Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  He scanned the crowd for the princess. In his panic, he’d lost sight of her, but she wasn’t hard to find again. Not only did she stick out more than him, with her bright hair and pale skin, her entourage made her difficult to spot.

  One man, lean and tall, with lanky arms, walked in front of her, clearing the way. The other, the orc Wash recognized from the boat, brought up the rear. The orc’s broad features made him unmistakable, as did the shimmering gray suit he wore.

  Those two were obvious bodyguards—the third one wasn’t, though. His arm was draped around Daphne, now and again leaning over to whisper something to her that made her laugh. They stopped for a moment to admire some jewelry before continuing on.

  Wash was no expert in spycraft. Following people undetected wasn’t a skill the Navy had taught him, but he knew enough not to follow too closely. He kept a good thirty feet behind them and watched the body guards, as he stopped now and again, pretending to check something out in this display or the other. When they popped into a small delicatessen, the orc stayed outside.

  Wash found a little hallway that led to the restrooms.

  He blinked several times to trigger his links menu system then navigated through to find Caitlin’s number. She’d programmed his phone with several, including Agathon's and the Atlantean embassy in Washington DC.

  He triggered the call to her. The line picked up almost immediately.

  “Wash? Are you alright?” Her voice soothed his anxiety. He shouldn’t have worried at all. It was just a dumb reaction his mind played on him. Now, hearing her voice he knew it was alright.

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to believe who I am following at the mall.”

  “Hold on, let me add in Agathon.”

  The line clicked once and then he could hear the elf rummaging around in something.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “I just spotted your sister and she’s not alone.”

  Agathon growled over the line, “Caitlin, I swear to Poseidon if your sister arranged this…”

  That thought had occurred to Wash almost immediately, but he hadn’t paused to think about what that really meant.

  Daphne had tried to kill her own sister.

  “There has to be another explanation, Agathon,” Caitlin said, a note of desperation in her voice. “How could she—she wouldn’t—”

  She broke off, and Wash could hear the anguish in that silence. It tore at him.

  He glanced out at the eatery. The orc still stood guard with his head slowly scanning the crowd back and forth. He held his hands clasped in front of him, too relaxed to worry any of the passersby.

  “Cait, there’s more. There is a guy here, I didn’t get a good look at him, but he isn’t one of the men from the boat. If I had to guess, he’s a boyfriend or something. I—”

  Wash froze as cold steel pressed against the back of his head.

  “Wash?” Caitlin asked for him.

  He didn’t move.

  “Your link, give it to me,” came a voice with a German accent.

  Wash reached up and disconnected his link from under his ear. The line died immediately, cutting off Caitlin’s voice.

  This was one of the men from the boat. What had the orc called him?

  The man pulled the link from Wash’s fingers before stepping in close, pressing the gun against his back.

  “Please walk slowly forward,” the voice said. “I don’t know if there’s any reason to kill you, but if you run you will force my hand. Understood?”

  Wash didn’t trust himself to speak, but he obeyed. The man guided him toward the orc, who put his hand up to his ear and spoke in his link.

  Seconds later Daphne and the man she was with came out of the restaurant. Her sparkling eyes turned sour as she looked at him.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked.

  “He’s the man who’s helping your sister. We found him following us,” the German replied.

  Despite the fear and the very real presence of the gun at his back, Wash couldn’t help but smile a little. The comical nature of him being kidnapped by the woman who he was trying to save from kidnapping was a little too much.

  She turned to her boyfriend, who flashed a perfect white smile at her. Now that he was closer Wash could tell more about the man. Young, in his early to mid-twenties, with wavy brown hair frosted white at the tips. Very trendy.

  His clothes were well-tailored and expensive, which Wash wasn’t sure he would have been able to notice before these past couple of days. The man was very fit, with exactly the kind of face he figured someone like Daphne would go in for.

  “What should we do with him?” she asked her boyfriend.

  “Bring him along. If he’s here I can only assume the house is compromised. We’ll go to the backup location. Let’s go.”

  It didn’t sound like they planned on killing him, which was nice. The longer he lived, the longer Cait had to find him. He didn’t know how she would, but she was smart and resourceful. She would find a way.

  “My sister is still alive then?” Daphne asked him as they walked toward the nearest exit.

  Was she worried?

  “Do you care?” he countered.

  Her eyes narrowed and the line of her jaw set. “What I care about is no concern of yours, dog. Is she alive?”

  “Fine. Yes, she’s alive. No thanks to you or the goons you hired.”

  Her eyes widened, and she walked away to take her beau’s arm.

  Wash shook his head. If he recalled correctly, the mercs had acted like they knew him and even talked about wanting him dead so there were no witnesses.

  They’d seemed familiar to him, too. The still did. He couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling that they were somehow involved in the three days still missing from his memory.

  He had so many questions, and he hoped he could stay alive long enough to find answers.

  Twelve

  Caitlin swore as the line died. She’d heard someone else's voice for a second and she was almost positive they’d ordered Wash to hand over his link.

  Agathon growled. “That sounded like—”

  “I know. Damn it. Damn it.” If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Worry over Wash clawed at her insides.

  Pulling out her hairband, she started whipping it into a quick braid, before coiling it up at the back of her head.

  Agathon raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it really the time to be—”

  “I need to think!” She grabbed a handful of bobby pins off the counter and started pinning the braid in place. Something about the automatic familiarity of the task calmed her racing thoughts.

  “Okay, the people who my dear sister…” Caitlin stopped, gripping the edge of the counter, fighting another wave of disbelief. “Maybe she started something small, and just ended up in over her head. Let’s assume they won’t be coming back here, and that Daphne has, in her complete ignorance of the way this world works, has somehow allowed herself to be duped into working with someone she shouldn’t.”

  Agathon let his summoned blade and shield drop, putting one hand on her shoulder. It was supposed to be a show of comfort but it felt like ownership, coming from him.

  “Caitlin, I know your sister,” he said. “She isn’t stupid. She would never work with someone who would knowingly endanger a member of the royal—”

  She turned on him. “You may know her, but I have lived my whole life in her wake. Trying to figure out how her mind works, to get ahead of her to keep her out of trouble, to clean up after her. Who do you think handles the consequences when she does get into these ridiculous messes, Agathon? Let me give you a hint, it’s not her.”

  To her unending frustration, her eyes were blurring with tears. She turned away from him, wiping at her eyes furiously. “I’m not saying she ordered my death, but this is exactly the sort of thing she would blindly, selfishly get herself mixed up in. I understand the enormity of my role in Atlantis, Agathon—and while I might not like it, I would rather d
ie than let every last one of our people down. I would give up everything I…” She stopped, her throat closing up. “Everything I want so badly.” The last words came out as a whisper.

  After a few moments, she was able to continue, and she shook her head. “To Daphne, I am nothing. Our parents have made it clear to her that she is the important one, from the day she was born. If she thought she could gain from it, I wouldn’t put it past her to do anything.”

  Agathon sighed. “Cait… Poseidon. I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t want his sympathy right now. She just wanted this nightmare to be over.

  “They’re not coming back here. Let’s go. There aren’t any spirits around here anyway and I need to find one if I want to track Wash.”

  With Agathon flanking her, they walked out the front door. She remained silent on the walk back to the SUV. She needed to think. Wash had an enormously powerful spirit inside of him and, while the spirit lit up like a beacon when it drew power, it only marginally affected Wash’s aura at rest. How then could she find him on an island of five million inhabitants?

  “You think Zero will help us find him?” she asked.

  “He liked the guy, but I think my marker is used up,” Agathon replied as he climbed into the SUV. “Besides,” he said with a shrug, “I think it was Wash he was helping, not us.”

  It wasn’t likely Wash’s captors had let him keep his link, which was what Zero had used to track Daphne. That would be stupid, and these guys were anything but stupid.

  She shuddered, remembering the men ripping her link off, and tossing it in the ocean.

  Then… the memory of drowning. She had never experienced anything so terrifying.

  Then, suddenly, Wash was there. He was there, arms around her, pressing his lips to hers, giving up his air so she could live.

  A sudden idea struck her, tearing her away from the warmth of that memory.

  “We need to go back to the hotel,” she told her companion.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “Yes, and we need to stop by a store and pick up some strawberries,” she said with a grin.

  “Caitlin, are you sure—”

  She squeezed his arm. “Trust me, Aggy.” The smile he gave her wasn’t the brilliant one he usually used, but deeply familiar, and… maybe even friendly.

  “Okay, boss,” he said and spun the wheel.

  Wash was in the back of a van with no windows in the rear. Not the best sign of what was to come. The four mercenaries climbed in with him. The lanky one with the German accent slid in behind the wheel, the other three sat in the back facing him.

  Daphne and her boyfriend had climbed into a sleek, flashy supercar that Wash didn’t recognize, and were driving ahead of them. He could hear the engine rev every time they stopped at a light. The driver really liked the sound of it, apparently.

  They hadn’t tied him up, but the orc had produced a large, silver revolver and had leveled it almost casually at Wash’s chest.

  What he couldn't figure out though, is why they all looked familiar to him. Like an old acquaintance, he couldn’t quite remember.

  Finally, he decided there was no way to make the situation worse, so he asked.

  “Do you guys know me?” The sudden interruption in silence rolled through the van. Each of the men looking to one another as if he’d just told them the winning lottery numbers.

  The orc raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re Thomas Washington, former Navy crab suit diver. Rescue swimmer dishonorably discharged…”

  Wash squirmed in his seat, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair. He hated that. Hated being ‘dishonorably’ discharged. It brought up memories that were too awful to remember. So many of them.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “that’s me. Ex-swabby, ex-everything. So why do I get the feeling the four of you know me? The last thing I remember before waking up on the beach two days ago was hopping on a plane in Norfolk. For the life of me, I can’t remember why? If you guys are going to kill me, at least clue me in?”

  The orc cracked a grin as Wash spoke. “The irony here is, if you remember why, then we have to kill you. You’re not a bad guy, Wash,” he said, the tusks in his mouth making all his S’s sound over-pronounced, “just the right guy in the wrong place.”

  “Story of my life,” Wash muttered.

  The four of them chuckled, and some of the tension eased… although, he knew his predicament wasn’t any less precarious.

  Caitlin. God, would he ever see her again? The thought of never laying his eyes on her again was unbearable.

  He could almost feel her against him, again, kissing him the way she had behind the SUV. He closed his eyes, bringing her countenance to bear, breathing in her scent and feeling her under his hands.

  This is what love is? A desire to see someone before death?

  While the voice surprised him, but it didn’t startle him. Not this time.

  Who are you? he asked in his mind. It felt odd to talk to himself. However, years of diving and swimming alone had taught him to entertain his own mind.

  When the thing didn’t respond he decided to just answer the question.

  Yes. Sort of. I… I don’t… Defining love to a spirit ended up a more difficult proposition than he originally thought. Yes and no, he replied finally. I do want to see her again. However, love is when you care about someone else's well-being more than your own.

  Only silence answered him. The spirit never really seemed in a talking mood. Even when it posed questions, it didn’t seem to care what the response was.

  Not only was he going to die, he’d die without his memories, without Caitlin, and without whatever was in his head even deigning to speak to him.

  I am no mortal, flinging about my thoughts as if their mere presence was worthy of existence. I say what I decide to say.

  The voice quaked through him, his hair stood on end as little snaps of static electricity crackled around him. The vast well opened beneath him and his stomach lurched as if he’d suddenly dropped in a fast moving elevator.

  I am as old as the rising sun, as fresh as the dew on the grass. I am forever and always. Nothing will change that. For now, I am you. And you will not die, Thomas Washington.

  As suddenly as the static started it vanished, along with the sensation of a vast depth beneath him. He looked around, shaken. Had no one else in the van noticed what had just happened?

  The vehicle turned off paved road onto dirt, sending them bouncing about as the driver sped up an old, pothole filled road. The van skidded to a stop. The orc slid the side door open to reveal a stone wall. As Wash climbed out, he ran his hand along it, the stone was old and rough.

  “Where are we?” he asked without thinking.

  “San Felipe del Morro Fortress,” the German said casually.

  The fortress part made sense, considering Puerto Rico was an old Spanish colony, but he really didn’t know much about it.

  He shrugged as they pushed him inside. At the edge of his vision, he caught a glimpse of Daphne climbing out of her supercar just before they shut the door behind him.

  Whether he imagined the voice in him or not, the statement of denial against the fact of his impending death had bolstered his confidence a bit.

  They sat him in the middle of a large, dusty room. The ceiling hung high in the air, easily thirty feet up supported by old wooden beams carved from whole trees.

  Small, deep windows a few feet below the ceiling let in little moonlight. Every few seconds a bright flash of light would highlight the ceiling. He suspected it had to be a search beam or lighthouse.

  “So, what do we do with him?” the German asked the orc.

  “Call Osiris, ask him if he still wants him dead,” the orc replied.

  So, he was the one in charge.

  Wash stared down at the floor and listened to them very hard, trying to piece together any bit of information they let loose in front of him.

  “So, if the playboy and the pr
incess want him dead and big-O doesn’t?”

  Wash looked away just as the orc scanned the room for listeners. “Then we off them both and take the loss,” the orc said in a low voice. “I’m not crossing Osiris, are you?”

  The German shook his head before placing his hand on his neck as he walked away to make the call.

  “What’s your name?” Wash asked the orc.

  The orc shrugged as if he was deciding it didn’t matter. “Duval.”

  “Nice to meet you, uh, again I guess.”

  Duval chuckled. “I have the feeling it’s not, but hell, whatever.” He tipped his head. “Likewise.”

  “Listen, I know you guys think you know what you’re doing—”

  Duval shook his head. “Please don’t try to appeal to my greater good. I’m a merc, I’m in it for the money and this job pays a lot.”

  That was actually the response Wash had expected and hoped for.

  “Sure, I get it. But listen… I’ve been on the other side of the conversation, and Daphne isn’t getting a dime from her parents. They think they—and therefore she—are so far above humans that none of us could possibly be a threat… and they’re ruthless. According to Caitlin—”

  Duval raised his bushy eyebrows. “The hot one?”

  Wash bristled involuntarily. The hot one. Like she was nothing more than that. He suppressed the feeling before it could reach his face.

  “Yeah, the model. She’s the one that cleans up after Princess, there. She says her parents would rather send an army to Puerto Rico than lose face by paying a ransom. They rule Atlantis. I have absolutely no doubt they can do it.”

  Duval considered, and then shrugged. “Okay, assuming you have any idea what you’re talking about, that’s not a bad point. I think we’ll see where this goes. We’ve been doing this a long time, pal. One of the first things you learn is to always have an exit.” The orc leaned forward a little. “Where’s your exit?”

  Wash gritted his teeth. “What’s it look like?”

  The door slid open, grating on rusted tracks. Daphne and her boyfriend sauntered in, laughing about something. The man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke to her. Wash watched him closely for a moment, and suddenly realized how hard it was to look away. He managed to tear his eyes away. There was something about the guy…