Relics and Runes Anthology

by Heather Marie Adkins

  Nicky tore off the wrapping paper unceremoniously and pressed the flat part of the blade to her thigh, pushing a little. It certainly felt as sturdy as the original. Just as sharp too. She nearly cut her thumb open tracing the edge of it. A lump rose up in her throat.

  She could have easily lunged forward and rammed this blade right between Corrine’s ribs. Corrine must have known that. She could have just mailed it or left it on her doorstep. And yet, Corrine had brought it to her in person.

  She knew in that moment she didn't have it in her to kill Corrine. Not now, maybe not ever. She crossed the small apartment and opened the odds-and-ends drawer in the kitchen. When she'd moved in, she'd sworn to herself that she would never have one. The messy drawer at her parents’ place was a black hole for things that had no place elsewhere that she had no intention to replicate. And yet, it was where she'd kept the spare key she'd had made only the day before. She realized, as she pulled it out, that part of her had hoped it would have disappeared on its own. The fact that it hadn’t felt like a sign.

  Corrine's eyes were as wide as saucers as Nicky pushed the spare key into her hand.

  “Now you don't have to keep waiting or permission.”

  For some reason, tears welled in Corrine’s eyes. Nicky stiffened. Had she made a mistake? She'd made a mistake. Why was this a bad thing? Corrine was the one calling them a team, how was Nicky supposed to know this would upset her?

  But just as Nicky began to panic, a wide grin broke across Corrine’s face, practically lighting up the entire room. It was, Nicky realized, the prettiest smile in the world. Without really meaning to, Nicky tipped her head up to brush her lips against Corrine’s. She fully expected Corrine to pull back or throw her across the room or even to rip her throat out. She didn't. Her lips moved softly against Nicky’s until she caught Nicky's lower lip gently between her teeth. The grin was back.

  “I think we make a great team,” Corrine whispered against her lips. Then, she turned her head to kiss Nicky’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Nicky.”

  And then, like so many times before, she was gone. The scent of wet earth and flowers the only indication that she had been there at all. Corrine’s scent.

  Nicky sighed and managed to nudge Nebula, who seemed too shocked to catch her vampire-hunting mom willingly kissing a vampire, into the carrier. She let out a disgruntled meowl as Nicky shut the door.

  “Yeah, yeah.” She raised the carrier to eye level. “You tell anyone about that, you'll be spending the entire trip in there.”

  Nebula went silent. Maybe Alison had a point about cats understanding more than people thought. Nicky shook her head. She was getting ridiculous.

  With Nebula securely in the back seat of her car, Nicky gave Abundance Falls one last look over.

  This town could survive without her for two weeks.

  The End

  The story continues in Saint Nicky Monster Hunter Book Two. Visit www.amirlane.com or www.njember.com to find out more.

  About the Authors

  Amir Lane is a supernatural and urban fantasy writer from Northern Ontario. Engineer by trade, they spend most of their writing time in a small home office or in front of the TV watching every cop procedural on Netflix. They live in a world where magic is an everyday occurrence, and they strive to bring that world to paper.

  https://amirlane.com/books

  N.J. Ember is a paranormal fiction author who loves to write stories about survival and triumph over adversity. Whether her characters are dealing with the paranormal or everyday life, she seeks to show that strength is not always about being superhuman or invulnerable. She enjoys anything with mystery, suspense and horror, so when she’s not writing you can find her watching shows like Orphan Black, Penny Dreadful and Sherlock. She currently lives in Michigan with her grandpa and a forever growing collection of books and Funko Pop! figures.

  http://www.njember.com/books/

  Dark Verité

  Muffy Wilson

  Dark Verité © copyright 2018 Muffy Wilson

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Dark Verité

  Would love unite them in purpose…or in death?

  Verité was heir apparent in royal lineage to the coterie. Secret stipulations to her royal ascension, detailed in the Royal Grail, could only be revealed to the Princess. Verité was unable to assume her rite of passage to the throne until she found the perfect royal human mate that would share her life, her future and her bed…but not the throne.

  Failure to do so doomed the coterie.

  Rockledge, a prince and royal protector of his father, the King, and his older, heir apparent brother, fought with strength and loyalty against those that threatened to overthrow the throne with deceit and trickery.

  Verité, on a journey as part of her secret stipulations, woke in the blazing sun on the royal sands of a distant shore protected by Rockledge, who discovered her sleeping. Her delicate hand blocked the glare of the sun as Verité saw the prince for the first time.

  I was born when we kissed; I lived in your embrace while we loved. I died when we parted.

  Would they fight, side-by-side, to the death if necessary, defending all that they loved and cherished and seize their rite of passage, ascend to royalty bound by danger, loyalty and love?

  1

  The Journey

  I woke on the sand with the sun beating down on my stinging flesh. Pools of sweat formed in my dips and curves and trickled to the sand. The sensation focused my attention on the tenderness of my skin and I thought back to my foolish long midnight swim along my journey. My mind drifted…

  Less than a week ago, Father took me aside and invited me to sit down while a serious shadow lay in residence on his furrowed brow. He walked quietly to the small opening between the shutters and threw them even farther apart, letting the hot sunlight in to warm the room. I was not cold, I remember—we never are—but the golden light was uplifting. He gestured to the long sofa and asked me to sit and relax, the first sure warning that something was awry. I sat and I tried to settle in. I waited while he collected his thoughts and watched as the dust dancers rose in spiral tufts from the antique rug where he had just trod.

  “Are you worried about something in particular, Father?”

  “Yes, Verité. I am worried about the future and you.”

  “Me! Whatever for, Father?”

  “You are heir-apparent, Verité, and your ascension comes at a time of other impending, overlapping concerns.”

  “Yes, Father. I know my responsibilities to the coterie. I know that when you so deem it, I will lead the clan in your stead and my descendants will do the same, either here or in their own cluster, when I am gone or too old. It has always been as it will be forever.”

  “Yes, it has always been, Verité. But there is a provision that falls every hundred years to each descendant and one more if the lineage befalls a woman.”

  “Really, Father? I don’t remember any more stipulations to royal ascension.”

  “No one is alive today, but me, that would.”

  “Truly? That is interesting. And this is a rite of passage passed between generational sovereignties known only to those passing the
monarchy?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And what happens if, perchance, you were to die before you passed this on to me as an obligation?”

  “Then the Authority of State would reveal the Grail of Times and Peril to you before your coronation and you would be required to secure the vessel, but follow the instructions. No one but the Heir Apparent has ever read the Grail but the succeeding monarch.”

  “Meaning you have never read it, yourself?”

  “No, I have not, but you will.”

  “Father, this is all so clandestine and imperative. It is slightly unnerving. Are you sure it is upon me for compliance?”

  “I am. And you may never tell anyone, not a soul. You may never divulge the contents of the Grail, not even to me.”

  “How can I effectively seek your counsel, Father, if you have not all the requirements?”

  “This is yours to determine, my child. But I have faith in the stellar qualities you possess and your teaching. You have studied hard, learned long and steady. And above all other, you place the wellbeing of the coterie. We must prevail to propagate. We must do our duty to protect our cluster clan.”

  “Yes, Father, I have always known that if I must pay with my life to preserve the dominion, then I would be so directed to fight to the death.”

  “This is that time.”

  Involuntarily, I rose to my feet with the dust devils dancing in the sunbeams. My head remained downcast. This was a solemn occasion, no doubt.

  “Yes, Royal Father.”

  I lifted my gaze as I said his name and locked my eyes on his.

  “I know only little, from the history the Queen Mother imparted to me when you were born, that you must travel from here to find your mate before you are in the Worthy Year of your life. This mate must be a mortal and prepared to live in your company here, so that the propagation of our family will continue.”

  “But, Father…!”

  “The clan will die out without the integration of seed from a royal mortal.”

  “Alas, my father…”

  “This is how it must be. We are, none of us, able to sire your heirs. Over time, our seed loses the power to procreate and every one hundred years, new blood and semen must be filtered into the children that follow.”

  “Oh, Goddess above. Where will I go? When…?”

  “Soon, my child, soon.”

  “How will I know, my father?”

  “You will know, my child. Of this I am certain. Every female before you has prevailed to achieve their destiny. They return to fulfill their duties with a chosen mate. And life prevails again.”

  “You must leave and return with your mate before your twentieth year.”

  “But, Father, I am not yet eighteen. Why tell me now, when there is still so much time?”

  “Because there is actually very little time. The alchemist has determined that I have few years left and you must be prepared almost immediately to assume supremacy.”

  “Father, when…how…this is all too much!”

  “Comport yourself with dignity, Verité. This is your destiny for which you have trained all your life. You are strong, independent, fierce. You are creative and fast, smart as any that have ruled before you. I have raised you as I would have my sons, had they lived. Now you must live for us all. You must be your woman, secure your mate, and return to become Queen Mother.”

  My mind returned to the present, a salty breaker whipping my face and stinging my cheeks.

  Perhaps it was tears. Perhaps it was the surf. Either way, I was not quite prepared to think of the responsibility that lay before me…not now…not just yet…nor the looming death of my father. Not yet, perhaps not ever.

  I rode the dancing turquois-black currents. Distracted by duty, I amused and delayed the inevitable by collecting seashells, sea-flowers and colored coral on my journey from the small island to my calling. It felt more like play than purpose, but purpose it was. And it took a lot longer to cover the distance than I expected. The ache in my shoulders, back and thighs reminded me just how long it took and how wrong I was to attempt such an unnecessary dramatic flair.

  I was also aware that I felt so much lighter, with each stroke, and I recalled the sensation vividly.

  As I swam, the transformation began. My tail began to shrink slowly, scales fell away like glitter into the watery depths and my short, squat legs grew and stretched, supple…even graceful… into long lengths of elegant svelte limbs. My arms lengthened with each slicing stroke into the cool salty water. The very act of swimming took on more difficulty as I lost my natural rudder. While I began the journey swimming with my arms short and squat, more under me than above me, it seemed each pull of my weight through the surf lengthened them, too. They were elongated with flexible digits at the end that extended my reach even further. I could cup them and pull myself up, or swim flexibly in figures with the current. I was becoming so different. It was glorious freedom. My flesh, now decorated, bronze and silken with a supple skin, glistened in the moonlight with a hunger to be touched.

  What was once a youthful curiosity felt more like a welling, edgy eagerness that increased with ache, passion, desire.

  I could not stop myself from departing my objective and frolicking in the breaking waves, diving to the ocean floor and scavenging for keepsakes of my adventure, bits of jewels, coral, and shells to save. I enjoyed the new form I was taking on and I found it strong, responsive. I rolled to my back and lay upon the ocean surface bobbing with a rhythmic motion that was synchronous and in harmony with the ocean itself. I gazed at the moonless night sky adorned with millions of flickering secrets all teasing for attention with brilliance. I was young, but I had knowledge of a great many of the galaxies as told to me by the Old Ones in our pod. Some had come from far away, others born to the land of our fathers, all became family. Their secrets became ours just as ours became their heritage.

  I let my mind wander at the sheer amazement of it all as I collected treasures of my journey. When I ascended the water to the beach through the beating surf, my new legs failed me once or twice, until I became accustomed to their use. No doubt the long swim had worked them to exhaustion. When they buckled beneath my weight, the cool sand cushioned my fall as my upper limbs braced my descent. I was so tired then and I must have fallen into a deep sleep.

  The tide was rising with the morning fog and lapped at my extremities. It reminded me of the long, careless swim I had taken in the darkness. My shoulders and thighs ached. My back was twisted and sore. I knew swimming the final distance from the atoll might not have been the smartest thing I ever did, but it seemed clever at the time. This transformation was expected but I began to think that I was more romantic than I dared to admit. The distance the night before was obscured by the cover of darkness and no doubt the late hour and my excitement. Somehow, I reasoned, swimming and walking in from the surf would seem less suspicious than setting down from the black sky shrouded in darkness. There was logic in the thinking at the time. I just couldn’t see it now.

  Sure, setting down at night, in the dark, obscured by a moonless night was more obvious than walking out of the surf, morning bright, the sun announcing my arrival to all who may have witnessed my arrival and naked body. Yes, that made a lot of sense.

  I raised my head and spat the salty grit caught between my lips into the sand. My lips were soft and foreign with a grittiness caked between the tender creases. I wiped it off with a tiny hand and touched my lips. They were smooth and supple. What was, at one time, a staple in my young life seemed foreign and unpleasant. I needed a bit of sand and pebbles to strengthen my bones and scales with minerals and salt. But I had no scales, no tail, no mane of course spiny, bristling red backbone. It was all too distant to me. The ribbons that once held my mane now ran though hair painted a deep red by the burning sun with an onyx shimmer from the depths of the sea. I wove my collection of sea treasures in through the strands and secured a gathering in a topknot while the tendrils of the ribbon fe
ll down my back.

  I felt so different. The sensations flooded me as they washed over me like the tide. They ran up my spine pulling at parts inside as though tethered. I warmed to the surprise in the sunshine.

  I rolled onto my arched back and stretched languidly in the warmth of the sun as the surf nipped at my feet. I was missing my wings. Oh, no! Not my wings! I had waited so long for them to grow in and give me flight. Oh, no! What have I done? This was going to be a disaster. How was I ever going to fulfill my destiny without the one thing that made me fierce, made me strong?

  I ached all over from the change, from the evolution of my body. I doubted myself but was told that this was to be expected. I have never been this me before, this version of me. The Olders advised me that I would know, I would just know what to do and when to do it just as naturally as the day I had taken flight for the first time. The Olders counseled me with a confidence I didn’t possess, but they said I would know.

  I would find my confidence in whatever beseeched me, no matter the cause.

  I never questioned the Olders before but now I felt strangely weak, vulnerable, defenseless.

  How could I fight?

  How would I defend against the Evils?

  How would I ever prevail…

  Before too long, my thoughts buried in the heat, the sand and the surf, I heard a melody faint and in the distance. It was an odd collection of notes and sounds and I looked to the length of beach to the north to make out the source. I couldn’t, of course. I no longer had the steely vision, precise and accurate. I rose and walked into the surf to wash the sand and bits of seaweed from my body and when I finished, I turned to escape the next beating wave only to stand almost eye-to-eye with the origin of the melody.