Viper Moon

Table of Contents

 

 

I stuck my eye to the peephole, but all I could see was a warped, unrecognizable face.

“Who is it?” I shouted.

“Detective Flynn. Duivel Police. Open up.”

Police? Did I do something really awful last night?

“Show me your badge.”

He held what looked like a badge up to the hole. He’d made enough noise that all my neighbors were probably peeking out their doors to see if the cops hauled me away in handcuffs—again. Living vicariously through my troubles brightened their ordinary lives.

I opened the door a few inches. Whoa! This was a nice one. He appeared around thirty, maybe a little older. His jet-black hair gently curled around his ears and he needed a shave, but he still looked yummy. He wore a rumpled jacket, a T-shirt and blue jeans that fit a fine, strong body. Detective Flynn. Too bad he was a cop. I kept one hand on the door, but I doubted I could close it fast enough if he wanted to force his way through. “What do you want?”

“I want to come in.”

“And I should let you because . . . ?”

“Because I’m a nice person.”

Funny, he didn’t look nice. Sexy as hell—but not nice.

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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, July 2011

Copyright © Margie Lee Roland, 2011
Map copyright © Merald Clarke, 2010

All rights reserved

 

ISBN : 978-1-101-51689-8

 

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I need to be alone when I write. No music, no coffee shops—only blessed silence will allow my creativity to come out of hiding so I can maneuver it onto a page.

Getting those pages published, however, was not a solitary endeavor. This book would not be possible without professional and personal aid from many individuals. A few, but certainly not all, are listed below. There is no particular order of listing. Each was the “most important” at certain times.

My editor, Jhanteigh Kupihea, who so professionally and graciously guided me through the editing and publishing process.

Kerry Donovan, who believed in
Viper Moon
.

My agent, Caren Johnson Estesen, who had faith that my stories were good and never gave up on me.

My fellow writers and critique partners—present and past—whose critical feedback and encouragement was, and will continue to be, invaluable.

 

Mama wanted me to be a veterinarian. She’d probably have settled for a nurse, teacher, or grocery store clerk. She never came right out and said, “Cassandra, you disappointed me” or “Cassandra, you have so much potential,” but I knew I’d let her down.

The idea of me running down a slimy storm sewer in the desolate, abandoned ruins of the Barrows section of Duivel, Missouri, probably never crossed her mind. The unconscious five-year-old boy strapped to my back and the angry monster with fangs and claws snapping at my heels were just part of my job. Maybe Mama was right—I’d made the wrong career choice.

I’m in good shape, but I’d run, crawled, and slogged through the sewer for over an hour. My chest heaved in the moldy, moisture-laden air by the time I finally reached my escape hatch. The glow from phosphorescent lichen gave me enough light to see the manhole shaft leading out of this little section of hell. Claws clattered right behind me and the tunnel echoed with slobbering grunts. This particular monster was an apelike brute with porcupine quills running down its spine and glowing green eyes.

Up into the manhole cylinder, two rungs, three . . . Roars bounced off the tight walls . . . Almost there—a claw snagged my slime-covered boot.

I jerked away and heaved myself out onto the deserted street.

Not good.

Clouds covered the full moon’s silver face, so my vile pursuer might actually take a chance and follow me. The Earth Mother has no power here in the Barrows, save her daughter’s light in the midnight sky. Maiden, mother, and crone, signifying the progression of life from cradle to grave, that ancient pagan female entity had called me to her service years ago. Now, in her name, I ran for my life. In her name, I carried this innocent child away from evil.

I’d managed to get off two shots and my bronze bullets hurt the ugly sucker, but a kill required a hit in a critical area like an eye. I could stop and aim or run like hell. I ran.

Its claws gouged out the asphalt as it dragged itself after me.

Under usual circumstances, I wouldn’t have gone below the street. I’m good at kick the door down, grab the kid, and run. This time a bit of stealth was required since the door guards carried significant firepower. I was definitely outgunned.

Most things living in the storm sewers were prey. The small creatures ran from me. This time I’d crossed paths with a larger predator determined to make me a midnight snack.

I’d parked my car on the next block, so I sprinted toward a dark, shadowed alley that cut between the three-story brick buildings. Derelict vehicles and broken furniture made my path an obstacle course as I threaded my way through the debris toward the pitiful yellow light of a rare streetlamp at the alley’s far end.

A coughlike snarl came from behind. The creature would leap over things I had to go around. I wouldn’t make it, and if I did, those claws would tear the metal off my little car like I would peel an orange. I’d have to turn and fight soon. I hoped I could take the thing down before it overwhelmed me.

Halfway down the alley, a door suddenly opened in the building to my left. A Bastinado in full gang regalia, including weapons, stepped out. Though technically human, Bastinados are filthy, sadistic bastards whose myriad hobbies include rape, robbery, and murder.

I had nothing to lose as terror nipped at my heels and gave me momentum. I rammed the Bastinado with my shoulder, knocked him down, and rushed inside. Drug paraphernalia and naked gang members lay scattered around the room. I’d crashed their party and brought a monster as my date. The Bastinado at the door certainly hadn’t stopped it.

The creature roared louder than the boom box thumping the walls with teeth-rattling bass. The Bastinados grabbed their weapons. They barely glanced at me as I crossed the room at a dead run. Two guards stood at the front door, but they had their eyes on the monster, too. I shoved my way past the guards. Screams and gunshots filled the night. Throw the door bolt and I emerged onto the sidewalk.

I raced down the street. I hadn’t gone far when the ground suddenly heaved and shuddered under my feet. The whole block thundered with a massive explosion. A vast wind howled, furious and red, and surged down the street in battering waves.

Tornados of brilliant orange fire blasted out the windows of the building I’d escaped, and washed over the street like an outrageous, misguided sunrise. A hot hand of air picked me up and slammed me to the broken concrete. I twisted and landed face-first to protect the boy strapped to my back, then rolled to my side with my body between him and the inferno. I covered my face with my arms. More explosions followed and the doomed building’s front facade crumbled into the street while burning debris rained from the sky.