Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Indeed,” sighed the demon. “But, know this. If you are lying, not only will I return her to her nightmares, but I shall put you through the same, understand?”

  “Ja, ichverstehe.”

  Thooranu shifted his eyes to the Indian woman. He didn’t need to say anything, or touch her, or even to snap his fingers in order to bring her back. She blinked at least a half dozen times before lifting her head. She groaned. Her neck was stiff from being kept at a certain angle.

  “Ow,” she complained, rubbing it.

  “Where is he?” the demon demanded.

  “In Prague. He stays in the Astronomical Clock,” the visitor said.

  Thooranu vanished.

  “Where am I?” the woman groaned, looking down at herself. Her face was twisted with horror when she saw the state of her own messy body. “Oh, God,” she whined. “What is happening to me now?”

  “You have been taken out of your punishment and brought back to the land of the sane,” her visitor explained, drawing her attention to him. “As sane as one can be, that is.”

  She began heaving in deep breaths.

  “I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “Who are you?”

  Before he could answer, the demon reappeared, making the woman shriek.

  “You were right,” Thooranu said. “I saw him with my own eyes.”

  “I am many things, Demon, but I am no liar.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He looked at the frightened woman. “Hello, Anci Kata. Remember me, do you?”

  She threw her twig-like arms over her head. “No! This is another trick!”

  “Not quite,” the demon said. “I want to introduce you to someone. Meet your new master.”

  She slowly lowered her arms and turned toward her visitor.

  “Hallo, Anci.”

  “What do you want from me?” she asked him.

  “This,” he answered, showing her a drawing of a robotic arm. “I want you to create something like this for me and help maintain it.”

  The drawing was an image he had found in some sketch journal at a circus sometime back.

  She looked at it, seemingly to study it before shifting her eyes up to him. “Who are you?”

  He straightened his posture while rolling up the paper.

  “My name is Volker Jäger.”

  Continue the adventure with

  Legacy

  The Forgotten Story

  Read on to the first chapter of Legacy-The Forgotten Story!

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Michelle E. Lowe is the author of The Warning, Atlantic Pyramid, Cherished Thief, and Legacy, and the children’s books Poe’s Haunted House Tour and The Hex Hunt. Her works in progress are the continuation of the Legacy series. Currently, she lives in Lake Forest, California, with her husband, Ben, and their two daughters.

  Website: www.michellelowe.net

  Facebook: Facebook.com/michelleloweauthor

  Twitter:@MichelleLowe_7

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  Instagram: michelle_lowe6

  Chapter One

  The Visions

  The Hawaiian Islands

  Summer, 1850

  The rain from the night before had washed up loads of kelp and seaweed. The waves had also brought up a dead and mangled sea turtle. Evidence of a shark attack. Despite the storm, the lobster traps had stayed in place, and two of them had even caught a few.

  Pierce Landcross swam deep into the clear water and unhooked the trap doors. He grabbed one lobster at a time and shoved them into the sack he held. He had become accustomed to holding his breath for extended periods of time. Once he had the lobsters secure, he reset the wooden traps and headed up. He took the warm tropical air into his lungs as he broke through the surface of the water. He swam for shore until his feet found the seafloor.

  Pierce rather enjoyed the ocean, whether it was diving for lobsters or only going in for a swim. He’d become a true fish since arriving on the island of Maui.

  Seven years ago, Chief Sea Wind, captain of the Ekta and her crew of Sea Warriors, brought him, his new bride, Taisia, his parents, Nona and Jasper, and his grandmother, Élie Fey, over from England and to the islands. When they’d arrived, Taisia was nearly five months pregnant.

  The long time at sea was due largely because the Apaches had dropped anchor in Sonora, Mexico. The detour was an adventure all on its own. The scar on Pierce’s upper back, where an arrowhead had penetrated his shoulder blade, was as a testament to that. Nevertheless, they’d made it to the islands and now lived a perfect life together under the sun.

  Pierce headed up the white sandy beach toward the area close to a surfing village where the indigenous people of Maui resided. In order to be able to live in such a secluded area—virtually untouched by the outside world—Pierce and his family had needed permission from the village leader, a man named Ailani. His name meant high chief. It turned out Chief Sea Wind was mates with the Hawaiian chief who’d granted the Landcross family permission to stay.

  As Pierce drew closer to home, he spied his daughter, Galina, digging in the sand. When she noticed him, she abandoned her work to greet him.

  “Daddy!” she called with arms outstretched.

  She always greeted him with such affection whenever he returned. He smiled as he watched her run toward him, her wavy golden-brown hair bouncing with her movements. Her pigment was a cross between his fair and Taisia’s dark skin tone. She had beautiful cognac eyes the same as her mother’s, and a smile inherited from her father. The same went for her twin brother, Joaquin, named after Pierce’s late older brother.

  Pierce lifted his daughter and carried her as he walked. She was growing heavier.

  “Oi! What have we been feeding you, child?” he asked.

  “Lobster!” she hollered, hurting his ears.

  For being so small, she had a very loud voice.

  “Lobster, eh? We might have to limit your intake, then. Don’t want you getting too big.”

  “Yes, we do, Daddy. I’m going to grow to be as big as a giant!”

  “A giant? Why would you want to be that big?”

  “To stop Joaquin and Lydia from taking my toys. And whenever they do, I can say . . .” She dropped her voice. “. . . fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of a quarter of an Englishman!”

  Pierce cocked his head back, laughing. How he adored his children’s wit.

  “Aye,” he said, putting her down. “I’m sure that’ll keep ’em both from playing with your toys without asking.”

  Galina skipped ahead of him. She, like her siblings, had lived her entire life on the sand, and she was therefore well equipped to the trek. Although Pierce had been used to it for a while, he preferred stepping on solid ground more often.

  Galina reached the hole she was digging before and resumed her work.

  “Where are you digging to, my love?” he asked, walking by her.

  She scooped a large handful of sand and tossed it out. “To China!”

  “Fantastic.”

  Pierce headed up to his and Taisia’s hut. It was shaded by tall palm trees, the same as his parents’ and grandmother’s houses, only yards away. The huts, resembling small cabins, were constructed from black wood found deep in the forest. The one-story place had started out as a two bedroom, living room, and kitchen area before it grew into three bedrooms when Taisia was expecting Lydia. With the help of the Sea Warriors, the family managed to build the original three huts in only a matter of days. Since then, the Landcross family had decorated the area with homemade chimes and glass lamps dangling from the trees. Jasper had fixed up the old bir
dhouse he’d brought with him from the Netherlands and now had it hanging from his porch. There always seemed to be a bird living in it. Near Pierce’s home was a fire pit carved out from the ground with a hammock strung up nearby.

  As he approached the steps leading up to the front porch, his son called to him. “Hi, Daddy!”

  Pierce stopped and searched around until he found the young boy way up in their only heliotrope tree. The boy laughed.

  “’Ello, Joaquin,” called Pierce, hiding his fear of just how high the boy had climbed this time. He’d started to hate that these trees had been introduced to the Hawaiian Islands. “Can you spot Jupiter from there?”

  “Maybe,” Joaquin quipped, lifting himself up onto another branch.

  Joaquin loved climbing trees, much like Pierce had when he was a tyke. As a child, Pierce had also gotten into loads of trouble, which his son also mimicked successfully. Pierce reckoned karma had finally arrived to bite him on the arse with this one.

  “I caught some lobster,” he announced, trying to coax the boy down. “Wanna look?”

  “I want to see how high I can go,” the lad stated, grabbing hold of the next branch up.

  That wasn’t what Pierce wanted to hear from his six-year-old. Joaquin again hoisted himself up onto another windy limb, causing Pierce’s heart rate to quicken.

  “Er, son,” he began saying as he took hold of the tree trunk to climb up after him, “maybe you should try climbing higher a few years from now, eh?”

  “Joaquin!” Taisia yelled so loudly it frightened Marco Polo the cockatoo sitting on his perch on the front porch. “Get down right now!”

  The fact she was shouting at him in Russian only amplified the boy’s fear. It always scared Pierce.

  Joaquin’s eyes grew very wide and he began clambering down. Pierce waited anxiously for the lad to come close enough to grab him. When he came to within reaching distance, Pierce pulled him away from the tree.

  “Stop being such a nervous Nellie, Pierce,” Taisia quipped in English. “You know he climbs that tree nearly every day now.”

  Pierce did, indeed, yet it did nothing to curb his worry. He had a very visual mind, and he could clearly envision the lad falling and cracking his head open on the way down.

  Goddammit, he had turned into his mother!

  After setting his son down, Pierce held up the sack. “Got us some lobster for tonight.”

  Taisia smiled at him. That dazzling smile he could never grow tired of. They had experienced so much together, more than most couples had in fifty years of marriage. And they’d made it through all right. Better than all right. They were healthy and living in one of the most beautiful places in the world. They had their safety, and most importantly, they had each other. So many bountiful gifts that Pierce never believed he would ever have.

  “We’ll have them with papaya and red pineapples,” Taisia suggested. “I’ll go pick the papaya with the children in a little while.”

  “Grand,” Pierce said, stepping up the stairs toward her. “I’m going to the falls to wash up.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Maybe you ought to leave the demons with Mum and Dad and come join me instead, eh?”

  He kissed her. A long, loving kiss he only wanted to share with her.

  “Ah, gross!” Joaquin shrieked, breaking the mood. “Kissing is disgusting!”

  Sometimes, Pierce wished it were still only the two of them.

  He grunted with frustration and roared loudly at his son. The boy ran off, screaming, pretending to be frightened. With him gone, Pierce again pulled his wife close.

  “As we were,” he said, about to go in for another kiss when someone latched onto his leg.

  “Daddy!” came the voice of none other than Lydia.

  He looked down at the little toddler who had hugged him like a koala hugging a tree.

  “’Ello, Angelfish,” he greeted her.

  Lydia was truly a daddy’s girl. She was his shadow, who usually followed him everywhere. It was only because she’d been asleep when he’d left to fetch the lobster that he’d even gone alone. He enjoyed her company, chatting his ear off about the dreams she’d had or asking him questions such as where do belches come from and why did the moon follow her? His little Angelfish was the light in his soul.

  She noted the sack in his hand. “You went without me?”

  Pierce dropped it to lift her up into his arms and hug her tightly.

  “Sorry, love. Accompany me next time?”

  “All right,” she said, pulling away. “Daddy, I have a question. If a cat is standing on a pillar, does that make it a caterpillar?”

  Both he and Taisia laughed.

  “I reckon it does,” he answered.

  Pierce fed the sheep inside their pens, fed the free-range chickens, and then Marco Polo, the back-talking cockatoo.

  “It’s about time. About time!” the bird squawked at him.

  Taisia had taught the bird to say that during feedings in order to mess with him.

  “Shut it,” Pierce grumbled at the bird.

  With the family occupied, Pierce followed the narrow, worn trail. The falls weren’t nearly the tallest on the island. In fact, the cliffs made for safe jumping, which Pierce had done many times. But it was breathtaking, all the same. After he cleaned up with the soap bartered from the marketplace, he dressed and headed for home. He admired his surroundings as he normally did when cutting through the thick forest. He loved it here. The plants and animals—even the insects. He loved every bit of it. He made a point of always appreciating what he had and where he lived, for it was only by sheer luck, and through a lot of help, that he was alive to have any of it.

  As he lost himself to the scenery, his bare feet no longer felt the rugged trail. He felt hardwood instead. The tropical landscape began blending into another atmosphere until it had vanished completely. The forest had become a pier with the smell of dead fish and grease oil in the cold air. Buildings consumed the trees and black smog smeared over the crystal-clear sky.

  Pierce stopped dead in his tracks. What surrounded him couldn’t be real, though it looked and felt very much so. The air was muggy and as sticky as syrup. The day was late. The sun was tucked behind the buildings of a city he’d never seen before. A tall white structure with three towers stood out amongst the buildings. At the pier, there were many ships and boats of all sorts—sailboats, tall mast ships, and many fishing boats. A large riverboat drifted down a wide river. There were people onboard, and a band played music on the deck.

  Pierce went from being alone to being surrounded by sailors, fishermen, whores, and thugs. No one noticed him. He stood like a phantom amongst these strangers who were carrying on with their business, completely unaware of him.

  “Bloody hell,” he gasped.

  He saw a sign that read Sieur de LaSalle Wharf. The sign appeared aged, with a jagged crack halfway down the middle. He heard every sound—the seagulls chattering on the rocky shore, the conversations between sailors. He could even smell the tobacco from their corncob pipes. A man was reading a Times-Picayune newspaper with a headline about a house fire in New Orleans.

  New Orleans?

  There was a commotion coming from a throng down the dock. Curious, Pierce went over to see. It wasn’t long before he spied something familiar in this unfamiliar place. Apache symbols were painted on the sails and the vessel itself, but it was the large fans that helped him identify the old Spanish galleon.

  The Ekta was anchored near the pier.

  What was she doing in New Orleans? Then he spotted the crew.

  The Sea Warriors were being led down the ramp in shackles. A pair of long, thick chains linked all the prisoners’ manacles together, keeping the whole lot locked with each other. The crowd of bystanders were screaming at them, calling them horrible names and throwing rotten food and anything else they could find at them. Chief Sea Wind and his wife, Waves of Strength, walked ahead of the imprisoned crew. They were being guarded by men wea
ring red bands around their arms.

  Vigilantes.

  The Sea Warriors were marched through the aggressive crowd and toward the city. Pierce moved in closer. He bumped into people who, although he physically touched them, acted as if nothing had happened.

  “Chief!” Pierce called as he approached. “Chief Sea Wind!”

  He came to the edge of the crowd and rushed to catch up to the line of prisoners. He was able to get alongside them. Some were bruised and bleeding from a struggle.

  “Chief!” Pierce hollered again, rushing toward the front.

  Nobody, not even the vigilantes walking beside the line with their rifles, took any notice of him. As Pierce neared the chief, he spotted Sees Beyond.

  “Sees!” Pierce gasped, slowing down. “Christ, can you hear me?”

  She didn’t answer. She only kept her steady shuffle along the dock.

  “Sees!” he yelled, grabbing her by the arm.

  When he did, the world around him blew away like leaves in high wind.

  Pierce blinked.

  He was back in the forest and holding onto a bamboo tree. He let go of it and darted his eyes about, trying to understand what he’d seen.

  “What the fuckin’ hell just happened?”