Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2)

by Ashley Meira

  “What’s he like?”

  “Tom is…” His nose wrinkled in that way I found absolutely adorable as he tried to find the words. “He’s a puckish rogue, for lack of a better term. He’s the kind of guy who was always broke and looking to make a quick buck. Life of the party and a constant truant, Tom was the guy everyone thought would crash and burn – but at least he’d have fun doing it.”

  “Okay, and you were friends? What’d they call you two, Fire and Ice?”

  “Opposites attract.” He chuckled, his breath tickling my neck and rustling my hair. “I don’t know, Tom was charming. Everyone liked him. I was pretty awkward and quiet as a kid, so I envied that.”

  “Well, you are very charming now.” I wiggled around to face him, tangling our legs together, and kissed him. What was it about him that made me want to constantly be entwined with him? Whatever it was, it scared me.

  But I didn’t hate it.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled against my lips.

  “So, did any of Tom’s “get rich quick” schemes work out?” I asked, trying to focus on anything other than how our bodies fit together perfectly. “Is he a billionaire now?”

  “He’s a hunter, which should tell you everything you need to know.”

  “Hey, the Order provides enough of a paycheck to have a comfortable life. Unless you’re one of those people who fuck up all the time and need to keep buying potions, weapons, ammo…” I waved my hand around as if that would magically complete the list.

  “Or you’re the only breadwinner in a big family. Or something bad happens that ends up costing you a lot of money.”

  “Or you have a gambling addiction–”

  “Or a shoe addiction.”

  “I can afford to have a shoe addiction,” I said. “I’m not that worried about getting hit by a car and having to pay off hospital bills, so I don’t have to budget for those kind of emergencies.”

  “And for those of us who don’t have super healing abilities?”

  “Get an accountant? And shop less.”

  “What if you get a wasting illness? Even magic can’t cure things like cancer or schizophrenia.”

  “Aren’t you an optimistic ball of sunshine? Look, I can’t comment on providing for a family, and I refuse to comment on getting some debilitating disease, but most of the time it’s all about handling your money properly. I happen to have a nice little nest egg stashed away in–” I pursed my lips and gave him an exaggerated look of suspicion “–somewhere safe.”

  “Some secret offshore bank account? Or just buried in a box in your backyard?”

  “It’s cute how you think I’d go through the trouble of digging anything.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I have some money saved up, too, but most of the time I use the rare stuff we find as bargaining chips instead of selling them off for cash. I try to keep the favors I owe to a minimum.”

  “Same, but I’m too greedy not to sell stuff off for myself. One of those favors I owe is probably going to bite me in the ass one day – and not in the fun way.”

  “Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin. “So, can I borrow a few bucks?”

  I scoffed and rolled back onto my other side, pulling one of his arms around me.

  Every Order city had at least one Temple.

  They were less a place of worship – though many did use it for that – than a gathering place for important Order business. They were designed based on religious buildings; the Temple in Haven was modeled after St. Stephen’s Basilica in Budapest, right down to its gorgeous stained glass ceilings.

  Of course, the designs here were less art and more specially designed sigils against evil, but they were still pretty when the light shined through them.

  Whenever the heads of the families would come visit, the Temple was where they came together and held meetings. Temples were considered neutral ground – no fighting was allowed, and anyone who broke that rule was dealt with immediately.

  We walked past the pews and into the backrooms where everything really went down. There was a wooden door that led us down to the cavernous bowels of the church. Our footsteps boomed as we made our way downstairs, the dim light causing our shadows to cast twisted amalgamations of the human form against the grey stone walls.

  Lily had been upset at our quick departure, but she understood the urgency of the situation. She also understood she was under no circumstances allowed to have anything even close to a party while I was gone.

  I’d called Rowan to let her know I was going after all and was rewarded with a motherly put-down disguised as a compliment before she hung up. She also told me Sullivan’s men would be waiting for us at Dovesport’s Temple and I should behave myself unless I wanted to become her new scratching post when she returned. I knew she wasn’t bluffing.

  In the very bottom of each Temple was a series of rooms filled with magical portals which allowed us to travel to a variety of places. Mostly they led to other Order cities around the world, but there were a few noteworthy exceptions. Like Hell, for example. Today, it’d make our trip from Minnesota to Maine take a few seconds instead of hours. Seriously, screw road trips.

  The magic behind the portals was developed by reapers – the beings that came to free souls from their bodies after death. I’ve never had to deal with a reaper before, but I counted them as one of my favorite supernatural entities. Mainly because none of them had ever tried to kill me. I mean, they’ll definitely come after me when I die, but that’s still a long time away.

  Hopefully.

  We each had a backpack filled with clothes and another bag filled with various supplies. I didn’t usually bother to bring much – maybe a couple of rare items in case I couldn’t get information with regular cash. Or threats of violence. Or actual violence. Some magic users preferred to carry along a handful of magical gizmos or talismans to help them focus, and even strengthen, their powers, but I preferred not to do that if I could help it. Those things took time, not to mention rare and expensive ingredients, to create. If they were lost or destroyed, it’d be a pain to replace them. Plus, they could become a crutch. It’s never a good idea to become dependent on an object, magical or otherwise.

  “So, what are we walking into?” Alex asked as we searched for the right door.

  “I don’t know much about portals,” I said, purposefully misinterpreting his words. “They can only be created in certain places – with a few exceptions – which is probably why Order cities are built over ley lines. I think the founders requested help from the reapers in deciding locations, actually. Though it does take a great deal of effort for them, beings of great power – archangels, dukes, Lucifer, and the rest of those guys – are capable of creating a temporary portal in the Shadowlands that opens up almost anywhere in this world. They can’t create a portal anywhere on Earth, though; portals – permanent or otherwise – can only be created at special locations on our side. I have no idea why, but–”

  “As fascinating as your speech is,” Alex said, his voice a dull drone. “I was asking about your father.”

  I should’ve known better than to think Alex would let go of something. He was like a pit bull who bit your ass. A cute pit bull. Who could certainly bite–

  “Morgan?”

  I frowned at him. “I was having a fantasy.”

  He returned my frown with an unimpressed look. “Did it involve you answering my question?”

  “Not even a little,” I said. “But if you must know–”

  “It’d be nice.”

  “A big house and a stoic greeting.”

  Alex waited for me to continue, but when it became clear I was finished, he pressed me. “And?”

  “And…if he hasn’t replaced them, the cooks do a good job,” I finished with a shrug as we entered the room.

  Portal rooms were kind of spooky. It wasn’t all white walls with blue and orange rings you could walk through – or fall through – over and over again in an unstoppable loop. The only lights in the room we
re from the portals themselves. There were eight of them in this room, lining the walls in a circular pattern. Their long, oval shapes emanated a thick and unsettling dark purple, almost black, mist that undulated in an otherworldly dance.

  Rowan said the mist was the physical manifestation of the residual energies from Umbra – the realm of the reapers. When portals were first created, reapers infused the natural elements of their world into them in order to keep the gateways open. Reapers tended to be secretive by nature, so that was all she could tell me.

  The shadowy, claw-like tendrils were actually quite cold, and when you got close to a portal, soft whispers drifted around you. The portals resembled giant mirrors, though they showed no reflections, just a hollow abyss. I used to stare at them to see if something looked back. Rowan told me I was being ridiculous, but I maintained that there could’ve been some funky stuff happening during the milliseconds I wasted blinking.

  Alex looked around. “Isn’t there supposed to be a caretaker?”

  “Bathroom break?” I shrugged. “It’s the fourth one. Let’s go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Best case scenario: we end up in Hell. Worst case scenario: we end up in Dovesport.”

  “I think you got that backwards.”

  I glanced up at him. “I really didn’t.”

  There was no magical tunnel or vacuum that sucked us through, leaving us sprawled on the ground at our destination. Walking through a portal was like being submerged in ice water. My heart skipped a beat and I let out a shuddery breath as I stepped through, the inky tendrils winding around me like an old lover. The world went silent for a moment before the whispers overwhelmed me again, heralding my arrival in Dovesport.

  4

  “Miss Wallace, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” a tall man with slicked back blonde hair said, extending out his hand.

  I wanted to mention that it was “Maxwell,” but instead forced a polite smile onto my face and shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Alex appeared next to me, and the blonde man reached over to shake his hand as well. “Mister Campbell, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jonathan.”

  The men shook hands, and luckily, Alex was able to keep him engaged in conversation as we made our way outside. The lower level was as “medieval dungeon” as the one in Haven, so I wasn’t shedding any tears over having to leave. As the salty sea air hit my face, and I looked down at the orderly white buildings of the city, however, all I wanted to do was go back inside.

  Dovesport’s Temple rested on a small hill overlooking the entire city. The view was just as beautiful now as it had been when I was a little girl. I managed to coax Alex into sleeping in, so we arrived later than he intended, but the hour did nothing to diminish the city’s seaside charm.

  Cobalt blue waves lapped gently against the shore leading up to the docks, its ships regal giants standing proudly against the pale grey canvas that was the sky. A vibrant mass of colors blended together in the middle of the city – a flower garden, if I remembered correctly.

  But no matter how beautiful Dovesport was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the ugly memories I had of it.

  “Your parents took you to the gardens a lot,” Jonathan said as he followed my line of sight. “My father used to work for yours, and I took over he when retired. When I was a kid, he used to tell me all about his days at work. From what he told me, your mother was particularly fond of white roses, and you used to insist on visiting the hydrangeas at least three times before your parents could take you home.”

  “I don’t remember.” I pursed my lips – memories of a dead family weren’t my idea of a good time.

  My tone made Jonathan frown, but he didn’t comment on it. Alex placed a hand on my shoulder in what was probably an attempt at comfort. I shrugged him off, feeling way too prickly from being back here. Eighteen years of avoiding this place and now here I was. All I wanted was to get this case over with so I could go back home. My real home. Jonathan could talk about my childhood all he liked – all I remembered was a big house and empty seats at the dinner table. What was it about humans that made us remember the bad things more than the good?

  When we reached the car, Alex took the front seat while I stewed in the back. Jonathan was more than happy to play tour guide, extolling the virtues of the city and answering Alex’s questions.

  The citizens here – and in most Order cities – lived pretty sleepy lives. These were the safest cities on Earth. Nobody who lived here was in any real danger and the standard of living was good. Well, as good as the heads of the respective families let it be, but the Council would step in if things seemed to be going downhill.

  As he drove, I kept going back to Jonathan’s words. Maybe I could get some info from the people who worked for Sullivan while my mother was still around. I had considered asking the man himself, even if the thought did make me want to curl up and die, but I remembered how closed off he would get whenever I mentioned her. Hell, after she disappeared, he had all the photos of her locked away. Aside from one less than vivid memory, I knew nothing of my mother outside of her appearance and the fact that she was a witch and an expert potion maker. But the people in the house had known her. There must be something they could tell me about her, about what kind of person she was.

  There was also a chance, however minuscule, they had information about Fake-Corrigan. The image of him pulling back his hood to reveal a face I had fuzzy recollections of as a child played in my mind. His features were definitely more angular, but there was no mistaking those warm grey eyes I used to run to as a child. His eyes had been colder, sly, dead even, but they were so similar that I couldn’t discount it. And for him to use my mother’s name made it even more unlikely that it was a coincidence.

  All this introspection was pissing me off and making my head hurt. I rolled the window down, hoping the sea air would calm me. It didn’t. Instead, it reminded me of a childhood spent staring out the window and looking at the incoming ships, wondering if it would be the one that held my mother. If she was going to come back to us so my father would stop ignoring me. If we were going to be a family again. God fucking damn it. I could’ve been just as maudlin watching cheesy soap operas in Haven. And I could’ve done it without putting on pants. Fuck pants.

  The Wallace family home – which was kind of a misnomer since everyone in an Order city takes the same family name – looked the same as it did the last time I saw it. It was a stately looking manor with a plain but elegant garden. A prim, cobblestone path winded up from the sidewalk to the dark red front door that contrasted well against the white building.

  Jonathan pulled up and stepped out to open the door for me. He even held his hand for me to take, what a gentleman. Every step I took towards the front door felt like a step closer to the electric chair, which sounded a lot better than this right now. I’m aware that I’m being a giant baby about this but… I don’t wanna.

  Alex reached over to give my hand a reassuring squeeze. It did nothing to make me feel better. I felt like I was wearing a really itchy wool sweater in one hundred-degree weather – being touched just made it worse.

  Jonathan led us past the foyer, our footsteps clacking loudly across the black and white tiled floor. He stopped in front of a pair of double doors, the bright lights making his gelled hair glisten. It kind of reminded me of butter, but for once, I was too disconcerted to be hungry.

  “Sir Wallace is waiting for you in here,” he said, opening the door.

  Nice to know nothing had changed since I was shipped off. The walls were a pale blue lined with white moldings. There was a fireplace on the right, the flames casting a delicate glow across the three piece seating arrangement.

  The two men who sat on the couch across from us were anything but delicate, however. Both were on the older side, at least late forties to fifties. The man on the right was the portlier of the two, with a light wisp of white hair and small blue eyes. He had a deep scar, its edges jagged and
angry, peeking out from the collar of his plaid shirt. It looked like it hadn’t been given the chance to heal properly and was forced to close up in an ugly death scream.

  The man on the left took me by surprise. He was taller than his companion, his deep brown eyes sunken above heavy purple bags. His hair was thick, cut in the same militant style it always was, but the dark brown color I remembered had long been replaced by a distinguished grey.

  The last time I saw him was at Lady Cassandra’s funeral, but I was so busy trying not to burst into tears while taking care of Lily, that I hadn’t paid him much mind. Even at Order meetings before the funeral, his skin had been tighter, and the wrinkles on his face hadn’t been as severe. It would have been easy to mistake him for another person, but I recognized that strong jaw anywhere. I guess this was the first time since I was eight that I really had the chance to see my father up close. It shouldn’t surprise me how old he’d gotten over the past eighteen years, but it did.

  If the pleasant aroma floating around the room was any indication, they’d been sipping coffee before we arrived, but set their cups aside to stand up and greet us.

  “Morgan Wallace and Alexander Campbell,” Jonathan introduced, gesturing to us before turning to the two men. “This is Sir Sullivan Wallace and his right-hand man, Sir Wright Wallace.”

  The shorter man shook our hands with a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A pleasure. Your reputations precede you both. It is an honor to have two such fine examples of the Order here with us today.” His manner of speaking had a soulful beat to it, which reminded me of those preachers who could whip a crowd up into a faithful frenzy.

  Wright, the right-hand man. Really? Dude’s name already reminded me of a Stan Lee villain, but right/Wright? I’d mark his name down as my favorite wordplay of the month if I wasn’t too busy trying not to throw up at the thought of having to actually interact with my father.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Wright,” I forced out, sounding only the tiniest bit nauseous. A strange feeling flowed up my arm as we shook hands, like I’d just submerged it into a deep puddle of mud or the limb had spontaneously fallen asleep.