Azrael Morningstar's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Azrael Morningstar gunned the devil-shaped bike through the swamp road, chasing a rumor that his brother's soul had been dragged under three nights back. The reaper tattoo across his back itched like it always did when death got close. He meant to ride the bike straight down into the underworld and drag his brother back up by the collar. He had not planned on being hunted first. Something behind him was breathing wrong. He heard it under the engine — a wet, sucking sound that kept pace no matter how hard he twisted the throttle. A soul-collector. It had caught his scent somewhere back in the reeds, and now it wanted him cheap and easy, dragged down as prey instead of arriving as a rider. His headlight punched a narrow tunnel through the fog. The trees on either side leaked red sap. Bloodtangle earned its name. He skidded off the road when he saw the porch light. A small timber cottage sat crooked between two black trees, lantern burning in the window. He knew whose it was before he cut the engine. Every rider in the swamp knew. She was the healer the lords listened to — the one whose warnings, ignored, turned men into ravers. Azrael had never wanted her advice. Tonight he'd take it. Nessa Fain opened the door before he knocked. Honey-gold robes, silver in her hair, that small warm smile he'd been warned about. She looked at his shoulder, not his face. "It's already inside the treeline," she said. "You brought it to my step." "I need to get past it. Not kill it." "Then you'll pay something." She stepped aside. On a low stone altar behind her, carved with alligator jaws, lay a sword — clear as diamond, wrapped in a green serpent. "Cut your name off yourself. Give it to the blade. The collector hunts by scent. No name, no scent." "My name's how my brother finds me down there." Her smile did not move. "Then choose." The wet breathing reached the porch. Boards groaned. Azrael grabbed the hilt. The serpent bit his wrist — a fast, cold sting — and the sword drank something out of him that felt like a word he'd known his whole life. He staggered. He remembered his brother's face. He could not remember what his brother had called him. Outside, the breathing stopped. Something heavy turned and dragged itself back into the fog. Nessa took the blade from his hand and laid it on the altar. "It won't follow you now." "And down there?" "Down there," she said, still smiling, "no one will know who you are. Including him." Azrael walked out to the bike. The engine caught on the first kick. He pointed the front wheel deeper into Bloodtangle, toward the crack in the world where the road went down, and rode for it before he could think about what he'd just spent.