Title: The Younger Gods
Author: Michael R. Underwood
The first in a new
series from the author of Geekomancy (pop culture urban fantasy) and
Shield and Crocus (New Weird superhero fantasy).
Jacob Greene was a sweet boy raised by a loving, tight-knit family…of cultists. He always obeyed, and was so trusted by them that he was the one they sent out on their monthly supply run (food, medicine, pig fetuses, etc.).
Finding himself betrayed by them, he flees the family’s sequestered compound and enters the true unknown: college in New York City. It’s a very foreign place, the normal world and St. Mark’s University. But Jacob’s looking for a purpose in life, a way to understand people, and a future that breaks from his less-than-perfect past. However, when his estranged sister arrives in town to kick off the apocalypse, Jacob realizes that if he doesn’t gather allies and stop the family’s prophecy of destruction from coming true, nobody else will…
Jacob Greene was a sweet boy raised by a loving, tight-knit family…of cultists. He always obeyed, and was so trusted by them that he was the one they sent out on their monthly supply run (food, medicine, pig fetuses, etc.).
Finding himself betrayed by them, he flees the family’s sequestered compound and enters the true unknown: college in New York City. It’s a very foreign place, the normal world and St. Mark’s University. But Jacob’s looking for a purpose in life, a way to understand people, and a future that breaks from his less-than-perfect past. However, when his estranged sister arrives in town to kick off the apocalypse, Jacob realizes that if he doesn’t gather allies and stop the family’s prophecy of destruction from coming true, nobody else will…
Michael R. Underwood is the author of
Geekomancy, Celebromancy, Attack the Geek, Shield and Crocus, and
The Younger Gods. By day, he’s the North American Sales
& Marketing Manager for Angry Robot Books. Mike grew up devouring
stories in all forms, from comics to video games, tabletop RPGs, movies,
and books. He has a BA in Creative Mythology and
East Asian Studies, and an MA in Folklore Studies. Mike has been a
bookseller, a barista, a game store cashwrap monkey, and an independent
publishers’ representative. Mike lives in Baltimore with his fiancée, an
ever-growing library, and a super-team of dinosaur
figurines and stuffed animals. He is also a co-host on the
Hugo-nominated Skiffy and Fanty Show. In his rapidly vanishing
free time, Mike studies historical martial arts and makes homemade
pizza. He blogs at MichaelRUnderwood.com/blog and Tweets
@MikeRUnderwood.
Excerpt:
I’d never met lycanthropes before. There were no packs in the Dakotas.
My father and grandmother had seen to that
years ago.
I was starting to understand why. Our family’s sorcerous might was
unmatched, but a wolf moving through thick brush, especially with a pack
at her back, could make quick work of an unprepared sorcerer, unless the
sorcerer was willing to bring down an entire forest to protect themselves.
It’s what Grandmother had done.
One of the many races made by the gods in the first days, lycanthropes
could move among humans without notice, only revealing their power
when they wished. When their creator, the moon, was strongest, so were
they.
Antoinette cleared her throat. “I am Antoinette Laroux. And a friend
told me to show you this.” She produced the Nataraja statue, holding it
out in the scant inches between herself and the looming wolfwoman.
The woman chuffed once, very canine in that moment, all pretense of
humanity cast aside. She looked Antoinette dead in the eyes, then sized her
up, gaze going to her feet and then
back up to her eyes.
She took a single step back.
“So you know the Nephilim. Fine. Why are you here?” “Someone’s
after the Hearts. She’s trying to awaken the
Younger Gods.”
The wolves snarled as one.All of them, the woman included. “And
you’re here, what, to warn us? As if we aren’t always on guard? There’s
precious little of the earth left in this place.
You think we aren’t always vigilant?”
“We want to help,” I said, breaking with Antoinette’s request.
The woman snapped at me, baring her teeth. “You smell of the Deeps,
boy.”
Again, judged before I was known. Even thousands of miles away from
my family’s center of power, I was just a Greene to them. Even if I
bested Esther, would I ever be rid of that stain, or would I carry it with me
my whole life, my family’s sins painted clearly across my face with the
distinctively bland look of our family?
My father and grandmother had seen to that
years ago.
I was starting to understand why. Our family’s sorcerous might was
unmatched, but a wolf moving through thick brush, especially with a pack
at her back, could make quick work of an unprepared sorcerer, unless the
sorcerer was willing to bring down an entire forest to protect themselves.
It’s what Grandmother had done.
One of the many races made by the gods in the first days, lycanthropes
could move among humans without notice, only revealing their power
when they wished. When their creator, the moon, was strongest, so were
they.
Antoinette cleared her throat. “I am Antoinette Laroux. And a friend
told me to show you this.” She produced the Nataraja statue, holding it
out in the scant inches between herself and the looming wolfwoman.
The woman chuffed once, very canine in that moment, all pretense of
humanity cast aside. She looked Antoinette dead in the eyes, then sized her
up, gaze going to her feet and then
back up to her eyes.
She took a single step back.
“So you know the Nephilim. Fine. Why are you here?” “Someone’s
after the Hearts. She’s trying to awaken the
Younger Gods.”
The wolves snarled as one.All of them, the woman included. “And
you’re here, what, to warn us? As if we aren’t always on guard? There’s
precious little of the earth left in this place.
You think we aren’t always vigilant?”
“We want to help,” I said, breaking with Antoinette’s request.
The woman snapped at me, baring her teeth. “You smell of the Deeps,
boy.”
Again, judged before I was known. Even thousands of miles away from
my family’s center of power, I was just a Greene to them. Even if I
bested Esther, would I ever be rid of that stain, or would I carry it with me
my whole life, my family’s sins painted clearly across my face with the
distinctively bland look of our family?
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