THE REAPER'S SCYTHE: THE LOCI CHRONICLES BOOK 1
Page 1
THE REAPER'S SCYTHE
The Loci Chronicles Book 1
L P PATERSON
You’re a Loci, I’ve been told. Whatever that means. Don’t even get me started on using my new powers.
I’ve been thrown headfirst into a secret world where myth, legend and lore are reality, where there’s an ironclad hierarchy of beings - Angels at the top, followed by Horsemen... Loci’s don’t even make the list. And in this strange world Chaos looms.
According to Cymon, the Loci must find the Reaper’s Scythe or we are all doomed - the catch? I only have fifteen hours to do it.
Got all that? I’m so screwed.
That’s right. Fifteen hours to save the world and no clue on how to do it. In the middle of the night a Reaper appears asking for Audrey’s help. Only problem – Audrey believes in all things sane and real. There are no such things as reapers. No overlapping worlds of magic and fantasy.
Enter a place of myth and legend, lore and fantasy. A place where Horsemen ride on motorbikes, maidens live in the Thames and a Time Master keeps track of everything. But someone wants to use the scythe to destroy all of this.
Can Audrey find the scythe before Chaos is unleashed? Will the Reaper survive? And will the Horsemen show mercy?
THE REAPER'S SCYTHE
The Loci Chronicles Book 1
L P PATERSON
Copyright © 2014 by L P Paterson.
Cover Art by KDS Cover Concepts
Produced in the United Kingdom
Published by L P Paterson
http://www.lppaterson.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including any information, storage and retrieval systems without the written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. The creative content and characters of this book are products of the authors imagination and are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner for the purpose of this work of fiction.
Grab your free book here and join my mailing list for release news, character profiles, fun giveaways and more.
Table of Contents
THE REAPER'S SCYTHE
The Loci Chronicles Book 1
L P PATERSON
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 1
"Are you the one?"
My eyes snapped open, instincts on high alert, body taut. My ears and eyes strained against the dark stillness of my bedroom, unsure if the question that had startled me awake had been my imagination.
For a while there was nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing, thunderous in my ear, but soon I heard a noise again—a subtle shuffling coming from somewhere close to my bedroom closet.
From out of the darkness, the sound continued, and I realised I was no longer alone in my room. My heart thumped inside my chest, as I wondered what I was going to do.
‘Think, Audrey,’ I instructed myself, wrestling with my mounting unease.
Maybe it was a mouse. Or worse, a rat. As gross as those possibilities were, they would be better than what my runaway mind had already concluded: that someone was now in my room.
My mother always told me there was nothing wrong with a coward. Cowards lived longer. They were not involved with all that bravery and strength nonsense that either got you killed, maimed or badly hurt. So, in my absolute knowledge of what was good for me, I weighed my options carefully, remaining still beneath the covers while I calculated the quickest way to escape.
"Are you the one?"
I flung the covers back, jumped out of bed and promptly got one pyjama clad foot caught in the tangle of sheets, causing me to tumble to the floor flat on my face and ending all attempts of escape. Without missing a beat, I reached up and snatched the reading lamp from my bedside table, ready to defend myself if the intruder should attack, not the best weapon I know, but I was terrified.
But the room was quiet again. No more sound until the eerie, dry whisper persisted, “Audrey Jones, are you the one?”
I ceased struggling with myself and snapped the lamp switch.
There was a man in my room, and he had called me by my name.
He was sitting in the arm chair at my desk, one leg casually crossed atop the other and staring at me dispassionately.
My mouth opened and closed but all I heard was a faint mewling sound as I tried to find words which my throat refused to release.
A man—a stranger—in my room. Oh God.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the whole nightmarish scenario away. When I finally reopened them though, he was still there, sitting as calmly as before.
My heart pounding, I struggled to free my legs, still wondering if it was too late to make it out in one piece.
"You're scared," the stranger said. "I understand. I won't hurt you. I just need to know if you're the one."
We stared at each other for a few turgid minutes.
"Well, are you?" he prompted.
He leaned forward in the chair, both feet now planted firmly on the floor. He seemed eager, but my throat had closed up and my tongue retreated to the furthest recesses of my mouth.
Finally, under the glare of his scathing scrutiny, I squeaked, “No.”
The intruder sat back, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Oh. That’s strange," he mused. "I definitely came through the right door. Are you sure you're not the Loci?"
The what? Seriously. Was this man deranged? I’d never even heard the word in my life before!
"What?" I sputtered.
One of the man’s brows shot up, disappearing beneath the black fringe of his hoodie, eyes widening simultaneously.
"The Loci," he repeated with an air of impatience. "surely you must know if you are. I really need an answer."
"Are you here for money?” I ventured, unsure of how to proceed because there clearly was a lapse in communication somewhere. “Because I’ve got a few pounds in the desk drawer if you…”
The stranger motioned for silence, then ran a hand through hair as thick and dark as his bushy brows. Pale eyes, pale skin, dark clothing hanging dramatically off his gangly frame—he looked sickly, but undoubtedly dangerous lounging in my chair. Long legs clad in black jeans told me he must be quite tall and could probably cross the room in two strides.
I began screaming. Screeching my head off, hoping the racket would permeate the peaceful night and perhaps alert the neighbours of my present danger.
The stranger scowled.
“Don’t do that,” he said, looking pained. “You’ll hurt your throat if you continue and besides, it’s useless: I’ve cast a dampener spell on the room. No one can hear a thing we say—no one not like us, anyway.”
Oh, so he cast spells? He really was crazy!<
br />
I piped down, still terrified, but curious in a morbid way as well.
“Who the hell are you?” I whispered hoarsely.
"Apologies," he replied in the same monotone. "I am Cymon and I am seeking the services of the Loci. The portal led me here. I exited through that door”. He pointed to the door which led to my walk-in closet. I looked at the closet door and looked back at him.
"You came through that door?" I rasped. "Are you sure?"
He nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. But please, tell me: Are you the one? The Loci? Because I don't have much time."
He crossed the room and was now standing directly over me as I cowered against the wall. From my place on the floor, the man seemed to touch the ceiling, so imposing was he at full height.
“On your feet, Audrey,” he instructed, and though his words were gruff, they were not unkind. I scrambled to my feet, still jammed against the wall, as far away from him as possible.
He moved closer, seemingly staring at my neck. My hand crept up self-consciously to cover the deep purple birthmark there—the bane of my existence through my school days.
Up close — Cymon, was it? — was unsettlingly handsome and looked younger than I’d first thought.
I’d spent most of my twenty-three years trying to avoid crazy people and crazy situations like this, but I guess my luck had finally run out.
This person, this ‘spell-casting’ stranger, didn’t appear threatening, more fascinated by my neck than anything now, but I wasn't about to let my guard down. Things could spiral out of control any second in situations like these.
"That door is my closet. All that is in there are my clothes and shoes. How did you get into my room?" I asked. He didn’t reply, but continued to appraise my neck.
"Stop staring at me," I complained.
He screwed up his face and stared at me harder. "Are you—"
"No! I am not the one. I already told you." I snapped, finally finding my voice. His scrutiny was unnerving, and his nearness intimidated me.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, backing off slightly.
"I was going to ask if you're alright." he said. "The portal would not lead me here if it was not the right place. Really. It can't."
"Look, I’m sorry Cymon," I responded warily, hoping that the use of his name would inject some kind of sanity into the conversation. “I’m not who—or what you’re looking for. I’m no Low-Key…”
"Loci,” he interjected, “And you're not listening. The portal cannot lead me to the wrong place. It just can't. If you Audrey Jones, are on the other side of it, then you are the one."
I looked at him aghast as he stated my full name again. "How do you know my name?"
His eyes lit up as I confirmed my identity. Judging from his apparent relief, with a sinking heart I realised I must be the One he was searching for.
Me. Audrey Jones. The most ordinary twenty-three-year-old who ever lived. I’d recently busted my gut to complete my Bachelor’s degree in Math, graduated (with honours!) and I ran my own home. The house was inherited and had been in my mother's family for generations, and my dad still paid the bills, but that was his choice. It wasn’t unheard of (I mean, I’m an only child, after all) but I was pretty sure I knew who I was and no words from a crazy home-invader could convince me otherwise.
Nothing about me screamed “chosen one” or Low-key or whatever.
"I need your help Audrey." he said firmly, now that all the pleasantries had been disposed of. “Only a Loci can find what has been taken from me."
"Look. I don't know who you are or how you got in. But I can't help you. Alright. You need to leave." There. That should do it. I was making it clear. He had to go!
"Audrey. You are the only Loci in this land and only a Loci can find what has been taken from me." he said.
"Look. I don't really know what a low-key is-"
"Loci. Not Low-key. Loci." he repeated.
"Yeah. Whatever. I don't know what it is. But I am not one. You're going to have to get someone else to help you." I said.
He gave a deep drawn out sigh. That was a good sign. Finally. Maybe now he would just leave.
Before he could reply, something crashed downstairs. What the hell was going on? For one brief second fear fluttered inside me again and I was only slightly grateful that I was not alone in the room.
"Did you bring a friend?" I asked, attempting to disguise my fear with biting sarcasm. He drew his head back and bunched his mouth to the side, Cymon again motioned for silence, this time because he was listening intently to the commotion below us.
I didn't know just how menacing I looked in my purple elephant pyjamas, but I put on my sternest voice regardless. I just might be the eldest person in the room.
"Someone is downstairs. And it's probably your fault that they got in. You better go and check." I jabbed my forefinger in his direction accusingly.
"But—I came through the portal," he said and pointed towards my closet.
"Are you going to check or not?" I demanded, not buying that portal rubbish. He’d got in and left some door unsecured.
There was another crash and I turned to look at Cymon. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. He turned back towards the door as footsteps pounded up the stairs.
I flattened myself against the wall, wondering how much more of this night I could take. Cymon was backing up too. The footsteps grew heavier and ever closer.
"What are we going to do?" I asked breathlessly. My next action would be to catapult out the window, but it was a long drop to the paved yard below and if I jumped, I would surely break something.
I glanced at Cymon desperately, and saw him pull the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head. The top half of his face plummeted into shadow leaving only his pale jawline visible. His hands were stretched out before him with palms facing outwards, fingers splayed wide. His lips were moving. Muttering a “spell” no doubt. God. We were so screwed.
I turned back to the door. The footsteps suddenly stopped outside the landing. Then the door burst open and a man’s burly frame tumbled in.
“Mr Peters!” I screamed.
I flew across the room and practically climbed onto my neighbour Mr Peters’, someone I knew and trusted. He’d heard my earlier screams and had come to my rescue.
Mr Peters gathered me up and placed me on my feet by holding me at arms’ length with large, calloused hands. Like Cymon had done before, he regarded me closely, checking to make sure I was alright it seemed.
"You're okay Audrey. You're okay." he said in familiar, comforting tones.
I nodded in response, lips trembling as my throat tightened and tears started streaming down my face. Mr Peters bundled me into his arms and pulled me into his chest. I snuggled in. Grateful for someone familiar who could help me remove the crazy man from my room.
Mr Peters sized up my intruder, ready, I was sure, to throw him out. I was fairly positive he would be able to quite easily as he had more than a few pounds on Cymon. I turned to look at him. I now had company. I could be brutal and honest and Mr Peters would back me up.
"You have to go." I said. I bravely maintained eye contact with him. "I can't help you. So, you need to leave." I heard Mr Peters draw in a breath. Maybe getting ready to throw this intruder out. I folded my arms ready to repeat myself and then I would let Mr Peters take over.
Instead he said, "Reaper." and inclined his head in Cymon’s direction as if in acknowledgment.
"Sentinel." Cymon responded just as respectfully with a slight nod of his own.
I goggled at both of them, not quite sure what was going on.
"She's not ready," Mr Peters intoned.
"I can see that," Cymon said. "But that’s no concern of mine. Whatever she knows will have to do."
Mr Peters pushed me away gently, approaching the younger man now.
"She doesn't know anything. She has been locked. We never thought there would be a need."
Cymon’s eyes bulge
d and his nostrils flared in alarm.
"Are you telling me she has no idea—"
“Stop it!" I screamed. "I am standing right here. What the hell are you both talking about?" I rounded on Mr Peters, too confused and angry to be the terrified victim. Something occurred to me then. “How did you know I was in trouble?”
The older man scratched his head. “I heard your screams.” he stated quietly.
“But Cymon said he sound-proofed the room with a spell,” I pointed out. “that no normal people could hear…Oh Christ!” This was not happening to me.
"The Reaper needs your help to find something Audrey," Mr Peters cut me off impatiently. “I know this doesn’t make any sense to you yet, but I’ll do my best to explain later.” He turned to look at Cymon.
“The Reaper?” I repeated weakly, head spinning.
I was a Loci, apparently. My sweet, elderly neighbour was a magical entity known as a sentinel. And the crazed stranger who had broken into my room in the dead of night was a reaper. I didn’t know what any of it meant, but this was just too much!
"My scythe," said Cymon, nodding in affirmation.
"Your scythe!!" barked Mr Peters. "You've lost your scythe?"
"No." corrected Cymon, his voice finally losing the monotone quality. "My scythe has been stolen, and I intend to find it, and the thief”. His pale jaw clenched and he added, almost as an afterthought, “With Audrey's help, of course."
“Of course,” I grumbled sarcastically, throwing my hands up in the air.
They ignored my dramatics as Mr Peters asked softly, "How long?"
"I still have time." Cymon replied petulantly, eyes lowered, unable to maintain contact with Mr Peters. His shoulders drooped slightly and he returned to my desk chair.
Tension hung in the air as these two magical beings exchanged some kind of silent despair. Meanwhile, I still couldn't believe what was happening.
Mr Peters, my neighbour, the calm mechanic from next door, the man my father had become friends with when I was about five years old. We’d moved to the street when my mother inherited the house following my grandmother's death. My father had managed to get an allotment to grow vegetables, something he loved doing. Mr Peters also had an allotment in the same field, and they often shared tips on how to get the best produce. When my parents retired to Wales, my father’s place of birth and something my mother had been planning forever, both my father and Mr Peters had been devastated. But they maintained their friendship through letters and outings whenever my father came down to London, so I couldn't believe that I was being betrayed by this man who I considered family.