A scare season sample from the first Icarus Fell novel
By Bruce Blake
Sirens wailed behind me: probably an ambulance on the way to pronounce Alfred dead. I dodged a hot dog vendor and pushed through a group of Japanese tourists inexplicably snapping photos of a store front. Each step brought me a little closer to the boy.
“Alfred.”
He peeked over his shoulder then shifted his young legs into overdrive, ducking down an alley. Three seconds later, I ran down the alley behind him, footsteps echoing off brick walls as we leapt over piles of stinking garbage and ran beneath rusty fire escapes. The alley took a turn and he disappeared.
Rounding the corner, I found him stopped a few yards ahead. I pulled up short, runners skidding on pavement. My labored breath made me think about returning to ocky’s 24 Hour Fit ess Center to inquire about the cost of a membership, but the thought disappeared when I saw what had halted the boy.
The man stood at least six inches taller than me; black hair tumbled past his shoulders in loose ringlets, framing his olive-skinned face. Black pants, black boots, black button-down shirt and one of those long rain coats like Peter Falk wore playing Columbo–also black. His eyes glowed yellow like a cat’s.
“Hello, Alfred,” the man said, his voice deep, the words deliberate, almost drawled. He turned his gaze on me. “And a new harvester. Hello, Icarus. It’s good to finally see you again. Michael has been busy.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. If God existed, a Devil must, too. I had the feeling I’d just met him.
“Ric,” I told the stranger. “Who are you?”
“Mmm. That doesn’t matter now. You’ll find out soon enough.” He took two steps toward us, each as purposeful as his words. “Like you, I’m here for the boy.”
Alfred glanced around, seeking an escape route, but with the man ahead of him and me behind, he held his ground. I had the feeling his choice might prove a poor decision for us both.
“You can’t have him.”
The man laughed, a rumbling sound in the back of his throat which didn’t require his lips to part.
“Take him, then.” He waved dismissively and his eyes flared reminding me of the way Michael’s flickered. “There will be others.”
I made a face at his comment and stepped toward Alfred, hesitant. “Really?”
“Of course.” He smiled, adjusted one of his black gloves. “But you have to get away from them.”
He nodded past us and I turned to see two men blocking the alley at our backs, each of them dressed like a smaller version of the man in black. One had close-cropped dark hair flecked with gray. The was other bald with a pencil-line goatee. They stood, legs shoulder-width apart, arms at their sides, like gunslingers awaiting the signal to draw. Maybe they were. The man in black stepped aside and swept his arm toward the far end of the alley.
“You may have a head start.”
Alfred didn’t move, neither did I. It seemed like a trick, a trap.
“No trick.” The man raised his arm and tapped his wrist. “Time’s ticking.”
No choice.
I surged forward, grabbing Alfred by the arm, dragging him toward the alley’s exit. Compared to the men in black, I guess he decided I wasn’t such a bad choice. The big man eyed me as we ran by, then barked a command. Too busy willing my legs to go faster, I didn’t catch what he said. It became apparent soon enough.
A boom reverberated down the alley; chunks of brick exploded from the wall by my head as I skidded the boy around the corner. Apparently they secreted cannons beneath their trench coats.
Great.
Blake, Bruce. On Unfaithful Wings: An Icarus Fell Dark Urban Fantasy (Icarus Fell Urban Fantasy Series Book 1) (p. 56). Best Bitts Productions. Kindle Edition.
On Unfaithful Wings
To some, death is the end; to others, a beginning. To Icarus Fell, it should have been a relief from a life gone seriously awry. But death had other plans.
Icarus doesn’t believe the man awaiting him when awakens in a cheap motel room is the archangel Michael, or that God’s right hand wants him to help souls on their way to Heaven. Icarus doesn’t believe in Heaven, so why should they want his help?
But the man claiming to be the archangel tempts him with an offer he can’t ignore—harvest enough souls and get back the life he wished he’d had.
It seems Icarus has nothing to lose, until he botches a harvest and the soul that went to Hell instead of Heaven comes back to make him pay. To save the wife and son he already lost once, Icarus will have to become the man he never was. Somehow, he will have to learn to believe.
Bruce Blake
Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don’t take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.
Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow.
Bruce’s first short story, “Another Man’s Shoes” was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another short, “Yardwork,” was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by Pseudopod. Since then, he has concentrated on writing novels, publishing the Khirro’s Journey trilogy (Blood of the King, Spirit of the King, and Heart of the King), three books in the ongoing Icarus Fell urban fantasy series (On Unfaithful Wings, All Who Wander are Lost, and Secrets of the Hanged Man), and the six-volume Books of the Small Gods series. Part One: When Shadows Fall, The Darkness Comes, And Night Descends; and Part Two, When Ravens Call, The Twilight Fades, And Kingdoms End.
Bruce has many more projects simmering on the back burner, so stay tuned to his website and blog.
