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On the morning Gwen woke with the ability to manipulate time, it was already too late. She didn’t immediately realize she could stretch or compress time—that would come later. At first, all she knew was Dianne was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon like a brass penny dropped in muddy water by the time I rode back into New Providence. My Halfie’s mechanical shoes struck sparks off the metal road plates, each impact sending little jolts of pain through my spine. Those hours of riding and tracking had taken their toll, but it wasn’t the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind of weary that comes from knowing too much, seeing too clear.
New Providence sparkled like fool’s gold in the distance, all gleaming spires and whirring clockwork, nothing like the two-bit townships I usually rode through. My Halfie tensed beneath me, his wolf-hackles rising at the stink of machine oil and steam that drifted our way. I dug my spurs in gentle-like, just enough to remind him who was boss without drawing blood. Been doing that less lately—seemed like we were finally reaching an understanding, him and me.
And all the devils are here.
“What’s that from?” Millie asks as she gets her coat.
I stand at the back window, looking out. Usually, you can see the downtown skyline from this position. Today, it’s just the hellmouth. A long tube that looks like an esophagus that’s been yanked out of a kaiju and dangles from the ground. Bloody, meaty, smoking.
I beg you, let me tell you about my daughter. My brilliant daughter will be one of the four people who survive their airplane crashing into a giant. Or, more accurately, a giant swiping their airplane out of the sky. Perhaps it meant to catch, or caress. My daughter will never know. Usually airlines predict giants ahead of time, from sightings or seismic activity, but this one was not easily seen and quick as a whip, like my daughter.
The First Emperor was the first and last of true immortals on earth, and no winter touched his realm. No autumn wind blew. His orchards bloomed and fruited and bloomed again. In his court, death and old age were shut out. And every day, he drank a cup of tea brewed in the dew of lotus flowers, which had been collected that morning from the lotuses that grew in a heaven-touched lake at the easternmost point of his palace grounds.
In summer, when the ocean ebbs at dusk, when the sand turns to glass and it becomes impossible to discern the difference between reflection and sky, the Tide Folk emerge from their pools. You might think, if you clamber on the cliffs searching for those tiny ecosystems the sea leaves behind twice a day, that you can see all there is to see—that you could, if you tried, touch the bottom of the pockets of water with your fingertip.
You know that thing you humans say about how your life flashes before your eyes just before you die? I think you guys might be onto something. I have lived for eons but every single day is running through my mind right now. Every trick I ever pulled, every city destroyed in anger, every lover I took to bed. I see them all, clear as day.
If you are reading this book then you must have either completed your might and magic training or succeeded in killing a spirit hunter and found their copy a spoil (no spirit hunter in their right mind will hand you this book under any circumstances). But whatever means you’ve acquired it, it will guide you into hunting, capturing or, in the worst case scenario, running when you come across any of these spirits.
The days that followed the godkilling were rife with confusion. The congregation couldn’t come to an agreement: The greatest prophecy of our religion, where our god’s eternal death gives us an eternal home, had come to pass, yet there were no heavenly steps toward a warm hollow or a place to rest our souls.
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