Younger Gods 1: The Younger Gods by Michael R. Underwood Read Free Book Online

remembering to be polite. I’d wanted to ask What is this crap you call music? but that would hardly be fitting.
    “Queensrÿche,” she said, loading books onto a slim dolly. “Do you see D’Sarvin’s Fluc tuations in the Mist anywhere?”
    I scanned the covers and spines of the texts before me, then crouched down and retrieved a thick book with a green cover and silvered lettering.
    “Here,” I said, handing the book over. “What will you do with the store?”
    Antoinette sighed, setting the text onto the stack. “Hell if I know. It’s not like I can abandon it. Then everything will get stolen. I don’t make enough to hire someone to work for me. And I definitely don’t have enough money to repair all this damage,” she said, gesturing to the broken glass, the shattered shelves, and the mangled books.
    “I cannot offer financial assistance, but I will support your efforts.” I checked my watch, realizing I’d spent most of a day away from schoolwork. Were it another part of the semester, it would be easy to let things slide. But the group project needed to be completed, even if I was a group of one. If my grades faltered, my scholarships would be endangered. That worry seemed paltry compared to the danger Esther posed, but it did not eliminate the threat.
    “I’ll get it cleaned up, and call some friends in the neighborhood to keep an eye out. Word’s out to the guardians of the Hearts, so everyone’s going into lockdown mode.”
    Weighing options and obligations, I knew that dithering and whining about how hard my life was would not solve either of my problems. But without further resources, every additional hour trying to track Esther would be far less useful than getting my work done. If I could get ahead, I’d be able to allot the rest of the week to stopping her, work-study shifts aside. As Antoinette started to respond, I continued. “I’m sorry, I must get back to my own work. What is the best way to contact you to continue searching for Esther?”
    The shopkeep stared at me for a moment, then said, “Call my cell.” She pulled a pen out of a coffee cup and jotted a number down on a scrap of paper.
    “Don’t bother calling after eleven, or seven on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have derby.”
    “You race horses?” I asked. It seemed an unlikely hobby for a New Yorker, especially one with self-professed financial limitations.
    “Roller derby,” she said. “With roller skates?”
    I shrugged. “Don’t call after seven on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Understood. The most pressing matter is discerning where she will go next, and how to intercept her.”
    “Roger that,” Antoinette said.
    Uncertain what the appropriate conversational closing formula was, I nodded, turned, and walked out.

    A 2-train ride later, I returned to my dormitory and was infinitely relieved to see no indicator of carnality on the doorknob. I rattled my keys out of habit, and opened the door to see Carter sitting atop his bed, talking on the phone.
    His eyes widened upon seeing me, and he covered the microphone with his free hand.
    “Five minutes?” he asked, his voice higher, tight.
    I pointed back into the hall. Did he want me to leave?
    Carter nodded. I pulled the door closed as I stepped back into the hall.
    In the common room, I would have to focus on schoolwork. Research would have to wait. I did not need floormates inquiring about the manuscripts bound in human flesh or about the intricate drawings of ritual circles.
    Not that I had that much in the way of such resources. Antoinette had loaned me a bagful of texts that constituted my best chance at discerning what items Esther would need for the second and third rituals, but it barely scratched the surface.
    Time was of the essence, but I had also not eaten since breakfast.
    Bowing to biological necessity, I made for the food court.

    Two chicken wings, countless spoonfuls of dopamine-inducing carbohydrates, and a large iced tea later, I had broken the back of the