Hammer and Anvil: Greystone-In-Training, #1

By Lou Paduano

It's her first case and it might be her last.

Soriya has worked her entire life to become the Greystone—protector of her city, Portents, against the growing shadows of myth and legend. All her efforts are in jeopardy when she is struck down by the destructive power of the Minotaur.

Soriya must now find a new path. Only one thing is certain—she's going to need help.

Beth, a researcher with insight into the city, has been locked in her own mystery—hunting for the recently stolen hammer of Hephaestus.

Working together to unravel the secrets hidden in Portents, Soriya and Beth must learn to trust the other's unique perspective. However, they aren't the only ones seeking answers as the Minotaur turns his rage on the city… starting with Soriya's beloved teacher.

The secrets of Soriya's training are revealed in the first adventure of this new Greystone trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eleven Ten Publishing
• Release date: Oct 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781944965167

Lou Paduano

Lou Paduano is the author of the Greystone series and The DSA Season One. He lives in Buffalo, New York with his wife and two daughters. Sign up for his e-mail list for free content as well as updates on future releases at www.loupaduano.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

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The closed sign swung over him like a pendulum. Each pass caught his attention and delayed his entry. Sweat collected along his brow and matted down his hair. He wished for rain, or anything to break up the humidity of the late summer air.

Around him, the Allure marketplace was quiet. The cobblestone streets that wound around the eclectic shops were deserted at the late hour. No one bothered taking to the streets in Portents once the sun set—an unspoken rule of the populace.

Eddie Domingo ignored the rule despite the internal alarm bells ringing between his ears. They started the moment he arrived in the area. The marketplace always freaked him out. He lived close by, always coming and going through the space to reach the clubs downtown or the subway for the coves to the north. Strangers stared at him any time he visited. Their gazes made him wary of their intentions—as if he had intruded on them and threatened to expose some unknown secret.

When he’d noticed the shop a week earlier, he knew he would be back. The antique shop sat at the end of the block, the entrance away from the dim lamps adorning the street. No cameras were positioned to view the store and no metal grate covered the window. There were no security measures of any kind other than the deadbolt. The goods inside were delicate, intricate in detail. Each was an heirloom to the right person, a treasure to be held, and appeared expensive. Expensive products meant cash on hand, and because he had mentioned it in passing to his cousin, it was no surprise they’d decided to make their way to the shop after business hours. 

Eddie led the way in his signature faded t-shirt and a pair of jeans with the left knee torn open. When pressed for more information Eddie had been content to provide the location. He was always willing to do anything to earn his keep, to prove himself to the rest of the Domingo family. That included his cousin, Tony, who acted like a big brother though Eddie was older by four years.

Tony—slicked back hair and leather jacket no matter the temperature outside—leaned against the wall supervising their progress. As the boss’ son, he made it a point to play the role whenever he could in preparation for when he took over. It was his sole ambition in life.

We in? 

Eddie continued to stare at the swaying sign behind the glass, waiting for it to fall. The lock fought against him. He applied too much pressure to the tension wrench and his pick struggled to drive the pins to their correct position.

Cuz?

Eddie took a deep breath. He raked the pins with his pick and the lock finally clicked. The door creaked open. Got it.

Tony slapped his back before heading inside. My man.

Eddie followed close, quick to shut the door behind them. Each move was cautious. Eddie was wary of the occasional shadow on the periphery. There seemed to be more out tonight.

They kept the lights off. The moon acted as their guide. Stacks of baubles and trinkets lined the shelves along the walls. A counter sat on the far end of the store, and more goods were scattered across the glass cabinet structure. Each item carried the name of its owner—restoration seemed to be a major portion of the business.

The air felt heavy in the shop. Sticky and ancient, it stuck in his nostrils. This was never what he wanted in life—to steal for a living.

Tony, you sure about—?

Register is behind the counter? Tony interrupted. The score was all that mattered to him. For as much as Eddie wanted to prove himself worthy of their shared last name, Tony lived very much in the shadow of his father and always would until he stepped out and made the name his own.

Tony’s father demanded obedience above all. The business evolved with his generation. Lost were the days of knee-breaking and protection rackets. White-collar crime filled their schedule—stock manipulation and money-laundering schemes through seemingly legitimate fronts. Tony longed for a return to the old ways, a constant argument at the Sunday dinner table.

Tony shuffled around the counter, knocking items aside to clear his path. Anything to make his presence known, even when unnecessary. Eddie, however, kept his mouth shut.

The items in the shop were incredibly maintained. Each was crafted with care, painted meticulously. Their gears were loud, a sign of their age, but all ran without issue. The shop owner was a true artisan.

Eddie stopped near the counter and bent low to look at a cuckoo clock shaped in the form of a castle. It was stopped, the hands frozen on the hour. Paint was chipped all over—a current project.

The broken timepiece reminded the young man of the clock in his mother’s kitchen, a lifetime ago. When it sounded the hour, a knight on horseback would ride across the drawbridge and around the castle grounds to protect the imaginary citizens within. His mother would tell him stories about the knight and his travels, how he stood up for those without the strength to defend themselves.

She was usually nursing a bruise or ten when she told the tales—always while puffing on a cigarette or popping pills. Her life was difficult to say the least, but its unceremonious ending did quell the pain. For that, Eddie was grateful, though he missed her most days.

The register slammed against the glass under Tony’s less-than-graceful grip. Eddie fell back. The clanging metal on glass caused him to lose his balance. The younger cousin guffawed at Eddie’s clumsiness. His two front teeth, much too large for his mouth, blocked all the others from view.

Hello?

The voice rang out from the back. Both fell silent. Tony instinctively removed the pistol from his shoulder holster.

Tony? Eddie whispered. He found his footing and blocked the man from the door leading to the back. Tony tried to push ahead, but Eddie pointed back to the register.

Smiling, Tony slipped a hand to the small of his back and removed a second weapon. He spun it around his palm until the handle faced Eddie, who stared at the glinting metal with concern.

Tony pushed the gun into his hand and closed his fingers around the grip. You got this, cuz.

Eddie accepted the task with an uncertain nod. Appearing weak in front of family was never the answer. Yeah. I got this.

Eddie nudged the door open. He peered around the wood and saw a dim light on in the distance and the passing shadow of the owner returning to his work. A restroom sat to the right, dark and empty. There were supplies on wire mesh shelving along the hall—metal scraps, screws, and tools used in the fixing of the goods out front.

The cramped office at the end of the narrow corridor was more of a workshop than a place to handle business affairs. Wooden tables lined the walls, and the dim light now blazed like a sun. A tall old man scrunched tight over a magnifying glass aimed at the latest work: a doll in need of repair. His clothes were worn along the edges, his straggly white locks uncombed and pointing in all directions. Delicate fingers—weathered by age—picked at the damaged surface, careful not to tear away any more than necessary. More tools lined the table before him. Small chisels and tweezers. Screwdrivers of all sizes and shapes. Tape and paint in a hundred varieties. Everything was in a specific place, tucked in containers and bins. Only one item lay alone, displayed above the man’s workstation.

A hammer.

Eddie felt drawn to it and approached, his steps careful and delicate against the cold concrete. He held his breath, afraid to add to the cacophony playing between his ears. He was afraid the glass would pick up his reflection or that the old man would sense his presence.

Stopping short, Eddie raised the gun. D-d... don’t turn around, he stammered. His hand shook nervously. Don’t even flinch and you won’t get hurt.

The old man settled back in his chair. He kept his hands on the table. Ancient eyes of sky blue stared at Eddie through the glass on the hammer’s display case.

I understand, young man.

Good, Eddie started, but he was immediately cut off by the stomping of footsteps into the back.

Three-hundred bucks? Tony scoffed. He carried a pack of bills in his left hand, while his right squeezed the handle of his pistol. All this old junk and you’re carrying a measly three-hundred bucks?

He stuffed the money in his pocket, then raised his gun at the old man. Eddie’s own weapon fell away. Cuz? What are you—?

I don’t buy it, Eddie. Where’s the rest? Tony’s face was flushed with anger. The old man said nothing. He merely peered ahead, the unfinished doll more of a concern to him than the pair of hoodlums in his shop. Tony spun the chair around in disgust, meeting the man face-to-face. There a safe somewhere back here in this heap?

More silence.

Tony cocked the gun. Well?

No, the storekeeper answered. His voice was strong and assured, confident despite the situation. No safe. No more money for you.

You’re lying. Tony jammed his face in front of the old man. You know who I am?

Eddie’s hand fell on his cousin’s shoulder. Hey, man, don’t.

I’m Tony Domingo, the young man continued. I own this city and everyone in it. Time to pay your dues.

Fear gripped Eddie, locking him in place. The room spun out of control. Reality slipped away—or so he wished. The old man, however, didn’t flinch. He didn’t beg for his life. Through it all, he somehow held no terror in his heart. I’ve paid them many times over.

Not to me.

Tony, don’t! It was meant to be a scream, but the words never came out. They never made it past his lips. His hand reached for his cousin’s, but missed the mark and only nudged his aim.

The shot soared free, thundering in the confined quarters of the workshop. The old man dropped to the ground. A stream of blood ran along his right temple. Shelving shattered from the impact. Bins scattered their contents over the fallen shopkeeper. The display case holding the lone hammer tipped over the edge of the table and cracked on the ground.

Eddie barely heard any of it. Not the crashing of the old man or his belongings, his life’s work. He couldn’t hear anything but the terror in his heart. This was his fault. He planned this. He told Tony about a big score that never materialized, and the owner paid the price for his mistake.

Why? Eddie mumbled. Why did you—?

Tony was already at the door. He kicked tools and the broken doll out of his path in anger. Nothing here. Nothing!

You didn’t have to do that... Eddie’s words were lost to the empty room.

Move it, Eddie, Tony called from the shop. Let’s go.

The young man with the torn jeans paused before following his cousin. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the Domingo name, yet every action he took pulled him farther away from himself. What was left of him in any of it? He no longer knew.

Something drew him back to the room. It wasn’t the shallow breathing of the old man, fading with each passing second. It wasn’t the random ticking of the clocks adorning the wall or resting on the shelves.

It was the hammer. The handle, golden and intricately inscribed with small glyphs in thin rows, glowed under the bright lights. Eddie reached for it and took the tool in hand. A chill ran up his arms. The hammer was heavy, but with each passing moment, the burden lessened. He tucked it in his belt, careful to make sure it stayed in place.

You coming, cuz? Tony said, irritation in his voice.

Yeah, Eddie replied. Sullen eyes wavered on the old man before turning to the darkness of the street outside. I’m coming.

Chapter Two

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Capture a minotaur...

Those words had started the fight long before she threw the first punch. Sightings had alerted them to the situation. Though junkies and drunks were not the most reliable witnesses, the descriptions they offered made the problem clear. For Mentor, her teacher and advisor, it was enough to start the hunt.

It was Soriya’s first case as the Greystone. It had been a decade in the making. She’d waited for this moment since she began her training—the time when he would pass the torch to her and bring her to the streets to tackle the most dangerous menaces.

She’d spent ten years reading and researching, learning about the world through books and endless legends while also peering deep into her own soul to find her place among them. Mental strength matched physical in the classroom. Mock battles, weapons training, yoga and gymnastics all mixed with religion, science, and math for a well-rounded—and intense—education. All so she could take her place as the Greystone bearer in title.

That day had at last arrived.

They found him south of the coves. Screaming pedestrians pointed to the spot pretty clearly, eliminating all need for endless debate on where to concentrate their search. Mentor complained of her approach the entire time, though he left the final decisions for her—mostly so he could poke holes in them later, but still, she appreciated the latitude offered by her aging teacher.

She appreciated the trust handed to her by bringing her into the field and was grateful for the chance she’d been given. She knew fifteen was young, but had spent years attempting to disprove his reticence through constant training, non-stop questioning, and soul-searching.

Nothing would stand in her way. Not even a minotaur.

The beast lay in wait, seated in a heap along the side of a department store. The wall was covered in graffiti, color marring every inch. Even hunched over, he was taller than her. His fingers were thick as tree branches and ran over the brick and his curious stare followed his movements along the edifice. Lost in his exploration of the world surrounding him, he failed to notice Soriya’s approach. Mentor hung back, yet quietly reached for her.

Puffs of hot air rose from flaring nostrils. Her scent caught on the wind, and the monster turned. Large eyes, black as night, widened. The Minotaur rose. His chest heaved to carry his massive frame. Hooves cracked the ground beneath him. He towered more than two feet over her, casting her in darkness.

It failed to deter her. Without a word, without a thought other than Mentor’s edict, Soriya rushed the beast. Her fist, clenched tight and cocked, swung out and connected with the beast’s side.

To no effect.

Soriya! Mentor’s tone was reflected in the movements of the creature: confusion and anger. She leaped into the fray without thought, impulsive and ambitious—two traits she believed strengthened her resolve. Mentor viewed her as reckless and dangerous.

The Minotaur bellowed, a guttural growl. It was incomprehensible other than the emotion beneath it. Any chance to talk things over was lost. Any opportunity to end the situation peacefully dissipated with her brazen act.

He swung out, forcing her low. Concrete scraped her cheek. Her legs kicked out and drove her back up. She ricocheted off the wall and back at the threat. Another punch connected with the Minotaur’s arm. It rocked him back a step. She did the same. The impact shot through her body, and her knuckles split from the blow.

Mentor continued to play the silent observer, though with each stolen glance she noticed his concern grow. It was a concern she’d never noted before, one that swallowed up the hope in her breast.

Look out! her teacher cried.

Distracted by her stubborn need for approval, Soriya failed to stay in the fight. She wavered between expectation and the danger before her. It cost her.

She was off her feet before the blow finished connecting. The Minotaur slapped the air and met her side soundly, like swatting a fly buzzing around his ear. Soriya slammed into the wall and collapsed, the air sucked from her body.

Soriya!

She shook off the blow and stood to face her first real test. She had prepared for ten years—ten years of sacrifice and learning. Ten years of waiting for this night. To hell with