Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  More willing.

  Deep down, he knew it would work. He knew his ex-wife would go after Grey, would accept their offer to enter the Maze to find him, where they would erase both of their memories and let them wander through countless lifetimes in search of each other. What the experiment was about, he didn’t know. Henk was promised a payout if one of them survived.

  And that made it all the worse. Henk was a coward, the weakest of them all. When it came to facing the fear, he sent his son to battle and hid behind his ex-wife.

  He still had nothing for it.

  “Where’s the money?” He slipped on the tiles.

  Grey finally moved. He walked to the glass wall. Rain was spitting waves behind him. Henk twisted the wedding ring off and threw it. It tinked off the glass.

  “I raised you, you know. Where’s my reward?”

  He reeked of bile. Blood streaked across the back of his hand. He stumbled forward.

  “I deserve something.”

  He inflated his lungs and reached deep for the source of parental power, the innate strength given to fathers to wield over their sons. He assumed the same unblinking stare his son was giving him. He turned the x-ray vision back on his progeny. Grey’s back was to the window.

  The storm spat.

  “You kept the money from me,” Henk growled. “I know you did.”

  Grey slid his fingers under the white lapels of Henk’s lab coat. He bunched them into fists and held tight.

  “I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted,” Grey said.

  The plate-glass window—an inch thick, impenetrable, unbreakable—teetered outward. Slowly, it fell away. The storm howled against them, stinging pellets scouring Henk’s cheeks and poking his eyes. He leaned away, but Grey held tight.

  His son’s heels hung over the edge.

  The carpet soaked around their feet. Henk’s thighs turned to putty. The urge to vomit lodged in his throat. Grey pulled him closer to the edge. Henk flailed helplessly. His son was a pillar against the storm’s rage.

  “I’ll give you,” Grey said, “what you deserve.”

  And then he leaned back.

  The unstoppable momentum of gravity pulled him into the sky. The white coat still balled tight, Henk went with him.

  They fell like stones.

  The rain stinging.

  The concrete raced toward them. His scream bled into the gray wind. They struck the hood of an SUV. Henk hit the front end. His head snapped over the edge; a spray of plastic grill parts sprinkled on the pavement.

  Henk inhaled deeply and desperately.

  He scrambled across the bed, bunching the comforter over him, clutching a pillow. The air was fresh and new. He shook on the verge of tears. The taste of vomit lingered in his throat.

  He wiped his eyes.

  The room was the same—drawers open, clothes strewn about. And he was wearing the white lab coat. The wedding band, too.

  The package was on the table, the flaps open, but Grey wasn’t waiting. Rain slapped the plate-glass wall. An inch thick, still in place. He didn’t move any closer to it, the memory of falling still vivid, the crushing edge of the SUV sharp against his skull.

  A white card was taped in the exact spot where his son had been standing. It was cut and folded.

  A symbol stared back.

  “Hello, Henk.”

  The coat whirled at his waist as he spun around. His heart danced in his chest. His lungs were still heavy and burning. An old woman was sitting at the table. She wasn’t there a second ago. Now she was hunched next to the open package. There was something familiar about her.

  It was the eyes.

  She stood up and slowly approached. She was smiling a smile that was more sorry than it was happy. She smoothed the wrinkles on his lapels. Her hair was pulled back over her head. Before her smile turned more angry than sorry, he recognized her.

  It was the jagged scar near the hairline.

  THE END

  * * *

  To read more about FOREVERLAND and other Bertauski novels..

  About the Author

  My grandpa never graduated high school. He retired from a steel mill in the mid-70s. He was uneducated, but a voracious reader. As a kid, I’d go through his bookshelves of musty paperback novels, pulling Piers Anthony and Isaac Asimov off the shelf and promising to bring them back. I was fascinated by robots that could think and act like people. What happened when they died?

  Writing is sort of a thought experiment to explore human nature and possibilities. What makes us human? What is true nature?

  I’m also a big fan of plot twists.

  Read More from Tony Bertauski

  BERTAUSKI.COM

  Blood for Stone

  Logan Thomas Snyder

  Meridia’s most notorious meet their match, and nothing will ever be the same.

  One of Earth’s last great cities is under siege from within. When a shocking act of violence rocks the city-state of Meridia, the humans, vampires, and gargoyles who call it home realize how fragile their peace truly is. As acts of recrimination begin to mount, it’s only a matter of time until the city descends into complete chaos.

  Enter Ryen Cato and Hank Smiley, the mayor’s own special investigators. Together, the so-called “spectors” uncover a plot long in the making, one that could permanently change the balance of power in the city. With the help of allies new and old, it’s a race against time to prevent everything the citizens of Meridia have worked toward from crashing down around them.

  And yet, even if they succeed, the city will never be as it once was.

  1

  Ryen Cato awoke from a fitful slumber—the only kind he ever enjoyed with Yasmina—to a familiar, if disconcerting, feeling. It involved a chisel-pointed fingernail, his carotid artery, and the morbid thrill that came with the knowledge that his partner could end him with little more than a flick of her wrist. A chill ran down his spine at the thought, the tightening of his groin a reminder of the stakes at play.

  Rolling onto his back, Cato looked up to find the succubus showstopper staring back at him with focused, almost feral eyes. She had been awake for a while. Waiting for him to wake up. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting…

  Serves you right for screwing me into a stupor, he thought, mopping his face. Probably not the best line to lead with, but still, the point remained. “Morning, love,” he said instead, his voice thick with three shades of sleep. “Sleep well?”

  “Cato, Cato, Cato…” She said his name slowly each time, the chiding emphasis more and more evident with each iteration. Her voice was heavy with implication, and not the good kind he preferred. From behind her well-toned backside, she produced a bone-handled, silver-bladed knife of the very style that was so effective when it came to dispatching her kind. “I thought we’d come to an understanding. You don’t need this when you’re with me.”

  Ah, hell. “Well, in my defense, this sort of relationship has never really worked before. You know, historically. Ever,” he emphasized.

  Yasmina huffed out an angry sigh. She had heard it all before and then some, as evidenced by the way she flipped the blade and caught the point between her fingers. She held it there, locking her cattish eyes with Cato’s as wisps of smoke rose from the skin reacting to the treated blade.

  “Yasmina, come on…”

  With a silver flash the blade was gone, embedded in the doorpost on the other side of the tiny apartment. “You know I’m not like other succubi,” she said over the rattling thrum of the handle fanning back and forth. “I don’t shit where I eat, Ryen. It’s bad karma.”

  Even after weeks of sharing her bed, Cato still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept. A succubus who believed in karma, of all things. Still, he couldn’t deny her the point. She’d been nothing but upfront with him from the get-go, and every morning he awoke in full command of his faculties. Of course, he might be in thrall to her and not even know it, but the odds were better than not that Hank or Dolan wou
ld have made some mention of it by now. He’d had some sketchy girlfriends in the past, but he hoped at least one of his friends would be decent enough to pull him aside and tell him he’d been hypnotized through the dick by a smoking hot sex demon. (Literally and figuratively, that last part.)

  “You’re right,” he conceded, pushing up in bed so they were face to face. “Old habits and all. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Yasmina side-eyed him for a moment, arms folded across her bare chest as she gauged his sincerity. “Do you really mean it?”

  Cato reached for her hands and pulled her in close. She pouted, resisting at first before allowing herself to be drawn in nearly nose to nose with him. “I absolutely do. You have my word.”

  He stole a kiss to seal the deal, and at last Yasmina relented. “Fine,” she said, stifling a musical giggle. “I believe you. But—” She poked his chest with her chisel-nailed finger, dipping her head and staring at him with heavy-lidded emphasis. “I’m still sort of mad at you. So, you get to make breakfast while I shower first.” Off she went before he could object, shaking out her flowing, sugar-spun locks along the way.

  “All right, all right,” he said, turning on his side to enjoy the show. If part of his punishment was having to watch her slink bare-assed to the bathroom, well, that was just his cross to bear.

  She raised her voice in afterthought as she disappeared behind the flimsy partition. “And turn on the radio, will you?”

  With the show over, or at least entering intermission, Cato sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the of bed. Stretched, cracked his back. Padded into the kitchen to get started on breakfast, making sure to turn on the radio as requested.

  “… And, now, recapping this morning’s top story, Hezekiel Stone of the Gargoyle Gjunta and several of his associates were gunned down in what authorities are calling a targeted hit as they exited Stone’s nightclub in the early hours of this morning. Once again, for those of you just joining us, the Gargoyle Gjunta’s second-in-command appears to have been…”

  Cato dressed and was out the door as fast as it took to snag his badge and gun from the nightstand. Behind him, Yasmina was already cursing his sudden absence. So much for breakfast.

  * * *

  All things being equal, a wight and a succubus getting it on in spite of their better instincts was hardly the strangest thing Meridia had to offer. Hundreds of years earlier, the portal fixed in the sky above had opened, spewing forth a menagerie of terrifying otherworldly creatures: vampires, gargoyles, succubi, weres, terrors, and shades, to name but a few. The battles that had followed were cataclysmic, pitting humanity against monsters and scorching the very earth they fought to control. The portal had long since closed, stranding those who had come through and forcing negotiation amongst the survivors of the apocalyptic struggle. The cities that had arisen in the wake of the armistice were few and far between: sprawling metropolises where wights and the otherworldly coexisted, and not always peacefully. Theirs was an uneasy truce, one that the hardliners and extremists of all persuasions would never fully accept. His own issues with the armistice notwithstanding, his job was essentially to keep the peace it had established. With the death of Hezekiel Stone, he couldn’t help thinking that that was about to get a hell of a lot more difficult.

  By the time Cato arrived on scene, it had been cordoned off a block in every direction. Typical Police and Welfare overkill, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. The rest of the morning was going to suck, but at least he could look forward to busting Ann’s balls.

  Hank was there to meet him. He was stranded outside the cordon like the rest of the civilians, bystanders, and other castoffs, jockeying for the attention of the barely legal Police and Welfare Division graduates who’d been given the scutwork security detail. Eventually, a delegation would be dispatched from Silverbreak Keep. The sooner they got in there, the better. Not that these rookies would know anything about that.

  “Step aside,” Cato bellowed, casually shouldering his way through the gawkers and looky-loos until they wised up and made a hole. “Thank you. Much obliged.”

  Upon seeing him, one of the whelps manning the cordon puffed out his chest gung-ho style. “Stand down and state your business, sir.”

  “To add your badge to my collection if you don’t go fetch me the detective working this shit show.” Cato produced his credentials, which sent the barrel-chested youngster scrambling to find the big dog. “That’s what I thought,” Cato said into his wake.

  “I ever mention that you make me look bad by proxy?”

  “Hazard of the job, my friend. You don’t like it, tell your story walking.”

  Hank chuckled, a gravelly tumble in the low of his throat. “Someone’s grumpy this morning. Another sleepless night?”

  “You’re not nearly as clever as you think.”

  “Maybe not to you. I’m getting a serious kick out of it. It’s what you get for lying down with one of those… things.”

  “She’s not a thing, Hank. Granted, she’s not entirely human, but come on—let’s try to be a little more openminded, shall we?”

  “I will as soon as you stop sleeping with that blade under the mattress.”

  “Hey, for your information, I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Oh, really? As of when?”

  Cato held his partner’s gaze for all of three seconds before relenting and waving him off. “This morning. But I’m serious this time.”

  “Oh-ho. Well, then. But seriously, really? Because, unless I’m mistaken, that’s a pretty major commitment, amigo.”

  “You’re not, and it’s about due. Yasmina’s been good to me. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to hide it.”

  “Could always keister it,” Hank offered. Only the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips betrayed the humor beyond his otherwise deadpan delivery.

  “Nah. She’d just find it there, eventually, too.” Cato’s grin was as unabashed as they came. Check and mate, partner.

  Hank confirmed his defeat a moment later, staring off into the middle distance and sighing. “I don’t know which is more disturbing: that comment, or the fact that it doesn’t bother me near as much as it would have six months ago.”

  “That’s how you know it’s meant to be. So I’m told, anyway.”

  “Believe it or not, I actually have had worse partners,” Hank said, his own way of saying that he thought they made a good team, too. “So, you trust her that much, eh?”

  Cato did a double-take, staring at Hank as if he’d suddenly confessed a predilection for vampire flesh. “Fuck, no. Are you out of your mind? She’s a succubus, Hank. I’ll just have to figure out some other way to sleep reasonably comfortably when I’m with her.”

  “Might I recommend therapy? Because you are one serious piece of work.”

  “Oh, stow it, already. It’s like they say: a good relationship is built on a healthy sense of mistrust.”

  “The truly sad thing is, I don’t even think you realize how well you’re making my point for me.”

  “How do you figure?”

  Hank threw up his hands in exasperation.

  “My thoughts exactly, Spector Smiley,” a new voice said, its owner approaching from the other side of the tape. “So, which one of you fine gentlemen would care to tell me what the hell you’re doing dry-humping my crime scene?”

  Ann Banner. Chief of Detectives, Police and Welfare Division. Tragic, in a way. The best detective Cato had ever worked with, cut down in her prime by the burden of command. Hadn’t wanted it, had done everything she could to avoid it, but eventually there had been no better or worse candidate. Her promotion had made all sides happy, in that no one was especially miserable afterward. No one except her, of course. The chip on her shoulder had only gotten bigger since, to the point that she practically limped with the weight of all that rode upon her every move.

  “Morning, Ann,” Hank said quickly. “Just wanted to get that in there before this next part.�
��

  Cato rolled his eyes. “Kiss-ass.”

  As she looked from Hank to the smirking Cato, Ann’s face curdled with realization and disgust. “Oh, you have got to be—”

  “Nope. Read ’em and weep, sister,” Cato said, handing over a folded decree bearing the official seal of the city of Meridia. “By order of Mayor Dolan Zobbles, my partner and I are officially exerting special jurisdiction over this crime scene and investigation. Pack up your crap, move it on out, you don’t gotta go home but you can’t stay here, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Ann snatched the document from his hand. She didn’t even bother to waste her time scanning the familiar text. Instead, she bared her teeth at Cato and shook her head. “I cannot wait to watch you crash and burn, Ryen. You not so much, Hank, but it’s what you get for hitching your wagon to this… this… asshole!” She worked her mouth angrily for a moment, almost as if she was remonstrating herself for not conjuring up a more cutting insult. Then she spun on her heel and stalked off.

  “Bye, thanks for playing,” Cato called out. “Better luck next time.”

  “Well, that wasn’t uncomfortable or anything.”

  Cato scoffed. “She’ll get over it.”

  “I meant for me. I happen to like Ann, you know. She’s good people and damn good police.”

  “Yeah, well, you never had to work with her. Or for her.”

  “Is that seriously all it is? Because it feels weirdly personal from where I’m standing.”

  “Hey, what case are you working, huh? Focus up, and let’s get in there.”

  Hank rolled his eyes and nodded.

  After claiming ownership of the scene, Cato peeled off to have a few words with the young officer who had first denied them entry. He was still working the tape line, helping to preserve the scene until they were ready to turn it over to the boys from the morgue. Perhaps the most surprising moment was when Cato slipped the young officer his card and the two shook hands.