Mortality Bites - The COMPLETE Boxed Set (Books 1 - 10): An Urban Fantasy Epic Adventure

by Ramy Vance

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t come up here to show humans like you that we Others aren’t to be feared. After all, if the big, bad, turn-you-to-stone Medusa is a nice gal, then maybe, just maybe, the other Others are nice, too. Right?”

  “Yeah … I have to say you are not what I expected.”

  She leaned forward and put a hand on my arm. Several of her snakes, including the big green viper that came out of the crown of her head, winked at me. “Girlfriend—we never are,” she said with a smirk.

  I chuckled.

  “You have a nice laugh—and a kind smile,” Medusa said. “You’re tough, smart—a great sense of style.” She looked down at my outfit appreciatively, and I enforced every ounce of my willpower to not let out a high-pitched fangirl squeak. “A girl like you should not only fit right in, you should be the belle of the ball.”

  “You’d think. I mean, if you watch all those college movies … Animal House, Revenge of the Nerds, Van Wilder—”

  “Legally Blonde,” we said in unison.

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing. “Exactly. I mean—look at me. I’m basically Reese Witherspoon without the annoying voice.”

  “So what’s the trouble?”

  “Last night, it was … it was terrible.”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned. What happened that was so bad?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to rehash the previous night’s events. It did surprise me that Medusa hadn’t heard about it yet—she wanted to be a police officer, didn’t she?—but I would have felt this way regardless of what had happened. If I were to be totally honest with myself, I had already been feeling uneasy before all the stuff at the library. “It doesn’t matter,” I finally said. “Let’s just say it’s painfully evident that I don’t fit in here.”

  “Just because you had a bad day doesn’t mean you’re going to have a bad year. A day is a day. And in my experience, what happens today doesn’t predict what will happen tomorrow.”

  “I think it does. If anything, it predicted that I’m not like everyone else.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Medusa said, petting her lead snake. “If I was like everyone else, I wouldn’t have Marty here keeping me company.”

  “Yeah—but you’re Medusa. You are literally a legend! I’m just—”

  “A Darling.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are Katrina Darling—that’s somebody.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “So drop out,” she repeated.

  I looked up at her, once more surprised. Wasn’t she supposed to be trying to convince me to stay?

  My shocked look was met with a kind, warm smile of understanding. “Or stay—it doesn’t matter to me. But whatever you do, do so because it is where you can do the most good.”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know if me staying will lead to any good.”

  “Do you think you can do more good somewhere else? That’s why I left.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Medusa’s snakes hissed impatiently, and the former Queen of the Gorgons closed my file. “For what it’s worth, I think you should stay. The way you helped the students in the waiting room proves you have a knack for bridging the divide between our species. McGill could use more students like you.”

  I shook my head hesitantly. “I don’t know …”

  “And you don’t need to know. Not right now. Just think about it. Get through the weekend. From what I hear, McConnell Hall is having a big party tomorrow.”

  I smiled. She hears about parties but not on-campus murders. She’d have a rude awakening at police orientation. “Yeah—the O3 costume ball. ‘Ringing in the Apocalypse.’ ”

  “The apocalypse already happened, and we’re still here.”

  “I know,” I said. “If I had been on the planning committee, I would have suggested the party be called ‘The World Without End’ or something like that.”

  Medusa tilted her head, nodding in approval. More than approval—like she was proud of me or something. It felt nice to have someone so warm and inviting look at me like that, especially my literal hero.

  “Yeah,” Medusa said. “Like I said—I like your style. The weekend … OK? If it doesn’t go well, then you can come back here and drop out. Deal?”

  I didn’t move.

  “Deal?” she repeated with more force in her voice. I was painfully aware of every snake on her head staring at me intently, like they were trying to turn me to stone.

  I nodded. Reluctantly. “Yeah, sure. Will … will you be here?”

  “Sadly, no—I’m back to Paradise Lot later today. But someone else will be here, and I’ll be sure to put in your file that you are a special case. A very special case, indeed,” she said gesturing for the door. “And in answer to your early question … as a button,” she added as I stood.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, I think you’re cute. As a button.” Then she—and all of her snakes—simultaneously winked at me.

  THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

  The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth (… So Help Me, GoneGods)

  I left Student Admin feeling more confused than ever. TV dads (my primary source of fatherly advice, given that I ate mine a few centuries back) always say their daughters don’t have enough life experience to make the right decisions. They imply that life experience comes from age, from doing and seeing things. From living. I’d been alive for over three hundred years and I still didn’t feel I had enough life experience to decide anything.

  My stomach grumbled. Seeing that it was almost noon, I walked down into off-campus housing (affectionately known as the Student Ghetto) to find something to eat and—lo and behold—what was the first place I stumbled upon? A döner kebab shop opening up.

  Two birds, one kebab, I thought as I walked in, thanking the GoneGods for small miracles.

  “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE,” I said. “You are Mergen—or, rather, Mergen’s avatar.”

  I found Mergen sitting in an alleyway behind the Religious Studies Library (a building that was adjacent, but oddly unconnected to, the Other Studies Library).

  At my words, a weak smile appeared on Mergen’s face—and I knew I was right. Or the Old Librarian had been right. He was Mergen. Score one for you, librarian. Your last point before the buzzer, I thought with a heavy heart. Mergen’s eyes brightened and there was a glint of hope in them. I guess that’s what happens when someone acknowledges your existence, and I suspected that in the four years he’d been mortal, I was the first person who had actually called him by his name.

  The avatar was sitting on the ground, looking weaker and more emaciated than ever. His skin was also whiter. No, that wasn’t it exactly—it was more … transparent. Like he was literally fading away into nothing.

  “I don’t know much about you yet, except to say you represent Truth and Wisdom—that, and you’re Turkish. Which is why I got you this.” I handed him the döner kebab, and he took it with a hand so absent of flesh that bone poked from his fingertips.

  Picking the cleanest plot of ground near him, I sat down and unwrapped the falafel I’d bought for myself. Glancing over at the avatar dude, I noticed his expression had changed drastically. Whereas initially he had looked grateful and slightly better, now he sat staring down at the sandwich, his head hung low in despair once more.

  “Oh, come on!” I said. “This is from your homeland. Are you really telling me a Turkish deity doesn’t eat döner kebabs?”

  He shook his head and uttered, “The truth?” It sounded like a question.

  “Yes, the truth,” I said. “What do you eat? A friend of mine debated this very topic with me before— Well, he’s gone now.”

  The avatar pursed his lips, not answering, his impossibly white skin shining in the sunlight.

  “Are you a vegetarian?” I asked, taking the kebab and handing him my falafel. “I am, too. At least, I am now.”

  He took the sandwich, w
hich was essentially mashed deep-fried chickpeas, and sniffed it. Then he groaned.

  “Look, no judgment here. If you tell me you eat kittens, I’ll help you find a kitten. I won’t watch you eat, but I won’t judge you either,” I lied. Well, maybe not lied. I exaggerated. I would judge him. But my judgment would fall short of condemnation. After all, I’d eaten a lot worse than kittens.

  A lot worse.

  But he just shook his head.

  “OK,” I said, sliding next to him. “If you can’t eat that, can I?”

  He handed me back the falafel.

  I ripped away the foil and took a bite. I felt guilty eating in front of him, but it was a necessary part of my plan. I wanted to get this guy so hungry and frustrated, eventually he’d break and tell me what he ate that was so disgusting he just didn’t want to share with me.

  “You know,” I said, taking another bite and speaking to him around it, trying to show him just how delicious it was, “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this place.”

  He nodded. I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with me or simply acknowledging my feelings.

  “When I first came here, I thought: here’s a place where I can have a second chance. A place where no one knows me, knows what I’ve done, where I’ve been. A fresh start. A chance to become brand-new.”

  I heard Mergen smack his lips—presumably the Turkish godly equivalent of I hear you, girl!

  “But then I got here … and you know what I discovered? That you may be done with the past, but the past isn’t necessarily done with you. So much for a fresh, brand-new start, right?”

  Mergen groaned again. And not in the I’m in pain kind of way. More like This feels so good, it’s bordering on creepy. A little nervous that Mergen was perving out on me, I turned to see what was making him so happy. He was looking right at me, the corners of his lips turned slightly upward in an expression that simultaneously had a grateful and Don’t stop quality to it. But it wasn’t his expression that most astonished me—it was the transformation he had just gone through. The avatar was still pale, but he wasn’t as transparent as before. And what’s more, his hands had some meat to them. They almost looked normal.

  “What’s … going on?” I asked, amazed that anyone or anything could change so much in so little time with no nourishment in between.

  “The truth,” he muttered.

  “The truth? What are you talking about?”

  Then it hit me—when I had asked him what he ate, he’d said, “The truth.” Because of the way he inflected the end of the word, I had interpreted it as a question—as in, “Do you want the truth about what I eat?” And when he didn’t answer that question, I thought it was because he didn’t want to tell me. But seeing how his skin fleshed out and how he perked up a bit when I told him about my own inner struggles, I realized that when I asked him what he ate and he said, “The truth,” he was telling me the truth.

  This guy doesn’t eat chicken or beef, lamb kebabs or broccoli. He eats Truth, with a capital T, the honest-to-the-GoneGods Truth. And me admitting what I did, me telling him how I truly felt, that fed him. “Holy crow … you eat the Truth?”

  He nodded.

  “And I guess with everything going on around here, the Truth isn’t in high supply, huh? People are mulling about, denying how they’re fed up with the world, not really confronting what is really going on, right?”

  Again he nodded, but I also noted that his skin, although still impossibly white, was gaining a little bit more meat on it.

  “OK,” I said. “If I tell you some of my own Truth, will you keep it secret?”

  “To my grave,” he said softly.

  I believed him. After all, a creature who ate truth probably couldn’t lie. That would be akin to poisoning himself.

  I took a deep breath. “I used to be a vampire. And I haven’t told anyone, because I’m ashamed of who I was and what I did.”

  His eyes turned down and he grabbed his stomach, as if he had a bellyache.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I didn’t lie to you—it’s the truth.”

  “It is … half the truth,” he said.

  “Half the truth? What more do you want from me?”

  “All of it.”

  I started feeling a bit defensive. “I gave you all of it.”

  “No … no, you didn’t.”

  “What do you mean?” I could feel my frustration rising in me. What did this guy want? For me to bare my soul just because he was hungry? He would have to take the truth I gave him.

  He gave me a knowing look. “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For trying.”

  That really boiled my blood. Trying? Trying! I just told him my biggest, darkest secret—and it wasn’t enough? I grabbed my purse and stood up in a huff. “You know, I understand that you eat the Truth and all, but you’re still a beggar. And beggars—they can’t be choosers. You should be grateful for what you can get!”

  At this, his eyes widened and a satisfied smile painted his face. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “That is true. And tasty.”

  I stared at him. “You’re weird.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, rubbing his belly.

  “And you creep me out.”

  “I do, don’t I?” he said, smacking his lips.

  “And I am leaving,” I said, turning on my heel.

  “Yes … that is the Truth, and it is delicious!”

  Oh, brother … I’d met a lot of Others in my life, but this Mergen guy took the prize.

  JESSICA FLETCHER, YOU ARE NOT DARLING

  I walked up the hill in a huff, stomping my feet down with an unnecessary intensity as I made my way back to Gardner Hall. “The truth? The TRUTH?!” I thought (probably out loud, if we’re being truthful). “He wants the Truth?! Well, maybe the Truth is that a creature like him is too weak to live in the GoneGod World. Maybe he needs to get off his high horse and eat some humble pie like the rest of us. Maybe he should burn all the magic time he has left to blow smoke up his own a—"

  A couple of students who were meandering down the hill looked at me as I passed by them. Not that I cared. I was too busy dealing with the “Truth”! Frustrated and dejected, I entered through the building’s front door and made my way to the basement stairs. All I wanted was my bed, my iPad and a movie. Preferably a slasher.

  And I was so close to getting just that.

  I was only a few yards away when I heard the unmistakable voice of my changeling roommate in the laundry room. “Never, you foul, disrespectful urchin!” I heard Deirdre cry out.

  “What did you call me?” I heard another voice say, more in confusion than actual anger. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but that’s mine. I’m the one that picked it up. I get to keep it.”

  “For what purpose? To display on your mantel? You did not dispatch the creature—you have no claims to keep a part of him as a trophy. This being—this piece of ‘stone,’ as you call it—deserves a proper burial. An appropriate farewell.”

  “Leave him alone,” I heard another, higher-pitched voice say.

  “It’s just a piece of stone.”

  “Stone? Stone!” Deirdre’s rage was intensifying. I didn’t know the changeling well enough to know if she could control her temper or not, and my fear was that if she did lose it and attack this guy, she’d rip him to shreds. Literally. Changelings don’t mess around. Given all the resurrection magic that used to exist among the UnSeelie Court, they tended to destroy their victims’ bodies to the point of no return.

  I stepped inside the laundry room—a bleak space painted orange and holding six machines. Two of them were running, their tumblers reverberating white noise as the smell of detergent and fabric softener wafted through the room. Inside, there was some kid with an Iron Man hoodie, holding his hands up as if in surrender. A classically pretty, tall blonde stood next to him in what looked like her pajamas, holding an empty white basket.

  Uh-oh. She looked like she was getting
ready to scream.

  The kid in the hoodie took a step back and diverted his gaze. Big mistake. He had just showed Deirdre that he was scared. As a fae warrior, her instincts would be to press her advantage—any true warrior would feel the same way. Destroy your enemy however you can. And if they’re weak? Just means an easier victory for you.

  Deirdre pulled back her fist and took a step into him. I could see immediately that she was going to knock him to the ground and, once he was on his back, use her leverage to beat his body into the linoleum floor. Before she could do it, I darted forward and clamped her arm in mine, pulling her away from the boy.

  “Unhand me!” she said, lashing out at me—but as soon as she saw who I was, her eyes widened in distress and she dropped to one knee, ashamed that she had almost attacked the very person she’d recently pledged her sword arm to.

  Fae protocols—sometimes they could be useful.

  “I am sorry, milady,” she muttered in a rushed whisper.

  I rolled my eyes. “Get up, Deirdre.” I tried to help her up, but she wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s going on?” the boy said, nervously laughing at the plateau before him. “What are we—in an episode of Game of Thrones?” He looked around him as if expecting Jon Snow to saunter by, and laughed again, this time derisively.

  Deirdre ignored him, simply offering me the stone that had apparently caused all this ruckus. Up close, I saw what she was defending. My face flushed with rage as I stared at the fine carvings of the slab, making out the details of a cat-like eye with several medieval runes surrounding it.

  The gargoyle from earlier … and the one good deed I’d done today. Seeing it, I guessed that either Mousey Girl did this—something I highly doubted, given her demeanor—or she’d abandoned the poor guy and he was attacked by a misguided human who thought that he was doing the world a service by killing it.