Gods Ascendent

by T. G. Ayer

  I stopped, my foot on the first stair, my hand on a banister badly in need of staining, and glanced back at her. I smiled sweetly. “Well, good thing I’m not a visitor then, isn’t it?” I watched as blood rushed to her dusky cheeks. She smoothed her skirt down, tamping down her anger with the same action. I really shouldn’t bait her. She did take care of Samuel. But I could care less if she left. I’d just hire someone else to look after him. I turned my back on her and left her to stew in her fury, taking the threadbare stairs two by two, knowing even Cassia would disapprove. Poor Cassia. Samuel’s niece hadn’t inherited his teleportation powers, and being born normal into an almost entirely magical family was a great burden to bear. The problem with Cassia was she bore it with vicious anger.

  Sighing, I pushed Samuel’s door open and walked silently to the table by the window. Today, he sat in his rocking chair beside the open bay windows. White gauze curtains billowed on a soft breeze and he seemed to gaze out at the trees but I knew he saw nothing of the view. My heart twisted for him.

  I drew a rickety chair close and sat beside him. “Hello, Samuel,” I said, taking his hand in mine. His skin was paper thin, the fingers bony, muscles weak and wiry. His hand twitched as I held it and I smiled. I knew he knew when I visited.

  Samuel Fontaine was not an old man. He was in his late thirties, not the age of a man who should be lingering in a rocking chair. I stared at his once handsome face, high cheekbones now jutting out too far, and gorgeous green eyes now faded to a pale luminous non-color.

  But sexy Samuel’s been gone a long, long time. Ever since his brain got scrambled doing a jump for me

  What a way to go. My fingers tightened on his and I had to force myself to remember his frailty. I began to pull away when his fingers gripped mine with an intensity I hadn’t felt in months. My heart stuttered as I stared at him, eyes wide.

  “Mel?” his voice rasped, as if he hadn’t used it in years.

  “Samuel? Yes, it’s me.” I nodded and smiled, tears threatening to overflow.

  He blinked, his expression slightly unfocused. Then he frowned. “Are you eating? You look skinny.”

  I snorted. “Don’t worry about me. It’s you we are concerned about. We need you back Sam-sam.” I leaned close and he placed a palm on my cheek. The curtains billowed into the room, white clouds surrounding us in this impossible dream.

  “I know, baby. But I’m not done yet,” he said, smiling. “The girl . . . She needs me.”

  My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

  A few seconds of silence crawled by as Samuel studied my face with far away pale green eyes. “Patience, Melisande. And don’t forget what I taught you,” he said softly, his voice fading. “Don’t forget . . .”

  “Samuel?” I called him, but I knew he was already gone and my heart ached for him.

  “He spoke to you?” Cassia’s voice rang out, so bitter and cold it dropped the temperature in the room by a few degrees. Maybe the woman was magical after all.

  “Yes.” I whispered, still holding on to his hand. He’d spoken. He was still there. And what had he meant? ‘I’m not done yet?’ What did that mean?

  “What did he say?” Her question broke through my thoughts, an angry tide breaking onto my happy, grateful shore.

  I looked up at Cassia and grinned. “He said I was skinny. And he told me not to forget what he’d taught me.” I didn’t see any reason to tell her the rest. I suspected she’d overheard the last of Samuel’s words so that’s just what I gave her.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Cassia snapped, her honey eyes flashing. “He hasn’t been lucid for months, and you waltz in and he just talks to you out of the blue and says don’t forget what he taught you?” She snorted, hands on her hips, eyes wide. “Who the hell do you think you are? You just come in here whenever you feel like, say whatever you want and then leave him to me? Who do you think looks after him? And he talks to you?” Her laugh was hoarse, underlined by a deep bitterness.

  I watched Cassia, her anger an almost palpable thing. She was struggling with her own burdens but all I wanted to do was to slap her as hard as I could across the face.

  “You know what? I’m a bit tired of your whining and moaning. I know you’ve had it tough but we all have our own bloody demons to deal with. As far as I’m concerned you can just suck it up.” The color drained from her skin and I was certain she wasn’t sure whether to be shocked, upset or angry. “Take Samuel for instance, he’s way worse off than you. Maybe someday we will have him back—from what he said today, I am hoping his condition is temporary and wherever he is he’s okay and he will come back. But until then we have to wait. So quit feeling sorry for yourself. If you feel this is all too much and looking after Samuel is a burden, then by all means leave. I’m sure we can find someone else to take care of him.”

  I’d never voiced my opinion to Cassia before. I’d always steered clear of her, left her to her anger. Now, in the face of my words and my own fury, she seemed startled, unsure of herself.

  “You can’t make me leave.” She lifted her chin.

  Really? After everything I said, that was all she got? “I’m not making you leave, Cassia. I’m just saying if you aren’t happy taking care of Samuel, we can find someone else.” I was careful to use the word ‘we’. A gentle reminder that my presence here was with the kind permission of Samuel’s extended family. Not that I needed their permission, but they had eased Cassia into accepting me in the house and I appreciated that.

  Now, I watched Samuel’s niece as she considered my words. She didn’t respond and for Cassia, being short of words was unusual. Then she turned abruptly on her heel and left the room.

  “Well, I suppose I got my answer, then,” I said to myself.

  Samuel chuckled and when I glanced at him, a little shocked, my heart sank with disappointment at the blank expression in his eyes. Then he tilted his head and stared out the window. Sighing, I got to my feet and kissed his cheek. Then walked out of the room and left him there alone again.

  As I drove, all I could think about were Samuel’s words.

  I’m not done yet. The girl . . . She needs me.

  Blood Magic Ch2

  Saleem

  I shifted in my seat. It felt like I was sitting on a rock rather than the supposedly comfortable seat in Chief Roger Murdoch’s office at the Chicago police station. I eyed Pete Fulbright who commandeered the seat beside me, his stomach making him look more like a whale every time he breathed.

  I didn’t like the guy I’d been assigned to. Didn’t appreciate his attitude toward his job or toward his investigations. But I was going to give Pete Fulbright the benefit of the doubt. And I supposed my own presence would do some good in allaying suspicions that Chief Murdoch wasn’t taking full responsibility for Fulbright’s investigation of a paranormal operative.

  Fulbright’s sudden aggressive interest in Melisande Morgan had caught the attention of the Supreme High Council, and because of their already established working relationship with the CPD they’d asked Omega, instead of their own investigative unit Sentinel, to look into it.

  Omega and Sentinel, both powerful paranormal agencies, were interested in a rash of paranormal disappearances in the last six months, something that seemed to also have caught Fulbright’s attention.

  “So, I trust you will ensure Saleem here has full access to all our Missing Person’s files?” Chief Murdoch said as he rose from his seat.

  Fulbright reddened as he stood, his back ramrod straight. “Of course, Chief.”

  After he stalked out of the office and shut the door with a click, I turned to Murdoch. “I don’t need those files you know?” Chances were Omega’s files on the disappearances were much more substantial than what Fulbright could come up with.

  Murdoch smiled from beneath his mustache. “Of course I know that. It’s just better that Fulbright doesn’t.” The Chief sat, his massive frame threatening to crush his creaking chair.

  “So
what has he been up to?” I glanced through the window at the warren of desks. Fulbright stood at one of them, flipping through a stack of files while repeatedly glancing at Murdoch’s glassed-in office. Fulbright’s stomach rose from mid-chest and hung low on his hips, so low over his waistband the man needed suspenders to hold his pants up. Not that body image bothered the detective at all.

  “Investigating all of Mel’s cases but especially focusing on the abductions and deaths involving paranormals. I don’t know how, but he’s managed to hone in on the paranormal cases too well for my comfort. Ask him yourself. He doesn’t mind sharing his suspicions.”

  I nodded and left the Chief’s office, heading to the two desks that sat facing each other. A floor to ceiling window looked out onto traffic and block after block of aging high-rises.

  I sat and the sound of the chair brought Fulbright’s head swiveling toward me. Fulbright did not expect a conversation with me. In fact, he’d made it clear enough he didn’t have much respect for me or my presence. He’d barely glanced at me since he’d arrived.

  I knew what that meant. Race always played a big part in heightening emotions. But I didn’t care. It was bad enough my Persian descent was clear in my deep olive skin, dark hair and black eyes. As far as my appearance went, Fulbright had me pegged. But imagine if this normal human realized he had a bloody Djinn sitting next to him. A real, honest to goodness genie. He’d be off searching for a lamp so fast I would probably choke on his dust.

  Silencing a snort, I sneaked a glance at my partner. I shifted in my seat again. Time to find out a little more of what made the whole Fulbright-Morgan relationship tick. “So what’s the deal with you and Mel Morgan anyway?” I asked, pasting on the innocent rookie face I’d practiced with my team-leader, Logan Westin, yesterday.

  Fulbright gave me an impatient glare as he stacked his files in a pile and pushed them aside. The detective took a deep breath, grunted. “Just something about her that doesn’t add up. Her ability to find people when we can’t is strangely coincidental. Most of the cases we close out as unsolved, end up in her lap. And she solves them. Finds the people, dead or alive.”

  “And you find that strange how?” The sounds of the office hummed around them. I had my own reasons for being here, for watching Mel Morgan and the more I knew about her the better.

  “Nothing I can put my finger on really. Just strange.” Fulbright was being reticent and I understood. Most cops didn’t like Omega or Sentinel.

  I stared out the window for a moment then looked at my new partner. Fulbright shifted and threw me an annoyed glare.

  “It’s an old case, nine years to be exact. A kid went missing. House trashed. Blood everywhere, parents’ throats slit. And this Morgan kid standing there, covered in blood not saying a word. Then we found there’s a kid missing; Morgan’s younger sister Arianne. From the blood and the condition of the house we knew the chances the girl was alive were slim to none, and Morgan was the main suspect. Case closed.” Fulbright shook his head.

  “So why keep an eye on her now?” I couldn’t keep the criticism from my voice but Fulbright was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even seem aware.

  “I’ve been looking at the files. And she’s just too good at her job to be . . . normal.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “And this friend of hers you are investigating?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  “A guy named Samuel Fontaine.” I went cold. Samuel, the Master tracker. So Fulbright was on the paranormal trail after all. I just had to find out how much he knew.

  I’d heard of Fontaine. Powerful Mage trackers were rare. Which is why almost every available paranormal tracker was on both Omega’s and Sentinel’s contractor lists. Including Melisande Morgan. And Fontaine. Until he’d toasted his gray cells on a jump.

  If Morgan’s paranormal identity was blown, everyone else would soon follow. Fulbright was more dangerous than he could ever imagine.

  The detective snorted, reminding me of the unpleasant presence of the other man. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore so I started up the computer and logged into Omega to give my report.

  # End of BLOOD MAGIC Excerpt #

  READ THE SERIES

  The SoulTracker Series (A DarkWorld Series)

  Blood Magic

  Demon Kin

  Blood Curse

  Demon Soul

  Blood Moon

  Demon Bones

  SoulTracker Box Set - Books 1-3

  The SoulTracker Series

  Dead Radiance - A Valkyrie Novel 1 Sample Chapters

  Dead Radiance - Chapter 1

  I was cold, like the roses on Joshua’s casket, like the muddy dark-brown soil waiting to embrace the lifeless remains of the boy who was my friend.

  My fingers curled around the stem of a butter-yellow rose, knuckles tight. I blinked away the liquid burn stabbing my eyelids. I had to get out. Give him the rose. Then get the hell away.

  I tried to squeeze past the old woman who guarded my route to the center aisle, glaring. Her stares slithered down my neck as I passed. I shuffled by, careful not to touch her. But she huffed, her shoulders stiff and unimpressed with my rudeness. Her disapproval slid down my back.

  I straightened my pencil skirt and short coat, scraped my wet hands on my hips. I knew the cool black silk wouldn’t dry my sticky palms, but I did it anyway, needing to do something with my hands other than clutch the dead flower.

  The slim heels of my pumps sank deep into wet ground. I jerked them free and swallowed, my throat aching with tears. My best friend would soon be entombed within this sodden mush, to lie beneath Craven forever. Until his flesh fell off his bones and he turned to dust.

  A cool hand tapped my shoulder.

  “Bryn Halbrook. “ She spat my name, each syllable harsh, and dripping venom to match the tiny emerald flecks in her hazel eyes. “You’ve got some nerve coming here.” Cherise Barnes knew she looked good, even in drab funerary garb. She stood, a bony hip jutting out, one foot forward. The Cherise pose.

  The last thing I needed was a bitch-match. Not here. I straightened, pulling my jacket closer in the face of this poisonous storm. Her eyes widened as I drew to my full height. Guess Cherise forgot it wasn’t easy to intimidate a person who was a full head taller. I stared down at her.

  Waiting.

  “Perhaps you should leave.” She tapped the foot. “Now.”

  “I am leaving, as soon as I pay my respects. You are holding me up.”

  A streak of red colored her cheeks. She avoided my eyes, then addressed my ear. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place. You aren’t welcome here.”

  She wasn’t backing off and I knew why. Cherise was The Body here in Craven. Not the body to die for, though, as most guys didn’t need to go that far to sample Cherise. Joshua had belonged to her, and she’d lost him. Lost him to me. Or so she thought.

  I brushed past Cherise, had no patience for her any more. I fingered the bandage on my temple, touched the braid tied at my nape so my deep red hair wouldn’t tangle in the stitches on my scalp. The slight movement shifted my hair and the wound stung, releasing a flash of memory.

  White light, blinding, sears my eyes.

  Brighter now. Bright enough to hurt.

  Tires squeal, harsh screams rip at my eardrums.

  I swallowed a gasp, shoving the memory out of my head.

  I had to get a grip.

  I’d survived and he hadn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. The only person who’d supported me had died on me.

  I’d known he would die. And I’d done nothing to stop it.

  As I neared Joshua’s parents, they threw me weak and teary smiles, which made the dam of tears inside my own heart yearn to burst free. Even in their time of grief, they’d been so concerned about me, asking if I’d recovered enough to get out of the hospital, if I’d grieved enough, let it all out.

  No one shared their concern, not last week and not today. Claws of ice
scraped up and down my back. Again. More accusing stares. Too many eyes. More heads turning. Whispers. I ignored them. Concentrated on anything else but those voices. Cars passing by at the bottom of the hill. People going about their daily lives, neither knowing nor caring that a friend and a son and a brother was about to be consigned to the dead earth of Craven.

  Stepping closer to the coffin I sucked in a sob; the hollow in my gut grew harder, more painful, as I stared at the shining black casket.

  Roses trailed the ebony lid, droplets of color scattered across its gleaming surface by a careless yet artful hand. Eternity crept by while the box descended into the dark mouth of the grave.

  The rainbow of color shivered, slim green stems entangled on the curve of the lid. One rose, bright, blood red, slid off, as the coffin moved deeper and deeper.

  Ice sliced through my veins.

  Piercing to the bone and to the soul.

  Blank, grey afternoon skies shed occasional tears for Joshua O’Connell. The casket lurched, then continued its descent. I gave in. Better give him the rose, a little piece of me to take with him.

  I choked on a breath, swallowing a wave of nausea.

  Metal shrieks, grating in a lurid embrace. Deafening.

  Sparks spit, ozone coats the back of my throat.

  Gasoline fumes creep up my nostrils, burning, suffocating.

  I stopped at the edge of the gaping wound in the earth. Something felt wrong. Inside the grave, the black box came to rest within deep grasping shadows. Darkness simmered, broken by a line of glimmering, golden light that seeped through the edges of the casket.

  He still glowed and I was still helpless.

  My fingers uncurled their desperate grip on the rose and it fell, tilting, to drop head first onto the coffin, twirling as it descended into the eerie depths. It hit the lid and shattered. Petals flew in all directions and everywhere yellow scraps of the dismembered flower reflected Joshua’s iridescent light.