Rob Thurman's Blog: The Reaver Report, page 16

The BASILISK Buzz is Humming: Virtual Release Party Entries

Wow, we are getting some wonderful entries for the BASILISK Virtual Release Party/Contest!

It's gonna be tough keeping up with you all, but don't stop! This week is MISHA'S time to shine – and YOU are his BEST WEAPON in accomplishing world domination.

Below the red line are links/shout-outs to some of the fans who have sent in BASILISK/CHIMERA reviews for their entries. [Note: all have given their express permission for us to post these entries on Rob's site and share them on any of Rob's social pages].

If you're fashionably late to the party and wondering what the hell is going on, click here to learn more about this party/contest.

ALL participants in the contest will be granted VIP secret access to a sneak-preview of DOUBLETAKE [that is NOT included in the back of BASILISK]. ALL participants will also be entered into a prize drawing – there is no purchase necessary to participate. Click here for details if you need 'em [or if you just need a refresher-course], and keep the BASILISK-love a-reavin'!

"No author on the face of the planet writes the connection between siblings as well as Rob. And frankly, her ability to make the characters come to life is nothing short of amazing. Her stories are filled with snark and emotion – her plots exciting and action packed. I want to live in her brain." -From Karen F. on Shefari

"Thurman writes great action sequences and the chases and escapes pulled off by Stefan read like an action movie." -Bethany the WordNerd [on CHIMERA]

"Rob Thurman's new book BASILISK is out in stores and needs to be bought ASAP. If you're not convinced it's the book for you then you obviously don't like gun-wielding ferrets and THAT…is a serious personal problem." -Cristina Lopez Facebook Status Update

"CHIMERA by Rob Thurman has brothers, very bad villains, really cool guns, and a ferret. What more could a girl want in a standby, fill-in boyfriend [aka Cal Leandros]? No, I can't think of anything else either." -Jennifer, Brewed Bohemian

BASILISK includes Rob's brilliant humor with Godzilla the ferret. ("Guns don't kill people. Ferrets do") I laughed so much at parts I had tears in my eyes. I also had tears at some of the more heartbreaking moments between the brothers. This book is epic! Worth the painful wait! And is overall f**king amazing!!!! Long Live the Korask Brothers!! -Nikki's BASILISK Review on GoodReads

Update: BASILISK eReader Problems, PERIOD.

Update:

Well… crap. The epilogue-skipping is happening in the B&N Nook too, which means it's very likely no eReader is immune.

If you could please let us know here in the comments or on Facebook how this is impacting YOUR eReader – are you able to GO BACK and read the Epilogue once it skips over or not? – that would be helpful. We can then make sure everyone else is well-informed.

We've got a call into the publishers to see if this can be fixed, but for now, be sure to look for the epilogue on all eReaders.

*sigh*

More Like This...

Ask Cal Leandros & Michael Korsak
New Cal: Exclusive DOUBLETAKE Sneak Previews!
New Rob Thurman Facebook Fan Page
BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest
Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!
Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook
Brand-New BASILISK Excerpt! [Chapter 11]
BASILISK, Chapters 3 & 4 [For Anyone Who Missed it the First Time]
BASILISK Review at SF Revu!
BASILISK Kindle Readers: DON'T MISS THE EPILOGUE!

BASILISK Kindle Readers: DON'T MISS THE EPILOGUE!

KINDLE READERS: Amazon has messed up.

There is a HIGHLY important epilogue to BASILISK.

Do NOT stop at 'click here for more book titles'… keep going!!! There is an epilogue and you don't want to miss it!

Also, if you have any other problems w/Kindle BASILISK such as no cover, REAM THEM – GET WHAT YOU PAID FOR! Don't let them get away with this P-O-S excuse of formatting! BOMBARD their customer service until someone sits up and takes notice! I'M not enough. They need NUMBERS to figure out how PO'ed people are.

NO cover, SCREWED UP epilogue. TAKE THEM DOWN!

More Like This...

Ask Cal Leandros & Michael Korsak
New Cal: Exclusive DOUBLETAKE Sneak Previews!
New Rob Thurman Facebook Fan Page
Love to My CHIMERA Reavers on Twitter...
BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest
Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!
Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook
Brand-New BASILISK Excerpt! [Chapter 11]
BASILISK, Chapters 3 & 4 [For Anyone Who Missed it the First Time]
BASILISK Review at SF Revu!

BASILISK Review at SF Revu!

BASILISK [08.02.11]
Rob Thurman; ROC Fantasy
ISBN: 978-0451464149
LibraryThing • Google Books

BookFinder • Good Reads • Shelfari

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

Borders | IndieBound | Powell's Books

Praise for BASILISK

"Thurman shows the thought process of a character to whom humanity is an acquired thing and highly prized, not taken for granted. Michael reaches his conclusions through a fascinating process, one that Thurman has clearly thought through carefully. Fans of great thriller fiction will enjoy Basilisk and the previous novel Chimera quite a bit… and now we can look forward to the next adventure!" —SF Revu [Read the Entire Review]

BASILISK, Chapters 3 & 4 [For Anyone Who Missed it the First Time]

BASILISK [08.02.11]
Rob Thurman; ROC Fantasy
ISBN: 978-0451464149
LibraryThing • Google Books

BookFinder • Good Reads • Shelfari

 

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Borders | IndieBound

CHAPTER 3

Stefan didn't seem as satisfied.

"Bombs? You were making pipe bombs?" he demanded incredulously as he drove on.

"Garages don't blow themselves up," I pointed out with some exasperation at his lack of gratitude and memory. "And they're not pipe bombs so much as proactive explosive measures. Little pipe bombs," I emphasized. "You know…just in case." With electrical detonation devices—very simple. Military detonation cord wasn't as quick as I might need it to be. "They're really quite easy to make. Too easy. They should be more responsible with the information on the internet…."

"You told me that equipment was for your genetic research." I think he hit a rock on purpose as my head smacked the inside roof of the car. "To find a cure for the rest of the kids. You lied to me, Michael Lukas Korsak."

"I didn't lie," I shot back indignantly. "I said that the equipment was to help me find a cure. I didn't say all the equipment was to help me find a cure. Some of it could be used to save our lives too."

"And you didn't think that was worth mentioning? You running an armory behind our house?" Stefan gritted his teeth. "I swear when we switch cars I'm going to take a minute to beat you like a red-headed stepchild."

"I didn't not mention it. It didn't come up, that's all," yes, a fine line, but my line and I was stubbornly walking it, "and why do people have a dislike for people with red hair? I've heard that saying once or twice since moving here. Why would their hair color make them the targets of violence?"

"Not the time, and you know it's just some old saying. Don't think I don't recognize your version of smart-ass, Michael."

"Misha," I insisted again.

"And what's with that? We're running from who the hell knows and you're worried about your nickname?"

"Michael is the Institute. Misha is free. I'm free and I'm staying that way. I'm a man now, a new person, and Misha will remind me of that. I don't want their name anymore." But I couldn't go back to Lukas. That seemed wrong. Unless I ever got my memories of my first seven years back, and that was doubtful after all these years, not to mention what I'd discovered in my research, I couldn't be that person. I couldn't be Lukas. I was Misha and only Misha now, for good. I was me, finally finished, finally recovered from the Institute, finally whole. They weren't getting me back and they could keep their damn Peter Pan name.

"Fine. Misha the Mighty." The car bounced again and I heard the muffler hit one rock too many and it was gone behind us. "You got it. Now put that mighty brain to use and figure out how Raynor, and whoever the fuck he works for, found us."

I didn't have to put my brain to work. I knew. In a flash of inspiration…and subconscious brilliant deduction, a given…I knew. "Anatoly and you, Stefan. You both told him where we were."

Raynor was smart all right. Too smart. And we hadn't tried to finish him off when we had the chance. It was a thought I wouldn't have had three years ago—when I hadn't known what it was to have a real life. I wasn't ashamed I had the thought now. I'd learned a lot in those three years. Life and death…it was the cycle of the world. For someone to live, someone had to die—especially if that person was trying to take your life, be it mental or physical.

And me?

I wanted to live.

The hell with the Institute and their lies about what I was and what I could never be.

I wanted to live.

CHAPTER 4

"We need to take the 84. We're heading southeast towards the Burns Paiute Indian Reservation," I told Stefan. I had the route memorized, but I handed him the map from the glove compartment. Stefan didn't like GPS. He thought all the voices were annoying, and when I programmed in HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, he tossed it out the window and drove over it. I'd known Stefan wasn't technically…adept. That was the best and most polite way to put it, but I didn't know he was afraid of killer computers. I thought they were rather entertaining myself. No explaining taste.

He snatched the map. "Burns? Why the hell are we going to…wait. What the fuck. How did Anatoly and I give away our location? How the hell did you come up with that?"

Burns was one of my nine…technically, ten back-up plans if Canada didn't work out, but Stefan didn't seem in the mood to appreciate that right now, and I couldn't blame him. "Raynor must've found Anatoly," I said. "And as smart as he appears to be, Anatoly was smart too. It must have taken him about," I exhaled, "up until four weeks ago to find him. Almost three years."

"But I told you, kiddo, I made sure Anatoly never knew where we were. Never knew were our money was, didn't know our account numbers in the Caymans. Raynor couldn't have found him through us." The car bumped again and I thought I heard something else fall off. I let Stefan's 'kiddo' go. He was running on autopilot, but that would have to change in the future.

"But he did know one thing…all the properties he owned and used to hide. He knew about the beach house where we were shot. Raynor must have gone to every one of them once Anatoly told." And anyone would tell eventually, no matter how Mafiya tough when a saw was cutting through their bone. I cleared my throat. "Raynor would've gone to every single one and dusted for prints then entered them in AFIS," a collection of criminal and certain occupational workers's fingerprints. How he became fixated on Anatoly to begin with was a mystery, but not one I was going to mention to Stefan. "He would've kept them classified. He's Homeland. He can do that. But he would've had them, just waiting for one to pop up."

"Ah, shit." Stefan pounded his head once against the steering wheel. "And my stupid ass fucks up trying to blend in and be 'Harry the handy-man,' good guy, up for a bar fight gets arrested and printed. Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks and he's probably been here watching us at least half that time. Brought along a buddy, not Homeland, but trained. That shithead was trained to fight and kill. He even sends him in to annoy you day after day to see what you'll do. Make sure he has the right kid." I had changed a lot in the past three years—I had my contacts concealing the color of my eyes. I was taller, my hair a little darker, enough for there to be some doubt, although living with Harry/Stefan as my brother, not more than a molecule of it. "He did it to see if he can trigger you."

"And he did," I said quietly. "That means I fucked up too and maybe worse than you."

"I don't think so," he gave my shoulder a light push, "but if you want to share, let's say we both screwed up and you tell me why the hell we're going to the Burns Indian Reservation. Assuming the car holds together to make it to the interstate. The pipe bombs will talk about later, I haven't forgotten. But why the reservation?"

"Oh, the reservation?" Actually he probably was going to forget about the pipe bombs. "That's where the plane is. Didn't I mention that before?"

"Plane? What plane?" he demanded.

"Our plane."

"Our plane? Since when do we have a plane?" His fingers were slowly beginning to whiten as his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"Since I bought one," I replied as if it was the most obvious of answers.

I could see his jaw tightening now as he tried to hold onto his temper. In the beginning when he'd rescued me, taught me how to live in the real world, taught me…hell…everything (even cursing), he was nothing but patient. The most patient, protective ex-mobster you could find, because he knew how damaged I was, which I think might have been only marginally more damaged than he was from guilt and despair. Not once in almost two years did he ever snap or lose his temper with me, even if I deserved it—especially if I deserved it. But after two years he went from treating me as a phantom brother that would disappear at any moment and started treating me like a real brother.

It turned out that I liked that. After two years I wanted to be given a verbal ass kicking when I deserved it (good, more cursing), I wanted to pay off the half-blown up garage with my paycheck from the coffee house, despite us having money in offshore accounts, I wanted all of that. Why? Because that meant no matter how annoying I was and how quickly Stefan would make sure I paid the price, he still always had my back. He still protected me from anyone and anything.

Blood is thicker than bratty behavior.

And while that wasn't a hundred percent correct, I still took it. Good, bad, and all that came between, Stefan would always be my brother, my family, and that was something…that was really something.

"Since you bought one? Why did you buy a plane? How did you buy a plane? Who's going to fly the plane if we need a plane?" Now I could hear his teeth grinding. I tried not to smile, but it was fun…just a little. That didn't make me a bad person. I simply found amusement where I could. That made me emotionally healthy and I could write a one-hundred thousand word paper to prove it.

"I bought one in case some of our other back-up plans didn't work and Raynor cancels out at least three of them. I bought it with the money from the Caymans. Who does our banking, remember? You're horrible with numbers. That's why that old lady hit you with her cane when you were in the ten items only line with sixteen items." I crossed my arms and Godzilla came slithering out from under the seat to paw at the glove compartment. He knew where the goodies where. "Besides it's only a Cessna."

"Only a Cessna? Damn it, Michael, Misha, whatever. The government tracks that sort of thing, especially since 9/11."

"Oh, it was a totally illegal purchase. I have quite a few friends of that sort on the internet, but that time I went to your friend Saul. I told him not to tell you, that it was a surprise. He laughed a lot about that. Then I found one of my friends from the net who said there were a few people with flexible morals at the Burns Indian reservation who would hide it for us in case we needed it." Like now. With Raynor, we definitely needed a plane, because he was going to the same place we were: the Institute. Not that that's where he'd think we'd go. I imagined he thought that was the very last place we'd go. A man like him wouldn't understand trying to save what you could own instead. No, he knew it was the best place to get his own fresh from the oven-baked assassin, a very special one, because he'd seen what I could do when merely annoyed by a fake tourist. He wanted to be prepared. He didn't know I wouldn't use what I had in me to kill…that I wasn't like him or Jericho.

I hoped.

"What? They're hiding a plane? Jesus, they'll think we're terrorists, and you hauling around pipe bombs isn't going to help with that impression." His knuckles where bone-white now, and he was going to get hoarse soon if his voice became any louder.

"No, don't be ridiculous. I thought about that, so I told them we're drug dealers" I said with the complacent certainty I had in any of my plans I'd thought up. The Institute had taken my life, but they had taught me to plan like a son of a bitch. More cursing. It seemed I only needed adrenaline to bring it out in me. I probably shouldn't have been pleased by that accomplishment, but I was.

"Drug dealers? And they believed you?" Now he was looking at me, not the road, which wasn't the best way to drive, and that amber I'd never seen directed at me was beginning to glint in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't they?" I reassured. He no doubt thought I'd made a mistake. Big brothers were like that…always questioning the younger ones. Never letting us grow up. "I pay them to grow marijuana. It took them a while to get…the hang of it? Right, the hang of it–that's how they refer to it, but last month they finally said they figured out the correct temperature, hydration, where to get better grow lights and said they have a great crop now."

He blinked, his darker skin turning nearly as red as a sunburn. Pulling the car over into the emergency lane, he turned back and rested his forehead on the steering wheel and said nothing. I waited about five minutes. It was just a plane and some barely illegal drugs, which I thought should be legal. It was no worse than beer. Of course, I wasn't allowed to drink beer yet as I wasn't twenty-one and Stefan was as strict as a TV grandmother on things like that. Plane, drugs only just illegal…and if I could've gotten a doctor involved, maybe not illegal at all—surely five minutes was enough to recover from my 'surprise.'

I patted him on the back. "Are you okay? Was the healthy breakfast too healthy? Did it upset your normal intestinal workings? Do you want a Three Musketeers to counter-act the health?"

"Tui nemnogaya dermo," he said without lifting his head.

I stopped patting. "You little shit? You called me a little shit. I am as tall as you now. I am not little."

"But you are a shit. What happened to that agreeable kid who used to be afraid of grocery stores? Who only scared me when he wanted the sex-talk? Where did the pipe bomb building drug lord come from?" He leaned his head back against the head-rest and covered his eyes. "Where did I go wrong?"

I wasn't offended. In fact if I'd known it would be this much fun, I'd have told Stefan about all my plans…although some of the others might give him a heart attack…at least a year ago. I grinned, even if he couldn't see it, and punched him hard in the shoulder. "I grew up."

FROM ROB:

As you can tell, if you've read CHIMERA, Michael has come into his own in almost three years, but is his own quite the right way to go? We'll see… Also, this excerpt has not been edited yet, so there will be errors. No need to point them out. I have anal-retentive copy editors with the publisher who love doing that.

More Like This...

The CHIMERA Novels
CHIMERA: Book One
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 16
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 23
Ask Cal Leandros & Michael Korsak
New Rob Thurman Facebook Fan Page
BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest
Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!
Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook
BASILISK: Chimera Book 2, Chapter 11
Brand-New BASILISK Excerpt! [Chapter 11]

Brand-New BASILISK Excerpt! [Chapter 11]

BASILISK [08.02.11]
Rob Thurman; ROC Fantasy
ISBN: 978-0451464149
LibraryThing • Google Books

BookFinder • Good Reads • Shelfari

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

Borders | IndieBound | Powell's Books

CHAPTER 11

Damn, I was certain the dosage would be high enough to knock the Chimera out. I started after him, weaving between cots, and then skidded to a stop. Stefan heard it at the same time I did. Half a step behind me, he grabbed my arm and ran, yanking me along with him. He didn't need to. I was as fast and running over the top of bodies and their various crushed organs didn't faze me. Stefan, despite his Mob background, flinched slightly but didn't let it slow him down either. We hit the right wall of the room simultaneous to the semi-tractor trailer crashing through the front of the building. Stefan was knocked to the floor by a falling piece of ceiling. I was thrown forward by the slam of an upended cot against my back.

I'd known the building was structurally unsound by looking at it when we arrived, but I'd underestimated the instability of it. Perfect for an explosion, I'd thought and it was a meth lab. I'd been on the alert for trip wires, any evidence that the lab upstairs would be blown. But that would've been a repetitive of the last attempt on our lives…the establishing of a pattern. Patterns were to be avoided; they ignited suspicion in the authorities. Bought and paid for indentured assassins were taught to avoid that. But I knew to listen and watch for other traps as well. I was facing down my own who'd received the same training as I had. The instant I heard the full throttle roar of an engine, I knew. That Stefan knew too didn't surprise me. The longer we were together, the more I saw how similar our lives had been in the things we'd been taught to do and the things we'd actually done.

It sucked for us both.

It sucked more when the building collapsed on top of us.

* * *

"Get away from him, you son of a bitch. Touch him again, and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Stefan….

Only Stefan could put that much grim promise in the word ever.

Hazy…everything was hazy, lazy, dazy, wavy. No…no z's in wavy. It was dark and bright and red and dark again. The rapid switch didn't improve the hazy, lazy, dazy any.

"Sir, we're trying to help him. He could have a crush injury to his chest. That can be fatal, do you understand? He has a pneumothorax—one of his lungs is deflated. He probably has blood building up around his heart. We have to stabilize him now or he'll die. You got that? He'll die. Now get the hell back. Lenny, where the hell are the cops? We need them on this guy."

Cops. That would be bad. That had the haze fading faster as I felt my adrenaline increasing on its own, doing what a chimera's body was built to do. I helped it with what I'd learned in the past years. I increased the adrenaline ten-fold. That much would be detrimental and lethal to a human, to me it was fuel accelerating the healing.

"Jesus, he's going into some serious sinus-tach. What the fuck? Four hundred and fifty beats? Jackie, the cardiac monitor is screwed. Get the back up monitor!"

EMTs, paramedics-any medical personnel, chimeras would not be good for their mental health as we made all their medical knowledge useless. I knitted the hole that had been torn in my lung back together, massive amounts of cells rushing to meet, the three broken ribs would have to wait. I flooded my system with endorphins to dull the pain. There was some small amount of blood around my heart. I had my blood vessels reabsorb it. Opening my eyes, I lifted a hand and pulled the irritating endotracheal tube used to intubate me out of my throat and whacked the EMT on the head with it. It wasn't very polite of me, as he was trying, in his mind, to save my life, but the only thing he could do was slow the process down, do more harm than good. Stefan knew that, which was why he was threatening to beat the shit out of my would-be angel of mercy.

"No." He had his arm around my shoulders and was helping, if helping was half-carrying, me to the SUV. Two buildings down. It hadn't seemed far when we'd parked. It seemed a half a hemisphere walk now. I vaguely noticed his other arm was pointed behind us as he crabbed us along sideways. He was holding his gun on the EMTs. None of them were inclined to die to take me to the hospital for a Snoopy band-aid. "You were hit by a semi and then a building fell on you. You are incapable of doing things the easy way, aren't you?"

"Hit by a semi and lived." My grin stretched wider.

"Clipped," Stefan elaborated. He had no grin or smile.

I ignored him. "I'm indestructible." The s in indestructible was slurred, but I didn't mind. I was the king. I told Stefan so. "I'm the king. All hail the king." I decided I felt too good to walk and gave up. Forget the cops, napping on the sidewalk sounded like a great idea. We were about ten feet from the SUV when I decided that. Stefan half lifted me with one arm and carried me like a sack of potatoes, which was no way to treat the king, the rest of the way while Saul opened the door to the backseat from inside. He put his hands under my shoulders and eased me in while Stefan slammed the door behind me. Saul jumped behind the wheel and Stefan reappeared at the other side of the SUV, climbed in, and lifted my head to rest in his lap.

"Get us the hell out of here, Saul."

"Yeah, like you had to tell me that, oh great master criminal. Jesus." I could feel the SUV already moving and moving fast from the screech of tires. "What is it with these damn little psychotics and destroying buildings? I nailed one in the chest as he was coming out the back. He had black hair, about eighteen. I think it was that Peter kid. He came out the second floor window, flipped up over to the roof and then jumped to the next building. Like goddamned Spiderman. He was weaving though. I was going to go after him but then Rome fell. I think you need to juice up your tranq-cure, kid."

"You've no…idea." The sun through the window sparkled in a thousand colors. I didn't know there were a thousand colors. "He grew up, same as me. Stronger now. He's not a rhino anymore. He's four or five rhinos. Up the dose. Definitely. Up. Up up and away."

Stefan's thumb gently peeled back my eyelid. "Been practicing, huh?" I had said that, hadn't I? Before we'd gone into the pawn shop. "On the healing I'm guessing. Not even chimeras can fix a deflated lung and blood pooling around your heart in minutes. And somehow you're doped to the gills though I didn't let that guy give you anything. Your pupils are huge."

"That's the adrenaline for healing and the endorphins for…I'm hungry." I tried to sit up. Stefan held me down easily with a hand on my forehead and one on my chest. I wasn't simply hungry. I was starving. I'd pushed my body to extremes I'd hoped I had in me but hadn't been completely sure until now. It took massive amounts of energy to do what I'd done, and I needed to replenish it. But when I tried to explain, replenish sounded more like plenrish. I said it several more times until it was less of a word and more a mouthful of oatmeal. Which only made me hungrier. Oatmeal…Ariel liked oatmeal with brown sugar, cinnamon, and maple syrup. Ariel was hot. Not just hot…what'd they say…yeah…smoking hot.

Did Ariel think I was hot?

"Am I hot?" I asked Stefan. "Smoking hot? Think Ariel thinks I'm smoking hot?"

"Yeah, you're the sexiest motherfucker on the planet, Misha." There were so many emotions behind the blood on his face, but right now I couldn't read two of them. Exasperation. Worry. Too much worry. "Now enough with the endorphins. You must have more in you than you'd find swimming around in fifty marathon runners combined. Cut back on them enough to be lucid, would you?"

The sirens behind us were louder and closer and who needed to be lucid to know that wasn't good? "Shit." Stefan twisted his head. "I made it through the mob years without having to shoot at a cop once. Doesn't it goddamn figure? Think I can hit the tires of three police cars?"

"Gun." My tongue felt thick, but I could do the little words. Cake of piece. Or something like that. "Micro. Wave. Gun."

"Okay, that I approve of. Beats pipe bombs by a mile. Where the hell is it?" He leaned over me, careful not to rest any weight on my chest and dug around in my duffle bag. "Damn it!" I saved my sympathy. He'd packed the bags when they'd come after Raynor, Ariel and me.

"Forget? Old. Senile. We need a drugstore…adult diapers."

"Misha, seriously. Dial down the damn endorphins. Jesus, finally." He yanked the microwave gun out of my backpack, rolled down the window, and holding me against him with one hand as we rose up off the seat, he leaned out and fired. "Christ, it worked." As if anything I built wouldn't work. He fired two more times and there were no more sirens. Easing back inside, he dropped the gun in the floorboards.

Way to save our ass, kid," Saul said from the front. "You done good."

"Always do good. I'm brilliant. The most brilliant genius to…." I lost my train of thought and then caught a more important one. "Still hungry."

Saul, emergency kit." Stefan lifted his hand from my chest and caught the bag that sailed back. Stefan didn't go anywhere with me, on the run or living our once peacefully mundane lives in Cascade, without food. I didn't know if chimeras in general required more calories than humans or it was merely me, but I out-ate Stefan three times over.

Out-ate.

Which reminded me again.

Food.

Now.

Hungry.

Stefan had a ham sandwich half unwrapped. I snatched it clumsily from his hand and took huge bites, swallowing without chewing. While I ate, I did what Stefan suggested and eased back on the endorphins, although I hated to see the rainbows in the streamers of sun disappear. They were nice. Reminded me of home. There they arched over the river and the dam almost every week. It was the reason the bridge that topped the dam was called The Bridge of Heavens. It made more sense than a golden ladder.

But I wasn't dead yet, so no paradise for me.

As I finished the sandwich and eased back on the production of the endorphins, I began to notice things. The pain that stabbed my ribs was one. A point against lucidity. Stefan was the other thing I noticed. When I'd woken up, I'd seen him covered in dirt, dust, and blood. He hadn't been hit or clipped by a semi, but a building had fallen on him as it had me. "Are you…." I grimaced and braced my ribs with my hand. "Are you all right?" My body wasn't close to full capacity yet. I couldn't feel if he was hurt or not. My lingering damage took precedent and I couldn't change that. The body's self-preservation overrode what my mind ordered it to do. I raised my other hand and swiped at the blood-dust paste on his face to see the damage. There were several cuts and scrapes but they weren't bad. The blood was from them and his nose. It didn't look broken though. All superficial, but that was nothing compared to what could be going on inside him.

"I'm all right," he assured. "Sore and getting less and less male model material all the time, but I'll live."

I wouldn't be satisfied until I knew for myself. Lucid and determined, both made me inescapable. "More food," I demanded grimly, opening my eyes. I went through three more sandwiches and two Gatorades in five minutes. It helped. My ribs were healing, but not instantly. Bone was slower to repair than anything else. After eating I laid quiet, Stefan's legs remaining my pillow. With my eyes shut, I concentrated on stretching my limits further. Damn stubborn bone. "Does your back or neck hurt? Your abdomen, chest, head?"

Stefan had explained while I was eating how part of the ceiling had dropped, one end resting on top of the semi and the other landing on top of him where he'd been flung to the floor. It had been what had shielded us from chunks of the second floor and saved our lives. There'd been barely enough room for him to grab and drag me with him as he tunneled through tangled cots and debris to crawl under the semi and out the hole it had knocked in the front wall. He also was filling in Saul on what had happened with Peter when I'd interrupted with my woefully inadequate attempt at a diagnostic.

"I'm fine, Misha," he reiterated. "I'm a muscle-bound human. You're a skinny chimera who lies like a dog." He gave me a napkin to wipe his blood from my hand. Some of it along with dirt and dust had ended up on the sandwiches, but I was too ravenous and too set on feeding the healing process to care. "Of the two of us who do you think is going to walk away?"

I wanted to snort, but I knew what my ribs would think of that. "I'm athletic, like a runner."

I had the self-esteem to know that was true. The six and a half times I'd had sex no one had any complaints about my body. In fact they'd enjoyed the look of it and definitely enjoyed what I could do with it. I read up on the subject before-hand. I wanted to do it right and from the reactions, I thought I had…excepting the half time, which had been my first. The books said that was normal too. "So what if I'm not a walking triangle of steroids," I added. That, however, was completely untrue, but if I couldn't have endorphins, I could sting my brother…and distract him. He was joking with me, but there was no humor in it. In less than twenty-four hours I'd been kidnapped, in a car wreck, hit by a truck, and had a building fall on me. As brothers went, I was high-maintenance.

As an apology, when I asked for a candy bar, I broke off half and gave it to him. With my obsession with food, there was no higher gesture. He accepted it with all the gravity it deserved. Or he was mocking me. Either way, the graveyard shadows in his eyes receded and that was enough for me.

As I was giving Godzilla who'd been curled, chirping nervously, on my stomach a peanut from the Payday bar, Saul put down the visor against the searing Tucson light sunglasses couldn't handle and said, "I don't get it. You said they killed all those gang bangers in there. That punk ass teenage Jim Jones said this wasn't about Michael being good enough to join up with their Sesame Street serial killer family after all. Why weren't the rest of them there? Besides the one driving the truck?" Who had gotten away so quickly Saul hadn't seen if it was a girl or a boy. Hadn't seen anyone period. "Why didn't they stay put and try to kill us or, for God's sake, give us a chance to do the same to them?"

"Because they're not done playing yet." My muscles tightened. The moment was coming. I'd put it off as long as I could, too long. A combination of Institute ingrained secrecy and something else. Once I was free I'd picked up quickly the practice of denial. Inside Institute walls, it was impossible. Outside them, it was a drug. Mental heroin. The more you did, the more you'd do. I was headed straight into cold-turkey rehab now.

"Peter didn't say play. He said punish," Stefan said quietly, but unyielding. He'd been patient with my evasions these past few days, giving me the chance to prove I was the man I said I was. That patience was over. "Why do they want to punish you? What did all Peter's bullshit mean?"

The moment was closer, its consequence-laden breath on the back of my neck.

I sat up slowly, Stefan's hand bracing me. Godzilla slithered to the floorboards in search of more peanuts. I settled against the seat, giving my ribs a chance to get used to the change of position and increased pain. It was all done slowly, but not as slowly as I answered Stefan. "It means Peter knows more than he's saying."

"He's not the only one, is he?"

The moment was here.

"No," I said, "he's not."

It was time for the truth and I told it. The majority of it. There was one thing I held back. Among other things I told them Peter knew about the cure. What I didn't tell was the truth of the cure itself. I had to. If I had, the only cure for the chimeras would be a bullet to their brains. Killing thirteen teenagers and children, murderous or not, that would be on Stefan and Saul's consciences for the rest of their lives. I wasn't going to let them carry that with them, especially when I couldn't take part of that weight myself.

I wasn't a killer, a vow to myself—not one that I wouldn't break, but one that I couldn't.

Not a killer, never again.

I was a liar though.

And a manipulator.

A deceiver.

A hypocrite.

What good is a conscience if it lets you commit every evil under the sun save one?

No damn good at all.

More Like This...

The CHIMERA Novels
CHIMERA: Book One
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 16
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 23
[New 08.02.11] BASILISK: Chimera, Book 2
BASILISK: Chimera, Book 2 Chapters 3 & 4
Ask Cal Leandros & Michael Korsak
Love to My CHIMERA Reavers on Twitter...
BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest
Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!
Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook

Brand-New BASILISK Excerpt!

Chapter 11

Damn, I was certain the dosage would be high enough to knock the Chimera out. I started after him, weaving between cots, and then skidded to a stop. Stefan heard it at the same time I did. Half a step behind me, he grabbed my arm and ran, yanking me along with him. He didn't need to. I was as fast and running over the top of bodies and their various crushed organs didn't faze me. Stefan, despite his Mob background, flinched slightly but didn't let it slow him down either. We hit the right wall of the room simultaneous to the semi-tractor trailer crashing through the front of the building. Stefan was knocked to the floor by a falling piece of ceiling. I was thrown forward by the slam of an upended cot against my back. [ Click for More ]

More Like This...

The CHIMERA Novels
CHIMERA: Book One
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 16
CHIMERA: Book 1, Chapter 23
[New 08.02.11] BASILISK: Chimera, Book 2
BASILISK: Chimera, Book 2 Excerpt
Ask Cal Leandros & Michael Korsak
Love to My CHIMERA Reavers on Twitter...
BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest
Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!
Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook

Godzilla the Ferret Poll on Facebook

[image error]Okay, so… speaking of homicidal ferrets, do you think Michael should follow Cal's Salome-Spartacus lead and adopt a second pet to keep Godzilla busy? If so, what kind of pet should he adopt? Head on over to Rob's Facebook poll and vote! You can write your own answers in, too… I think those are cracking me up the most! -Jayda

Vote for Gozilla's New Playmate Here

 

 

 

Get Ready for BASILISK: Read CHIMERA!

CHIMERA: The CHIMERA Novels, Book 1

Reavers!

Just coming up for air from deadline-mania for a minute to remind you that now is the perfect time to get caught up on CHIMERA.

Most reavers have had to wait a little over a year… you who have not yet read are at an advantage, here: if you read CHIMERA Book One now [like... over the weekend? hint-hint], you won't have to wait at ALL for book two. And BASILISK is really not at all a stand-alone book, there's a huge twist in CHIMERA that you really must read for yourself to understand everything about Michael, Stefan and their relationship as it grows in BASILISK. Also, CHIMERA is told in Stefan's POV, while BASILISK will be told in Michael's.

If you tweet about CHIMERA as you read it, I'll "Fan Follow Friday" you. Make sure you put @Rob_Thurman in your tweets so I don't miss you.

So there you have it: good reasons to get caught up on CHIMERA NOW… so… go! Get to readin' and a-reavin'!

BASILISK Virtual Launch Party / Contest

Click for Party / Contest Details

All right, everyone… here it is!

Participate in the BASILISK Virtual Launch Party and you will get secret access to Cal Leandros Book 7, DOUBLETAKE. You will also be entered in a prize drawing. You do not need to purchase anything to win or participate!

I myself cannot wait to see how BASILISK looks with my plush Cthulhu. And if ONLY I had a pet ferret – he would SO be posing next to my copies of CHIMERA and BASILISK. I, of course, won't have access to prizes, but I'm just looking forward to all the fun ways to get the word out about BASILISK next week!

If you have any questions on contest/party details, post your comments here or send an email to: basilisk@robthurman.net.

Signing Off For Now…

-Jayda