The Spirit Seducer (The Echo Series Book 1)

by Padgett, Alexa

  But none of that was as pressing at the moment as avoiding the huge, pearlescent claws that lashed toward me, barely missing me. This demon was worse than the last.

  “Ow,” Zeke groaned. A moment later, he said, “The stuff coming off is poisonous.”

  I didn’t answer because a big glop was headed in my direction. I managed to duck the goo and freeze the snotty substance before it hit my skin. Did I mention I was Water? The element that went along with Zeke’s Earth. I wasn’t actually made from H2O any more than a normal person, but with my powers I controlled all liquids in my vicinity. Rather, I was learning to control liquids. That included Jabba the Great Horned Slimeball’s goo.

  “Zeke?”

  I darted around the giant lizard’s blobby middle section. A wound covered most of Zeke’s left arm, fire engine red, like a burn. I yelped, falling back when the lizard swiped his massive tail at me.

  “Honani?” I called, gripping my pendant. Honani, the spectral guardian assigned by my father years ago, was my liaison with the spirits who’d helped me force Coyote back down into the first world. The clay’s coolness warmed past the point of bearable and I let go.

  Much as I didn’t want to bother my spirits so soon after their battle with Coyote, I needed some support.

  “Here.” My spectral guardian appeared in front of me. “That demon fouls the air.” Honani’s haughty nose flared in disgust.

  “The goo is toxic. To humans—or so Zeke said. Would you swirl around the demon’s eyes? We need the demon dizzy or at least distracted.”

  “On it,” he said, and gave a sharp salute. Yuck, I didn’t want him treating me like Fearless Leader or—oooh!—Wonder Woman! Nope. Still too weird.

  Within a moment, twenty or so of the spirits zoomed from my pendant. They gathered around the demon’s warty, dome-shaped head. Its many eyes swiveled, each trying to latch onto one of the spirits.

  While the lizard staggered, trying to focus on the myriad targets, I focused my energy on everything liquid inside its huge form. Just in time for the beast to try to slam its slimy, warty body into my side. Stumbling backward, my leg—the one I’d hurt in my fight with Coyote—buckled with a whimper-inducing pop.

  I moaned out all the air I had in my lungs as the hot place in my mind, where my power seemed to dwell, lashed out. The lizard lurched, gurgling. It’s three eyes focused on my face, malevolence pouring off its body, and it stiffened as the ice formed a film over the demon’s organs. Yes. I focused on the exterior and pulled moisture from inside the demon and the air around it.

  Zeke threw his spear into the demon’s chest. He stepped back and made a running leap, this one much higher than the fence in his yard he’d cleared with such ease. Like a basketball player about to dunk high. With an easy grab, Zeke yanked the spear free. The demon’s front legs gave and it collapsed onto its bleeding chest. Zeke slammed the gore-covered tip of his spear into one of the monster’s eyes.

  My spirits congregated in front of me. I dipped my head as I placed my hand over my heart. “Thank you.”

  They babbled, excitement clear in their tone, as they returned to the plane on the other side of my pendant.

  “How’s the leg?” Zeke asked.

  “I’m fine.” Mostly.

  The lizard tried to whip its tail forward, but its insides and oozy exterior froze, the ice stiffening before forming a thick, impenetrable crust. Zeke spun, leapt over the pus-covered appendage, and drove his spear into another eye. That blade, whatever it was, slid with ease through the icy exterior.

  The demon tried to stand on its legs, but teetered and crashed onto its scaly chin. Toward me, of course. I yelped as I backpedaled again, grimacing at the soreness in both my legs. Already, the beast’s legs crumbled into piles of white dust—the same as the other demons we’d faced and beaten.

  The only positive in this mess I called my life was Zeke. He remained steadfast, battling demons for me. Thanks to him, I fought demons in the Fourth World instead of in Tokpella—or wherever gods sent dead, naughty Halflings.

  I’d spent the last hour of our ride—before the demon leapt from a dusty patch of juniper-covered mesa into our path—pondering Zeke’s parentage. He hadn’t told me who his parents were and didn’t want to. Each time we came close to the subject, shame wafted off him. Of course, his reaction only made me more curious, but he had to want to tell me. So far, his secret remained tucked inside his recalcitrant self.

  Odd though our relationship was, I trusted Zeke more than I trusted anyone. Even my mother, who’d lied to me my whole life. Or Layla, who’d kept her own counsel not just from me but from Zeke and my mother. Thanks to Zeke, the gods who wanted to use my power to take over the world hadn’t been successful. Yet.

  There’d be others who would try. Coyote was simply the first in a long line of greedy idiotas who refused to be satisfied with the gifts and power they already had.

  Shakola, the cloud goddess, sat at the top of the list of power-hungry haters. If no one else stepped forward to try to rip my magic from my resistant body, she would always be there, trying to kill me or at least trying to steal my powers. And Zeke.

  Yeah, I was part of a love triangle. Well, sort of. Any way I viewed it, there was too much going on emotionally for a girl who’d never been on a date.

  Honani knelt his amorphous form at my side. He placed his freezing hands under my elbows and yanked. He lacked a skeleton, so the lift was like a huge gust of controlled wind. I sucked in a breath but managed to keep weight on my leg. Not broken, then. Good.

  Zeke finished cleaning his spear tip. The New Mexican wind carried away more of the demon’s dust as Zeke’s boots crunched over what was left of the lizard’s ashy skeleton.

  I grabbed his arm, my concern greater than the tingle shooting through my hands when I touched his skin. He jerked once before his muscles bunched in an effort to remain still.

  “Gross.” I wrinkled my nose. “All the skin is gone.”

  “Not all. I’ll put some salve on it,” he said.

  “You need to wear your armor.”

  “No time to put it on.”

  “Make time.”

  He smiled, probably because he found my concern silly. “Not being dead took precedence.”

  “Thanks for finishing the slimeball,” I said.

  He grimaced at his arm. “You’re the one who destroyed it, but believe me, I enjoyed stabbing it a few times.”

  Much as I wanted to help him, I wasn’t versed in healing magic. That had to change. Not only for Zeke, but for myself. In the last few days, I’d broken multiple bones and my throat was nearly crushed twice.

  I released his wrist. He stowed his weapons before fishing the stainless-steel salve container from his pocket. He dipped into the white cream, then dabbed his ointment-covered fingers over his flailed skin, his arm steady as sweat streamed from his forehead.

  He stored the salve and patted my helmeted head with his right hand. “You were smart to keep this on.”

  I settled on the motorcycle, unwilling to tell him that, during the moments of terror when the demon rose up out of the landscape, I’d forgotten I was still wearing it. I wrapped my good arm around Zeke’s waist as he turned on the engine.

  When he pulled back onto the highway, dust swirled around us and I tensed, readying myself for another attack. When one didn’t come, Zeke opened the throttle, revving the bike to dizzying speed.

  Shifting my aching leg, I leaned my helmeted head against Zeke’s back. My thigh didn’t throb with the same teeth-grinding pain I’d awakened to after my fight with Coyote, but speed-healing created its own kind of discomfort. My sling caught on Zeke’s back as I hugged him tighter and he sped into the midmorning sun.

  I wiggled my fingers, smiling when pain didn’t lance up my arm. Score a point for magic. Quick-healing was a fabulous benefit, but one I’d trade for a way to contact Layla. Much as Zeke didn’t want me to, I couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out to her mentally.

&n
bsp; So far, Layla remained silent. Scarily so. Like my mom, she was a constant in my life, someone I talked to every day, if not more often. With both of them gone, I was lost.

  We topped another hill, but the city still shimmered in the distance. I couldn’t talk to Zeke over the shriek of the wind, which left me with too much time to think. I missed my mom. Until this week, not a day—sometimes not an hour—went by without my seeing her, talking to her.

  Grief swept over me, pulling me down. To think the week started as any other: me, a migraine-impaired college graduate wishing almost desperately for adventure. Ten cuidado con lo que deseas—careful what you wish for—and all that.

  At least I had Zeke.

  I shifted in my seat, fighting against another yawn. The bike’s vibrations crept up my legs, making me sleepy. As my eyes slid shut, we hit a pothole. I gritted my teeth as my leg bounced. The bone may not be broken, but the constant jarring hurt. The bike’s wheel bounced through another pothole, and I bit back a moan. I was beginning to hate traveling this way.

  In case Zeke’s insane fighting capabilities weren’t enough—and they were—he could open portals between places on earth. Our previous mode of transport was fast and reliable. Useful, even. Well, until I broke the tablet. The cascading effect from the chaos I unleashed made magic transport unwise, and definitely unsafe, and we were left with mundane methods of travel.

  Zeke changed highways, zipping up the I-40 with a casual recklessness I didn’t like. We were on a motorcycle. He needed to show respect for the lack of steel caging and air bags.

  The familiar Albuquerque buildings slid past, nothing more than an eye-wateringly dizzy rainbow of earth-toned stucco. Zeke slowed his motorcycle, easing onto the exit ramp. He pulled into a gas station.

  I released my one-handed grip on his waist and he slid from the bike with an enviable nonchalance. Thanks to my aching legs, I staggered off the bike like a drunken floozy. Zeke reached out and caught me beneath my elbow of my good arm, but the deep cut on one of my knees split open again. Huh. My body’s healing capabilities must have left the simple skinned knee for later, deciding the crushed bones were a more important issue.

  Not that I disagreed with such logic.

  Once assured my legs held my weight, Zeke flipped open the gas cap on his Thunderbird. He tipped his head toward the convenience store.

  “Wanna grab us something to eat and drink? Easy stuff for the road.” He handed me a thick wad of bills. “Keep the rest. For emergencies.” He turned back to the pump, tension in both his face and those broad shoulders. He still wasn’t wearing his cotton-and-leather armor. A tattoo peeked out from the sleeve of his T-shirt. A wide leather cuff, tooled with intricate symbols—ancient runes, maybe?—circled his left arm.

  He glanced back at his motorcycle, where his spear and sword were strapped in a hard case. He flicked his eyes toward me, frustration and something else bubbling up within their depths.

  “We can’t hang around, Echo. There will be more.”

  “Aren’t there always?” I asked. The noise he made was between a grunt and an exasperated sigh. He became grumpier after every fight.

  Entering the bathroom, I gaped at the image in the scratched mirror. No one ever looked great in the bad lighting and cheap, distorted glass of a gas station restroom, but I wasn’t prepared for my reflection. Small cuts covered most of my exposed skin—and there was a lot of it. The top third of my right breast hung out of my tattered tank top, which, along with my ratty hair and jeans, made it look like I’d been through a battle. Because I had. Not that I planned to tell anyone else about my escapades last night. Who’d believe me?

  One of the cuts disappeared as I watched, leaving fresh, dewy skin. Zeke had applied some miracle ointment earlier this morning, alleviating the worst of my problems—like fractured bones and a semi-crushed windpipe. But the ointment didn’t help the dirt clinging to my lashes and splashed across my nose. My bottom lip was cracked open and bloody, and my tangled, unruly hair was worse than my younger niece’s had gotten during her two-month combing moratorium. I took the sling off my arm and twisted my shoulder, flexing my wrist. Sweet! Full range of motion.

  I washed my face, neck, and as much of me as possible, and did my best to flatten my hair. Straightening my shoulders, I opened the bathroom door and headed for the convenience shelves. Time to pull up my big Halfling panties and face whatever came at us next. The hours of travel between our current location, in the middle of New Mexico, and Arizona left a lot of miles for more demons to find us.

  The one truism I’d learned this week: trust little and expect to die.

  I pulled a couple of the liter bottles of water from the cooler lining the back wall of the store and headed down the aisles, scanning the shelves for something to eat that wouldn’t petrify my insides with preservatives. As weird as some of my mom’s meals were, I loved how eating whole, nourishing foods made my body feel. I didn’t want to dilute or poison my newfound powers with synthetic foodlike substances. I pulled a few packs of dusty nuts from the bottom rack. Around the next corner, I found a wrinkled apple and three unripe bananas. Eschewing the apple, I grabbed the bananas and piled my meager choices on the counter.

  “How do, missy?” the attendant asked, drawing out the sibilance in the word.

  My neck prickled, but I managed a weak smile and tried not to stare at the space where his front teeth should be. I failed. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his smile widened to a leer.

  Ew. Puh-lease. His tongue shot forward again, and I stared too long. Was it . . . no way . . .his tongue was forked.

  I inhaled as quietly as possible as I began the ritual of gathering the magical energy deep in my mind. My pendant heated, and I resisted the urge to grab it.

  “Nine forty-seven,” he said.

  Yep, he definitely hissed the s’s. I placed the money on the counter, pleased my hands weren’t shaking. I shoved the rest of the bills in my pocket before grabbing my purchases. I kept tight rein on the white-hot center in my head.

  “You forgot your change.”

  “Keep it,” I said, almost to the door.

  “No can do, daughter of Sotuk.”

  I stopped, my breath locked in my chest. Zeke’s Thunderbird no longer sat near the closest gas pump. A large pile of dust blew across the dull, charcoal tarmac.

  Good thing I’d pulled up my Halfling panties, because I was on my own.

  Sweet Solace Chapter One

  Dahlia

  My wineglass slid down my stiff fingers, dropping the last few inches to the scarred wooden table. No way. Peeking up from under my lashes, I drew a shaky breath. I’d wanted to listen to Simon play music, lose myself in a melody. I hadn’t planned on reliving this much of my past.

  And I really wasn’t prepared to deal with Tristan Asher Smith.

  My cheeks flamed as I slammed my mouth shut, hoping he hadn’t noticed me still acting like the lovesick girl I’d been all those years ago. His brown hair was longer than I remembered. Even from my vantage point across the bar, I could make out the cleft in his chin. Each time I’d seen his picture—or better, him in person—I wanted to lick that spot. I’d never had the chance.

  Asher slid his aviators from his nose as the sunset shone through the glass doors behind him, hazing him in a soft glow like those old saint paintings.

  Ignoring my trembling fingers, I raised my glass and filled my mouth with a large gulp of wine. I wished the tart taste could wash away my past that was hell-bent on catching up with me. It didn’t, but the bouquet bloomed in my mouth, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation as the liquid slid down my throat.

  “Mind sharing?”

  I opened my eyes and looked into Asher’s smiling face. Up close, he was even more striking. His long brown lashes shielded his hazel eyes, but his lips quirked in typical Asher fashion. I shouldn’t know what that was—I barely knew him, really.

  “My wine?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t that a little forward?
Even for you?”

  He grinned, showing straight, white teeth. “If you want to. But I meant the table. There aren’t any other seats open.”

  “Oh. Sure. Good to see you, Asher.”

  “You, too, Dahlia. It’s been a long time.”

  I waited until he sat before I asked, “You here to listen or is this a special top-secret performance?”

  “Just to listen.”

  We shared a love of music. It had been my refuge for years. When Dad died, I played his old records, pretending they were his last hug. As Doug learned to play on that first, battered guitar, I’d sit, rapt for hours, feeling the vibration of the strings, daydreaming about our future together.

  Much as I wanted to quit listening to music after Doug died, I hadn’t been able to. It was too much a part of me, a reminder of better days.

  “I’ve heard good things about this guy,” Asher said.

  “Simon will be thrilled you’ve heard of him.”

  A waitress walked up and looked at Asher, her expression expectant but without a flare of recognition. His shoulders relaxed as he placed his forearms on the table. The sleeves of his dark button-down were rolled up, showing off his tanned skin. Light brown hairs glinted where they caught the light.

  “Pike IPA on tap, if you have it.”

  The girl nodded and headed back to the bar.

  “You know Simon?” he asked. His gaze sharpened. “Oh. Dorsey. Related to Doug?”

  I nodded.

  “I should’ve known.”

  I’d raised my glass to my lips for another gulp of liquid courage, so I shrugged. He waited for a real response. My heart pounded in my chest as if I’d danced the Samba. Silly as it was, the anxiety suffocated me.

  Just a conversation. I had them every day with other people. I was fine. This was fine.

  No, nothing about the situation was fine. Why did I have to run into Asher tonight? I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Simon’s my brother-in-law. I’m here for moral support.”