Page 127 of Amber Gambler

Rock skittering drew my attention in the opposite direction as Audrey slid to a halt in front of us.

With the gun in her hand.

Aimed right at Little.

“Keep going, Frankie.” Her arms wobbled with nerves. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Audrey.” I lunged for Little, who scrabbled to escape. “This isn’t how you avenge Farah.”

“She was all I had.” She swung her aim from Little to me to Kierce. “She was my best friend.”

“Frankie.” Kierce kept coming. “Let go.” His god aspect rippled across his features.“Let go.”

An explosion of white light bathed the train shed, blinding me. I lifted a hand to shield my face, and Little bolted for safety. The moisture in my eyes sizzled like water on a hot griddle, and I fell forward until I hit my elbows then tucked my head into mybody to do a turtle proud. It didn’t help. The brightness burned through skin and bone. No matter how dark it should have been, searing agony enveloped me.

A gun barked through the void. Once. Twice. Three times. Metal clanged against cement.

All went quiet and still, and it was as if I were the only person alive on the entire planet.

The luminous presence in our midst gusted a sigh hurricanes would envy.

“I’m on a deadline,” a multilayered voice thundered above us. “This book is due to my editor next week.”

“Forgive me, Master.”

Kierce’s voice cut through the thick atmosphere, assuring me I wasn’t alone, allowing me to breathe.

“I should give my readersyourhome address so when my publisher has to push out the release date, they can march onyouwith torches and pitchforks. They can burnyouat the stake while I relax in my office with a glass or five of bourbon and figure out how Kitt Gato gets Blythe Montfort off the hook this time for her mailman’s brutal murder after his body is discovered on her doorstep with a message written on a letter addressed to her in his own blood. Do you know how hard it is for a cat, who can only question other animals, to solve a human-on-human crime?”

“Apologies for disturbing you, Master.”

“He doesn’t have a home address.” I hadn’t meant to address the god. “He’s got a cage.”

“That’s more than I had at his age, missy.” Dis Pater scoffed as the laser of his attention cut through me. “Wait a minute.” His focus intensified on me. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it. “You’re an initiate? With that mouth? My, how standards have slipped in these modern times.”

“Master, please.”

“Kids these days.” His focus tugged on the marrow in my bones. “I bet you hand over your email address on shopping sites to get coupons too. You realize companies resell their client lists to spammers, right?”

“Can you dial down the shine—” I couldn’t see a damn thing, “—so I can see who’s lecturing me?”

“Light travels faster than, well, anything. This form helps with the whole deadline thing. The thing Kierce ruined by marking a soul for collection, which is, at best, a side hustle for me these days.” His ire shifted to Kierce, allowing me to breathe easier. “Hmm. Is that your brand I see, Kierce? You marked this girl?”

“Ankou—”

“That turd is responsible for this?” Dis Pater sighed. “Now I’ll have to check my shoes when I get home.”

The oddest sensation spread through me, a tickling sting. Had I been a plush toy, I would have said I was coming unstitched, that my stuffing was at risk of falling out. But I wasn’t a toy. Whatever he was doing, it was unraveling the fabric of my being.

“I think I’m dying,” I announced to the room.

“Duh.” Dis Pater returned his crushing interest to me. “How do you think initiation works?”

“She’s not an initiate,” Kierce rumbled, the ground shaking. “I branded her for myself.”

“You’ve taken an acolyte?” Doubt swam heavy through the god’s voice. “For the first time in millennia?”

“I’m dying?”I lifted my head through Herculean effort. “And you’re just standing there?”

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