Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (231 page)

I
turned
a corner and saw a classic Bentley along the side of the road. It looked like a 1970-something, beautifully polished, all black, with flared fenders. As I approached, I saw a metal jack hooked to the rear of the car, the trunk propped open, and an older woman waving for help. The woman was standing behind the car, her hair white and flowing with what little breeze the day offered. I slowed down and saw the sweat drenching her long floral print dress. This wasn’t a well-traveled road; if I didn’t help her, she’d have a heat stroke soon.

I pulled up behind her car, leaving a couple of car lengths between us. Her relief spread wide on her face as she started walking toward me. “Car trouble?” I called through the window.

She gave me an exhausted smile, “My tire is flat.” I reached in my purse to fish out my cell phone when I realized I hadn’t brought it with me. It was still at the house. It felt like an oven outside, so I considered driving her to Will and Gretchen’s house so she could call someone to change her tire. Just as I was about to offer, it hit me – I’d only seen Centaurs at their house. What would they think of me coming back with a sweaty old woman?

Helping the lady would help me get my mind off my meeting with Drake tonight. I knew how to change a tire, and I didn’t want for this lady to be in the heat any longer than necessary. It had been months since I’d done something kind for a stranger. The last time I’d helped pay for someone’s groceries when they were short at the cash register.

I walked past the old woman to the passenger side of the vehicle. As I looked at her tires, both were fully inflated. I started to walk toward the other side of the car when a man who had been crouching low to the ground leaped at me from near the front fender and put a white cloth over my nose and mouth. Before my mind registered what was happening, everything around me went dark.

I came to and knew I was in the car’s trunk. I silently swore at myself for stopping to help. I knew better. When I didn’t have my phone with me, I should have offered to go to my house and call someone for her. What the hell was I thinking? Newer cars had glow-in-the-dark trunk releases installed; that hadn’t been a consideration thirty years ago when this one was new. I could hear the rhythm of the road: thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. It felt like I would suffocate. Sweat dripped off me; the air was hot and heavy. My head throbbed. I felt all around it to see if he’d given me a concussion after he knocked me out. Satisfied that I didn’t have a head injury and the splitting headache had to be a hangover from whatever substance was on the cloth he put on my face, I started kicking at the back seat to try to get air. It was futile. I couldn’t make the seat cave in, and if the driver heard me, he ignored my pleas for help.

After I don’t know how many kicks, I remembered a television show where someone was locked in the trunk, and they’d messed with the wires and somehow shut off the car. I started pawing in the darkness looking for wires, a fuse panel, anything. I turned my body over to the other corner, still nearly suffocating from the heat and did the same panic search for something that would stop the car. My search was fruitless, and I felt myself losing consciousness. My last words were, “Mom, help me.” The darkness swallowed me a second time, and I believed the trunk had run out of air. I told myself I’d see her soon.

I awoke again, still in the darkness. The car was driving slower; I could hear gravel under the tires. I assumed we were nearly to our destination, and I searched for a tire iron or anything I could use as a weapon. The car’s trunk was empty except for me. I cursed myself again for stopping to help the stranger. I’d seen enough television shows to know abductions rarely turn out well if the victim isn’t found in the first twelve hours. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the trunk but vowed silently not to be a victim. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. It didn’t matter that I was a giant sweat ball who desperately needed air – I’d be ready to spring as soon as the car stopped and the trunk opened.

I felt my mind clouding again. I tried counting silently in my head – anything to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t lose consciousness again. I got to 326 when the car came to an abrupt stop. I slammed up against the car’s wheel well but refused to release a whimper. I heard the car shut off, two doors open and close, then footsteps walking away on the gravel. They were leaving me in the trunk! I knew I couldn’t hang on much longer. I started screaming with what was left of my energy, hoping a passerby might hear me. “HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!! HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!!” More silence was all that answered. I continued screaming for help until my voice refused and my body went limp.

I felt air on my face and looked up into the darkening sky. The same man who had ambushed me stood looking down at me. I couldn’t focus on his face; my body was too busy sucking in the fresh air. He held out his hand to me; I refused to take it. I lay there in the trunk, immobile from fear, unwilling to move. When I didn’t accept his hand to climb out, his gruff voice said, “You don’t want out? Fine, sleep in there tonight!” He reached for the trunk’s lid and every muscle in my body flexed; my arms and legs flailed trying to get out before the coffin closed on me.

My reaction pleased him; an evil grin emerged on his face as he held out his hand to me a second time. I looked at his hand but instead wrapped both of mine around the lip of the trunk while I swung my leg out onto the ground.

I stood propped up against the car, taking in my surroundings. It was a fortress that stood in stark contrast to the environment around it. It was in a swamp – literally: tall grass, Cypress trees with their knees protruding from the water, and Spanish Moss everywhere. It was dusk, and the life all around us seemed to be waking up. Even in the diminishing light I could see bright blossoms from nearly every plant that lined the flowerbeds around the house. It looked like a welcoming plantation house, a large two story front porch with eight pillars across the front, and big windows to catch the marsh breezes. It looked like something from
Gone with the Wind
, until I put my back to it and saw the swamp and foreboding trees that surrounded it. I saw a one lane bridge with enormous metal gates deterring visitors further down the lane.

I looked for a second route onto the estate, but in the diminishing light, I didn’t find one. There was a beautiful garden suitable for an English castle to the rear of the house – I immediately thought of Hannah’s warning to me a few nights ago. A woman’s voice brought me back to the present when she said, “There’s no use looking for a way out. You’ll be here for a while.” It was the same old woman who had flagged me down for help earlier.

I glared at her, “Who are you?”

“Zandra Chiron. I’m your grandmother.”

My eyes widened. Gretchen had mentioned her in a conversation with Will. I hadn’t been paying attention. “You kidnapped me?”

“Your father was being difficult. He told me you would be escorted at all times, yet my driver and I found you without an escort. No Centauride of age should be left unguarded. You’re lucky we found you.”

I answered her but moved my glare to her driver, “He put me in the trunk! I could have died!”

“Watch your tone, Camille. Aragon did what he thought was best.”

“Putting me in the trunk and driving me... where the hell am I?!”

“I’ll not warn you again. Watch your tone. You will not be the pampered princess at my estate. You are here for your protection and education. Aragon will show you to your room.” Without an apology, a thoughtful word or a kindness of any measure, she turned and walked away. I could see a vague resemblance to my mother, but she was so vile to me that I didn’t want to see any part of my mother in her features.

The chauffer pointed toward the house. As we stepped into the foyer, I demanded, “Where’s the phone? I need to call my father!” Aragon neither responded nor acknowledged that I’d even spoken. I hated myself for it, but I stamped my foot like a child and screeched, “Where’s the phone?!”

He put a firm grip on my shoulder and physically moved me to the stairs. I didn’t know where this man was from, but judging from his size, he had to be part Samoan or maybe a retired Sumo Wrestler. When I still refused to give up my ground, he picked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me up the steps. When we reached the upstairs landing, he glared at me, as if daring me to continue to be difficult. I wasn’t.

Aragon pointed to the last room on the right and followed me into it. I didn’t have any luggage, so I wasn’t certain what his purpose was. The room was dimly lit; the paint on the wall was old and peeling near the ceiling’s edge. I spotted a long forgotten spider web on the window. It looked like no one had been in this room for a very long time. Rather than continuing to stare at Aragon, I explored the room. It was the size of a large studio apartment, with four windows that had to be at least seven feet tall spaced evenly along the east wall overlooking the front of the property. There was a sitting area with sofa and winged chairs just inside the room. A bathroom was attached to the room that was not accessible from the hallway; a closet was full of dusty clothes that looked to be long forgotten. I dug through the drawers in the closet and found an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that seemed not to have absorbed the dust I saw everywhere else. As I stepped out of the closet, I announced, “I need a shower.”

The chauffer didn’t flinch. He stood with his back to the door, a menacing look on his face but no response. As I looked in the bathroom, it, too, needed a good cleaning. Did she think I was going to be Cinderella? I dug around and found some soap and some shampoo whose contents had long since separated. “Great. Hey, Aragon, where can I get some shampoo and conditioner?”

I peeked through the doorway when I still didn’t get a response from him. “Hello-o-o-o, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually. Where can I find something to wash all the sweat off of me?”

Miffed at his lack of response, I walked toward him and reached around him for the door handle. A single hand shoved me backward. “What the hell? I get that you aren’t talking to me, but I need something to get cleaned up with!” I started to wonder, maybe he was mute? No, he had spoken when he offered to let me spend the night in the trunk.

I heard a tap on the door. Aragon opened it, and a petite woman walked in with a serving tray piled high with sandwiches, chips, and OHMYSWEETGOODNESS — cold water! As she set the tray down on a coffee table beside the couch, she didn’t make eye contact with me. I immediately reached for the water and emptied the glass in seconds. As I was pouring more water into the glass from a pitcher off the tray, a second knock at the door echoed, and Aragon let in a middle-aged man who had a basket of toiletries, a pair of satin pajamas, and a change of clothes. Both the woman with the food and the man left without saying a word or even making eye contact with me. I was grateful and thanked them both, though neither acknowledged me.

As I towel dried my hair, I sat in the bathroom, wondering: What had I done to deserve this? Just hours ago my mind raced with the possibilities of the future. I had silently hoped to slow down the “Drake Freight Train,” but I had never anticipated completely derailing it. Having satisfied my physical need for water, food and hygiene, I let my mind wander back to our lunch today. I thought of the fantasies he kept sharing with me through his touch. It had been a foreign experience and one that still gave me butterflies thinking about it.

Drake would think I stood him up tonight. I still wasn’t convinced that Bianca’s plan had merit, and I hated the idea of being responsible for whether someone’s bloodline continued — especially when I didn’t know anything about him or his family. Sure he was handsome, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, but this whole Centaur relationship thing seemed to be for keeps. No matter how great he was, I wasn’t ready to commit myself to him or anyone.

I wondered how long it was before people realized I’d been taken? I hadn’t locked my car, and it had been abandoned close to Will’s house. Hopefully someone was looking for me by now.

I needed to push thoughts of Drake out of my mind and focus on the problem at hand. How was I going to get out of here? Where was here?

T
he next morning
, sun peeked in around the window shades. I woke up and looked at the door. Aragon still stood in the same place he had been when I fell asleep. I decided I’d try a different approach: using my brightest smile and sweetest voice, I called, “Good morning, Aragon.”

Still nothing. I went to the bathroom, threw my hair in a quick braid, and changed quickly into the clothes I’d been given last night: underwear, Capri pants, a white t-shirt, and flops — all were precisely my size. As I approached the door to the hallway, Aragon opened it for me. The house looked interesting, but I needed to see how far Aragon would let me go. I was surprised when he trailed me wordlessly into the garden.

Zandra joined me shortly after I arrived. She stood a few feet away from me but addressed Aragon, “You may go find your relief. I’ll expect you back promptly at 9 p.m.” Aragon nodded and walked away. Zandra turned her attention toward me.

“I trust you’re well rested?” Her words were friendly enough, but the tone she used was less than heartwarming.

“Uh... yes. I was just admiring your estate...” Crap, I didn’t know what to call her. These were the first words spoken to me since my arrival, and they took me by surprise. “It’s very...big.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at me, obviously stunned with my impressive vocabulary. Her response was curt, “Right. While you’re here, you will have a guard at all times. Do not speak to any of them. They’re here for your safety, not your entertainment. You’ll be guarded around the clock.”

“Is that necessary? Am I in danger?”

“Danger? Danger from yourself. They won’t let you make a stupid mistake like your mother. There’s no phone, no television and no internet. No visitors will be allowed until I can trust you. Do you understand?”

I didn’t answer – she must have taken my silence as consent. She started to walk away when I blurted out – “What about my father? How will he know I’m okay?”

“You are my responsibility now. He has been notified.”

A little more abrasive than I meant for it to be, I told her, “I need to call a friend of mine in California. He’ll be worried if he doesn’t hear from me.”

“Camille, you’ve had far too many distractions in your life. I intend to simplify it for you, teach you things your mother neglected. I do not have the patience or the desire to cater to your every whim.”

She put her back to me and made a straight line for the house. When she did, Aragon’s replacement arrived: another large man unwilling to make eye contact with me. The mosquitoes were the size of small birds, so I didn’t stay outside long. When I got into the house, Zandra was nowhere to be seen. The guard pointed to the staircase, and he followed me to my room.

When I returned, a plate of pastries, a thermos of coffee, and a pitcher of juice were waiting for me on the coffee table in the sitting area of the bedroom. It looked like more than enough food for the two of us, and I motioned for the new guard to take a seat beside me. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I gave a heavy sigh, “I won’t be able to eat it all myself; you could at least eat with me.”

I watched him closely: his eyes didn’t even dart in my direction, and, if anything, his posture became more rigid as he stood against the door. He pretended not to have heard a word.

The pastries were all of my favorites: warm cinnamon rolls, donuts with colorful sprinkles on them, and onion bagels with cream cheese. It seemed odd that anyone would know that this combination would be such a welcomed surprise. After I had filled myself with breakfast, I wondered how I would occupy my time. I decided to go for another stroll outside. I reached around the new guard for the door handle, but he merely held his position in front of it.

I looked at him, frustrated, wondering how in the heck I was going to figure out how to get out of this place if I was confined to this room. “I just need some air. I want to go for a walk.” He didn’t budge. “Are you deaf? I said I’m going outside to get some air.”

Still as a statue, he didn’t so much as blink in my direction. When I didn’t let go of the door handle, and yanked on it a second time, the man put one hand on my wrist and inflicted more pain than I thought possible with just his thumb and middle finger. I remembered a stupid self-defense class I had taken in middle school that had taught about pressure points on the body. This man should have been teaching
that
class.

I can’t say that he did any real damage to anything other than my ego, but if he could subdue me that quickly with two fingers, I doubted I would stand a chance trying to force myself through a door he was protecting. My earlier inspection of the windows on the wall of my room showed they’d been painted shut for decades.

I took another look around. If this was where I was staying, the dust was going to have to go. I began in the bathroom; just as I had finished the last of the scrubbing and the whole place sparkled, I heard a soft knock at the door.

The guard opened it and the same petite woman from last night stepped inside with another tray of food. I didn’t need to get close to know exactly what it was: potato soup with spicy Italian sausage. It couldn’t have been better timed, and it was another favorite meal. I was too pleased with the aroma for my mind to realize how impossible it was for me to again have one of my most prized meals.

During lunch, a box of cleaning supplies had been delivered to the room. The guard hadn’t spoken a word all morning, so I wasn’t sure how anyone would have known I was doing my Cinderella impression, but I was thankful for the items. By dinner time, my bedroom was spotless. I half expected a tray of food to be delivered again, but the knock on my door was from a man who had brought a change of clothes for me. Clothes may not have been the best description; a black evening gown with shoes that were appropriate for a movie release or a charity ball had been delivered. I showered and dressed quickly, my mind racing with the possibilities. When I emerged from the bathroom, the guard opened the door to the hallway and ushered me down to the dining room.

A meal that could have served twenty people waited for me. I took a seat in the middle of the long table and waited to see who would join me. It was a full five minutes as the food began to cool before I realized there was only one place setting and no one else was coming. The dinner was wonderful, but I could feel the first real pangs of loneliness. After I had eaten, the guard took me to a library where I was allowed to select a book to read. It was a tough decision; all the books were old, really old. Some were written in different languages; several were handwritten. I searched for a romance of some kind and finally settled on
Wives and Daughters
written by Elizabeth Gaskell. Once I’d made my choice, I was escorted back to my room.

Aragon arrived at promptly 9 p.m., just as he had been instructed to earlier. I didn’t try to speak to him, and he didn’t acknowledge that he even saw me as he assumed his post inside my room, directly in front of my door. I hated his watchful eyes; I could feel them on me all night long, but he never stepped closer to me than the one step just inside my bedroom.

Day 2

I awoke to bright sunlight again. I ducked into the closet, turned on the light, pulled some clothes on that had been delivered the previous night, and dressed quickly. The closet was roughly nine feet by five feet; I knew this closet and my bathroom were the only places that I would have some sense of privacy. I used my time in the closet to feel around for any secret passageways. One of the baseboards was loose. It looked like something was jammed behind it into the plaster, but I didn’t want to disassemble the closet my second morning here.

Zandra’s home may have been a pseudo prison, but was surprisingly pleasant to explore – at least as much as I was permitted to see. The walls were adorned with equestrian paintings, statues of horses, centaurs, and ornate wooden finishing. The floors were wood accented with lush rugs in every room. As I walked outside to the gardens, I really took them in for the first time. I was not expecting the meticulously manicured plants, the stone walkways that shimmered in the sun, and the life-sized, marble Centaurs sprinkled throughout. When Zandra found me meandering through the expanse, my education began.

Zandra came up to me, patted her shirt down with her palms as if to brush away any stray pollen that may have landed on her. We were stopped in front of a statue of Zeus. I had seen images of him many times, so when she asked me, “Camille, quickly, who is this?”

I answered without hesitation, “Zeus.”

“And do you recognize the woman beside him?”

I knew it was his wife, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember her name. I shook my head, and she answered, “She was Hera.” I hadn’t studied Greek mythology, ever. I think the only reason I recognized Zeus was because of Saturday morning cartoons as a kid.

“Hera was very beautiful. Zeus was proud of her beauty and loved having a handsome wife. But occasionally someone would admire Hera too fondly, and Zeus would take out his vengeance. Have you heard the story of Ixion?”

I shook my head that I hadn’t, so she continued. “Ixion was a god Zeus thought was a close friend. Zeus suspected that Ixion had romantic feelings for Hera, but he wanted to be certain of Ixion’s intentions with Hera before he passed judgment on this friend. Zeus sent a cloud, Nephele, disguised as Hera to learn Ixion’s trustworthiness. The cloud bore a child for Ixion, who was named Kentaros.”

“A cloud, like a cloud in the sky?”

“This was Zeus. His power was limitless, so making a cloud take the form of Hera was not difficult for him. When Kentaros was born, he was shunned by the gods as well as humans and was forced to live out his days, utterly alone. Eventually, Kentaros moved to the beautiful pastures of Thessaly and bred himself with the mares that lived in the pasture. Kentaros is the father of all Centaurs.”

“But, I thought that Centaurs that were half horse were all just a myth?”

“No, we are all children of Kentaros.”

I knew using Will’s first name diminished his position in front of Zandra, so I purposely included “Dad” in my response. “Dad told me we were descended from warriors. Gretchen said that humans described the warriors’ speed as fast as horses, so they began drawing our race as both man and horse.”

“Camille, you don’t really believe that, do you? Where does the magic in your veins come from?”

I answered cautiously, hoping not to infuriate her and not wanting to let on that I had my doubts about magic in my blood, “From my mom and dad.”

“Exactly. They were both descendents of Kentaros and his mares. Most of the herds from that original pasture are still represented, their magic unabated, their blood pulsating with that of a god.”

“Our ancestors really were half horse?” The notion still sounded absurd to me, but she continued.

“My given name is Zandra Chiron. Have you heard of Chiron?”

“No.”

She furrowed her brow at me. “Chiron was the noblest of Centaurs. Had there been royalty among Centaurs, he would have surely worn a crown. He was unlike many of the other Centaurs born on that pasture. Most Centaurs were fierce warriors, more prone to battle than civility. Chiron was different: he was gentle and kind. He was a musician, a physician, and even a teacher of gods. One of his prized pupils was Zeus’ son, Hercules.”

“So Chiron was a teacher?”

“As I said, he was a Centaur of many talents. During a class where Hercules was paying more attention to his lessons than to his weapons, he inadvertently shot Chiron with an arrow that had been dipped in the blood of the Lernaean Hydra.”

“A Hydra, that’s the snake that you cut off its head and two more grow in its place, right?”

“It is similar to a snake, but it was a sea creature. Its blood was poisonous and brought instant death to humans. Chiron was an immortal since Zeus himself had shared his immortal nectar with him, so the blood-tipped arrow only brought suffering and pain to Chiron.”

“But you just said Chiron was a physician. If he was an immortal and a doctor, why didn’t he just cure himself?”

“He tried unsuccessfully for years to cure himself. He begged the other gods to kill him to end his suffering, but none would kill him, and he couldn’t be comforted.”

I looked around, a little worried because Zandra seemed to take all of this as reality, and a small part of me wondered if a suffering immortal Centaur was around the corner. “So what happened?”

“Prometheus was a Titan who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to man. Fire was a substance for use by the gods and was not intended to provide warmth to the lowly humans. As punishment for giving fire to mankind, Prometheus was chained to a rock in Tartarus. Each day as the sun came up, an enormous vulture would come to the rock and gnaw his liver. Each night the liver would grow back.”

“That’s awful!”

“For him, immortality was a fate worse than death – an eternity of physical anguish. Hercules, despite his accidental poisoning of Chiron, was good. He watched day after day the suffering that Prometheus was subjected to and asked Zeus to release him from his punishment.” She saw my interest and asked me, “Camille, have you not heard this before? Did you learn nothing in school?”

Ashamed that I’d never heard these stories, I was intrigued and hoped silently that she would continue. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“And your mother never shared any of these stories?”

“No, never.”

She kept her contempt masked, but I could see it was there. “Zeus believed in harsh punishments but was persuaded by the young Hercules to show mercy. He agreed to let Prometheus free of his punishment if another would take his place. Hercules wanted to offer himself up in place of Prometheus, but Chiron wouldn’t allow it. Chiron gave up his immortality and released Prometheus from the rock in Tartarus.”

“But how was he allowed to give up his immortality in Tartarus, if Prometheus couldn’t?”