by Jasmine Walt
“You will need to return with some frequency if you want to avoid the allergy between you and Zayin,” Gabriel was saying.
“I’ll do that.” I paused, biting my lip. Then I just came out with it. If I was going to be visiting, he’d have to get used to more emotions coming his way. “Would it be all right if I stopped by to say hi to you when I come?”
Gabriel nodded slowly. “I would have no objection to that.”
I reached out one hand. A hug would be asking too much. For now. But maybe in a couple of decades, who knew? I might give my dad a kiss on the cheek within the next century.
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
He nodded stiffly. Then he left to join Eden, who was preparing to take off with the other Elohim parents. They huddled together, not touching. Their skin melted away until they were nothing but light.
We Ishim huddled on the surface watching the light show our parents made for us, like a Fourth of July spectacular. And then they left us behind. But this time when they left us, it was different.
We were no longer aimless, rudderless, or without direction. We each had a purpose now, and that was to steer humanity on their path toward sustainability and salvation.
Yup. We were screwed.
Zane came up behind me and snugly wrapped his arms around me. He shifted until the back of my head was cradled in the spot just under his chin—my spot.
“You’re an amazing woman,” he said. “You just saved the world.”
“And I got to go to Disney World,” I snorted.
The park was destroyed. The next Super Bowl winners would not come here for a victory party any time soon. But at least they still would be able to play on the turf known as Earth instead of being expunged in total annihilation.
The bright colors in the sky our parents had left with had changed. The colors muted into something more pink and purple. It was fuchsia.
“Look at that,” I said. “It’s the color of fuckweasel.”
Zane chuckled. “You’d look perfect against that backdrop.”
His breath tickled the top of my ear. Then he gasped a hot breath. I thought things were about to get interesting, but he pulled away.
Zane held me out in front of him, staring intently as he positioned me this way and then that way.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I groaned.
He ignored my protest and tilted my chin, scrutinizing the placement of my cheeks.
“Zane. Not now.”
“Hold still, just a moment.” He leaned down, and instead of pulling out paper and pencil, he kissed my nose. “I’m not going to paint it. I just want to remember it. Always.”
“No need.” I held still for him as he pulled away, like I always did. Like I always would. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Epilogue
“Seriously?” groaned Zane. “You’re using charcoal instead of wood?”
Zane looked down as Tres piled charcoal into a grill that looked as though it came out of a top chef’s kitchen. The stainless steel was pristine, as though it had never been used. Not a smudge marred the surface. It had four burners, a surface for cutting, and cabinets for storage.
Tres held tongs in one hand and lighter fluid in the other. Across his casual jeans and T-shirt he wore an apron that read Work Like a Captain, Party Like a Pirate. The calm sea stretched for miles all around us as we lounged on the deck of his yacht.
“If I use wood,” Tres said, “it’s not barbecuing.”
“Wood gives food a unique taste.” Zane grimaced as he watched his brother spray the dark coals with fluid. “That’s too much.”
“Wood gives it a unique taste, all right,” said Tres, spritzing just a bit more fluid on the coals. “The taste of blood, since the meat will be raw. Wood can’t hold its heat.”
“You put on more fluid on purpose,” Zane complained.
Tres slammed the container of fluid down and held the tongs in front of Zane’s face. He snapped the two sides of the metallic teeth together in a menacing fashion. “I’ve been putting food into fire for longer than you’ve been alive.”
“The age card?” said Zane. “Is that your defense?”
“Respect your elders, kid.”
“Not when they’re going senile.” Zane struck a match and tossed it into the pit. The fire caught in midair before the match even landed. The blaze reached high and both men reared back.
They eyed one another, and seeing neither was singed, they each cracked a grin. Then they turned back, arms crossed over their chests, and admired the flame.
Loren and I watched from our vantage point a short distance away, lounging in bikinis and deck chairs. The two brothers had been like this since we’d left Florida. At each other’s throats one hour, clapping each other on the back like the best of friends the next minute, only to try and clobber each other in a competitive streak in the following second.
It was dizzying. It was also heartening. I was pretty sure it was normal too.
Many of my memories were within reach with this flesh still being new. There were some times when I was uncertain if I was watching Zane and Tres in the present or remembering a time in our shared past. Though I was pretty sure I didn’t have a lot of memories of us sailing the world together.
Tres’s yacht was opulence on steroids, which pretty much described its owner. Unlike when we’d sailed from Istanbul to Athens, there was no crew. We were the only four souls on the boat.
“This is a different boat, isn’t it?” I turned to Loren. “From the one we sailed to Greece in.”
“Oh yeah.” Loren nodded. “The other one is at the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle, which is actually an entrance into the nine realms. The boat was given in tribute to Rán and Aegir.”
She spoke nonchalantly. I’d only gotten bits and pieces of her times and trials in the fae realm. Most of it was pretty unbelievable. She’d mentioned mermaids and flower people and the trickster god Loki. She’d also had a new maturity about her, like the trip had changed her. Much like the night of the apocalypse turning out to be humanity’s salvation.
Despite Eden’s direct satellite television message, many humans doubted the whole spectacle was real. The government still maintained that it was a result of hackers breaking into the Emergency Alert System and was now angling to raise taxes to upgrade cyber defense.
There were a few believers. Pockets of humanity had left their jobs to start communes where they walked around naked and worshiped the light. The light as in any source of light: the sun, the bulbs, the bugs.
But the prevailing theory was that it was all a stunt put on by producers at Disney in preparation for their next big-budget film. With such interest, of course producers pounced on the idea. A new film about the apocalypse was currently in production in Hollywood. In fact, one of the producers was none other than a certain Greek God. However, at no fault of Desi’s, both the savior and God in the film were rumored to be recast as men because males tested better in those roles than women.
The human mind had such an ability to compartmentalize things into their preferred view of the world. I dreaded my first meeting with Eden on the progress of humanity. But no one could say they hadn’t been warned.
The smell of something delicious drew my attention back to the happenings at the grill. Tres was grinning at something Zane had said. Tres’s eyes softened when he noticed me staring. His grin spread wider to include me.
My heart was so full in this moment, I worried that some of my feelings might get pushed too far down and forgotten, just like my memories. But that wasn’t possible, not any longer.
I’d always believed that every story had an ending. Even one that twisted and wound as the four of ours did. We’d gone forward, reverse, up and down, and even crisscross.
We weren’t linear. We were a circle of friends whose connections were inevitable. And there was no end in sight.
These were the three most important people in my life and I would never let them too far or too long out of
my life. With that promise latched firmly in my mind, I settled back in my seat.
Tres looked past me at Loren. The affection in his eyes shifted. Instead of a slow-burning piece of charcoal, the light in his eyes flared like a piece of wood over a flame.
Loren was looking off into the horizon. She’d definitely changed since I’d last seen her. There was a wisdom in her blue eyes, like she’d seen things.
It was like I was seeing her for the first time again. I remembered that buttoned-up woman in a business suit who’d followed me down a flight of stairs back in D.C. She’d lured me on an adventure I hadn’t quite been prepared for, and here we were still.
“Did you do something different with your hair?” I said. “It looks like it’s shining.”
“My hair has been under a lot of scrutiny lately.” She twirled a curl around her finger. “These locks almost got me hitched back in Asgard.”
“Married? You mentioned something about an engagement. You never mentioned to who?”
Loren’s attention shifted to the grill.
“You mentioned Loki and Thor.”
She nodded, still eyeing the grill.
“Which one?”
“Thor.”
“Thor? The Norse god of thunder proposed to you?”
“Yup.” She sighed.
“And you said…” I prompted her, dying to know her answer.
“I didn’t.” Loren shrugged. “I was too busy trying to figure out a way to save my bestie.”
“And now that I’m saved?”
“Nia, you know I’m not the marrying kind.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know that. You deserve a happily ever after, especially after… He Who Shall Not Be Named.”
Loren wrinkled her nose. I was glad to see that mention of her ex-lover, Leonidas Baros, no longer caused her any pain.
“But I will need to meet this thunder god, to make sure he’s good enough for my best friend. That’s what besties do. Check out each other’s men.”
Loren had been taking a sip of wine, but she choked. She sat the glass down at the deck. “Oh, enough about me. I have a burning question for you.”
I waited patiently for her question, but I also marked my place in this conversation because we were so totally coming back to it later. Sooner than later, in fact.
Loren took a deep, serious breath and then came out with it. “What is Zane’s last name?”
“He’s an artist. He only goes by the one.”
“Like Prince or Madonna?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Now I have a burning question for you.”
“Yes, these are my real boobs.”
But I wasn’t about to be deterred. “What’s going on with you and Tres?”
A flush crept across her cheeks. A sheen of sweat broke out across her brow.
Then Loren straightened her spine. She looked me dead in the eye, her blue eyes filled with a seriousness I had only seen once before in our short lifetime together. She beckoned me with a wave of her fingers, and I came closer into her confidence.
“Do you really want to talk about boys, Dr. Rivers?” she said. “Or do you want to go on an adventure?”
My lips parted wider and wider until I was grinning. This idea had the makings of even more trouble. But I already knew what I was getting into.
“Sure,” I said. “I could use an adventure.”
THE END
Nia’s story may have ended, but Loren’s hasn’t! Turn the page to read an excerpt from Spear of Destiny, Book One in the Misadventures of Loren!
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Spear of Destiny: Bonus Chapters
Chivalrous? Nah.
Virtuous? Not since…well, none of your business.
The difference between me and the Knights of the Round Table? I make medieval look good.
Loren Van Alst is an independent, twenty-first-century woman, an accused forger, a suspected thief, and the last descendant of Sir Galahad of the Arthurian court. To claim her seat at the Round Table and protect her newly found family of modern-day witches, she’ll need to convince the current Arthur and his knights to let a woman take the knights’ trials. But there’s a fine line between chivalry and chauvinism, and Loren has never dealt well with authority.
Loren can’t catch a break when a crazed wizard goes on the loose with a magical spear that can strip a witch of her powers. As if that weren’t enough, the clique of mean girls from middle school arrive in Camelot and turn out to be witch hunters. To safeguard a future she never knew she wanted, Loren will have to evade the hunters, defeat the wizard, capture the spear, and pass her trials.
CHAPTER ONE
You can tell a lot about a man by the way he wields his sword.
A man who jabs at his opponent's body with the tip of his blade using quick, jerky motions? That shows he's eager and unpracticed. If he gets in any good shots at all, they will likely be a hack job on his opponent's wrists and knuckles. That kind of action will leave him breathless and his opponent in need of a manicure. Also, he will probably never get asked to spar again after such an impotent showing.
Then there are the ones who come at their opponent's body with a couple of long, deep thrusts. Those lunges might stem from a flexible groin and fluid wrist action, but that kind of foreplay can be misleading. These types of fighters often exert all their energy at the outset, relying solely on their strength and thrusting power. Then, after a moment of fighting, they roll over on their backs with exhaustion. Yeah, those swordsmen can simply have a seat. In fact, they can go and have several seats.
But the one who can hit all the targets by working his sword hand at just the right speed? The one who knows how to put pressure at just the right angle? The one who can use his blade to slice from the breast to the hip? Oh yeah, that type of swordsman can fill my dance card anytime.
Because that's what swordplay is: a dance. The movements more intimate than a waltz or a tango or whatever Baby and Johnny were doing up in the Catskills in the eighties with their bodies pressed together, their hips jamming to the music, and their legs and arms slicing into one another.
The opponent facing off against me was proving himself a worthy adversary and a superb dance partner. We faced each other with long swords, my weapon of choice. My stance was open at the moment as I prepared to go toe to toe with him. My weight was evenly balanced, my feet eager to advance. He held steady across from me, waiting to see what move I would make.
I took advantage of his courtesy and advanced. Leading with my left foot, I closed the distance between us. I stepped slightly to the right, to avoid any possible counterattack as I brought my blade straight down to his neck, going for the kill strike and preparing to slice his handsome head off from his lean body.
I feared I'd have to pull back at the last moment and not complete the advance, but he did not disappoint. He met my attack with a wrath strike, stepping off his line and bringing his blade down decisively against mine.
He had a good hundred pounds on me. But swordplay wasn't won with brute force alone. My thumb met my cross guard as my opponent tried to take control of the situation and pressure me off balance.
Silly boy.
I swiveled my wrist and thrust my sword, aiming for his heart. I knew by now that I didn't have to take it easy with him, and I was right. He stepped aside at the last minute and I met with air and empty space. I pivoted, sword raised, ready to advance again.
Wide grins slashed at the corners of both our faces. We both breathed hard from the exertion. There was a hitch of desire to his deep voice as he spoke.
"Do you surrender, my lady?"
"No, sir. Not even when I'm handcuffed to a headboard."
That little remark caught him off guard, and I advanced.
The man I danced with was no English g
entleman asking for my dance card. Nor was he an Argentinean count swiveling his hips in a tight pair of trousers and vest. And he absolutely wasn't some Jersey Boy with dirty moves beckoning me from the corner of a country club dinner table.
Sir Gawain, the third of his name, was a knight. One of King Arthur's knights. Yeah, that King Arthur. Though Arthur wasn't actually a king. Just another thing that history got wrong. But Arthur did have a castle, complete with a round table and magical swords. Gawain and I were training in the backyard of said castle on the grounds of Camelot.
The clanging of sharp metal brought me back to the present and out of my musings about male dancers and castles and swords. Overhead, the grumble of a passenger plane punctuated the clash of swords. Someone's cellphone played the theme to Final Fantasy, providing a soundtrack to the battle.
Gawain came at me with an overhaul strike. He brought his sword down against mine, hard. My lower body wasn't braced, and the blow reverberated down to my knees rendering me to the ground.
Gawain pulled his blade back at the last second so it didn't pierce my boobs. But the retraction cost him his balance. He tumbled to the ground on top of me and my boobs, which were covered in chain mail for my protection. Another pity since my boobs were my most fearsome weapons.
"Are you alright, Lady Loren?" Gawain asked as he loomed above me.
His dark curtain of hair brushed each of my cheeks. His angled eyes were a deep coffee brown and not black like I had originally thought. His nose was a long slope that curved at the tip. A lush forest of hair outlined the skin above his upper lip and entirely covered his chin.
This man, this dark knight, was all svelte muscle. From this angle, I caught a glimpse inside his linen shirt and was rewarded with a view of the defined chest I had yet to taste. But my gaze fixed on his mouth and the name he'd called me.