New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl by C.J. Carella Read Free Book Online

few friends. Father Aleksander was a Type One Neo
with some minor healing and empathic abilities, abilities he had put to good
use ministering to the local Ukrainian community. We had struck a fast
friendship during an altercation with some Russian mob stooges that had ended
with said stooges in prison after some time in the hospital. Hanging out with
the good father always led to interesting conversations and the consumption of
some very smooth vodka. Aleksander ran a discreet underground railroad for
assorted people in need of a place to hide – refugees from the Dominion and
Russia, mostly – and I trusted him to watch over Jane Doe and keep his mouth
shut. The man took the concept of sanctuary very seriously.
    After leaving her in Father Alex’s care,
just as the sun was coming out, I went to a diner and enjoyed a tall stack of
pancakes, courtesy of the nice wad of cash I’d collected from the mobsters I’d
killed that night. I wore one of my regular faces – Tony the wannabe wise guy –
in honor of all the Italians I’d recently sent off to their greater reward.
After breakfast, I headed to the Bronx to see another friend.
    Aleksander had eventually gotten used to
talking to me face to no-face, although it had taken quite a bit of vodka to
thaw him out. Cassandra, on the other hand, had never had any problems with me.
It helped that she was blind as a bat, of course.
    I know, a blind seer going by the name of
Cassandra. The clichés trip all over themselves. I always poke fun at her about
it, and she claims that her name was Cassandra before her parahuman powers
manifested themselves. It might even be true.
    Of course, she is blind only in a
technical sense. Among her many abilities, my spiritual adviser is aware of
everything within a three block radius around her. Aware as in she can read a
letter inside a sealed envelope, or know how many rats are in the vicinity, and
how many fleas are on each of those rats. It’s fairly impressive; you learn
quickly to never play cards with the woman. And don’t ever try to sneak up on
her. I tried a couple of times just for shits and giggles, and discovered she
is quite fond of practical jokes and homemade traps. One such incident involved
several bowling balls and a minor concussion. After that, I just walked up to
her front door and knocked politely, at least until I ended up getting my own
keys and a room at her place.
    Cassandra lives in a boarded-up
three-story building in a bad area of the Bronx. From the outside, it looks
like the kind of shithole self-respecting junkies would avoid. The inside is a
lot cozier, though. Since I don’t really have a fixed address, I sleep there
more often than not. The front door doesn’t look like much but is solid steel
and has some unusual characteristics. It was open wide this morning,
Cassandra’s cute way of letting me know she was expecting me. I walked in and ignored
the loud clang as it slammed shut by itself. The first time it had done that
had been pretty startling, but I was used to it.
    The first floor looks like a condemned
building should, complete with dust, peeling paint, cracks along the walls, and
an atmosphere of disuse and abandonment that makes most people feel not just
that nobody lives there, but that nobody should live there. No junkie has ever
tried to set up shop in the building, and teenagers looking for a place to
party always give Cassandra’s building a wide berth. I’m pretty sure it’s a
psychic thing my friend does, but she likes her little mysteries, so she’s
never confirmed or denied it.
    Originally there were twelve apartments
in the building, but that’s down to nine. Cassandra makes her home in the
second floor; all the original apartments on that level have had some walls
knocked down to turn the whole thing into one big dwelling, a huge apartment
covered in rugs and tapestries and flickering in the light of a bunch of
candles. Even though the place has electrical power, she uses