Storykiller (50 page)

The Troll beside Fenris drew back further into the trees.

“Go,” Fenris said.

The Troll hesitated, looking between The Wolf and The Scion in the distance. Fenris growled a warning at him, and The Troll disappeared into the brush. Fenris watched Tessa as she walked to him in the rain, and he noticed that she did not let her axe disappear but kept a tight hold on it.

“So I guess you really are The Big Bad Goddamn Wolf,” Tessa said when she was a few feet from him.

“I never said otherwise, luv.”

“True enough. But now that you’ve left me to die, or perhaps worse, we’re going to have a
new relationship, you and me,” Tessa said evenly, trying to control her rage.

“That’s too bad,” he said,
and Tessa shot him a look. His eyes were calm, warm even.

“I don’t know why I ever trusted you,” Tessa whispered.

“I never told you to trust me.”

“But you saved my life. A few times. Why?”

“It suited me at the time.”

“And now?”

“It still suits me,” he said, ticking his head to the side, watching her.

“But you left me there, to be tortured, for those people to be transformed, for The Monster to kill me,” Tessa said, her voice wavering.

“I knew he couldn’t kill you,” he paused, and then smiled broadly. “And I was right.”

What made you so sure? You’ve seen other Scions die, you said you killed them.”

He didn’t respond.

“How many Scions have you killed?”

He looked away from her for just a moment and then back. He caught her eyes and spoke clearly. “Six.”

Tessa’s stomach flip-flopped and a wave of dread passed over her.

Six.

“That’s it,” she said. “You’re out.”

“Out?” Fenris asked, feigning innocence.

“Skulking around, acting like one of the gang, it’s over. I’ve been defending you to Robin, Snow, even Micah and Brand. All this time I’ve been on your side when I should have been shutting you out, listening to my friends.”

“You’re kidding yourself if you don’t think every single Story in your life doesn’t have an agenda, Scion,” Fenris said, edging a half circle around her, something more animal than usual about his movements and that always annoying hypnotic truth to his words.

“I’m not concerned about everyone else right now, Wolf, I’m concerned about you,” Tessa said, hard and flat.

Fenris bristled. It was the first time she’d called him Wolf. Others, especially Stories, used it freely, but she never had.

It unsettled him.

And it further unsettled him that it unsettled him.

He pushed toward her, so close that they were touching. This time she didn’t back down or step away. She held his gaze and didn’t blink.

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental, Scion,” he breathed, drinking her in. “You do realize, of course, that for Stories,
you
are The Big Bad Wolf. The monster that lives under the bed. The horror story that they tell to their children. We’re the same, you and me. Outcasts, villains, cautionary tales, the things that go bump in the night, creatures that can never fit in, never be accepted. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, and here you are. We’re exactly the same you and me.”

Tessa didn’t edge back an inch, though his words felt like they were cutting her to ribbons inside. “I’m not killing you today because I owe you. Despite your betrayal, you’ve saved my life, the lives of my friends, and for that you get a pass.
Today.
”

“Today,” he echoed, amused.

Tessa turned from him and walked away. “I see you again and
this
cautionary tale is going to end yours.” She paused and looked back at him over her shoulder. “You’ve killed six Scions, but I’m the fucking Storykiller, and I will grind you into dust.”

Tessa didn’t look back.

She walked through the cold relentless rain as crowds scattered in the distance.

The Monster had forced her to abandon all her beliefs, Robin had deserted her, Fenris has switched sides or maybe just revealed who he had been all along, and her new Advocate was someone that mostly hated her.

Though she had ultimately saved the day, Tessa felt raw and exposed. And more alone than ever.

Fenris’s words reverberated in her head. As always, they had the painful weight of truth.

It wasn’t a cleansing rain she walked through, it was a clarifying one.

She was a monster.

Sophia’s ability to view the battle in Lore ended abruptly as her daughter cut off The Monster’s head in one smooth stroke.

Sophia cried out as the picture that floated before her in the pool vanished. The Monster was dead and thus her temporary link to the Mortal world had been severed. She closed her eyes and let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Tessa was safe.

The Monster, working from his own playbook instead of theirs for a long time now, had worried her. He had been sent to test The Scion and to bring her back to Story alive, but it had become clear almost immediately that he’d always had his own plans.

Sophia whispered thanks to the gods that his plan had been to take his own life and not Tessa’s.

None of this would please The Doctor though.

Sophia would have to think of a way to tell him. She would accentuate the positive—Tessa was still alive and thus their plans had not been thwarted—only delayed.

She would have to offer him something to draw his focus though.

Sophia wrung her hands together and went to her desk. She pored over some of her books that laid open, piled on top of one another, scrolls rolling off the desktop and onto the stone floor.

She would have to give him Tessa’s father, or at least promise that she could finally get him. He was hidden with powerful magic, but her spells had been slowly chipping away at that magic and she felt sure she would have him within her grasp in a few more weeks. And then she could send something, something powerful to bring him back here, even if he didn’t want to come.

The Doctor had nothing but horrors prepared for the man, but if it meant saving Tessa’s life then she would give up his without a thought.

“Jagan!”

Sophia shot upright and closed one of her books. She picked up another and hurried from the room toward his voice, the book pressed protectively to her chest.

“Jagan!” He called again and then turned to see her in the doorway. He reached out his arm to her. “Ah! There you are. How are things going with our little project?”

Sophia’s voice wavered a moment and then she found it. “A failure, I’m afraid. The Monster is dead, The Scion beheaded him as he demanded. Circe was returned to Story, though I doubt they could hold her. She’ll make contact soon, I’m sure. The Scion lives, as do all her friends.”

He closed the distance between them and put a hand tenderly to her cheek. She nuzzled into him.

“Ah, Jagan. She is still alive. That’s good. And we must take our small wins when we can. Failure is what we deserve, I suppose, for trusting a Monster to do our work. We will be more careful next time.”

“About that,” Sophia began. And then noticed his clothing, stained with dark blood though his hands remained clean. “I didn’t think to ask…
your
work?”

“A failure too, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head and returning to his desk, the white hair around his face glowing in the light almost like a halo. Sophia swallowed her fear and waited for what she knew was coming. “We’re going to need your daughter soon, Jagan.”

“What about her father instead?”

He turned back to her. “You’ve found him?”

“Almost,” she said, clutching at the book.

“Excellent,” he said, nodding.

Sophia breathed a sigh of relief tinged in guilt. How had things become so complicated? She had come to Story with only her daughter’s future in mind, and everything had gone so wrong. There were no paths left to her now that were not bathed in blood.

“Jagan.”

Sophia looked up at him. He took the book from her, set it on the operating table and embraced her.

“Don’t be somber, Jagan,” he said, softly and without malice. “You are Jaganmata. You are the mother of the world. Your daughter is a triumph. She is a credit to her race. With our help she will be the god she was always intended to be, you and she, mother and daughter, gods. She will be but the first of many, the martyr that gives rise to something so much better, so much stronger, so much more beautiful than any of us could ever imagine. But these things cannot be rushed. We must take the long view. Patience is our greatest weapon.”

Sophia smiled. When he said it like this, it was easy to believe that he was right. His vision was so clean and clear, she had once believed it with all of her being. But finally seeing Tessa these last weeks, and after so many years, it had become harder to think about killing her daughter, no matter what beauty it might bring into the world, no matter how it might assure Tessa’s role, her place in history. “I know. You’re right. We are on the side of righteousness.”

“We are indeed. And because of that we will triumph. Righteousness is always destined to triumph.” He took her face in his hands, “We will write our own history, Jagan. And it all ends when we say it ends.”

First and foremost to my family – Mom, Dad, Scott, and Dave, who are kind of like winning the lottery when it comes to families. Also to Shelti, the best sister-in-law one could hope for and of course Luke, my nephew, who is clearly a brilliant adorable genius far better than any other child on Earth. Infinity, no backsies, etc.

Thanks to Miriam Kriss, Susan Solomon, and Christine Cuddy who all stuck with me even when others “didn’t get it.” I’m eternally grateful for their belief and encouragement at every crossroad.

As always, you would not have this book without the astounding help of my good friends and writing group “The 33
^rd
Street Writing Collective” (we remain fancy!)—Sarah Ulicny, Marta Ficke, Jon LaPearl, and Rob Bieselin. Big thanks are also due to exceptional beta readers outside of the collective: Erin Jade Lange, Ross Campbell, Lewis Smith, Matthew Branin, and Arturo Diaz.

Thanks to editor Kristy King with
her sharp eyes and brilliant suggestions who was a godsend in whipping this puppy into publishable shape, and Max Bliss who made it look beautiful in all e-book formats.
 

Artist Stephanie Hans for a second time brought me the most striking and powerful cover a writer could dream up for her book. And impossibly huge thanks to the illustrators of Storykiller: Kris Anka, Thomas Boatwright, Ben Caldwell, Ross Campbell, Renae De Liz & Ray Dillon, Ming Doyle, Caanan Grall, Stephanie Hans, Rebekah Isaacs, Cassandra James, Stacey Lee, Meredith McClaren, Dustin Nguyen, Declan Shalvey & Jordie Bellaire, Matthew Southworth, Noelle Stevenson, Kyla Vanderklugt, Brett Weldele, and Jake Wyatt. All were so generous in giving their time to this project, I’ll forever be in their debt.

To stalwart advocates and friends: Jose Rodriguez, Keegan Xavi, Ross Campbell, Meredith McClaren, Rebekah Isaacs, Josh Chaplinksy, Sue, Nick Moceri, Jason Grimes, Kyle Smith, Paige Adamczyk, Jessica Kuiken, Karen Mahoney, Brian Wood, Scott Snyder, Alexa, Oona, & Alasdair, The Hahn, The Miner Clan, Karen Gache, DeAnne Millais, and Brooke Gardner.