1The God Raiser
“It’s Lloyd-Henry, right? Or do you prefer Lloyd?” The therapist welcomes me with a smile.
“Lloyd is fine.” I’d prefer my true name, but no one has spoken it aloud in centuries.
“Come on in. I’m Dr. Jekyll.” His voice is low, soothing. Designed to put people at ease, to lower their resistance.
I know that sort of voice all too well. If I had enough time with this doctor, I could charm him into doing anything I wanted. And I won’t lie—it’s tempting.
But I’m not here to exercise my powers today. I’m here because I could use some fucking therapy. I’ve tried almost everything else to cope with what’s happening to me.
This is my final stop before I go tothem. This man is my last chance. The best in the business of healing minds…or at least the best in Nashville, Tennessee, where fate has led me. No, “led” is too gentle a word—I was discarded here. Cast away like a piece of garbage.
“Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.” Dr. Jekyll glances down at his clipboard as I drop into an armchair. “You mentionedyou’re feeling a lot of stress from work. Do you want to maybe talk about that a little bit?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Tell me about what you do.”
“I manage a lot of projects, a lot of people.” I prop my ankle on my knee and try to look relaxed. “Lately I’ve been letting things slip. I’ve been…failing.”
The word tastes bitter in my mouth, but it’s time to say it.
“Failing.” The doctor leans back in his desk chair, tapping his chin with the end of his pen. “That’s a strong word. What’s an instance where you believe you failed?”
What would he say if I told him the truth? That I’ve been working tirelessly for decades—no, centuries—to become Earth’s ruler and protector, the balm for all its ills? I have allies throughout the world, research in progress to find a cure for that greatest of evils—death. Vampirism, soul-infused portraits, necromancy, the return of the gods—each strategy was one piece in a plan, a gear in a great machine that should still function, even if one part is fractured.
And yet somehow, each piece has managed to contort itself into an unrecognizable, unusable shape. The vampire factions turned on each other, then rebelled against me. The first god I raised didn’t possess any power; he needed more of his fellow gods at his side before he could do anything useful. So I summoned a second god, but he was ruined by the interference of the vampires. Disappointing, to say the least.
Oh, and I’ve died twice—once quite recently.Let’s talk about that, Doctor.Let’s explore how it feels to be shot in the head and ejected from my body into the Afterworld, where I waited in thedark until a necromancer dragged me back into my body again. It took me weeks to recover, and yet I still managed to keep my plans in motion.
But I’m on the verge of giving up. I’m so fucking tired. Coming back from death the second time wasn’t good for me, and I’m terrified that I’m…unraveling. My insides feel different, ill fitting. Sometimes theywrithe. I can see the bubbling and surging of my essence under my skin, and when that happens, I’m compelled to take a different form—raven, wolf, crow, stag, anything but a human shape. I’m less and less comfortable as a man, and the only time I can find any peace is in beast form.
Maybe I’ve been alive too long.
Dr. Jekyll’s calm voice penetrates the churning cloud of my thoughts. “It’s all right if you can’t think of a specific instance right now.”
“I think I’m trying to do too much,” I reply. “I’ve always preferred to set things in motion and let others do the work while I observe them and nudge them in the right direction as needed, but lately that hasn’t been working out for me. It’s so hard to find good, hardworking, self-motivated people.”
“So you feel you’ve been counting on people who aren’t reliable. They’ve broken your trust.”
“Yes.”
“Typically, we can’t control how other people act.” Dr. Jekyll gives me a sympathetic smile. “They may hurt us or disappoint us, and there’s not much we can do about it. What we can work on is our reaction…how we respond. And that’s where stress management comes in. Let’s talk about some ways you can cope with the pressure you’re feeling. Have you tried meditation?”
I stare at him. “Meditation?”
“Sure. Meditation and mindfulness can be very helpful tools to—”
“I don’t want to fucking meditate.”
Dr. Jekyll’s eyes widen slightly at my tone. “Well, there are other techniques, but let me explain what I mean by meditation. There’s so much misinformation out there…”
He continues, but I’m barely listening. I’m staring at my hand, where my veins are arching up like inchworms, stretching the skin. All through my arm, I can feel that writhing, squirming sensation, the contortion of a soul that doesn’t belong in this body, in this world.
“You seem very agitated,” interposes Dr. Jekyll. “Do you want to talk about someone who betrayed you?”
Betrayal…
