by Box Set
He hadn’t tied my legs. He’d done a sad job on my hands. I’d been tied up tighter playing with the neighbor kids in second grade. And I’d escaped.
I hadn’t opened my eyes. I needed to be sure I was ready to move. I already knew that Doug had a thing for cameras. He could have one in here. I tried to breathe quietly and strained to listen for any noises from the house.
I was almost ready to make a break for it. I could loosen the ropes on my wrists as I ran. I needed to get moving almost as soon as I opened my eyes. I started a countdown. Ten. Nine. Eight.
The door to the house opened and somebody came back into the garage.
Footsteps came toward me.
“You’re right for once, moron,” Doug said. “The little thief is faking it.”
He kicked me in the rib and I let out a cry at the impact.
Doug laughed.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
“Got you,” he said. “Now it’s time to play.”
I tried to sit up and scramble backwards.
He laughed harder. “You want to run from me?” he asked. “That’s fine. I like it when they run.”
He turned to the henchman. “Go back inside until I call for you,” he said. “I need some privacy.”
I stared up at this man who was undiluted evil.
The henchman went inside and slammed the door.
“You may have me,” I said. “But you’ll never lay your hands on Sharon. Whatever you do to me. I win.”
His face twisted with rage. He lurched toward me.
And then I heard a splat and he fell forward onto me. I screamed and fought him off.
He wasn’t moving. Blood was gushing from a wound on his head. Hearst was standing behind him with a shovel. I finally got the man off of me as the henchman came back into the garage. He ran at Hearst.
Hearst tossed the shovel toward the ground by me and punched the man in the face. The man had more mass than my friend, and he tackled him to the ground. I struggled to my feet and untangled my wrists. Then I reached for the shovel. I walked beside them while they struggled. I took a deep breath and brought the shovel down on the idiot’s head.
I felt the impact. The thud. I dropped the shovel as Hearst rolled away from the man. Hearst jumped to his feet and reached for me.
“Is there anybody else?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Did we kill them?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But they aren’t getting up any time soon.”
“How did you find me?” I asked. “How can you be here right now?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s go outside. The sirens are coming closer. I called 911.”
Now that he’d mentioned the sirens, I could make out the sound over the roaring in my ears. “I got knocked unconscious again,” I said.
“You’re boxing career is over,” he teased. “Your mind is more important than fame.” He helped support me as we walked out the side garage door. There was a large yard with woods on all sides.
He led me over to a picnic table and we sat down. His hands were shaking, but I was trembling all over.
“How did you get here?”
“You’ll never believe it.” He grinned. “It was the pompoms.”
Maybe he’d gotten hit on the head too.
“Graham called as soon as you took off. I figured you were heading to Sharon’s. I passed that neighbor but didn’t realize you were with him. I only noticed him at all because he tossed something out of the window as he pulled out of the neighborhood. Probably your phone. Then I looked back to see the pompoms in the rear view window. I saw your car in his yard and turned around. I almost didn’t catch up to him, but I caught a break at the intersection.”
“You followed us here?”
“I had to stay back. Then I didn’t know how many men were on site. I didn’t know if they had cameras. I left my car at the street and came through the woods. It took forever. I listened at the garage door to be sure you were in there. I’m sorry I took so long.”
I hugged him tight.
The wail of the sirens grew unbearably loud as the police cars turned into the drive and pulled up beside the house. One after another. Five cars.
Graham and Joe sprang from the first car and rushed toward us. “Where are they?” Joe asked.
“In the garage. They both got hit in the head with a shovel,” I said.
Joe rushed for the garage, followed by three of the officers. Two others went around the perimeter of the house.
Graham stayed and pulled us both against his chest. “I want to kill you both, but that would defeat the purpose.”
“I love you too,” I said. “Is Liz okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s with her mother.”
“How did you get here, Hearst?”
“It’s a long story,” he said.
“He saved my life,” I said.
“And then she saved mine,” he said.
“You’re both grounded for a month,” Graham said. “Maybe two months.”
Hearst looked up at my brother. “Really?”
“Have you got a problem with that?” Graham asked.
“No, sir,” Hearst said.
Another car pulled into the drive.
“It’s the media,” Graham said. “Get in the back of that squad car and shut the door. Cover your faces or you’ll be all over the papers.”
We did as he said, but I wasn’t following his reasoning. Graham climbed in with us and put his face down in his arms too.
“Why are we doing this exactly?” Hearst asked.
Graham sighed. “You two have so much to learn. You can’t run a proper investigation if everybody and their brother knows you’re a private investigator.”
I couldn’t help smiling as I hid my face from the reporter who was yelling questions at us from right outside the car.
“I thought the devil was going to summon him home long before I took over Paxton PI,” I said.
“I’m not so sure about that anymore,” my brother said. “I think this may be where he belongs after all. Right here with us.”
Resources:
If you are experiencing any of the problems that the characters in this book were dealing with, please get help.
* * *
Bullying—
Stopbullying.gov (US)
Bullying UK (UK only)
0808-800-2222
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.bullying.co.uk
Kids Helpline (Australia only)
1800-55-1800
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.kidshelp.com.au
Kids Help Phone (Canada only)
800-668-6868
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.kidshelpphone.ca
* * *
Depression and Suicide hotline
United States—suicidepreventionlifeline.org
By calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) you’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7.
Also-- http://www.youmatter.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
United Kingdom—
Samaritans (08457 90 90 90) operates a 24-hour service available every day of the year. If you prefer to write down how you're feeling, or if you're worried about being overheard on the phone, you can email Samaritans at [email protected].
Childline (0800 1111) runs a helpline for children and young people in the UK. Calls are free and the number won't show up on your phone bill.
PAPYRUS (0800 068 41 41) is a voluntary organisation supporting teenagers and young adults who are feeling suicidal.
Depression Alliance is a charity for people with depression. It doesn't have a helpline, but offers a wide range of useful resources and links to other relevant information.
Students Against Depression is a website for students who are depressed
, have a low mood or are having suicidal thoughts.
* * *
Australia-- https://www.lifeline.org.au/
http://suicidepreventionaust.org/help/
* * *
Domestic violence
United States—
Childhelp USA National Child Abuse Hotline
800-4-A-CHILD (422-4453)
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.childhelpusa.org
Crisis Call Center
800-273-8255 or text ANSWER to 839863
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://crisiscallcenter.org/crisisservices.html
loveisrespect, National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline
(866) 331-9474
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.loveisrespect.org
* * *
National Domestic Violence Hotline
800-799-SAFE (7233)
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.ndvh.org
* * *
United Kingdom—
http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/
http://www.womensaid.org.uk/
Australia—
http://au.reachout.com/what-is-domestic-violence
http://www.humanservices.gov.au/customer/subjects/domestic-and-family-violence
* * *
New Zealand—
https://womensrefuge.org.nz/WR/Domestic-violence/Domestic-violence.htm
About Juli Alexander
Juli Alexander lives in the Southeastern US with dogs, cats, and teenaged boys. Her teen spy series stars Amanda and Will, secret agents for GASI. She has released three books in the Investigating the Hottie series and plans to release the fourth in December 2015. The Stirring Up Trouble trilogy will wrap up in October 2015 with Here Comes Trouble. The Paxton PI series will continue in early 2016. Visit Juli at www.julialexanderauthor.com, on twitter: @juli_alexander, and on Facebook at https://facebook.com/AuthorJuliAlexander
* * *
Of Ice and Snow
Fairy Queens Book .5
* * *
By
Amber Argyle
Copyright
Of Ice and Snow
Copyright © 2015 by Amber Argyle
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
* * *
License Notes
* * *
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
Amber Argyle
Author of the Witch Song and Fairy Queen Series.
Sign up for my newsletter to receive a free book!
Chapter 1
Pushing aside the thick brush, Otec eased into the shadows of the ancient forest. Branches scratched at him like a witch’s fingernails. He tried to ignore the itch that always started under his skin when he found himself in a space that was too tight. Soon, midday had darkened to twilight under the impenetrable fortress of leaves.
“Where’s the lamb, Freckles?” Otec asked his dog. “Go get her, girl.”
Freckles perked her ears and sniffed the air. They hadn’t gone more than a half dozen steps before she stiffened suddenly and burst forward, right on the heels of a squealing gray rabbit.
Otec shouted at her, calling her back. But Freckles was already out of sight. Even his own dog wouldn’t listen to him. Grumbling under his breath, Otec continued following the spoor his sheep had left earlier that day.
Finally, he spotted an out-of-place patch of white under some brush. He knelt down and parted the angry thorns, then took hold of the lamb’s neck with his shepherd’s crook. She bleated pitifully and struggled weakly to get away. Her face felt feverish under Otec’s palm as he held her still. “Easy now, little one.”
He gently took hold of the animal’s front and back legs and hoisted her over his shoulders, her wool coarse against his always-sunburned neck. And though she wasn’t that heavy, the burden weighed down Otec’s shoulders.
Heading back the way he’d come, Otec didn’t bother to call for Freckles—she’d get bored or hungry and come along eventually. Just when he could see the way out of the forest, something warm and runny slid down the left side of his chest. He glanced down to see himself covered in sheep diarrhea.
Otec swore—he was wearing the only shirt he owned, so it wasn’t like he could change. He set the lamb down and jerked his shirt off, careful not to smear any of the excrement on his face. Then he tossed the shirt into a bush. The thing was worn so thin it was nearly useless. Besides, after he spent an entire summer in the mountains, his mother always made him a new shirt.
The shadowy breeze crawled across his skin. Shivering, he took hold of his shepherd’s crook and was about to pick up the lamb again when something out of place caught his eye—a splash of red in a square of sunlight. It was far enough away he could cover it with an outstretched hand.
Squinting through the tangled limbs all around him, Otec automatically quieted his steps and moved at an angle toward the strange shape and color, hoping the lamb he had left behind would remain quiet. As he came closer, the color shifted and he could make out a pair of bent legs clad in black trousers with a bright-red tunic. Strange clothing.
Otec pushed aside some brush and saw a figure bent over something. Even at fifteen strides away, he could see that the face was fine featured with deeply tanned skin, enormous brown eyes, and thick black hair.
He knew two things at once. First, this wasn’t a man as he’d first suspected—but a woman wearing men’s clothing and sporting hair so short it barely touched her ears. And second, she was a foreigner. What was a foreigner doing on the edge of the Shyle forest?
She was close to Otec’s own age of twenty, and she was almost pretty, in a boyish sort of way. But what intrigued him most was how engrossed she was in what she was doing, the tip of her pink tongue rubbing against her bottom lip, and her brows furrowed in concentration.
That concentration stirred something inside him, an uncanny sense of familiarity. Something about the forward bend of her head, the intensity of her gaze, sparked a deep recognition. He shouldn’t be watching her—should be moving the sick lamb to the village, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away. Eager to see what she was doing, Otec moved as close as he dared, coming to the edge of the shadows and peering at her from behind a tree.
A sheet of vellum was tacked to a board on her lap. Her hands were delicate, beautiful even, as her fingers worked a bit of charcoal in what seemed a choreographed variation of long and short strokes. Bit by bit, the drawing began to take shape. It was of Otec’s village, which was spread out below them. Surrounded by the crimson and gold of autumn, Shyleholm was nestled deep in the high mountain valley. This foreign woman had somehow managed to capture the feel of the centuries-old stones, cut from the mountain
s by glaciers, rounded and polished for decades before they were pulled from the rivers by Otec’s ancestors.
She had depicted the neat, tidy fields of hay set up against the harsh winters, even managing to give a hint of the surrounding steep mountains and hills. But what she hadn’t captured was the chaos of wagons and tents set up on the far side of the village. They were a little late for the autumn clan feast, but Otec couldn’t imagine any other reason for them to be there.
After his five months of solitary life in the mountains, the mere thought of the mass of people set Otec’s teeth on edge. Already he could hear the incessant noise of the crowd, feel the eyes of hundreds of other clanmen who, when they found out he was the clan chief’s son, expected him to be the leader his oldest brother was. The warrior his second brother was. Or the trickster who was his third brother.
They learned soon enough not to expect anything at all. When Otec wasn’t in the mountains, he was carving useless trinkets or playing with the little children who didn’t know he was supposed to be more. To them, he was simply the man who brought them toys and tickled and chased them when no one was looking. And that was enough.
The woman’s darkened hands paused. She set aside her drawing and twisted the charcoal between her fingers. Wondering why she had stopped, Otec looked past her and saw another foreigner with the same strange clothes and dark features climbing the steep hill toward her.
Just as the man crossed under a lone tree, an owl stretched out its great white wings. It was easily as long as Otec’s arm. He’d never seen its like before, white with black striations. And stranger still, it seemed to be watching the girl.
