Lost Paladin: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 2)

  “A struggle for Heaven and Earth. Where there is one law: Fight or Die.

  And one rule: Resist or Serve.”

  ~ Alex Krycek

  Table of Contents

  Part I: Believe the Lie

  Part II: All Lies Lead to the Truth

  Part III: Resist or Serve

  Mailing List and Reviews

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PART I: BELIEVE THE LIE

  Scout

  I pulled into the high school parking lot, drove up on the sidewalk by the locked front doors, and shut Jax’s car off. Some people might’ve considered it bad luck to drive your dead almost-brother-in-law’s piece of shit vehicle to the scene of your sedition, but not me. I was Scout Fucking Ives. I made my own luck.

  Even though it was almost sunset, the heat felt like murder. I flipped down the visor mirror to check my makeup. Still good. No sweat-runs. I know revolutionaries aren’t known for their good looks, but people are way more likely to follow a moderately attractive leader than they are an ugly one.

  I was tempted to drive around with the windows down until everybody else showed up, but turning circles in the empty parking lot didn’t fit the vibe I was going for.

  Instead, I picked up one of the spray paint cans off the passenger seat and rattled it while I practiced my rabblerousing speech. I imagined Tough at the front of the crowd, those gorgeous blue-green eyes piercing mine, that knowing look. Harper might’ve started bitching every time I brought up busting out of this prison camp, but if I ever said it around Tough, there’d be this moment of silence. And he would look at me—really look at me, like he could see all the way down to my soul. Tough knew that we were the same. He and I were meant to be free.

  Emma’s S-10 rolled up, followed by Drake’s little white sedan. Everyone piled out—everyone being six people.

  “Seriously?” At least half of the people I’d talked to in History of World War II had sworn they would be ready the second the call went out. And almost everybody in third block Art. Emma had said plenty of people from her class were interested, too. “Dammit!”

  This was exactly like last month when I organized that walk-out on Coach Isewell because he was an unfair kapo and he needed to see that the only power he had was the power we gave him. Everybody acted all gung-ho about it beforehand, but when the time came, only me and Cash actually got up and walked out.

  I threw the spray paint can into the seat and opened my door. Gravel crunched under my sandals.

  “Is this everyone?” I asked Emma.

  “Everyone I could get on such short notice.” She dug the toe of her flats into the dirt. “Sorry.”

  “No, you know what, it’s fine.” God forbid we start a fucking uprising without advanced notice. “It’s not your fault people are complacent cowards who would rather bend over and dream about being free than actually getting out of their rut and fighting.”

  She stared at me. I tried not to roll my eyes. Ninth-graders are such sheep.

  “Pass out the spray paint,” I told her.

  While Emma got the cans out of Jax’s car, I turned to face the six people—besides me and Tough—who were actually committed to breaking free of this hell-hole disguised as a town. At least they’d all dressed in black. They could follow instructions. That was something.

  “You all heard what happened earlier,” I said. “Tough and Colt Whitney fired the first shot. They sent Mikal to Hell in the middle of the Armistice Celebration Welcome Ceremony. They sent the message out to the world.”

  Emma went through the group—Six people? That’s more like a squad than a group. A sedition squad—through the sedition squad, handing out cans of red spray paint.

  I straightened my skirt and forced myself to shake off the disappointment. This was my first public speech. People were going to remember it for years to come. It didn’t matter whether it was to six people or sixty, it needed to be inspiring if I was going to effect change.

  “Big, bad Warden Kathan thinks the Whitneys are acting alone,” I said. “That his only problem is holdovers from the first war. He doesn’t know that right under his nose—in the very school he’s been forcing us to attend, the very school where he buses in fucking kapo brainwashers to convince us that it wasn’t his fault he murdered our parents, where he tells us that we’re free as long as we do what he says when he says how he says who he says—that his greatest threat has been growing. Warden Kathan doesn’t know that we’re done living under the NP thumb, done being their bitches, done selling our souls just to stay out of solitary. The inmates are getting restless.”

  “Fuck yeah!” Drake said.

  Somebody clapped. Everyone was nodding. Power sang up and down my arms and legs like electricity. I forced myself to frown. Serious. But inside, I was giddy. I could work with this. I had wanted an army, but I would take an enthusiastic squad if that was all I got.

  “Tonight we send out the message loud and clear.” I went to the car, reached into the window, and pulled out a length of chain and one of the padlocks. “Starting with this shithole.”

  While they watched, I took the chains to the front doors and looped them around the handles a few times, then pinned the ends together with the lock and snapped it shut. A leader leads by example, not force, as Sun Tzu would say.

  “Emma.” I held out my hand. “Spray paint.”

  She gave me a can. I shook it up, popped the lid off, then went to work on the doors. It took longer than I thought it would—I had never spray-painted anything before—but I got the job done.

  I stepped back and admired my handiwork.

  CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE INMATES

  Finally, I let myself smile. “The warden’s about to find out that this town doesn’t belong to him anymore.”

  Tough

  I leaned back against the textured motel wall and stared at the dead guy. Some of the dead guy, anyway. His body was still hanging onto one arm and one leg. The missing leg was next to that dry, brownish streak on the room’s nasty-ass blue carpet. The severed arm was over by the bathroom door, leaking what was probably the last couple drops of his blood onto the tile.

  My heart beat a couple of times and my lungs started breathing on their own. Drinking off a living human can make it easier to seem alive for a while because the blood fed the crow magic. Wasn’t that what Tiffani said the other day? Back when I was still going to save Desty and live happily ever after with her. I’d already thrown away my shot at Heaven to save her and Colt, but back then I still had the fantasy.

  Now I had an ex-girlfriend who was probably nailing my mortal enemy, a dead best friend I had murdered, a batshit crazy brother, and a complete fucking inability to get drunk enough to deal with any of it.

  My throat went dry again. I swallowed and took a breath through my nose. Everything in the room faded out to gray and black ash. Except the blood. That glowed bright red against the bathroom floor.

  I could probably lick most of that up if I tried. It would burn going down, just like liquor always did before it hit me. For now maybe that would be enough.

  Except it hadn’t been enough before. Not even when the guy had screamed and Mitzi and I ripped into him.

  The vamp part of my brain tried to react to that memory, but I shut it down. This whole thing made me feel like I was playing one of the Blood City video games with Jax. Like I was pushing buttons to make stuff happen, but it wasn’t really me doing it.

  “Hello? Tough? Earth to man-whore.” Mitzi was standing
naked in front of the mirror, lip gloss paused halfway to her mouth. Not a real practical place to be standing, considering she didn’t have a reflection. But you couldn’t tell Mitzi that. She did the weird shit she did and she didn’t give a fuck what anybody else thought about it. “I said you’re not going to do that stupid new-vamp thing where you freak out, are you? Because it’s not like you even deserve to be upset. How many people have you killed now, anyway? Like a hundred during the NP-Human Conflict, right?”

  That didn’t count. I hadn’t killed any humans during the war, just mortal NPs—and not very many because I’d only been eight when fighting broke out. Probably ten kills, tops, and about half of those with help from Sissy.

  So far, for humans, I’d only killed my brother, my best friend, and now this random vamp groupie.

  Mitzi went back to spackling on the lip gloss, then rolled her lips together and popped them at the mirror. “You killed a human, you used to be human, mortality this, death that, good, evil, Heaven, Hell—I can’t stand that shit. Just accept what you are now and that you get off on killing. That’s all I want—one newly made vampire who doesn’t go through a postmortem existential crisis.”

  Listening to her talk was like having someone jam sixteen-penny nails into my eardrums and twist them around. I hated silence—I always had—but her voice was so much worse. But I couldn’t tell her to shut up because I didn’t have a direct vamp connection with her. To talk to Mitzi, I’d have to go through Tiffani. Call me crazy, but I didn’t really want everyone in town to know that I’d gone running back to the psycho-bitch who’d helped her dickhole husband steal my voice and screw me over.

  “—because if you think you can lie to me about how much you like it, remember I’ve been a vampire since before your grandparents were born. Probably your great-grandparents. I am a predator. The apex predator. I know what a rush it is to—”

  Man, I hated Mitzi. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten how much I hated her.

  The vamp speed kicked in and I was across the room before I realized I was moving. But Mitzi was faster and stronger than me, and she had a better handle on her reflexes.

  She slammed me to the floor. “That is so cute. As if you could take me down. Even—”

  I grabbed the back of Mitzi’s head and tried to pull her down for a kiss—anything to stop that godawful noise coming out of her mouth—but she laughed and smacked my hands away like they were nothing.

  “You want to play, Romeo? Let’s play.” She raked her fingernails down the side of my face. The skin shredded.

  I winced and kicked the floor. That nasty burning-hair, rotting-blood, hot sauce smell filled the room as vamp venom oozed up in the scratches.

  The pain faded way too fast and the vamp healing started up. If I was going to hurt, I wanted to hurt worse, to never stop hurting. I grabbed Mitzi’s hand and put it on my chest. She took the hint and tore in.

  The healing kicked in before she could do any real damage.

  “Ooh, somebody likes that.” She hopped onto my lap and dug a line down my stomach. Then a handful more down my neck. She smirked at the way I arched into her fingernails. “Now who’s the psycho-bitch?”

  Still you. In fact, I was willing to bet my undead ass that she had her sex knives hidden in the room somewhere. I made a slashing motion with my hand and mouthed, Knives?

  “And here I was worried you weren’t going to be any fun now that you’re cold.” Mitzi grinned. “I think this might be the beginning of something wonderful.”

  Desty

  Night settled in as I made my way back toward town. The walk from Colt’s cabin was probably less than five miles, but it felt infinite. Trying to swallow the self-hatred from breaking up with Tough had really worn me out.

  I cried a little bit, too, which slowed me down even more. Especially when I had to get off the road for a while because I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t watch for cars. Thank God for that culvert. If someone had seen me and stopped, I don’t know what I would’ve told them.

  Once the crying stopped, I felt numb. It was like the tears had washed all the emotion away. I adjusted my backpack straps, dug my fingers into the long grass, and half-pulled, half-climbed my way back out of the culvert and onto the blacktop. There, I put one foot in front of the other like a zombie tracker.

  Can’t stop until I see carnival lights.

  When I got to town, I took a left off the main drag toward the square, expecting to see the Armistice Celebration in full swing. As much as I loathed the idea of being around other living creatures right then, I needed to catch a ride to the Dark Mansion and Tempie. She needed me. And she was all I had left.

  After a couple blocks, I saw the bank clock blinking the temperature. A cool 92 degrees. Downright frigid compared to the last couple of days. I passed the dark-windowed bakery, a few generic brick storefronts that I hadn’t wasted any time or money in, and the Witches’ Council building, where Jax and I had spent most of the last few days, trying to save Tough.

  Tears prickled the back of my eyes thinking about Jax. About Tough afterward, sitting on the couch, staring at that wireless video game controller like the softest touch would shatter him. He had needed me.

  No, he needed somewhere to stick it. You were just the most convenient hole.

  Movement in the shadows to my left, followed by a metallic rattle. My stomach lurched.

  Some guy wearing a black hoodie—with his hood up in the middle of the hottest August on record—and pointing a can of spray paint at the Halo Center for Tourism’s front window.

  Definitely nothing suspicious about that.

  He saw me staring.

  “Get lost, tourist.” His voice teetered in that embarrassing gray area between manhood and puberty.

  I rolled my eyes and veered right, toward the lights of the carnival rides and food stands.

  Voices echoed off the buildings, filling the square with noise, but something wasn’t right. Something besides graffiti-ing teenagers dressed as conspicuously as possible. I slowed down and hooked my hands in my backpack straps.

  The rides weren’t moving. The carnival was deserted. No one milled around the Tilt-a-Whirl or played rigged games on the midway or waited in line at the food stands.

  So, where was all that yelling coming from? I turned, searching the square for the source of the sound.

  A mob had gathered on the north side, across the street from the Halo Old Town Square marker. Huge work lights, stacks of speakers, and vans with various news logos were all clustered around a podium. Somber-faced fallen angel foot soldiers patrolled the edges of the crowd, and Kathan and Tempie stood together at the front.

  Kathan disentangled himself from Tempie. She stood back like a good little arm candy as he took to the podium. He faced the cameras and crowd with grim resolution.

  The yelling stopped immediately.

  That’s when it finally hit me what was happening. This was a press conference.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The speakers broadcast Kathan’s deep, rich voice across the square. “By now you’ve heard about the terrorist attack on the Armistice Celebration’s Official Welcome Ceremony this afternoon. This sickening assault was the action of an unstable mind, a single, solitary man obsessed with cleansing Halo of its non-person population. The last holdout from the NP-Human Conflict, Colt Whitney.”

  My throat went dry. I wanted to get closer, but something held me rooted to the spot.

  “Thankfully, casualties were kept to a minimum by the quick thinking and heroic actions of Officer Rian, who was injured while attempting to protect our guests, and—” Kathan let his expression fall momentarily and lowered his head. Or maybe it was real. Maybe fallen angels could feel pain and loss. From this far away, it was hard to tell for sure. “—and Mikal, my enforcer, my right hand since before time began…my closest friend… Mikal was ripped from this world while attempting to subdue the gunman.”

  Moments passed. No one so much as breathed.


  Kathan slammed his fist on the podium, and I flinched.

  “But we will not yet mourn her loss,” Kathan declared. “Not while the monster who perpetrated this heinous crime is still walking free. Colt Whitney—wherever he is hiding—will be found and made to answer for his crimes. He will be brought to justice.” Kathan glared into each camera in turn. “This is my promise to the citizens of Halo. This is my promise to Mikal. This ends now. Next year, when we gather again, it won’t be in remembrance of an armistice between humans and non-people. It will be to celebrate a true end to hostilities between all races. It will be to mark the beginning of a new era.”

  Kathan surveyed the cameras in silence one more time, then indicated that he would take questions now. The crowd surged forward as if being closer to the podium would make Kathan more likely to call on them.

  “Hey, girl.”

  The voice snapped me out of my temporary paralysis. I turned.

  Finn, the vampire who had lied about helping me find Tempie in exchange for drinking off me—and not from any of the accepted biting places. The dickbag had sucked off of my breast without even asking.

  I rolled my eyes and headed for the podium.

  “Wait.” Finn caught up to me. “About the other night—I know you’re mad, but what happened… When I feel a connection like that…” His fangs glinted in the carnival lights. I wondered if he bleached them. Probably, if his perfect eyebrows and sculpted stubble were any indication. “I freaked out. I’m sorry, but I haven’t felt something like that since I got made. And, anyway, it’s not like I was great at intimacy before this. But with you, it felt like—like I was alive again. Better than alive. Superhuman.”

  I stopped walking. “Do you even know what my name is?”

  “Angel,” he said, his voice dropping an octave and gaining some gravel. “Sunlight. Life. Warmth. Everything good and beautiful that I don’t have anymore. That I’ll never have again.”