Curse
of Prometheus:
A
Tale of Medea
Morgan
St. Knight
Genre:
Paranormal/urban fantasy
AISN:
B00HRG6FEA
ISBN-13:
978-0991396092
Number
of pages: 276
Word
count: 107,000
The
ancient world's most notorious sorceress has just become the modern
world's only hope for survival.
Book
Description:
How
do you fight a god of light who has been seduced by darkness? That’s
the challenge Medea Keres must meet. Posing as a wealthy young
heiress in modern day Atlanta, no one knows she is the original
Medea, the sorceress from ancient Greek legends.
As
priestess of the witch goddess Hecate, Medea is charged with hunting
demons that would otherwise overrun the world. Now she must face a
far greater adversary. One of the twelve shining Olympian gods has
turned rogue, violating the edict against human sacrifice. As the
body count quickly rises, Medea knows her enemy is getting stronger.
With
the help of the underworld nymph Orphne and the hero-god Heracles,
she must find a way to unmask the evil so that the other Olympians
will take action.
But
as she probes deeper into a blood-soaked labyrinth of suspense and
intrigue, Medea finds a net of deceit and treachery that will require
all of her cunning to escape.
Available
at Amazon
Excerpt;
I spoke the charm
that unsealed the sanctuary door. It swung open, and simultaneously
candles in sconces around the walls flared to life.
But they weren’t
the only things that were glowing.
Next to the altar
that held a statue of Hecate, a censer and vessels for libations,
there was a small side-table. The single object on it was radiating
an eerie light. It was a Sybil’s mirror, my direct link to Hades.
It was a convenient way to send in my reports.
It was convenient
most of the time, anyway. Just not at that particular moment. It
should not have been glowing before I spoke the incantation to
activate it.
The smart thing to
do would have been to run right out of that room, lock the door from
the outside and chant an invocation to call up some of the entities I
was on friendly terms with. But smart is never high on my list when
I’m tired and hungry.
So I went closer to
the mirror. Mistake number one. The surface rippled like water, and I
knew that images would soon break through.
At first, all I
could see was something ill-defined, like an object bobbing just
below the surface of a cloudy pool of water. The image became more
defined. I dimly saw a bejeweled hand caressing what appeared to be a
crumpled mound of crimson velvet. The image sharpened even more: it
was not velvet.
It was flesh. A
gaping, bloody hole in a human torso. The hand was stroking it
slightly, dabbling ringed fingers into the gash as someone might
lazily trail their hand in a cool pond on a warm spring day. I could
tell it was a man’s body, but the image wasn’t wide enough for me
to see his face, or the woman who was stroking the wound.
Everything had a
cloudy sheen to it and her jewelry had an off color, making the gems
unidentifiable. They were an odd, bluish-green.
A soft voice
filled the room, as if it was coming from every corner.
“Drink, drink…”
it cajoled. A woman’s voice, light and soothing with the hint of
myriad promises.
The image receded
a bit, enough for me to see more of the torso as well as the body’s
arms. I could see it was a man, but no more.
The vista slowly
sank back into dimness. Another was surfacing. A mouth, surrounded by
a lush beard. It was like black sable, sleek and oiled, arranged
artfully into intricate curls and ringlets. A classic Greek style.
The mouth and beard were all I could see, no other features to give
me a clue about who it was.
The
mouth was full and sensual, or at least it normally would be. I could
tell that much even though it was twisted and pulled into a grimace.
Pain? Ecstasy? A little of both, it seemed. It was not the expression
which disturbed me the most.
The lush lips were
streaked with blood. I could see, as the mouth opened in a silent
groan, traces of blood on the teeth.
The image
sharpened further, coming closer as if it was trying to come out of
the mirror into my reality. My eyes widened as I realized it was
no trick of light. The mouth was emerging from the mirror. Only a
slight protrusion at first, then more, more…
The rim of the
Sybil’s mirror was changing, becoming the same color as the blood
on the lips pushing through the mirror’s surface.
As I backed away
my ears started buzzing and I felt the floor wavering beneath me. I
heard a sound that quickly grew louder, a throaty whisper that turned
from a hoarse cry of need into distinct words.
“Join us. Join
us. Join us… Medea…”
Hearing my name
sent a shock through me, enough to make me want to bolt. But I
couldn’t.
The hideous mouth
opened wider and scarlet clouds spilled from it like steam from a
seething cauldron. They swept across the floor, flowing over my feet
and up my calves. My legs were rooted to the spot even though my mind
wanted nothing more than to run in terror—out of the room, out of
the house, out of the city if I could run that much.
The room reeked of
copper and ordure. Noxious fumes poured up my torso and over my chest
and face, choking me.
Without warning or
intent I fell backwards. It took me a moment to realize that I hadn’t
stumbled. I had been pulled.
I could see the
arms reaching from under my own, curving up over my chest towards my
shoulders. They ended in hands that were as white as alabaster.
White, except for the black nails that curved like talons from the
fingers. Talons that were coming dangerously close to my throat.
I barely noticed
that the vile clouds were being sucked back into the mirror, as if
some gigantic monster on the other side had drawn in a large breath.
The light started to fade from the mirror.
I was spun around.
As the mirror’s glow dimmed I saw a face pale as moonlight, a mouth
crimson as a ripe pomegranate, and eyes the color of amethysts just
inches from my face.
The most
pronounced feature was the hair. It seemed to be made of cobwebs and
mist, floating in a silvery-grey cloud. Some of it was moving. Alive.
As I looked at it, things looked back at me. Vipers.
The intruder’s
mouth opened, revealing long curving fangs.
“Medea…” The
voice came from a distance, echoing as if I was in a deep cavern. The
last thing I saw was the mouth opening wider, the fangs coming
closer. Then the darkness took me.
Welcome to my
world.
About
the Author:
Morgan
St. Knight live in Atlanta, and is a lifelong student of mythology,
the occult, and comparative religion. With more than 25 years of
experience as a journalist, Morgan enjoys the occasional foray into
fantasyland to escape the grim realities of life. He is currently
working on the sequel to "Curse of Prometheus" and is
developing a second paranormal series which also takes place in the
South.
Twitter:
@morganstknight
Kindle Giveaway
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