Staked
Sandra Edwards
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Sandra Edwards
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This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.
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STAKED
Time Brokers: Book One
By
Sandra Edwards
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Chapter One
New York City
Tonight
Ava Valentine scooped up the last of the Sun Stones and closed her fist around their lingering glow. She held tight, ignoring the sting, and absorbed the pain before it sheathed her apprentice Mickey. Ava had long since developed a high tolerance to the physical suffering that came with brokering time, and that made her bounty hunting services invaluable.
Mickey cleared his throat—his way of pretending that traveling through time didn’t hurt. He was getting stronger, but not yet capable of handling the raw side-effects alone. Someday he’d have to absorb the full impact, but not today. Today he remained under Ava’s protection.
The stinging subsided as Ava dispensed the pea-sized gems into a pouch no bigger than a teabag. She tightened the drawstring and secured it on her belt loop before tucking the little purse into the waistband of her blue jeans.
An uneasy silence spilled across the cool night air and swirled around Ava and Mickey. She scanned the darkened, desolate alley and eased the MPD from her back pocket. Not that the Micro Placement Device, a Blackberry-type gadget, could offer much support in the way of protection, but in these electronically-underdeveloped times it’d do three things well. One, verify when and where they were. Two, allow Mickey and her to communicate over a secured connection if they got separated. And three, confirm they’d landed in the same time period as their fugitive.
Another glance around the alley and Ava beckoned Mickey to follow her.
“I think the jump was easier this time.” He shivered and tucked his fingertips inside the front pockets of his jeans.
“Soon enough it won’t bother you at all.” Okay, so that was a lie. As far as Ava knew, she was the only broker who’d ever developed a tolerance to the pain of transporting passengers through time—the only thing that kept every Karellian within traveling distance of the galaxy from swarming Earth and selling their services to the highest bidder.
The pain—she’d heard some describe as excruciating—kept the number of Brokers to a minimum. It took a certain kind of person to step inside the bowels of hell for mere money. Some handled it better than others, but most didn’t even want to try.
“When do you think I’ll be ready to broker?” Mickey was one of the few willing to bear the pain for justice.
“Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.” Ava had been sharing the pain with him lately, but at a rate of less than ten percent. It’d be awhile before he was strong enough to handle even twenty-five percent, much less broker time.
Booze was just the medicine Mickey needed. The nagging ache often dwindled within half an hour after entry, and by her calculations they had another twenty minutes before he was one hundred percent. A stiff shot might hurry that along.
“You want to get a beer or something?” Truth be known, Ava could go for a drink too. Maybe it’d help settle her nerves; they hadn’t been right since the new contact entered the picture. He was someone she’d never met, and that saddled her with a whole new set of problems when it came to chasing bounty.
“Can we?” Mickey licked his lips, anticipating a cold one, and quickened his step, skipping sideways alongside her. “Do we have time?”
“Sure.” Besides, she’d arranged to meet the new guy at a familiar pub. She didn’t have a problem mixing business with pleasure. In fact, she combined the two whenever possible. It also helped that twenty-first century bars were a favorite pit stop for those she chased.
They turned left at the next corner and headed for a little bar called Louie’s. Thoughts of the neon-blue sign hanging over the door and the pink and green palm tree in the window brought a smile to her lips. Louie’s was always one of her first stops when tracking bounties to the early twenty-first century.
For some reason, twenty-ninth century criminals thought the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were grand hiding places. Why, Ava had no idea. The period’s urban life had its charms, like the music, but she wouldn’t want to live in this time. Most things had to be done manually and the technology was rudimentary.
A chill clawed up Ava’s back as they turned another corner. Somebody was watching her. Who, she didn’t know, but she tagged a mental note to keep tabs on her shadow.
Seeing the pub’s sign all lit up in neon-blue brought back memories, both good and bad. “Ah, Louie’s...here it is.” She paused at the door and her mood lightened a little inside.
“You know this place?” Mickey asked. She was pretty sure he’d thrown it at her more out of curiosity than nosiness.
“Indeed, I do. Very well.” But she didn’t want to talk about it. More to the point, she didn’t want to talk about him. And she didn’t want to give him a heads-up on their location, either.
They could always sense when one was talking about the other, Ava and...him. It was a lot like amplified ESP. Another Karellian gift. Although, and she hated admitting it, his tracking ability was stronger than hers because he was full Karellian. She was only half; the rest of her was Mortal. He blamed her Mortal side for their differences.
That’s rich. She could’ve sworn the problem was his greed and thinly veiled ethics.
Mickey asked, “Is this another one of those places with a story you’re not talking about?”
A chuckle charged up Ava’s throat and she silently thanked him for the mental rescue. She didn’t like thinking about those days. The effort was fruitless.
Lingering aggravation from her past made her fling open the door harder than she’d meant. But it didn’t rattle her composure. She was too much of a control freak for that.
Mickey followed her into the near-empty tavern. “Is this where we’ll find Cole?” he asked, over the music pouring from the jukebox. ‘Take it Easy’ from The Eagles, one of Ava’s all-time favorite bands, flowed from the ancient machine.
“No, but we should run into someone who can lead us to him.” Ava held her breath on that one, not knowing the contact personally.
“Someone we can trust?”
Lying to Mickey wasn’t an option. “Not sure.” She shook her head and scanned the room, an inbred trait.
A couple, the only patrons occupying the row of booths to the left, weren’t the least bit interested in Ava and Mickey. The woman sat on one side; the guy on the other. Both were draped over the tabletop, hands and arms tangled so tightly it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began.
Red and gold hues swirled around the pair and cloaked them in a veil only Ava could see. The color combination showed their desire for red-hot sex.
Ava pulled her focus away from the couple. No point in exhausting her limited energy on the would-be lovers. They posed no danger.
An old man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a half-
empty glass. His scruffy, graying hair reminded Ava of Mickey’s—minus the gray. A mauve aura, the color of solitude, surrounded the old-timer. He needed no conversation, just the bottle. No threat there.
All the tables on the right were empty except for one near the bar. Two women, technically hookers, looked at Ava and Mickey, mostly Mickey, and giggled amid clandestine whispers. Those short skirts, tank tops and fishnet get-ups turned Mickey’s face red.
Tones of smoky-black and candy-apple red danced and shimmered around the women. They were lying in wait for their next victim, but Ava wasn't about to let that be Mickey.
“Come on, Skippy,” she said, dragging him by the arm. As they passed by the girls some vile-smelling perfume crawled up Ava’s nose and turned her stomach.
“Why do you call me that?” Mickey asked, exasperation shredding his voice.
Someday, she’d take him back to the 1980s and show him. He reminded her of that kid from Family Ties that was in love with Mallory. The one they called Skippy.
Ava chose the empty end of the bar and dragged a stool out with the heel of her boot. The chair’s legs screeched across the wooden floor.
“Ava. Long time no see.” Phillip, the bartender, greeted her with a lonesome smile that was locked in some dark area of his past. A lavender fog flowed around him. Her presence had summoned a flicker of amusement in his memories.
Don’t do it. Don’t say his name. Ava’s silent warning, she knew, would go unheeded. “What can I say, Phil,” she said. “I’m a busy girl.” Better to guide the barkeep as far away from him as possible. She settled onto the bar stool and hung the heels of her boots on the rails. “I’ll have the usual. My friend Mickey will have...” She knew what he was going to order before she turned to him, but sometimes it was fun to play these games.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Mickey said.
How original. And predictable. Mickey could’ve benefited from Lucien’s company back in the day. On second thought, that might’ve been like sending a mouse to train with an elephant.
Shit. Now she’d done it. She’d let his name rattle off her brain. How long before he showed up? Half hour? Forty-five minutes tops.
“How’s Lucien these days?” Phil asked, setting the frosted drafts in front of them.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ava said, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in years.” And she wished Phil would stop talking about him. Lucien would find her so much quicker if the conversation didn’t change, and fast.
The door creaked open and the hairs at the nape of her neck rose amid goose bumps. Some strange magic was at work.
Lucien? No. Not Lucien, but somebody equally as dangerous. Could Ava’s contact be a vampire?
Uh oh.
She fought the urge to look at the figure claiming a seat at the bar, leaving an empty stool between them. An overwhelming scent trickled over her and drew her in with the ease of a fishing lure. Definitely male, and possibly vamp.
The desire to look at him needled at her, but it wasn’t a good idea even though she wanted to in the worst way. Was he a vampire, or wasn’t he?
Ava didn’t like messing with vamps. Still, he had another thing coming if he thought she’d give up her bounty.
She glanced in the mirror behind the bar and wrestled with the urge to preen her hair. The chestnut color looked browner than usual and she prayed it didn't look as drab as her reflection portrayed in the subdued lighting.
Pathetic. Either Ava was pitiful or this guy was a vampire with superpowers. She hadn’t even looked at him but he’d already wielded an intoxicating influence over her.
His image in the mirror resided just outside her peripheral vision—whoever said vamps don’t have reflections was probably a vampire poking fun at some Mortal.
Ava tried to look at him in the mirror in an offhanded way. His dark eyes caught and tangled her in a mixture of turmoil and curiosity, even though he wasn’t looking at her. A wave of lust washed over her, followed by a powerful need to move to the empty stool separating them. She wanted this guy. She wanted him in the worst way. This desire she was feeling was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced—even the attraction she used to feel for Lucien.
Damn it. She was a goner.
The magnetic stranger was talking to the guy sitting on the other side of him, and paying no attention to Ava whatsoever. She lowered her head and inched it to the left until she had a good view of—his boots.
Typical footwear of twentieth century bikers. It was hard to say if it was his normal attire or a trite disguise. Seasoned Levi’s clothed his long, lanky legs and dragged her attention up to his athletic torso covered by a black, skintight T-shirt. Bronzed muscular arms rested against the bar. Long, slender fingers loosely encircled the beer bottle Phil had placed in front of him. Ebony-black hair had been tied into a pony-tail and hung down his back nearly to his waist. Several inches longer than her own, Ava marveled at the perseverance it took to grow it to such lengths. His face, chiseled and clean-shaven, was as bronze as his compelling arms that were capable of....
Geez, he was good to look at. And most definitely a vamp. Who else could bewitch her like this? Hell, he hadn’t even looked at her yet and she was already under his spell.
Finally, he turned toward her. Self-preservation urged Ava to look away before their eyes met, but she couldn't. His deep coffee-brown eyes latched onto her gaze and held it with some infinite, indefinable power.
She’d been hoping against hope that her talent for reading emotions would confirm or deny her suspicions. Was he or wasn’t he? He could hide among the shadows of the night and cast as many spells over her as he could conjure, but his vampire attributes would still be there, camouflaged.
She gave reading him a go and drew a blank. If she couldn’t read him that was verification within itself. Wasn’t it? A deep sigh did little to settle the troubling outcome.
“How’s it going?” he said, and then had the gall to wink. He continued looking at her, as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he said, “It’s a nice night for a walk in the park.”
A sinking feeling dragged her fears down into her gut and tangled them in knots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much trouble projecting a calm front. Was he her contact, or just a vampire invading her thoughts? Or was he both? “It’s better down by the river. South side.” She spoke the code, fearful of his answer.
“Maybe tomorrow night.”
Damn. All his responses were correct. Still, dread washed over her. Ava tried, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to lead to trouble.
“Do you have a lock on Cole’s location?” she asked.
“As we speak.” He tipped the beer bottle to his mouth and drained nearly half its contents. “You have the jewels?”
“You’ll get your payment when I get Cole.”
Bridled laughter preceded his response. “Fair enough.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” She still had reservations about him, but she doubted it had anything to do with his ability to lead her to Cole.
“You got a ride?” He raised the bottle to his lips and chugged the remainder of his beer.
“No.” She doubted it would help to explain that her ‘ride’ was in the twenty-ninth century, and she didn’t need one here. Once she got Cole, she planned to lay out her Sun Stones and take him back where he’d run from.
Ava’s contact stood, shoving the barstool back with his foot. “You can go with me. Your boyfriend can ride with Skeet.” He moved away from the bar and headed toward the door. He didn’t wait or look over his shoulder to see if she was following.
Ava quickened her pace, catching up to him. Two could play this game. “You got a name? Or should I just call you, hey?”
“Stone.”
It was all she could do to keep from laughing. “Stone?” What the hell kind of name was that? It sounded like a product of the twentieth century, something a pair of stoners w
ould name their kid.
“Yeah, Stone. You got a problem with that?” He turned away, pretty much dismissing her as he shoved his hand against the wooden door. It swung open with the force of his frustration.
“No. No problem at all.” She laced her hands behind her back and snickered as she followed him outside. “You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”
Mickey was hot on Ava’s tail. “Are you sure about this?” he said, just above a whisper. Which was pointless. He could take both these guys at once. She’d seen him in action. He was a black belt in Karate. Mickey could definitely kick some ass. A trait that came in handy for time-traveling bounty hunters.
Ava remained silent, and gave Mickey a quick nod to follow her lead. One thing she was sure of—this guy was going to take them to Cole.
Stone slipped a set of keys from his front pocket and began unfastening a small chain securing two helmets to an old Indian—old, even by the current time period’s standards.
She’d pegged him right. He was the biker type. She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for her skilled insight.
“Here.” He shoved a helmet toward her. “Put this on.”
Ava took the gear and slipped it over her head, fastening the strap. “Thanks.” Snootiness overtook her tone; she didn’t care if he found her offensive.
But he didn’t. He paid her no mind, grabbed a handlebar and straddled the massive machine. Okay, Ava had to admit the motorcycle was kind of cool with its black frame, chrome forks, valanced fenders and that rich, blood-red color gleaming against the streetlights’ glow. It was breathtaking, and so was he.
A grin spread across his face as he turned to her and rested his hands on his thighs. “You coming or what?”
Staked Page 1
