Lilith Saintcrow - Flesh Circus

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2009 by Lilith Saintcrow

Excerpt from Heavens Spite copyright 2009 by Lilith Saintcrow

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: December 2009

ISBN: 978-0-316-07224-3

I screamed and leapt, the whip coming free and flicking forward, silver flechettes jingling as it wrapped around one of the zombies legs and almost tore itself out of my hand.

The leather popped hard, once, like a good open-hand shot to the face or a piece of wet laundry shaken in just the right way, and the zombie went down in a splattering heap.

Then I was on the thing, its foul sponginess running away as I broke its neck with a louder crack than the other ones. This guy must be pretty fresh, too. I balled up my right fist, my knees popping foul, slipping skin and sinking through muscle turned to ropy porridge.

I punched, pulling it at the last second so my fist didnt go through the head and straight on into the dying lawn. Newspapers ruffled in a sudden burst of cold air and the smell of natron. The wet splorching sound was louder than it had any right to be, and brain oatmeal splattered. The body twitched feebly.

I just wished it wasnt so messy. Youd think Id be used to it by now, though.

Lyrical language and movie-worthy fight scenes are staples in Saintcrows novels, and this one is no exception.

midwestbookreview.com on Night Shift

BOOKS BY LILITH SAINTCROW

JILL KISMET NOVELS

Night Shift

Hunters Prayer

Redemption Alley

Flesh Circus

DANTE VALENTINE NOVELS

Working for the Devil

Dead Man Rising

The Devils Right Hand

Saint City Sinners

To Hell and Back

Dark Watcher

Storm Watcher

Fire Watcher

Cloud Watcher

The Society

Hunter, Healer

Mindhealer

Steelflower

To L.I.

Thanks for this book go first and foremost to Mel Sanders, who listened to me talk about it for hours and hours. And next to Maddy, Nicky, and Gateswho listened to me talk about it for hours and hours. Next-to-last, but certainly not least, to Devi and Miriam, who also put up with me when I talked about it for hours and hours.

And as usual, the biggest thanks to you, the Reader. Step right up, sit on down. And let me tell you a story.

I promise it wont take long.

Bonitas non est pessimis esse meliorem.

Seneca

J ust outside the Santa Luz city limits, the caravan halted. I rolled my shoulders back under heavy leather, my fingers resting on a gun butt. They tapped, once, four times, bitten nails drumming.

Out here in the desert, the two-lane highway was a ribbon reaching to nowhere. The stars glimmered, hard cold points of light. A new moon, already tired, was a nail-paring in the sky, weak compared to the shine of cityglow from the valley. Id parked on the shoulder, and dust was still settling with little whispering sounds.

They were pulled aside, on a gravel access road, as custom dictated. Or fear demanded.

Their headlights were separate stars, the limousine pointed directly at my city, a long raggletaggle spreading out behind it. Minivans, trucks, trailers, and one old Chevy flatbed still wheezing from the 60s with bright spatters of glittering tie-dye paint all over its cab. One black limousine, crouched low to the dusty ground. The animals were sprawling or pacing in semi trailers. I could smell them all, dung and sweat and glitter and fried food with the bright sweet corruption of hellbreed laid over the top.

Another pair of headlights pierced the distance. I waited, leaning against a wine-red 1968 Pontiac Bonneville. She wasnt as sweet as my Impala, or as forgiving on tight corners, but she was a good car.

Cirque de Charnu was painted on everything except the glossy limo, in baroque lettering highlighted with gold. Under the fierce desert sun it would look washed-out and tawdry. At night it glittered, taunted. Seduced.

Theyre good at that. I sometimes wonder if they hold classes for it in Hell. It wouldnt surprise me. Nothing much would surprise me about that place, or about hellbreed.

Saul lit a Charvil, a brief flare of orange light. He studied each and every car, and the taut silence around him was almost as tense as the way he tilted his chin up, slightly, sniffing the air. Testing the wind.

I dont like this, he murmured, and turned his sleek, new-shorn head slightly to watch the headlights arrowing toward us. A few silver charms were knotted into his hair with red thread. He had a small copper bowl of them in the bathroom, all the ones hed worn before his mother died, tied back in as his hair got longer.

I contented myself with a shrug. The scar on my right wrist pulsed, the bloom of corruption on the caravan plucking at it. Id stuffed the leather wristcuff in my pocket, wanting my full measure of helltainted strength tonight.

Just in case.

Baked, sage-touched wind off the cooling desert ruffled my hair, made the silver charms tied into long dark curls tinkle sweetly. I had no reason to draw silence over me like a cloak right now. Wed arrived at the meeting spot first, slightly after dusk. Theyd shown up as soon as true dark folded over the desert, a long chain of bright, hungry headlights. The caravan still popped and pinged with cooling metal, its engines shut off one by one. Nobody moved, though I could see a few faint flickers when someone lit a cigarette, and a restive stamping sounded from one of the semis. Their lights were a glare, but not directed at me. Instead, the flood of white speared the desert toward my city, etching sharp, hurtful shadows behind every pebble and scrubby bush.

The other headlights, coming up from the citys well, came closer. My pulse tried to ratchet up, was strictly controlled.

Anticipation. Fear. Which one was I feeling at the prospect of seeing him?

Faint dips in the road made the sword of light from the approaching car waver. Still it came, smooth and silent like a shark. Mostly, you can see a long way in the flat high desert. But he was speeding, smoothly taking the dips and curves. It took less time than youd think for the other cars engineanother limo, sleek and freshly waxedto become audible, purring away.

I dont like it either, I murmured. A hunter spends so much time holding back the tide of Hell, it feels just-damn-wrong to be inviting hellbreed in. Come into my parloronly it was the fly saying it this time, while the spider just lolled and grinned.