“That’s for me, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “May I?” asks Anthony.

  “Of course.”

  Anthony gingerly takes hold of the blade. The instant his skin made contact with the grip, a shock races up his arm, tingling in his fingers as well as his heart. He gasps, caught off guard by the near-painful sensation. Confusion as to why the sword zapped him lasts only a second or two. This blade touched his soul. No one can steal it from him. Until or unless he willingly gives it away, the sword would appear whenever he calls it.

  He holds it up, gazing into the flames peeling from the mirror-finished blade.

  It tells him it will burn demons, dark masters, undead, and any creature made from energy in opposition to the angels. Despite being a solid sword wreathed in fire, it can’t inflict the smallest scratch on an innocent mortal, only one with a soul as black as a demon’s.

  “Wow. I umm…” Anthony keeps staring at the sword. The part of him which remained a fifteen-year-old is thrilled at getting such an awesome sword, but he keeps his emotions in check. He’s been getting better and better at doing just that. “I don’t really know what to say. But thank you.”

  “It is less of a gift and more merely receiving the tools you will need to fulfill your task.”

  “I understand.” Anthony lowers the sword. As soon as he thinks to ‘put it away,’ the blade disappears. Anthony knows it’s available to him whenever he needs it. He needs only to think of it. “So, that’s it? I’m an angel apprentice now?”

  “You are what you have already been for the last, nearly nine years, young warrior. Consider this a probationary period.” Michael winks—and vanishes.

  “Whoa,” whispers Anthony.

  Certain things make sudden sense: how the idea of traipsing across dimensions never frightened him. Why he didn’t fear Elizabeth as much as concern about what she might do to his sister or mother. Also, why he felt the need to be here, and to a lesser extent, with the Light Warriors. He suspects the archangels want him to become their ‘man on Earth’ so to speak. Like a CIA agent stationed permanently in East Berlin during the Cold War, he’d be here, hopefully until his sister no longer needs him.

  As far as I’m concerned, she’s going to need my protection until she goes back around for another spin.

  The idea of watching Tammy turn into an old lady and die scares him more than facing Elizabeth. But he shouldn’t fear it. Her soul will circle around into another lifetime. The qualities responsible for making Tammy would still be at the core of her being. Perhaps in the next life, she’d enjoy things she missed out on in this one, like a normal family and a life free of bizarre, terrifying experiences and supernatural powers.

  He has a feeling whoever she became in her next life might still have some telepathy, though.

  Time to head back to Tammy, and his post.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Bushel of Dark Masters

  It’s been a really long time since someone barged into a room and caught me doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

  No, I never had an embarrassing moment at home as a teen where someone walked in on me ‘taking matters into my own hands’ so to speak. In a house with three brothers, a sister I shared a bedroom with, and parents... just no. Way too much chaos for me to even attempt finding privacy. My brothers, on the other hand, used to take suspiciously long in the bathroom sometimes.

  Last time I had the gasp plus ‘oh shit’ reaction to someone barging into a room happened in college. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Linda—my dorm mate—either caught me with this guy Gabe I dated for like four months, or walked in on me smoking weed. Yes, I’d been a bit of a wild child back in the day.

  Anyway, in this case, the thing I’m not supposed to be doing isn’t embarrassing at all. It’s sneaking into an enemy castle. Allison’s provided an illusion spell to disguise our clothing by making it look like palace guard armor. She’s also given us one hell of a fake suntan, so to speak.

  The ascendant dark master who just walked into the sitting room where we decided to hide is making a face at me kinda the way Marcellus Wallace looked at Butch in the movie Pulp Fiction when he saw him sitting in his car. Yeah, that’s definitely a ‘what the hell are you doing here’ stare, mixed with a tiny bit of ‘uh oh.’

  Time seems to slow to a crawl as I speed myself up.

  I reach for the Devil Killer. The ascendant hasn’t quite decided if they want to commit to attacking me or run for help before Kingsley launches himself at the guy. The guard pivots, arms out wide as though he intends to catch and Judo flip the big guy to the floor. The ascendant is not, however, expecting Kingsley to shapeshift into a tiger-sized wolf in midair. While the dark master does succeed in grabbing the big furry beast around the body, it doesn’t stop the enormous, fanged mouth.

  Kingsley practically inhales the vampire’s entire head, wrenching the ascendant into the room out of sight from the hallway. He chomps down, throwing a spray of exceptionally dark blood everywhere. I stare in momentary horror at the decapitated body lying on its front side, the bite so deep it scooped out a little torso as well as the entire neck. Allison finally reacts to Kingsley’s leap. She raises her arms in preparation to cast a spell. Seeing as how the ascendant is very unconscious, I relax my supernatural speed and the world returns to normal time.

  Allison relaxes, too, and clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle the disgusted noises she can’t help but make at the gore. Blood seeps out of the hole where the neck used to be. No arterial spurting due to undeath. Kingsley stumbles to the side, retches once, then spits out the severed head/neck. He convulses three more times with increasing violence before barfing. Watching a dog throwing up is kinda nauseating. Watching a 700-pound wolf hork up chunks of person is an order of magnitude worse. However, I used to have two toddlers. The geyser of chunder and gagging sounds don’t upset my stomach, though I do grimace.

  Allison, unfortunately, has never raised kids.

  She turns green, looks away, and also throws up.

  After twenty seconds and Kingsley showing no sign of slowing down—seriously, he’s embarked on an epic barf-a-thon like something hit him with a magical vomiting curse—I run over and start patting him on the back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Kingsley, for obvious reasons, doesn’t reply. He keeps on gagging and retching, throwing up blasts of partially digested food and orangey-brown slime while twitching and shaking as if every flea in this universe teleported into his fur all at once.

  “Is he okay?” rasps Allison.

  “Not sure… he doesn’t like fresh meat. Never realized it hits him this hard.”

  In between projectile streams of nasty coming out of his mouth, the big guy growls angrily. By some absolute miracle, no one in the castle hears this. At least, if they do, they haven’t come running to check.

  Kingsley convulses again, releasing a blast of black vapor. The inky smoke wisps out of his mouth into a tendril of shadow, flowing into the ascendant’s remains. The corpse’s neck begins to regrow fast enough to observe regenerating, like watching time lapse video of a snowman melting in reverse. It’s fascinating and disgusting in equal measure. Much the same way some people have an instinctual ‘kill it with fire’ reaction to the sight of large, hairy spiders, I promptly stab the Devil Killer into the ascendant’s torso.

  The blade emits a squelching noise as if I’ve touched searing hot steel to flesh. His head ceases regenerating about a third of the way done, not much above the jaw. Allison grimaces at the gory sight, but doesn’t suffer long. The body abruptly turns into a charcoal mannequin before disintegrating, leaving a pile of inky dust and smoldering armor. Glowing strands of spirit energy well up from the mess, drawn into the Devil Killer, which vibrates and shakes in my grip. I grab it in both hands, fighting the violent forces trying to knock it out of my grasp. The blade heats up to glowing from the energy released by the dark master’s soul… or whatever it is they have.

  Allison thinking I look like one of the Ghostbusters strikes me so randomly off guard I damn near cackle.

  As soon as the stream of spectral energy is gone, I wave my sword around to cool it off.

  “Ugh,” mutters Kingsley, now back in his human form.

  “Are you okay?” I peer back at him.

  He’s sprawled on the floor, curled in a ball and holding his stomach. Despite his physical clothes having been shredded by his rapid transformation, the illusion of armor is still on him, so he appears dressed.

  “I haven’t gone through anything like that since 1969.” He sits back on his heels. “Note to self: do not eat these guys. That dark master started fighting with mine for control of me. Was close there for a few moments.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to say the stupid, pointless thing?” I ask.

  He glances sideways at me. “Which pointless thing is that?”

  “Dark masters aren’t supposed to be able to possess other immortals.” I keep waving the sword. It’s no longer glowing, but still hot enough to cauterize a wound.

  Kingsley nods. “Aye. Shouldn’t happen, but it almost did.”

  “Which is why it’s kinda pointless to say it shouldn’t be possible.” I put the Devil Killer away, it can cool off in its sheath for a bit.

  “Two things out of the norm are at work here.” Allison holds up a finger. “One, entirely different world. Two, ascendant masters are new. Thus, new rules.”

  “Don’t forget there is no Void here.” Kingsley stands, hand pressed to his stomach. “I sincerely doubt I’m going to be anything close to hungry for a while.”

  I pat him on the back. “Sure. As soon as you smell meat, you’re going to forget all about this.”

  “What happened in 1969?” asks Allison.

  “Woodstock.” He smiles. “Far, far too much booze… and other things.”

  “A werewolf on quaaludes can’t be a pretty sight,” I deadpan.

  “Anyway,” says Kingsley. “Eating these guys is a bad idea.”

  I cringe at the pile of black dust. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Best Laid Plans

  For most of my life, I didn’t believe in anything supernatural.

  Sure, I spent a couple years as a kid wondering if faeries might have existed, but Mary Lou’s reaction to my childish awe over seeing one had been fairly crushing. Guess you could say I’d had a certain sense of pride about me, even as a kid. It bothered me to have my older sister laugh at me and tell me to stop acting like a little kid.

  She kinda wounded my sense of wonder, and my parents finished it off. Nine-year-olds who understand the idea of starving to death tend to develop a bit of a grim outlook. For normal kids, food is something the parents make magically appear at meal times. I knew exactly where it came from—and how we didn’t have a lot of it—way too young. Reality checks suck, especially when the bank is constantly overdrawn.

  As a result, I didn’t trust anything not right in front of my eyes. This included religion. Granted, I didn’t hate it, merely thought it something of a story grown-ups told themselves to feel better about stuff they couldn’t control. However, feeling the Origin’s presence when Jeffcock—my sire—went back to it has made me rethink stuff.

  Hiding in this sitting room while we killed an ascendant dark master and Kingsley barfed his brains out—not a quiet process by any means, mind you—and not being discovered also makes me more amenable to the idea of something being out there to watch my back. Maybe Ishmael’s skulking around trying to make up for slacking off and letting me be ambushed by the vampire. Maybe Max and his Light Warrior mystics have blanketed me in ‘luck spells’ or something.

  Who knows?

  Point being—we made a bunch of noise in here and aren’t up to our eyeballs in badness.

  Allison and I creep up to the door, listening against it like a pair of tweens eavesdropping on an older sister’s phone call with their boyfriend. Kingsley goes back to wolf form so his ears are bigger and better.

  Elizabeth and multiple other voices, both male and female, are in the midst of discussing how to proceed. It’s getting kind of heated in there, which might explain how none of them heard us. The most sensitive microphone in the world wouldn’t pick up a conversation in another room down the hall if it’s placed next to a shouting match.

  Seems as though Elizabeth wants to take the three nearest cities over right away, using the forces at her disposal, while the others are all proposing slightly different ways of building up strength here first. I’m astonished to hear her giving a shit what someone else thinks at all. She never struck me as the sort of leader who cared about anyone’s opinion other than her own. But I suppose even Julius Caesar had advisors. There has to be some reason Elizabeth is open to suggestions now.

  Crazy to think how often I shut her down in my own mind. I regularly sealed her tight in various mental prisons... only to see her leak back out. After all, mental prisons need attention, and I had a life to live. As soon as I took my focus away, the prison began to weaken.

  And now, here she was... commanding armies and planning to take over an entire world. I had simply been one step of many. Likely I was just a distant, possibly unpleasant memory.

  Time to give her a reminder...

  A somewhat effeminate man says, “If we present ourselves as too great a threat before we have the strength to resist a committed invasion, we are only inviting them to wipe us out. Once we seize the cities surrounding Iskariya, the neighboring kingdoms will see us as a threat to put down before we become unstoppable.”

  “Pierre is right,” replies a man with a voice so deep he could probably sing for a Johnny Cash cover band. “We have the opportunity now to grow our power in the dark, so to speak. We should do so. When the remaining nations of this world realize you are far more than a simple change of monarchy, it will be too late for them to stop you.”

  Elizabeth grumbles.

  “It would be wise not to be impatient,” says a sultry woman. “Dormund and Pierre speak with sound reasoning. We still have a 167 unbound masters waiting in line to merge with hosts. The castle is a veritable haunted house.”

  Six people chuckle.

  “What shall we do about them, Amina?” asks Elizabeth.

  “Well,” replies the woman. “Each of the three options before us presents various advantages and drawbacks. If you are in a hurry, bringing them forward as… what is it you are calling them now? Ascendant?”

  “Where did you get that from?” Pierre chuckles. “Sounds a bit lofty, like we’ve achieved Zen.”

  “I rather like it,” says Dormund. “It conveys a sense of power.”

  “Exactly why I called them that,” replies Elizabeth in a superior tone.

  Lying bitch. She knows damn well she got the word out of my brain because I needed a way to differentiate them from ordinary vampires.

  “Yes, well, the process of gathering the power necessary to emerge as an ascendant takes weeks in this dimension.” Amina sighs. “We should have stayed where we were and made our move after we all ascended.”

  Dormund emits a displeased grunt. “And gamble all of our number being wiped out? We must establish a sanctuary. Those who remain unbound do not accept the risk.”

  “You overstate things, my friend,” replies another man.

  “Immaterial.” Elizabeth pauses, probably tapping her foot. “In the third dimension, the process by which we ascend takes too long for our needs.”

  “Only due to your impatience,” says Amina. “You asked us to speak as a council of equals. For what reason do you feel this need to rush and be haphazard?”

  Wow, she’s brave.

  I can practically feel Elizabeth’s anger from here. She does not like sharing power. The other dark masters would be fools to expect any sort of empress-advisor relationship will last very long once she obtains greater power. She must be nervous things will go wrong here before she can reach a state similar to a demigod.

  “We have come too far and are too close to fail,” says Elizabeth.

  “I agree!” yells Amina. “Exactly why it is best to be methodical. Ascending takes too long and many of those who wait will not take the step until the sanctuary exists. Our choices are between vampires or exalted.”

  “The exalted are not hindered by sunlight,” says Dormund. “They would be the fastest means to achieve an army superior to mortals.”

  “Exalted are not immortal,” says Pierre.

  “Your point?” asks Dormund. “If their human dies, they merely take another one. Possession is a few hours at most and requires no more than a pliable mind.”

  “Vampires, though they are hampered by sunlight, have advantages.” Pierre exhales hard. “The exalted are a little stronger and faster than mortals. Vampires become much more so, and have additional abilities beyond brute advantage.”

  Amina sighs. “Exalted achieve full strength right away. It takes a vampire almost a year to reach the same power.”

  “Yes, but they are far more difficult to kill,” snaps Pierre. “No one in this world understands us, or silver.”

  “They have magic,” says Dormund. “We have already seen in the minds of the former king’s minions their ‘magisters’ possess the ability to incinerate us fatally.”

  “How many of them could there possibly be?” asks Elizabeth dismissively.

  “One is too many until we have a sanctuary.” Pierre huffs.

  “Ascendancy offers the most power,” says a different woman with a German accent. “We have no need to rush. We should work to ascend all of our number. Possessing humans, vampire or exalted, is distasteful. It’s as repulsive as putting on someone else’s undergarments. I detest having my power muted by the presence of a lesser being.”