Lucian: Dark God's Homecoming by Van Allen Plexico Page A

corner rested a small, smooth, black pistol. I recognized its design. It could easily be one of my favorites from my arsenal; perhaps even the one I had carried that day in the City when I had been defeated—though I had believed that one destroyed by Baranak. Why such a valuable item had been left behind when everything else here had been cleaned out, I could not fathom.
    I picked it up, slid the cover back. It was loaded, so to speak. A single, small, red gem glinted inside, held in place by two metal pins. As I slid the chamber closed again, a golden glow radiated from the weapon, solidifying into burning letters floating in the air before me.
    Do us all a favor.
    A second later the flaming letters dissolved and vanished as if they had never been. I stood there for several seconds, grinding my teeth.
    “Oh, I shall,” I whispered finally.
    I picked up the gun and tucked it securely into my belt, where my long coat covered it.
    A couple of minutes of further searching turned up none of my beloved weapons of mass destruction. Drawing upon the Power, I spent an additional ten minutes of intense concentration in the construction of a tight grid of tiny lines of force, covering every surface of the storeroom, designed to reveal any residual energies that might indicate who had been in there since my last visit. This effort as well yielded no results. Frustrated, I sought my ladder, found it, and positioned it against the edge of the doorway above. “Someone want to secure that?” I called up.
    No answer.
    “Hello?” I squinted up toward the bright blue square of sky overhead, waiting. No one replied.
    Growing concerned, I braced the ladder as best I could and climbed out of the storeroom, emerging back into the clearing between the palms.
    The humans were not there.
    Cursing their stupidity for deciding to go hiking or swimming at a time like this—and, whatever time it might have been, a good time for recreation it most assuredly was not—I trudged angrily through the trees and back onto the portion of the gently sloping beach where we had arrived.
    There, in a comfortable-looking beach chair, under a large, striped umbrella, wearing sunglasses and holding a tropical drink, sat Alaria.
    Alaria, she of the pale skin and the multicolored eyes and the combs of pearl and silver.
    Alaria, one of my former jailers.
    Alaria, who had freed me and given me the opportunity to prove my innocence.
    Needless to say, I was taken aback.
    “Why, hello, my lady,” I called to her as I hiked down the beach in her direction.
    She waved, her smile the color of the breaking waves, her long, deep-red hair flickering in the ocean breeze like a dark flame.
    “Hello,” she said. “Nice place you have here.”
    “Thanks. What did you do with my stuff?”
    She slid her black-rimmed sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and gazed up at me with those remarkable rainbow eyes.
    “Stuff?”
    I frowned.
    “Yes. My stuff. My—”
    I hesitated, as her expression revealed nothing but puzzlement.
    “Never mind.”
    I looked around, but saw no signs of my mortal charges. “How about the humans?”
    “What about them?”
    She sipped at her drink, her eyes never leaving mine.
    Pursing my lips, I turned, searching all around. Nothing.
    “Have you misplaced your companions?” she asked.
    “I don’t know if that’s the term I would use for them,” I replied absently, still looking around. “But you will forgive me if I ask you about them, seeing as how you and I seem to be the only ones currently occupying this island—or this universe.”
    She shrugged.
    “I have not seen them, I assure you. I merely came here on the off chance you might stop by. Little did I know you were already here.”
    Something—some nagging voice deep in my subconscious—told me to doubt her on that score. But I did not pursue it.
    “So,” she said, “how are you faring with your investigation?”
    I laughed.
    “There hasn’t been much of an investigation,