Calliope Wakes by Constance Kersaint

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SKU 978-0-3695-0955-0
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The gods are alive, and they’re in Michigan.

Something is wrong in Bellhaven, and Callie doesn’t know how to stop the nightmares. She just wants to be safe in her small city by Lake Michigan, but there are strangers in town and evil around the corner. Is she causing the troubles or is there something more sinister? Erik has come back into her life and seems to know more about her bursts of insanity than her, but she doesn’t know if she can trust him or if he’s trying to distract her.

Then buildings are collapsing, wolves are attacking, people are dying and only Callie can save them. Will this time be different? Will they finally live to see the sun rise on All Hallows’ Eve?

16+ due to violence and adult situations

 

Excerpt:

“You’re the fairy girl. You’re the witch who found my cousin. You’re the reason he wanted to stay with you instead of going home with his family. You’re the reason he died, and you’re the one who stole our magic, made us mortal. Do you understand that?” Freddy said. “This time, he won’t die first on the beach. This time, it’ll be different.”

His breath was hot on my face. I couldn’t move, frozen in terror. His words sparked some connections in my brain, though. My dream. He was describing my dream.

“That’s not me. It’s a story, and it’s not even real. It’s all in my head,” I gasped out, my eyes tearing up.

“No, little bitch, it’s history. You ruined us all. We took the life that was rightfully ours to take and you, bastard of the Tuatha, laid the geas on us to relive this cycle for eternity as humans. Now, I’m going to stop it. I’m tired of living your nightmare. I have plans for this world, and it doesn’t involve taking part of your soap opera again.”

He hauled me away from the wall and used my body to shove the door open. Freddy threw me down onto the kitchen floor and put his foot on my throat. I was so desperately afraid and very tired of this guy beating me down. Alone in the dark kitchen, I struggled against the foot on my neck, but he was so much stronger than me.

“We are done being puppets to your story, little bird. You will give us back the magic you stole,” he said, flipping on the gas burners of the stove. Then he took a knife and slashed behind the stove for good measure.

“I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” I gasped out. I swiped at his other leg, and he put more pressure on my throat. I started seeing dark spots before Freddy reached down and lifted me by my collar.

“Yes, you will, sweet girl. Because I’m going to rip your head off and eat your soul,” Freddy whispered in my ear and licked the side of my face.

“Eat my soul?” I croaked through my bruised throat. “Eat my soul?” This was not happening. People in this day and age don’t eat other people. I think he believed my soul was in my head. Of all the dangers in this world, keeping my brain from being consumed was not even on my top ten list of things to look out for.

“I’m going to break you like a wishbone and savor your face, bite by bite,” Freddy told me seriously.

I hated this boy, more than I thought possible, more than I cared to admit. Oh, I was plenty scared, too, but hate was winning right now. And the knives were too far out of my reach, up on the counter.

“Can’t we talk about this?” I said, inching for the rolling island. Some of Grandpa Doug’s cast iron skillets on the lower shelf of the island.

“There is nothing to talk about. You stole our destiny from us. George will release his tail from between his teeth, and Ragnarök will begin. I was meant to kill the Allfather. You took my purpose from me, Tuatha slut. I’m going to take it back from you,” Freddy said. He bunched up his shoulders and I shrank back. “Because you overreacted, I’ve been locked in this never-ending cycle of mundane for thousands of years. I am a god. I am going to fight at Ragnarök and watch the world burn.”

“I’m sorry,” I said tearfully, completely confused and desperately afraid. I wasn’t apologetic, because I barely understood what he was talking about, but I wanted him to stop hurting me.

“Not enough. I want you prostrate with sorrow, wracked with regret and woe. Would it help if I said it louder? Maybe I should shout,” Freddy said. “I hate you!” My ear drums were ringing, and I was on the floor again. I could smell the gas. Mom. Oh no, Mom. She had to get out of here. She must have heard this. We were making so much noise.

I lunged for the cast iron skillet and got my fingers around a Griswold. Blindly, aimlessly, I lunged at Freddy and managed a good smack across the face.

He barely budged. I dropped the cast iron skillet, my wrists and hands too hurt to hold it. He spat out a bit of blood and smirked at me, a bloody baring of teeth that did nothing to make me feel better. He looked like a cat who was enjoying playing with his food.

“I prefer the cold, but just this once, I think a little heat is in order,” Freddy said.

I was running away before Freddy flicked the lighter. I went for the door. I didn’t see the lighter ignite the gas, but brightness behind me illuminated the dark kitchen. I wasn’t going to make it. I was going to burn to death. I felt the heat of the flames rise up behind me and saw the red glow brighten the walls.

Only for the flames to never reach me. One moment I was running for the door—without hope. In the next heartbeat, I was pressed against a hard chest and my nostrils were filled with the clean scent of the woods instead of my own scorched flesh. I knew this red thermal shirt. I knew the arms that held me so tightly. I knew this boy.

“Erik?” I asked, my voice rising octaves. I looked up from the red thermal and couldn’t believe my eyes. Erik had his right arm around me and his left hand was palm-out to the kitchen. The flames from the gas-fire were curling and winding away from an invisible wall right in front of us. The heat was overwhelming but not enough to hurt me and certainly not enough to kill me. And Erik was holding it back somehow.

“Come on, let’s go,” Erik said, frowning at the flames currently being deflected off his force field or whatever it was. A silver bracelet encircled his left wrist. That was new.

“You’re fire retardant?” I gaped.