Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  What were the chances of that being true? Nothing in her world was cut and dry.

  “Joe—” She clenched her jaw, her insides twisting. God damn it. Just do it. “Do you believe in world-walking?”

  Joe shrugged. “Sure.”

  Thank God. She leaned back into the couch, relief flooding her. Help at last. “I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t have time to make this sound sane. I don’t belong in this world. I need to world-walk back home, fast.”

  “You’ve had a close brush,” Joe said.

  What?

  A chill rushed through Rowan. Maybe the Sister hadn’t heard what she had said. “No, I—”

  “You might have seen a glimpse of the other world.” Joe put a cup of tea in her hands. “But other worlds are just a demon’s way of talking about heaven and hell. It’s more politically correct for them than heaven and hell with all the bad mythology around the terms.”

  Rowan pressed the porcelain cup between her palms, trying to burn away the chill. “Politically correct? Of course.” She bobbed her head. Numb.

  “When I was your age, I did research into the demon concept of world-walking.”

  “But?”

  “Its only legitimate mention is in the Book of Noah at the time of the Great Flood, when the entities of heaven and hell battled on earth.” Joe put a sugar cube in her tea and stirred. Her expression was distant. She was in lecture mode, and she wouldn’t hear anything Rowan had to say until the lesson was over.

  “The other worlds are heaven and hell. You’ll go there someday, Rowan. I know you’ve seen the light with your recent scare, and God will call you when it’s your time.”

  “Yeah…” This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Rowan needed to stop talking, just excuse herself. Leave. Find another option.

  Joe offered her a gentle smile. “Now isn’t your time.”

  “Of course.” Rowan put her cup on the coffee table and stood. It wasn’t a polite exit, but she didn’t have time for a lengthy lecture. If Joe couldn’t help her, she needed to find someone who could.

  Joe frowned and pursed her lips.

  “I just forgot I need to—” Rowan rushed for the door, leaving before she was forced to figure out the rest of the lie and come up with something she’d forgotten.

  She ran to the stairwell at the end of the hall, praying Joe wouldn’t follow, and raced down the stairs and out the narrow door at the bottom. There was only one person left in this world who could help her. Azkeel. And he’d been shot.

  Worst case: she needed to find out if he was all right. It occurred to her she didn’t know where he lived, or even his phone number, but she shoved back the rising fear. She’d met him twice. It was a little soon to get his number, even if he had jumped in front of a bullet for her. Besides, she worked for the FBI. It shouldn’t be that difficult to get the guy’s number. It was probably in her case file somewhere since he was a member of the entities’ club.

  She fumbled in her purse for her phone. No signal. She stepped away from the dormitory, out into the quad, and turned around.

  Still no signal.

  She turned it off, then on again. She’d never had a problem with the signal, not in the middle of campus. But nothing she did could make the phone work. She shoved it back into her purse and headed across campus.

  She could go back inside and call from her office, but that risked the chance of Joe finding her and continuing her lecture — or worse, forcing Rowan to see a doctor. No, best to go to the FBI office in person and get Azkeel’s number and address that way.

  The cold autumn wind stilled and an eerie silence filled the campus. Dark clouds obscured the almost-full moon and made the streetlights dim to minuscule pinpoints. She held her breath, hoping the sensation she’d felt earlier in her world would be repeated and herald another world-walk.

  But the dizziness and tight chest didn’t follow.

  To her left lay the grove where she’d found Harry attacking that girl. It was difficult to believe he could be the murderer. He’d seemed so nice. A little quiet, but then again, what kind of man became a janitor at a small college?

  She hesitated, staring at the open space just past the grove. Sister Joe had woken her there, and that was where she must have walked over.

  It was exactly where she’d fallen, where Harry had shot at her. The same place and time. What would have happened if someone had been standing there in this world when she’d walked? And how had she appeared? Had she materialized out of thin air?

  She forced herself back into action and headed for the subway. It didn’t matter how she world-walked, only that it had happened again, and she needed to get back.

  46

  It didn’t take Rowan long to get to the Federal Building. At four in the morning, the subway was empty and silence shrouded the high rise. If anyone was working overtime, it was in their respective offices, leaving the lobby quiet with only the night watchman sitting at his desk.

  He nodded at her. She refused to acknowledge his less-than-human features and took the elevator up to her office. The lights in the Occult Crimes Unit were on, but no one was around. She corrected herself. This wasn’t the Occult Crimes Unit. It was something else in this world.

  She didn’t even know what.

  And, quite frankly, she didn’t care.

  She flipped through her files, looking for Azkeel’s number. It had to be in there, somewhere, and since she didn’t know his last name, she couldn’t use the phonebook.

  The elevator doors slid open and closed, but she didn’t look up, hoping it wasn’t anyone who knew her, and if it was, lack of eye contact would discourage conversation.

  There, on the bottom, was a file with photos, names, and contact information for people on the periphery of the investigation. Azkeel’s page was at the top of the list. She pulled the page out of the pile and picked up the phone.

  “Calling your lover?” Shannon’s voice asked, his tone dark.

  She glanced up at him. He stood by the edge of her cubicle, his arms crossed and expression hard.

  “No.” And it’s none of your business.

  “I know there’s someone.”

  Yeah, Ben. But Ben didn’t exist in this world. Or at least, he wasn’t within her immediate social circle. This jilted lover thing was getting tiresome and she didn’t have the time for it. “Shannon—”

  “Don’t lie to me.” He rushed at her, grabbed her shoulders, and pinned her against her desk.

  “Shannon, stop.”

  He squeezed and she squirmed against the pressure. “Tell me the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “I called the hospital.” His words were soft, pitched low with the edge of a growl in them. “I found one of the attending doctors. You should still be there and she didn’t know why you were released early.”

  It looked like Seth had performed more of his magic and all record of her death had disappeared. “I got lucky.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Prove it? I’m not going to prove anything.” She struggled against his grip, but he held tight.

  “I said, prove it.”

  “Don’t be a jerk.” She rammed her knee into his groin and twisted to break his grip. But he held tight and ripped open her shirt.

  She punched him in the jaw and he staggered back, startled.

  “Where’s the scar?”

  “I wore a vest.”

  “No. Your shoulder.” He captured her wrist and shoved her sleeve up, then pushed back the remains of her shirt away from her ribcage. “Where are they? You took a knife in the gut in the same fight you were shot in the shoulder. And your arm? They were there the last time we — What have you done?”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You regenerated or something. You’re…”

  “I haven’t—”

  “And all this time.” He barked a bitter laugh. “All this time, you didn’t want to fully commit to a demon. Not one who can’t pass. Not e
ven a half one.”

  “That’s not true.” But maybe it was. She had no idea what the relationship between this world’s Rowan and Shannon was like. Maybe the other-Rowan hadn’t wanted to commit because Shannon was half demon.

  “You lying bitch. How much are you? A quarter? No. You’d have to be half entity to regenerate old scar tissue at will. And you can hide it well, not even a slip at Devils Do. The bouncer couldn’t even see the truth.” He slammed his hand on her desk, making the legs crack and buckle, then stormed away.

  “Shannon.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he said without turning back to her. “Your secret is safe. No one has to know what you are.”

  She ran into the aisle but didn’t chase after him, just watched him get into the elevator and leave.

  There hadn’t been a single positive interaction between her and this world’s Shannon. Of course, she hadn’t had many interactions with her world’s Shannon. She could be just as socially inept with that one, as well.

  And she really didn’t have time to make amends. She had to get home and stop Harry. Besides, this world’s Rowan was dead, so as soon as she left, she’d become a missing person — since she had no intention of ever returning.

  It bothered her that Shannon might blame himself for her disappearance, but not enough to waste time on it. She found Azkeel’s home number in the file and dialed. The answering machine picked up but she didn’t leave a message.

  Aside from looking in the hospitals — which was where she’d check next if she were in her world — the only other obvious place to find him was the entities’ club. In the very least, someone there might know something about him.

  With her shirt hugged closed, she rode the elevator to the locker rooms. She pulled on a black T-shirt and exchanged her slacks for a pair of blue jeans that fit in all the right spots. She secured a small knife in a calf sheath to her right leg, under the jeans, and a larger one on her hip. She still wasn’t comfortable carrying a gun — at least not in her world — but wanted to be armed when she found Harry again, and she doubted Brown would allow her to return home to get equipment before they went after him. He’d probably tell her to go home and stay home, a situation she wanted to avoid.

  She put on her other-self’s black Kevlar vest and the long coat with the mandarin collar to cover the vest and knife, then slipped her phone into her pocket.

  The getup wasn’t great. She’d wish for something less bad-ass since she didn’t feel very dangerous, but they were the only clothes in the locker. She could just imagine Brown’s reaction to her appearance, let alone the vest, but people these days did have a strange tendency to shoot at her and she’d be damned if she wasn’t at least prepared for that. Everything else was going to be one hell of a crapshoot.

  47

  Rowan got into the entities’ club without a fight and found Azkeel in the alcove where he’d first taken her. She heard his laughter, musical and light, before she caught a glimpse of his wings through the curtain of vines. He didn’t sound like a man who’d been shot. And while she didn’t know how fast angels could heal, she didn’t think a bullet was something a person could get over in a few hours.

  She rounded the corner and stood at the edge of the alcove, and sucked in a slow breath. He was more beautiful than she remembered. His blond hair was loose, softening the lines of his jaw and cheeks, and giving the appearance of a golden halo.

  He turned his blue gaze on her and all thoughts of Harry, her world, Ben, even Seth flew from her mind. All she could think of was how perfect he was.

  “Rowan, dear,” he said, breaking the moment. “Come join us.”

  Only then did she notice that there were twice as many humans lounging on the pillows than last time, all of them glowering at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead — or at least horribly disfigured.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Anything you desire.” He motioned to the pillow beside him.

  “Ah… no.” She nodded away from the alcove. This was not a conversation she wanted to be witnessed and she was sure neither did Azkeel.

  A frown flickered over his expression then vanished. “Of course.” He stood, half-stretched his wings, and settled them again. There was nothing about him that indicated he’d been hurt or that he was healing. But she supposed she didn’t really know what she was looking for.

  He led her to a nook a few feet away, with a half wall that separated them from the rest of the room. Plants grew out of boxes along the top, creating a veil, offering the suggestion of more privacy than she knew really existed.

  “I need to go home,” she said.

  “Then you should call a taxi.”

  She gave him a dark look. “No. Home home.”

  “I see. You did just get here, again.”

  How did he know? Of course, if he’d been in the quad and saved her, then there’d be no doubt about his information.

  “It’s important. I need you to show me how to… you know… do it.”

  He glanced into the passage behind her. “That’s not something I can do.”

  “But you have to.” There wasn’t anyone else she could go to.

  “Listen.” He caressed her jaw with his index finger, following the line from ear to chin and drawing a shiver of attraction. “Why don’t you join me for a drink and relax.”

  “I can’t relax, there’s no time.”

  “This isn’t something you can force, and the more uptight you are, the harder it is.”

  “Azkeel, please.” She hated to beg, but would if it meant she could stop the co-ed killer.

  He sighed, his wings rising and falling with the motion, and his haughty, rich façade slipped away. “We’re in the middle of a party.”

  She glanced around, examining the other entities. They were dressed in their cocktail finest, just like they had been when she’d attended the private party before. She’d been so concerned with finding him and getting home, she hadn’t paid any attention. Besides, she had no idea what wealthy entities wore to a nightclub normally. But now that she looked, she also saw the champagne and hors d’oeuvre waiters wandering through their midst.

  “Someone else is going away?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And I can’t leave without—”

  He didn’t need to finish. If he left early, he’d have failed at some unspoken social custom and would look weak, like prey.

  “Go home. When I’m done here, I’ll help you.”

  She didn’t want to wait, but he was the one who had to remain in this world, live by its rules of predator or prey, not her. And he had said he’d help her. It might be her only way to world-walk home.

  “When can I expect you?”

  He glanced over her shoulder again toward the alcove where his fawning humans waited. “Late. Close to dawn.”

  Just great. She supposed close to dawn would have to do. She turned to go, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back.

  “Promise you’ll wait for me.”

  She didn’t think she had much choice. Without him, she had no clue how to activate her world-walking ability.

  He lowered his voice. “Demons are starting to ask questions. A few have recognized you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That you’re even less welcome here as an FBI entity profiler than before.”

  She glanced around the club, feeling as if every eye was now watching her. “I had no problems with the doorman.”

  “For now. I’m powerful enough that he won’t cause trouble. But there are others in this club with very powerful dark fathers.”

  “Seth.” It wasn’t a stretch to guess who had a powerful and dark father, particularly in connection with the missing entity case.

  “You can’t come back here. Not until after your case has blown over.” He brushed her forehead with his lips in a surprisingly chaste kiss, then released her wrist. “It’s probably a good thing you’re trying to… to take a long walk home.”

/>   “Yes.” But she hadn’t really heard what he’d said. All she knew was that Seth wanted her off the case and that proved he was involved… except he’d been forcing her on the case from the beginning.

  Nothing made sense and that could be because it was all a part of Seth’s game.

  She climbed back up the long, exposed staircase, past the doorman, and out onto the club’s front step. There had to be something she could do without Azkeel’s help. She’d go crazy if all she could do was wait at home.

  Only one other person knew anything about world-walking — Seth excluded. Diego, the warlock. He hadn’t been all that helpful before, but then she hadn’t known the proper technique to get him to communicate.

  She walked to the mini-mall around the corner from the club and called a taxi, not wanting to go back into the club and draw attention.

  After a short drive across town, she arrived at the narrow stairs leading to Diego’s door. She squeezed the hilt of her dagger at her hip but didn’t give herself time to lose her nerve.

  She marched up the three flights and threw open the door. Diego lounged on his beaten-up couch, watching a small TV on a rickety card table. He scrambled to his feet, knocking over a beer and spilling foam over the floor.

  “Let’s talk.” She strode across the room and grabbed the front of his stained T-shirt.

  “About?” Diego asked, his voice cracking.

  “World-walking.”

  “I already told you—”

  “Yeah, I know.” She threw him onto the couch and flipped back her coat, revealing the knife at her hip.

  Diego’s eyes widened and remained fixed on the weapon.

  “Tell me again.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his narrow throat. “There’s no one alive who can cast that spell alone.”

  “Assume there is. What are the specifics?”

  “Well, you’d need a circle of power, preferably a permanent one. Not something just drawn up. One worked into stone is best.” He glanced at the curtain in the back of the room, where his altar lay.

  She cleared her throat and rested a hand on the hilt of the knife. “And?”