The Lily Harper 8 Book Boxed Set

by HP Mallory

  Tallis nodded and reached inside his jeans pocket. He produced an iron blade, which was maybe two inches long. He handed it to me, and I accepted it, running the pads of my fingers over the marks on the blade where Tallis had pounded it into a serrated point. “Ye will use this blade ta cut yer way inta the wood,” he answered as if his response made an ounce of sense to me.

  “Um, what?” I asked, looking up at him and shaking my head to let him know I was lost.

  “The blade will clear the pathway ta the wood,” he added. Seeing my still concerned expression, he continued. “Ye simply hold the blade in the air, where ye want ta place yer pathway, an’ then ye coot down. The blade coots the air in half, revealin’ the wood.”

  “So it cuts right through thin air?” I asked, dubiously. I should have known better though. I wasn’t sure if it was because Tallis was a Celtic Druid, or two thousand years old, or because he was possessed by the ghost of an ancient warrior, making him immortal, but Tallis possessed magic. He could do things that defied science—like healing himself. Well, and cutting portals through thin air.

  “Aye, ’twill coot right through the air, lass,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  I glanced down at the blade in my hand and rotated it. As I studied it, I wondered how Tallis had imbued it with such magic. I didn’t get the chance to inquire, however, because the front door suddenly burst open, exposing Bill who was balancing on one leg. The other leg had, presumably, just kicked the front door open. His arms were full with two large, white plastic bags. He also balanced two cups, of what I imagined was soda, beneath his chin.

  “A lil’ help’d be nice!” he growled out as I lurched forward from where I’d been leaning against the bar in the kitchen. I grabbed the two drinks from beneath his chin as he released a pent-up breath and I closed the door behind him. “Thanks, Conan,” he remarked with raised brows at Tallis, apparently ticked off that Tallis hadn’t made a move to assist him. To say the two men were as compatible as water and oil was an abject understatement.

  Tallis didn’t say anything, but I caught the corners of his lips lifting a bit. Apparently he found the whole situation amusing. Bill plopped the two bags onto the kitchen table and untied them. He pulled out a Styrofoam clamshell container, which he placed in front of me. “Chicken Tikka Masala for you, nips,” he said, handing me one of the beverages. “An’ a Diet Coke, since you’re wantin’ ta keep your bod ‘do me’ worthy.” Then he handed me something wrapped in aluminum foil. “And the garlic naan, which you love so much, but makes your breath smell like ass.”

  “Thanks, Bill,” I said with a reluctant smile.

  “An’ butter chicken for me,” Bill continued. He placed the dish in front of his empty seat, which was next to me and across from Tallis. He set the other beverage in front of himself, as well as the only other package of naan. Then, reaching back into the plastic bag, he presented Tallis with the last dish. “An’ this is Alpoo Mater or some shit I can’t pronounce. It’s vegetarian,” he added, smiling wickedly at Tallis.

  “Bill, you know Tallis isn’t vegetarian?” I asked, frowning at him.

  “’Course I know, bubble-butt, but the dude needs ta go on a diet,” he explained with a shrug. It was a ridiculous thing to say. Tallis probably had less than 6 percent body fat, while Bill must’ve been pushing 30 percent. “An’ that’s the reason why Conan doesn’t get a drink neither,” Bill continued, facing Tallis. “Empty calories—they go right to your hips.”

  Tallis frowned at him, but didn’t say anything. He simply opened his container and reached for one of the plastic forks, which Bill had taken from the bags. Tallis took a small bite of what looked like potatoes in some sort of curry sauce. Really, Tallis’s quiet appreciation for the food was the best revenge. And based on Bill’s ensuing frown, Tallis’s approach was working.

  “Do you want some of my chicken?” I asked Tallis, irritated at Bill’s bad manners. But Tallis shook his head.

  “Nae, this is fine, lass. Ah’ve supped oan far worse.” He finished his bite and smiled at Bill as if to say the angel hadn’t bested him. Bill glowered in response before spearing another piece of butter chicken, which he then popped into his already full mouth.

  “Okay, so when did you want to start my training?” I asked Tallis.

  “Oan the morrow, lass,” Tallis answered. “Ah’ll expect ye ta be at mah doorstep at first light.”

  “At first light?” Bill roared, bits of food flying out of his mouth. “We got shit ta do, yo! We ain’t got time ta go trick-or-treatin’ with your sorry ass!” Bill glanced around the room as if to say the unpacked boxes were our number one priority. As far as I was concerned, survival was my number one priority.

  “Ah dinnae care,” Tallis answered indifferently as he impaled another piece of potato and brought it to his mouth. “Find yer own time ta make yer nest,” he finished, facing Bill.

  “Okay, tomorrow at dawn,” I said, not wanting to give Bill the chance to pursue the argument. I took a deep breath and forked a piece of chicken. None of us said anything for the next few minutes as I struggled for a new topic of conversation. Glancing over at Tallis, I took in his black sweater and dark blue jeans, and figured that was as good a place to start as any. “So, I’m surprised to see you dressed like that, Tallis,” I began. “I’d imagined your wardrobe consisted only of kilts and the Roman sandals we always see you wearing.”

  He glanced at me and shook his head. “Aye, an’ sooch is what Ah’m wearin’ now, lass.”

  I frowned because he clearly wasn’t wearing a kilt. Looking down at his feet, I noticed they were covered by black boots. “Um, it doesn’t look like you are,” I said with a nervous laugh. It was generally not a great idea to argue with the bladesmith, since he was about as unpredictable as a cornered feral animal.

  He didn’t say anything. Then he extended his arm out before him, holding his large palm directly in front of my eyes. He brought his hand downward, and when his palm no longer blocked my eyes, I noticed he was now sitting at my table clad in a blue and purple kilt and his sporran, which he wore around his waist. He wasn’t wearing anything up top. Glancing down beneath the table, I found that, yes, his sandals were also present and accounted for.

  “How did you do that?” I asked, shocked. I noticed that Bill didn’t say anything. He was still too enthralled with finishing his meal.

  Tallis raised his eyebrows at me and smiled in a self-impressed sort of way. “Druid magic, Besom,” he answered. “Besom” was Tallis’s nickname for me. In Gaelic, it meant “troublesome woman.” It wasn’t the most endearing nickname, but Tallis didn’t strike me as the Hallmark type.

  “Explain,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Ah dinnae like ta attract attention when Ah travel ta yer world, lass,” he started. “Usin’ the magic o’ mah ancestry, Ah’m able ta disappear inta a crowd. People see meh as they choose ta.”

  “So you mean you look different to everyone?” I asked, always finding Tallis’s magic far beyond interesting.

  “Aye. Ah appear as inconspicuously as Ah can, dependin’ oan how someone wants ta see meh.” He took a deep breath. “How did ye see meh afore Ah released the magic?”

  “You were wearing a black sweater and dark jeans,” I answered, bringing another bite to my mouth.

  He nodded. “An’ was mah face an’ height the same as ye see now?”

  “Yes,” I said as his eyebrows raised, showing surprise. A moment later, the expression was gone. It was unusual for Tallis to look startled, although I had managed to take him unexpectedly maybe twice in the duration of our acquaintance. “Most people willna see meh as Ah am boot far shorter an’ smaller.” It made sense—if Tallis wanted to blend in, his immense height and build wouldn’t be an asset.

  “Wanna know how I see you, Tido?” Bill piped up, but didn’t wait for Tallis to answer. “I see you as buck ass nekked,” Bill finished, his mouth full of chicken. I had a sneaking suspicion it was my chicken because his plate was a
lready licked clean.

  “Naked?” I repeated, not meaning to sound aghast, but there it was. I felt my cheeks coloring. There were times when it wasn’t so easy to be a twenty-two-year-old virgin.

  Bill nodded and speared another morsel from my dinner. “That’s right. Ol’ Conan looks ta me as nekked as the day Medusa birthed him.” He glanced at Tallis and smiled as if he’d just bested the Druid. Then he glanced down at Tallis’s crotch. “An’ the ol’ bladesmith ain’t packin’ much penis heat, know’s what I mean, Lil?” he asked, glancing over at me, and nudging me with his elbow. He shook his head like Tallis’s lack of “penis heat” was a tragic shame.

  “Bill,” I started, now more than aware that he was making everything up.

  “It’s true,” he continued as he nodded vehemently. “Conan ain’t gotta lap hog, namsay?”

  “No, I don’t know what you’re saying,” I spat back at him. He exhausted me with the never ending rivalry he insisted upon displaying toward Tallis.

  “Lap hog, babydoll, means someone’s got a biggus dickus. In the case of Conan, though, he ain’t sportin’ a large rod.” Bill took a sip of his Sprite as Tallis watched him patiently, without uttering a single sound. “But I will tell ya,” Bill continued, taking my last bite of chicken and stuffing it into his mouth before waving the fork in time with his nodding head, “Conan is also sportin’ a mean lookin’ rash on his nads.” He swallowed the bite and eyed Tallis’s crotch again before shrugging. “Might be blisters actually.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “But I think it’s Chlamydia.”

  “You can’t see Chlamydia, Bill,” I retorted with a frown, quickly tiring of his antics. “It’s symptomless.”

  Bill shrugged and cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Tallis started to nod as if he were agreeing with the angel. “Och aye,” he said before taking a deep breath. “Ah noticed mah region beginnin’ ta itch right after Ah took the stookie angel from behind when he was sleepin’.”

  I watched Bill’s mouth drop open in horror and realized he thought Tallis was actually serious. I threw my head back and laughed, fully enjoying the fact that Tallis could hold his own. “The look on your face is priceless, Bill!” I managed between laughs.

  At the sound of a demanding knock on my front door, I immediately stopped laughing. I faced Tallis and Bill with an expression that conveyed that I wasn’t expecting any other visitors. Tallis shot up to his feet, and without making a sound, walked to the door, standing behind it, and beside the wall. I pushed up from where I was sitting at the dining table and approached the door cautiously. As I reached for the handle, Tallis’s steely voice stopped me.

  “Open the door verra slowly, lass,” he whispered.

  “It’s probably just a neighbor or someone selling something,” I offered, wondering why Tallis was reacting so strangely.

  He shook his head. “Ye can never be too careful, lass,” he responded.

  I didn’t say anything, but simply nodded as I turned the handle in my palm and gently pulled the door a few inches toward me. “Can I help you?” I asked. There was a short, slender man on the other side of the door, holding a clipboard in his hands.

  “Perhaps,” he responded in a nasally, high-pitched tone. “Are you Lily Harper?”

  I swallowed hard, doubting very much that this guy was from Publisher’s Clearing House. I glanced over at Tallis and when he nodded at me encouragingly, I answered. “Yes.”

  “Then, yes, you can help me,” the man replied. He must have been no taller than five foot six. “My name is Herbert Hooter and I represent Afterlife Enterprises. May I come in?”

  Not knowing what else to say or do, I nodded and opened the door. The little man pranced into my apartment as if he were on a cat walk. Herbert Hooter had the face of a baby with big blue eyes, a pert little nose, and jowl-like cheeks. A mop of thick, blond hair sat on his head like a napkin.

  As soon as I closed the door, Tallis intercepted him after approaching the man from behind. “Why are ye here?” he demanded, his voice sounding threatening and louder than necessary.

  Herbert turned around on his heels quickly and his eyes immediately widened at seeing the enormous Scotsman looming above him. Apparently, after getting his bearings and not wanting to appear unsettled, Herbert cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at Tallis. He seemed to be saying that brawn would not intimidate him. “Like I said,” he started, throwing his hands on his hips, “I am here on Afterlife Enterprises business to speak with Ms. Harper regarding the deaths of,” he started, referring to his clipboard and ten or so sheets of paper, “Ragur and Kipur, both residents of the Underground City.”

  “Bludy hell,” Tallis said as he shook his head. I remembered the two clown demons who accosted us during our mission to the Underground City.

  “Hey, Mr. Hooters,” Bill started, his lips tight. “Them demons dyin’ had nothin’ ta do with reverse cowgirl over there,” he said as he inclined his head in my direction.

  Herbert Hooter scowled at Bill, apparently not appreciating Bill’s attempt to make fun of his last name. Or maybe it was the reverse cowgirl statement he found offensive. Whatever the reason, it was clear that he wasn’t interested in trifling with Bill. “Nonetheless, I have been sent here by Jason Streethorn to take down the account as you recall it,” he finished, his eyes resting on me again. Jason Streethorn was one of the managers at Afterlife Enterprises. Coincidentally, he was also the one who offered me the position of Soul Retriever.

  “We were attacked,” I answered, shaking my head. “That’s all there was to it. We were attacked by Kipur and Ragur, so we defended ourselves.”

  “Thanks, but I will need quite a bit more detail than that,” Herbert continued, shaking his head as if to insinuate I was slow. “The more information you can give me, the better for your case.”

  “My case?” I repeated, not realizing I even had a case.

  “Yes,” Herbert responded. “The master of the Underground City notified us of the deaths of his employees and as the complaint came directly from him, we must treat it with the utmost delicacy and respect.”

  “Bludy Alaire,” Tallis commented again, shaking his head, his lips tight as he faced Herbert. “Ye can tell Alaire ta take his bludy complaint an’ shoove it where the darkness lies!” he roared.

  “You mean shove it where the sun don’t shine, Conan,” Bill corrected him with a wink.

  “Aye,” Tallis responded, nodding at Herbert who appeared anything but impressed.

  Herbert turned his attention from Tallis back to me as he took a deep breath. “Very well, Ms. Harper, shall we get down to brass tacks?”

  “I guess so,” I answered as I watched Herbert take a seat on one of my moving boxes. I glanced at Tallis who nodded, as if to say he would ensure I didn’t say too much or say the wrong thing. Or maybe that was just my own wishful thinking.

  “Please describe what occurred at the carnival called Freak Show, Ms. Harper,” Herbert continued in a bored tone. He pulled his pen from underneath the clip and put it on the paper, obviously eager to get moving.

  “Okay,” I started as I tried to remember exactly what happened. “I was told to retrieve the soul of a woman who was being held captive in a hurricane in the Freak Show carnival,” I started.

  “Very good,” Herbert answered in a monotone. “Who were you with?”

  “My angel guardian, Bill,” I started, eyeing Bill.

  “Represent,” Bill said with a nod as he fisted his hand, and bounced it against his chest twice, like he thought he was a gang member or something. I glanced up at Tallis who nodded, indicating that he was okay with my mentioning he was with me as well. “And I was also with Tallis Black.”

  “Anyone else?” Herbert demanded.

  There was one other person: Sherita Eaton Landers. But when I glanced at Tallis, he shook his head. I took that to mean he didn’t want me to mention Sherita’s name. “No, no one else,�
�� I said, not exactly comfortable about lying to an Afterlife Enterprises employee. Actually, I wasn’t really comfortable with lying in general.

  “Okay, so then what happened?” Herbert asked.

  I felt my heartbeat racing as I recalled the particulars. “Using the detection device Jason gave us, we followed the missing soul to a circus tent at the center of Freak Show,” I started.

  “So you’ve said,” Herbert interrupted, waving his hand impatiently as if to say I needed to get on with it.

  “Um, so once we entered the tent and made it through the hurricane of souls, one of the demons …”

  “Kipur,” Tallis corrected me.

  “Kipur started giving us trouble with the soul,” I continued. Herbert Hooter apparently still found my narration too slow because he waved his hand dismissively and even sighed. “So, once we got the soul into the glass vial that Tallis brought with him, we were ready to leave Freak Show,” I persisted. “But on our way out, Ragur, the other clown, ambushed and attacked us.”

  “How did he do that?” Herbert asked, not looking up from his note taking.

  In reality, Ragur jumped on Sherita and knocked her down, but seeing as how I wasn’t supposed to mention her name, I opted for a little white lie of omission. “Um, he jumped on one of us.”

  “Which one of you?” Herbert demanded.

  “I, uh, I can’t recall now,” I answered sheepishly, feeling heat beginning to build in my cheeks. For as much as I disliked lying, I also wasn’t very good at it. Herbert looked unconvinced and I realized I had better explain myself. “Everything happened so quickly, some of it is still a little blurry.”