Godhunter

Chapter 2

You might be wondering how someone gets into the god-hunting business, and all I can tell you is; hell if I know. I pretty much stumbled face first into it. Like hitting a rock when you're riding a bike at full speed; I went flying and landed in a thorn bush. A burning one. A talking, burning one that proclaimed it was God in a booming voice.

I never really was the religious type. I'm more of a hands-on kinda girl. I've practiced witchcraft my entire life; which I kinda see as a religion of the self. I do mean witchcraft by the way, and not Wicca. I know that's a religion, but I don't practice it; I just do the spells. Wicca's a little too peaceful for me, although, I do like the clothes.

I guess I haven't practiced witchcraft my entire life, but pretty damn close since Mom was teaching me spells in the cradle. Most babies got The cow jumped over the moon; I got sung to about drawing it down. Not that I'm complaining since it's actually helping me out these days, but I've just never seen the gods as a big part of my life.

Boy has that changed.

I walked out of the alley, into the bright Hawaiian sunshine, and held a hand up to shield my eyes. Well, where did you expect the gods to live? Okay, so they don't all technically live in Hawaii, but quite a few do, and those who don't seem drawn here. The land is still filled with old magic; practically spilling with it since there isn't much land, to begin with. So, it's a perfect place for a god to go on vacation. Whatever, it's my home, and I have to say that I'm getting a tired of sharing it with them. They have their own realm to live in; they need to go there. Or they can go to Hell, for all I care... which also happens to be in the God Realm. In fact, from what I understand, there's a few of them. They can take their pick.

About five years ago, I truly started developing a relationship with the Gods, and I'm not talking in the Do you have a relationship with God? Jimmy Swaggart sense. I'm talking about a thorough understanding of how truly evil they are. Read your history books, kiddies; most gods were revered mainly because they were so damn scary.

For me, it all started with s*x. At least, it would have if my chosen partner for the evening hadn't been planning on killing me as a sacrifice to the Hawaiian God of War, Ku. You think you've got some bad date stories.

My young, Hawaiian escort for the evening was everything every female tourist—and some males too, I'm sure—fantasized about on the plane ride over. He was tall, dark, handsome, and built like a brick... well, you get the picture. He also had green eyes; courtesy of some white ancestor who got lucky with a wicked wahine. Green eyes have always been a weakness of mine.

He took me out on a romantic date which ended with us drinking an entire bottle of champagne at a Heiau (a Hawaiian temple). This particular Heiau was dedicated to none other than Ku. Now, I know that doesn't sound too romantic but take into account that the Heiau was situated on a mountaintop overlooking Waimea Bay and the sun was setting. A dark pumpkin sky painting the cerulean sea pink as it crept into a verdant valley spotted with the flight of tropical birds. Can you see the sexy factor yet?

I may have been tipsy when we started. I'd just turned twenty-one so give me a break on the alcohol consumption, but when I looked up and spotted a large local man watching us from the tree line, I sobered up quickly. I shot him a nasty look, but he was focused on my date so he didn't see it. Something in his gaze set off warning sirens in my head—definitely sirens, not bells—and I turned back sharply to find a giant Crocodile Dundee knife plunging towards me.

I had seconds to roll to the side before the blade ended up embedded in the ground; merely nicking my upper arm instead of going through my chest. I turned back towards the knife—effectively removing it from my date's possession and my bleeding arm—as I kicked upwards. I don't know if I hit him there or not, but he howled as if he were in severe pain.

"Ku,"he managed to choke out, "Na waimaka o ka lani."

He launched himself at me and in those few moments, I saw more than you'd think was possible.

I saw the local voyeur come striding to us; hand extended and face rapturous. I saw my hand gripping the blade and turning it. I saw the look of shock on my date's face as the knife slipped into his neck. Internally, I shouted; "That's not a knife, this is a knife,"Australian accent and all, and I almost started to giggle hysterically. It's amazing what the mind will do to protect itself and, as I warned you, I think in movie quotes a lot.

My mind had definitely needed some protection. I used to think those horror movies with blood spraying from neck wounds were ridiculous and inaccurate. I don't think that anymore. You hit a guy in the neck with a big blade, and he bleeds. A lot. All over you if you just so happen to be beneath him at the time. It was extremely messy, to say the least, and potentially mind breaking.

I think the only reason that I didn't start screaming was that someone else beat me to it. The scream I heard was a terrifying mix of rage, frustration, and pain. It yanked my attention to the left, where I found the local man on his knees. He was right next to me; way too close for my comfort. He reached for me, and I didn't think; I just reacted. I didn't aim either. I just shot the knife out straight and followed through with my body.

I was suddenly grateful for all the self-defense classes Mom had insisted that I take. The biggest advantage training can give you is faster action; automatic reaction. Your body moves before your mind has a chance to process things, and it saves you precious, life-granting seconds.

The man was suddenly gasping beneath me; the blade buried in his chest. He started to murmur some words in a language unfamiliar to me. Surprisingly, it wasn't Hawaiian. I panicked and stabbed him again. I knew a spell when I heard one, and I also knew that any spell this guy managed to cast would not be beneficial to my health. He kept going, and I kept stabbing; shutting my eyes to block out the c*****e. I felt as if I had a starring role in Psycho; the original not that stupid Vince Vaughn remake. All that was missing was the shower curtain and that ridiculously horrifying music. Although, the sounds he was making were even more horrific. I didn't open my eyes until he went silent.

The Heiau was gone; replaced by an elegant room in what must have been a multi-million dollar home. That's when I realized that Ku had been chanting a spell to open a tracing point; a doorway to the Aether. The Aether, or the Astral as some call it, is a place of pure consciousness. It's also the link between our world and the realm of the Gods. Think of reality as a spiritual sandwich. The Aether would be all the tasty filling packed between the bread of our worlds. If you wanted to go from one slice to the other, you had to get through the tuna salad first.

Okay; now, I'm hungry.

Anyway, the Aether is also where magic happens. As a witch, I use it for crafting spells. I can tap into it with my mind and create new realities there. It's called spellcraft. Of course, it's not as simple as it sounds. There's a lot of work and usually a few ingredients necessary for magic, but once a witch casts a spell in the Aether, it manifests on the physical plane.

When I was little, my mom told me stories of people who could travel the Aether—a practice called tracing—but the ability had been lost to history. The spells had become scarce and unreliable, the destinations vague, and the potential risks high. To take your physical body, make it pure consciousness, and send it shooting through the Aether to another location was a mind-boggling concept to me. Yet there, beneath me, was proof that it could be done. This man could trace—had in fact taken me along for the ride—and I had just killed him. Great.

His body was a bloody mess; I'd nearly decapitated Ku in my blind attack. I didn't know it at the time, but it's one of the few ways you can kill a god. Don't laugh; there are monsters out there who can put their head back on and keep going without missing a beat. Or just sprout two more. Can you say Hydra? Beheading doesn't always work. I repeat; beheading doesn't always work. Remember to take the heart too. Oh, and burning is usually quite effective as well, but with Gods, the head is the most important part to target. But I digress.

After I had stopped screaming—I was thankful that I'd been able to delay the screaming portion of the evening for as long as I had—I tried to wipe away the blood in a very Lady Macbeth fashion. Out damn spot, out. It was useless. I found the bathroom—not even caring that there could be someone else in the house—and went into the shower fully clothed. I can't even remember how the bathroom looked. All I recall is the way the water ran bright red, and how I stared at it; mesmerized as it swirled down the drain. It was the first time I'd ever killed; as in anything. Well, except for bugs, but I think we can all agree that they don't count.

I stood under the spray, and my body began to shake so I kept adding more hot water. It never occurred to me to take my clothes off. I just sluiced the water off them when I was done and patted myself dry with towels. I remember leaving the towels on the floor like I was an obnoxious hotel guest. What did it matter? Leaving a corpse in the living room trumped towels on the floor every time.

I came out of the bathroom to complete silence. I don't know what I'd been expecting: shouting, screams, perhaps police officers waiting to gun me down. There was no one. I was alone... in the home of a god. It all sank in. The man praying to Ku. The Hawaiian in the trees. The Aetheric Plane. I had killed Ku. One of the main gods of the Hawaiian Pantheon was lying on a white tile floor with his head barely attached because of me. What the hell kind of karma had I just racked up? Would it matter that it was clearly self-defense? I decided that it did. Then I decided to snoop around.

I mean; I didn't even know where I was. As I said, I knew about tracing but had been warned at a very early age never to attempt it. So, I had no idea if I was still in Hawaii or even on the same plane of existence. I had just traced! I could've been anywhere. Tartarus. Niflheim. Minnesota. Oh, please, don't let me be in Minnesota. Well, then again; there is that big mall there.

I crept through the god's house and hoped he that was a bachelor. The last thing I needed was the Mrs. walking in. What's the proper thing to say in that situation? "Hello, Mrs. Ku; lovely home you have, sorry about the corpse of your husband. Oh, and for making your husband into that corpse."That was one conversation that I didn't want to have.

The place was deserted, though. I walked past room after room full of modern Hawaiian furniture—go figure—but no people. The golden gleam of Koa wood merged with Hawaiian textiles everywhere. Wood beams crossed over the high ceilings and creamy white walls were a stark contrast to dark, hand-carved tikis placed artfully around the home. The Hawaiian statues looked as if they were museum quality and were all of the same god. Guess who... yep, him.

A set of sliding glass doors opened to a vast expanse of yard. That in itself screams money when you live in Hawaii; which I was relieved to find myself still inhabiting. Coconut trees crowded the edges of the well-manicured lawn like gossiping socialites at a cocktail party; snubbing the shorter kukui nut trees around them. A retaining wall penned them all in,;preventing any suicidal snubbed kukuis from leaping over the cliff beyond. The house overlooked Waimea Valley. I couldn't see it, but I knew that the Heiau was below and to the right.

You'd think a god would have an ocean view.

Relieved that I wasn't stranded somewhere impossible to return from, I headed back inside. My brain had started to function again, and it was reeling from the reality of my situation. I began to search in earnest; not with thoughts of thievery but merely out of plain curiosity. It wasn't long before I found the one room that seemed special. The big KAPU—Hawaiian for sacred/don't touch—written across the door might have given me a bit of a clue.

For lack of a better word, I'll call the room a study. It was full of books and gadgets I'd never seen before. There were weapons everywhere; not just hanging decoratively on the walls but also scattered across the floor as if they'd been tossed there after a long day at the office, if you catch my drift.

As if that wasn't disturbing enough, a wave of magic washed over me; prickling up my arms. When I turned in its direction, all I saw was a massive book. It sat enthroned on a lectern; watching me with the curiosity of a bored tyrant. Covered in dark brown leather instead of luxurious silk, this book wasn't a bejeweled emperor but a barbarian king. Completely unadorned by gilt or lettering, he needed no crown to proclaim his dominance. Power was decoration enough, and this literary monarch wore it like a battle-honed sword; sheathed but still obviously dangerous. I approached it cautiously, and it chose to be benevolent; granting me access to spells that I never knew existed and information on a race of people who had come from Atlantis. No, not the resort; the actual lost continent.

With new knowledge came renewed fear. It would be wiser to appease my curiosity somewhere else; somewhere safer than the home of a god I'd just decapitated. So, I ran through the house; grabbing up a large bag—a piece of Ferragamo luggage, to be exact; Ku had excellent taste—and hurried back to the study. The book went into the bag and then a couple of the more interesting gadgets went on top. I told myself that I was not a thief; I took them in the interest of knowledge, and besides, Ku did try to kill me; to the winner go the spoils, right?

By the front door, I found a set of keys sitting in a koa bowl. I grabbed them up and continued my panicked flight right out the door; hoping that the spoils included a getaway vehicle. I paused to get my bearings for a moment in a massive, circular, covered drive and located the garage set back to the left. A sleek, black Jaguar with an Eddie Would Go bumper sticker peered out at me indolently.

Eddie being Eddie Aikau, surfer and local hero who was last seen paddling away from the stranded Hokule'a canoe to fetch help. I shouldn't have been surprised to see that little bit of homage to local culture, but I was. I mean, damn; I'd just found out that the Gods were real; picturing them purchasing motivating bumper stickers was just a little too much for me. Then I noticed the vanity plate. KuKuK'chu stood out against the rainbow background of the Hawaii license plate. Humph; Ku was a Beatles fan and, evidently, he was also the Walrus.

I spared one second to giggle—nearly on the verge of hysterics—and then jumped in behind the wheel. In no time, I was zipping down a private drive and breaking with a squeal when I came to an imposing iron gate. I searched the car frantically and finally found the remote clipped to the passenger-side visor. With shaking hands, I hit the button and hit the road.

I haven't dated a local boy since.