Part #12: The Thirteenth Hour: Prologue

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Prologue

The tip of Sullivan's knife bit deep into Kalligan's jaw. The young God of the Western Wind winced, throwing back his head in a vain attempt to avoid the increasing pain. He felt a trickle of thick hotness down his throat. He swallowed hard.

Sullivan pulled back his knife. The deadly sharp blade left only a shallow nick in Kalligan's skin. "Not gonna kill you yet," the bounty hunter promised. "Not before I get some information out of you. You see, I've been working for Rose—your Deyanira—for too damn long without getting any straight answers. For instance, what the hell does she have against you? Why's she got such a goddamn rage boner for you, huh, Reykrn? Tell me that."

"Well," Kalligan said, "I'm pretty sure it has to do with the fact that I burned Amaranth down and killed most of the gods."

Sullivan stared at him for a long moment. Then he threw back his head, laughing wildly. "What? You did what?"

"You heard me." Kalligan lifted his chin.

Sullivan's laughter died. The mirthful light in his eyes faded. Crouching down again, he brought the knife back up to his prisoner's neck. "So if I cut your throat right now, Zephyr, what happens then? Huh? You think you'd come back from that? Just walk it off?"

Kalligan's lips turned upward slightly. "Well, yeah." He shrugged, faking indifference. "Jason and I have this thing with death. It doesn't seem to stick."

Sullivan's knife twitched against Kalligan's jugular. "They say the Gods of Amaranth bleed silver. Is that true?"

"Yes, but I'm mortal. It's a punishment."

"What?"

"You wanna know the truth about all this, Sullivan?" Kalligan's eyes blazed a challenge. "Here's the truth: A million years ago in another dimension, Deyanira and I were lovers. She was assigned to what the Amaranth called the Phoenix Project. I saw her stealing pieces of the Twelve Phoenixes' hearts. Building a new Soul out of the others."

"The Thirteenth Phoenix." Sullivan's eyes lit up. "That's what that meant. All this is about the goddamn Thirteenth Phoenix."

"No, this is about purging the earth of mortals and colonizing it with Àmandinians." Kalligan felt a surge of satisfaction as Sullivan's gaze darkened. The bounty-hunter's jaw twitched. Encouraged by this, Kalligan continued. "This is the Last War all over again, don't you get it? Deyanira—Rosetta Callista—she's bringing back her army. The Portal's gonna open. Soon. Her cult, they're rallying around her. And guess what, Sullivan? When she's done with you, she's gonna throw you away. If you're not Àmandinian, and you're not loyal to the Dark Goddess, you've got little to no chance of surviving this war. Unless you help me stop it before it can begin."

Sullivan stared at him for a long, tense moment. His brown eyes swirled with conflicting emotions. But then he laughed, slapping his hands on his knees. Kalligan winced at the explosive sound of flesh on leather. "Nice hero speech, kid," Sullivan said. "Maybe you shoulda saved it for someone who cares, though, eh?"

Kalligan had just opened his mouth to reply when a loud bang! sounded from the kitchen. Sullivan whipped around, hand going to his gun. "Oh, fuck," he snarled.

"You should listen to Zephyr, you know." It was Neveah. Twisting against his bonds, Kalligan managed to catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder. The young girl stood in the hallway just outside the kitchen. Her long pale hair fell down her back. Her eyes had turned the exact hazel shade of Sullivan's. Her small, slender hands were held out in front of her—a subtle threat. She spoke again, her tone light and cheerful. "The skills of the Ealawakan (Hunter) cannot stand against the power of Ranok (Darkness.) I estimate your chances of surviving the current known future at two hundred thousand five hundred and eight to one. If you don't leave the Wind God alone, those chances become significantly smaller."

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