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CHOOSER OF THE SLAIN COMPLETE
SERIES BOXED SET
BOOKS 1-9
MICHAEL ANDERLE
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel
are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of
copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you
would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact
support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN® Publishing
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Las Vegas, Nevada 89119 USA
Valkyrie
Into the Battlefield
Requiem for Heroes
Savage Harbinger
Black Wings
Metal Graves
Terminal Fates
Falling Angels
Valkyrie, Inc.
Gray water faded to mist, and mist faded to sky, infinite and lit from
everywhere at once. Waves crashed against sand and stone as the ocean
breathed.
Long, slender boats slid out of the distance and sliced across the water,
leaving rippling V’s in their wake. The prows were curved, high, and proud.
Oars rose and dipped into the water, steady as the beat of drums. Steady as
the beat of her heart.
Time slipped past in confusion. Blurry days, months, and years passed
as ragged traders and raiders became settlers and camps became towns.
The raucous scream of a raven cut through the mist, and she turned
away from the busy little place of men. She drew back out to the beach, to
the place where land met the moody sea.
A lone figure walked along the shore, the long shaft of his spear
thumping in time with his steady footfall. He was tall, taller than the waves,
taller than the sky. His face was shrouded in shadow and mist. Birds
followed him like a dark halo.
He came to her, and she slid to her knees. The coarse sand was rough on
her bare skin.
“You have come.” His voice was like the grinding of millstones,
although there was a softness that felt almost like affection. “You’ve slept
for so long. I’ve missed you.”
Slept? Confusion. Thoughts slid in and out of her, muddled. But I’ve
barely closed my eyes, Grandad.
Was that sound chuckling, or was it the rumbling of the ocean? Or were
they both the same?
The understanding came to her all at once. She wasn’t sleeping. She was
Valerie, and though she might still be safe and warm between her sheets in
an apartment in Virginia, this wasn’t a dream.
“Awaken, Val Kearie.”
The mist swirled. The sea, the distant longboats, and Odin dissolved
into the flutter of dark wings.
“Awaken.”
CHAPTER ONE
Valerie Kearie’s thumbs hovered over the send button on her MeadFeed
app, but she drew in a breath and forced herself to set the phone down. She
took a long sip of cappuccino and waited for her temper to settle. She
counted to ten and looked at her unsent message again.
She frowned as she studied the message. She debated adding a smiley
emoji and decided it would be too condescending. Finally she hit send and
forced herself to turn the phone facedown on the café table. No more phone
during lunch, she promised herself. Certainly no more MeadFeed debates.
When she got going, she could scroll for hours, debating brewing
methods and comparing different melomels with her growing number of
followers. Mead lovers loved ValLovesMead. But she had to be back in the
office in thirty minutes, and it would be nice to at least taste her lunch.
A bell tinkled as a tall woman in a yellow raincoat swept into the café
carrying a mist of midday rain with her. Val sighed and scooted her chair
out of the draft.
“Oh, you don’t have to make room for me. I’ll sit right here.”
Val froze, staring as the woman pulled out the empty chair across from
her and sat.
The stranger had a mane of brassy blonde hair and the kind of massive
dark sunglasses you only saw in movies from the early nineties.
“The name’s Sally.” Raincoat Woman held out a hand and smiled. Her
teeth were too big for her skull. “Sally Snow. Do you have a minute?”
Valerie set down her egg burrito and wiped a bit of cheese from the
corner of her mouth. She did not shake the outstretched hand. “Are you here
to make me an offer I can’t refuse?”
Sally’s broad smile flickered. “What do you mean?”
Valerie frowned, sat back, and looked over her unexpected lunch
companion. “Where do I begin? You just came in out of the rain. Your
jacket has a hood but you weren’t wearing it.
“Why would you bother? You don’t care if your hair gets wet, because
that’s not your real hair. It’s a wig. You’re wearing dark shades on an
overcast day, presumably to obscure your face. Are those three-inch heels
on your boots? Don’t see many of those outside of a strip club.”
Valerie flushed and silently cursed a tongue that had a habit of racing
ahead of her brain. “Uh, that’s just an observation, though.” She held up her
hands. “No offense. I think they’re pretty cute. Your boots.”
The grin returned to Sally’s face. “I knew I should have put in the
colored contacts instead. You get a lot of spooks joining you for lunch, Miss
Kearie?”
“Actually yeah.” Val didn’t bat an eye at hearing Sally speak her name.
“I think I’ve been interviewed by an average of four federal agents a year
since I was in ninth grade and my brothers started applying for clearance
jobs.”
“But I hear most of the agents are coming after you these days.” Sally
set a large handbag on the chair beside her and pulled out a steel thermos.
“I don’t think they like you bringing your own drinks in,” Val observed.
Sally chuckled as she sipped.
“So what are you?” Val straightened and nudged her lunch aside. There
was only a heel of empty tortilla left. “NSA or Homeland Security? I
haven’t heard from them yet.”
“Neither.” Sally smacked her lips in satisfaction. “I represent a private
contracting firm that runs intelligence-gathering operations on behalf of the
federal government.”
Valerie’s eyebrows arched. “Mercenaries.”
Sally drew herself up, offended. “Spies.”
“Spies that trade valuable information for money,” Valerie specified.
“Miss Kearie, everything gets traded for money somewhere down the
line. People gotta eat, after all. We go where Uncle Sam can’t. Or where he
doesn’t want to be seen. Moscow, Pyongyang, Urumqi, northern Syria…
We go in, set up a few information networks, tag a few servers, grease a few
wheels so it’s easier for the official diplomats to do their jobs. No, we’re not
Uncle Sam. We’re his punk little sister, Sal.” Her cheek twitched, which Val
took to mean that Sally had winked behind those black glasses.
Sally finished, “At the end of the day, we’re all family.”
It was such an absurd and unexpected comparison that Val couldn’t help
but snort. She swirled the dregs of cappuccino to give herself a moment to
consider. “That’s a more interesting pitch than the CIA gave me,” she
admitted.
“They wanted you stuck behind a desk at Langley analyzing social
media trends in northern Italy. How boring.”
Valerie snapped to attention. The cheap wig and sunglasses had been a
painfully obvious disguise, but anyone who had ferreted out the contents of
her initial CIA interview must have had some serious intel connections.
What game was this woman playing?
Sally Snow smiled again, teasing from behind her sunglasses. “We’re
looking for a consultant, too. More along the lines of information
management than social media trends. Plus we like our consultants to work
on location, wherever that might be.”
“Oh.” It was all Valerie could think to say. For the first time since she
had sent her application to the State Department and triggered this gauntlet
of covert job interviews conducted by humorless men in business suits, she
felt excited. She knew better than to let it show, however. Daddy hadn’t
taught poker to no fool.
Her poker face must have done its job because Sally kept talking. As
she did, she reached into a pocket in her jacket and drew out a small black
business card. “We’re no MI6, but we take care of our own. I’ve got to run,
Val—can I call you Val?—I’ve got to be across town in twenty. Here’s my
number.” She placed the card facedown on the table and slid it across to
Val.
One of the baristas was clearing tables and drawing closer to them.
Sally grabbed her contraband thermos, slung her bag over her shoulder, and
rose to her feet. She tapped her fingers across the card and mouthed, text
me.
Before the barista could reach them, Sally had turned and was dashing
back into the rain, running like she’d been born in those stripper heels.
“Did she buy anything?” the barista asked, fastidiously wiping nothing
off Val’s table. Valerie smiled stiffly and waited for the barista to move on
before flipping over the card. It was blank, save for a ten-digit phone
number and two words.
Viking Inc.
C H A P T E R T WO
Crysta, Mr. Asher’s personal assistant, bumped into Valerie as she was
climbing the stairs to her second-floor office. Glancing over her shoulder to
make sure they were alone, Crysta leaned in close to whisper into Val’s ear,
“Watch your ass, honey. Mr. Lech is sniffing around your office again.”
Val ground her teeth. “Asher needs to get a damned HR department.”
Crysta gave Val a sympathetic smile. “His name’s on the building, Val.
Even if we had HR, reporting him wouldn’t get you anything but a pink
slip.”
Val glanced at the door and sucked in a steadying breath. “You’re right.
Breaking his nose will be far more satisfying anyway.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Crysta clicked down the narrow
staircase, hips swaying in her pencil skirt.
Val pulled her phone from her pocket, dismissed seven new messages
from MeadFeed, and turned on the camera’s record function. A little bit of
insurance could only be a good thing.
She steeled herself and climbed the last few stairs.
Laurence Asher stood in the empty hallway, leaning against the wall
outside Val’s office like the Fonz in a three-piece suit. He saw Val and
smiled a small I-know-a-secret smile that might have worked if Val were in
a bar looking for an easy hookup. If she didn’t know Laurence Asher.
He straightened as she drew closer. “Valley Girl! I went over your
analysis of the Glendale project. I’m impressed. Your eye for detail is—”
He made a chef’s kiss.
She kept her tone neutral. “Thank you, Mr. Asher.” Val pulled out her
office key and started to slip it into the lock. She frowned when the door
swung open.
“I took the liberty,” Laurence remarked offhandedly. “I wanted to talk to
you in private.”
With casual swiftness, he put a hand on her waist, ushered her into the
room, and shut the door behind him.
Jeez, liberty sure is one word for it, Val thought. She eased away from
his sweaty palm and set her bag and phone on her desk. It was a small desk,
appropriate for a tiny office that had been converted from a janitor’s closet.
She turned to see Mr. Asher, or Mr. Lech, as the rest of the office called him
in private, leaning against her door with his arms crossed. Boxing her in.
“You’re a tough nut to crack, Val.” Laurence studied her from beneath
his heavy brow. “So competent, and yet so solitary. Stoic. Icy, almost. All of
us around here have been wondering when you’ll open up and let us get to
know you better.”
Val spoke deliberately, careful to pronounce each word clearly. “Mr.
Asher. Please don’t touch me. Open the office door. You are making me
uncomfortable. If you wish to talk about my performance, I’d be happy to
schedule a meeting with your father and the three of us can work it out.”
Laurence rolled his eyes. “Dad’s been a wreck since Uncle Gil died. He
doesn’t want to be bothered about this kind of thing. He leaves the matter of
office morale to me.”
“We all miss the other Mr. Asher,” Val agreed. “He was a real
professional. We’re sure that someday you’ll step up and fill his shoes.”
Laurence’s lazy grin faltered. He moved forward, shrinking the already
narrow gap between them. Forced to choose between standing still or
backing into her desk, Val stood her ground.
“Come on.” His voice was quiet, almost friendly, as he slipped a hand
onto Val’s waist above the band of her dress pants, brushing against the hem
of her blouse. “Loosen up. Try to be friendly. It’ll be good for your career.
Think of your future.”
“My future?” Val’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Okay.”
Quick as a snake, she grabbed Laurence Asher by the future.
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Hannes parahti kuin haavoitettu päästyään ylisille, jossa oli hänen
yksinäinen makuutilansa.
Hän tunsi rakastavansa tyttöä, mutta toisin kuin olisi tahtonut. Eikö
hän voisi koskaan rakastaa oikein, rakastaa sielua, ihmistä, eikä
ruumista.
Hän oli varma siitä, että tyttö rakasti häntä niinkuin tyttö ensi
kerran vain voi rakastaa. Tyttö oli sanonut sen ja hänen kirkkaissa
silmissään oli ollut kyynelhuntuinen loiste.
Hannes tunsi selvästi, että jos hän nyt sortuisi, ei hän kehtaisi eikä
voisi katsoa tyttöä enää kertaakaan silmiin. Ja sitä hän ei tahtonut.
Vaikkapa hänen täytyisi jättää tyttö, hänen pitäisi saada katsoa
rehellisesti tyttöä silmiin.
— Enhän voi muutakaan tällä kertaa. Jos vain voit odottaa, niin
minä tulen kerran, ehkäpä piankin luoksesi, puhui poika.
— No, siitä ei puhuta. Jos sinä vain odotat, etkä kättä toiselle
käppää.
— Nyt hyvästi, oma tyttö! Sinä et saa tulla enää. Tiedät, että on
vain vaikeampi minunkin erota. Odota, pian minä tulen.
Mikä risahti?
*****
*****
Mutta jos kerran hän jaksoi, niin miksei tyttökin. Olihan hän
kokonaan toisessa asemassa kuin mies, joka ponnisteli tulevan
polven elämää silmällä pitäen.
— Mistä?
Miehet tulistuivat.
Insinööri naurahti.