A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) Read online

  Now he was human. Permanently.

  To test this, Thorn tried to force his spirit up out of his physical body, as he’d been able to do in the Sanctuaries. The sun’s reds and oranges had softened to pinks and purples by the time Thorn was satisfied that he could not. His spirit and his body were one and the same. For the first time, Thorn’s physical brain housed everything that made him him, just like all the other humans.

  An entire mind made out of cells, he thought in amazement. Out of physical neural tissue. The concept was as strange to him now as it had always been. But it was beautiful.

  Thorn strode to the lake’s shore and gazed down into the water’s reflection. The man he saw there was in his early thirties—somewhat younger than his past human incarnations had been, and with different enough facial features that the police wouldn’t recognize him. He reached his hands back between his shoulder blades, and was relieved to find no stubs of wings there.

  Fantastic!

  He had to see his smooth back for himself—he’d never thought to do so before, during his previous stints as a human. He yanked off his tie and tugged at his constricting jacket hard enough that the buttons popped off. He threw both items of dress into the lake. Good luck to anyone who ever tries to force me into a suit again. Then he ripped off his white dress shirt, exposing his new skin to the faint tickle of the evening wind.

  Musky lake water, a thousand different types of pollen, and even the smell of his own skin wafted into Thorn’s nostrils as he bent backward over the edge of the lake. Turning his head, he was just barely able to catch a glimpse of the smooth contours of his reflected human back. And then gravity, to which he was unaccustomed, tipped him too far.

  A dull rush swamped his ears and cool water splashed against his face, up his nose, and down his legs. He thrashed around, trying to swim. After all that I’ve been through, I’d better not drown now. In his confusion, he inhaled a deep gulp, and nearly panicked before realizing that he’d breathed in mostly air. He coughed a few times, then stood up. He was only waist-deep in the lake.

  Thorn cracked up. He whacked at the water, spraying glimmering orange droplets. He splashed again, more deeply, and this time the surge of liquid glanced across his face. The couple in the gazebo gawked at his chortling, but Thorn didn’t care. He slid off his shoes and merrily threw each one toward the humans. They yelped but remained put, so Thorn balled up his socks and threw those as well. After another half minute of Thorn’s laughing, the onlookers scuttled away.

  Thorn sloshed around in the lake until the sun had vanished and the city’s lights shone brilliantly through late dusk. Then he waded through the shallows some more, relishing the feel of the water lapping against him. He waited for the stars to come out before he leaped out of the lake. Then he ran forward, the ground thumping against his wet feet, cold wind bracing his flesh as each exhilarating jolt resounded through his knees, reminding him that he was truly, finally, alive.

  16

  They met on a hillside, the girl and her demon. She wore a sleeveless, knee-length viridian dress covered with white polka dots. He wore a sky blue polo shirt with khaki shorts. Small white clouds drifted in front of the morning sun.

  The hill sloped downward away from them, past a hundred other people picnicking on blankets, relaxing on lawn chairs, or flying kites with their families. Pet dogs chased each other across the fields. Atlanta’s treetops and rooftops stretched to the horizon.

  Thorn and Amy looked at none of this. They were looking at each other.

  Thorn had always had difficulty making friends. And, as Thorn knew all too well, so had Amy. Even though they’d helped each other through the greatest trials of their respective lives, they’d never before met under ordinary circumstances. Now Thorn didn’t know how to behave around her, and he felt distressingly self-conscious—poetically so, given the mountains of anxiety beneath which he’d buried Amy over the years. Am I standing straight enough? Am I walking like a normal human? Do I smell? The questions kept coming. After neither he nor Amy had spoken for minutes, he was forced to shut the nagging uncertainties out.

  But Amy spoke first. “I don’t know you as well as I would like to,” she said.

  Thorn grinned. “And I don’t know you as well as I should.”

  … And the conversation reached gridlock again. Amy giggled. Thorn laughed. He considered asking her what she’d told the police, or what she’d told Shelley about her adventure at the courthouse. He almost asked what the doctors had thought of her wounds healing so abruptly. And then he thought it might be pertinent to inquire about Amy’s mom, how she was weathering this tumultuous month, and if Amy was planning to live with her, or back at her dorm. For that matter, perhaps Thorn should ask how school was going for her.

  But small talk seemed oddly beneath them. Their connection went deeper than that. Dammit, why am I so tongue-tied?

  “I, uh, I paid your debt to Lexa,” Thorn stammered.

  Amy goggled at him. “You what?”

  “Your, uh, your tuition too. I’ve got your tuition covered through your graduation, if you’ll accept it.”

  Amy stumbled in place. Her knees looked like they were fighting to give out, and like she was fighting back.

  “I, uh… uh, wow. I…” She steadied herself. She looked up at him with overflowing curiosity. “What’s your name? Your real name. You’re not really called Thorn, are you?”

  She had a good point. Thorn hadn’t yet considered what to call himself on Earth. His current moniker was likely to brand him as a gang member or a failed rock singer, so a new name would be necessary. But what other name could he become comfortable with? Balthior? Obviously not.

  “Virgil,” Thorn said. “My name is Virgil.”

  Amy smiled a smile so big that it might have gone all the way down to her heart. Self-consciousness reared its head again as Amy tried and failed to hold back her stunning grin. “Well, Virgil, I’d like to get to know you.”

  She lightly touched his hand, and it felt like she’d touched every nerve on his body at once. He pulled away. “I, um, I’ve done a lot of bad things,” he said. “I’ve hurt a lot of people, including you.”

  She took his hand again, and though it felt just as exciting as the first time, Thorn calmed himself and let her touch him.

  “Have you changed?” she asked.

  “Yes. Dear god, yes.” He looked down into her sunlit copper eyes.

  “Then we’ll work through it,” she said.

  Amy’s words encouraged Thorn a bit, but his unease suddenly blossomed into full-fledged doubt. Silky whispers groped at the back of his mind, threatening him with thoughts of inadequacy, ridiculing his affection, urging him to leave Amy, warning him that any loving relationship between himself and a human was bound to fail. His aspirations were purposeless, the whispers said. They pricked at him, prodded at him, tried to bend him to their will.

  With the meticulousness of an inquisitive demon lost in the dark, Thorn considered everything the disparate whispers had to say. He didn’t judge, he didn’t assume, and he didn’t take anything on faith.

  In the end, Thorn gazed down on Amy, smiled, and made up his own mind.

  THE END

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  Acknowledgments

  I owe loads of gratitude to Robert Eichenberg, Robin Ingle, Marissa DePasquale, and David Sigurani for their feedback and encouragement during the writing of these Thorn books. Extra special thanks goes to Fedor Steer, whose dedication to this project and willingness to give continued criticism over the span of years is humbling and greatly appreciated. Thank you, Fedor, for offering your sharp eyes to these books from the very beg
inning—and for lending your face to their covers! Thanks also to Reid Nicewonder, for challenging me to always think deeper.

  The largest slice of my Thank You pie goes to David Gatewood, whose deft editing took my raw story and raised it to the next level. David, thank you for your honesty and your keen insight, and for helping me craft these books into something truly special.

  Last but certainly not least, thank you, dear reader. You’re the reason I write. Without you taking a chance on my books, their stories are just thoughts in my head that I happened to scribble on a page. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

  About Joshua Ingle

  Joshua Ingle is a pathologically curious sci-fi and fantasy geek. The Thorn Saga is his first series of books.

  Learn more at www.joshuaingle.com.

  Connect with Josh at www.facebook.com/joshthestoryteller.