2 The Judas Kiss (45 page)

             
It took her men three days to track down their scent, and when they finally arrived, it was obvious that the group of misfits with her power in tow, were days ahead.  She hated the feeling of being human, hated it more than anything, and that hatred was all-encompassing.

             
Nothing could compare to what her form had felt like when she was corporeal, when she could reach out and touch the earth, manipulate things around her.  Sex in this body was nothing compared to what it had been, the pleasures of the human flesh a ghost of what she’d experienced when she’d roamed the earth, bringing human armies to their knees by her name alone.

             
The heels she wore clicked across the tile as she stormed through the house, turning the place upside down searching for some clue as to where they’d gone.  The Norse ones were stronger than she was, older, and they were standing in her way.  If she got what she was after, she would watch them burn, writhing on the ground, begging for death.

             
“He’s taken it all!” she finally screeched as they turned over the last room.  The writer had taken everything from her, everything she’d worked for.  It was all for nothing now, and she knew that he wouldn’t hang on to it.  He’d destroy it the moment he could.

             
“I think I’ve found something!” came a hurried voice from downstairs.

             
Annoyed, Nike rushed down the hall, enjoying the subtle clicking of her shoes as they echoed through the stairwell, and she found one of her followers crouched in front of the fireplace filled with ash.

             
Frowning, Nike strode forward, her hand on her hip.  “Found what?” she demanded, not in the mood for games.

             
“This,” he said.  He was a nameless god, one she didn’t care to know.  They would all burn, truth be told.  She didn’t need them, and she would have no use for them once this human body let go of whatever that pesky healer had pumped into her. 

             
She held out her hand, and the god dropped the smallest scrap of paper burnt almost completely brown, but as she turned it over in the light, she could see a word written on there.  “mount” it read.  She recognized the handwriting immediately.

             
“Will it work?” the god asked her in is irritatingly nasal voice.

             
She ignored him, staring down at the scrap of paper.  Would it, though?  Would it work?  She was never quite sure how much of his writing she needed.  She hated the human brain for slowing down her process.  In her true form she would have been able to calculate a thousand scenarios and had gotten what she needed from that bastard writer in seconds.  But this thing, this body she was in, the soul fighting her at every turn to regain possession of it, distracted her.  It slowed her.  At times it grasped her limbs, pulling her back, trying to take back its life.

             
Nike would have none of it.   This vessel was strong, and it was hers, and she was through playing games.  She would have to destroy this Abby before long, because she was tired of being slowed down.  With a sigh, her head snapped up and she shouted, “Bring in the human.”

             
In the distance, Nike heard a muffled whimper and she almost laughed at the thought of the human’s distress.  This wasn’t just any human, either.  This was poetic justice.  Nike was a war god.  Nike was victory, and swift, fierce punishment was in store for those who dared defied her.

             
Apollo, her brother in arms, brought in the girl.  She was pretty, young and pliant, and absolutely perfect.  “Olivia,” Nike purred, bending low over the woman’s face.  “Olivia.”

             
The woman whimpered and tried to turn her head away from Nike, but Apollo held her fast.  “Now now,” he cooed in her ear.

             
Nike smiled at her brother and then held out the paper with the word written on it.  “They’re going to be sorry for what they’ve done,” she snapped.

             
“It’s so small,” Apollo said, squinting at the burnt scrap.  “Will it work?”

             
Nike shoved the paper in Olivia’s face, and after a moment, there was a shift.  White hot power flowed through the room, pushing past every god, and then diving into the human sitting in front of her.  The woman’s eyes flared red, violently so, her head tipping back and she let out a cry.

             
When she looked down, her face had gone blank, her eyes staring, and her mouth slightly ajar.  Nike gave her a little kick in the shin, but instead of wincing, the woman looked up and smiled.  “I’ve seen the word,” she said, her voice echoing and far away.  “I’ve seen the word, and it’s time to bring the voice of God to the people.”

             
Nike dropped the piece of paper into her hand bag, trying to rein in her joy.  It had worked.  It had worked, and the time was near.  She needed a portal, and she knew just the god to turn to.  She snapped her fingers and Apollo hauled Olivia to her feet.  Nike cackled with triumph as the left the house and as she got into the car, she smiled at her brother and said, “Time to pay our friend Asclepius a little visit.”

Angella Graff studied theology at the University of Arizona where she currently lives in Tucson, Arizona with her husband Joshua, three children, two cats, six fish, and one frisky Marimo Moss Ball.  When Angella isn’t writing, she’s participating in activities with her children, going on family hikes, practicing yoga, and watching endless Doctor Who and BBC Sherlock marathons with her husband.

Check out Angella’s current and future work at
http://angellagraffbooks.wordpress.com

About the Cover Artist

Alexis Edwards is an artist and single mother of two based in Sierra Vista, AZ who specializes in charcoal and pencil but is happy to experiment with all mediums. She is currently working on book covers for two different series that will be published/for sale periodically. Her influences come mostly from comic books and pop art because she is part of the "nerd" subculture.

You may contact Alexis at
https://www.facebook.com/AislingArt
.