Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  “Don’t tease her,” Skye scolded. “I’ll explain sky-clad to you later,” she said to Callie. “When we get to school, I’ll take you in to get registered and show you where your classes are. Got your transcript?”

  “Check.” Callie glanced down at her notebook and then patted her jeans pocket to make sure she had the amber.

  “Guess you’ve turned Yankee on us.” Michael’s eyes caught hers in the dashboard mirror.

  He had the same green eyes as his sister, but the similarity ended there. Where Skye was petite and redheaded, Michael had light brown hair, conservatively cut, and a stocky body suited for football. He had a full scholarship to play linebacker for Alabama, which was fortunate since his grades sucked. Although a year older than Skye, he’d been held back in first grade and had been in their same grade growing up. Hence, the extra year at community college to pull up his grade point average. Skye and Tanner had opted to attend with him so they could start Bama together.

  “Yep. I’m a Southern Yankee,” Callie said. It was fun being with Skye and Michael again. She turned to Tanner. “How long have you been in Piedmont?”

  “About five years. My dad lost his job in Scottsboro when the textile mill closed. We have family here, and they helped set him up in the dry cleaning business.”

  “Your family’s part of the coven?”

  “Yeah. I hardly ever go to the meetings myself though. Boring.” He gave an exaggerated yawn. “Mostly it’s just a bunch of old women.”

  “What about you, Michael? Do you go?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “How big is the coven now?” she asked.

  “We’ve stayed pretty small,” said Skye. “There’s about twenty of us, mostly older women. We meet every full moon and get together for the major sabbats.”

  “The only people in the coven younger than us are the twelve-year-old Fillcrest twins,” said Tanner. “Their mom, Morgan, calls herself the pagan soccer mom. She’s the only one in the coven out of the broom closet. Even drives a black SUV with the license tags HEXU. Everyone likes her in town; they just think she’s a bit of a kook.”

  Callie snickered. “Guess that’s better than being ridiculed or run out of town with pitchforks.”

  The parking lot was full of pickup trucks with either Alabama or Auburn football bumper stickers. Students milled around, talking and laughing, some smoking cigarettes by their vehicles before following the crowd inside. She searched for James but no luck.

  As they entered the noisy building, Callie was glad to have Skye as a guide. After today, she’d have the layout nailed.

  “This way.” Skye pointed to the left.

  Hard to get excited about classes when all she could think about was her father and James. She followed as Skye pushed open the office door.

  A cold darkness immediately chilled her body, and she came to an abrupt halt. It was like being thrown into a deep cave. The sensation came and went so fast, she wondered if she imagined it. She glanced around. Everyone else was chattering and going about their business. Skye held the door open.

  “Ready?”

  “Sure.” Callie shrugged it off. Must be new-girl-at-school jitters.

  A middle-aged woman frantically tried to answer ringing phones while students shoved notes in her direction. Skye took Callie’s papers and waved them in front of the secretary. The woman scowled and motioned them to take a seat in the crowded lobby.

  “Looks like this might take a while,” Skye said. She jerked a folding chair out from the wall and sat down on it with a loud thump.

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Who cares if we’re late for class? It’s just school.”

  Skye snickered. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

  Twenty minutes later, the scene was still bedlam. Phones kept ringing, and late students straggled in with written excuses. Several times Skye attempted to approach the secretary only to be dismissed with an impatient wave.

  The door to the Dean’s office opened, and a paunchy, slightly balding man with glasses surveyed the room. His eyes rested on Callie, and he started over.

  “That must be the new dean,” Skye muttered. “Mr. Pierce, the old one, suddenly retired before Christmas.”

  “I’m Mr. Connors. Can I help you ladies?” He extended his hand to each of them.

  Callie’s hand touched his, and a low thrum of energy created an uncomfortable tingling in her right arm. She pulled her hand back and discretely shook it out. What was that all about? She glanced at Skye but she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

  “This is Callie Bradford. She’s transferring from a school in New Jersey.”

  He gave a curt nod. “I can help y’all with that. Come into my office.”

  A light-headed ringing buzzed in her brain, and she was grateful to sit again until she noticed the toxic atmosphere was even worse here than the lobby.

  Connors sat behind his desk, looking over the papers, while she checked out the room. On his desk was a framed photograph of two small children at the beach, playing in the sand. Probably his kids. There was nothing else in the office of a personal nature. She shifted slightly as the amber in the front pocket of her jeans heated against her skin.

  “Everything seems to be in order. I trust the transition to Piedmont College won’t be difficult. Your grades are excellent.”

  “Thanks.” Callie met his eyes. His black pupils gave her the sensation of falling and becoming trapped in a deep well. There was a buzzing in her ears, and the voices of others sounded far away.

  “Great,” Skye chirped. “So everything’s set.”

  “I have you a prepared class schedule.” He handed it to her, his gaze intent. “If you have any problems, let me know, and I’ll do my best to help.”

  “Okay,” she managed, coming unsteadily to her feet. She hurried to the door before he could shake her hand again. Nausea churned her stomach.

  “Whoa, slow down,” Skye said when they were in the hallway. “What’s your hurry? Like you said earlier, it’s just school.”

  “That Connors gives me the creeps. Didn’t you get any funny vibes in there?”

  “No. He’s just a geeky old guy. Did you see a dark aura around him or something?”

  “No aura.” She shook her head. “I only see them after I’ve meditated, and I always ask someone’s permission before I look. I’ve heard it’s like invading someone’s private space.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about the old man. Unless you plan on making trouble here, I doubt you’ll ever see him again.”

  Callie started to tell Skye about the trapped sensation but decided to let it go. No reason to ever go in there again.

  The day dragged on until last period, American History 402.

  Before Callie saw his face, her body experienced a jolt of electric recognition. James was near. She searched the crowded classroom and located him sitting in the back. He waved her over to an empty chair beside him. What luck!

  As she slid behind the desk, James gave her a wink. A heated flush warmed her face and neck. The scourge of the shy.

  “I hoped we’d have a class together,” she said. She couldn’t stop staring. His hair was dark, a bit longish with a slight curl at the ends that touched near his collarbone. He was muscular in a lean kind of way, not bulky from weightlifting like Tanner and Michael.

  James leaned close. “The school secretary had your schedule printed out on her desk this morning. I took the opportunity to snoop and saw you were in this class, so I saved you a seat.”

  “Attention, students. Let’s focus and get back to work.” The professor waved a thick book in the air. “We’ve already covered the Revolutionary War, Civil War, and Reconstruction. The second half of the year, we’ve got the World Wars, Cold War, Vietnam, Gulf War, and today’s Middle Eastern Conflicts to study.”

  Wonderful. Human history neatly catalogued as brief spaces of peace between wars, punctuated by peaks of mass violence. She opened her book and tried to concentrat
e.

  Midway through class, a vague sense of unrest wafted through the air, distracting her. She pinpointed its location—right in front of her where Skye and Tanner sat. Tanner slouched in his seat and held his cell phone in his lap, texting away. After a quick glance at the professor, he stopped and hit send. The cute, blonde girl next to him cautiously slipped her cell phone out of her purse, read a text message, and smiled at Tanner.

  Skye sent them a withering look. Ah, so that’s how it was. That sense of unease she’d detected was plain old jealousy. If she peeked at Skye’s aura, it would be swirling with green envy. Poor Skye. Tanner treated her only as his best friend’s little sister. Did he even realize she had a crush on him?

  The blonde girl began texting. Hard to listen to the teacher while watching the drama play out two seats in front. Finished, the blonde giggled and slid Tanner a coy glance.

  The professor caught on. “Miss Singer, you know there’s no cell phones allowed on in class. Is there something so important to make you violate the rule? If so, why don’t you share it with the rest us?”

  “No, sir,” blondie said, all innocence. Quickly, she slipped her phone back in her purse.

  Skye snorted, and Tanner kicked her foot under the desk.

  “Ouch!” Skye said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Okay, class, let’s get it together again. If I see any more cell phones out, I’ll take them up.”

  The minute class ended, James headed out the door with a breezy wave. He still hadn’t asked for her phone number, but at least this time she knew she would be seeing him again. At least five days a week from two o’clock until three o’clock.

  After school Friday, James went for his usual hike in the woods. Halfway through, the faint sound of rustling leaves alerted him to danger. He slowed his pace, straining to hear any other suspicious sounds. Nothing. He continued walking up Booze Mountain but not as fast. His acute senses were roused, an automatic reflex after over a hundred years of experience defending himself against enemies.

  There it was again, the noise a little closer now. Animal or human? Whoever or whatever was out there tried to mask the sound of its footsteps in the ebb and flow of the wind. He walked faster to see if the other’s pace increased then came to a complete stop. Twigs and leaves crackled in a steady advance. This was no animal. His senses tingled.

  Another immortal was closing in.

  The wind picked up to a blustery pace, making it impossible to pinpoint his foe’s location. James bent, pulled a fifteen-inch bowie knife from his boot, and removed his jacket for battle. Even though he hadn’t fought another immortal for over five years, he knew it was either fight or die. The knife was always with him for protection, but if this immortal carried the traditional broadsword, his own weapon would be far inferior. He’d have to depend on speed and strategy to win.

  His blood pulsed rapidly through his veins as his body prepared to defend itself. Every beat of his heart coursed more energy and heightened sensations, increasing his strength. He crawled between two small trees located behind waist-high, thick groundcover, hoping this would conceal him until his eyes scoped in on the enemy. It was quiet now; not even the leaves rustled in the wind.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  What type of immortal was tracking him? The kind that killed to steal the power of their slain brothers, or was it the other variety of immortality like him? Smaller in number, the more enlightened of his species only wanted to live undisturbed by the power-lusting kind.

  Today he’d run into the wrong kind.

  James was no fool. He never initiated attacks, but he practiced his skills daily, knowing they were vital in the next inevitable death match. He wondered if his enemy discovered him by accident or if this immortal had hunted him down. Either way, he needed all his savvy to stay alive.

  Crack. The limbs of a nearby tree rocked.

  James turned toward the sound, which was a mistake. His attacker had thrown a large stone from over a hundred yards away, an impossible throw for a mere mortal, but easy enough for their kind. By the time James realized his mistake, the attacker crouched a mere thirty yards away and would be upon him before he had time to stand and was ready to strike. The enemy raised his sword, eyes wild and intense as a rabid dog. Black hair, midway down his back, swirled in the winter wind. Bare-chested, his skin glistened with sweat.

  “Today’s your last day on Earth!” he shouted as he lunged toward James and thrust his sword.

  James rolled to the ground, barely out of reach of the swinging sword. It struck a blackjack oak with enough force to cut it in half. That bought him the precious time needed to get back to his feet.

  Realizing the extent of his severe weapons disadvantage, James headed at a breakneck speed into deeper and thicker woods, needing the protection of the large trees. Now a full swing by his opponent would be almost impossible.

  “Come on, you coward, stand and fight,” his attacker called, trying to lure him out into more open ground.

  “Come in and get me, you bastard!”

  The immortal moved in with reckless abandon to kill. But the tactical advantage of his broadsword was diminished by his enemy’s aggressive anger.

  James stayed hidden behind a tree as his attacker continued to swing wildly. A sudden shower of sparks erupted when the attacker’s sword cut a six-inch gash into a sizeable tree. James noticed the enemy struggle as he tried to pull the sword out. Maybe this could be worked to his advantage. James knew he was faster than his opponent even if not as strong.

  He let his attacker catch a glimpse of him, but kept his position behind the oak. When the blow came from the broadsword, he saw he had misjudged the tree’s thickness and his foe’s strength. The blade went through the tree, tearing a three-inch deep gash across the left side of his body. Pain crashed through him, and blood gushed from the wound. At least it wasn’t a fatal blow and would quickly heal, courtesy of the rejuvenating ability all immortals possessed.

  His mind raced, contemplating his next move. He decided to run out into more open ground to encourage another wild swing from his enemy. With his opponent close on his heels, James sprinted toward the next large tree twenty yards away. Another jabbing blow from the enemy’s sword cut his shoulder, but James was able to slash his opponent’s right arm down to the bone with his razor-sharp Bowie dagger. His enemy recoiled from the temporary pain, giving James enough time to seek refuge behind another large oak.

  “Why don’t you come out and fight like a man, coward?”

  “If you want me, get closer.” He could see his opponent’s frustration and anger increase. Maybe it would make him careless. James danced from side to side from behind the tree cover, teasing and taunting.

  Finally, his enemy had enough and took a lunging swing. The sword cut a good eight inches into the tree, and this time James was ready. Before the enemy could remove the sword, James grabbed him by the crown of his long, wild hair and jerked him back. He thrust the Bowie dagger into his back, piercing his heart. His enemy fell to his knees with James still clutching his long hair.

  It wasn’t over. One more grisly act remained because no immortal could lose his life—unless beheaded.

  James paused as he brought his knife to the attacker’s neck. The man’s face was scrunched in agony, eyes tightly shut. He gulped, and the thick cords of his neck pulsed against the metal blade.

  “Open your eyes,” James ordered.

  He kept them closed. “Just do it,” he said in a deep rasp. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m offering you a choice.”

  He opened his eyes at last. Gone was the cunning, predatory gleam; now they reflected bald fear. “You won. There is no choice.”

  “I’m offering mercy, you idiot.”

  “Mercy?” He laughed bitterly. “No such thing among us. It’s a fight to the death, and victor takes all.”

  “There is another way.” James didn’t want to kill, but he would if necessary. The o
dds were this man wouldn’t accept change. Usually they didn’t, especially the older ones.

  The man moved his head slightly and spit on the ground. Beads of red blood spotted his neck where James kept the knife pressed. He couldn’t release the hold unless the man accepted his offer.

  “What’s your name?” James asked.

  “Andrew Scott.”

  “Well, Andrew, this could be your lucky day.” He loosened the knife’s pressure a fraction. Andrew tensed, a crafty look flitting across his face.

  “I’m not letting you go unless you agree to my terms.”

  Andrew smiled without humor. “You have my attention.”

  “Here in the hollows, there’s a new and better way. We’ve learned to exist in peace.”

  “I . . . have heard such,” he admitted.

  It was James’s turn to be surprised. “How?”

  “There are rumors. I’d heard some younger immortals are changing from the Old Ways. But I didn’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” He loosened his hold slightly, testing Andrew. When he didn’t try to escape, James felt a stir of hope. Maybe this man would be different.

  “You mentioned terms?”

  “First, you must swear never to be the aggressor in a fight unless it’s to protect the New Ways or another’s life.”

  “Agreed. Next.”

  Andrew’s quick acceptance was a relief. “As proof of your sincerity, you must hand over your broadsword.”

  “Hell, no.”

  James sighed. “You’d rather die than surrender your sword? Don’t be stupid.”

  “My sword is my power. You would leave me defenseless.”

  “No. You’ll still be immortal and have all the physical strength as before. You will adjust. I fought and defeated you with only a bowie knife.”

  Andrew studied him a few heartbeats, assessing the offer. “I agree to your terms.”

  He eased the knife from Andrew’s throat, still alert for any sudden aggressive move. Those who trusted too easily tended to die early.

  Andrew slowly sat up, grimacing in pain.

  “You wound hasn’t fully healed,” James said. He extended his hand and pulled Andrew to his feet. The movement left James light-headed. He’d lost more blood than he’d thought when Andrew cut him.