Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  His eyes pierced through me as he rose from his seat and opened up his arms in a welcoming gesture. A golden crown rested on his head. He motioned for me to come closer, but my knees had locked up.

  “Sera, it’s okay. It’s really me,” said the recognizable voice of my dad.

  That familiar sound had me running into his outstretched arms like I was a little girl again.

  * * *

  The End

  Continue the Series in book two, The Pirate’s Princess. Coming soon.

  http://www.bethanywicker.com/published-books.html

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  About the Author

  Bethany Wicker resides in Louisiana and is a new mom who loves to read and write any chance she gets. She has a loving husband, Lucien, a beautiful daughter named Henley, and an amazing family who support her passion for writing. Her inspiration comes from her friends, family, and the support from BB. She loves young adult fiction of all sorts and thanks God for giving her the strength to finish novels of her own. She is obsessed with Disney, Dr. Pepper, and White Chocolate Mochas, especially from Starbucks. She also loves food and is always excited to try new things.

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  www.bethanywicker.com

  Frozen Ashes and Smoldering Shards

  Midnight Voss and Ivy Quinn

  Frozen Ashes and Smoldering Shards © 2018 Midnight Voss and Ivy Quinn

  * * *

  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.

  Frozen Ashes and Smoldering Shards

  Save the eggs, save the world.

  When skilled thief Minerva Reyes finds herself in possession of a strange artifact, her whole world changes. Dragons are real. Magic is everywhere. And there’s more at stake than avoiding the cops.

  Teaming up with the towering beauty Saffyranae a.k.a. “Saff,” Minerva sets out to catch whoever has been stealing dragon eggs before the poor creatures inside perish without ever hatching.

  When the uncontained primal magic from the stolen eggs begins to leak, with the potential to contaminate everyone in their paths, the dire situation escalates. Fast. If Minerva and Saff can’t track down the thief and recover the eggs, the entire country—and likely beyond—will suffer madness and excruciating death.

  1

  Minerva

  It was an atypical hunting ground, to be sure. For Minerva Reyes, the Wolvesden was perfect. The décor hardly spoke to the expense of eating here. With the wall of mismatched wood and the preserved wildlife around them, rustic would not even be the proper word. There was also a stuffed stag staring at them as it perched atop a skateboard, and all of the diners were seated at one long table.

  At best, it looked like everyone had come up to their eccentric uncle’s cabin in the mountains for the evening.

  As strange as the setting was, however, Minerva had managed to sit within earshot of each guest and was on the alert. She had always been adept at picking a particular voice out of the din, and today, she listened carefully to her prey as she slowly ate the tiny portion of fried quail with kale in front of her.

  “It’s a matter of class,” the man was saying. His dinner partner, though one couldn’t have discerned as much with the group-hang style dinner table, hadn’t arrived with him. From Minerva’s observations, she knew that this was not their first date, but the woman, dressed in finer clothing than the taxidermy truly called for, didn’t seem particularly thrilled to be here.

  “A matter of class?” The woman arched a brow and pursed her lips together like a fish. A well-dressed but annoyed fish.

  Though, from Minerva’s estimations, this douche deserved this woman’s derision. Every word from his mouth emerged laced with pretension. This was also not the first time Minerva had observed him with a woman who didn’t particularly enjoy his presence. Minerva knew how this would go down. He would dominate the conversation, talking about his success, his property, his fascination with lacrosse (so much more choice than hockey or football), and Minerva would listen, tuning in and out of the conversation as needed, until the dinner ended and he stiffed the waitress on the tip.

  Sometimes, he bragged about not tipping to his date.

  That move had never managed to impress them. Tonight was no exception, but his date had clearly decided early on that he would be coming back to her place and had been dropping hints all evening.

  “Luckily, I don’t have to work early tomorrow…”

  “It’s pretty quiet with my roommate out of town…”

  Minerva wouldn’t presume to judge a girl for getting a few free meals out of a guy. She wasn’t as forward thinking about going home with someone this douchetastic, but a woman couldn’t survive by minuscule plates of avant-garde cuisine alone.

  So while Patricia (Douche’s date) found ways to feed her other needs, Minerva would return to the Douche’s condo. Though, she made sure to double the tip on “Joanne Jett’s” credit card and sign the check with confidence and a flirtatious smile.

  Minerva knew her mark’s name, of course. She knew his social security number and the last time he’d been to the dentist. But with a guy like this, and a job like hers, it was easier to just refer to him by his most easily identifiable trait.

  No one was home when Minerva approached the string of condos where the Douche lived. One thing she loved about L.A. was how she could just walk up to houses. Pick a mark downtown, and there were so many people that your main obstacle might be the doorman. But pick a mark a little further from the main hustle and bustle of the city? Jackpot. It wasn’t a fence-heavy metropolis.

  Tonight, Minerva still wore her black turtleneck, but she had left all of her jewelry in the car, along with her boots and jeans. While she was working, she always made sure to wear black leggings and soft-soled shoes. Nothing to catch on anything or to leave behind. She carried nothing but herself and a backpack that didn’t expand beyond her own width. If she couldn’t fit, it couldn’t fit.

  If anyone noticed her, they might think she was out for a run. Surprisingly, though, people seldom noticed anymore. At first, it had been a problem, a brownish girl walking around in high income areas drew more attention than would be fair, if she hadn’t actually been there for illicit purposes. She’d learned that she needed to pick her neighborhoods, her clothes, and her marks all very carefully. As she grew more experienced, she’d found that she was actually quite adept at blending into the background. It was almost uncanny now, how she could stand so near to a person, without them taking notice of her.

  The Douche’s place was easy to get into. She already had the code for his keyless entry pad, so with a swipe-click, the door opened itself for her. She entered quietly, punched in the security code (same as for the door), scanned the first floor quickly, and went to work. Two floors. She’d have to work her way out. Although the Douche would probably be out until morning, Minerva wasted no time.

  She moved silently up to the bedroom. There, she found a wad of cash and a Rolex watch on the nightstand. Inside, an unsecured Glock. It all went into her bag. After a swift glance under the bed and dresser, she began searching the drawers, bottom to top. There she found, but lef
t, his social security card, before uncovering another watch (taken); several pairs of expensive cufflinks, men’s rings, and a few white gold chains (taken), and a stash of condoms (left). The closet offered her several lovely necklaces, which were all the same, and clearly meant to be given to his conquests, and a pair of genuine Italian leather shoes. She left one necklace resting atop a mother’s day card. With the rose gold, she told herself, it looked too matronly anyway. The bathroom was a swift swipe in the medicine cabinet that rewarded her several prescription bottles, and she was on her way.

  Once in his office, a Cheshire grin spread across her face. A Macbook pro. A tablet. Several credit cards in the drawers of his desk. She considered for a moment ignoring the closet and grabbing a few things downstairs before heading back to her car and safety. Office closets too often were filled with boring tax documents, and aside from fencing some high-end items she would buy on his credit cards and fleecing the card companies themselves, identity theft didn’t interest her too much. She’d been upstairs less than three minutes, though. A peek wouldn’t hurt.

  Sure enough, boxes and boxes. Though not just papers. Porn, too. Not interested.

  Minerva was just about to turn away when something held her fast. She couldn’t see it, couldn’t define it, but something was there. She knew it, somehow. She held still for a moment, letting her senses pull her in the right direction.

  Behind the box on the top shelf. Of course, that’s where it was. The dust ended several inches from the box. Minerva set her bag down and reached up to shove the box aside. And there it was… whatever it was. The roundish object was wrapped in a fleece blanket, but light leaked out and glowed eerily. Why hadn’t the light been visible before? Minerva reached for it.

  Something inside her made her hesitate. Maybe she should leave it. It would be too big to throw in with her other liberated items… But she couldn’t keep herself away from it, either, and soon the roundish bundle was in her arms. Careful not to touch it directly, Minerva pulled the blanket back.

  It looked… like a jewel. Sort of. It had the gleam of a gem, at least. Though, it was rounder than a gem would be right out of the ground. It also wasn’t perfectly spherical or oval-shaped. The texture looked rough, and something had been carved in a fluid spiral running from the top to the bottom. As though pulled forward by some magnetic force, Minerva’s hand came within a hair’s breadth of running her fingertips over the carvings, but she jerked her hand back and rubbed her fingertips together, feeling the glide of the clear nail polish she’d applied over them that morning to keep her work untraceable.

  “What are you?” Minerva muttered.

  Obviously, gem did not answer. Whatever it was, it was worth taking. Minerva could tell that much. Nothing could be this strange, this much like a precious artifact that tenured archeology professors might chase after, without having some worth to someone. She narrowed her eyes and pulled it closer to examine. The spiral looked like a string of some kind of foreign glyphs, and now she could see that it wasn’t entirely transparent. The light refracted through part off it while the middle was more opaque. It grew darker and denser the deeper she looked.

  The sound of a car driving by startled her out of her investigation. It was stupid to just stand here staring at the thing now that she’d already decided to take it with her. The problem was where to put it. It was too bizarre for her to risk touching with her bare hands, and since she wasn’t sure how much it was worth, it wouldn’t be wise to drop most of what she’d collected so far.

  On a whim, she raided the Douche’s closet again. It took her several minutes. She was inching up on the time she usually budgeted for getting in and out of a house, but went to work securing the artifact. Soon, it cradled against her, still in its blanket, but now also wrapped in a sling made of two of the douche’s gorgeous cashmere sweaters and secured to her front by several Italian leather belts. She pulled an even more gorgeous cashmere sweater over the bulge and smirked as she exited the house with more than she could have hoped for from this snotty, pretentious jerk.

  No one had given her a second glance as she carefully made her way back to her car. There weren’t many people out to begin with, and in the dark, they couldn’t see how young she was. She had put her ear buds in and slipped the jack down the front of the outer sweater, so she just looked like pregnant woman taking an evening walk, possibly wearing her husband’s sweater. The artifact was warm against her body, and she could feel it humming, almost like an electronic device, although she’d kept her turtleneck and leggings in place as a buffer between herself and it before securing the artifact with the Douche’s clothing. She’d pulled the pregnant thief routine occasionally, and she knew that the first rule of getting away with it was making sure your bundle didn’t drop out of your dress.

  The second rule would be to walk capably enough with her haul and this thing strapped to her that no one would stop her to ask if she needed help. That part was harder, since she didn’t normally try to spirit something this heavy away, but at this point, Minerva wasn’t letting this thing go. It was too intriguing. For all she knew, it was some kind of abstract art piece, but there was something about the way its surface had shone when she’d uncovered it. Something about the writing along the spiral.

  Minerva touched it with an almost protective instinct as she crossed the street. A man across the street was walking with his two young daughters, one who skipped along in front of them, and he gave her a friendly nod. She nodded back and smiled, even if he wouldn’t be able to see the latter. Without a sign of suspicion, the little family went on their way. In a way, the added layers seemed to have made her blend better into this neighborhood. It was probably her mark who had been the outlier amongst his neighbors.

  That was something to think about, but she wasn’t going to spare any more thoughts for that asshole. A few moments later, she was carefully maneuvering her fake bulk into the driver’s seat and strapping herself in. She would remove the artifact once she had some distance between her and the scene of the crime. Then, she would be able to sort out her findings and make a plan for fencing the stash.

  Oddly, the artifact seemed to grow warmer the longer it was pressed against her. It was hot enough now that it should be uncomfortable, but it didn’t burn. Instead, Minerva shuddered. Her heart began to pound. Part of her knew she needed to take it off as soon as possible. Another part of her seemed to slow as she felt it throbbing in time with her own heart. It was like the deep, inscrutable core of the artifact was calling out to her somehow, blending with her heat and bonding with her…

  “That’s fucking crazy.”

  Minerva shook her head as she came to a stoplight. She slipped her hand under the sweater and touched the side of the now warm fabric covering her heist. The humming continued, bright and strong and steady. It hadn’t grown any louder, but she could hear it better as she touched it.

  With her heart in her throat, Minerva drove back to her hotel room as fast as she could without getting pulled over.

  2

  Clay

  Clay’s brother stood tall on the podium. Clay could hear the murmurs of approval as Senator Jorgenson rose on a wave of momentum, articulating each point with an emphatic gesture of his hand. Clay wouldn’t even bother pretending he knew what this speech was for. The election was over, but Topher was still out there making rousing the crowds. Or maybe this one was a Statement. He had a pretty large audience, either way.

  “No matter what you’re told, we are Americans. And Americans pull together! We rise above!”

  Applause.

  Pretty hard to care. It all sounded the same. All Clay knew was that this was part of his big brother’s overall agenda, so it was good.

  “The Jorgenson Foundation helps people across the United States, and we will continue to do so, no matter what lies you’ve heard from opportunistic journalists and politicians looking to score points.”

  It didn’t really help people, though.

  Una
ble to focus, Clay looked up at the lights, watching the things flickering there. Wriggly little flying creatures with wings like a hummingbird’s and faces like a mess of squid tentacles. Sometimes there were others, but only the tentacle-faces right now. Noises faded in and out around him, and he put his hands over his ears. The things sang. They had their own little language as they shifted in and out of reality. And though he’d been to countless doctors assuring him that they were in fact not there, Clay knew he wasn’t crazy. Topher had assured him of this, over and over.

  Not crazy. Not sick. Touched. By what, Clay couldn’t even remember. He remembered playing on the dock by the lake house. He remembered his mother clutching his face and screaming at him afterward. But what had “Touched” him? No clue.

  Oddly enough, that had been one of the delightful metaphors the teachers at school had used. The students used less delightful ones. “Touched in the head.” It wasn’t his head, though. It was his brain, his eyes, every inch of his skin. He barely felt human most of the time.

  All at once, his wits seemed to process what his brother had been talking about. The Foundation. Someone must have published something on how they were using the money donated to them.

  “We will keep fighting for the common good of Americans-“