Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (232 page)

“Prometheus knew he was being punished and chose to hold on to his immortality. He believed eventually he would be forgiven by Zeus and his punishment would be over.”

“But Chiron took his place before Prometheus was forgiven?”

“Yes, but Chiron’s liver was never eaten by the giant vulture. Zeus was so moved by Chiron’s selflessness that he placed Chiron in the stars. You know him as Sagittarius.”

“So you’re a direct descendent of a constellation?”

“No, I am a direct descendant of Chiron who was so loved by Zeus that he was permitted an eternal place in the heavens to look down on and to guide his children. In that moment Zeus forgave Ixion for his desires for Hera and forgave Kentaros for being born. Zeus bestowed many gifts on the Centaurs. The men he allowed to keep their warrior instincts and speed. The women Centaurs, he gave the gifts of communicating with the spirits so that they could always receive guidance from Chiron, the gift of seeing the future so they might guide their husbands, and telekinesis so that no object would ever stand in their way. For all Centaurs, he gave the gift of mortality and allowed us to take human form.”

“Dying was a gift?”

“Mortality is one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed. After a long and fruitful life, we are able to rest.” She looked at peace as she finished her story. In a slightly more brusque tone she said, “That’s enough for today. Tomorrow we’ll talk about why Chiron’s bow is always pointed toward Scorpius.”

Zandra stood to walk away. “Wait, that’s it?” She nodded, and took two steps before I yelled, “Look, I’ve been here for two nights. I need to call my father.”

“I have no use for telephones. If you want to speak to him so badly, project your thoughts.”

My teeth were clenched, “I don’t know how.”

Her mouth curled up in an evil twist, “Then you obviously need the education I am offering you.”

Zandra walked out of the garden, leaving only my guard and me. Forgetting that he couldn’t speak to me, I asked, “So have you heard all of that before?” He neither spoke nor acknowledged that I’d uttered a syllable. “I’m, Camille. What’s your name?” Again, not even an acknowledgement that I’d spoken. I could feel my eyebrows furrow, “What’s next on today’s agenda?” I got my answer — more silence.

T
hree days had passed
since I heard from her. The call Sunday night had me concerned. It wasn’t like Cami. She always put her friends before everyone else. As stoked as she was about meeting Bianca Saturday night, I couldn’t imagine what would have possessed her to put the moves on Bianca’s fiancé Sunday. Something wasn’t right. I dialed again. “Damn voicemail,” I said to no one in particular. No fricken way I’m leaving another voicemail.

Something was wrong. I could feel it. No way would she not return one of my calls in three days. I got on the internet and found William Strayer. I scratched his number on the back of a receipt and called him.

A lady answered the phone, “Hello.”

“Hi, this is Daniel. I’m a friend of Cami’s. Could I talk to her?”

“Uh... Camille isn’t here right now. Could I take a message?”

“When will she be back?”

“She’s visiting her grandmother in Florida. I’m afraid I don’t know when she’ll return.”

“Since when does Cami have a grandmother?”

“I’ll give her your message when she returns.” Her voice had finality to it, but I didn’t want her to hang up.

“Wait! Can you give me her grandmother’s phone number?”

“She doesn’t have a phone.”

“She doesn’t have a phone?”

“No, she lives a life of seclusion.”

“Well, what’s her grandmother’s address?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Daniel. Daniel Gaskins. I’m a friend of Cami’s from California. I just need to talk to her.”

“That’s out of the question.” I heard her hang up. If it would have been possible to reach through the phone line and slap her, I would have. Fine, she won’t give me the address over the phone; maybe she’ll be more willing to give it to me while I’m standing at her door.

S
ix hours
later I was on an eastbound plane. I shook my head at myself. This was stupid. Cami was an adult, and if she didn’t want to talk to me, she didn’t have to. I had been pretty hard on her, but that’s how we were with each other. If she thought I’d done something stupid, she’d be the first person to tell me. If I believed she was just avoiding me, I never would have boarded the plane. Something was wrong. I could feel it. She needed me.

As I transferred planes in Atlanta, I turned on my phone to see if Cami had called me back. I was surprised to hear a voicemail from my father: “Daniel, I need you to call me as soon as you get this.”

He never called to visit, usually only picking up the phone when someone died. I dialed his number while I walked to my next gate. “Hey, Dad, you wanted me to call you?”

“Daniel, where are you?”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“You aren’t in Charleston, are you?”

“Uh, no. Why would I be in Charleston?” I got a strange sensation. I hadn’t told anyone but the lady at the ticket counter in the airport where I was going. What the heck was going on?

“Well, where are you? I phoned your boss, and he said you took a vacation.”

During the summer, I worked as a lifeguard on the beach in Carlsbad. My boss looked at me like I was crazy for wanting to take some vacation days. My job was every single guy’s dream, but finding a replacement for me was a piece of cake, so he told me to have a great time. I didn’t want to own up to flying to the east coast to check on Cami, “You assumed I’d take a vacation to Charleston?”

“No. No, it’s not important. I just want to know where you are.”

“Uh, Dad, why did you call me in the first place?

“I received a call from Camille’s stepmother... it doesn’t matter. So where are you?”

“Cami’s stepmother called? What’d she say?” I wanted to add: How would Cami’s stepmother have your name and number?

“Daniel, I’ve told you. Camille is off limits.”

“We’re just friends, Dad. I’ve never looked at her sideways. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. She needs me.”

“Leave it alone, Daniel. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

I’d made it to my gate, and the plane was already boarding. I was sure he could hear the intercom paging flights in the background. “I gotta go, Dad.”

“Daniel! I don’t’ know where you are, but you’d better get back here now.”

I hung up the phone. Maybe he’d think we got disconnected or something. How in the heck did Gretchen know I was on my way there? Better yet, how did she know how to get in touch with my dad? Something was definitely wrong, and Gretchen was trying to cover it up. I handed my boarding pass to the ticket agent and knew a team of wild horses couldn’t stop me from getting on that plane.

After a short forty-five minute flight, the plane touched down just after midnight. The right thing would have been to get a hotel then give her new family a visit in the morning. But I was never known for making the best choices. I got in a rental car, plugged the address into the navigation, and decided they were going to have a visitor tonight whether they liked it or not.

My phone buzzed again; my dad was calling me. I hit “Ignore.” I’d only driven fifteen minutes before the navigation told me I’d arrived at my destination. In front of me stood a very large, very secluded estate, with enormous centaur statues flanking the driveway. It looked like every light in the house was on. “Huh, that’s odd.” I looked at my watch: almost 1 a.m. As I pulled up the driveway, I noticed a man with his arms crossed standing just in front of the steps. It looked like he was waiting for somebody.

I stopped the car and walked up to him, stuck out my hand and flashed my friendliest southern California smile, “Hi, I’m Daniel. I’m looking for Cami.”

“I know exactly who you are. Did your father not tell you to return home?”

I could feel my eyebrows raise when I answered, “He did, but I was already halfway here. Where can I find Camille?”

“You can’t find her. Go back where you came from.”

“Look, I don’t know what your game is. She came here for a couple days. I haven’t heard from her since Monday night. That was three days ago. I just want to know that she’s all right, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Gretchen already told you, she’s staying with her grandmother in Florida.”

“Fine, give me the address.”

He leaned in, nose to nose. I knew he was trying to intimidate me. Truthfully, he had me by several inches and at least fifty pounds. I didn’t know why he was being so hostile, “You have no business with my daughter. Return to your family before you put mine in danger.”

“In danger? I just want to know that she’s okay.”

“You’re not welcome here. Let your father explain why. On your way – now!” He flicked his hand like he was dismissing someone beneath him. I was way past pissed. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I took a half a step in his direction, and my fist connected hard with his jaw. I’m not sure what I expected to accomplish. I hadn’t punched anyone since Billie Kennedy on the playground in third grade. This didn’t look like it was going to turn out any better than that time.

William Strayer looked at me. I saw his pupils change from normal to huge – it was the first time I’d felt unfettered fear in my whole life. My punching him in the face stunt didn’t make him flinch but seemed to pour acid in his voice. “Out of respect for your father, and only him, I’ll give you this single warning. You’ve been told Camille is off limits. If I see you near her again, I’ll kill you myself. Stay away from Camille. Stay away from my family. Keep to your own kind.”

“My own kind?”

He turned his back on me and went inside the house. I was furious. I let my emotions get the better of me when I started pounding on the door, the windows, yelling at the top of my lungs, “Cami! Cami, can you hear me?! Where are you?! I just need to know that you’re okay!” I don’t know how many choruses I yelled, but my throat was going raw, and I was hoping the jackass would call the cops soon.

To my surprise, a younger version of William Strayer stepped outside onto the porch. “Hey, Daniel. Let’s go for a ride, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you! I wannna’ see Cami, now!”

“Hey, Slugger, she’s not here. You’re about a heartbeat away from being stomped to death by my dad. We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just sit in your car, but you need to get off the porch before he removes you from it.”

“I’m not leaving until I see her.”

His voice was kind, and for some reason, I believed him when he told me, “Daniel, my name’s Beau. I’m her brother and I promise you, if she were here, you could see her. C’mon, just step down and I’ll tell you what I know.”

We got in my rental and Beau sat down in the passenger seat. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on either. All I know, I got home from work Wednesday night, and Mom and Dad were freaked. Her grandmother took her to Florida. Her car was abandoned a few blocks from here.”

“But, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not to me either. I know Mom and Dad won’t talk about it with us, but they were fighting like crazy last night.”

“Didn’t your mom want Cami here?”

“Are you kidding me? Mom loves Camille. We all do. She was yelling at Dad, telling him he needed to go get her. Something bad was going on there.”

“But he didn’t go?”

“He went this morning, but her grandmother put a sp...I mean, the estate was locked down. Camille’s grandmother won’t let Dad set foot on the place.”

“How do you know she’s okay?”

“That’s the thing, we don’t.”

“So call the cops!”

“Dad already tried that, and they threatened to put him in jail.”

“So, no one can talk to Cami because there’s no phone? No one can get there because the gate’s locked? If she’s in trouble, we have to do something.”

“Dad says he’s got a friend who is working to get her out, but Dad was essentially escorted to the state line earlier today and sent home.”

“Give me the address. I’ll go.”

Beau looked down at the floor board, “Yeah, you need to talk to your dad first.”

“My dad? What does he have to do with this?”

“Look, I can’t go into any detail, but...there’s no easy way to say this...Camille’s special.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I mean, there are things her mom never told her about her family.”

“Angela told Cami that she didn’t have any family. I knew her mom really well. She wouldn’t have lied to Cami without a reason. Sounds like Angela knew something like this could happen.”

“We all want her back as badly as you do, but if you try to go there, I don’t know what her grandmother would do to you or her. It’ll be better for Camille if you don’t try to find her. Let my parents handle it.”

“What’s her grandmother’s name? I just need to know she’s okay.”

“She’s Zandra Chiron. Zandra won’t hurt her. I may not know much else, but I know that.”

I liked Beau. Cami had told me about him, and I trusted him. It didn’t mean I would follow his advice, but I believed him.

I
had
four assigned guards who rotated their shifts. I was never left alone – even while asleep, watchful eyes were there. Each remained under strict orders not to speak with me, not to answer any questions I asked, and above all, not to let me out of their sight.

My first week was the toughest. Each time I attempted to go to an area of the house that I was forbidden from, I found myself in some sort of physical pain as a deterrent. One guard used pressure points; he was by far the most humane of the four. The other
day
guard was quick to grab me by the nape of my neck and shove me in the direction of his choosing. Although none ever left a mark, it was clear that each one took his job very seriously and had no intention of letting me go farther than I was allowed.

That first week I fought them at every turn. I refused to dress in the elaborate outfits to go sit in a formal dining room by myself for dinner. After several days, the only conclusion I could draw was that if I didn’t dress for dinner and make my way downstairs when directed – I wouldn’t eat. A couple mornings I had tried to sleep late; Aragon tipped the entire mattress up so that my body spilled out onto the floor. In protest, I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and curled up on the floor. I was not willing to go to the garden for another lesson from Zandra – Aragon carried me in my pajamas to the garden and set me down on a bench.

By the afternoon of my seventh day, I knew no one was coming to rescue me — I had to plot my own escape. The frosted window in my bathroom was small, but I was sure I could squeeze through it. It had been nailed shut, but that didn’t stop me. I kept a butter knife from a breakfast tray and used it to pry the nails loose. The sound of the running water masked the complaints from the nails as I pried them free. I opened the window only to see there was no ledge to step onto. The bathtub was full and I was fully clothed. I needed a rope or bed sheets or something. When I emerged from the bathroom, the guard made eye contact with me but quickly looked away. I walked over to the side of the bed and grabbed my book, “You might as well get comfortable,” I motioned to the chairs, “I’ll be in there a while.”

A change of sheets was lying on the corner of the bed; I was able to grab one without the guard realizing. I tucked it close to me and balanced the book so it would obscure that I was carrying the sheet if the guard happened to look my way. The guard didn’t flinch. Once back in the bathroom, I ripped the sheet into thirds, then knotted it every foot for added strength. I secured one end to the claw foot on the bottom of the ancient bathtub and threw the rest of it out the window.

I scraped both of my hips pulling myself through the window, but I didn’t care. It was my first taste of freedom in almost a week – I could feel my heart racing. The height of the window scared the crap out of me, but the sheet allowed me to get ten feet closer to the ground. I dropped and rolled onto the lush grass. I knew I’d never make it on foot, so I crept around the house toward the garage. I sneaked around each corner, careful not to let anyone see me. I made it all the way to the garage door; when it swung open, I heard, “Out for an afternoon stroll?”

Zandra stood just inside the garage with a very large man I’d never met before. Not wasting one bit of the adrenaline coursing through my body, “You can’t keep me here!” I spat out, refusing to be any more of a victim than I’d already been.

“Can’t I? Camille, I am your guardian. You don’t get to simply decide to leave.”

“I just did.”

“Ahhh, I see.” She gracefully crossed her arms in front of her and quietly responded, “It would be a shame for you to leave before I believe you’re ready. It might even be considered disrespectful. If I were to be disrespected by you, in this community, you can be assured a debt would be owed.”

A debt? What kind of a debt would I owe her? Smearing her reputation couldn’t result in a blood debt, could it? “You kidnapped me! You’ve kept me here against my will. I just want to go back to my family.”

“I
am
your family, you ungrateful nag. You decide: do you want one of your half brothers to pay your debt for leaving my estate without permission, for stealing one of my cars, for tarnishing my good name? I can see now you do not possess the strength your mother had. She would never have allowed another to pay her debt. I still believe that if Kyle Richardson had demanded a blood debt when he was wronged, she would have returned to pay it herself.”

My stomach cinched tight. I couldn’t stand the thought of Brent, Bart, Bruce, Ben or Beau being penalized for my actions. I wanted to leave this place, but not at their expense. I put my head down and took myself back to my room without another word. I hated it here, I hated this woman, but I would never fall into her trap. I’d become a model prisoner and pray for an early release.

I found myself wishing I had never called Will. I wished I had stayed hidden in California, working my job as a cashier, living in a shoebox of an apartment, free to go to the ocean or the mountains – whenever I chose. My father’s home had been more like a fairy tale, something dreamt up by Disney himself: a family who loved me, an ancestry I never knew, and endless possibilities for life. Meeting Will, Gretchen, and my brothers seemed like a blessing – truly a life that I had always craved. But reality was I had known their joy for a week. I kept watch on the front gate, hoping Will would come driving through to take me back to his house. He never did. Did he even know where I was?

Shortly after my attempted escape, I found myself prying at that loose baseboard in the closet. The thing jammed into the plaster was a diary; written in flowing calligraphy across the front was the name
Angela Chiron
. The diary’s cover was made of leather and was locked with a key. Sure that my mother would want me to read whatever she had written, I used a wire hanger to pry the lock open. The first entry was written in smooth flowing handwriting: I recognized it instantly as my mother’s.

Entry One Sep 21 – My engagement was just announced – Kyle Richardson. I didn’t care who she chose. Living with the devil himself would be better than my mother. She’s got it in her head that I won’t go through with it. She has no idea how deep my hatred is for her and this prison. Father came to my room last night and gave me this diary. He said it would be better for me to write my words down than to say them to my mother. Just once, I wish he would stand up to her. Just once I’d like for him to tell her to go to hell where she belongs.

The next several entries were of little value, so I flipped a few pages and found:

Entry Twelve Oct 2 – I met Kyle today. Truthfully, I had expected a monster. It didn’t take long for him to decide mother was completely unstable. He wanted to return home to try to convince his father to speed up our wedding date. He told me if it was within his power, he’d marry me today and get me out of here. I’m sure he felt sorry for me – the wounds on my neck were scabbed and bloody again from her tirade this morning. I knew I looked a fright. Trying to cover my neck with a scarf didn’t do any good as the blood seeped through the bright yellow material. He said he’d be back every day until we were married.

This entry threw me for a loop. I wondered if she was some sort of a vampire? Why would my mother’s neck be scabbed and bloody? Zandra was so wrapped up in Greek Mythology but had never mentioned vampires, werewolves or any creatures from the night. My imagination began running wild.

Entry Thirteen Oct 3 – Angelo was at it again today. He’s as evil as mother. I overheard that he’d attacked a woman in town. I sat all day looking out my window, hoping the authorities would come take him away – no one ever came. Kyle stopped by again today. He’s so kind. When no one was looking, he gave me some medicine for the wounds on my neck. Less than a month, and I’ll be able to leave this place with him – and never look back.

The guard knocked on my closet door and about made me jump out of my skin. “Just a second, I’m getting dressed!” I answered before he could open the door and catch me with the diary. I tucked the book behind the drawers, inside the dresser, and pushed the baseboard where I’d found it, back securely against the wall.

I found a long forgotten crayon that lay dusty in a corner. On the inside of the closet, near the floor, I made a series of tick marks – one for each day I’d spent in this place. I didn’t know how long I would be kept here, and knew I needed some method to keep track of the time. I didn’t know why my mother ran away or why she had given up everything that was her birthright, but hopefully the diary would reveal truths to me that I couldn’t find anywhere else.

I couldn’t be sure, but from their strength, I believed the guards to be Centaurs. The servants didn’t talk to me either; I wasn’t even sure if they spoke English, but I wasn’t as frightened of them, so I assumed they were human.

Each morning, no matter the weather, Zandra and I met in her gardens. She taught me about Greek Mythology with the same reverence my high school Civics teacher taught me about Democracy. The first few weeks were all her telling me stories, but eventually she waited to tell me a new story until after I had repeated the story to her from the day before. There were never conversations; she didn’t spend time with me anywhere but the gardens and only for an hour each morning.

There was no telephone, no television, and no internet – there were plenty of servants, but the only person who would speak to me was Zandra. I had read enough about Stockholm’s syndrome to know I would eventually feel some sort of a bond with her, just because she was the only one to show me even the smallest sliver of kindness by speaking to me. The solitude of Zandra’s home was deafening. The only part of the day I looked forward to was my garden time with my captor and the few moments I could steal in my closet reading my mother’s thoughts in her diary.

The lesson on my twentieth day was by far the most helpful of anything she’d taught me. While we sat in the sun, I silently wished for a notebook, doing my best to commit her words to memory. The mythology she had been teaching me was interesting, but this day’s lesson was centered on Centaurs and specifically Centaurides’ skills.

She began, “There were seven mares on the pasture of Thessaly when Kentaros arrived, each one part of the world’s oldest breeds. The centaurs born of these mares each had very distinct markings and temperaments. Many centaurs born of Kentaros and the respective mare took on a family name closely tied to the mare’s breed.

An Andalusian mare bore Centaur children, and they took the name Andalcio. Their women were able to move objects with their minds.

A Schwieken mare bore Centaur children that kept the breed’s name as their family name; these Centaurides could read people’s thoughts.

A white Arabian mare’s descendants became Owens; they communicated with spirits.

A Barb mare took the family name Barber; her children could see the future.

A Fjord mare also kept her breed’s name as the surname for her bloodline. Her daughters could communicate telepathically with others.

Centaurs born of a Tahki mare took the family name Tak. Their power was unique, the ability to plant ideas in another’s consciousness. They could make others believe an incident had occurred, and were known for their deceit and ruthlessness. The Tak bloodline offended Zeus, so he eventually cast them out; Zeus barred them from ever returning to Thessaly. He also forbade all other Centaurs from fraternizing with the Taks. Their bloodline did not survive.

The Chiron family descended from a black Arabian mare, and when Zeus bestowed his gifts on all the female Centaurides in all the bloodlines, he looked most favorably on Chiron’s descendants. We were given all the collective powers bestowed on each bloodline – except, of course, the Taks’.”

“But I’ve met Centaurides who have more than one skill.”

Zandra nodded and smiled. “Inbreeding would be catastrophic for our race. We would have long ago perished. A Centauride typically possesses the skills of the two dominant bloodlines that run through her body.”

“So if someone is a Centaur, their last name can only be one of the six from the original herd?”

“No. Over the years, many opted to take on names other than their family names. This was done so that the family names would not become too obvious to the humans.”

“How many Centaurs are there in the world?”

“Pure-blooded Centaurs? One in ten thousand, possibly more. Half-breeds that have Centaur blood but are unaware they are something more than human – five in one thousand.

I asked my next question cautiously. This had been one of the few times she openly answered my questions. “How does one Centaur know another?”

“Centaurides can feel each other in their minds: it is a familiarity with a stranger, a kinship. Centaurs sense other Centaurs through their warrior sense. I’m told it is a tingling in their chest, a silent warning, useful in battle, I assume.”

“Zandra, I don’t have any skills.” Truthfully, I could read minds through touch, but I’d only successfully done that with one person. I could read the images from Drake’s mind, but that was a far cry from simply reading another’s thoughts. “What’s wrong with me?” I had opened myself up and expected her to give me a kind response, encourage me in some small way.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she responded, “You were born out of wedlock. You are an amalgamation.” The hatred in her words cut me deeply when she added, “You should not exist. My daughter did this to you: she allowed you into the world and she taught you nothing. Her responsibility is now shouldered by me, and
you
are not worthy to carry my name.”

I had been here for so long. I’d had almost no contact with anyone but Zandra, and this was the first time she had openly told me she was ashamed of me — that I didn’t belong. I had fooled myself into believing that this elaborate kidnapping had somehow been done for my protection, that she wanted me to join the Centaur kingdom as a full-fledged Centauride – eventually she would see her daughter in me. There were no words to describe the utter despair that enveloped me. Choking back the tears, I pleaded, “Let me go home. I won’t tell anyone we’re related. I’ll never breathe a word to anyone.” I knew I was a pathetic mess as I saw her angry words grow into a look full of disdain. I pleaded, “I won’t ever tell a soul. Just let me go home.”