Redneck Apocalypse Special Edition Box Set

by eden Hudson

  Somewhere, Tiffani was laying on the floor of a cell, either lost in the Hell in her head or screaming in agony.

  I made myself take another step.

  Tough

  I don’t remember the trip back up into the attic, but I remember once I got there deciding that I was going to stand by the broken window because the sun had changed angles and I wouldn’t catch on fire. Through the glassless window, I could feel the summer heat rolling in. Harper would’ve had a conniption fit over the broken window. She would’ve said we were running up the utility bill, air-conditioning the whole damn town. Apparently Lonely was rich enough that he didn’t care how much money he was wasting.

  It was crazy bright out, brighter than I could remember ever seeing it. Looking, I could imagine the world exploding into fire and ash and taking me with it. I wished it would. Then I wouldn’t have to be responsible for what was coming next. I wouldn’t have to be the one who killed Will and Dodge and all those high school kids from Scout’s class and even those jock dickholes Drake and Jim.

  Scout must’ve been right about the crow magic working better naked because I wasn’t flying as high as I’d been after the first magic blood-sucking, but I could feel the blood like a fuzz all around the inside of my head. Somewhere at the edge of the fuzz, I could feel the disgust and self-loathing crouched and waiting to spring, but it couldn’t get through yet.

  I ground my teeth, hoping I’d get that sensation of biting down on something chewy and indestructible, but all I got back was scraping.

  Dodge was right. I didn’t ask for this. This was Scout’s army and Colt’s job and Dad’s war. Even right after Mikal killed Mom, when Sissy and Ryder and Colt were all gung-ho to become Soldiers of Heaven, I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted it to be over so I could go home, play my guitar, and have everybody and everything leave me alone.

  Standing there, looking out the window, one of Dad’s old sermons came back to me.

  You know that saying about God never giving us more than we can handle? It’s a lie. He gives us more than we can handle all the time. He does it to remind us that we can’t do this alone. Then when we cry out to Him, He handles it, just like He promised he would in Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” That old saying should go “God never gives us more than we can handle with His help.”

  I twisted a leftover shard of broken glass out of the window pane and tossed it at the street.

  Maybe that promise was conditional. Fuckups need not apply.

  There was a commotion on the stairs, then that crow-girl Talitha came up, dragging Bailey—one of Jax’s protectors from the Witches’ Council—by the arm.

  “Have a seat,” Lonely said, bowing and sweeping one fat arm at a crate marked M32 MGL.

  Bailey crossed her arms and shot him a look over her glasses. “I’ll stand.”

  “We need some information,” Clarion said. “You might be here a while enlightening us.”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive,” she said.

  Just ask her about the sword, I told Lonely. I’d heard Bailey argue with Kathan when he was in Big, Bad Mayor mode. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a fat crow and a one-eyed coyote.

  Scout must’ve heard me because she said, “Tell us everything you know about Mikal’s sword. We want to know where it came from, what it does, how, why, when, where, fill-in-the-blank.”

  Bailey lifted an eyebrow at Scout, which was a lot more subtle than what I would’ve done if I’d still had my voice. It sounded like Scout had picked that line up from some crime show. Probably the same place she got all her Halo: Maximum Security references.

  “Start talking,” Scout said.

  Bailey glared at me. “With him just sitting there? After what he did?”

  If Jax was alive, he probably would’ve said something smooth like, “Aw, Bailey, I didn’t know you cared!” He had always known what to say to get people to like him and to do what he was asking.

  Well, almost always. That last time was kind of the big one considering it got his neck snapped.

  “Jax screwed up,” Scout told Bailey. “You know that as well as I do. He could’ve taken the time to learn craft from you guys, become an apprentice, and in ten or fifteen years he could’ve been a witch, but he didn’t. He took the shortcut and traded Jason Gudehaus for his magic.”

  “Familiar sounding story,” Bailey said, looking Scout up and down like she was sizing up Scout’s crow magic.

  Scout stood up straighter. “I made my decision. So did Jax. We’re the ones who’ll have to deal with the consequences. You get to make a decision now, too. Tell us everything you know about the sword or Tough and I will dig it out of you. Between his mesmerization—” She reached down and pulled an old style KA-BAR out of a crate. “—and this, I’m pretty sure we can find out everything we need to know.”

  Bailey rolled her eyes, but she didn’t call Scout’s bluff.

  Clarion waved a hand at Scout like he was telling Bailey to ignore her. “If your specialty really is information and prophecy, then you already know what’s at stake here. Do you think I want to be working with crows? That they want to be working with me? There aren’t a lot of sides to choose from this time. You’re either with us or you’re with them.”

  Bailey shot me one last look, then took a deep breath and blew a puff up at the stray hairs hanging over her glasses. “The Sword of Judgment, if I’m remembering the translations correctly, was posted at the entrance to the Garden of Eden, going to and fro day and night to keep anyone from entering after Adam and Eve were cast out. If our timelines are correct, this was long after Kathan led the rebellion in Heaven which caused a third of the angels to fall.”

  She paused to lift up her glasses and rub her eyes. “There was a time when the fallen angels weren’t organized. They roamed the Earth, demanding to be worshiped as gods, pitting tribes against one another, mating with humans and animals—which is where we get the origin of beings like the Nephilim, chimera, Naga, sirens, lizard people, et cetera—and generally causing chaos wherever they pleased. According to most accounts, that all changed when Mikal stole the Sword of Judgment from the entrance of the Garden. This gave Kathan the power to send any of his fellow fallen angels to Hell, which as one might imagine, was equivalent to being given the divine right to rule. Thus the fallen angels organized with Kathan as their leader. And as you’ve no doubt seen in the triptych in the Dark Mansion’s front hall, they’ve spent the remaining time gathering their armies for the last battle. Most non-people communities are indebted to the fallen angels for setting up refuges and twisting the folklore about them in such a way as to make them desirable to humankind, so one can assume they would stand with the fallen angels in the last battle.”

  “Mikal had the sword,” Clarion said. “Why didn’t she just become the leader herself?”

  Bailey paused, then shrugged. “Most APIM and sup-psych studies conclude that fallen angels are—or project the semblance of being—similar to humans in their desires. Some crave power, others to be the object of lust, and still others crave bloodshed and war. They theorize that alphas like Kathan chase power and obeisance, whereas most enforcers enjoy causing suffering. Mikal knew uniting the angels under Kathan would give her everything she was looking for, without putting her at the forefront where she would eventually have to deal with the trivialities that come from being at the head of any movement—public relations, for example.” Bailey’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “Although the working theory at the Council is somewhat different.”

  Then she waited.

  I would’ve just stared at her like she was stupid until she quit with the teacher act, but Scout took the bait.

  “What’s that?”

  “Raelynn, Brant, and I have talked about it extensively,” Bailey said, “And we think Kathan can’t wield the Sword of Judgment.”

  Bailey’s blue-gray eyes met mine, and for a second it felt like all the buzz from Scout’s
blood was gone. The look made it pretty obvious that she would rather scrape me off her shoe than track me around the house, but behind that there was something else. She looked like she wanted to be mad at me, but she was too tired to pull it off.

  Scout broke our stare-down. “Why wouldn’t he be able to use the sword?”

  “That is the question,” Bailey said. “But consider that Kathan had supreme power in his hand and chose not to wield it. Rather, he chose to let someone else hold a piece of the power that held his kingdom together, to depend on someone other than himself. In popular religious theory, what was the sin that got Lucifer cast out?”

  “Pride,” Clarion said. “Thinking he was good enough to rule in God’s place.”

  Bailey nodded. “Exactly. Angels may have similar psychologies to humans, but they’re different in one fundamental way—they’re changeless. Fifty thousand years ago, Kathan thought he was worthy of the throne and everything that comes with it. Fifty thousand years from now, Kathan will still believe he’s worthy of the throne and everything that comes with it. There’s no reason Kathan would leave such an important piece of the puzzle in someone else’s hands unless he didn’t have a choice.”

  None of this helps us, I told Lonely and maybe Scout. We need to know where the sword is now.

  “Hmm,” Lonely said. “Not entirely true, tarnished one. We need to know everything we can learn about the sword, not just where it is now. You never know which piece of information might turn out to be important.”

  Bailey glanced my way again. “All information is inherently valuable. Your girlfriend seemed like the type who would’ve recognized that. As much as I hate to admit it, Ajax didn’t. He could store nearly infinite data in that brilliant head of his, but he never quite saw the need for the gathering of it.” She looked down at the floor as if she could see Jax laying in his grave. “He would’ve made a good mage, but a terrible witch.”

  “To get back to the matter at hand, though,” Clarion said. “Kathan probably can’t wield the sword. Mikal could. But Mikal’s in Hell now. So where is the sword?”

  “I think Colt might’ve had it,” Scout said. “One of my people did a fly-over of the cabin last night when Hell came for one of the fallen angels. They wouldn’t have used it on each other, so that means Colt had it.” She looked at me and nodded like I was already agreeing with her. “Right?”

  Just a fucking kid just a fucking kid just a fucking kid started looping through my head. I nodded so I could look anywhere else but at Scout.

  Bailey pursed her lips, then nodded. “Mikal stole it from the Garden. Colt stole it from Mikal. The Tracker and a squad of foot soldiers led by Rian killed Colt and Tiffani Cranston last night. One assumes that they recovered the sword during or after the melee. It surely would’ve been high on their priority list, with Colt’s death a close second.”

  Then she laughed. A real, delighted laugh that lit up her whole face.

  When Bailey saw that we were all staring at her, she shrugged. “Prophecies never turn out the way you think they will. ‘The last chosen soldier of God must visit death upon his brother before a holy champion can rise and the last battle for Earth can begin.’ Even when they’re written in a clear, coarse language, the human assumptions are always so far from what actually happens that it’s…well, it’s laughable. It’s like the 10-day weather forecast.”

  Lonely laughed then, too, a few loud crawks that shook his head and shoulders. Almost human, but at the same time definitely not human at all. The sound scraped down the back of my neck like a bad chord.

  “So, if I’m hearing you right,” Clarion said, scratching the gray-blonde stubble on his chin, “Then the sword is back with the fallen angels. Our next course of action is pretty clear. We have to get it back. So, how do we do that?”

  “Well, that’s trickier,” Bailey said. “Like any item you wish to steal, you would have to know who has it, where they’re keeping it, and how to take it away from them without dying.”

  That was what it always came down to. Not dying.

  Tempie

  How do you turn against your rescuing angel? How do you betray the only being who ever understood and loved you unconditionally?

  I don’t have to betray anybody, I thought again, more forcefully.

  This isn’t something you can stubborn your way out of, that little voice in my head argued. You either let them torture your sister until they kill her or until she’s as screwed-up and lost as you, or you betray the one shining memory of your life, the one being who’s ever been honest with you, the only thing that could ever love you.

  No, I thought again. I don’t have to betray anybody.

  And for once in my life I wasn’t just saying it because screw anybody who tried to tell me what to do. No, this time I was sure I was right.

  “Make love to me,” I whispered—or thought—to Kathan. “To my body. Please, Kathan. Really love me.”

  I wasn’t sure whether or not I was alone in our suite—there was always the chance that Kathan’s projection beside me was actually a piece of his mind holding the pieces of my mind together while they recovered—but when I spoke, he sighed against my throat, and I felt it in every piece of my mind and body.

  “Would that I could, my love.” A little nip of his teeth at my collarbone. Burning fingers tracing down the outside of my thigh, then sliding back up the inside, under my skirt. “But I’ve got the legions lining up at my parlor door, waiting to kneel down to me. Can’t keep them waiting much longer.”

  My mind was exhausted from staying apart for so long, but I broke off that burned-out emotionless piece again and sent it after some part of my angel lover. He wanted sex, needed it. The plays that were in motion now were happening so fast—and worse, they hurt him. They dug into those eternal wounds in his soul. He needed something to take his mind off of that pain, even just for a few moments. He needed my love and adoration to sooth the pain. He needed to know that I needed him.

  It wasn’t a lie. I did need him. After he let me see inside his mind, it helped to have physical sensations—real ones, not essence-borne ones—to reset my internal gauges, to remind me what was real and what wasn’t.

  “Please,” I begged. “I can make it fast. I just need to feel you. Please, Kathan.”

  His hair fuzzed across my exposed belly and his teeth nibbled again, this time at my hip. “Later.”

  “Now.” I groaned and tried to press closer.

  His laughter rumbled through his chest and across my skin. God, I loved to make him laugh. He was so deeply scarred, so angry, so determined. But when he laughed—really laughed—he was beautiful.

  I took Kathan by the sides of his face and pulled him up to my lips.

  The kiss surprised him. He pulled back, his black, black eyes staring down into mine.

  For a second, I thought he was going to ask me why.

  For a second, I thought I was going to beg him to stop now, to be satisfied with me and the kingdom he’d made for himself here in Halo. Don’t take the chance. Don’t go marching off to war, Johnny.

  The second passed with only the sound of our hearts and breath.

  I know every part of you and yet you continually surprise me, Kathan said. Where did you ever hear that piece of music?

  I don’t remember.

  When his lips came down on mine again, they burned.

  I have to, he told me. The words were almost an apology.

  Then make love to me for real. Make love to my body. I can be the same as Desty again. You can make me the same. You were thinking about it before. I heard you.

  Again time passed without speaking. Only Kathan’s eyes, boring down into my soul, searching for something.

  You aren’t sure whether you can kill the baby, I told him. You don’t know if you have the time to find a poison that will work. You don’t know if Desty and I will even be identical enough once it’s dead for the enthrallment to work on her. But if you make love to me, if I conceive…
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  He tucked my hair behind my ear, and I felt the sickness inside his soul reaching out to me as if I could heal it.

  How is it that you can’t see how good you are, Temperance? He kissed my cheek. How faithful? How willing to protect the ones you love?

  Tears slipped down my cheeks. Please don’t say things like that.

  I just need you to know that I can see it, he said.

  We made love. Apologetic, determined, broken love.

  Desty

  Blood. Rivers of blood. Deep, velvety reds swirling across my field of vision. Except this time I didn’t feel any panic. Just a sense of weightlessness. Instead of being dragged down, the blood held me suspended. Warm and thick, it caressed my skin, pressing in on me just enough that I felt protected, not trapped or confined. Usually the blood dream sent me into a panic attack. This time, I just felt peace.

  I’d never had the blood dream without having had some sort of chemical depressant before falling asleep—cough medicine or alcohol or bite sedative from a vampire. If I thought hard about it, I could remember the foot soldiers who were in charge of…of hurting me had injected me with a few different things. Maybe one of those had caused the blood dream. When I woke up, I could see whether I felt hungover or strange.

  “That’s probably it,” I said. My voice sounded flat, echo-less and strange, as if I was underwater, listening to someone on the surface talk.

  I’d never been able to speak before in the blood dream. Whenever I had opened my mouth to scream or beg for help in the past, the blood filled my throat and lungs, choking me.

  I took a deep breath in, then let it out. Still no drowning. The reds in front of my nose and mouth swirled and shifted on my exhale.

  I reached out. My fingers bumped smooth padding. The lunatic cell’s wall. Or floor. Probably wall. The darkness was disorienting, but I doubted that I could be on my hands and knees without realizing I was.