The Rain Chaser Saga

By Sierra Dean

A combined edition of the first three books in the Rain Chaser series:
- Thunder Road
- Driving Rain
- Highway to Hail

Join Rain Chaser Tallulah Correntine as she navigates her life as one of the chosen clerics of the storm god Seth. Her job can be messy, dangerous, and downright infuriating, but it does come with the bonus of being able to control the weather. For Tallulah it's not exactly an even trade, but when she starts to spend more time with a priest to the bad luck goddess, her own fortunes might start to shift.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sierra Dean
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781939291394

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.

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The Rain Chaser Saga

THE RAIN CHASER SAGA

BOOKS 1-3

SIERRA DEAN

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The Rain Chaser Saga Vol. 1

Copyright © 2022 by Ashley MacLennan

ISBN: 978-1-939291-39-4

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Sierra Dean. electronic publication: April 2022

Dean, Sierra (2022-04-26). The Rain Chaser Saga Vol 1. Sierra Dean. Electronic Edition.

CONTENTS

Thunder Road

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Driving Rain

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Highway to Hail

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

About the Author

Also by Sierra Dean

THUNDER ROAD

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Thunder Road

Copyright © 2016 by Ashley MacLennan

ISBN:

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Sierra Dean. electronic publication: July 2016

Dean, Sierra (2016-07-26). Thunder Road. Sierra Dean. Electronic Edition.

For those who said they wanted more urban fantasy books from me, thank you for igniting the spark that made me finally turn this long-simmering idea into a real book.

---

To Chadwick Ginther, who wrote the other urban fantasy Thunder Road, also about modern gods, for being my ever-supportive book-title twin. Go pick up his Thunder Road as well.

---

And lastly to Jon Bernthal, whose on-screen presence helped inspired me more than I ever would have imagined. Without his Punisher, this book would never have existed.

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 liked to talk back.

Fen sniffed his dry dog food, then sneezed at it. Never mind it was super-expensive gourmet stuff, apparently made from real meat. What a brat.

He pipped loudly at me, then let out a screech noise, similar to a bat.

Oh, shush. It’s just for one night.

Fen hopped, spinning in a circle, then dashed into the bathroom, scrambling on the tile and making a soft thud against the tub when he couldn’t stop. He ran back into the main part of the room, ricocheted off an armchair, and landed on the bed. Fennecs were nocturnal by nature, so he was at the peak of his energy right about now. I was hoping if I let him run off some steam, he wouldn’t keep me up all night. Thankfully he was small and light, and none of his rambunctious behavior was likely to draw attention from other hotel guests. If he got riled up, he could make loud shrieking sounds that would convince anyone listening a woman was being murdered inside, but he knew better than to draw that kind of attention unless it was actually serious. He wasn’t exactly a normal fennec.

Outside, a car engine roared to life, and I waited, holding my breath. He must have seen my car. Must have. And if I knew his, there was no way he hadn’t realized the Mustang belonged to me. Especially not with my stupid storm-cloud air freshener.

Not to mention, muscle cars were sort of a calling card for the divinity-adjacent. We tended to favor them over more practical vehicles, because our cars were often the only thing we had any personal say in selecting.

At least I got to pick my clothes. Some others weren’t so lucky.

The car drove off, engine growling the whole way, and when the sound had faded out, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Fen shot off the bed and started tearing around the room from one end to the other, pausing periodically to give me a look like he was testing me. Would I ask him to stop? Yell at him?

You do you, buddy. I got a couple pee pads out of my bag and laid them out inside the small, open-front closet. After twelve years the fennec knew how this worked. Normally I’d take him outside since he wouldn’t bother trying to run away, but I didn’t want to get in trouble for having him here, so for tonight he’d need to go indoors. To his credit he didn’t even sneer.

The wee fox might not be able to speak my language, but he managed to communicate with me just fine when he was unhappy about something.

I got off the bed and shucked my jacket, wanting to take a look at the damage before I headed out again.

In the too-bright light of the tiny bathroom I turned my back towards the mirror and peeled off my black tank top. Glancing over my shoulder, I sucked in a breath. Certainly not the worst I’d ever had, but the marks were there.

Whenever lightning strikes, be it the ground, a tree, or in my case a person, it leaves behind a calling card. The official sciency phrase for them is Lichtenberg figures or fractal scarring. Fun fact: lightning itself is actually a Lichtenberg figure. Which was why the scars it leaves behind so closely resemble what made them. Winding, forked branches etched their way across my back from my left shoulder down to my right hip. They were an angry red color that made the pattern stand out obscenely in contrast to my skin.

I let out a small grunt. My whole body felt sore and wrung dry, worse than if I’d run a marathon or done a high-intensity workout. A low-level throbbing ache was working its way through all my muscles. My skin buzzed faintly.

This was what I’d been trained for. What I’d been born for, depending on who you asked. Anyone else who’d taken a lightning strike like that would be dead, but not me. I’d channeled it and used it like a weapon.

Harnessing the power of Seth was one of the perks that went along with being his Rain Chaser. It’s the perks that they love to talk about in the news and in magazine features. The media makes it seem like being destined for a life of servitude to the gods is a special treat.

Those of us indentured knew differently.

They never talked about this side—the ugly, painful, scary side—where we almost die or are left permanently scarred.

Who would drop their kids off at the temples then, if they knew?

I touched the mark at the back of my neck, still perfectly black twenty-seven years later. A cloud with three drops of rain and a black lightning bolt. They used the same image on the weather network to depict a coming storm. To my family it meant that I’d been predestined for a very specific kind of life.

On the bathroom counter my phone buzzed. I answered, turning on the speaker.

Rain Chasers International. You bring the pain, we bring the rain, I said cheerfully.

Funny, Sido’s familiar voice replied. Judging from her tone, she didn’t find it funny at all. Go figure. What in Seth’s name did you do now, Tallulah?

Uh, my job?

So why am I fielding calls from Manea’s temple suggesting you attempted to kill her cleric?

Prescott had ratted me out already? What a dick.

I had a job to do. No sense in pointing out they’d been trying to drive me off the road at the time. Sido didn’t care much for semantics. And I got the idol Seth wanted.

The line was quiet for a moment. He’ll be pleased to hear that. It might make things…easier.

A chill crept down my spine. What do you mean?

He’ll explain himself. Make sure you stay where you are.

Oh, crap. If Seth wanted to see me in person, things were not going well. I thought I’d done my job and that would be that until I got back to the temple.

What’s the problem? I asked.

Manea is unhappy.

Manea was always unhappy. A chipper death goddess would have been super unnerving. I was doing what I was asked.

Things have gotten complicated. Just wait for Seth. She hung up without waiting for me to acknowledge the order.

Tugging the hem of my shirt down again and ignoring how much it hurt my sensitive flesh, I went back into the main room and grabbed my jacket. I could stay here and worry, watch Comedy Central until the inevitable South Park reruns started, and find cheap vending machine candy, or I could get out of here and find some real food.

My body knew the latter was the only option.

A god might be able to wield the power of the heavens to no ill effect, but I was mortal and I was starving.

CHAPTER

THREE

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any small town in possession of more than five hundred residents must be in want of a Chinese food restaurant. This need meant almost every time I stopped somewhere, I could count on finding chow mein and Kung Pao chicken.

I was a woman of simple needs.

Whitefish was a town after my own heart. They had not one but two Chinese restaurants in the span of a few blocks. I stopped at the first one I saw, a place called China Wall with a red dragon painted on the glass. My maps app told me the one down the block was a chain, and much like motels, I preferred my restaurants more homegrown.

The waitress showed me to a table in the back of the nearly empty restaurant. The only other people around were a teen couple who were awkward and adorable, likely on their first date given all the blushing and nervous shifting, and an older man sitting alone reading a newspaper.

I sat down, pulled out a copy of Karen Robards’ Morning Song, and set it on the table for after I ordered. The cover was torn and the spine broken, with several dog-eared pages inside. The cost of relying on used bookstores meant I had to deal with very well-loved books.

The waitress returned, and I ordered my two must-haves as well as sweet and sour pork, honey garlic balls, and beef with broccoli. She gave the seat across from me a quick glance as if I must be expecting someone else.

Oh, and Chinese fried rice, I added defiantly. And a Coke.

She wrote down my order and scurried off without a word. Had this been a dim sum restaurant I really could have blown her mind with my capacity for face-stuffing.

Using your body as a conduit of pure electric energy burns a fuckton of calories. It was the only reason I was still thin, because my eating habits could best be described as…bachelor.

I had just opened the book and started reading when the chair on the opposite side of the table scraped against the floor and a large body settled into it.

My stomach was doing flip-flops and my pulse hammered about a mile a minute, but I pretended to ignore him.

Not all that easy when he was sitting two feet across from me.

To his credit he didn’t clear his throat or shift uncomfortably. He did nothing to get my attention except for exist within close proximity. In the end, that proved to be enough. I set the book down and looked up.

Where Prescott could best be described as beautiful, this new arrival was far from it. Which wasn’t to say he was ugly, by any means. He was…ugly handsome? Was that a thing?

If it was, it was looking right back at me, with intense whisky-brown eyes and a frown.

Cade. I played it cool.

Tallulah.

The waitress returned and asked Cade for his drink order. She was about to walk away when he asked for a menu. I didn’t bother telling him he hadn’t been invited to stay. He was already sitting here. I might be a dick, but I wasn’t enough of one to make him eat alone.

Plus I secretly didn’t mind that he was here.

As he perused the menu, I gave him a once-over. I hadn’t seen him in a couple months, and in that time he’d changed in subtle ways. His typical crew cut had grown out slightly, letting his dark brown hair show that it could become curly, given half the chance. This also told me he hadn’t been back to his temple since we’d last seen each other. Cade only trusted the temple to cut his hair.

He wore an olive-green military-style jacket and a plain black T-shirt. Stubble darkened his cheeks, and his broad nose resembled that of a seasoned boxer, as if it had been broken several times and never quite healed right. Seth help me, but he looked good, and though I’d never admit it out loud, I was glad to see him.

He ordered BBQ duck and Szechuan noodles.

When the waitress was gone, his attention gravitated back to me, and we stared at each other across the table.

How did you find me? I asked, when I felt like I was starting to blush.

He made a dismissive, snorting noise and glanced around the restaurant, his gaze pausing on the red lanterns and mural of a Chinese pagoda. Give me a little credit.

He knew me well enough to be aware of my habits by this point. The kind of motels I’d gravitate towards. The restaurants I usually frequented. His showing up at both was a not-so-subtle way of telling me he’d been paying attention.

Cade was a few years older than me and had been out in the field before I’d left my temple. We’d seen each other in passing, but it wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I’d actually gotten to know him. His job and mine often intersected, unluckily for me.

Literally.

How’s Ardra these days? I picked at the corner of my book’s cover, trying to ignore the knot of hunger gnawing away at my stomach. If my food didn’t get here soon, I might start eating the pages.

Cade’s mouth formed a narrow line, and he nodded, agreeing with a statement I hadn’t made. I used to love poking fun at the unfortunate hand he’d been dealt, but after a while the jokes had stopped feeling so funny. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, and I knew a lot more about the burden he carried than I had back then.

Ardra, the goddess of bad luck and misfortune, was not a popular designation, for obvious reasons. While Cade himself was not particularly unlucky, bad news tended to follow him around like a cloud.

That was why our paths crossed so often. When storm water broke levies, when trees crushed roofs, or lightning struck a home…that was usually Cade. Unlike me, who typically answered prayers to end droughts, the prayers Cade answered were often for third parties. People wished for terrible things to befall their friends and neighbors, and Ardra loved to fulfill those prayers. The dirty work of which often fell to the man sitting across from me.

Typically he bore it well, but today he looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

Sorry. Though I hadn’t teased him, I felt bad for bringing up Ardra when he was so obviously worn down.

The waitress returned with our food, giving us a reprieve from the awkwardness. I’d worked adjacent to him for twelve years, but sometimes he felt like a stranger to me. He was so quiet and withdrawn I never knew if he actually enjoyed spending time with me or if I was merely a familiar face he gravitated towards. I liked having him near me when he did show up, in spite of his unlucky nature. There was something about being around Cade that reminded me I was a person instead of a cleric. He brought out the Tallulah side of me, beyond my Rain Chaser title.

My dinner was delicious. I scarfed down the whole plate of sweet and sour pork before bothering to look up at him again. He was watching me appraisingly, barely half-finished with his plate of noodles. I’d never learned to be ladylike, and I wasn’t about to start now. If he was disgusted by me, that was just too bad.

A small smile twitched the corner of his lips. You eat like you’re the last of fifteen kids. I’ve never met anyone who could eat like you.

This sounded so close to a compliment I stuffed a honey garlic chicken ball in my mouth and smirked. Once I was done chewing, I said, It’s the all-carb, all-fat, all-MSG diet.

It’s doing wonders for you.

Heat suddenly swelled inside me, a faint, dizzying sensation of pleasure and awareness. I blushed and started eating again so I didn’t need to answer him. Was he flirting with me? Yet another thing I hadn’t been taught at the temple. All we’d learned there was No boys, stay pure for your god.

Yeah, right.

Cade took a bite of duck and chewed, but kept staring at me. I didn’t want the heaviness of his gaze to disarm me, but he was making me feel self-conscious, which in turn was making me eat more out of sheer rebellion.

I hardly tasted my Kung Pao chicken.

Once I was down to the beef and broccoli, and fried rice, I combined the two on one plate and pushed them around with my fork.

You’re not here to burn the restaurant down, are you? I gave him a serious look, and this time he smiled for real.

No, I’m already done with what I came to do.

Oh?

The smile vanished. I was at North Valley Hospital on an official invite.

I waved my hand between us, dismissing any further comments. Neither he nor I wanted to talk about the kind of bad tidings he could bring to a hospital.

Cade’s job and Prescott’s often went hand in hand as well.

What a fine trio we made.

I stole a piece of duck off his plate and popped it in my mouth. The salty, fatty skin practically dissolved on my tongue, and I made a happy mmm sound in appreciation.

The previous tension had vanished, and he shoved his plate towards me. Finish it if you want.

No, I just wanted to see if it tasted as good as it looked.

Cade gave me a look that suggested he was going to say something, and I realized a beat too late how my comment might be reimagined as a double entendre. This was why they should have taught us about flirting in the temple. I managed not to blush and met his gaze defiantly, as if I’d intended the second meaning all along.

It does, he said.

But you can keep it. I nudged the plate back at him.

This was new. Cade and I typically had a professional, cordial relationship of mutual respect and occasional admiration. Honestly, until tonight I had assumed Cade had no interest in women. Or men. I thought he existed on a plane of asexual indifference, married to his job and devoted only to Ardra.

The heat of his gaze and the way it knotted me up inside was making me question everything I knew about our association.

Did he like me?

Perish the thought.

I’d long harbored a bit of a schoolgirl crush on Cade Melpomene, but because of his typically distant behavior I had never believed he might return any of my affection. So I stuffed those feelings deep inside me and was mostly able to ignore them. Except when he looked at me like he was right now.

I picked at my beef, broccoli, and rice concoction and dismissed any notions of Cade as an object of romantic relevance. Thinking about him too much would get me all wound up and turn me into a blithering idiot. Just imagine dating a bad-luck priest. Go ahead, think about it. Talk about a doomed relationship.

And that was if we ignored the fact none of us were allowed to have romantic relationships, especially not with each other.

I could use your help with something, he said finally.

Setting my fork down, I pulled myself up higher in my seat, suddenly interested. Work was a safe topic, something I could participate in without feeling weird. Good, yes, tell me all about work.

Okay.

Don’t agree until you know what it is.

Okay…

There’s a hotel about an hour from here. Ardra’s been receiving a lot of requests for…retribution against its owner.

Oh?

Cade smiled as he pulled out his wallet, leaving enough cash on the table to cover both our meals. I almost protested, wondering if him paying for my meal made this an unintentional date, but then thought better of refusing a free meal.

I want you to help me destroy a hotel.

CHAPTER

FOUR

I wasn’t above doing some property damage.

I often left a little wreckage in my wake, whether I intended to or not. Such was the case with blowing through towns on the tail of the weather.

But wreaking some havoc for kicks? That was a distinct pleasure I didn’t often get to indulge in.

We dropped my car off at the motel, and I paused to check on Fen. A bored fennec could do a lot of damage in an hour’s time, and I didn’t feel like paying off a pricey repair bill. Instead of a disaster, though, I found the tiny fox dozing placidly between the hotel pillows. He didn’t stir when I poked my head through the door, so I left my purse behind and let him be.

I can drive, I offered again. When I’d first made this suggestion back at the restaurant, Cade had laughed at me.

This time he smiled and said, I’ve seen you drive. No thank you.

Was he implying I wasn’t a good driver? Rude.

"What can I say, Sparky, I like my body parts all where they are. And more importantly, I like all my car’s parts where they are."

"I’d be more likely to hurt you than the car. I like your car."

I didn’t argue about driving anymore though. He held the passenger door open for me, a surprisingly chivalrous gesture. His coat sleeve hiked up on his arm, showing the faintest glimpse of tattoos at the wrist.

All chosen cleric had birthmarks. They were symbols of the gods that looked a bit like black-ink tattoos.

Mine was small and easily hidden under my hair. Cade’s were a different story. I’d only once seen him without a jacket, and even then he’d been wearing long sleeves, so I didn’t know how covered he was, but I knew he had tattoos on both forearms that I suspected went all the way up.

Anything else I’d need to leave up to my imagination.

Seeing the sliver of orange, blue, and green on his skin was like accidentally stumbling onto a secret. It was also strangely intoxicating, tugging at my curiosity and making me want to take the jacket off so I could see what he was hiding.

He was a puzzle I’d never been interested in assembling before, and now that I wanted to, I was missing the cover.

Cade cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been staring. I climbed into the Charger’s passenger seat and buckled up.

Silence swelled in the car as we drove out of town and back onto the winding mountain roads I’d so recently navigated at high speed. I’d like to see Cade call my driving skills into question once he’d witnessed that Formula One-level control.

Or perhaps he’d heard about said skills from someone else and that was why he didn’t trust me.

I sank back into the seat, trying to relax, and used the quiet time to glance over at him. In profile he had a warrior’s presence. His jaw was firm and square, dusted with stubble. From this angle, his broken nose had a striking intensity, making him look like a warlord king.

Chewing on my thumbnail, I decided it might be best if I looked out the window instead.

I saw Prescott at the hospital, Cade said, breaking the tension with his quiet, gravelly voice.

Husky. That was the word for it.

What did Living Dead Boy have to say for himself?

Cade exhaled sharply through his nose, in what I could only assume was a stifled laugh. He composed himself quickly and said, He told me about your altercation.

I cast a sideways glance at him, attempting to read his expression. Inscrutable as always. Did he call it an altercation?

That subtle hint of a smirk. He licked his lips, and I died a little.

It would be impolite to quote him.

It was my turn to laugh, and I did nothing to stifle it. "When have you ever concerned yourself with being polite?"

Cade turned his attention on me, and the intensity in his dark eyes caused my laughter to hitch in my throat. You really want to know what he said?

Kind of.

"He said, That bitch tried to fry me like a mosquito in a bug trap."

I gave the statement a nod of satisfaction and didn’t disagree with it, though I decided I should add, If I’d meant to kill him, I wouldn’t have missed.

Cade grinned openly then, a broad, masculine smile that showed me a flash of his perfect white teeth. A swarm of butterflies took flight inside my belly. I was going to need to blow something up pretty soon, or there was a very real risk I might be turning into a softy.

I doubt anyone would miss him. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel and stretched his arm like he was going to place it on the seat behind me. He seemed to remember my presence and thought better of the move, letting his palm rest flat on his thigh. His fingers twitched nervously. Having me here was throwing him off his rhythm. We were such particular, peculiar people, who spent so much time alone, we sometimes forgot how to behave around others. I could relate to his unease on a visceral level, because I was feeling it myself.

Manea might, I said.

This brought Cade back to his normal, stone-faced self. I wasn’t sure which of the two visages I preferred.

Manea has always been more interested in things than in people. She’d regret losing Prescott’s loyalty, but I don’t think she’d notice the loss of him as a person, do you know what I mean?

Of course I knew what he meant. The way he’d described Prescott’s relationship to his god could have just as easily been applied to mine with Seth, or Cade’s with Ardra. We were tools to them, things they relied on but did not love. Gods didn’t know how to love. They only knew how to feed on the love of others.

Loving and being loved are very different animals.

I didn’t reply, but in the absence of an answer he had to know what I was thinking.

Did he say anything else? I asked, after the silence drew out long enough to become uncomfortable.

I’m not going to take the idol from you, if that’s what you’re worried about.

The thought had crossed my mind when he mentioned Prescott’s name. His sudden appearance would make more sense, then. And his being in the room right next to mine. More importantly it would explain why he was being so nice to me.

Except, he’d been at the motel first.

And he was asking for my help.

I didn’t think he would align himself with Prescott for something as silly as a missing trinket belonging to a goddess Cade didn’t work for.

What idol? I gave him my best innocent face.

I wasn’t very convincing, judging from his expression.

Be careful. That was it. I suspected there was a great deal more he wanted to say, but he stopped at be careful. It was all the more chilling of a warning because of its brevity.

If it were up to me, I’d have explained why I’d taken the thing and how none of this was my idea. I was just doing my job.

But weren’t we all?

We rounded a bend on the road, and a glittering vista unfolded below us. Lights shimmered brightly against the choppy water of a small lake. Even in the darkness the place had a warm, welcoming glow. I could imagine the type of people who would spend a night in such a retreat. Rich people. Settled people. Families who were warm and loving and actually liked to spend time together in beautiful woodland resorts at the foot of mountains.

And I was coming to crush their joy.

I was the Godzilla to their Tokyo.

It doesn’t look abandoned to me.

Relax, Sparky. It’s fine.

Cade…

Just trust me, okay?

Trust the crack in the sidewalk. Trust the spilled salt. The broken mirror. Sure, Tallulah, trust the black cat.

Trouble was, I did.

CHAPTER

FIVE

I understood what he meant by trust me as soon as he pulled into the parking lot.

The whole place was abandoned, in spite of all the light spilling from the building itself. Only one car was there aside from ours—a shiny Mercedes with the vanity plate LSTRSRT.

Last Resort.

Cute.

Rich people were weird.

Cade had cut the headlights before we arrived—another perk of vintage cars—and we parked far enough from the main building to avoid being seen by anyone inside.

Clouds were rolling over the lake, coming down from the mountain and settling in low and menacing overhead. Most people couldn’t see clouds at night, they could merely sense their presence because of the added layer of darkness or the absence of stars. Me, I could see them fine, every textured bubble and heavy, rain-filled thunderhead.

A doozy was headed our way, and I hadn’t asked for it.

Sometimes a storm was just a storm, but I recalled Sido’s warning that Seth was coming, and knew this wasn’t any old storm. The metallic tang in the air was too familiar and too personal to ignore. Seth wanted my attention, and he wouldn’t leave until he got it.

I hoped he would lay off long enough for me to get the job with Cade done. If I was going to get a godly scolding, I’d like to have it happen without an audience.

Cade turned off the car, and we sat in the darkness with the windows rolled down. I took deep breaths of the perfect, peppery, prestorm smell. Whatever else it meant, the coming storm could always calm me.

So what’s the deal with this guy? I fiddled with the zipper on my jacket, desperate for any break in the silence.

You know, the usual dirtbag nonsense.

If it were the usual nonsense, Ardra wouldn’t bother. He has to have been a very naughty boy.

Sometimes she just likes to fuck with people.

Don’t they all?

In the dark I saw the twist of his smile and the faint gleam of mischief in his eyes. Be careful. That’s sacrilegious language.

The temple can’t hear me out here.

But the gods are always listening.

I snorted. He wasn’t wrong exactly. Seth could hear and see me whenever he so chose, but he only chose to when it suited him. The rest of the time he didn’t care, so I’d learned not to worry about it. If he was going to peek on me while I showered, there wasn’t much I could do to stop him, and I wasn’t going to stop showering. I applied the same logic to the rest of my life as well.

What did he do? I asked again.

We got a lot of requests on this one. He doesn’t pay his staff properly, he steals from his business partners. Cheats on his wife.

My nose wrinkled. I especially disliked the unfaithful, and I bet Cade knew it. I’d brought a little hail down on bad husbands and wives in my time.

So he’s a prick.

Yes.

Won’t this prick collect a big fat insurance check if we destroy his beautiful resort? Seemed like kind of a moot point to punish the guy if it was only going to line his pockets.

Clever girl. But, no. The resort belongs to his wife, passed down through her family. All the money will go to her.

I took another look at the resort. The main building was a beautiful, multistory, chalet-style marvel. It stretched out several hundred feet in each direction, and the lights within gave it an intentionally warm glow. I bet the place was full of exposed wooden beams and furniture made from deer antlers.

The upper decks were built of intricately laced wood designs, and the planters out front held meticulously trimmed globe cedars. The place was pristine and painfully lovely, far removed from any part of my reality.

I’d never get to stay in a place like that. Never have a family to take on vacations or have a wine-infused girls’ weekend at the spa. Dreams like that had long since passed for me, so much so I only felt the slightest pang of regret looking at the place.

Yet I didn’t want to destroy it for being unachievable.

I found I didn’t want to destroy it at all.

If the hotel belongs to the wife, aren’t we punishing her more than him? I drummed my nails against my jean-clad thigh, searching for any reason to avoid unleashing an act of the gods on this place.

Couldn’t I just blow up his car instead? I loved smashing luxury sedans, as my evening’s earlier adventures indicated.

She’s the one who asked. Several dozen times. And the offerings she’s making don’t come cheap.

I let out a little grunt. The clouds overhead were getting fatter and darker by the second. We’re going to need to make this fast.

Did you make Daddy mad?

Ha ha ha, I mocked. Let’s get this out of the way. I think the Chinese place closes in an hour, and I’m going to need more MSG when this is all said and done. And, like,