Gods Ascendent

by T. G. Ayer

  The rooftop view of Chicago's night sky was glorious. Faint strains of a string quartet wafted from the restaurant below. My mark had not yet arrived. I supported the steel crossbow with strong, steady hands. While its weight was solid, it was also a comfort. So strange when its purpose was to end a life. I crouched on the edge of the rooftop, a mere shadow, invisible in my dark turtleneck and black leather pants. The high-necked sweater was camouflage, hiding the stark truth beneath.

  From hairline to lower spine, the skin of my back was imprinted with the tapered, irregular pattern of a Panther's pelt. Very few Walkers have such a Mark. A blessing and a curse, it meant I was special. It also meant growing up in the Colony pretending I didn't hear the snide whispers and envious comments.

  Muscles bunched, tensed. I steadied the weapon, balancing it on my knee. A sudden wind gusted around me, tugging at my hair, pulling slim strands free from the thick braid, which hung to my waist. Loosened strands whipped around and stung my cheeks with tiny slaps. The one thing I got from my mother that I could have with me all the time — thick, midnight hair that sometimes caught my father's eye and cast a grayness over his face. Times when the distance between us felt like miles.

  The glittering night was subdued. Silent condemnation? Even the chatter of traffic was a whisper on the air. A powerful engine throbbed below. An old Bentley pulled up to the curb pouring its passengers onto the sidewalk. Two young women, rail thin to the point of skeletal, were draped over their distinguished host, doe-eyed and adoring. I restrained the bitter urge to vomit.

  Silver hair, arrogant lines. My target had arrived.

  Game on.

  The girls tittered and the night air drew the sound to me, crisp and clear. If I'd cocked my ear, I'd have heard the words he uttered to them. But I wasn't interested in anything he had to say.

  Enjoy it while you can, you piece of scum. Tonight I will send your sorry hide back to the Darkness where you belong.

  Larson Keyes: Politician, adulterer, wife-beater. King of vices. But none of it mattered - Senator Keyes was already dead. What was contained within the flesh-and-bone shell of the man was NOT a man. Inside the polished exterior, something insidious and gut-wrenchingly evil now lived, had taken slow and deliberate control. Neither the senator, nor his family, would ever know he'd been killed by a Wraith. A possessor of bodies, devourer of souls.

  I forced my jaws to unclench — my teeth hurt.

  Sliding the tiny vial into the chamber in the crossbow, I readied the weapon, taking care to keep my fingers clear of the poison-tipped arrow. The diminutive arrow was designed to sink into the creature’s flesh, decreasing the possibility of it being removed. The longer the poison remained, the quicker the death.

  I aimed and fired a single silent shot.

  Below me, the Wraith clutched his chest. His breath clattered in his throat, Adam's apple bouncing in tempo. His eyes bulged, face caught in a horrible grimace, pulled taut in a gross parody of shock and agony. Screams echoed around him as the large man crumpled to the unforgiving concrete.

  The sight of Keyes' now-lifeless body spurred both horrified girls to run in terror. They did not see the dark wispy shadows, which spewed from his mouth. Did not see those shadows writhe and curl and twist away from the body, smoky gray fingers reaching for the tiny rips in the Veil, seeking to escape to the questionable safety of the Dark-World. They should be grateful to be blessed with such blindness. I certainly would have been.

  The body of the Host lay discarded. A dried husk of the man smiling and preening mere minutes before. Desiccated skin lay sunken on bones, papery thin and fluttering in the breeze.

  I rose, stretched my cramped limbs. I had time to contemplate the blood on my hands. Impossible to avoid the body count. After all, I was a killer. A Wraith-Hunter. But even though it's the Wraith I track and sever from this World, it's the body of the Host I have to terminate. The same Host who dies soon after the Wraith takes up residence, smothered by an evil blackness which sucks the life from him until what's left is a living shell without a soul. The Host was a lifeless puppet, and it didn't matter. My heart still shattered a little, ached a little each time I lined my target up within the cross hairs of my scope. Every time I watched a Host die by my hand.

  And, after the deed, I was still a killer.

  I left the rooftop, stuffing the small crossbow into my backpack, and turned my back on the sirens. As they sang in the distance, I shimmied down the fire escape super-fast. I dared not tempt Fate. It would be difficult to save anyone else from the black clutches of another Wraith if I were stuck in a prison cell. As I jogged away, my body zinged with pride. Then I came crashing down from my temporary high.

  I was probably the only one proud of me. Would my father care? Only enough to admonish me, and warn me not to embarrass his precious reputation. Would my mother care? Who knew? I hadn't seen or heard from her in twelve years. Nobody in my family had heard from her since the day she'd walked out on us without so much as a fare thee well.

  Heading back to the Rehab Center, I sent a prayer of gratitude to the Lady Ailuros. My job as a trainee drug counselor gave me access to a patient information network, which acted as a grapevine of the abused. One of the ways to sniff out a Wraith. Along with countless other addicts, Senator Keyes daughter Katie had sought secret refuge from his beatings in the euphoria of drugs. Her young, innocent face, so similar to mine. A different world and we could have been friends — giggled over boys and neoned our hair together. Shared stories of our first kisses.

  But reality had a way of keeping that alternate world very well cut off from me. So I had concentrated on helping her.

  Wraiths left a residue on their victims. A substance in their breath, which clings to those they came into close contact with. And those they tortured and abused. A substance only I could see. Katie had worn the pale peach tendrils around her in a misty shroud. An almost coral sign akin to a neon arrow.

  Wraith marks the spot.

  And I wasn’t about to complain. That very residue allowed me to track them, hunt them.

  And kill them.

  Skin Deep Ch2

  The door stood open and my supervisor walked back and forth, already arranging the chairs in a cozy circle. Clancy grinned as I entered. “Hello, Miss Tardy,” she teased. I stuck my tongue out at her and stashed my backpack behind the desk.

  I always arrived at least thirty minutes early, something she teased me for often enough. Today, despite still being wired from the hunt last night, I was only fifteen minutes early, so technically, she was right and I was late.

  I’d headed to the group therapy session in spite of the dull headache pounding my skull with the feverish tenacity of a jackhammer. Post-assassination stress headache. I blinked the thoughts away and focused.

  While these sessions weren’t compulsory for the clients, my attendance was mandatory as far as I was concerned. I’d never missed a session since I started working for the Sandhurst Center for Rehabilitation—also known as the Rehab Center.

  “You okay?” Clancy’s voice cut through my thoughts and I realized I still stood at the table, stock still.

  I nodded. “I’m fine, just a headache.” I squeezed my forehead, trying to massage the throbbing away. The pain had crept up on me, so unbearable now I couldn’t swallow without feeling it pulse in my throat and in my skull.

  Clancy tucked her long, dark hair behind her ear and walked over to me, her green eyes narrowing on my face. “Look, take off if you’re not feeling up to it, okay? Go home and sleep it off.”

  I shook my head and regretted it immediately as a sudden throb gripped my head in an agonizing vice. Swallowing a groan, I said, “No, really, I’ll manage.”

  “Alright. But you look like crap. What will our kids think?”

  A giggle escaped my lips. “Yes, Ms. McBride. I’ll put on a happy face for the kids,” I answered, my voice still dry but filled with laughter.

  Clancy grinned and rummaged through the desk, rear
ranging paperwork, her hair hiding her features. Our coloring—hair, eyes, even skin tone—was so similar many people assumed we were related. I took it as a compliment. Despite being Human, Clancy embodied everything I wanted in a friend and mentor. And she always had my back.

  But she didn’t know I wasn’t Human. And I had no intention of finding out how she would react to my true identity. What would she think if she knew her bright young counselor was a Panther shape-shifter? Humans weren’t known for their acceptance of the unknown and I wanted our relationship to remain just the way it was.

  A hum in the corridor announced the first arrivals, who usually waited for company before they entered. Clancy and I fiddled with paperwork until the group settled. Still officially in training, a qualified counselor often joined me for assessments. And each class proved an educational experience for me.

  The stragglers trickled in and the group began to settle.

  Todd Denfield, one of our regulars, sat back in his chair, almost melting into the metal backrest. A picture of enforced, bored non-attention. When Todd’s rough voice broke the usual beginning-session silence, nobody in the room was more surprised than myself.

  “How do you become gay?” Heads turned as the fourteen-year-old boy voiced the question, eyes downcast.

  Silence smothered the group, palpable and thick. My jaw stuck, unsure how to respond. But even as Clancy and I shared a quick glance to decide who would respond, one of the other patients answered the question.

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ gay, Todd.” Sam answered. He was one of the older, already-rehabilitated kids, who often returned to attend the open forum. He admitted it reminded him of what he had to lose, of how hard he’d worked to pick himself up from where he’d fallen. “Maybe tell us why you’re askin’?”

  Todd gave him an impatient glare and shook his head. Eye-watering bright fluorescent light glazed his dark hair, gelled and spiked to stand straight up in places, while curtaining his eyes in oily fronds. “So— how does it happen? I mean, how do you know you’re...gay?”

  “You just do, like knowin’ you’re straight.” Sam looked around the room. He received a chorus of nods. It seemed the simplest answer, and the best one.

  “And can you stop?” Todd asked. “Like today you’re gay and tomorrow you’re straight.”

  “There are people who are bisexual, which means they find both sexes attractive. But I don’t think a person’s sexual orientation can change overnight.” Sam sat back, satisfied with his explanation.

  Todd stared at the older boy, dark eyes thickly lined in black. He’d failed to hide the purple crescents hugging each dull orb, betraying nights of sleeplessness. Todd’s upper lip curled. A thankful smile made slightly grotesque by two tiny silver piercings that clung to the soft flesh of his lower lip. As I watched him, the telltale signs beneath the pasty-pale goth foundation became clearer. Faint coral smudges stained the skin at his neck, almost hidden by a thick, studded-leather collar. His clothing looked unnatural, uncomfortable. A staged, gothic treatment, which I’d always taken as an outward indication of his inner emotional turmoil. I’d been presumptuous. So blind.

  Good thing Clancy knew I felt a bit under the weather. At least now, she wouldn’t realize I sat there almost paralyzed with shock.

  How did you miss the signs, Odel? You’re slipping big time.

  They’d been right there in front of me all along and I’d missed them. The peach residue which clung around Todd’s neck screamed of a Wraith’s touch, something I saw every day— because it’s my job to hunt the god-damned soul-sucking freaks.

  I let out a tiny breath of relief. Todd wasn’t the one possessed. Perhaps his father? But, the many traces of pale peach and coral located around Todd’s neck and arms proved the Wraith definitely abused the boy. I may be too late to help him. My stomach twisted. This lack of observation and awareness could mean the death of an innocent boy.

  Aching head temporarily forgotten, I contemplated my next move as the session disbanded and the kids trailed out of the room and down the hall.

  I sighed as Clancy waved a quick goodbye, shaking a finger at me – a warning to go home and rest. I began stacking chairs to move them to the storeroom, still chock-full of guilt for being so blind to the presence of a Wraith around Todd. No matter how much I convinced myself the make-up Todd had slathered on hid the signs too well, spotting Wraiths was my job.

  The vicious throb returned with a vengeance once silence descended on the room. I tried to ignore it while it ate further into my brain, further into my neck and shoulders. I sat heavily on my seat and rolled my head from side to side, hoping the movement might relax the muscles, while I pressed desperate fingers into lumps the size of peach pits pebbling the muscles in my neck.

  A Wraith-hunt now was inconvenient to say the least. But, headache be damned. I had to make time for a bit of recon at Todd’s house later in the day.

  A boy’s life hung in the balance.

  # End of SKIN DEEP Excerpt #

  READ THE SERIES

  The SkinWalker Series (A DarkWorld Series)

  Skin Deep

  Lost Soul

  Last Chance

  Blood Promise

  Scorched Fury

  Fate’s Edge

  Grave Debt

  Blood Magic - A SoulTracker 1 Sample Chapters

  Blood Magic Ch1

  Mel

  My phone buzzed and I grabbed it from the seat beside me, while keeping my eyes on the road. I swiped it open, gave it a quick glance and raised my eyebrows in surprise. Martin Cross. Desperate father in search of his missing child. Something I knew a lot about. I’d just taken his case, a stressed mechanic whose kid had disappeared into thin air months ago. A case I’d assumed would be pro bono considering he didn’t appear to me to have exceedingly deep pockets.

  He was confirming my payment had been deposited and I should see it reflected in the account tomorrow. For once, I was happy to have pegged someone so wrong.

  I threw the phone back on the seat and peeked at the rearview mirror. It never hurt to be cautious considering I’d pissed off enough paranormal criminals in my time, but no one was following me.

  I drove to the outskirts of town, wondering again why I bothered with these visits. I could hear Drake’s voice. “Why do you waste your time? The man probably doesn’t even know you’re there.”

  Drake Darvon was my best friend and my sparring partner. He was also a gargoyle. Real live blue-blooded in-the-flesh gargoyle. Drake didn’t realize I went because I needed to. Because something deep inside me drew me to Samuel.

  I pulled up in front of the house, a part of me refusing to enter the grand old house, the other part wanting to rush in there and take Samuel away from it all. To take him away and fix him and make him whole again. It still felt like my fault, even though everyone, including Samuel himself, insisted it wasn’t. But if I hadn’t been so persistent, if I hadn’t wanted to find my sister Arianne so badly and finally bring her body home for some closure, maybe Samuel would still be whole. Maybe he would still be around to guide me.

  Not that I needed his training anymore, though. Samuel Fontaine had once been the Master Teleporter. There was only one person who exceeded him in his ability to cross the Veils and enter the Other worlds. And that was me. A secret only Samuel and I knew.

  Both Omega and Sentinel could never be privy to that piece of information. Samuel contracted to both organizations so he was allowed on occasion to do his own search and rescue jobs. My friend Storm, benevolent caretaker of young people in need that he was, had arranged for Samuel to train me, to help perfect my teleportation, thus putting in motion a friendship of a lifetime.

  But Samuel couldn’t be hoodwinked. He’d forced me to admit my front as a simple teleporter was a sham. He’d seen beyond that facade, to my ability to astral project. Then he’d taken it upon himself to train me to teleport better. How to teleport better, faster, smarter.

  And how to astral p
roject with more accuracy, to feel for wards, to move faster. And to this day he was the only one who knew exactly how powerful I was. How far I could jump, how strong my self-protection had become, that I’d learned to move through most magical wards.

  I rested my head on the steering wheel. Maybe I should just start the car and go home. Maybe Drake was right and coming here only made things worse for Samuel and for me. No. I punched the steering wheel, as if it was Drake arguing with me. I’d come this far. And Samuel deserved some company. I got out of the car, controlling the urge to slam the door shut. Fishing in my jacket pocket for my keys, I jogged to the porch, as if by walking any slower I would give myself the chance to change my mind.

  Beneath the elegant French columns, with their flaking paint, I hesitated only a moment before I slipped my key into the lock, the rest of the bunch jangling against each other as I moved. I was about to turn it when the giant oak door swung inward so hard I had to let go of my keys or go flying inside with them.

  Cassia stared at me, her honey-gold eyes as expressionless as she could make them. “Hello, Melisande.”

  “Hi, Cass.” The skin at her eyes tightened. She hated it when I shortened her name. But it didn’t matter. She pretty much hated everything I was and everything I stood for, all on account of the fact I ruined her life. I wasn’t in the mood for a stare down so I tugged my keys from the lock, and took special note of the dark glare Cassia gave them, as if I had no right to have them. I brushed past her and headed for the stairs.

  “He’s not taking visitors,” she said, her voice dripping ice as she pushed her tightly spiraled curls away from her face.