By
KD Grace (Guest Blogger)
There
are very few religions or mythologies that don’t speculate on what
happens after death. Since no one has ever come back to tell the
tale, or bothered to post selfies from the afterlife on Facebook, we
speculate. Most Westerners have grown up with tales of heaven and
hell. Heaven is always some nebulous place “up there” with angels
and harps, and hell is always “down there” below ground, in the
fiery pit with pitchforks and demons. But to me, no matter how vivid
the fire and brimstone rendition, those stories have always been far
less intriguing than the stories of other peoples’
afterlives. In Greek mythology, for example, whether you’re good or
bad, everyone ends up underground, and you have to cross the River
Styx to get there. Not only do you have to cross the river, but you
have to pay your own passage on the boat. Then you’re in the land
of the shades (that’s Greek speak for ghosts). Hades, the god of
the dead rules this underworld, which happens to share his name, and
he always has room for one more.
While
I’m claustrophobic enough not to really want my person stuck
underground, there’s something about tunnels, caves and abandoned
depths that fascinates me. I know my basic psychology well enough to
figure those places probably represent my unconscious and all the
things that I fear and doubt, and I’m neurotic enough to have a
good list of both. That being the case it’s not a huge shock to
readers that the underground places are a reoccurring theme in
Medusa’s
Consortium
stories. Magda’s gang has taken me into a derelict slate quarry,
the crypt of a deconsecrated chapel, and abandon subway tunnels. It’s
not too big of a surprise then that the
storm tunnels of Las Vegas should figure largely in Buried
Pleasures,
the third of the Medusa novels and the first of the Vegas Consortium
stories.
The
mind-boggling project designed to offer flood protection to a city
built on bedrock and totally surrounded by mountains had begun in the
seventies. The individual segments reminded Samantha of giant hollow
Lego blocks made of concrete. Originally there was to be over a
thousand miles of tunnels beneath Sin City. They were all designed to
channel the waters of any flash flood that threatened the financial
heart of the city into Lake Mead, some thirty miles away. The project
was never finished, but there were still an impressive two hundred
miles of storm tunnels beneath Vegas, and they now provided shelter
for the homeless who didn’t mind playing the odds that their
meager belongings wouldn’t get washed away in the next deluge. They
had also provided a hiding place for murderers and thieves and who
knew what else?
--
Buried Pleasures
That
the tunnels, like most underground places, are steeped in urban
legend and are such a powerful contrast to the glitz of the Strip
above was enough to send my active imagination into fits of ecstasy.
What if the storm tunnels were actually the realm of Hades, and he
frequented them in the guise of a homeless man with a very large dog?
The
other thing about Hades is that he’s also the god of wealth and
hidden treasure, which makes perfect sense in that all precious
stones and metals come from beneath the earth. In addition there are
countless myths and legends of buried treasures in caves and deep
underground places. Add to that the gamble it all and get rich quick
mystique of Vegas and what better place for Hades to hang his hat?
Buried Pleasures, itself is an exclusive, by invitation only,
casino owned by Hades other alter ego, Jack Graves. Though the casino
is invitation only, the guests who get invited are not always the
ones you’d expect. Treasure Island has its volcano. The Bellagio
has its fountains, the Venetian has its canals and boats. Buried
Pleasures’ façade is the entrance to a storm tunnel, and for those
who gamble it all and lose, it’s also the gateway to the realm
where everybody is homeless.
Mixing
myth with modernity has always fascinated me. The myths still
resonate today because they are stories that speak to the human
psyche of every era. The heaven and hell and afterlife of a modern
myth would, no doubt have to involve urban decay and the chance to
gamble everything for true wealth. But what would the god of death
and wealth want that he doesn’t already have? Could it be that like
everyone else, it’s issues of the heart that trouble him most? And
when the person troubling his heart is the last siren, things are
bound to get complicated.
When
Samantha Black shares her sandwich with a dog, his owner, Jon—a
homeless man living in the Las Vegas storm tunnels—gives her a
poker chip worth a fortune from the exclusive casino, Buried
Pleasures. All Sam has to do is cash it in. Sam is in Vegas for one
reason only—to get her friend, Evie Holt, away from sinister
magician, Darian Fox, who holds her prisoner in an effort to force
Sam to perform at his club, Illusions. A neon circus tent of strange
and mystical acts, Illusions is one of the biggest draws in Vegas,
and he’s hell-bent on including Sam in his disturbing plans.
The
shadowy Magda Gardener will do anything to keep Sam from cashing in
that chip. She knows that Buried Pleasures is the gate to Hades and
cashing in the chip is a one-way ticket across the River Styx, which
runs beneath the storm tunnels of Vegas. Jon is really Jack Graves,
owner of Buried Pleasures, and Graves is really the god of death,
himself, and if things aren’t already confusing enough, he and
Magda know what Sam doesn’t. Sam is the last siren. That her song
can kill is only the beginning of her story. Jon wants her safe on
his side of the River, protected from Fox’s hideous magic. But even
Death fears Magda Gardener, who is none other than Medusa, and the
gorgon has her own agenda. If Sam is to understand her heritage and
win the battle against Darian Fox, not only will she have to trust
her heart to Death, but they’ll both have to work for the gorgon,
whose connection with Sam runs deeper than any of them could imagine.
Excerpt
– Not Entirely Human
Sam
remembered Jon lifting her into his arms like she weighed nothing and
carrying her into the bedroom. She remembered Gus sitting all
Anubis-like in the hallway, as though he were guarding the temple.
She remembered Jon shouldering his way through the gauze curtains
into the big bed, and laying her down. Certainly she remembered him
holding her and exploring her and allowing her to return the favor
while they made love as though they had all the time in the world.
What
she didn’t remember was an ending and, though she never wanted it
to end, sooner or later it had to, didn’t it? Sooner or later she
would be too weak and too tired to continue. After all, she was only
human. Well, not exactly human, she recalled, stretching up into the
waking world from dreamless sleep. A siren. She smiled at the
thought. Not exactly human at all.
Her
desire for Jon awakened with the memory. She reached out for him to
discover she was alone in the big bed that smelled of the patchouli
musk of sex and beneath that, the ozone and desert heat of Jon’s
own scent. The clenching fear low in her belly that he’d left, or
worse yet, she had only dreamed their encounter, relaxed as the
weight near the foot of the bed shifted and whined softly, and she
reached out a bare foot to touch thick, soft fur.
As
she took in the darkened surroundings and the dance of the gauze
curtains in the whisper of a breeze, she ran her toes down Gus’s
sprawled flank. His leg twitched and he grunted in his sleep, then
rearranged himself.
She
pulled the throw from the foot of the bed out from under him, and he
protested with a half-articulated woof, then went back to dreaming.
Wrapped in the soft knit, she followed the path of candlelight down
the hall. In the living room the balcony doors had been thrown open,
and Jon leaned on the railing, looking out over the sleeping city.
Her
heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of him, totally naked in
the silver light of a pre-dawn moon, oblivious to the chill of early
morning. He seemed enormous from where she stood, tall and
hard-muscled, not heavily so, but lean and strong.
As
she recalled his rescue of her, him carrying her through the storm
tunnels, the thought occurred to her that he might well be less human
than she was. But hadn’t she sensed that even before she sang for
him? Hadn’t it been clear that whoever he was, whatever he was, he
was not simply a man down on his luck living in the storm tunnels?
Besides, if she was a siren, who knew what other things existed out
there. Certainly Fox wasn’t human, and some of what she had sensed
at Illusions, well, he wasn’t the only one there who wasn’t
human.
Then
there were the guardians Jon had set to watch her and keep her safe
in this place. They were certainly not human, not even close. She
couldn’t see them except in that strange periphery of vision that
became visible only when she played or sang. In truth she was pretty
sure she didn’t want to see them too well, and yet they didn’t
frighten her, not if they served Jon.
He
spoke without turning to face her. “I’m sorry I left you.” His
chuckle was dark and rich at the back of his throat. “I lay there
next to you watching you for a long time, but the urge to touch
became so overwhelming that I thought I should leave you to rest. I
know you’re worn out after the last thirty-six hours.”
The
thought of Jon lying next to her, watching her sleep, made the
muscles low in her belly clench and squirm and yield. She caught her
breath. “I wouldn’t have minded if you woke me up.”
This
time the chuckle was positively wicked. “So my little siren is as
insatiable as I am then, is she?” He turned to face her, and there
was definitely no hiding his own desire, as he invited her into his
arms with a nod of his head. “I suspected that might be the case.”
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About
K D Grace
Voted
ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right.
It really IS all about sex -- sex and love – and that is an
absolute writer’s playground.
When
she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. Her creativity
is directly proportional to how quickly she wears out a pair of
walking boots. She loves mythology, which inspires many of her
stories. She enjoys time in the gym, where she’s having a mad
affair with a pair of kettle bells. Her first love is writing, but
she loves reading and watching birds. She adores anything that gets
her outdoors.
KD’s
novels and other works are published by Totally Bound, SourceBooks,
Accent Press, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press,
Black Lace, and others. She also writes romance under the name Grace
Marshall.
Find
K D Here:
Websites:
http://kdgrace.co.uk/
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/KD_Grace
Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/kdnewsletter
