Sherrilyn Kenyon: Infinity Chronicles of Nick

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

INFINITY. Copyright © 2010 by Sherrilyn Kenyon. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-0-312-59907-2

First Edition: June 2010

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To the fans who've been with the Dark-Hunters from the beginning—thank you for the support, the laughs, and for being so eager to read each new installment. For Monique, whose energy is boundless and who has done so much to bring this series, as well as the Dark-Hunters and the manga, to life. For my friends, who keep me sane, and especially Kim, who read every bit of it hot off the presses and ran the book through our teen cold readers to get their stamp of approval.

To my ever wonderful husband for making lots of dinners (okay, that should probably be lots of reservations LOL) while I worked diligently on this. And most of all to my sons, who in-spire me every day; especially Madaug, who helped me come up with the opening line—I am a socially awkward mandork—and who graciously allowed me to use his name as one of the characters. And to Ian, who wanted to stab a zombie with a pencil. I love all of you and am grateful every day that you're a part of my life.

And last, but not least, Casey Woods, who won the contest to be a character in the book.

We'll be seeing a lot more of you in book two :)

While I am and have always been a huge zombie fan, I want to acknowledge two special people whose brains I picked while writing the book.

To my zombie savant and horror movie cohort, Evyl Ed, who also agreed to play Bubba in several Bubbisodes. Thanks for the invaluable insight and keen comments.

And to my favorite exorcist, Mama Lisa, who fights the good fight every day and who understands demonology in a way few people do.

Thank you both.

Free will.

Some have called it the greatest gift bestowed on humanity. It is our ability to control what happens to us and exactly how it happens. We are the masters of our fate and no one can foist their will on us unless we allow it.

Others say free will is a crap myth. We have a preordained destiny and no matter what we do or how hard we fight it, life will happen to us exactly as it's meant to happen. We are only pawns to a higher power that our meager human brains can't even begin to understand or comprehend.

My best bud, Acheron, once explained it to me like this. Destiny is a freight train rolling along on a set course that only the conductor knows. When we get to the railroad crossing in our car, we can choose to stop and wait for the train to pass us by, or try to pull out in front of it and beat that bad boy across.

That choice is our free will.

If we choose to rush ahead, the car we're in might stall on the tracks. We can then choose to try and start the car or wait for the train to plow into us. Or we can get out to run, and fight the destiny of the train slamming into us and killing us where we stand. If we choose to run, our foot could get caught in the tracks or we could slip and fall.

We could even say to ourselves, "there's no way I'm dumb enough to fight the train" and hang back to safely wait. Then the next thing we know, a truck rams us from behind, throwing us straight into the train's path.

If it is our destiny to be hit by the train, we will be hit by the train. The only thing we can change is how the train turns us into hamburger.

I, personally, don't believe in this crap. I say I control my destiny and my life.

No, nothing controls me.

Ever.

I am what I have become because of the interference and secrets of one creature. Had things been done differently, my life would have been a whole other enchilada. I would not be where I am today and I would have had a life worth living instead of the nightmare my life has become.

But no, by keeping his deepest secrets, my best friend betrayed me and turned me into the darkness I have come to embrace. Our fates and destinies were mashed together by a freak event that happened when I was a kid, and I curse the day I ever called Acheron Parthenopaeus my friend.

I am Nick Gautier.

And this is my life and how things should have been. ...

I am a socially awkward mandork."

"Nicholas Ambrosius Gautier! You watch your language!"

Nick sighed at his mother's sharp tone as he stood in their tiny kitchen looking down at the bright orange Hawaiian shirt. The color and style were bad enough. The fact it was covered in l-a-r-g-e pink, gray, and white trout (or were they salmon?) was even worse. "Mom, I can't wear this to school. It's ..."—he paused to think real hard of a word that wouldn't get him grounded for life—"hideous. If anyone sees me in this, I'll be an outcast relegated to the loser corner of the cafeteria."

As always, she scoffed at his protest. "Oh, shush. There's nothing wrong with that shirt.

Wanda told me at the Goodwill store that it came in from one of those big mansions down in the Garden District. That shirt belonged to the son of a fine upstanding man and since that's what I'm raising you to be ..."

Nick ground his teeth. "I'd rather be a delinquent no one picks on."

She let out a deep sound of aggravation as she paused while flipping bacon. "No one's going to pick on you, Nicky. The school has a strict no-bullying policy."

Yeah, right. That wasn't worth the "contract" paper it was written on. Especially since the bullies were illiterate idiots who couldn't read it anyway.

Jeez. Why wouldn't she listen to him? It wasn't like he wasn't the one going into the lion's den every day and having to traverse the brutality of high school land mines. Honestly, he was sick of it and there was nothing he could do.

He was a massive loser dork and no one at school ever let him forget that. Not the teachers, the principal, and especially not the other students.

Why cant I flash forward and bypass this whole high school nightmare?

Because his mom wouldn't let him. Only hoodlums dropped out of school and she didn't work as hard as she did to raise up another piece of worthless scum—it was a harped-on litany permanently carved into his brain. It ranked right up there with:

"Be a good boy, Nicky. Graduate. Go to college. Get a good job. Marry a good girl. Have lots of grandbabies and never miss a holy day of obligation at church." His mom had already road-mapped his entire future with no diversions or pit stops allowed.

But at the end of the day, he loved his mom and appreciated everything she did for him.

Except for this whole "Do what I say, Nicky. I'm not listening to you because I know better"

thing she said all the time.

He wasn't stupid and he wasn't a troublemaker. She had no idea what he went through at school, and every time he tried to explain it, she refused to listen. It was so frustrating.

Gah, cant I catch swine flu or something? Just for the next four years until he was able to graduate and move on to a life that didn't include constant humiliation? After all, the swine flu had killed millions of people in 1918 and several more during outbreaks in the seventies and eighties. Was it too much to ask that another mutant strain of it incapacitate him for a few years?

Maybe a good bout of parvo ... You're not a dog, Nick.

True, no dog would be caught dead wearing this shirt. Whizzing on it would be another matter. ...