Hounded By The Gods Read online

  I glared at him closely, trying to figure out how much truth he was telling. I had to admit that with every passing second of zero resistance, the likelihood of him being a vampire diminished. If he had vamp strength or speed or temperament, he wouldn’t have hesitated to fight back as soon as I laid hands on him.

  This guy wasn’t a vampire after all. He was just a pathetic creep.

  “Ugh.” I let go of him. “Get out of here.” Casting a fearful glance back at me, he vacated the bathroom immediately. Once he was gone, I locked the door and splashed some cold water on my face. The reflection in the mirror looked a hundred percent done with this crap.

  Not my finest moment.

  Marcus’s voice sounded in my mind, and I expected my fairy godsoldier to chastise me for acting too rashly. Instead, all I could make out was laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, knowing full well what was funny. Hell, it would’ve cracked me up if it happened to someone else.

  His face! Marcus guffawed with glee. I thought he was about to soil himself!

  “Pretty sure he was, but I’m super glad I didn’t have to see it.” Wiping my hands on my jeans, I left the bathroom and headed for the terminal. “Is it too much to ask that we make it to the damn gate without any more drama?”

  That depends. How far away is the gate?

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s hope this lead checks out. Otherwise, I’m going to put on a cape and start busting muggers and petty thieves.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I walked down the jetway six hours later, still groggy from my in-flight nap. The whole experience had an uncomfortable undertone of déjà vu, except this time I was walking through Seattle-Tacoma instead of San Fran International. And it was raining outside.

  One thing that was the same: I had no idea where I was really going.

  Bypassing the baggage claim, I paused next to a bank of chairs to fish out my phone. Namiko had sent me directions from the airport to the site of the plague-ridden town. I pulled them up into the phone’s GPS to get a travel time estimate, which came back at roughly three hours. Weirdly, I was kind of looking forward to the trip. Once upon a time, I had loved to drive. Maybe it would be nice to get back behind the wheel for something other than a panicked escape sequence.

  “First things first,” I said cheerfully to Marcus. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

  Well deserved, he said, totally unaware that it wasn’t the most responsible decision to make before a long drive. But perhaps only one. It would not do to be inebriated when we arrive at our destination.

  “Right.” I was secretly glad he’d reinforced the importance of moderation because I’d been feeling pretty ragged. “Just in case.”

  The first bar I found near the airport was a higher-end joint where the bar was lit and the bartender had to wear a uniform. Over the pressed white shirt and creased black slacks, he wore perfectly coiffed hair and a neat mustache. One arm was covered in a sleeve tattoo of a giant, thrashing koi.

  Back in New York, I would never have set foot in this place, but I was already out of my element, and I didn’t feel like walking anymore. I sat down, and he nodded at me from across the counter. “Be right with you, okay?”

  “Sure.” I studied the directions while I waited. They didn’t make that much sense to me, but I hoped things would fall into place once we hit the road. I was still absorbed in them when the barkeep came over.

  “What can I get for you?” he asked. “Other than better directions?”

  I chuckled. “They’re not awful. I’m just not familiar with the area and I’m concerned about getting lost.” I took a second to examine the drink board behind him. “Can I get a chocolate stout?”

  “Good choice. It’s on tap. Nitro.” He stepped away to retrieve a glass and glanced back at me as he filled it. “Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking? Maybe I can lend a hand.”

  “Uh, it’s called Mormouth.” I showed him the map I had. He set down my beer and leaned over to take a look. His brow furrowed.

  “Been a while since I’ve had someone heading out that way. You sure that’s where you’re going?”

  That interested me. “Almost positive. Why?”

  The guy arched his eyebrows at me. “No real reason, but there’s nothing except hick towns and horror stories out that way.”

  “Horror stories?” The beer was crisp and cold on my tongue—precisely what I needed to clear the plane-fog from my head. “What kind of horror stories?”

  He began to polish the bar in idle, sweeping circles. “You know, the usual. Local legend kind of spooks. People out there are convinced they’re living next door to Bigfoot, or there are aliens landing in their fields and spying on them. It’s that sort of place.”

  “Aww, that’s not so scary,” I said. “I thought you were going to tell me about murderous sex cults or something like that.”

  He gave me a grim smile. “You don’t have to leave Seattle if that’s the kind of excitement you’re looking for. But those homegrown ghost stories have a certain appeal to a certain kind of person. Some people really believe in it. Now, here. It’s really simple.” He took a pen and a napkin from his bar apron and started to draw a map in red ink. “There’s the interstate, see? Get on and take it north for a few hours until it shrinks down and you start to see the signs for Mormouth. It’ll get pretty dark out there, but as long as you stick to the highway, you should be fine.”

  “What about after the highway?”

  He frowned slightly. “That, I can’t help with so much. But I know Mormouth is practically Canada, so keep heading north and you’ll get there. I think the road going in is called Old Church Hill. It’s more of a mountain than a hill if you ask me, but there might still be a church there.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” Taking the map and slipping it into my bag, I felt another presence sliding into the seat beside me. The sensation reminded me of meeting Deacon, only not so nice. What was with trouble finding me in bars? Just once I wanted to have a nice, relaxing drink by myself.

  “Old Church Hill?” the new arrival asked. The guy was broad and top-heavy, and he reeked of cologne that could kill a donkey. “Had an uncle with a place out there years ago.” He winked. “I’m available for escort services if you need one, sweetheart.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I can take care of myself.” I was suddenly extremely keen to finish my drink and be on my way, the pleasant atmosphere all but evaporated. The friendly bartender hovered nearby, clearly listening as he cleaned glasses.

  “Ooh, we got a feisty one over here!” The douchebag was well-dressed, but I already hated him. He ordered a vodka martini with an extra olive, and I hated him more.

  The men in this era seem to lack decency, but do not do anything untoward, Victoria. Our business is elsewhere.

  Marcus was right, and I knew he was right. It didn’t stop me from itching to clock this asshole right in his smug face. He was so convinced of his own irresistibility that maybe it actually worked sometimes. But not on me.

  I drained the last of my glass and set it on the bar. “Thanks for the drink,” I said to the bartender, fishing out a ten. “Keep the change.”

  “No, no.” Douchey McAssface had the gall to put his hand over mine as he pushed my money away. “Put hers on my tab, good sir. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  I gritted my teeth as I pushed back my stool. “Please don’t do that.” Pulling my hand away, I reoffered the money. “This is for you. I’ve got to go now.”

  “What’s the rush, princess? Old Church Hill isn’t that far. There’s plenty of good daylight left. You should stay and get to know me a little before you regret rushing off.” He grinned. “I could be your Prince Charming.”

  Bile crept up my throat. “I said, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone.” When I moved to leave again, he grabbed my arm.

  “Around here, it’s pretty rude to refuse hospitality.” The douche’s voice had acquired a sharp edge and so h
ad his eyes. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

  My own eyes went from his hand on my arm to his face, where the smile stretched thin over deadly seriousness. He thought he had the upper hand, that I wouldn’t dare resist him. Little did he know that touching me could be the worst mistake he’d ever made.

  Victoria, in regards to my previous advice about remaining discreet…

  “Yeah,” I said out loud. Prince Charming took it as a sign that I was weakening.

  Ignore me. You should torch this cretin.

  I smiled despite myself. Marcus loved a good smackdown as much as I did. But for once, cautioned seemed to me the better part of valor.

  It was the bartender who cut the tense silence. “I think you need to leave, my friend.” He addressed the douche, not me. “Sooner rather than later.”

  “You’re not much of a businessman,” the douche sneered. “Rejecting the best business you’ll get tonight. No, I think I’ll stay, and you’re going to serve me.”

  By this point, our little scene had attracted the attention of most of the other patrons. They glanced between us expectantly, waiting for the fight to start. I gave my wrist an experimental tug.

  The douche tightened his grip. “And this lovely lady will have another drink on me,” he said. “Won’t you, darling?”

  My temper rose another notch. “Call me darling one more time and you’ll be drinking out of a straw,” I said through gritted teeth. Then I wrenched my arm from his fingers. “I said I have someplace to be, so if you’ll excuse me.” I wanted badly not to escalate things for once in my life, to make a clean break from a conflict. I had to stop leaving a wake of utter destruction.

  But this guy wasn’t having it. “Get back here!” He half-shouted the words, his face a stone mask of thinly veiled rage. “You think you can just walk out on me? You little—”

  A shadow fell over him, cutting him off. He looked over his shoulder to see a big, broad figure looming over him, dressed in black, the word “SECURITY” emblazoned on his T-shirt. The bouncer spoke in a low, calm voice from the depths of a truly magnificent beard.

  “Son, I think you’ve got some things to learn about social aptitude. And if you don’t shut your trap and keep your paws off the women in my bar, I’m fixing to teach you a lesson right now.”

  Doucheboat looked up at the bouncer. Having stood close to him for a couple minutes, I realized his cologne was laid on thick to mask the stench of much stronger alcohol. The dude was already sloshed out of his mind, and he was about to get beat out of it, too.

  The bartender signaled to me to get away, just as the asshole took a drunken swing.

  “Holy shit!” someone said from the other side of the room. I ducked and made for the door. Behind me, the distinctive sound of a solid punch reverberated through the bar. Everyone gasped in unison.

  Quite impressive, Marcus remarked. I would not have expected a bar of this caliber to be so receptive to violence.

  “You learn something new every day,” I said. The bouncer landed another huge hit, and something jangly hit the floor near my foot.

  Car keys. They’d been punched right out of the asshole’s tailored jacket. No one else seemed to notice, so while all the attention was focused on the continued beating, I swiped the keys from the floor and went out. The cold air slapped me in the face, but it was better than being in the middle of that struggle.

  And now I had a ride.

  I looked down at the fob attached to the keys and smirked. So clothes weren’t the only expensive thing that asshat owned. He had an Audi, too.

  Or he did until right now.

  “My hero,” I smiled.

  Standing in the center of the lot, I thumbed down the lock button. Near the end, a set of tail lights flashed. “There we go.” I ran over, hopped in, adjusted the seat, and peeled out of there in a flash. “Man, this is way easier when I don’t have to strip the steering column.”

  I would frown upon your methods, but in this case, I believe there is more than a little poetic justice.

  “Whatever, dude. I’ve stolen shit in front of you before and you never said anything.”

  Would it have mattered if I had voiced my opposition?

  “Not even a little bit.” I paused, hearing myself. “I see your point.”

  The car had a new GPS built into the console. I punched in Mormouth, Washington as I waited for an opening out into the street. Then, following the instruction of a woman’s robotic voice, I took a left and headed toward the interstate.

  The bar disappeared in my rearview mirror as I got onto the on ramp and hit the gas. The middle of nowhere wasn’t going to wait forever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Audi ran like a dream, eating up the long stretch of pavement ahead. I settled back into the heated seat and resolved to enjoy the hell out of the ride for as long as I could. If the encounter in the bar was any indication of how the rest of this jaunt was going to go, then I needed to soak up every little comfort I could get.

  Reaching over, I turned on the radio.

  “What kind of music did you listen to, Marcus?”

  Nothing that would appeal to your tastes, I think. Our music was suited mostly for marching or for revelry.

  “I don’t know, man. Revelry sounds like a pretty good time.” I fiddled with the stations until I found one I liked, a constant stream of hits from the seventies and eighties. Music my parents loved. If I was going down memory lane into emotional hell, I might as well go all the way.

  What is this? Marcus asked out of simple curiosity, just like I feared he would. Or maybe I wanted him to and that was why I played it.

  “It’s a group of old-time minstrels called The Cure. My mom loved these guys. Do you hate it?” I disguised my vulnerability with playful teasing, as was my wont. “I can turn it up.”

  It is not the most unpleasant thing I have ever heard. What exactly are they the cure for?

  I laughed. “Well, these guys were known for writing some of the best sad-bastard music of the 80’s. So, I guess they’re the cure for happiness.”

  Confounding. Our music most often raised the spirits, filled the heart with courage.

  “Yeah. We have some of that too. Nothing wrong with a good-old dirge though, right?” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to make more of an effort to get back in touch with who I used to be.”

  You make that sound like a questionable endeavor.

  “It might be. It’s hard to say if I was actually better back then or not. I was definitely different. But probably also weaker, in more ways than one. Is that a fair trade for happiness?”

  Are you unhappy now?

  “Well, I thought I was. And I’m still totally overwhelmed sometimes, because how could I not be? You showed up, put a sword in my hand, and sent me off to fight gods I didn’t even know existed two months ago. I’ve traveled more in the past six weeks than I ever have in my life. I’ve met some unbelievable people, seen some actually unbelievable things. So, on one hand, it’s like, how do I even process all of this?”

  And on the other?

  “On the other, how did I live before this happened?” There was no way to deny the bizarre calling I felt whenever the sword was in my hand, how natural it seemed to be chasing down leads all over the country, now that I’d done away with Rocco. Yeah, it was a hundred different cans of worms, but leaving a thing unfinished went against every aspect of my dogged, pathologically stubborn nature.

  Marcus had roped me in, and I was in for good.

  ***

  An hour and a half outside of Seattle, as the sun began to pour orange and red across the highway, the radio started to cut out. “I thought satellite radio was immune to this shit,” I muttered, turning the dial. “Like, I thought that was the whole point of the satellite part.”

  I would not know.

  “What’s the point of dragging your ass around if you don’t know anything useful.” I smiled as I spoke, but Marcus seemed offended.

/>   I was a Centurion of Rome. I know how to fight. How to discipline and lead an army.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll remember that next time we invade Gaul. But for now I wish you could just get the radio to work. It looks like we’ve been relegated to the local stations.” Switching to regular FM, I spun my way through the whole dial, picking out clarity from the mess of static. Most of the stations were twangy country western, so I kept scanning. I took a hard pass on the couple evangelical stations and finally settled on a local news channel. Not the most stimulating content, but better than nothing. The Audi was such a smooth ride that I feared the silence would get under my skin.

  “Weather’s looking pretty choice for the next few days, folks, with nice clear skies and the faintest whisper of a wind from the east. Last week’s storms are packing off down the road toward Oregon, so all that rain is gonna be their problem now.” The anchor let out a jolly, honking laugh that made me snort.

  Then he said, “Hey, speaking of clearing storms, the storm of rumors abounding over a couple of missing persons cases up north is finally being put to rest by the county sheriff’s department. The official statement seems to be that any and all conjecture surrounding the reports is completely unfounded. In other words, everything’s fine, folks! Nothing to see here, move along.” There was a pause. “Of course, there’s no word on whether or not they actually found anyone.” The honking laugh came again, but I didn’t join in this time. A funny feeling had spawned in my stomach.

  “Did you hear that, Marcus? Missing persons cases up north. That’s where we’re headed.”

  That was one of the incidents mentioned in Namiko’s report.

  “Yeah.” I listened for a little longer, but the host didn’t go back to it; if anything, he seemed eager to get away from the subject. “Let’s see if we can find anything else.” I changed to AM and turned the dial again. More fields of static, and then—