Thunder Road

By Sierra Dean

Being Chosen was supposed to be a gift.

That’s what Tallulah Corentine’s parents told her when they handed her over to the Rain Chasers on her seventh birthday. It was an honor to be born with a destiny, to be hand selected by the gods before taking her first breath. She should be overjoyed.

Twenty years later, Tallulah is still waiting for the gift. She might have the power of the storm at her fingertips, but she’s spent her whole adult life living under a cloud.

A cross-country trip to find the wayward son of Seth, god of the storm, turns into a fight for her life when she dupes Death out of a valuable treasure. With only a wily con man, a dangerously handsome bad-luck priest, and a lot of lightning to help her, can she deliver the package and keep herself out of an early grave?

Or will Seth be looking for a new Rain Chaser before it’s all over?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094428307

Sierra Dean

Sierra Dean is the kind of adult who forgot she was supposed to grow up. She spends most of her days making up stories, and most of her evenings watching baseball or playing video games. She lives in Winnipeg, Canada with two temperamental cats and one sweet tempered dog. When not building new worlds, she can be found making cupcakes and checking Twitter.

Book preview

Chapter One

Contrary to popular opinion, you can cheat Death.

She just doesn’t like it very much.

At the moment I wasn’t concerned about Manea or the grisly fate that awaited me if one of her goons caught up to me, however. I was too busy trying to keep all four of my Mustang’s wheels on the blacktop. Otherwise I’d be driving my way off a cliff and right into the goddess’s cold embrace.

No thank you.

When Manea finally came for me, I’d be damn sure it was the ending befitting someone of my status, and not some freak accident on a rain-slicked highway.

If anyone could drive in the rain, it was a cleric of Seth, the storm god. He would laugh over my grave if hydroplaning was what wiped me off the face of the earth.

I eased up on the brakes as my car skimmed weightlessly over the smooth surface of the highway. To my left was a sheer rock face that would crush the car like an aluminum can against a frat boy’s forehead. On the right was a drop so treacherous even the guardrail seemed to lean away from it.

Rock, meet hard place.

Hard place, meet Tallulah.

Story of my damned life.

I angled the car towards the rock wall slightly and took a breath through my nostrils. Behind me, three sets of headlights were edging closer, and it was only a matter of time before I didn’t have a choice of which direction to go. My pursuers would decide for me.

Three…

Hang tight, Fen. I jostled the buckle I’d fastened to the pet carrier in the passenger seat. A small pip of acknowledgment—or censure—came through the holes. The sassy little mongrel was getting smart with me. Some familiar he was.

Two…

Gritting my teeth so hard my jaw hurt, I flipped on the radio.

Chanting echoed over the building guitar line.

Thunder.

I grinned and felt a warm calm wash over of me as Brian Johnson’s high-pitched growl sounded through the Mustang’s speakers. The bass vibrated the seat beneath me, and as the chorus hit—

One.

I slammed my foot onto the gas the moment the curve of the road opened up.

Thunderstruck.

Damn right.

My wheels spun on the wet surface, sending up a rooster tail of mist in my wake. As soon as rubber found purchase a loud squeal threatened to deafen me and almost drowned out AC/DC, which wasn’t an easy feat. But as the Mustang shot forward at full speed I knew, for the first time all night, there was a chance I was going to get out of this alive.

Thank Seth.

Fenrir, who couldn’t resist getting the last word, chirruped noisily beside me.

Calm your tits, furball. I’ve got this.

One of the pursuit vehicles wasn’t prepared for my evasive maneuvers. He hit a patch of water and spun out of control, barreling straight into the rocks. Flame erupted from the shell of his car, blocking out my view of the other two pursuers.

Had they been human they might have stopped to see if he was okay. But Manea didn’t fool around with the living. Her clerics were all among the undead, with the notable exception of His Supreme Dickheadedness Prescott McMahon. A man so abhorrent only the goddess of death would spend time with him.

I gripped the steering wheel like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic and kept my foot pressed to the floor. There was a reason I drove a car that could go zero to sixty in fifteen seconds flat, and it involved an awful lot of running for my life.

You might think a lifetime commitment to serve a god would make you popular or at least offer a modicum of respect along with the title. You’d be wrong.

Human clerics were like walking complaint boxes for the gods they served. When things went well, folks said their prayers and sent their payments, thanking the gods directly. When things went wrong, though, the anger and frustration came right to me.

Tallulah Corentine, earthbound bitch to the god of the storm.

Thanks a heap, destiny.

The car sailed smoothly around another corner, like it had grown wings and could fly me right off this blasted highway. No such luck. If I went flying, a long date with gravity would greet me shortly thereafter.

I could only evade my pursuers for so long, and I certainly couldn’t count on all of them being such poor drivers. Sure, they were undead, but their reflexes worked just fine. If I wanted to make it out of this alive, I’d need to either get off the mountain or face them directly. Outside a steel box on wheels, there was a possibility I could take them down in hand-to-hand combat.

I wouldn’t feel too guilty about killing them since they were already dead.

Ahead of me on the side of the road was a sign for a runaway lane, a high, sloping hill that could be used for cars whose brakes gave out on the treacherous road.

It was also a great way to get me to a higher vantage point.

Should I do something gloriously stupid, Fen?

He pipped, as if suggesting this would be nothing new. Or maybe I was projecting.

The two remaining cars were gaining on me. I guess when a driver doesn’t need to worry about dying, they’re willing to take more risks. And here I thought I was plenty risky enough.

I said a silent prayer to Seth that the road would stay clear, and jerked my wheel to the left, sending me straight for the runaway slope like an arrow fired at a target. There was only one chance for me to get this right. Manea didn’t offer do-overs.

The Mustang lost momentum as I rose up the slope, just as I anticipated. I reached the apex of the hill and slammed my foot on the brake, making the car skid in the wet mud. I parked and listened to the engine purr along to the falsetto rock genius of Thunderstruck.

Na-na-nanananana, I said under my breath.

A magical incantation it was not, but it would do.

Rain pounded against my windshield, almost too fast for the wipers to keep up with. Outside, the world had turned into a smudged impressionist interpretation of a mountain landscape.

All right, buddy. If I don’t make it through this, I hope Sido will feed you.

Fen did not reply. Perhaps the idea of being taken in by my mentor, Sidonie, was too depressing for him to contemplate.

There was also a sixty-five percent chance he’d fallen asleep.

I touched a photo stuck to my dash of a beautiful, smiling, blonde woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, if I had a California beach-bum glow and my mother’s more Anglo-Saxon features. I didn’t say anything, but felt a surge of comfort.

Casting my eyes up to the sky, I added, "And you. Don’t you dare think any of the newbies are talented enough to fill my boots yet, you ungrateful prick. If ever there was a time for you to come through, this is it."

Thunder rumbled.

Good enough.

I got out of the Mustang in time for the two cars following me to pull up, the lead sedan barely stopping in time to avoid running me over.

That would be an embarrassing way to go.

Nice of you guys to show up.

The man who got out first gave me a look so stony Medusa might have flinched. The undead were not exactly famous for their senses of humor.

Miss Corentine. This voice was smooth and calm, cutting through the rain as if it wasn’t there, as if the speaker hadn’t a care in the world about some bad weather.

Prescott. My hands had involuntarily balled into fists, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the snark to a minimum. He was no underling. He was the right-hand man to death herself, which meant he could act in her stead.

Prescott McMahon could kill me with a brush of his fingertips and a lightly whispered oath.

I’d like to say it’s nice to see you again, but we both know that’s rarely the case. He moved forward so I could get a good look at him, no longer lingering behind the cars. There had been two men in each car, so in addition to Prescott there were three undead henchmen I’d have to dispatch if I wanted to get out of this.

Not the worst odds I’d faced.

Your douche haircut is getting ruined. I sneered. He’d gone for something hip and modern, his blond hair shaved short on the sides and left longer on top. In the deluge of rain, however, the product he’d used to keep it perfectly coifed—he was never anything but fastidious about his appearance—had melted away, making him look unkempt and disheveled. Likewise his once-crisp suit was wet and likely ruined by the rain.

If I’d really wanted to piss him off, I’d point out that he was getting mud on his shoes.

Your wit never ceases to charm.

I’m the delightfullest.

Prescott sighed. Hey, I said I’d keep the snark to a minimum. There was no way possible I could cut it out entirely. Not even with my life on the line.

As much as I’d love to continue this interaction, I’d much prefer that you just return what you’ve stolen.

Won.

He blinked at me, and his expression was so clear his thoughts might as well be written on his face. You’re going to argue semantics with death?

Yup.

I beg your pardon? Prescott asked.

You said stole. You’re the one who said I could take anything in the room if I could make it rain inside. I did. Stole implies I came in and snatched something that wasn’t mine.

"It isn’t yours."

But see, it is. Because I won it. It’s not my fault you’ve always underestimated my powers.

Prescott and I stared at each other, and I tried not to let the hammering rain ruin my cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor. Nothing makes you look less badass than furiously blinking away the raindrops stuck in your lashes.

Tallulah… His impatience was evident in his tone.

Prescott and I had known each other a long time. Too long. We were roughly the same age—he was only a year or two my senior—and we’d grown up aware of each other, as all young disciples were. It helped to know your potential allies from your enemies.

We all learned young that in the game of divinity there was no such thing as friends.

I’d once found him handsome, even charming.

That time had long since passed.

Yet there were occasions where we fell into old, familiar habits, and the way he said my name reminded me that this was someone I knew. I’d once seen him cry over the body of a dead dog.

Prescott hadn’t always been so cold.

I hadn’t always been so nasty.

Time ruins everyone in the long run.

I relaxed my fists and focused on the rain as it trailed down my bare arms, tiny rivers dripping off my fingertips. Thunder growled its animal warning, shaking the ground. It vibrated up through my legs and made my soul tremble with anticipation.

Prescott had the good sense to look worried.

I won the idol fair and square, I said.

The air smelled of ozone, a sharp, peppery odor that reminded me of fresh cardamom. In spite of the rain, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The creaky whoosh noise of the wipers on their two sedans was the only sound. Goose bumps prickled my skin.

You haven’t played fair your whole life. His accusation stung. We might not like each other, but his words sounded like they came from a place of personal spite. I’d never hurt him in a way that should have earned me such a hateful tone.

If Manea didn’t want to risk losing it, she shouldn’t have offered it in the first place.

He blanched, and I realized he must have bet it without her permission. Before I could point this out, he said, You cheated. Give it back, or I’ll be forced to—

I lifted my hand, and he flinched. Maybe he didn’t underestimate me after all. The three undead thugs suddenly had guns in their hands, drawn and trained on me. They weren’t thrilling conversationalists, but they were known to have decent aim. If your only directive was to kill, you managed to be quite precise.

You try to touch me, pretty boy, and I will leave a crater of ashes and burnt metal where you and your friends used to be.

His lip curled up in distaste. So it was okay for him to threaten to kill me, but not vice versa?

I have a job to do.

I raised my other hand and held both out to my sides. Rain pooled in my palms and dribbled between my fingers. Tilting my face to the sky, I reveled in the sensation of each heavy drop wetting my cheeks.

Seth, hear me.

The words didn’t need to be said out loud. The prayer itself wasn’t necessary. The power of the god was in me, whether he was paying attention or not.

You might want to get out of here, I told him. Storm’s coming.

I grinned, and the sky was suddenly brighter than midday, a flash of lightning forking overhead. Barely a heartbeat later the thunder boomed, so close and loud it rattled my teeth and made my knees feel weak. The sound promised power. It offered menace no mere words could.

Don’t mess with me, it said.

Prescott had to touch me if he was going to kill me.

I could obliterate him from a mile away, and we both knew it.

He moved a step closer, and my grin faded. A smart man would back down, and I used to think he was a smart man.

Don’t, I warned.

She wants it back.

I don’t care. Hell, if it was up to me, she could have the stupid thing. But I hadn’t won it for myself, and if I handed it over now, the wrath of Seth would be far scarier than Prescott’s handshake of death.

"Tallulah, please."

I gathered that he was equally concerned about going home empty-handed, but his well-being wasn’t my problem.

"Stop."

He ignored me and took another step closer, so he was now well in front of the cars. The three undead had their weapons raised still, nary a trembling grip in sight.

I raised my hands higher, and the hair on the back of my arms stood on end. My whole body felt electrified, as if I’d stuck my fingers into a live socket. I didn’t want to do this, but he gave me no choice. After knowing me this long, Prescott should have understood I didn’t bluff.

He needed a reminder.

A deep, scary rumble of thunder shook the hill, and he paused, raising an eyebrow at me. But I wasn’t going to stop, not this time. He clearly didn’t believe I was serious.

Angling my palms outward, I gritted my teeth like a soldier bracing himself for amputation. This was going to hurt. It always hurt.

The sky turned bright white, illuminated into temporary daylight as lightning shredded the night like it was tissue. The bolt hit me harder than a ten-ton truck, slamming into me so ferociously I felt as if every atom in my body were being crushed.

Electricity coursed from the top of my head through my limbs, and I held my ground, feet planted firmly in the wet mud. A tear trickled down my cheek as I pulled the energy of the lightning into me and directed it, shoving it back out again, but this time at my command.

Another flash of lightning brightened the hilltop, only now it came from my hands instead of the sky. It sizzled past Prescott, ruffling his suit jacket and sending him sprawling backwards so fast he collapsed into the mud, scrambling to get away. The three undead guards also retreated, finally lowering their weapons. They might not be able to die, but Manea made sure they cared about self-preservation all the same.

The lightning hit the front car in an explosion of sparks and fire. The gas tank went up in flame, sending pieces of the sedan raining down all around us like sharp, metallic snow.

The husk of the car landed next to the still-functional one, and everyone stared at the burning ruin.

Smoke unfurled from my fingertips, and steam rose from my skin. I was breathing hard, and all I wanted right then was to eat five thousand calories and nap forever.

Tell Manea if she wants the idol, she can get it from Seth.

Pieces of the wreckage crumbled into the mud with a loud, grinding sound. The rumble of thunder had lessened, but the rain was still pounding down around us. I glared at Prescott, ignoring the three henchmen. I wanted him to acknowledge me, so I could drive off without having to look over my shoulder.

This isn’t over. His voice was surprisingly cool, given that he was slick with wet dirt and I’d almost blown him up.

I scoffed. It never is.

Chapter Two

Whitefish, Montana, was like most of the small towns I’d driven through in the last decade. It was charming, deeply all-American, and postcard pretty. The buildings were old brick or built to resemble housefronts. Even the Ace Hardware looked like it had been extracted from an Old West village.

Located at the base of Big Mountain—an accurate if somewhat too literal name—the town was removed enough from big-city life they still practiced some of the old rituals. In the center square was a statue of Khione and Oreithyia. The mother-daughter pair were depicted naked but for robes made of snow and wind, which provided them the illusion of decency.

Oreithyia, the goddess of mountain winds, and Khione, goddess of snow, were popular totem deities in ski-resort areas, though Ore had her detractors among serious slope junkies. It wasn’t uncommon for those doing climbing expeditions up Everest to make offerings in order to keep her away.

Seth and Ore had a complicated relationship, as did most gods. He felt she sometimes took attention from him and that as god of the storm the winds should be his as well.

Seth would love to be the god of everything, if he had his way.

Blessedly, Ore had infinite patience and didn’t seem to let Seth’s outbursts bother her much. Khione, on the other hand, had a feisty temper. More than once I’d had to deal with rainstorms turning to sudden flurries because she and Seth had butted heads over one thing or another.

In spite of the warm August night, trinkets were laid out on the statue, offerings to the goddesses for a good season to come. This practice had fallen out of favor in larger cities, where offerings would often be stolen. Home shrines and small outlet temples had become much more popular since the eighties.

I loved the look of elaborate public shrines. It meant the people of a town were still friendly with the idea of gods and hadn’t yet become embittered.

Making a quick detour from the main street, I stopped at the Cheap Sleep Motel, liking the straightforward simplicity of the name. I had yet to find a Best Western that was actually best, so I tended seek out the most interesting and vaguely terrifying small-town motels I could.

Plus Sido loved to lecture me about my expense accounts, and chains were often outside my per diem costs.

I slipped my jacket on before going into the main office, hoping to get through the entire encounter without giving away what I was. While the town appeared to be amicable to worship, there were always those who wanted to voice displeasure, and I was in no mood to hear about the time someone’s roof caved in because of a particularly bad storm.

They seemed to think I, personally, did that sort of thing for fun.

You crush an ex-boyfriend’s car one time and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a monster.

I paid a sleepy-eyed middle-aged woman for one night’s stay and pretended not to see the enormous No Pets sign. As long as Fen could keep his chirrups to a minimum, we’d be fine. No sense in drawing attention to rule-breaking.

The woman didn’t even glance up at me as she processed my credit card. Check out time is eleven. But if you want to stay until noon, that ain’t no trouble, okay?

Thanks.

Continental breakfast starts at seven.

Is it any good?

Do you like stale muffins and cereal?

I smiled, taking my card back from her. I like anything that isn’t a McSomething in a brown paper bag.

Then sure, you’ll like it just fine.

Thanking her, I took the key for room ten and drove around the back of the building, where one other car was parked.

A black 1970 Dodge Charger.

I sucked a breath in between my teeth and pretended not to see it. Of course, it was parked in front of room eleven, which made it pretty hard to ignore.

I knew my luck couldn’t last.

I ignored the butterflies in my belly and the flare of excitement in my ladybits and grabbed my duffle and Fen’s carrier out of the car. I darted towards my room quietly, hoping I could get in and out without seeing the Charger’s owner. My libido suggested it might be very nice to see him, but my brain was in charge, thank the gods.

Inside, I flipped on the lamp above a small table and used the remote to turn on the TV. Rifling through my bag, I found Fen’s water dish and a big Ziploc bag of kibble. I made a mental note to stop at the grocery store tomorrow and get him some fresh produce. Hell, we could both stand to eat some veggies.

Blue light flickered against the wall as the comedy network played on TV. A fake news show was talking politics, which was a nice change of pace from their usual shtick about the gods. I loved election years for that.

After releasing Fen from his cage, I sat on the bed and watched him.

Fennecs are ridiculous and perfectly useless as divine familiars. I’d been given Fenrir as punishment for insolence when I was fifteen. Twelve years later, the immortal little shit had grown on me, and I was actually glad to have his company. I’d spent my whole adult life crisscrossing the country following storms. Without Fen, I think I’d have gone mad.

But, unlike other Rain Chasers’ familiars, he was barely useful for any magical or protective purposes. Most got ravens or owls. Nocturnal birds of prey were great for scouting ahead or surveying the land.

Me, I had a bad attitude, so I got a hyperactive miniature fox with giant ears who ate kibble and spiders and