by ST Branton
Maybe because in my mind, destroying him had always meant freedom. And I wasn’t free. If anything, I was in deeper than ever.
My foot slipped, and the training sword clattered to the floor. “Shit.”
Focus, Victoria. A wandering mind leads to a weak blade.
“Sorry.” Shaking it off, I lifted the weapon, which felt way lighter than it used to. Yeah, it was missing a piece, but I was also stronger now, and faster. Another reason I had to be extra careful training in the loft. That sorry excuse for a punching bag wouldn’t cut it anymore.
Tell me what is on your mind. Perhaps I can ease your burden.
“Not much.” It was a blatant lie, given that he had just witnessed me tripping over nothing. As if to prove my point, I wound up for a charging strike, leapt forward, and promptly broke another splinter off the edge of the wooden trainer.
Not much, Marcus repeated. For a guy who was thousands of years old, he had a surprisingly firm grasp of sarcasm.
“Okay, okay. Let me take five.” I laid down the broken sword and trudged over to my mattress. The cat yawned as I sat down next to her, waking her up. “It’s just, the sword still doesn’t feel quite right. How did he used to use it to subdue the gods when I still feel like a kid trying on my mom’s shoes when I’m swinging it around, you know? It doesn’t feel like I’m ready to face off against someone else who doesn’t just have a shitty gun.”
Funny how a few fights with Kronin’s sword had changed my opinion of firearms so thoroughly.
Marcus laughed. All warriors feel this way at the beginning. The ones who say they do not are liars. I was like you once.
“How do I get past it?” My fingers scratched behind the cat’s soft ears. “If I go out there feeling like this, I’m gonna get my ass kicked. We both know that.”
But do you have these doubts in the heat of a fight?
I took a minute to think about that one. The conclusion was pleasantly surprising. “Not really. I gotta say, wielding this thing is a real confidence-booster.”
I am sure Kronin would agree with you. He paused. It is also true that you have not yet unlocked the blade’s full potential—at least according to the legends. I figured it would come to you when the time was right, but perhaps you require a nudge in the right direction. Go retrieve it, and we will try something new.
Grabbing the Gladius Solis from its resting place against the wall by the bed, I stood up and walked to the center of the room. My body automatically arranged itself into a fighting stance with the weapon out in front. Insecurities aside, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel at least a little bit awesome every time. There was just something about that sword.
Dare I say magical?
Throw it.
I hesitated, unsure if Marcus had actually said that. “Excuse me?”
Throw the sword. Not hard. At the bed.
This was definitely above my level. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which throwing my only real weapon would end well, but I forced myself to trust Marcus and do what I was told. Conscientiously avoiding the cat, I tossed the sword hilt onto the mattress. Its weight sagged the edges down. The cat meowed accusingly. “Sorry, cutie,” I said. “Marcus made me do it for reasons he hasn’t told me yet.”
Kronin had the ability to call the Gladius Solis when he needed it or when it was out of his reach. This was exceedingly useful to him over the duration of the war, and I suspect it will be helpful to you as well, provided you can learn the technique.
“What’s the technique?” I couldn’t resist a smirk. “Do a headstand in a swamp? Wear a cape and become the god of thunder?”
Truly, your wit grows every day. No. Just hold out your hand and call.
“Like, out loud?” Still smiling, I held my hand palm out. “Gladius Solis?”
Nothing.
Marcus sighed. You must command it, Victoria. You are not asking permission. The sword must know to work in concert with you.
With the smile forcibly wiped off my face, I refocused my mental energy on the hilt. “Gladius Solis.”
This time, the sword twitched where it lay. The bedsheets shifted a little.
Try again.
I cleared my throat and imagined the sword as mine and no one else’s. Kronin, Hero-King of the Gods? Just some dude who got wrecked by his ex-best-friend. It was all about me now. “Gladius Solis!”
The sword lurched off the bed and hit the floor with a loud, heavy thud. I winced. The cat sprang up, her tail puffed all the way out. She hissed.
Hmm. Marcus said. I think this will take some work.
“Yeah, I’ll just plan on holding on to this thing for now.” I rescued the hilt from the floor and leaned it back in its place. “Maybe I’m not cut out for mind tricks.”
It is not a mind trick. The wielder fosters a connection with the sword which can manifest on demand.
“Well, I think the cat is traumatized.” I reached to pet her, and she ducked away from my hand, eyes wide and staring. “Yep. That’s the face of someone who’s gonna need therapy. Vic the Bold, defender of the world, terrorizer of small furry mammals. It has a certain ring to it.”
I’ll be sure to alert the bards.
I could almost feel his nonexistent eyes rolling.
***
Dawn broke as my skillet sizzled on the hot plate, full of the last eggs and bacon in my otherwise empty fridge. I’d been trying to do better about stealing ever since I’d come to grips about my place in the new cosmic order. It didn’t exactly feel right to be pickpocketing at the same time as I was trying to save the world.
Then again, I had to eat. And no one was going to pay me a living wage to do the shit I had to do.
“What’s next?” I poked at the eggs with a spoon. Things had been relatively quiet up until the night before, and it was starting to make me antsy. The bastards had been running a regular vampire factory in the Meatpacking District, and given the scale of that operation, I was willing to bet it wasn’t the only one they had. They weren’t going to quit just because some girl got under their skin.
Even if that girl was carrying a god-king’s sword.
No, they were up to something for sure. I just didn’t know what, and for once, I couldn’t beat it out of anyone.
You were correct last night. It is past time we change our approach if we want to make a real difference in the wars to come.
“You mean I have to stop punching people and stabbing them with a big-ass knife?” I made a big, dramatic sigh. “Fine. It hasn’t done me much good so far anyway. Though I have to say, I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.”
Your pride is not necessarily misplaced, but I must inform you that not all minions of the gods will be so easy to vanquish. Lorcan is simply economizing his power, for now. When the time comes, be certain that neither he nor any of his counterparts will show anything close to mercy.
“Oh yeah?” Thinking he was just trying to counter my inclination toward cockiness, I goaded him a little further. “What sort of fun am I signing myself up for, here? You know all kinds of crazy legends, don’t you? Which ones are true?”
Marcus hesitated. Most of them. All those you can remember, anyway. The gods look like beasts, and they look like people. They are beautiful as often as they are frightening. And they are all gathering their own armies as we speak. It is true that some will be more formidable than others, but altogether, they are not to be taken lightly. A thousand humans are no match for even the weakest of gods—and when they start fighting each other, they will carry no concern for collateral damage.
“Then why are we just sitting here?” I asked impatiently. “You may not have noticed, but there are more than a thousand humans around. We could start...assembling or something. Better than waiting around to get steamrolled by a bunch of supernatural warring dickheads.” I tested the eggs. Still hot.
I know that this will not appeal to your brash, impulsive nature, Victoria, but we are currently doing all we can. For now, we are on da
mage control only. Hunt down the fires, put them out, wait for new ones to arise. It is too dangerous to your credibility if you attempt a preemptive strike before the gods make themselves known.
“You’re saying no one will believe me.” I knew he was telling the truth, but he was right; I didn’t like it.
Precisely. Your powers of comprehension continue to impress me.
“Hey, I’m trying my best.”
The vamps were ugly, boorish, greedy sons of bitches, but they were not snitches. It would be no skin off my back to keep killing them until something turned up, but Marcus’s point was well taken. More than likely, all we’d get from a bloody rampage was a trail of bodies.
And that was something I couldn’t afford.
But there is something we can do. We need to move our attention toward gathering intelligence instead. The servants of Lorcan aren’t talking, but there are others who might. Perhaps more information will provide a lead.
“Sounds good to me.” Breakfast sat cooling for approximately thirty more seconds before I shoveled it into my mouth straight from the pan. “Okay, let’s get out of here. If we’re looking for dirt, I know exactly where to start.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mac sat with his feet propped up on a stool behind his stand, chewing gum and paging through a paper. His wrinkled face broke into a toothy grin when he saw me come up to the counter.
“Well, if it ain’t Vic! Good to see ya, kiddo. I was beginning to think you moved or something!”
I smiled. “Sorry, Mac. I’ve been laying low for a bit, but I knew you’d do okay without me.” My glance ran over the periodicals lined up neatly in the front rack of the newsstand.
No crimes in the front-page headlines, a rarity in and of itself. And nothing in the tabloids that sounded like it might apply to any real-world situation I knew of. The monsters on my shit list weren’t invading from space—they were already here.
I just needed to hunt them down.
Mac frowned at me, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble, Vic. You’re just keeping your head down because you know what’s good for you, right?”
I gave him a cheeky wink. “More or less. You won’t worry if I don’t give you details.”
He shook his head. “Then I won’t ask. The worrying is non-negotiable, though. That’s gonna happen whether you like it or not.” He slapped a paper down in front of me and added a pack of gum. “Here. For you, a quarter special.”
Fifty cents made the trek across the counter. “Keep the change. Thanks, Mac.”
I tucked the newspaper under my arm, pocketed the gum, and turned around, just another satisfied customer.
Good thing, too, because the next face I saw belonged to a certain smooth-talking FBI agent. And he was not alone.
“Damn it,” I whispered.
What is the problem? Marcus, who’d been silent as a lamb at the newsstand, suddenly jumped in on high alert.
Sucking in my breath, I hissed, “Don’t startle me like that! Deacon’s over there. I need to be invisible.”
The woman walking with Deacon St. Clare had a severe, sharply angled face that was only emphasized by the tightness of her pulled-back hair. She was the epitome of no-nonsense, dressed in exactly the same shade of black from head to toe, except for a crisp white blouse under her blazer. Her eyes snapped around like lasers, looking for something.
Prey, most likely.
Deacon ambled along beside her, keeping an eye on the side of the pavement that was closest to him, which just so happened to be the side I was on. It was too late to hide behind the newspaper; he’d notice that immediately. I turned my face away and increased my pace to a powerwalk, heading down toward the nearest alley. Unfortunately, that alley was behind me, and Deacon saw me turn around.
“Hey, Vic.”
I heard him but didn’t stop. Just short of a jog, I slipped between the buildings and aimed for the fence at the end. It was sort of tall but flat on the top. A feasible two-handed vault.
This agent knows nothing of the sword. He cannot connect you to piles of ash on the streets. I fear you will only draw suspicion by fleeing.
“If he doesn’t catch me, it won’t matter, will it?” I hooked my fingers over the top of the fence and began to pull myself up. Halfway over, I heard Deacon’s voice at a distance behind me.
“Don’t worry about it, Steph. I got this.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I whispered. I hit the ground running on the other side of the fence, cutting through a dirty courtyard behind Mac’s stand. The next low wall had someone’s empty beer bottles lined up like shooting targets on the top, which clattered to the pavement as I went up and over. The smash of breaking glass sent an involuntary shiver over my skin. I resisted the urge to look back to see if Deacon had heard.
That was probably the only reason I saw the car before it hit me. The driver swerved, laying on the horn. I flattened up against the nearest wall and waved a half-hearted apology. If only more people viewed, “sorry, I’m running from the feds,” as a viable excuse for doing stupid shit.
Once the car was gone, I listened for a moment. Hearing nothing, I darted down the street and zipped over yet another barricade, doubling back toward my original position. I’d thought I could maybe fake Deacon out by staying close by. Turns out I hadn’t given him enough credit.
Gravity took over before I could reverse my movement, and I dropped down right in front of him. We stared at each other for a moment.
His radio crackled. “Well, you better hope she can set the record straight, Deacon. I don’t have time to be chasing petty criminals around Brooklyn.”
The voice was so steely, it had to belong to the woman I’d just seen with Deacon. My present situation was not ideal, but I thanked my lucky stars she hadn’t followed me, too. Something told me she would’ve carted me off to jail in a heartbeat if I looked at her the wrong way.
“That’s why you’re going back to the office while I handle things out here. I’ll update you when I get back.”
“Fine. Good luck.”
“Didn’t know you had a partner,” I remarked, leaning up against the fence, trying to look as casual as possible.
Deacon made a face that stopped within an inch of rolling his eyes. “I typically don’t.” He let out his breath. “The belief is that turning the investigation into a ‘team assignment’ will help ensure that progress gets made.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” I examined my nails, as if there was anything to look at. All I wanted was to seem bored instead of nervous.
“Well…” He drawled the word, his gaze a tangible sensation on my face. “Got me a chance to get up close and personal with you again, so I’d call that a win.”
“So that’s your play. Use the same strategy as last time—a dash of flirtation to make the interrogation go down easy.”
“There’s no play—honest. I’m just here to talk.”
“I’ve heard that line before.”
He laughed. “All right, look. I’ll level with you. The bureau is completely stumped. I can’t figure out what the hell happened back at the slaughterhouse a couple weeks ago, and it’s making me lose my beauty sleep.” Running a hand over his finely coiffed hair, he grinned. “Not that you’d be able to tell.”
That got a tiny smirk from me. “What makes you think I can help you with that? Last time we spoke face to face, I was in jail because someone else caused a disturbance at a comics convention. Not exactly the other side of the coin.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Yeah, I looked into that, too. Your friend didn’t just cause a disturbance, he pulled a damn sword. On a celebrity. You’re lucky as hell Cruze started crying. That’s the only reason he kept the whole incident quiet.” I snorted a laugh, and Deacon continued. “Anyway, give me a little credit here, Vic. It took like five minutes to trace that place back to the mob. And another five to figure out that Rocco Durant’s a missing man now. Puzzle pieces have
a way of fitting together in the end.”
“Don’t talk like you caught me, man. I’m gonna need you to give me more than that.”
“Okay.” He began to tick a list off on his fingers. “How about video footage of you recovered from the scene? Audio of your voice? Eyewitness testimonials from at least five women who came forward and told us about being saved from a cage by a woman who matches your description?”
That is compelling, Marcus said.
Again, I barely managed not to jump, but Marcus was right. In the quiet aftermath of the slaughterhouse incident, I’d forgotten about all of Rocco’s security measures. And I should have known that just because one girl chose a lawyer over the cops, that didn’t mean the others would follow suit.
Deacon had led me into a trap. We both knew it. At a loss for non-incriminating words, I opted for stony silence, hoping he would break first. Surprisingly, he did.
“I don’t want to take you in, Vic. Trust me. I’m fully aware that whatever your role was, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. But I think you might be able to help me or, at least, let me know where Rocco Durant is.”
“You must be desperate if it’s come to this. Back alley negotiations with your only lead.”
“We are not negotiating.” There was a hint of fire in his eyes now, a smolder that warned me not to poke too hard unless I wanted the flames to turn into a blaze.
I lifted my chin. “Aren’t we?”
I’d never been able to resist the allure of danger.
For the second time, Deacon appeared to give up the chase. He slumped his shoulders, studying the ground. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ve hit a wall. Either nobody knows shit, or they’re just not talking to me.” He scowled. “Experience tells me the second option is much more likely.”
“Maybe you need to learn to ask nicely,” I suggested.
“Yeah, yeah.” His brooding eyes roved over our surroundings. “If it were up to me, I’d start bashing heads in tomorrow, but you can’t do that when there’s a badge involved. I’ve got rules to follow.”