Vital Signs: A Game of Gods Novel: Game of Gods, #7

By Rosetta M. Overman

Nineteen-year-old Brigette McAllister has suffered from complex migraines most of her life. When she takes a tumble down the stairs because of one and comes face to face with Thanatos, a death daemon, she strikes a deal that will change the course of her life forever. 

After having her heart stolen by the deity, a twist of fate rips them apart and leaves a hole in her memory and her life. Can a trip through the Greek Underworld return to her what was lost, or will she go on for the rest of her days incomplete? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosetta M. Overman
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393824725

Book preview

More by Rosetta M. Overman

Game of Gods

Sacrifice

Hexed

Tidalwave

Catalyst

Firestorm

Hurricane Force

Vital Signs

Ensemble

Scar Tissue

Caged

Prologue

Those Eyes

March 25, 2005

T

he night was silent as I lie awake in bed, wondering where my parents were. This wasn’t the first time Daddy had dragged Momma off somewhere. Everyone said he was a bad man, they even went as far as to claim that he stole from a bank but didn’t get caught because he killed all of his friends who helped him do the stealing. Maybe it was true, what they said, because he wasn’t ever real nice to us either. The nicest thing he ever did was to not hit me when I accidentally spit up tuna fish all over him. He’d cussed for a long time though, and I was sure Momma would save me, and she did.

Momma always saved me.

While I was thinking all this stuff, the door creaked open and my little brother walked in, peering around the room with his big blue eyes that were just like mine and Momma’s. Sometimes it was easy to pretend like we weren’t related to Daddy at all because we didn’t look anything like him. Brigette? he called, scuttling across the floor to the end of my bed where he crawled up onto the mattress. He’d grown up a whole lot in the last few months, all awkward arms and legs now. Can I sleep with you?

Scooting over for him, I whispered back, You don’t gotta ask. He didn’t like the house, said it made weird noises at night, but I didn’t notice. Momma said I could sleep through a twister and wouldn’t know anything happened until the next day. My arms opened automatically as he curled in beside me, pulling him close. I’d only just started middle school and I was supposed to be getting some sleep since tomorrow would be my second day, but his school didn’t start for another two days. Hugging him, I asked, How’re you doing, Cal? Momma said you don’t wanna go to school no more. He’d never liked it before, but he went because I went with him, but we were three years apart and I couldn’t go with him anymore.

The cold tip of his nose pressed against the hollow of my throat as he snuggled in closer, sapping up all my body heat like he always did when he came in here. I didn’t say anything about it, yawning sleepily before dropping my chin on top of his head. The cold point moved from side to side, Cal shaking his head under my chin. You ain’t gonna be there, was all he said, but he didn’t have to say any more. I already knew that was how he felt. He’d always been real shy, especially when me and Momma weren’t around, so I wasn’t too surprised to know that he felt like he’d be all alone even though we’d never had any of the same classes before.

Kissing the top of his head, I stroked his back gently. Little brother, I began, knowing he’d listen if I called him that. I knew everything about Cal. You gotta go to school or you’ll grow up stupid. That’s what Uncle Ollie says, ain’t it? I felt him nod and decided to test out a few more words. I don’t want people calling my baby brother stupid. I always tried to be nice, like Momma, but it was hard being nice and encouraging. Maybe when I got older I’d learn to talk all polite like her, but for now I was just me and I had to work on kindness a little more to make Momma proud.

Me neither, he agreed. Plenty of people already thought he was slow just because he was quiet around other people, but I knew he was smart, smarter than most of the people at his school. Maybe even smarter than me. His arms held me tight and I noticed he’d gotten a little stronger after his growth spurt. Daddy was a big man so Cal probably would be too.

Downstairs I heard the door slam open followed by Momma and Daddy’s muffled voices. Daddy was yelling so loud I could almost understand what he was saying, but Momma’s voice was just as quiet and sweet as it always was when she answered him. I’d never heard her say a single hateful thing about anyone before and I doubt she ever had. She was so nice and honest. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up, except with a nicer man than the one she’d tied herself down with. It was probably our fault that they hadn’t divorced since Momma didn’t work and couldn’t get a job because of her weak constitution.

There was a loud bang below that caused Cal to flinch. Being the oldest, I pretended like it didn’t bother me even though I was scared, too. If I let it show it would only make Cal feel worse and when Daddy was home I was all he had. Girls and boys didn’t matter to Daddy, if he was mad he hit everybody, especially Momma. When I was littler, she’d tell me stories about how she met Daddy at the beach when she was in high school and it was magical, but the stories stopped after Cal was born. I could vaguely remember when I was four and Cal was a year old, Daddy tried to shake him because Cal had soiled himself and Momma and me weren’t home. We got there just as Daddy was lifting my cute little brother from the crib by his shoulders. Momma hadn’t said a word, just stared at Daddy all disappointed as she walked over and took Cal away from him.

Now they were in a tiff over something new. The first time he hit me I was five and I’d just come home with a new Barbie Momma had bought me. Her name was Sadie and she had the prettiest red hair, just like mine and Momma’s and my little brother’s. But even when he’d hit me, claiming I’d just had Momma waste money, I didn’t see him as anything other than my Daddy. It wasn’t until he’d hit Cal, who was only three at the time, that I’d really begun to fear him.

My lips pressed to Cal’s head again as he trembled in my arms, terrified that Daddy would leave Momma and come after us. Personally, I wanted to go down there and protect Momma, too, but Cal was younger and, as my sibling, was my responsibility to take care of. If I left him, something might happen. Maybe it was just me being a chicken, but in the end, I stayed in bed with my brother, listening to the screaming and murmured responses through the floorboards. The front of my nightgown became wet with my little brother’s tears, the back of the fabric tightening around my body as he squeezed it, burying his face in my chest to muffle his sobs.

My eyes watered as well, hands frantically smoothing over the back of his head, running through the wild curls that covered it in an attempt to calm him. Hush now, Bug-a-boo, I whispered, eyes squeezing shut, my tears slipping through my eyelids. Momma always called us that when she was feeling particularly affectionate, which was less and less often as the fights with Daddy progressed.

There was another loud sound, several thumps in a row. They were closer at first, moving farther away as they progressed. Confused, I whispered, Hide in our special spot, Cal. I’m going to go find out what happened. He clutched onto me, but I struggled to a sitting position anyway, kicking the covers that had twisted around my legs until they’d been liberated from their confines. Realizing that I wasn’t about to stay, he disentangled himself from me and moved toward the closet. Daddy might not look for him inside the clothes hamper and even if he did all he would see would be a pile of clothing since Cal always burrowed when he hid somewhere.

Heavy footsteps pounded off toward the bedroom and I knew Daddy was gone, soon to be tucked away underneath the covers in the bed he shared with Momma. Tiptoeing to the door, I cracked it open, peeking my head out a little so I could see down the hall. Outside it was eerily silent and I was glad that Uncle Ollie had come over and oiled the hinges on our bedroom doors recently or I would’ve been caught sneaking out of my room.

Stepping outside, I let the door close lightly, moving toward the stairs. I hurried down them, curious as to what the lump at the bottom causing the big shadow in the floor might be. Taking the stairs two at a time, I found myself next to the lump in no time at all. My stomach bound itself in knots as I took notice of the curly auburn hair that fell around the form over the ground. Mom-Momma? I whispered, moving around to look into her face. I brushed her hair away from it, crouching as I did so. Something warm and slick, cooling in the open air, came away as I smoothed her hair back cautiously.

Terrified, I stumbled backwards, flipping on the hall light. My bloodied hand flew toward my mouth as I stared at the gash along her forehead. In my horror, I flipped the light back off. I didn’t need to see my Momma like that...I didn’t want to see my Momma like that, limp and lifeless. Her chest had been still, her eyes wide open, staring blankly toward me, her face twisted in fear and pain.

Scampering backwards, I hurried to grab the cordless phone in the hallway, tears pooling up in my eyes, partially blinding me in the darkness. Had I not known my way around the house so well, I wouldn’t have been able to make it to the phone without that horrible, horrible light shining down on her dead face. The face that belonged to a stranger, because my Momma always smiled, even when she was bruised up. She didn’t ever look scared for any reason, so why would she now? Why had she left us? Why had she left me?

As I dialed 9-1-1 and waited for the operator to pick up and gather all the information I could give them, hoping that Daddy was sleeping soundly so he wouldn’t catch me down here, calling an ambulance, or police, or...or just someone, I knew that I wasn’t just an older sister anymore. I was the sole pillar of support in our now two person family. Daddy didn’t count, he hadn’t for a long time, and as a voice crackled over the phone, startling me to the point that I almost screamed, I spoke to the man on the other end of the line, my voice going from frantic to disturbingly calm as responsibility fell heavy on my frail shoulders.

There’s nothing anyone can do for her, I concluded, wondering when all my tears had dried, but I don’t wanna leave her lying down here on the floor.

There was movement in front of me as I pressed the end call button after being assured that there would be someone at the house soon. My eyes lifted and I froze, staring into a pair of iridescent blue eyes. They were a few shades lighter than our family’s cornflower, the lids drooping lazily in a slightly sinister way. I stood there, paralyzed, as they slowly faded away, something cold and soft brushing the tear tracks on my face before I was left all alone again, wondering if I’d just been seeing things in my distress.

Chapter One

The Deal

C

al set his guitar to the side, resting it in the stand he kept next to the chair in my bedroom. I was flopped on my back in bed, head at the foot as I hugged a pillow, staring at my brother. It was a good solo, I told him, grinning a little. We’d taken up writing songs in our spare time, but neither of us really had much. I would have been entering my first year of college this year if medical situations hadn’t kept popping up, worrying Uncle Oliver more than they used to and my little brother was already a junior in high school, his whole life about to become a blur of PowerPoint and oral presentations. Sitting up and facing him, I folded my legs underneath me, grinning at him. Do you have lyrics for any of it?

For some reason people always expected us to write breakup songs when in reality we wrote duets, usually love songs, but occasionally something less glamorous and more nitty-gritty and real. People liked fantasy, living in a world where romance was all smiles and kisses and crazy love late at night, but we’d learned firsthand that life and love and everything it entailed was one kick in the teeth after another and the only thing a person can really do is roll with the punches. Yeah, I’ve been workin’ on some, he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Regardless of what anyone said about the six-foot, stocky-built boy sitting in the chair across from me, his auburn brows drown in concentration, all I saw when I looked at him was my cute little brother who was too shy to do anything in front of people without me around. At sixteen he should’ve had a girlfriend, should’ve been interested in hanging out with friends rather than sticking around with his sister, but the scars of the past were too deep for him. He’d come down when he heard the sirens and I’d been so distraught after seeing those eyes that I hadn’t even bothered to cover Momma’s body up to keep the kid from seeing. That made it my fault that he still wasn’t good with people. That he was always afraid that something terrible would happen and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it, just like he couldn’t then.

I shook the thoughts from my mind. It had already been eight long years since we lost Momma and I didn’t want him to read anything in my eyes. Grin still firmly in place, I asked, What kind a song is it? We mostly wrote country, but that wasn’t because we were born and raised – and still living in – Nashville, it was because we felt the soul of country more than any other genre. Especially classic country before all the pop and rock and hip-hop started coming in, polluting it to the point that it was almost unrecognizable, though I could appreciate the diversity on my own, or even doing covers with my brother in the little corner lounge, we didn’t write it.

He shifted uncomfortably. Even talking to me about his music made him uncomfortable despite the fact that he knew I would encourage him. A ballad, he answered, surprising me. Usually Cal didn’t really bother with lyrics and when he did they were just one-liners that helped to move a song along smoothly. To hear that he was writing an entire song on his own? I was prouder than a momma hen the day after her chicks hatched.

Eyes softening, I responded, That’s great, kiddo. You wanna tell me what it’s about? Sometimes talking to him reminded me of trying to get information out of a little kid. I could practically see a smaller, less talkative (and that was saying something) version of him, just as he was when we were both babies, unsure of how to take our first steps into the world. Now we were working on it, tottering along life’s path, but while he couldn’t see it coming – I knew he couldn’t because he always kept close to my side no matter what – the fork in the road was coming and there was nothing either of us could do to fight the truth of the matter. Siblings weren’t born to live and die together, that was just how life was. But for now, I wasn’t ready to let go of his hand, either, not until he could take his first steps as a man without me by his side.

It wasn’t until I finished the thought that I realized that he still hadn’t answered my question. His cornflower eyes, just like mine except more closed off and angular, were staring at me with a kind of sad expression in them. Uncertain, I shifted in my seat, somehow managing to lodge half of my backside in the dip in the mattress where I usually slept, the other side settled on the ridge just outside it. Ignoring the discomfort, I waited for an explanation to that look, wondering if he’d somehow seen straight through me to my thoughts. But when he spoke his only answer was, You’ll see when I finish it. I don’t know what I was expecting, some kind of great unveiling or even a speech on the subject – yeah, dream on, Brigette – but it certainly hadn’t been that.

Fighting off a surge of disappointment, I tilted my head to the side, responding, I’ll be lookin’ forward to it, but from the way he seemed so unsure I had a feeling that what I was expecting and what he was going to deliver would once again be very different. Not sure what was bothering him, I added, You know, pausing while I waited for him to look up again. There was a little ink stain on the polka dotted area rug in front of him that seemed to have sapped his attention. When he finally got sick of waiting, his expression somewhere between exasperated and curious, I softened my smile into something a little more genuine, finishing with, I love you, little boy.

He faked a scowl at the end of it before offering me one of his shy, lopsided grins. I love you, too, Shorty.

Gasping in mock surprise, I pressed a hand to my chest, eyes widening. Well, I never! I exclaimed in my best Southern-Belle-wounded tone. I didn’t have to try too hard to express the words the way I intended since we were from a city where even people who weren’t country somehow magically converted, and this seemed to amuse my brother.

We probably would’ve continued from there, bickering playfully, had Uncle Oliver not popped his head around the door, eyeing the two of us suspiciously as he did so. I wasn’t sure what we’d done to make him look that way, but I offered him my best smile anyway, figuring it had something to do with his fiancée. Since the day Camilla came we’d been having all kinds of trouble and getting the third degree from Oliver over little things, like leaving the water running while we lathered our hands or spending too much time in the shower. He’d never cared about any of that before since the utilities fell into the rent that he paid every month anyway. The people he rented from were a sweet old couple who always offered up peppermint patties when they came to visit and reminisce about the days they lived here right after they were married.

Like most of the people who migrate to Nashville, they were music artists. She was a singer and he could pick a guitar as good as anyone I’d ever seen, but the competition around these parts kept them from reaching their goal. They still sang and played with us sometimes though. Are you kids ready to go? he asked, glancing down at his watch. Today he looked even more frazzled than usual, his hair, just as wild and curly as ours, was sticking up every which way – not all that unusual, but still it was obvious he hadn’t bothered to try and tame it – and there were dark bags underneath his eyes that I didn’t remember seeing the last time he was home with us, which, now that I really thought about it, was probably more than a week ago.

Go where? I asked, garnering an irritable, sleep deprived expression from him. My smile weakened marginally, but I didn’t say anything else, waiting for his answer.

Running a hand down his face, he let out a sigh. Sorry, Brigette. All this wedding plannin’ is about to do me in. I couldn’t say it was all that surprising. When Cal went out of his way to call someone Chameleon rather than their proper name, you knew they weren’t exactly the most charming person to ever walk God’s green earth. I was hope y’all would come with me to the cake tastin’ thing down at Gemma’s. What that translated to was, Come keep my ex-girlfriend busy with cake samplin’ while I pretend like I ain’t there. I’d loved Addie like a sister when she was dating Uncle Oliver and I couldn’t really understand the swap from sweet southern