Prologue

Saturday, June 7th, 2054 – Astarte – Paris, Texas

Paris, Texas had been the best place to hide from Mark and Mary. They never suspected when they killed me that I went anywhere other than to the Abyss. Instead, I was raised by the Mayor's daughter, Darleen Cummings, the idiotic girl that the Ghost had sold to me for that wondrous night of debauchery.

The vessel I inhabited had been conceived that night.

When Mark killed me, my soul had a refugee. This frail body. For nearly forty years I bided my time, slowly gathering scraps of power. I was the mayor now, inheriting the position from my vessel's mother Darleen two years ago when she retired. I had used sex and dark magic to extend my subtle influence throughout the town beneath the Living Church's nose.

I was sitting at my desk, my demonic guards flanking my windows. They had been men once, but I had dominated them wholly, stealing them from Mark and Mary's control with ancient, vile magic. I savored the innocent maids screams as my knife carved out their hearts to enact the ritual. Thanks to my magic, they could become hoary, lion-like beasts.

My guards for the day of Mark and Mary's downfall.

It approached. I could read it in the Stars. Even without my gift of prophecy—stolen from me when Mark's golden sword slew me—the signs were apparent. The Creator would only stand for Mark and Mary's domination for so long before Heaven acted.

But I didn't expect it this morning.

I was reading over a dull report from the local Church, the priestess obsessed over the tiniest minutia. Happy and her cuckolded husband wanted everything perfect in the town, just the way the Living Gods commanded it, when the world changed.

One minute, a great power filled the world, and the next a vacuum.

I stirred, my leather chair creaking.

Excitement beat in my chest. I swiveled my chair, gazing out at the window. Mark and Mary were dead. Heaven had made their move. Confusion and chaos would follow. Opportunities would be found. My demons assumed their true form, pressing their spiky manes against my hips as their growling purrs echoed through the room.

I always liked lions.

I stroked their black manes, their thin, razor-sharp tails swishing back and forth as I plotted. I would need far more power if I wanted to rule once more. Out in the world, there would be a way. I just had to find it.

Saturday, May 1st, 2055 – Aoifa Coughlan – Canyonville, OR

My lungs burned. My sides ached. I wanted to stop running, but the screams of battle propelled me. My heart hammered in my breast.

I threw a look over my shoulder at the inferno consuming Canyonville. Tears ran down my dirty face. My friends and family were being slaughtered. I clutched the box and the printed pages of Isabella's epistle to my breasts, holding them tight.

It was our only hope.

The Living Gods had to answer my summons. Their worshipers were being slaughtered. The Holy Liberation Army of Oregon had descended upon us two weeks ago demanding our repentance. We had to give up our worship and love for the Living Gods and submit to the cross.

We refused. We only wanted to live in peace, to hold onto the perfect lives we had before the Death. Mark and Mary had ascended to heaven, and mankind had failed them. We didn't maintain the utopia they had created. Within days, man fought man. We were as evil as the Gods always preached.

And the Apostates were the worse.

I was the only priestess that made it through the enemy's lines. Rachel, Mary, Debra, Ursula, Rosa, and Gretchen all died trying to get clear of the town. I don't know why I made it. Perhaps the Living Gods watched out for me. Perhaps I was just lucky.

If only Isabella's Epistle had arrived earlier. The young woman's letter delivered the Living Gods' new message and instructions on how to summon them. Her words were my home's only hope.

I burst out of the brush on Grazley Bridge Road, racing north towards the South Umpqua River. Stage Coach Road crossed ahead, a quarter mile from the bridge. My heart beat faster. Soldiers shouted behind me. I had to reach the crossroads.

A loud boom erupted. Fire roared and light flared, momentarily painting the road with orange, stark light.

I reached the crossroads, pushing back my fiery-red hair as I fell to my knees at a pothole. Isabella's Epistle instructed that the box had to be buried at a crossroads. I reached into the pothole, prying out a chunk of broken asphalt and revealing the dirt bed of the road. I had no idea how far off midnight was, I just had to hope I wasn't too late.

The Living Gods would only appear at midnight.

I shoved the box into the hole. It contained a lock of my hair, a lavender flower, and a rabbit's foot. I covered the box with the chunk of asphalt. Then I raced to the shoulder to scoop up gravel into my slim fingers and dumped the dusty pebbles into the hole, burying the box.

"I think she ran over here!" a man shouted.

Fear shot through me. I was barely sixteen. The first fifteen years of my life had been in the idyllic peace of the Theocracy. I never thought I could be this scared. I scurried for the brush, burying myself into the thick leaves. The branches tore at my gauzy, white robes and my fiery hair. I didn't want to die. I've never even had sex.

I had been saving myself for Him. At twelve, I was deemed beautiful enough to enter the lotto. Even when They ascended last year, I maintained my purity. I wanted to be ready for Him when He returned. I would give my virginity to Him. My gift. I wanted to be His. I wanted to serve the Gods and be Theirs.