I wish I’d had time to read the whole thing. I bet it’s full of laughs.)
But Squat also read some of that shit about you trying to be a better person, blah blah blah, and I had to explain the concept of an “unreliable narrator” to him, to convince him you were really a total shit. He was resistant, though, leaning toward thinking you were maybe sort of okay, so then I told Squat something great: I explained how, because you’re a goddess, you could totally cure him of his curse if you wanted to, but that you preferred to use him for his muscle, and because it’s handy to have immortal cannon fodder around. (Was that even a lie? I mean, you are a goddess. People pray to goddesses for intercession and the healing of wounds. I know you’re a death goddess, not one of the traditional caring professions, but shit, power is power, right?) He hates you so much right now. Before you just kind of scared him, especially after the shit he saw you do in Moros, but now it’s pure hate. Funny, huh? A guy who’s cursed so no one can stand to be around him can’t stand to be around you.
Then I told Squat that, as a one-time disciple of the witch who cursed him, maybe I could cure him, if he helped me get my power back. And shut up, I did work with Elsie Jarrow for a while there, she taught me a lot – we bonded. The fact that she cut off my head doesn’t mean she didn’t like me. She was a chaos witch – we do crazy shit sometimes. I told Squat that if he got me out of here, preferably while you were off on your little field trip, I’d devote my energies to making him an ordinary human again.
I could probably do it, too, but fuck that – he’s immortal and as strong as a dump truck full of orangutans! I bet I can string him along for years.
He stole me a few charms from your bag, little things, stuff you’d hardly miss – and I ate them. I can’t eat food, and to sate the thing I have in place of hunger I need disorder and disaster, but I can absorb magic. Having no hands means I can’t do every spell I used to, and enchanting is a bit beyond me, but there are plenty of incantations I can still manage. I’ve been pretending to be a lot more helpless than I am. (Of course, you’re so self-absorbed, I probably didn’t need to bother with pretense.)
I bet you’re wondering what I’m going to do, with this month of free play I’ve got while you’re in the depths. There are so many possibilities, especially with Squat by my side. Maybe I’ll reunite the Marla Mason Revenge Squad – you left one or two of them alive, yeah? Or maybe I’ll find a way to destroy something you love. Or maybe I’ll do some serious research into how you kill gods – there’s gotta be a way, right?
You never respected me as an adversary. You probably think, now that you’re a goddess, you’re even more out of my league. But you’ll see. If you think being a deity makes you hot shit, you’re only h
alf right, and it’s not the “hot” part.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Dumb ol’ Nicolette, she’s missed the obvious thing – I gave her life, and I can take it away.”
And sure. You could just withdraw my immortality, and maybe you’ll do that – but maybe you should take a look at what I did during your month underground, first. I’ve got some plans that might make you hesitate to get rid of me. A month is a lot of time – time enough to make the consequences of you killing me even more awful than the legitimately super-awful consequences of keeping me around.
But you’ve never been sensible, and maybe you’ll kill me anyway, even if I do arrange it so my death will wreak all kinds of havoc. I’ll just have to live with the uncertainty. Hey, hurray! Uncertainty just makes me stronger. Worst case, I get a month to sow horror and discord to make your precious vacation from being a goddess into a total shit-pit of misery. A little welcome-home present for you.
Either way, Marla, it’s been fun. I’ll miss smelling your farts while I’m stuck on the back of your ugly-ass motorcycle. Until next we meet, screw you and the pale horse you rode in on.
See you next month, your goddessness.
Thugs and pisses,
Nicolette
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have a lot of people to thank for this one. My wife Heather Shaw, of course, is first, for her tremendous support in helping me find the time (between parenting and a full-time job) to write this book. Thanks to Lindsey Look for painting the stunning cover, to Zack Stella for drawing the kickass interiors, and to Jenn Reese of Tiger Bright Studios for the cover design. John Teehan of Merry Blacksmith Press has agreed, once again, to produce the trade paperback print version. My gratitude to Elektra Hammond for her excellent copyediting, and to Besha Grey for catching assorted errors in the text. Many of my friends and longtime readers spread the word about this novel, for which I’m eternally grateful.
But my biggest thanks go to the backers who made this possible. This book would not exist without the generous individuals who gave money to me directly, or through my Kickstarter campaign. Thank you to: @dxfl, A Anthony James, A Girl Named Pinky, Aaron McConnell, Adam Caldwell, Al Clay, Alasdair Stuart and Marguerite Kenner, Alex Lang, Alexa Gulliford, Alexa S., Alexander the Drake, Allen L. Edwards, Alpha Chen, Alumiere, Amanda Fisher, Amanda Stevens, Amy Kim, Andrea Leeson, Andreas Gustafsson, Andrew Barton, Andrew J Clark IV, Andrew Lin, Andrew Qualls, Andrew Wilson, Angela Korra'ti, Ann Lemay, Annabeth Leong, Anton Nath, Arachne Jericho, Arashi Veronica Lilith, Arlene E. Parker, Armi Gerilla, Arun Jiwa, Arun Jiwa, Athena Holter-Mehren, Athena Holter-Mehren, Atleb, Atlee Breland, Balazs Oroszlany, Bananasplit.us, Barb Moermond, Ben Esacove, Ben Meginnis, Beth Hoffman, Beth Rheaume, Beth Wodzinski, Brenda Hovdenes, Brian Callahan, Brian Ketelsen, Brittany, Brumley D. Pritchett, Bryan Sims, Bryant Durrell, C. Joshua Villines, C.C. Finlay, Carl Rigney, Casey Fiesler, Cat Rambo, catherine james, Catherine Waters, CE Murphy, Chad Price, Chamber Four, Charles Crowe, Chelle Parker, Chris 'Zero S' Parslow, Chris McLaren, Chris Schwarz, Christian Decomain, Christian Stegmann, Christine Chen, Christopher Todd Kjergaard, Cinnamon Davis, Claire Connelly, Claudia S., Cliff Winnig, Colette Reap, Colin Anderson, Collin Smith, Craig Hackl, Craig Marquis, Crystal Landry, D. Potter, Dan Percival, Dana cate, Dani Daly, Daniel and Trista Robichaud, Daniel McInerney, Danielle Benson, Dave Lawson, Dave Thompson, David Bell, David Harrison, David Harrison, David Martinez, David Rains, Dean M Roddick, Deanna Stanley, Deb "Seattlejo" Schumacher, Debbie Solomon, Deborah Vause, Deirdre Behan, Denise Murray, Duck Dodgers, Duncan McNiff, E. Tubert, Eain, Ed Fuqua, Ed Matuskey, Edward Greaves, Edward J Smola III, Elaine Williams, Eldritch, Eleanor Penley, Elektra, Elias F. Combarro, Ellen Sandberg, Elsa, Emma Bull, Emrya, Enrica P, Erica Stevenson, Erin Kowalski, Evan Ladouceur, Falcdragon, Ferran, Fran Friel, Fred Kiesche, Fuchsi, Gabe Krabbe, Gann Bierner, Gary Singer., Gessika Rovario-Cole, Glennis LeBlanc, Glyph, Gonzalo Bruno, Greg Levick, Greg van Eekhout, GrumpySteen, Guillaume Actif, Gunnar Högberg, H. Bledstein, Heather Richardson, Holly Kay, Hugh Berkson, I would like to remain anonymous, Ian Mond, Ira Green, Irina Ashel, Iysha Evelyn, J Kalinowski, J. Quincy Sperber, James Burbidge, James M. Yager, Janne T, Jason Italic, Jason Skaare, jason wilson, Jay Turpin, Jay Wilson, Jeff Huse, Jeffrey Reed, Jen Sparenberg, Jen W, Jenn Reese, Jenn Snively, Jennifer Berk, Jennifer Corbett, Jennifer Sander, Jennifer Scott, Jeremiah Tolbert, Jeremy Rosehart, Jerry Gaiser, Jessica Bay, Jim Crose, Jim Ryan, JM Templet, John Blankenship, John Dees, John Devenny, John Johnson, Johnathon Miller, Jon Eichten, Jon Hansen, Jon Lundy, Jon Lupa, José Rafael Martínez Pina, Josh Lowman, Juli McDermott, Julie Gammad, Justine Baker, K Greene, Karen Graham, Karen Mahoney, Karen Meisner, Karen Tucker, Kate Smith, Katherine Douglas, Kathleen Hanrahan, Kei Weinzerl, Keith Bissett, Keith Garcia, Keith Hall, Keith Teklits, Kelly Angelina Hong, Kendall P. Bullen, Keslynn, Kevin Hogan, Keyan Bowes, Kiara Pyrenei, Konstantin Gorelyy, Kris Downs, Kristin B., Kyle Mack, Laura Cox, Laura D., Lee Delarm, Leigh-Ann, Lexie C, Lianne, Lisa Wilson, LJ, Lori L. Gildersleeve, Lori Lum, Lunchtime Studios, Lunchtime Studios, Margaret Klee, Margaret Klee, Maria Lima, Marius Gedminas, Mark A. Buckmaster, Mark Kadas, Mark Loggins, Mark Rowe, Mark Teppo, Matt Leitzen, Matthew Galloway, Max Kaehn, Maynard Garrett, Melissa Tabon, Michael "Maikeruu" Pierno, Michael Bernardi, Michael Cross, Michael D. Blanchard, Michael Jacob, Michael Jasper, Michael M. Jones, Michelle, Mikael Olsson, Mikael Vikström, Mike and Jen Schwartz, Mike Bavister, Mike Wilson, Misha Narov, MK Carroll, Mo Soar, Morgan McCauley, Mur Lafferty, NA, Nancy Lebovitz, Natalie Luhrs, Nathan, nathan gendzier, Nayad Monroe, Nellie Batz, Nicole Dutton, Nicole Pinder, Olna Jenn Smith, Ori Shifrin, P. Kerim Friedman, Patrick Bennett, Paul "Anorak" Record, Paul Bulmer, Paul Echeverri, Paul R Smith, Pedro Manuel Arjona Argüelles, Peter Macinkovic, Phil Adler, Phillip Jones, pockets, Rachael Squires, Rachel Sanders, Ragi Gonçalves, Rasmus Bode, Rebecca Harbison, Reed Lindner, Renee D. LeBeau, Rian de Laat, Richard Leaver, Richard Scott, Rick Cambere, Ro Molina, Rob Steinberger, Robert Hilton, Robert Mark Waugh, Robin in Vermont, Roger Silverstein, Ron Jarrell, Rowan A., Russ Wilcox, Ryan Rapp, S K Stidolph, S. Nasiri, S.J. Elliott, Sam Brock, Samuel Montgomery-Blinn, Sandy, Sara Puls, Sarah Livingston Heitz, Scott Drummond, Scott Serafin, Sean Havins, Sebastian d'Hinnisdael, shadow, Shanna Germain, Shanyi Gu, Sharon B., Sharon Wood, Shef Reynolds, Shirley D, Siobhan Porter, Skyler Spurgeon, Sraedi ScatterbuG, Stephen Reid, Steve Smoot, Steven Desjardins, Steven Saus, Su, summervillain, Susan Marie Groppi, Sy Bram, szazszorszapathy, T4b, Tammy DeGray, Tammy Thaggert, Tania Clucas, Tara Rowan, Tara Yoshikawa, Taylor S Kendall, Ted Brown, Thomas, Thomas Wells, Tiffany Bridge, Tim Uruski, Tina M. Kirk, Tobias S. Buckell, Topher Hughes, Travis Dunn, Vincent Meijer, Von Welch, William P. Hassinger, Winston Worrell, Yaron Davidson, Yolanda Ray, Yoshio Kobayashi, and Zen Dog.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dear Me
The Context Problem
The Cult of the Bride of Death
City of Gold
Two Heads
Time Suck
Pale Horse
Godsdamnit
Gifts
Talk to the Head
Road Food
Small Rooms
Sunlight Shores
Ancient Oceans
No Picnic
Ghosts with Sharp Teeth
Honky Tonk
Nojimbo
Getting Ahead
Knowing Squat
A Plan Is a Thing that Fails
Crushes
Getting Clean
Cold Trail
Being an Account of Certain Oracular Visitations
East of Nowhere
Deader than Ever
Slabs
Another Great Escape
A Meeting of Minds
Hell Hath
Bride of Social Work
Valley of Death
From the Desk of Nicolette
Acknowledgments
r /> T.A. Pratt, Bride of Death (Marla Mason)