Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (best book series to read TXT) 📕

heart stop beating. It was like she knew why I was there, like she could see into my brain, all the way back through the last few years—Dad leaving, Mom falling apart, Tempie running away. I thought I was going to start crying.

Mikal smiled. She knew. She knew and I was just standing there waiting to be killed or arrested or something equally awful.

“Any other questions?” Mikal asked.

“Is it true that during Halo’s NP-Human Conflict all of the people over twenty-five were executed?” Know-It-All asked.

It was such a relief when Mikal looked away from me to answer him. “Those humans—”

“It’s an unfortunate truth of war with mortals that lives are always lost,” Mayor Dark said, striding into the hall, buttoning the jacket of his tailored suit. He had to be the only life form in existence that looked as racy fully dressed as he did half-naked. “Just as many mortal non-people—werecreatures, zombies, sirens, and some lesser demons—were lost as humans.” He bowed his head as if solemnly remembering their sacrifice. “‘War is hell,’ as the man said.”

Then Mayor Dark smiled. The moment of silence was over.

“Thank you all for coming to visit the Dark Mansion.” Either it was lustful thinking or a trick of his powers that made it seem like his black eyes rested on me for a second longer than everyone else. “I hope you’ll all be staying in Halo for the celebration of the Armistice’s tenth anniversary next weekend. Oh, and while you’re in town, you’ve got to eat at Bub’s Diner. Their goulash is amazing.”

This was the same Mayor Kathan Dark who had united non-people across the country by arguing that Daniel Whitney’s crusade against the fallen angels would become a war against all NPs if it wasn’t stopped. The same Kathan Dark who had created and integrated an NP legal system into human legislation so that the US government could continue to function. We had studied his speeches in school alongside Martin Luther King, Jr., Patrick Henry, and Cicero. That same Kathan Dark was pushing the goulash at the local diner.

I got so caught up trying to reconcile the spokesperson for NP rights with the small-town mayor that I didn’t notice our tour guide and Mikal herding us out of the mansion until we were back on the bus.

I sat down and scooted over so I could look out the window.

Mikal was leading her familiar inside. Maybe she hadn’t recognized me. Maybe I had just psyched myself out.

Mayor Dark stayed on the top step watching as our bus turned around and started down the lane, hands in the pockets of his suit pants and a bright smile on his face.

Colt

I love it when you blush, Colt. I think you should put on your little show for every tour group that comes through here.

I couldn’t even tell Mikal to fuck off. That “little show” just about took everything out of me. It was stupid to fight her on the burning angel thing, such a waste of energy, but it had seemed so important at the time.

I still felt ants digging in my veins, trying to chew their way out. They weren’t real, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that the last of them would disappear in a few more seconds.

If I could get through a few more seconds.

Then I heard a rifle bolt open and shut. There wasn’t any way to stop the memory. It was like the ants—the only thing to do was get through it.

A man in my scope. Meth-head haggard, with deep eye sockets. I had heard him talk before. I’d been calling him Southern Guy because of his accent. I pulled the bolt, touched the shiny copper tip of the bullet, then shut the bolt. Safety off. Inhale. Exhale. But the timing was off, the exhale too close to the downbeat of my pulse. I had to do it again—safety on, bolt, touch, bolt, safety, inhale, exhale. Stop. Perfect. Squeeze the trigger. The shot echoed across the countryside, probably all the way to town. I put a round in Southern Guy’s deep, meth-head eye socket, then I let the rifle drop and grabbed the barbed wire fence while I threw up.

You know, Colter, Mikal said, The only familiar whose flashbacks I’ve ever enjoyed as much as yours was this Israelite soldier’s back in Joshua’s day. Would you like to hear how it sounds when you kill a baby with a sword?

Fuck you. But there wasn’t any conviction behind it. My body was an itching, bleeding ant farm. My brain felt like a hollow point had exploded inside my skull.

Before Mikal, back when I was alone—even back when I was still living with Ryder and Tough—I used to be scared I was going crazy. To keep everything straight, I would make schedules in my head, plan out the next five seconds, the next minute, the next hour. But now, not being able to move or scream or scratch those damn ants out of my skin… Just thinking about a whole hour made me want to go to sleep and never wake up.

How long had I already been with Mikal? If it had been less than a week, I was going to find a way to kill myself.

Now there was a plan.

No. I had to keep my shit together. There was already a plan. I needed to remember what it was, then stick to the fucking plan.

Sniping Mikal’s familiars. I’d had to kill them to get her to come after me. I needed Mikal to come after me because…because of something to do with Tough…

Thinking about Tough triggered a different memory. It was the middle of winter, about three months after Ryder died and Tough had run away the first time. We stood on the porch at the cabin, listening to Rian’s