Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  The light became bigger as he approached it and broke through the trees.

  Little spots of light glanced over the horizon. The sun was setting. Down an open field was the train-yard and on the edge were August and Sara, arguing.

  Kevan ran toward them. He might be able to catch them off guard if he ran fast enough. He heard what they were arguing about as he approached.

  “Dammit, Sara, they might catch us because of you!”

  “I needed to get a few things, okay! Don’t—”

  She paused and stared at Kevan as he approached them, gun drawn.

  August said, “Go to the car.” She didn’t move. “Now!”

  She ran to the car, but she wasn’t the one Kevan wanted. August stood only twenty feet away from him, across a train track.

  “I guess we’re done with our little traditions already. I actually enjoyed it.”

  “Dad is dead.”

  A train siren wailed in the distance, coming closer. But Kevan ignored it. It was the only working track in the yard and the train never stopped.

  Kevan continued, “Don’t you understand that?”

  “You don’t understand a damn thing. This was the god’s doing.”

  “Always with that bullshit, August. Gods this! Gods that! Why in the fuck don’t you account for your own shit? Account for your own fucking mistakes for once!”

  The train was closing in. Kevan could see it in his peripheral vision, he needed to do something. He couldn’t hesitate again. They were still separated by the track.

  “It’s all your fault. He was a good man and he’s dead because of your bullshit!”

  “So what? What you going to do, Kevan? Shoot me?”

  Kevan stepped toward him, rifle raised. August pulled out a Glock and Kevan stopped.

  August said, “If you’re going to become an enemy of the state then you better come correct. Back on the other side of the tracks.”

  Kevan backed up slowly. Never lowering his aim. The train was only a couple of hundred feet away.

  The siren wailed in Kevan’s ears. He needed to fire, but could he kill his own brother? The train closed in, only a few more feet.

  August lowered his gun as the train was only inches from passing.

  Kevan fired.

  The train wailed by. It took a full minute for it to pass and by the time it cleared, August was gone. With some of his blood left on the ground.

  Kevan walked into a bar, the Skullet. It was a dirty, grimy place. It had a dark atmosphere and the oddly dark corners accounted for a lot of sexual assault reports. But when Kevan needed to unwind, it was his place. Tonight, the place was empty. Good. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  Kevan sat at the bar and motioned to the bartender; he made him whisky on the rocks without a word. Maybe he did go to this place too much. He took a sip of his drink as a woman walked in.

  He didn’t want to think about what just happened. He was tired. He could mourn later.

  The woman sat next to him. Kevan glanced at her before staring back into his drink. Nothing special.

  The woman asked, “Hey bartender, can I have your martini special?”

  The bartender nodded and started to make her drink.

  She stared at Kevan. He looked back at her. On second thought, she was far prettier than he thought at first glance. Her blue eyes pierced through her freckled face, an understated beauty. She kept running her hands through her brunette hair.

  Every time Kevan would look up from his drink she was looking at him, staring at him. Today was not the day to play games.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “No…it’s just that I’m new to town and there’s nothing to do in this one horse place … everyone is so hostile.”

  “That’s because it’s a shitty place.”

  She adjusted in her seat, taking sips of her martini special.

  Kevan continued, “Once you’ve been here long enough though, that hard shell everybody has cracks off. And only then could you see that under all that hostility was really a dead bird.”

  “Ha ha, that was somewhat witty. You seem lively enough. My name is Luna. Care to show a girl around?”

  “That easy, huh?”

  “Don’t get any ideas. I have mace.”

  Kevan laughed.

  They spoke for hours, Kevan lost in her words and beauty. She lost in his charm. A few hours later and a few more drinks, a couple of empty glasses sat in front of them. Kevan felt toasty.

  “It’s hard being an artist, you know,” Luna said. She was a painter, traditional and digital.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” Kevan sipped on his fourth glass of whiskey.

  “How about we get out of this dump and go to your place?”

  She placed a hand on his leg.

  “How about yours?”

  * * *

  Kevan slammed Luna against her apartment walls as they kissed. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Their tongues locked in a waltz. Luna pulled away long enough to say, “Bedroom!”

  They worked their way to the bedroom and slammed the door.

  It was the next morning. Kevan sat down on the couch at his parent’s place. His clothes and hair a mess from the previous night. Luna’s pink lipstick still smeared on his cheeks and neck.

  The house was still destroyed, broken glass everywhere, food slowly rotting on the dining room table and floor. And way too much blood still on the floor. The cops didn’t clean shit. There was still a lot to do.

  He looked at a picture frame over the fireplace. It was the only frame his mother put back up. A cracked family photo of them, all young and happy. It was the last time they all had genuine smiles on their faces.

  2

  Past and Future Reflections

  God of thunder, that was what most people called him, that and now, the god of war. He hated that name, god of war. Svante contemplated his new position, his new job.

  He stood in the clouds. There were white clouds rampaging only a few feet above him and the stillest pure white clouds covering his feet. He wore a white long sleeve button-up shirt with gray slacks and a matching gray vest. His face was no older than twenty-five. But as a god, his life had spanned centuries.

  Once, when he was younger, he tried to see if there was actually a floor in this place. But as his hands dug through the clouds, only more clouds took their place.

  The room seemed to go on until infinity. An infinity of clouds and white. But some were able to see past the infinity, past the white and awe. Beyond the white, to where there was an infinity of colors, all swirling in unlimited possibilities. Not Svante.

  This place of white was where he got his power, where all the gods where born. The Wavering Radiant.

  And the place He rested. But it had been over five hundred years since He last spoke to him. Was He afraid of what was to come? Would they forsake him?

  Svante spoke, hoping that He would hear him once again. “Queen made me the head of the Inquisitors. And the god of war.” Svante laughed. “Me, the god of war. Just because I followed her rules, because I believed her lies.” Svante kicked up some of the clouds and immediately, more clouds filled their place.

  “Heh, god of war. Just like my brother. Ironic. What should I do?”

  There was no answer. The stillness of the Wavering Radiant was deafening. The clouds swirled and moved but there was never any sound. The sound of life itself.

  Svante lowered his head. “No answer…again. I know you must be afraid of what’s coming.” Svante’s voice lowered. “I know you haven’t forsaken us, I know you haven’t left us, even if everyone believes you have. It’s almost time for your return. Father, the Omega. He.”

  Svante turned and left. His footsteps echoing in the Radiant.

  Kevan stood in the corner of a boxing ring. The gym was empty except for him and his training partner. Eight months. Kevan and his partner tapped gloves in the middle and they sparred.

  Kevan’s muscles tw
isted and turned as his fists flew through the air. His partner was good and blocked and weaved past his swings. Eight months of hard work fired through his veins, twisting among the chiseled curves of his muscles. Eight months of training so that the next time he saw his brother, he could kill him.

  Afterwards, Kevan showered and got dressed. In his normal jeans and white Henley tee, he sat on a locker room bench and stared at the ground. After August left, his life had turned to shit. His whole life was coming apart.

  The only light in his eyes now was Luna.

  Kevan left the gym and drove to her apartment. It was in a better part of town and his rickety pickup truck looked out of place. He parked and went to her door and let himself in with his key.

  Luna jumped up from the couch, nearly tumbling over her swollen belly. She righted herself. “God, Kevan, I’ve been calling you all day.”

  “I was at the gym.”

  “Ignoring me? You can’t be going to the gym all day when I’m this far in my third trimester.”

  “It was only for a few hours.”

  “Yeah and who knows what could’ve happened when you were off playing with your gym buddies in the shower.”

  Kevan sighed. “Where is this crib you want me to build?”

  She pointed to an open box, the parts were all over the floor. She must have tried to build it herself and failed. He went to it and started to build the thing. It was a two-man job and Kevan doubted Luna was going to help. Not that she could. She was on the couch, holding an ice cream carton on her belly while she ate out of it.

  She could’ve at least read the instructions out for him.

  Luna said, “We also have to child-proof everything.”

  She always needed something done, something bought. He wished for a day she would just shut up. He had someone else to worry about at the moment.

  Luna continued as Kevan built, “You have to buy the child locks for the cabinets. I’ll give you my card so you can get them.”

  Kevan continued to build, stuck in his own thoughts.

  “Also, have you read the books I gave you yet?”

  Kevan didn’t answer. Why was building a damn crib so complex? He stared at the pieces. He had built cars from scratch that were less complicated. He had built his own tree house when he was a kid and he still couldn’t build a damn crib. He was getting angry, he didn’t have time for this. He needed to go home.

  “Then you have to take me to the workshop at 7 and—“

  She finally noticed that she was seemingly talking to herself.

  “Kevan!” she yelled.

  “What?” He continued to work on the crib.

  “You’re not listening to me!”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “No, you’re not. You ignoring me while you build that damn crib.”

  Kevan stood and grabbed Luna’s shoulders.

  In a calming tone, he said, “I’m building the thing you asked me to build. Okay, I am listening.”

  “Then what are you supposed to do today?”

  “Buy child locks, build the crib and take you to the pregnant couple’s workshop.”

  Luna looked down and hugged him, pushing her belly into his.

  “I’m sorry, it’s my hormones. I can’t wait to push this damned thing out of me.”

  “It’s alright. I love you.” He kissed her.

  Luna looked into his eyes. “Is it still on your mind?”

  “What?”

  “You know what. She needs help.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s okay, you can build the crib later. Go to her.”

  Kevan walked into the kitchen of his mother’s house. Barbara stood next to the microwave, where a Hot Pocket was cooking. Eight months and his mother hadn't changed a single thing in the place. A layer of dust was on everything. Maybe he should help clean up for once. She wasn’t going to do it.

  His mother‘s skin was pale. She had dark spots on her arms and deep bags under her eyes. Her skin was dry and cracking. She had a slight jitter as she rubbed her fingers together as her food cooked.

  Kevan didn’t say anything. He went into the cabinets and pulled out a box of mac and cheese and a pot. He started to boil the water for it.

  Barbara said, “I got mail for you.”

  Her voice was a wisp, it had lost all its luster in the last eight months.

  “Thanks,” he said, while he poured the macaroni into the boiling water.

  “Remember Margaret? She wanted to know if you can help her fix her fence again.”

  “Is she paying this time?” He never turned away from his food.

  “A little good favor never hurt anybody.”

  “I’m tired of her damn kids fucking around with the fence and then her asking me to fix it when they mess it up. I got too much shit to do.” Like what? Building crap for Luna and making sure his mother didn’t OD again.

  The microwave beeped. Barbara pulled out her food and just stood there.

  Kevan continued to cook. He glanced back at her as she stared at her food. She was fidgeting, vigorously rubbing her arm.

  “Kev—”

  She stopped. Kevan placed his hands on the counter and sighed aggressively. Here it comes.

  “Hey Kevan—I need a little—“

  Kevan hated when she got like this.

  “I need a little extra money.”

  “No.”

  “But I need it for—I need it for Shena. I haven’t had my hair done in some time.” She rubbed her hands through her frail thinning hair. Kevan was surprised how long her excuses worked on him before he found out.

  “Get a job.”

  “Come on, Kevan! I just need—“

  “No!”

  Barbara staggered back.

  “I’m not going to help you get your fix. Especially when you can’t come up with a better bullshit excuse.”

  Barbara stopped rubbing her arms. “You think— you think this is easy for me?”

  “No, but you should get help.”

  “I can’t afford help, Kevan.” She started rubbing her arms again. “I just need a little something to help the shakes. Please, son.”

  “I’ll pay.”

  Barbara stiffened.

  “I’ll pay for your rehab. Would that be okay?”

  “You can’t. You—you have a kid on the way.”

  “I want to.”

  “But…“

  She paused and rubbed her fingers together. Kevan was getting annoyed. Just accept the damn offer.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  “Just give me a little money—for a hair appointment and everything will be fine.”

  “This is bullshit!” Kevan threw his pot into the wall and food splattered onto the floor. “Always with your god-damn excuses. I’m offering to fucking pay for you to get better and you won’t fucking take it. I’m done with you.”

  He stormed into the hallway.

  “Kevan, wait!”

  Barbara chased after him.

  “Kevan, stop!”

  He stopped. He was a fool, to actually listen to her anymore.

  “I’ll…”

  She breathed in heavily. “I’ll do it.”

  He turned to her. Tears fell from her eyes.

  “Just—Just don’t leave me. You’re the only thing I have left.”

  Kevan went up to her and they hugged. When his father died, his mother lost it. Her husband gone, one of her children a murderer. She had always been a fragile woman, but it was too much. She started to use, only a month after his father’s death.

  August drove her to this. He killed their father and now he was slowly killing their mother. August was the reason Kevan’s world was falling apart.

  August sat on a couch in an apartment. The apartment was extremely average, the walls white. The furniture understated. August was a part of the couch, his tired eyes staring at the TV screen while soap operas played. He wore a white stained
t-shirt and no pants. His beard was bristly and unkempt.

  On the coffee table where his feet lay, there was a stack of job applications, most of them half filled out. They were being used as coasters for the empty beer bottles on the table.

  There was a click at the front door.

  “Shit.”

  August jumped up and brushed the potato chip crumbs off his shirt and started to fill out the applications.

  “God-dammit, August!” Sara yelled. She walked in with her hands full of groceries. August ignored her and continued to fill out the paperwork.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t done crap all day.”

  “Yes, I have!”

  She dropped her bags and ran to him and ripped the application from his hands.

  “These are the job applications from a week ago, August!”

  August sighed and leaned back on the couch. Great, another argument.

  “You haven’t done a single thing since we got here.”

  “I’m grieving.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t grieved? I have, August, but we didn’t leave our home for nothing.” She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Definitely not to sit on the couch all day watching soap operas!”

  August didn’t look at her. What was wrong with soap operas?

  “I have kept up the fight, August. This isn’t a game. If it wasn’t for a favor from a friend, we would’ve never gotten our new identities. You’re squandering that favor. I can’t do this alone and at this point, I’m not even sure if you want to take down the gods or not.”

  August stared at the beer bottles on the table. Take down the gods. How stupid of a goal was that?

  “I do. It’s just…”

  “Come on.”

  He looked up at her. She smiled.

  “I got something to show you.”

  He followed her into their office. August had never gone into the office before. He never needed to.

  There was a single desk with a roller chair in the small room filled with clutter. Folders, papers, boxes, littered the floor. Whiteboards hung on the walls. One of them was filled with pictures of Queen. The greatest god after He.