Excerpts from the Phantom Squadron novels
Excerpt from The Advance Guard: Kitty Lazarus meets Durga
She felt like she was drowning. She felt like she was flying.
Lazarus snapped back to reality, panting. She was no longer in the water: apparently she had washed up on shore while she was unconscious and the waters had receded, because the river was no longer in sight. Shaking her head, she looked around her. Dense forest, with nothing to mark any heading, surrounded the woman. Night seemed to be falling, as evidenced by the denseness of the air. Quickly, she patted herself down, checking her physical state and her equipment.
She still had her pistol and a few grenades. She pressed the silent mike to her throat. “Lonstein, do you copy?”
Nothing.
“Lonstein, Payette, Trueman, Thayer?”
Still nothing.
“Come on guys, quit fucking around.”
Silence greeted her request. She pulled the broadcast box of her radio out. It broke into five sharp plastic pieces in her hand.
“Oh, this is perfect. What else can go wrong?”
She reached into another pocket, for her portable GPS tracker. Also broken. She angrily flung the two broken pieces of equipment away from her. Taking a deep breath, she started looking up toward the sky, making calculations.
“Okay, let’s see … just about sunset … light’s brightest … we were headed … all right, let’s see if we can catch up.”
The woman started running through the trees. The unusual Asian foliage formed a thick canopy of brush over her head, darkening the path ahead. She reached up for the rescue light on her ammunition harness.
“Thank God for small miracles,” she muttered as the light blinked right on. She took four steps …
… and yelped. The ground gave way beneath her, dropping her. She rolled down a dirty wall, coming to rest at the bottom of a massive pit. Cursing loud and extravagantly, she brushed herself off and made another cursory check of her body.
The light had broken now. She growled with her frustration, scrambling toward the opposite wall of the pit, trying to climb out. Only soft dirt met her hands, crumbling as she attempted to climb out, not allowing her to place any weight forward. Frustrated, she kicked the wall.
“Damn this country and damn all of this!”
She slumped down to the floor of the pit, cross-legged, her chin in her hand. Reaching into her pocket, she found a box of matches: her emergency lights. She struck one against her boot, using the dim light to attempt to gain her bearings.
She had apparently fallen into a tiger pit, but thankfully there were no spikes at the bottom to impale her. The dirt, softened up by the flash-monsoon from earlier in the day, was saturated with water. Looking down at herself, she could see the muddy trails of her fall and attempts to climb out. The match reached the end and burned her fingers slightly. She pulled out another one. When she lit it, it appeared she was not alone in the pit: a face appeared against one wall.
Lazarus shrieked, but then stood up to approach the figure. As she came closer, the light revealed the statue of a woman, carved out of what looked like bedrock.
“Funny place for a shrine.”
She scanned the statue’s features. The woman had three eyes, with one in the center of her forehead, at a vertical position to the other two. She had ten arms, in typical Hindu fashion. Looking at each hand, Lazarus noticed that each held a weapon: a trident, a bow, a sword, a mace, a chakram, among others.
Seeing this, Lazarus chuckled. “My kind of gal, whaddya know?” The match burned her fingers once again. Convincing herself not to waste the whole box, she reached for one last match, striking it against a buckle of her ammo harness.
The light bathed the statue again. Only this time, stone was replaced with flesh. The eyes blinked.
Lazarus dropped the match and scrambled backward, away from the woman who had been a statue just a moment before. She pulled out her pistol and leveled it toward the newcomer.
“Okay, freeze! Who the fuck are you, and how did you get in here without me knowing?”
The other woman’s eyes, all three of them, started glowing. She stepped forward, the glow creating enough light to illuminate the entire pit. All ten of the other woman’s arms moved now, holstering and sheathing every weapon she had been holding. As Lazarus watched, ten arms combined into eight, then six, then four. She continued to approach, making Lazarus clutch her gun tighter, bringing her other hand up to steady her shaking.
“I said who are you?”
The newcomer looked over Lazarus then smiled. “My kind of woman. You will be perfect.” She approached the SEAL, taking a hold of the gun. “Am I right in assuming this is a weapon?”
Now Lazarus was confused. Unwillingly, she let go of the gun. “Yeah. Be careful with that.”
Looking curious, the stranger wrapped her upper right hand around the gun’s hilt, lacing her index finger into the finger guard and pointing it away from Lazarus. She pulled the trigger. The loud report of the gun’s firing seemed to delight the stranger, as she passed the other right hand over one of her hips.
“Excellent. Almost like the thunderbolt, loud and lethal.” She turned toward Lazarus. “Thank you.”
“You know, you can’t really take that, it’s U.S. Government property. I can’t tell you how many guns I’ve wanted to keep for myself that I couldn’t.”
The hand over the stranger’s hip moved away, revealing a primitive holster. She slid the gun into it then looked up at Lazarus. “A stranger, in a strange land. You do not know me, do you child?”
“Who are you callin’ ‘child,’ lady?”
The stranger chuckled. “Of course not. What is your name, brave one?”
Lazarus crossed her arms. “Lazarus, Katrina, Lieutenant, United States Navy, service number 4-9-2-5-8 …”
The stranger reached out and placed a hand over Lazarus’ mouth. “My name is Durga, brave one, and you have been brought here.”
Lazarus moved Durga’s hand aside. “’Brought here?’ I think you’re mistaken, I fell in here.”
“You were separated from your men.”
Now Lazarus raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I was. By a storm …”
“… that rose up without any kind of warning?”
Lazarus nodded. “Okay, what’s up?”
Durga smiled. “There is a great evil afoot, not far from here. When you leave here, you will gather your men and confront it.”
“Now wait one minute, lady, my mission is supposed to be strictly reconnaissance!”
Durga approached even closer, taking Lazarus’s arms in all four hands. “In your current state, Lazarus, Katrina, you cannot stand against the evil. You and your team would fall completely. I will grant you the strength and the power you will need.”
Lazarus’ eyes lit up. “Really, now? Is this some kind of Faustian deal we’re making? Do you want my soul in return?”
The other woman laughed. “Don’t be silly. I only ask that as long as you hold the power I grant, you are my servant here on the Earth plane.”
Lazarus’ eyes focused on those of Durga. They still shone with the otherworldly light from before, but at this range it was not quite as intense. The features around those eyes seemed very soft.
“You promise I won’t be your servant forever, right? And you’ll get me out of this pit, right?”
Durga smiled. “You have my word, brave one.”
Lazarus sighed. “All right, I’ll do it.”
The pit seemed to swim around Lazarus, as her equilibrium went into flux. Her knees felt too weak to support her own weight: only Durga’s arms around her kept her upright. Her eyes flickered, the last sight before them Durga’s face, the last sensation Durga’s lips on her own.
~~~~
“What do you think happened, sarge?”
Payette’s whispered question roused the rest of the team from their slumber. Lonstein stood next to him, his weapon at the ready.
“I don’t know. Looks like some kind of cat, not sure why it’s here.”
Thayer was the next man up with the group. “Why don’t we wake it up?”
“Are you crazy? I don’t feel like getting mauled.”
Trueman crouched down next to the mysterious figure. “Look at this, guys …”
He pointed a finger at a black cloth which seemed to wrap around the figure. In particular, an embroidered strip.
Lonstein crouched next to Trueman. “It looks like BDU’s, but they’re really tattered.” The sergeant looked closer at the point where Trueman was looking.
A name. LAZARUS.
The figure in the black cloth made a quiet, moaning sound, and moved. Quickly, all four SEALs backed up, observing as the creature awakened. It seemed to have a human form, but as it stretched the men counted five limbs, coated in orange fur with black stripes. The extra limb appeared to be an extraordinarily long tail. At the creature’s head, a very human looking patch of hair sprouted at about shoulder-length, also orange with black streaks.
The creature rolled slightly, returning to an upright position on two legs. It towered over the SEALs by at least a foot on each man. The creature’s eyes opened, their pupils almond-shaped slivers. At its full height, the SEALs could see that the creature was proportioned like a human female, and was wearing the tattered BDU’s in their proper layout, complete with an ammunition harness. Only the boots were missing, replaced by a giant pair of cat’s paws.
Finally, the creature’s cat-like mouth opened up, and it made a sound. “Lonstein? Guys?”
Lonstein’s eyes opened wide. “L.T.? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else? Hey, did you guys shrink?”
The four men slowly shook their heads, their jaws slack. Lazarus walked toward them, a little shakily it seemed.
“Where are we?”
Lonstein stammered momentarily. “We’re, uh, about a click from the point you fell out of the raft. The storm got too rough for us, so we camped here.”
Lazarus seemed to growl. “So we’re a day behind schedule, just great. All right, let me freshen up a bit and we’ll get back underway.”
She walked over toward the river. The four men continued to stare at their metamorphosed commander, watching her tail sway back and forth like a pendulum behind her, sticking out of a torn hole in the uniform pants. They cringed as they watched her approach the riverbank and kneel down.
Birds fluttered out of the trees, frightened by the cat woman’s ear-shattering scream.
Lazarus snapped back to reality, panting. She was no longer in the water: apparently she had washed up on shore while she was unconscious and the waters had receded, because the river was no longer in sight. Shaking her head, she looked around her. Dense forest, with nothing to mark any heading, surrounded the woman. Night seemed to be falling, as evidenced by the denseness of the air. Quickly, she patted herself down, checking her physical state and her equipment.
She still had her pistol and a few grenades. She pressed the silent mike to her throat. “Lonstein, do you copy?”
Nothing.
“Lonstein, Payette, Trueman, Thayer?”
Still nothing.
“Come on guys, quit fucking around.”
Silence greeted her request. She pulled the broadcast box of her radio out. It broke into five sharp plastic pieces in her hand.
“Oh, this is perfect. What else can go wrong?”
She reached into another pocket, for her portable GPS tracker. Also broken. She angrily flung the two broken pieces of equipment away from her. Taking a deep breath, she started looking up toward the sky, making calculations.
“Okay, let’s see … just about sunset … light’s brightest … we were headed … all right, let’s see if we can catch up.”
The woman started running through the trees. The unusual Asian foliage formed a thick canopy of brush over her head, darkening the path ahead. She reached up for the rescue light on her ammunition harness.
“Thank God for small miracles,” she muttered as the light blinked right on. She took four steps …
… and yelped. The ground gave way beneath her, dropping her. She rolled down a dirty wall, coming to rest at the bottom of a massive pit. Cursing loud and extravagantly, she brushed herself off and made another cursory check of her body.
The light had broken now. She growled with her frustration, scrambling toward the opposite wall of the pit, trying to climb out. Only soft dirt met her hands, crumbling as she attempted to climb out, not allowing her to place any weight forward. Frustrated, she kicked the wall.
“Damn this country and damn all of this!”
She slumped down to the floor of the pit, cross-legged, her chin in her hand. Reaching into her pocket, she found a box of matches: her emergency lights. She struck one against her boot, using the dim light to attempt to gain her bearings.
She had apparently fallen into a tiger pit, but thankfully there were no spikes at the bottom to impale her. The dirt, softened up by the flash-monsoon from earlier in the day, was saturated with water. Looking down at herself, she could see the muddy trails of her fall and attempts to climb out. The match reached the end and burned her fingers slightly. She pulled out another one. When she lit it, it appeared she was not alone in the pit: a face appeared against one wall.
Lazarus shrieked, but then stood up to approach the figure. As she came closer, the light revealed the statue of a woman, carved out of what looked like bedrock.
“Funny place for a shrine.”
She scanned the statue’s features. The woman had three eyes, with one in the center of her forehead, at a vertical position to the other two. She had ten arms, in typical Hindu fashion. Looking at each hand, Lazarus noticed that each held a weapon: a trident, a bow, a sword, a mace, a chakram, among others.
Seeing this, Lazarus chuckled. “My kind of gal, whaddya know?” The match burned her fingers once again. Convincing herself not to waste the whole box, she reached for one last match, striking it against a buckle of her ammo harness.
The light bathed the statue again. Only this time, stone was replaced with flesh. The eyes blinked.
Lazarus dropped the match and scrambled backward, away from the woman who had been a statue just a moment before. She pulled out her pistol and leveled it toward the newcomer.
“Okay, freeze! Who the fuck are you, and how did you get in here without me knowing?”
The other woman’s eyes, all three of them, started glowing. She stepped forward, the glow creating enough light to illuminate the entire pit. All ten of the other woman’s arms moved now, holstering and sheathing every weapon she had been holding. As Lazarus watched, ten arms combined into eight, then six, then four. She continued to approach, making Lazarus clutch her gun tighter, bringing her other hand up to steady her shaking.
“I said who are you?”
The newcomer looked over Lazarus then smiled. “My kind of woman. You will be perfect.” She approached the SEAL, taking a hold of the gun. “Am I right in assuming this is a weapon?”
Now Lazarus was confused. Unwillingly, she let go of the gun. “Yeah. Be careful with that.”
Looking curious, the stranger wrapped her upper right hand around the gun’s hilt, lacing her index finger into the finger guard and pointing it away from Lazarus. She pulled the trigger. The loud report of the gun’s firing seemed to delight the stranger, as she passed the other right hand over one of her hips.
“Excellent. Almost like the thunderbolt, loud and lethal.” She turned toward Lazarus. “Thank you.”
“You know, you can’t really take that, it’s U.S. Government property. I can’t tell you how many guns I’ve wanted to keep for myself that I couldn’t.”
The hand over the stranger’s hip moved away, revealing a primitive holster. She slid the gun into it then looked up at Lazarus. “A stranger, in a strange land. You do not know me, do you child?”
“Who are you callin’ ‘child,’ lady?”
The stranger chuckled. “Of course not. What is your name, brave one?”
Lazarus crossed her arms. “Lazarus, Katrina, Lieutenant, United States Navy, service number 4-9-2-5-8 …”
The stranger reached out and placed a hand over Lazarus’ mouth. “My name is Durga, brave one, and you have been brought here.”
Lazarus moved Durga’s hand aside. “’Brought here?’ I think you’re mistaken, I fell in here.”
“You were separated from your men.”
Now Lazarus raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I was. By a storm …”
“… that rose up without any kind of warning?”
Lazarus nodded. “Okay, what’s up?”
Durga smiled. “There is a great evil afoot, not far from here. When you leave here, you will gather your men and confront it.”
“Now wait one minute, lady, my mission is supposed to be strictly reconnaissance!”
Durga approached even closer, taking Lazarus’s arms in all four hands. “In your current state, Lazarus, Katrina, you cannot stand against the evil. You and your team would fall completely. I will grant you the strength and the power you will need.”
Lazarus’ eyes lit up. “Really, now? Is this some kind of Faustian deal we’re making? Do you want my soul in return?”
The other woman laughed. “Don’t be silly. I only ask that as long as you hold the power I grant, you are my servant here on the Earth plane.”
Lazarus’ eyes focused on those of Durga. They still shone with the otherworldly light from before, but at this range it was not quite as intense. The features around those eyes seemed very soft.
“You promise I won’t be your servant forever, right? And you’ll get me out of this pit, right?”
Durga smiled. “You have my word, brave one.”
Lazarus sighed. “All right, I’ll do it.”
The pit seemed to swim around Lazarus, as her equilibrium went into flux. Her knees felt too weak to support her own weight: only Durga’s arms around her kept her upright. Her eyes flickered, the last sight before them Durga’s face, the last sensation Durga’s lips on her own.
~~~~
“What do you think happened, sarge?”
Payette’s whispered question roused the rest of the team from their slumber. Lonstein stood next to him, his weapon at the ready.
“I don’t know. Looks like some kind of cat, not sure why it’s here.”
Thayer was the next man up with the group. “Why don’t we wake it up?”
“Are you crazy? I don’t feel like getting mauled.”
Trueman crouched down next to the mysterious figure. “Look at this, guys …”
He pointed a finger at a black cloth which seemed to wrap around the figure. In particular, an embroidered strip.
Lonstein crouched next to Trueman. “It looks like BDU’s, but they’re really tattered.” The sergeant looked closer at the point where Trueman was looking.
A name. LAZARUS.
The figure in the black cloth made a quiet, moaning sound, and moved. Quickly, all four SEALs backed up, observing as the creature awakened. It seemed to have a human form, but as it stretched the men counted five limbs, coated in orange fur with black stripes. The extra limb appeared to be an extraordinarily long tail. At the creature’s head, a very human looking patch of hair sprouted at about shoulder-length, also orange with black streaks.
The creature rolled slightly, returning to an upright position on two legs. It towered over the SEALs by at least a foot on each man. The creature’s eyes opened, their pupils almond-shaped slivers. At its full height, the SEALs could see that the creature was proportioned like a human female, and was wearing the tattered BDU’s in their proper layout, complete with an ammunition harness. Only the boots were missing, replaced by a giant pair of cat’s paws.
Finally, the creature’s cat-like mouth opened up, and it made a sound. “Lonstein? Guys?”
Lonstein’s eyes opened wide. “L.T.? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else? Hey, did you guys shrink?”
The four men slowly shook their heads, their jaws slack. Lazarus walked toward them, a little shakily it seemed.
“Where are we?”
Lonstein stammered momentarily. “We’re, uh, about a click from the point you fell out of the raft. The storm got too rough for us, so we camped here.”
Lazarus seemed to growl. “So we’re a day behind schedule, just great. All right, let me freshen up a bit and we’ll get back underway.”
She walked over toward the river. The four men continued to stare at their metamorphosed commander, watching her tail sway back and forth like a pendulum behind her, sticking out of a torn hole in the uniform pants. They cringed as they watched her approach the riverbank and kneel down.
Birds fluttered out of the trees, frightened by the cat woman’s ear-shattering scream.
Excerpt from Dinétah Dragon: When Ariel Met Cole ...
Four days after the memorial, the ship pulled into port in Newport News. I did not want to have to deal with a debriefing on the mission, and Kitty graciously offered to give a team debriefing on behalf of all of us. I made my way to my room in the barracks and barricaded myself in, with no lights and no sounds, just myself and the darkness. I was only vaguely aware that Cyrus would be attending Ken’s “official” funeral at Arlington. To this day, I have yet to visit Ken’s grave. I would much rather remember the man I knew than stare at a memorial stone and mourn.
Kitty tried to rouse me from my quarters the day of the funeral, because we were supposed to meet Cole for the first time. She tried, God bless her heart, but I was in no mood to be social, and so she abandoned her efforts. At that moment, the darkness and my foul mood were my only companions, the only ones that would not abandon me, never go away or betray me or assault me.
I embraced the darkness too readily, I admit. I had started to abandon all that I had learned, about God and hope and happiness, in favor of the dark isolation of my heart. It would take a very strong beam of light to pierce this darkness fully.
As I thought this, my door cracked slightly and allowed some light into my solitude. I moved toward the door, hoping my friends had returned, and surely they had, both in regular uniform. Kitty came in first, khakis straining and contrasting with the bright colors of her fur. Cyrus was not far behind, in formal whites.
And then I saw the Sword. It hung from a different man’s waist. I reacted, violently. The dragon worked herself free from my body, forced my flesh taut, strained against the confines of my room.
The door exploded out toward the common area of the quarters. I roared loudly, clawing my way through the narrow hallway, my wings unable to unfurl. Desperately, angrily, I scrabbled my way forward.
The man with the Sword panicked and drew it. Clearly now this couldn’t be the right man, because the Guardsman looked different. He was taller, more muscular than I’d known him to be. He narrowed his eyes at me.
They weren’t happy. They weren’t caring.
I roared and moved forward, raking out at this interloper. He in turn swung his weapon at me.
Ken had never done that! This was no Sharpe!
Fortunately, we both at that point learned of a different ability of the Sword, that it instinctively recognizes allies. Just as I tried to open my mouth to firecast, it was closed for my by Cyrus, casting a muzzling spell.
Kitty seemed confused. “Cyrus, I said he was going to kill her! What the fuck?”
“Trust me!” Cyrus shouted back as the Guardsman lunged for me, Sword swinging.
It passed through me like I was smoke. He swung again and again, but I could see in his eyes that he was running out of energy, and those eyes reflected his fatigue. Finally, he sheathed the Sword.
The new bearer of the Sword knelt before me, and I knew in an instant that attacking him was a mistake. More than attacking a teammate, I was attacking the young knight. He looked up at me, panting and shocked, the Sword limp by his side, then turned his attention back to Cyrus.
“Okay … what … the hell … was that?” he asked between pants.
Cyrus smirked at him, still holding me at bay with the spell. “Your destiny, son. Now it’s time for you to grasp it!” He turned his attention up to me, changing his voice to a calm, fatherly tone. “Ariel, if I let you go, will you not harm this man?”
I clawed at the muzzle. I wanted to scream. Hell no, I’m going to rip his spine out neck first! Instead, all I could muster was a single tear.
Cyrus patted my snout gently. “I know, I miss Ken too, but look at this man. This is Ken’s son, it’s Cole. And he’s just as freaked out by this as you are, trust me.”
I sighed gently, but the gust of wind from my nose was hard for the others to stand against. Cole had finally stood up, rubbing his temple gently. Cyrus noticed this.
“Cole’s going to need some help. He gets headaches after the Guardsman leaves, just like Ken did. Can you help him adjust?”
I think on it now, and I wonder if Cyrus knew my mind at that point was only processing things on a grade school level, and thus chose a simplistic tone of voice to soothe me. Whether he knew it or not, it worked. I relaxed and nodded.
“Good. I’m going to release the muzzle now. Please don’t kill us all.”
He closed both of his hands and held them out at his sides. The muzzle disappeared from my snout, and I felt my body shrinking once more. Eventually I stood before Cole, facing him eye-to-eye for the first time.
He was taller than his father, but only slightly, and slimmer of build. He also had lighter blond hair, but the same blue eyes that Ken had, which showed a similar nature to the older man. He shakily held a hand out to me.
“Cole Sharpe. It’s an honor to meet you at last, the others have been telling me all about you.”
He smiled. It was Ken’s smile, and he was directing it at me! I took his hand in mine.
“The honor is mine, sir. Ariel Vibria.”
His touch felt electric, like nothing I had known before. His eyes became warm, his grip gentle, like he could sense my apprehension, see into my eyes like I could see in his all of the care and sadness. Before I got too lost in the moment, I offered him coffee.
So went the first time I met my husband. Cole took some getting used to, both as a person and as a teammate. He still had demons between himself and Ken, which were sometimes not helped when I would talk in a kind way about how Ken had cared for me. It was jealousy, to be sure: Cole would later reveal to me that Ken had a habit of letting his CIA work get in the way of family, and as a result Cole only got to see his dad, at most, three days out of a year. This especially flared up just before we went on our next mission, our first with Cole at the point, and as a result I think it affected us both.
Kitty tried to rouse me from my quarters the day of the funeral, because we were supposed to meet Cole for the first time. She tried, God bless her heart, but I was in no mood to be social, and so she abandoned her efforts. At that moment, the darkness and my foul mood were my only companions, the only ones that would not abandon me, never go away or betray me or assault me.
I embraced the darkness too readily, I admit. I had started to abandon all that I had learned, about God and hope and happiness, in favor of the dark isolation of my heart. It would take a very strong beam of light to pierce this darkness fully.
As I thought this, my door cracked slightly and allowed some light into my solitude. I moved toward the door, hoping my friends had returned, and surely they had, both in regular uniform. Kitty came in first, khakis straining and contrasting with the bright colors of her fur. Cyrus was not far behind, in formal whites.
And then I saw the Sword. It hung from a different man’s waist. I reacted, violently. The dragon worked herself free from my body, forced my flesh taut, strained against the confines of my room.
The door exploded out toward the common area of the quarters. I roared loudly, clawing my way through the narrow hallway, my wings unable to unfurl. Desperately, angrily, I scrabbled my way forward.
The man with the Sword panicked and drew it. Clearly now this couldn’t be the right man, because the Guardsman looked different. He was taller, more muscular than I’d known him to be. He narrowed his eyes at me.
They weren’t happy. They weren’t caring.
I roared and moved forward, raking out at this interloper. He in turn swung his weapon at me.
Ken had never done that! This was no Sharpe!
Fortunately, we both at that point learned of a different ability of the Sword, that it instinctively recognizes allies. Just as I tried to open my mouth to firecast, it was closed for my by Cyrus, casting a muzzling spell.
Kitty seemed confused. “Cyrus, I said he was going to kill her! What the fuck?”
“Trust me!” Cyrus shouted back as the Guardsman lunged for me, Sword swinging.
It passed through me like I was smoke. He swung again and again, but I could see in his eyes that he was running out of energy, and those eyes reflected his fatigue. Finally, he sheathed the Sword.
The new bearer of the Sword knelt before me, and I knew in an instant that attacking him was a mistake. More than attacking a teammate, I was attacking the young knight. He looked up at me, panting and shocked, the Sword limp by his side, then turned his attention back to Cyrus.
“Okay … what … the hell … was that?” he asked between pants.
Cyrus smirked at him, still holding me at bay with the spell. “Your destiny, son. Now it’s time for you to grasp it!” He turned his attention up to me, changing his voice to a calm, fatherly tone. “Ariel, if I let you go, will you not harm this man?”
I clawed at the muzzle. I wanted to scream. Hell no, I’m going to rip his spine out neck first! Instead, all I could muster was a single tear.
Cyrus patted my snout gently. “I know, I miss Ken too, but look at this man. This is Ken’s son, it’s Cole. And he’s just as freaked out by this as you are, trust me.”
I sighed gently, but the gust of wind from my nose was hard for the others to stand against. Cole had finally stood up, rubbing his temple gently. Cyrus noticed this.
“Cole’s going to need some help. He gets headaches after the Guardsman leaves, just like Ken did. Can you help him adjust?”
I think on it now, and I wonder if Cyrus knew my mind at that point was only processing things on a grade school level, and thus chose a simplistic tone of voice to soothe me. Whether he knew it or not, it worked. I relaxed and nodded.
“Good. I’m going to release the muzzle now. Please don’t kill us all.”
He closed both of his hands and held them out at his sides. The muzzle disappeared from my snout, and I felt my body shrinking once more. Eventually I stood before Cole, facing him eye-to-eye for the first time.
He was taller than his father, but only slightly, and slimmer of build. He also had lighter blond hair, but the same blue eyes that Ken had, which showed a similar nature to the older man. He shakily held a hand out to me.
“Cole Sharpe. It’s an honor to meet you at last, the others have been telling me all about you.”
He smiled. It was Ken’s smile, and he was directing it at me! I took his hand in mine.
“The honor is mine, sir. Ariel Vibria.”
His touch felt electric, like nothing I had known before. His eyes became warm, his grip gentle, like he could sense my apprehension, see into my eyes like I could see in his all of the care and sadness. Before I got too lost in the moment, I offered him coffee.
So went the first time I met my husband. Cole took some getting used to, both as a person and as a teammate. He still had demons between himself and Ken, which were sometimes not helped when I would talk in a kind way about how Ken had cared for me. It was jealousy, to be sure: Cole would later reveal to me that Ken had a habit of letting his CIA work get in the way of family, and as a result Cole only got to see his dad, at most, three days out of a year. This especially flared up just before we went on our next mission, our first with Cole at the point, and as a result I think it affected us both.
Excerpt from The Insurgent's Journal: Alanna meets her grandpa ...
We left early this morning, with a lot of cheering from everyone around the refuge. Michi had a cursory once-over from her dad before she climbed into the truck. As usual, Gabe’s at the wheel, but the truck’s a little overstuffed, now that our travelling party has nearly doubled.
One thing that surprised me before we left was that Grandmother asked to talk to me privately. When I consented and we moved away from the group, she handed me a small card.
“Keep this with you, Alanna, and think of us. You’ll always be home and in the heart of love when you do.” And then she hugged me, with tears in her eyes again.
Who is her daughter, and why am I a reminder of her?
I have the card in my pocket. Every so often, when we have a peaceful moment, I’ve been pulling it out and reading it. It has a short, beautiful prayer printed on it:
-Lord in Heaven, Creator of Earth
-Remind me what in life has worth
-Family, friends, all those I love
-My shelter ‘til I meet You above
-And keep me safe ‘til the day when
-I see them again, in Your name, Amen.
Peaceful moments, though, have been very few and far between in the first six hours of the trip. We’ve already had to fight our way through three blueshirt checkpoints, and it’s pretty much guaranteed that we’re going to encounter way more, as word reaches the others that we’re out here.
Speak of the devil … there’s another line of blueshirt cars blocking the road. Chimney Rock rises behind them, taunting us. My hand’s on the Sword already.
“Play it cool, Alanna,” Gabe admonishes. “We don’t know if they know we’re us.”
“And the other checkpoints wouldn’t describe our car?” Michi angrily demands.
“Point taken. Let’s just play it cool for now, let’s see what happens.”
It doesn’t take long to find out what happens. As soon as they have us in their sights, the blueshirts open fire. Hopefully we won’t need to take too long to clear these people out … and hopefully no supernaturals will be in the mix. We all pile out of Gabe’s truck, hiding behind the doors and letting them take the brunt of the gunfire aimed at us.
Michi is powering a spell behind me: I can feel the glow against my back. Behind her, I hear the growling that comes with William’s transformation.
Better give them some cover.
When the gunfire slows down … probably for reloading … I peek my head around the corner. The churning starts in my stomach, the churning I’ve been learning to control. It eventually erupts. I firecast toward the blueshirts, and watch them scatter.
Next thing I see is Fahaian, emerging from my fire stream and getting his martial arts kicks on. Several of the blueshirts fall away from him. Others are running … running for their cars, to run him over.
Michi stops that with a spell launched over my shoulder. The blueshirt car with the revving engine has a catastrophic failure, exploding before it can even get moving. Fahaian looks back over at us and flashes a thumb’s-up.
William’s turn, now. More blueshirts are starting to approach, and another three cars’ worth of backup has arrived. The wendigo is completely loosed, stampeding toward the massing forces. I’m right behind him, getting ready to pull out the Sword. The hilt’s in my hand …
A stabbing pain hits me in the small of my back. My legs lose any and all strength, and I collapse under my own weight. The Sword remains in its scabbard as I catch a mouthful of dirt. I’m not so concerned about that right now, though.
I’ve been shot. Again.
After the initial shock of the strike, though, I’m finding that my legs are coming back to me. I can still move them: after slapping my thigh I realize I still have feeling. Michi and Gabe run up behind me: as Michi provides a shield for him, Gabe reaches me and places both hands on my back.
“What is it? What happened to me?”
I feel a different pain, a stinging pain. Then Gabe comes around to where I can see him. “I don’t know if this is a joke or not, but …”
He’s holding a tranquilizer dart. “Who shot me?!”
“I don’t know. I’ll check this out later, for now let’s get you out of the line of fire.”
“Gabe, I’m fine. I don’t feel like I’m getting knocked out, just a little shocked. I’m going in!”
Gabe tries to stop me, but I’m too fast for him. I’m running up to cover William’s back, Sword and wings out. Once the Guardswoman is present, I flap my wings to lift off and speed toward the battle. The weapon swings freely through the assembled blueshirt forces, cutting up cars and just missing the men in the uniforms.
Something’s different this time …
I still have control over the Guardswoman: the power is remaining under rein. Thank you, Durga! But something else is weird. I feel like I have too much energy.
Aren’t tranquilizers supposed to knock you out?
My excess energy is translating into the Guardswoman, fighting more fiercely … more mercilessly. It’s not long before the Sword tastes blueshirt blood.
Not the pawns! They’re not worth it!
I’m quickly losing control again. Before the Guardswoman takes another life, I force her to sheathe the Sword. I’m back to myself, but I still have the bloodlust. I grab a blueshirt and throw him … literally … over the top of his car.
William notices my anger, despite the wendigo, and rushes over to help me (stop me?). I don’t seem to want to be stopped, though, and I keep tearing through the blueshirt lines, flapping to hover over them, firecasting with abandon.
There’s a taloned hand grabbing my ankle and yanking me down to the ground. I look and see the wendigo. Even without William’s eyes, the beast looks concerned.
“What’s … wrong … Alanna?”
I can’t tell him. I can’t articulate what’s going on, although I can tell it’s taking all of William’s concentration to make the wendigo talk. As this conversation goes on, though, an older blueshirt approaches us, weapon raised.
“Freeze right there! Hands up!”
We see him, white hair in a ponytail behind his blue collar, blue eyes set in stone, his weapon leveled at us. He can’t hold it too steadily, and the end of the barrel jiggles around at random. Just as suddenly as he corners us, though, his face gets this unusual look.
He’s looking at me. At my chest. I feel really self-conscious about this pervert checking me out. His mouth opens, and his words change my mind about him.
“Vibria?”
He spotted Mom’s maiden name on the shirt. Who is this guy?
Some more blueshirts are coming our way. We don’t have time to discuss things, but I need answers. I grab the older blueshirt’s wrist and drag him down to face level with me. “You’re coming with us, buddy. Any complaints, take it up with him.”
He looks over at William, then back at me. My nose is smoking. I think we have compliance. I stand up and drag him back to Gabe’s truck, with William, coming out of his wendigo form and gnawing on more moose jerky, behind us.
Gabe has a quizzical look on his face as we approach and throw the guy into the back with Michi and Fahaian, who clutch him tight as William climbs in.
“I didn’t realize we’re taking prisoners now.”
I shoot a sharp glare at Gabe. “This one’s different. I want some answers. Just drive, I’ll take care of him.”
Gabe shrugs and starts the truck up, continuing on the road to Wisconsin. I’m not quite concerned about the driving right now, as I turn around and confront the blueshirt.
“All right, start talking. Who are you?”
The blueshirt is ever defiant. He glares at me. “What are you doing with that name on your clothes?”
“That’s irrelevant!”
He grits his teeth. “Then I’m not telling you shit, lady.”
My nostrils are smoking again. I growl audibly. “If you must know … it’s my mother’s maiden name.”
His eyes widen. I hear a quiet whisper. “Shanee …”
My eyes narrow. “No. Ariel.” I have a sneaking suspicion …
The blueshirt’s face softens considerably. I think he’s about to cry. He’s starting to make me sympathize with him, and then he unloads the coup de grace.
“All these years … I thought I would never have any knowledge of that time again, never see any sign of it.” His voice quavers. “My name is Julian Vibria. I think I’m your grandfather.”
One thing that surprised me before we left was that Grandmother asked to talk to me privately. When I consented and we moved away from the group, she handed me a small card.
“Keep this with you, Alanna, and think of us. You’ll always be home and in the heart of love when you do.” And then she hugged me, with tears in her eyes again.
Who is her daughter, and why am I a reminder of her?
I have the card in my pocket. Every so often, when we have a peaceful moment, I’ve been pulling it out and reading it. It has a short, beautiful prayer printed on it:
-Lord in Heaven, Creator of Earth
-Remind me what in life has worth
-Family, friends, all those I love
-My shelter ‘til I meet You above
-And keep me safe ‘til the day when
-I see them again, in Your name, Amen.
Peaceful moments, though, have been very few and far between in the first six hours of the trip. We’ve already had to fight our way through three blueshirt checkpoints, and it’s pretty much guaranteed that we’re going to encounter way more, as word reaches the others that we’re out here.
Speak of the devil … there’s another line of blueshirt cars blocking the road. Chimney Rock rises behind them, taunting us. My hand’s on the Sword already.
“Play it cool, Alanna,” Gabe admonishes. “We don’t know if they know we’re us.”
“And the other checkpoints wouldn’t describe our car?” Michi angrily demands.
“Point taken. Let’s just play it cool for now, let’s see what happens.”
It doesn’t take long to find out what happens. As soon as they have us in their sights, the blueshirts open fire. Hopefully we won’t need to take too long to clear these people out … and hopefully no supernaturals will be in the mix. We all pile out of Gabe’s truck, hiding behind the doors and letting them take the brunt of the gunfire aimed at us.
Michi is powering a spell behind me: I can feel the glow against my back. Behind her, I hear the growling that comes with William’s transformation.
Better give them some cover.
When the gunfire slows down … probably for reloading … I peek my head around the corner. The churning starts in my stomach, the churning I’ve been learning to control. It eventually erupts. I firecast toward the blueshirts, and watch them scatter.
Next thing I see is Fahaian, emerging from my fire stream and getting his martial arts kicks on. Several of the blueshirts fall away from him. Others are running … running for their cars, to run him over.
Michi stops that with a spell launched over my shoulder. The blueshirt car with the revving engine has a catastrophic failure, exploding before it can even get moving. Fahaian looks back over at us and flashes a thumb’s-up.
William’s turn, now. More blueshirts are starting to approach, and another three cars’ worth of backup has arrived. The wendigo is completely loosed, stampeding toward the massing forces. I’m right behind him, getting ready to pull out the Sword. The hilt’s in my hand …
A stabbing pain hits me in the small of my back. My legs lose any and all strength, and I collapse under my own weight. The Sword remains in its scabbard as I catch a mouthful of dirt. I’m not so concerned about that right now, though.
I’ve been shot. Again.
After the initial shock of the strike, though, I’m finding that my legs are coming back to me. I can still move them: after slapping my thigh I realize I still have feeling. Michi and Gabe run up behind me: as Michi provides a shield for him, Gabe reaches me and places both hands on my back.
“What is it? What happened to me?”
I feel a different pain, a stinging pain. Then Gabe comes around to where I can see him. “I don’t know if this is a joke or not, but …”
He’s holding a tranquilizer dart. “Who shot me?!”
“I don’t know. I’ll check this out later, for now let’s get you out of the line of fire.”
“Gabe, I’m fine. I don’t feel like I’m getting knocked out, just a little shocked. I’m going in!”
Gabe tries to stop me, but I’m too fast for him. I’m running up to cover William’s back, Sword and wings out. Once the Guardswoman is present, I flap my wings to lift off and speed toward the battle. The weapon swings freely through the assembled blueshirt forces, cutting up cars and just missing the men in the uniforms.
Something’s different this time …
I still have control over the Guardswoman: the power is remaining under rein. Thank you, Durga! But something else is weird. I feel like I have too much energy.
Aren’t tranquilizers supposed to knock you out?
My excess energy is translating into the Guardswoman, fighting more fiercely … more mercilessly. It’s not long before the Sword tastes blueshirt blood.
Not the pawns! They’re not worth it!
I’m quickly losing control again. Before the Guardswoman takes another life, I force her to sheathe the Sword. I’m back to myself, but I still have the bloodlust. I grab a blueshirt and throw him … literally … over the top of his car.
William notices my anger, despite the wendigo, and rushes over to help me (stop me?). I don’t seem to want to be stopped, though, and I keep tearing through the blueshirt lines, flapping to hover over them, firecasting with abandon.
There’s a taloned hand grabbing my ankle and yanking me down to the ground. I look and see the wendigo. Even without William’s eyes, the beast looks concerned.
“What’s … wrong … Alanna?”
I can’t tell him. I can’t articulate what’s going on, although I can tell it’s taking all of William’s concentration to make the wendigo talk. As this conversation goes on, though, an older blueshirt approaches us, weapon raised.
“Freeze right there! Hands up!”
We see him, white hair in a ponytail behind his blue collar, blue eyes set in stone, his weapon leveled at us. He can’t hold it too steadily, and the end of the barrel jiggles around at random. Just as suddenly as he corners us, though, his face gets this unusual look.
He’s looking at me. At my chest. I feel really self-conscious about this pervert checking me out. His mouth opens, and his words change my mind about him.
“Vibria?”
He spotted Mom’s maiden name on the shirt. Who is this guy?
Some more blueshirts are coming our way. We don’t have time to discuss things, but I need answers. I grab the older blueshirt’s wrist and drag him down to face level with me. “You’re coming with us, buddy. Any complaints, take it up with him.”
He looks over at William, then back at me. My nose is smoking. I think we have compliance. I stand up and drag him back to Gabe’s truck, with William, coming out of his wendigo form and gnawing on more moose jerky, behind us.
Gabe has a quizzical look on his face as we approach and throw the guy into the back with Michi and Fahaian, who clutch him tight as William climbs in.
“I didn’t realize we’re taking prisoners now.”
I shoot a sharp glare at Gabe. “This one’s different. I want some answers. Just drive, I’ll take care of him.”
Gabe shrugs and starts the truck up, continuing on the road to Wisconsin. I’m not quite concerned about the driving right now, as I turn around and confront the blueshirt.
“All right, start talking. Who are you?”
The blueshirt is ever defiant. He glares at me. “What are you doing with that name on your clothes?”
“That’s irrelevant!”
He grits his teeth. “Then I’m not telling you shit, lady.”
My nostrils are smoking again. I growl audibly. “If you must know … it’s my mother’s maiden name.”
His eyes widen. I hear a quiet whisper. “Shanee …”
My eyes narrow. “No. Ariel.” I have a sneaking suspicion …
The blueshirt’s face softens considerably. I think he’s about to cry. He’s starting to make me sympathize with him, and then he unloads the coup de grace.
“All these years … I thought I would never have any knowledge of that time again, never see any sign of it.” His voice quavers. “My name is Julian Vibria. I think I’m your grandfather.”
Excerpt from Infernal Eighteen: Alanna Confronts an Ancestor
“Come, Alanna, we must cross through Circle 4.”
I stand up, a little wobbly, and cross my arms, shooting Abaster my best angry glare. “First thing’s first, Abaster. If you killed my father, then how did I grow up with him?”
He shrugs. “I’m not entirely clear on it. I know that Abaddon was defeated by your mother taking up the Sword. I know that some sort of miracle took place which brought your father back. The details are fuzzy, since by that time I was already in Minos’s courtroom facing judgment.”
He seems to know a bit about the situation … maybe he’ll be able to answer my doubts. “Why would Mom lie to me about those events? About Dad being killed, why would she hide something like that? Why would Gabe?”
Abaster smiles and approaches me. “Oh dear, Alanna, as mature as you are I forget that you are still, in some ways, yet a child.” Even though I’m wary of it, he places his hand on my shoulder. “Most likely, your mother and your friend only gave you half-truths about the situation because they felt you didn’t need to know about it, being a young girl. I’m sure your mother decided that, since your father was there, all you needed to know was that he was wounded.”
I suppose it makes sense. Why tell a little girl her dad died and then got resurrected? I didn’t need to know until I was mature enough … and even then I doubt I’m even mature enough now. I decide to set the matter aside for later, and come up to Abaster’s side, looking at the next door.
He motions with his stump arm. “On the other side of this door are those who are guilty of the sin of greed. Although we will not find your father there, we must cross through it to continue on our path.”
I open up the Inferno again as Abaster pounds on the door. “Plutus! Let us pass!”
The door slowly swings out toward us, and out steps what appears to be a normal-sized man. Then I see that his skin is entirely encased in precious metals and gemstones. I check the book and realize that Plutus is also called Pluto, so befitting the Roman god of wealth he’s blinged out his entire body.
Plutus approaches and smiles, and I can see grotesque diamonds that encrust his teeth. “Ahh, Alastair Abaster. Back for more?”
Abaster’s face darkens. “I’m here on a holy errand. We must be allowed to pass through.”
The glittering Plutus approaches me. I keep a hand tightly on the Sword. The guard chuckles and leers in my direction. “I’ll let you through, girlie, for a proper price.”
My voice becomes a snarl. “What price would that be?”
He reaches for the Sword. Before I can stop him, his metallic hand clutches the hilt, trying to wrestle it out of my grasp. “Give it here, girl. Pay the piper, and all.”
Abaster is pleading with Plutus to let me pass. He doesn’t need to. I draw the Sword and swing wildly at the jewel-encrusted man, trying to back him off. I feel the Sword make purchase in his glittering flesh, and he leaps backward, clutching his chest in pain. It’s only when I get both hands on the Sword that I look up toward my opponent.
He bleeds, but it’s not blood. It’s too bubbly.
“She’s got some spice to her, Abaster, not like some of your other conquests!”
I growl … the dragon’s growl … and put the blade of the Sword firmly under Plutus’s chin, lifting his face up. This close, I can smell that the substance pouring out of his wound is actually champagne. “Call me a whore again, bastard. Come on! I DARE YOU!”
Abaster pushes his way between us, but the Sword never leaves Plutus’s neck. “Will you let us pass, gatekeeper? I’m sure you don’t want to go through eternity without a head.”
Plutus grumbles audibly, but pushes the blade away from him. “Fine then. But you only get one freebie. This way.” He motions and leads us through the gate, still clutching his champagne wound. I sheathe the Sword and immediately feel dizzy. Without thinking, I reach for the open bottle of holy water and chug three large swallows.
My head is clearer, but this only makes me worry as I look at the bottle and realize that I’ve consumed over half of it. I only have two spares. I need to make this last, if I’m to last this entire trip.
Plutus guides us through the wall and into the next circle, but the glistening coming through the opening is nearly blinding. Brighter than a thousand suns. I shield my eyes from the glare, but Abaster and Plutus continue as normal.
“Where are we?” I insistently ask my guide.
Abaster turns and sees my discomfort. “Just entering Circle 4, where the hoarders and wasters are punished. Try to keep up.”
I jog slightly to bring myself up to the same level as Abaster. Plutus eventually breaks off from the two of us and returns to his post at the circle’s entrance. “Why is it so bright here?”
“It’s the punishment of all who are sent here. Look around you.”
My eyes are starting to adjust to the brightness, so I look around and find myself in the midst of what appears to be a field full of golden statues. But they’re not statues, because they’re moving, albeit very slowly. They all look like little copies of Plutus.
“What goes on here?” I pull out the book and find our location. “This isn’t the punishment Dante mentioned.”
“This is one point where Dante diverges from what’s here. What you see are the souls of the greedy, the avaricious … hoarders and wasters, all. Dante’s perception was that they all bore heavy weights, which they pushed around, but the truth was worse than he could articulate.” Abaster brings me closer to one of the souls. “These souls cannot act against you, because the burden of their sins is too great. These souls were once wealthy men and women, who either hoarded their wealth and gave nothing of themselves, or squandered their money on fripperies. As a result, when they come here, they are doomed to wear their fortunes like another skin.”
I stroke my chin. “So Dante wrote it as pushing weights because … too many people would’ve thought wearing a solid gold birthday suit would be a good thing?”
Abaster nods. “It was a much different time, Alanna.”
The soul Abaster brought us close to narrows his eyes. “I … know your … weapon, child.”
I spin and have my hand on the Sword, ready for action, but the soul simply stands in front of me, immobilized by what appears to be three tons of molten gold encasing every nook and cranny of his skin. His mouth and face seems to be able to move, though … I suppose that’s so the punishers can have the benefit of watching the tortured suffer.
“If you know the weapon, you probably know what I can do with it, buddy.”
There’s a barely-perceptible nod. “I know, child. I bore it.”
Oh no … this is a hellbound Sharpe! I narrow my eyes. “Who are you?”
“In life, I was known as Ursus Sharpe. I was a landowner, a lord, with servants and peasants in my holdings. For a while, I was the wealthiest man in the world …”
Ursus trails off slightly. I turn to Abaster. “Why have I never heard of him? Dad told me a lot about the Sword’s history and its holders, but never about this guy.”
“The sinners here did nothing noteworthy in their lives, other than having great wealth. They did nothing for others that they could not profit from. As a result, an additional part of their punishment is anonymity in the living world.”
I have a sudden need to know more about this ancestor of mine. “Ursus, can you tell me when you lived?”
Ursus sputters back to attentiveness. “During the time of the plague. I was commissioned by my king to lead a new Crusade to the Holy Land … it never came to be, though, because we could not agree on a price.”
I groan. No wonder he’s here … he can’t see past his own damn wallet. I notice that his hand is slowly moving, approaching the Sword’s hilt again.
“Please, Sharpe child, let me hold my Sword once more … I earned the birthright, I was a Sharpe …”
I turn the Sword hip away from Ursus. “You keep your hands off of it. You’re here for a reason.” My voice goes cold the more I speak to this golden man. “You’re unknown for a reason, Ursus. You had your chance, and instead you chose to sell the Guardsman to the highest bidder … and as a result you did nothing to prove yourself worthy of the birthright.” I turn quickly to Abaster. “Let’s go. I don’t want to stay in this ring any longer than I need to … truthfully, I’d prefer the hogs in the Circle 3 pigsty to this place.”
Ursus looks disappointed, but my mind is made up about him. Abaster leads me further down the road, through the rest of this circle. As we continue, Ursus’s voice never reduces in volume, as he calls out to us and begs to know my price for the Sword.
The Sword is priceless. The less Guardsmen like Ursus there are in the line, the better.
Ursus’ yelling is getting the attention of other greedy souls around us. Some of them shamble up, the heavy gold coating them forcing slow motion, and reach for us. I try to knock them aside. Some of them get the hint and move away … others, when I hit them, don’t even flinch.
I put my back to Abaster’s, keeping pace with him as he continues to force his way through the wealthy damned. I throw a kick at a gold woman trying to grab my ankle.
“The Sword is mine, youngling, and I will take back what is mine!”
Damn. It’s Ursus, and now I realize what he’s doing. He’s getting the other souls to slow us down enough for him to catch up and steal the Sword away from me. The longer they stall us, the more they fight, the harder it is to beat them away from us without drawing the Sword and the closer Ursus gets. Eventually the gold-encrusted souls clutch both me and Abaster tightly, preventing us from continuing.
“Ursus, stop this!” Abaster calls out to him. “He Who Is Called I AM was once your master! Heed my words, your descendant acts on His behalf here and you do yourself no favors by interfering with her.”
Ursus laughs. “Please. The Guardsman is simply a weapon, nothing more, and beholden to whoever is his master.” He’s face-to-face with me, his voice creating a low growl. “You, woman, you are no Guardsman. You’re no heir. You’re no Sharpe.”
I glare bullets through Ursus’s face. “I’m fifty times the Sharpe you are, monster.”
He simply grins. His teeth are silver. “We’ll see.” He reaches for my right hip, clutching the Sword in his grip. He pulls on it.
It doesn’t move.
The sheath has a snap flap that can go over the finger guard to secure the Sword in place, but it’s not engaged. Ursus pulls. He grasps it with his other hand, then with both hands. Nothing he does can remove the weapon from my side.
I can’t help but laugh. “Who’s not a Sharpe now?”
Ursus growls again. “What trickery is this?”
“No tricks,” Abaster booms. “The Sword only recognizes one master.”
Ursus suddenly recoils, looking like he’s been bitten. I catch a glimpse of the palm of his hand, which had been gripping at the Sword. The gold encrusting his palm is melted, in an exact pattern to the Sword’s hilt.
Dust is pouring out of the wound.
Ursus panics. He clutches his hand, trying to hold the dust inside. “Help me, you fools! What am I paying you for?”
The other souls who had been restraining us rush over to Ursus, which gives me and Abaster a chance to escape. We run away quickly, heading toward as close to a marked border there is to this ring, a riverbank.
“What was happening?” I ask breathlessly.
Abaster’s arms pump hard as we run. “Once a soul comes to Hell, it’s no longer human. Especially with him, he tried to reclaim the birthright and could not because he’s a demon now.”
Doesn’t that make you a demon, too? I stop myself from asking this question. “Is that why he started leaking dust?”
We finally reach the riverbank. Abaster pulls up and looks at me strangely. “Yes. When the Sword kills demons, they become less than nothing. They become shiftless dust, without form or purpose, and blow away in the wind.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations … you just killed a demon.”
I look back toward where we had run from. Ursus is simply standing there. The other souls have abandoned him and moved away. I narrow my eyes, trying to focus the telescopic sight the dragon gives me on the wealthy soul, and finally find him coming into focus. Where once he had a face, there is now an expressionless, faceless slab of gold.
I destroyed him. The Sword has destroyed a demon in Hell.
I stand up, a little wobbly, and cross my arms, shooting Abaster my best angry glare. “First thing’s first, Abaster. If you killed my father, then how did I grow up with him?”
He shrugs. “I’m not entirely clear on it. I know that Abaddon was defeated by your mother taking up the Sword. I know that some sort of miracle took place which brought your father back. The details are fuzzy, since by that time I was already in Minos’s courtroom facing judgment.”
He seems to know a bit about the situation … maybe he’ll be able to answer my doubts. “Why would Mom lie to me about those events? About Dad being killed, why would she hide something like that? Why would Gabe?”
Abaster smiles and approaches me. “Oh dear, Alanna, as mature as you are I forget that you are still, in some ways, yet a child.” Even though I’m wary of it, he places his hand on my shoulder. “Most likely, your mother and your friend only gave you half-truths about the situation because they felt you didn’t need to know about it, being a young girl. I’m sure your mother decided that, since your father was there, all you needed to know was that he was wounded.”
I suppose it makes sense. Why tell a little girl her dad died and then got resurrected? I didn’t need to know until I was mature enough … and even then I doubt I’m even mature enough now. I decide to set the matter aside for later, and come up to Abaster’s side, looking at the next door.
He motions with his stump arm. “On the other side of this door are those who are guilty of the sin of greed. Although we will not find your father there, we must cross through it to continue on our path.”
I open up the Inferno again as Abaster pounds on the door. “Plutus! Let us pass!”
The door slowly swings out toward us, and out steps what appears to be a normal-sized man. Then I see that his skin is entirely encased in precious metals and gemstones. I check the book and realize that Plutus is also called Pluto, so befitting the Roman god of wealth he’s blinged out his entire body.
Plutus approaches and smiles, and I can see grotesque diamonds that encrust his teeth. “Ahh, Alastair Abaster. Back for more?”
Abaster’s face darkens. “I’m here on a holy errand. We must be allowed to pass through.”
The glittering Plutus approaches me. I keep a hand tightly on the Sword. The guard chuckles and leers in my direction. “I’ll let you through, girlie, for a proper price.”
My voice becomes a snarl. “What price would that be?”
He reaches for the Sword. Before I can stop him, his metallic hand clutches the hilt, trying to wrestle it out of my grasp. “Give it here, girl. Pay the piper, and all.”
Abaster is pleading with Plutus to let me pass. He doesn’t need to. I draw the Sword and swing wildly at the jewel-encrusted man, trying to back him off. I feel the Sword make purchase in his glittering flesh, and he leaps backward, clutching his chest in pain. It’s only when I get both hands on the Sword that I look up toward my opponent.
He bleeds, but it’s not blood. It’s too bubbly.
“She’s got some spice to her, Abaster, not like some of your other conquests!”
I growl … the dragon’s growl … and put the blade of the Sword firmly under Plutus’s chin, lifting his face up. This close, I can smell that the substance pouring out of his wound is actually champagne. “Call me a whore again, bastard. Come on! I DARE YOU!”
Abaster pushes his way between us, but the Sword never leaves Plutus’s neck. “Will you let us pass, gatekeeper? I’m sure you don’t want to go through eternity without a head.”
Plutus grumbles audibly, but pushes the blade away from him. “Fine then. But you only get one freebie. This way.” He motions and leads us through the gate, still clutching his champagne wound. I sheathe the Sword and immediately feel dizzy. Without thinking, I reach for the open bottle of holy water and chug three large swallows.
My head is clearer, but this only makes me worry as I look at the bottle and realize that I’ve consumed over half of it. I only have two spares. I need to make this last, if I’m to last this entire trip.
Plutus guides us through the wall and into the next circle, but the glistening coming through the opening is nearly blinding. Brighter than a thousand suns. I shield my eyes from the glare, but Abaster and Plutus continue as normal.
“Where are we?” I insistently ask my guide.
Abaster turns and sees my discomfort. “Just entering Circle 4, where the hoarders and wasters are punished. Try to keep up.”
I jog slightly to bring myself up to the same level as Abaster. Plutus eventually breaks off from the two of us and returns to his post at the circle’s entrance. “Why is it so bright here?”
“It’s the punishment of all who are sent here. Look around you.”
My eyes are starting to adjust to the brightness, so I look around and find myself in the midst of what appears to be a field full of golden statues. But they’re not statues, because they’re moving, albeit very slowly. They all look like little copies of Plutus.
“What goes on here?” I pull out the book and find our location. “This isn’t the punishment Dante mentioned.”
“This is one point where Dante diverges from what’s here. What you see are the souls of the greedy, the avaricious … hoarders and wasters, all. Dante’s perception was that they all bore heavy weights, which they pushed around, but the truth was worse than he could articulate.” Abaster brings me closer to one of the souls. “These souls cannot act against you, because the burden of their sins is too great. These souls were once wealthy men and women, who either hoarded their wealth and gave nothing of themselves, or squandered their money on fripperies. As a result, when they come here, they are doomed to wear their fortunes like another skin.”
I stroke my chin. “So Dante wrote it as pushing weights because … too many people would’ve thought wearing a solid gold birthday suit would be a good thing?”
Abaster nods. “It was a much different time, Alanna.”
The soul Abaster brought us close to narrows his eyes. “I … know your … weapon, child.”
I spin and have my hand on the Sword, ready for action, but the soul simply stands in front of me, immobilized by what appears to be three tons of molten gold encasing every nook and cranny of his skin. His mouth and face seems to be able to move, though … I suppose that’s so the punishers can have the benefit of watching the tortured suffer.
“If you know the weapon, you probably know what I can do with it, buddy.”
There’s a barely-perceptible nod. “I know, child. I bore it.”
Oh no … this is a hellbound Sharpe! I narrow my eyes. “Who are you?”
“In life, I was known as Ursus Sharpe. I was a landowner, a lord, with servants and peasants in my holdings. For a while, I was the wealthiest man in the world …”
Ursus trails off slightly. I turn to Abaster. “Why have I never heard of him? Dad told me a lot about the Sword’s history and its holders, but never about this guy.”
“The sinners here did nothing noteworthy in their lives, other than having great wealth. They did nothing for others that they could not profit from. As a result, an additional part of their punishment is anonymity in the living world.”
I have a sudden need to know more about this ancestor of mine. “Ursus, can you tell me when you lived?”
Ursus sputters back to attentiveness. “During the time of the plague. I was commissioned by my king to lead a new Crusade to the Holy Land … it never came to be, though, because we could not agree on a price.”
I groan. No wonder he’s here … he can’t see past his own damn wallet. I notice that his hand is slowly moving, approaching the Sword’s hilt again.
“Please, Sharpe child, let me hold my Sword once more … I earned the birthright, I was a Sharpe …”
I turn the Sword hip away from Ursus. “You keep your hands off of it. You’re here for a reason.” My voice goes cold the more I speak to this golden man. “You’re unknown for a reason, Ursus. You had your chance, and instead you chose to sell the Guardsman to the highest bidder … and as a result you did nothing to prove yourself worthy of the birthright.” I turn quickly to Abaster. “Let’s go. I don’t want to stay in this ring any longer than I need to … truthfully, I’d prefer the hogs in the Circle 3 pigsty to this place.”
Ursus looks disappointed, but my mind is made up about him. Abaster leads me further down the road, through the rest of this circle. As we continue, Ursus’s voice never reduces in volume, as he calls out to us and begs to know my price for the Sword.
The Sword is priceless. The less Guardsmen like Ursus there are in the line, the better.
Ursus’ yelling is getting the attention of other greedy souls around us. Some of them shamble up, the heavy gold coating them forcing slow motion, and reach for us. I try to knock them aside. Some of them get the hint and move away … others, when I hit them, don’t even flinch.
I put my back to Abaster’s, keeping pace with him as he continues to force his way through the wealthy damned. I throw a kick at a gold woman trying to grab my ankle.
“The Sword is mine, youngling, and I will take back what is mine!”
Damn. It’s Ursus, and now I realize what he’s doing. He’s getting the other souls to slow us down enough for him to catch up and steal the Sword away from me. The longer they stall us, the more they fight, the harder it is to beat them away from us without drawing the Sword and the closer Ursus gets. Eventually the gold-encrusted souls clutch both me and Abaster tightly, preventing us from continuing.
“Ursus, stop this!” Abaster calls out to him. “He Who Is Called I AM was once your master! Heed my words, your descendant acts on His behalf here and you do yourself no favors by interfering with her.”
Ursus laughs. “Please. The Guardsman is simply a weapon, nothing more, and beholden to whoever is his master.” He’s face-to-face with me, his voice creating a low growl. “You, woman, you are no Guardsman. You’re no heir. You’re no Sharpe.”
I glare bullets through Ursus’s face. “I’m fifty times the Sharpe you are, monster.”
He simply grins. His teeth are silver. “We’ll see.” He reaches for my right hip, clutching the Sword in his grip. He pulls on it.
It doesn’t move.
The sheath has a snap flap that can go over the finger guard to secure the Sword in place, but it’s not engaged. Ursus pulls. He grasps it with his other hand, then with both hands. Nothing he does can remove the weapon from my side.
I can’t help but laugh. “Who’s not a Sharpe now?”
Ursus growls again. “What trickery is this?”
“No tricks,” Abaster booms. “The Sword only recognizes one master.”
Ursus suddenly recoils, looking like he’s been bitten. I catch a glimpse of the palm of his hand, which had been gripping at the Sword. The gold encrusting his palm is melted, in an exact pattern to the Sword’s hilt.
Dust is pouring out of the wound.
Ursus panics. He clutches his hand, trying to hold the dust inside. “Help me, you fools! What am I paying you for?”
The other souls who had been restraining us rush over to Ursus, which gives me and Abaster a chance to escape. We run away quickly, heading toward as close to a marked border there is to this ring, a riverbank.
“What was happening?” I ask breathlessly.
Abaster’s arms pump hard as we run. “Once a soul comes to Hell, it’s no longer human. Especially with him, he tried to reclaim the birthright and could not because he’s a demon now.”
Doesn’t that make you a demon, too? I stop myself from asking this question. “Is that why he started leaking dust?”
We finally reach the riverbank. Abaster pulls up and looks at me strangely. “Yes. When the Sword kills demons, they become less than nothing. They become shiftless dust, without form or purpose, and blow away in the wind.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations … you just killed a demon.”
I look back toward where we had run from. Ursus is simply standing there. The other souls have abandoned him and moved away. I narrow my eyes, trying to focus the telescopic sight the dragon gives me on the wealthy soul, and finally find him coming into focus. Where once he had a face, there is now an expressionless, faceless slab of gold.
I destroyed him. The Sword has destroyed a demon in Hell.
Excerpt from Eden Inviolate: A Very Important Question ...
“Alanna? Are you okay?”
A light touch on my shoulder startles me. My adrenaline is going too strongly, and I instantly stand up from the table and back away from the person who just came up to me.
It’s William. He looks bewildered. “Alanna, it’s just me, it’s all right.” He raises his hands, palms toward me.
My mind puts William into the worst situation … another Hell nightmare where he ate me and went with Michi instead … I turn around and run away in a panic. My running doesn’t end until I reach the safety of my room, the darkness surrounding me. I close the door and collapse down on the floor.
Insistent knocking. “Alanna? Please open up, it’s just me.”
William again. I’m still in shock, still shaking. “Please go away, I don’t …”
“I can’t go away, not yet. There’s something going on, Alanna. Please let me in.” His voice sounds like it’s failing at the last words.
I reach up and turn the knob. A shaft of light enters the room, followed by the figure of William, who crouches down next to me on the floor. “Alanna, what’s going on?”
I curl my legs up into my arms tightly, burying my face in my knees. “God, I don’t know … I just want it all to stop, to go away …”
He slides up next to me. “Alanna, if you need to talk, please tell me.”
I look up at the man, this man who’s become like family to me most of the time. His face looks pained, like he’s hurting because of this. The scar on his face doesn’t even show in this light, but I can still see his torment. He wants to help me. I should know this.
I lean against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I panicked in DC. And just now.”
I feel his arm around my shoulders, and it’s a reassuring feeling. He squeezes me slightly. “It’s okay, Alanna. Please, don’t hold it in, tell me what’s going on.”
I look up at him, into those eyes where I first saw darkness and regret. The only thing I see in them now is concern … and love.
He makes me feel safe.
I sigh deeply. “I did … things … while I was in Hell.”
He nods and pulls me closer. “What kinds of things?”
“Things I regret. I dreamed things, too.”
He rocks me gently. “What kinds of things?”
He’s persistent, trying to get some specifics out of me.
He makes me feel safe.
“I spent all that time down there, and it felt like it took forever to get to Dad. During the journey, I encountered trouble … I fell out of a boat and nearly drowned in the river Styx.”
His face shows his concern. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t, not after that, not by a long shot, because that’s when the nightmares began. I had a vision … everyone was dying … you and Michi were … were together, and you hated me … and let the wendigo eat me …”
His eyes darken again. I reach a hand up to his scarred cheek.
“I know you really wouldn’t but you have to understand … these visions felt so real to me … and especially after I wound up …” I start sniffling, and tears start falling. “After I started participating in torments for damned souls, I had more visions that you would reject me when I came back … that you wouldn’t want me anymore … wouldn’t love me anymore.”
I’m degenerating into unintelligible blubbering. I clutch my legs tighter to my chest. William still has his arm around me.
“I’m such a horrible person, William. I don’t deserve the Sword. I don’t deserve you.” I look up at him again, cheeks soaked. “I caused harm to souls. I destroyed souls. I’m no better than the demons …”
“No, Alanna, you’re much better than the demons.” He clutches me tight with both arms. “Is this why you freaked out at the White House?”
My eyes are squinted closed and I nod frantically. “I heard all those blueshirts screaming, and it brought Hell back to me, because that’s all you ever hear is screams of terror and torment. It brought those visions back, and I got so scared of you … I thought you were the wendigo of my vision, and I was afraid of being consumed …” I lean into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry …” I can’t talk anymore. It’s all I can do to sob loudly.
I feel his hand stroking my hair gently. “What were you afraid of?”
I sniffle and look up at him, speaking haltingly. “I was afraid … that you didn’t love me … that you saw who I really was … that you knew what I had done … that when you wouldn’t sit by me … that you were done with me, that I’d hurt you too much.”
“Never, Alanna. I’ve sworn my life to you, in my heart. There’s no way I would ever hurt you, and likewise nothing you could do to hurt me that much.”
My sobs are slowing down. I raise my head back up to see his face.
He’s smiling. He’s smiling widely, and right at me.
“Alanna, there’s nothing you could ever do that will change the way I feel about you.” He clutches me tightly into his arms, lifting me into his lap. “I love you, Alanna. Don’t ever doubt that.”
I bring a hand up to his unscarred cheek. “I love you too, William.” I lay my head on his shoulder. He pulls me tighter into his arms and rocks me, calming me. Before I know it, I hear his voice again … soft at first, but melodic.
My days are brighter than morning air
Evergreen pine and autumn dew
But all my days were twice as fair
If I could share my days with you …
Memories come back, memories of years before, of recovering from a grievous wound, of learning of William’s existence … of learning of his feelings for me, which he had been harboring for years. My hand rests on his chest as he continues.
My nights are warmer than fire coals
Incense and stars and smoke bamboo
But nights were warm beyond compare
If I could share my nights with you …
His voice is calming, relaxing me down to my very soul. All of the worries are starting to melt away, being lost in the flow of his voice.
To dance in my dreams
To shine when I need the sun
With you to hold me when dreams are done
And oh, my dearest love
If you would take my love
Then all my dreams are truly begun …
His voice drops lower, quieter, into a richer tone. I’m suddenly aware of his gaze on me, his eyes glistening in the dim light of my room.
And time weaves ribbons of memory
To sweeten life when youth is through
But I would need no memories there
If I could share
My life with you.
I close my eyes and sink deeper into this ring of comfort that’s been built around me. My voice falters as I whisper. “Thank you, William.”
He smiles widely at me. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s a reason I was talking to your dad today.” His hand reaches into his shirt pocket …
… and it comes out with a small gold ring with a chip of a green stone as a setting at the top.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing?!
“We’re going to be so busy over the next month, I’m afraid the time’s never going to come. So I was asking him this morning if this would be okay, and he gave me the go-ahead.” He takes my left hand and places it on his chest with the hand holding the ring. “Alanna, my time here without you, these past two years, they were hard for me. It was hard to wake up every morning and know your face wasn’t there, I couldn’t see you smile, hear your voice, look into your eyes, or even tell you how much I loved you. Every night I prayed to the Creator that you were safe, and that you would come back. I made a pledge in my heart to be yours, no matter what changes happened to you or me.”
I’m shuddering again, for a completely different reason. My heart is pounding so hard right now.
“When you came back, that was the happiest day of my life, and I decided then and there that I never wanted to be apart from you, ever again, in this world or any other.” He clutches me tighter around my waist with the other arm, and I’m instantly aware of the feel of his body, the warmth we’re sharing in this moment. His eyes work their way to mine, and the love is clear in them. “Alanna Ariel Sharpe, I am humbly asking if you would do me the honor of marrying me.”
I think I’m hyperventilating. My mind is racing, trying to find any reason to say “no.” We might die in three months. If we win, we’ll have to find a way to start a life together. Any children we have will have a lot of supernatural blood to deal with. Even though the calendar says I’m nineteen, I’m only seventeen in mind.
Those reasons get snuffed out by two things. William’s face has an anticipatory expression, which shows how much he loves me and how much he missed me … and how much I missed him, too. Eventually, one thought drowns out the cacophony of disagreement in my brain.
He’s loved you almost his entire life. You’ve loved him nearly that long. Admit it, you were over the moon when he danced with you in Oklahoma City, and that feeling came back when he sang to you at the Refuge … and just now. Love like this is rare. Don’t pass it up when you have the chance.
My eyes meet William’s once more. My voice doesn’t speak, but my lips make out the words. “Yes, I will.”
The ring slides easily on my hand. The green stone radiates with an interesting reflection off of the light pouring into the room from the open door. If I hadn’t cried out all my tears earlier, there’d be joyful ones to share right now. As it is, my heart’s drumming in my ears as I clutch my arms tightly around William’s neck and kiss him with abandon.
Grasping at my happiness while I have the chance. After all, we may be dead this time in three months.
A light touch on my shoulder startles me. My adrenaline is going too strongly, and I instantly stand up from the table and back away from the person who just came up to me.
It’s William. He looks bewildered. “Alanna, it’s just me, it’s all right.” He raises his hands, palms toward me.
My mind puts William into the worst situation … another Hell nightmare where he ate me and went with Michi instead … I turn around and run away in a panic. My running doesn’t end until I reach the safety of my room, the darkness surrounding me. I close the door and collapse down on the floor.
Insistent knocking. “Alanna? Please open up, it’s just me.”
William again. I’m still in shock, still shaking. “Please go away, I don’t …”
“I can’t go away, not yet. There’s something going on, Alanna. Please let me in.” His voice sounds like it’s failing at the last words.
I reach up and turn the knob. A shaft of light enters the room, followed by the figure of William, who crouches down next to me on the floor. “Alanna, what’s going on?”
I curl my legs up into my arms tightly, burying my face in my knees. “God, I don’t know … I just want it all to stop, to go away …”
He slides up next to me. “Alanna, if you need to talk, please tell me.”
I look up at the man, this man who’s become like family to me most of the time. His face looks pained, like he’s hurting because of this. The scar on his face doesn’t even show in this light, but I can still see his torment. He wants to help me. I should know this.
I lean against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I panicked in DC. And just now.”
I feel his arm around my shoulders, and it’s a reassuring feeling. He squeezes me slightly. “It’s okay, Alanna. Please, don’t hold it in, tell me what’s going on.”
I look up at him, into those eyes where I first saw darkness and regret. The only thing I see in them now is concern … and love.
He makes me feel safe.
I sigh deeply. “I did … things … while I was in Hell.”
He nods and pulls me closer. “What kinds of things?”
“Things I regret. I dreamed things, too.”
He rocks me gently. “What kinds of things?”
He’s persistent, trying to get some specifics out of me.
He makes me feel safe.
“I spent all that time down there, and it felt like it took forever to get to Dad. During the journey, I encountered trouble … I fell out of a boat and nearly drowned in the river Styx.”
His face shows his concern. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t, not after that, not by a long shot, because that’s when the nightmares began. I had a vision … everyone was dying … you and Michi were … were together, and you hated me … and let the wendigo eat me …”
His eyes darken again. I reach a hand up to his scarred cheek.
“I know you really wouldn’t but you have to understand … these visions felt so real to me … and especially after I wound up …” I start sniffling, and tears start falling. “After I started participating in torments for damned souls, I had more visions that you would reject me when I came back … that you wouldn’t want me anymore … wouldn’t love me anymore.”
I’m degenerating into unintelligible blubbering. I clutch my legs tighter to my chest. William still has his arm around me.
“I’m such a horrible person, William. I don’t deserve the Sword. I don’t deserve you.” I look up at him again, cheeks soaked. “I caused harm to souls. I destroyed souls. I’m no better than the demons …”
“No, Alanna, you’re much better than the demons.” He clutches me tight with both arms. “Is this why you freaked out at the White House?”
My eyes are squinted closed and I nod frantically. “I heard all those blueshirts screaming, and it brought Hell back to me, because that’s all you ever hear is screams of terror and torment. It brought those visions back, and I got so scared of you … I thought you were the wendigo of my vision, and I was afraid of being consumed …” I lean into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry …” I can’t talk anymore. It’s all I can do to sob loudly.
I feel his hand stroking my hair gently. “What were you afraid of?”
I sniffle and look up at him, speaking haltingly. “I was afraid … that you didn’t love me … that you saw who I really was … that you knew what I had done … that when you wouldn’t sit by me … that you were done with me, that I’d hurt you too much.”
“Never, Alanna. I’ve sworn my life to you, in my heart. There’s no way I would ever hurt you, and likewise nothing you could do to hurt me that much.”
My sobs are slowing down. I raise my head back up to see his face.
He’s smiling. He’s smiling widely, and right at me.
“Alanna, there’s nothing you could ever do that will change the way I feel about you.” He clutches me tightly into his arms, lifting me into his lap. “I love you, Alanna. Don’t ever doubt that.”
I bring a hand up to his unscarred cheek. “I love you too, William.” I lay my head on his shoulder. He pulls me tighter into his arms and rocks me, calming me. Before I know it, I hear his voice again … soft at first, but melodic.
My days are brighter than morning air
Evergreen pine and autumn dew
But all my days were twice as fair
If I could share my days with you …
Memories come back, memories of years before, of recovering from a grievous wound, of learning of William’s existence … of learning of his feelings for me, which he had been harboring for years. My hand rests on his chest as he continues.
My nights are warmer than fire coals
Incense and stars and smoke bamboo
But nights were warm beyond compare
If I could share my nights with you …
His voice is calming, relaxing me down to my very soul. All of the worries are starting to melt away, being lost in the flow of his voice.
To dance in my dreams
To shine when I need the sun
With you to hold me when dreams are done
And oh, my dearest love
If you would take my love
Then all my dreams are truly begun …
His voice drops lower, quieter, into a richer tone. I’m suddenly aware of his gaze on me, his eyes glistening in the dim light of my room.
And time weaves ribbons of memory
To sweeten life when youth is through
But I would need no memories there
If I could share
My life with you.
I close my eyes and sink deeper into this ring of comfort that’s been built around me. My voice falters as I whisper. “Thank you, William.”
He smiles widely at me. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s a reason I was talking to your dad today.” His hand reaches into his shirt pocket …
… and it comes out with a small gold ring with a chip of a green stone as a setting at the top.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing?!
“We’re going to be so busy over the next month, I’m afraid the time’s never going to come. So I was asking him this morning if this would be okay, and he gave me the go-ahead.” He takes my left hand and places it on his chest with the hand holding the ring. “Alanna, my time here without you, these past two years, they were hard for me. It was hard to wake up every morning and know your face wasn’t there, I couldn’t see you smile, hear your voice, look into your eyes, or even tell you how much I loved you. Every night I prayed to the Creator that you were safe, and that you would come back. I made a pledge in my heart to be yours, no matter what changes happened to you or me.”
I’m shuddering again, for a completely different reason. My heart is pounding so hard right now.
“When you came back, that was the happiest day of my life, and I decided then and there that I never wanted to be apart from you, ever again, in this world or any other.” He clutches me tighter around my waist with the other arm, and I’m instantly aware of the feel of his body, the warmth we’re sharing in this moment. His eyes work their way to mine, and the love is clear in them. “Alanna Ariel Sharpe, I am humbly asking if you would do me the honor of marrying me.”
I think I’m hyperventilating. My mind is racing, trying to find any reason to say “no.” We might die in three months. If we win, we’ll have to find a way to start a life together. Any children we have will have a lot of supernatural blood to deal with. Even though the calendar says I’m nineteen, I’m only seventeen in mind.
Those reasons get snuffed out by two things. William’s face has an anticipatory expression, which shows how much he loves me and how much he missed me … and how much I missed him, too. Eventually, one thought drowns out the cacophony of disagreement in my brain.
He’s loved you almost his entire life. You’ve loved him nearly that long. Admit it, you were over the moon when he danced with you in Oklahoma City, and that feeling came back when he sang to you at the Refuge … and just now. Love like this is rare. Don’t pass it up when you have the chance.
My eyes meet William’s once more. My voice doesn’t speak, but my lips make out the words. “Yes, I will.”
The ring slides easily on my hand. The green stone radiates with an interesting reflection off of the light pouring into the room from the open door. If I hadn’t cried out all my tears earlier, there’d be joyful ones to share right now. As it is, my heart’s drumming in my ears as I clutch my arms tightly around William’s neck and kiss him with abandon.
Grasping at my happiness while I have the chance. After all, we may be dead this time in three months.
Excerpts copyright 2012 Don A. Martinez/Desert Coyote Productions, all rights reserved