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

by Ramy Vance

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  Metatron enters the Fates’ chambers, where the three sisters stand over their incredible tapestry.

  The first sister taps Metatron on the shoulder. The archangel whirls around, his eyes engulfed with fury. How dare this lesser creature touch him? The impudence—the arrogance! To touch one such as him without permission is a bold act that even the gods would be wary of doing. He would be within his rights to end her existence here and now.

  But then he remembers the tapestry, and understands that this Fate has nothing to fear. She has already seen her future, and it does not include being torn asunder by him.

  He cannot help but laugh. To know your own future … to know the futures of all … such insight must be both a curse and a boon.

  “What is it that you wish to show me, Sisters?” Metatron demands.

  “This,” the three sisters say in unison. Three brittle fingers point to the corner of their quilt, but instead of seeing the antiquated intertwining of all living beings’ fates, it is black … dark. Empty.

  “We have woven the Threads of Destiny,” echoes one of them.

  “Seen the fates of all,” murmurs the second.

  “And everything—everyone—comes to the same moment. There in the corner resides the empty future of all.”

  “A fateless future.”

  “One without destiny.”

  “Or purpose.”

  “Or meaning.”

  “Is that the End of Days?” Metatron muses. He has read the scriptures; he knows that the gods have always planned an end of sorts. But that end was for their creations. Their mortal creations. The promise of life everlasting for their favored children always remained.

  But if he is to understand this tapestry correctly, then the End of Days will be the end of all.

  He speaks this conclusion out loud. “If the gods choose to end everything, that is their right.”

  “Spoken like the pious whipping boy …”

  “… that the angels are.”

  “You dare,” Metatron bellows, his anger rising as the scent of brimstone and sulfur attend his intent. “Apologize! Apologize, or the universe will be forced to continue without the likes of you.”

  “Ahh, angels,” the three sisters say.

  “Such confidence.”

  “Such arrogance.”

  “Such a contradiction …”

  “… for one as powerful as you to always be so willing to”—the sister pauses, as if searching for the word—“to follow.”

  Metatron’s anger grows, and he takes a step forward as he manifests a sword made entirely of flames. As soon as the blade appears, a protective, sea-green halo surrounds Metatron. He is prepared for battle, and the form he takes is fearsome.

  But the sisters show no fear.

  The sisters know full well what he is capable of. They know what he is willing to do, and yet they goad him still. Given their own divine powers, Metatron understands that he is in great danger, for the Sisters of Fate do not fear him.

  They do not fear him because they know he will not kill them. They already know how this conversation ends. And given his anger and willingness to end them, this can only mean one of two things: either he will be subdued, or he will be convinced.

  Lifting his blade in a defensive manner, he looks around. There is nothing here to harm him. And with the halo, he is armored with God’s protection. No charm, illusion or enchantment can possess him now.

  Which means that the sisters do not seek to subdue him. They mean to convince him.

  Metatron knows he should take to the sky to retreat and re-evaluate. But even though he has shed his mortal coil, has become an archangel of great power and the leader of the Eighth Order of Angels, he still possess perhaps the greatest and most deadly of human traits: curiosity.

  Sheathing his sword, he points at the darkened spot of the tapestry. “Show me what you wish me to know. And waste no more of my time, Sisters. Speak plainly and speak quickly.”

  “As you wish,” the sisters say.

  “We will not speak at all, but rather let the words of the gods speak for themselves,” says the first sister.

  “For when they abandon us, their message is simple,” says the second.

  “Thank you for believing in us, but it is not enough …” says the third.

  DARK ELVES, EX-BOYFRIENDS AND MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKERS

  When I was a young vampire of eighty years, I fell in love for the first time. His name was Aldermemnon, but he was Aldie to me. I met him one evening while hunting in a local graveyard just outside of Prague.

  I liked hunting in graveyards, not so much because I was an evil creature of the night, but because those places tended to be quiet and relatively unoccupied. Usually you’d find one or two stragglers around, lovers on a walk celebrating their life-filled joy while exploring the finality of their existence, a vagrant looking for somewhere to sleep … a mourner who wandered there to speak to someone no longer around.

  Also, because it was a graveyard, once you were done with the body you could just dump it into some open grave.

  Hunting in a graveyard was easy pickings, the vampires equivalent of fast food. Quick, cheap and you didn’t have to clean up after yourself.

  I had just finished draining an old man who had come to sit by his wife’s grave. He was so overcome with grief that he didn’t even try to run away, instead welcoming the death I brought.

  Once he was gone—hopefully to join his wife in the After (the gods were still around back then, so as long as he got into the same heaven or hell, they’d find each other)—I heard a slow clapping from behind me.

  I turned to find out what, or rather who, was the source of the noise, but I couldn’t see anyone. That was strange. I was a vampire, after all. With my heightened senses, I could see in the dark just as easily as one could see in broad daylight. My hearing and sense of smell were attuned to find whatever I was looking for … especially if what I was looking for had a heartbeat.

  And presumably, whoever clapped had a heartbeat.

  But I saw no one. Just the statues and tombstones littering this place.

  Shaking it off as a trick of my mind, I’d stood to leave when I heard a voice—soft and pleasant, but somehow still firm and confident—say, “I admire your technique. Subtle, quick, but still full of joy. Well, joy for you, at least. That said, I am fairly sure he whispered, ‘Thank you’ just before the end.”

  The voice felt as though it came from everywhere at once, which didn’t really help me pinpoint where my admirer was standing.

  “He did.” I scanned my surroundings. Not being able to see the creature unsettled me. It had been over eighty years since anything had been able to sneak up on me.

  “So perhaps joy for you both, then?”

  I still couldn’t find the damn creature, but the fact that it hadn’t revealed itself to me meant it was playing with me. Good thing I knew how to play, too. “Why not come out of the shadows so that we may enjoy each other, too?”

  A chuckle. “Very good, young vampire. A bit of wit. A bit of humor. And humor does mask fear. For, after all, one cannot be scared and laughing at the same time.”

  “Not unless you’re insane.”

  “Not unless you’re insane,” he mused. “Yes, I suppose that is correct.”

  “So, will you come out of the shadows and play?” I touched the upper button of my blouse in a suggestive way.

  “I would, but I’m not in the shadows.”

  “Then where are you?”

  “Right in front of you.”

  I stared directly into the space in front of me, but all I saw was a statue of a young boy holding an urn spilling stone liquid over its edge. Flowers poured out amongst the water, which made it quite beautiful. Of course, I had seen dozens like it; this was a typical statue for graveyards in this region and era.

  Still, the statue was considerably larger than normal, and—

  Without hesitation, I lunged forward a
nd punched the stone face as hard as I could.

  My fist met hard rock, and my hand exploded with pain.

  That shouldn’t have happened. Don’t get me wrong—as a human, punching a statue with everything you’ve got is bound to break your hand. That’s to be expected. But as a vampire? My fist should have sailed through that stone like I was punching a piñata, except instead of candy bursting out, either the statue would have been reduced to rubble or—following my theory that this statue was alive—brains.

  Neither happened.

  I staggered back, cradling my hand. “What the—?”

  The statue’s face contorted into a smile as the creature stepped off the pedestal. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his stone exterior turned into dark, almond-colored skin and his clothing became flexible, just like fabric should.

  “Who are you?” In my relatively short life (well, short for an immortal), I had only ever encountered other vampires.

  I’d never met something else. And here I was, standing in front of a being who was clearly not human.

  I’m not proud of what I did next, but it was the only thing I could think of. I crossed myself. As in, spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch, as my lips uttered a prayer. Hey, I was a Highlands girl who had gone to church every Sunday until the day I died. Some habits die hard.

  “Tat, tat, tat.” He lifted an admonishing finger. “None of that.” He gave me the warmest, most inviting smile, and I immediately felt safe in his presence.

  And his eyes … Oh, his eyes were the perfect shade of stormy gray, like they housed an entire horizon frothing with turmoil and beauty.

  This creature was exquisite.

  But he was more than that. I understood beauty. Hell, I used beauty when hunting; vampires are imbued with an unnatural allure ourselves. It helps when drawing in prey.

  This creature was beyond exquisite. He was something else entirely.

  He approached me, hand outstretched. “I am sorry about your hand. But that was stoneskin, milady. You never punch someone with stoneskin cast on them. It can only lead to … well …” He touched my broken hand.

  Shit. He’d touched my broken hand, which meant that I’d let him get close enough to attack. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  But he didn’t attack. Instead, that gentle touch instantly healed my hand.

  “What? How? … What are you?”

  He looked genuinely confused that I didn’t know what he was. Hurt, almost. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “My dear, for a vampire, you are woefully lacking in knowledge of the underworld and what it has to offer.”

  I considered being insulted, but I was too busy swooning. My god, he was perfect.

  “Come, dear vampire.” He stretched out his hand. “Come, let me show you a whole new world.” He used that line on me centuries before Aladdin said the same thing to Princess Jasmine. And as a young vampire who had just realized that myths—Other myths—were real, let me tell you: it worked.

  Eat a man alive, it worked.

  ↔

  STARING AT THAT POSTER, I was flooded with memories of Aldie. The world of fae and myths wasn’t the only thing he had showed me during the years that followed.

  I had been a virgin when I met him all those years ago. I wasn’t a virgin when I left him. Made me think of that Disney song and what it’s really about. I mean, think about it.

  I can open your eyes

  Take you wonder by wonder

  Over sideways and under

  On a magic carpet ride

  People shagged on carpets long before there were shag carpets. And as for the unbelievable sights, the indescribable feeling … and all that soaring, tumbling, and freewheeling promised in the song? Well, you get the picture.

  (If I just ruined Aladdin for you, my apologies. But let’s be honest, Disney was filled with double entendres, subtext and read-between-the-lines adult content. I mean … “Hakuna Matata,” “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” … “For the First Time in Forever?” Masturbation, losing your virginity and, oh yeah, losing your virginity. There’s a theme here, people … Then again, it might just be me.)

  ↔

  DISNEY’S OUTLET for adolescent exploration of sex aside, the point is that Aldie was my first, and him being an immortal fae, he was one hell of a first.

  “Milady. Milady.”

  “Huh?” I looked up dreamily from the poster.

  “You are singing,” Deirdre said with genuine concern. “In all the time I have known you, you have never once spontaneously broken into song. And yet you have done it twice in the last five minutes.”

  “Was I?” I said hazily.

  “Indeed. Something about going from wonder to wonder, dazzling places and shooting stars. Despite your propensity for airing your thoughts, I have never known you to sing them. Are you possessed? Has Enoch enchanted you? Are you going to sing everything now?”

  Deirdre was in full warrior mode, scanning the crowd for any sign of Enoch. Egya, on the other hand, was chuckling as he gave me knowing looks. I had told him about my dark elf ex, and the hyena was no dummy. He knew exactly who this guy was. Damn hyenas.

  “That’s from Aladdin,” I said to Deirdre.

  “The mongrel who enslaved one of the jinn?”

  “No, the olive-skinned guy from the movies.”

  Deirdre’s eyes narrowed in obvious confusion.

  “Disney, Deirdre. Disney. Come on, if we survive this, I’m going to show you a whole new world, and I need you to interpret that with a PG-rating in mind.”

  “Milady?”

  “Never mind … Let’s go.”

  ↔

  I EXPLAINED everything to Deirdre and Egya as we walked to Naha’s conference center, where the event was taking place. The event that Aldie had organized. The event he was throwing in Okinawa tonight. As we approached, I saw huge posters of the dark elf standing with confidence and the biggest, most inviting smile on his face.

  Giant screens outside the venue played snippets of the event on repeat: Aldie ziplining over the audience and onto stage as fireworks went off; Aldie walking through the aisles, talking with the audience; Aldie triumphantly pumping his fist in the air.

  And interlaced throughout the ad, slogans flashed. Slogans like: Embrace your Destiny. Awaken the Sleeping Giant Within. Find Your Inner Banshee.

  My ex-boyfriend was a self-help guru, and judging from the crowd of Others eagerly standing in line, he was more than just a wannabe.

  Aldie was the Tony Robbins of mythical self-help. And just as I thought that, a picture of Aldie standing next to Tony Robbins popped up on the screen.

  “Finally embracing your destiny, Aldie?” I muttered as Egya snickered.

  YOU NEED TO TAKE A SWIM IN LAKE YOU

  G etting in was easier than I’d thought. Given that the event was obviously sold out, I was sure I’d have to bribe some attendant or sneak in through a back door. But as soon as we entered the ticketing area, one bright-eyed sphinx wearing a hat that read Make Your Mortal Life Immortal said, “Hurry up, the exotic animals need to be backstage and ready immediately.”

  Humph, a smiling sphinx who didn’t speak in riddles … I knew Aldie could change a person, but that was something else.

  I glanced down at Egya. He was still wearing his pink hat and his kariyushi shirt … and looking positively depressed about it.

  “Hold on,” I whispered to him. “This is just to get us inside. Then we’ll free you from your kawaii adornments.”

  He gave a snort as we walked through the doors. Evidently he didn’t believe me.

  The sphinx led us backstage, where a whole bunch of what should be wild animals mulled about with their various trainers. There was a tiger, a llama, three puffins, a white-faced capuchin, an ocelot … and now a hyena, all backstage.

  The sphinx pointed to the back. “Who’s his handler?”

  “Handler?”

  “Which one of you is going t
o take him on stage?”

  I lifted an unsure hand.

  The sphinx eyed Deirdre. “And who are you?”

  “I am Deirdre of the clan—”

  “She’s security,” I said before she could give the sphinx her entire lineage dating back to the dawn of time. Never ask a fae who they are unless you have about a day and a half to waste … They make Biblical genealogy seem reasonable.

  “I see.” The sphinx gave Egya a look. “A bit of a handful?”

  I grinned. Egya groaned. And Deirdre, who wasn’t very big on subterfuge, nodded with total sincerity.

  “Fine … just be ready,” the sphinx said, walking away.

  ↔

  EGYA and I stood backstage as the show commenced … Or rather, I should say the spectacle commenced, because that was exactly what it was. It started with the thumping base of “We Are the Champions,” except instead of Freddie Mercury crying out “the world,” the speakers (and audience) cried out, “our world.”

  Small distinction, but so very self-helpish, and Aldieish, too. Then the stage before us erupted with fire, but not the typical blasts of fire you’d see at a rock concert. These were fireballs that manifested like exploding stars on the stage.

  Someone was burning time to create that effect. Someone was losing valuable minutes of their life just for this audience’s amusement. And from the reaction of the crowd, I knew that was part of the point. The audience was mostly Others … Others who limited their expressions of magic in this godless world because it cost them life.

  I thought back to the fireballs that had manifested out of thin air, just like they had been conjured by magic. To use magic was to burn time. Aldie implied that he was sacrificing a bit of himself for them. That he was giving his life for them.

  Then I thought back to Aldie’s picture. A bit of gray in his goatee, slight wrinkles on his face. He had aged far more than an elf should in four years.

  I don’t know what infuriated me more … that he manipulated their emotions, or that I understood exactly why he did. In a world where they had been abandoned by their gods, discarded as worthless and unworthy, Aldie gave a piece of himself to them.