by CK Dawn
"She's not here," Konstanz said stubbornly.
I smiled. "What if the doctors hear you talking to yourself?"
"They think I fell off Devil's Gate. I have head injuries. It's to be expected. Bryson, what is she?"
"She's a demon hunter. An Agent. She works for Death. She recruits lost souls on their way to hell and gives them one last chance at redemption. Fight by her side or go to hell. Most choose hell. Some, the brave ones, fight for her. They push the demons back every night when they come out of the water."
"But the ones that escaped? The one that attacked me?"
"It snuck past her. The sea witch was sending a barrage of demons every night, trying to weaken Navi's forces. She couldn't contain them all."
The moon was the key to everything. Navi would heal when the sun set. Her swords, her speed, her strength, all came with the moon. Her army was released when the moon rose and imprisoned again when it set. The demons came out at night, as well.
"She lost many last night, didn't she?" Konstanz asked slowly.
I nodded. So many. But she'd gained more. Those that she'd freed, those who weren't indebted trying to earn their escape from hell. They fought with her because she'd saved them.
Nothing would ever be the same. Konstanz would be hunted by the demons for the rest of her life. There were Agents throughout the world who fought as Navi did, and Konstanz would never be able to go to a coast without fearing the monsters they fought.
And who knew how long she would want a ghost for a boyfriend.
Konstanz nodded, seeming to come to some internal decision. "Then I'll just have to fight with her. She can teach me."
"Konstanz, I don't think that's the way it works."
She smiled up at me. So sweet it nearly broke my heart, so soul-crushingly beautiful I couldn't breathe. "I don't care."
Of course she didn't.
"Bryson, I should have told you. That day in the grocery store. And then I didn't and I thought I lost you and then I thought I was going to die and never get a chance to tell you—"
I raised an eyebrow, wondering if she realized she was babbling.
She blushed adorably. "I love you, Bryson."
She loved me.
Konstanz. Loved. Me.
My father had been wrong. When he'd said no one would ever love me, he'd been wrong. "I love you, too."
That smile again. The one that drove me to my knees. And then she was all business. "If we're going to be together, things have to change. No more secrets, no more lies, even if you're trying to protect everyone with them. Got it?"
I sucked in a breath, nodding slowly. "Of course. Then there's something I should tell you."
She groaned, one shaking, weak hand covering her eyes. "Are you married?"
I laughed softly. "No."
"Are you aware that you don't need to breathe and yet you do it anyway?"
I blinked. "Random, but no. I hadn't noticed. Are you trying to delay the secret you just told me I couldn't have?"
"Yes."
"I'm not married. It's not about me, at all, really." Which wasn't entirely true, but I was trying to soften the blow. "Remember I told you my dad sent me out here to find something for him, and I didn't want to?"
She nodded slowly and I continued. "He — he, uh, he's a hunter, of sorts. I'm not sure exactly what it is he does, but it drove my mom away from him. From both of us. He's kind of a paid contractor, I think. Anyway—"
Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what I was about to say.
"I think it was Navi he sent me to find."
The End
Continue the Agent Series in book one, The Soul’s Agent.
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About the Author
Wendy Knight is the award-winning, bestselling author of the young adult series Fate on Fire and Riders of Paradesos. She was born and raised in Utah by a wonderful family who spoiled her rotten because she was the baby. Now she spends her time driving her husband crazy with her many eccentricities (no water after five, terror when faced with a live phone call, no touching the knives…you get the idea). She also enjoys chasing her three adorable kids, playing tennis, watching football, reading, and hiking. Camping is also big—her family is slowly working toward a goal of seeing all the National Parks in the U.S.
You can usually find her with at least one Pepsi nearby, wearing ridiculously high heels for whatever the occasion. And if everything works out just right, she will also be writing.
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Key of Pisces
D.N. Leo
Key Of Pisces Copyright © 2017 by D.N. Leo, all rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual business or persons is purely coincidental.
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Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent from the author is strictly prohibited.
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I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased the book, and refer the book to your friends.
Prologue
The beginning of time.
He picked up a ball of dirt hardened by time, space, and dimensional shifting and nursed it in his hands. This piece of land was a haven for him, a place where he could harvest the material to make his keys.
People called him Keymaster.
He didn't make just any keys. His keys unlocked sources of energy and power that all creatures in every world would kill for. He considered himself an artist in the key-making business.
He had come from nothing. He didn’t know how he was created. He hadn’t had a shape, let alone a name. He couldn’t remember exactly when what he did had become his name, but he was more than happy to accept the name given to him by his clients.
As for his form, he had gone through some trial and error before settling on his now human shape.
He was a collection of energy. His creator—whom he didn’t know—had made him for a purpose. When he’d grown strong and had taken control of his own actions, his creator was no longer important to him, so he had terminated him. It had probably been too soon to kill his master—he hadn't yet had a chance to discover his purpose, what he had been created for.
He’d wandered around the multiverse in search of a purpose and had taken many shapes and forms in many worlds. But in the material world, the human shape had appealed to him most, so that was the shape he adopted. He was attracted to the everchanging skin tone of the Eudaizians, but he did not like their minds. Some might look at them as innocent, but to him, they were simply too naive.
He had the mind of the underworld. Not only did he like it, he planned to keep his mind sharp for eternity.
The ball of dirt in his palms stared up at him. He transfused some energy into it. It looked happy, he thought. He had made several keys over the years, but this one was the most special. He chuckled at that thought. He’d thought the same thing when he made his second key.
“Damn!” He cursed when the ball melted and exploded in his palms.
He blew gently at the burns on his palms, and soon the skin returned to its usual light blue tone. Right now, that was his favorite skin color. In a few hundred years, when he was bored with this color, he might consider changing to another.
“Too much mercury,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his mind. This experimental key was a bad idea. He should return to his usual method of key making and look for the main ingredient—precious stone.
Hunger pains clawed at his stomach. Looking around him, he noticed a slight movement in a small shrub nearby. He sniffed the air and smelled the faint scent of flesh and blood.
“I'm stronger than you think,” he growled. He hadn’t killed his creator for no reason. He’d been a good student—until his creator to
ld him he was weak and couldn’t resist the temptation to kill.
He made powerful keys and had saved thousands of creatures. He didn’t see the harm in killing just a handful of them. The multiverse would be less crowded for it.
He hadn’t asked to be created. Thus, if he killed, that was the responsibility of his creator. He thirsted for blood, and he needed to kill…now.
He strode toward the little bush, pushing away the weeds and tall grass.
In front of him, sitting on a soft nest of wild daisies and feathers and smiling up at him, was a baby angel. Her little angel wings were as tiny as the hand-fans he saw the goddesses at the Babylonian court use for no apparent purpose other than decoration.
“Aaa brbrb.”
The baby curved her lips and cooed, then made other noises that made no sense to him. She flapped her fancy little wings.
“You know I'm a predator, and I'm hungry, right?”
“Arrhh,” said the baby.
“If you want to fly, you’ll have to flap your wings harder than that. And if you want to communicate, you’ll have to use a different language. I don't speak baby…if that's what it is.”
The angel made more cheerful cooing noises and clapped her little hands.
He was about to leave but then saw what he had been seeking for a very long time. He shook his head and couldn't believe his eyes. Just behind the baby angel, a colorful piece of rock blinked up at him.
“What have we here?” he muttered. He reached over the baby and grabbed the rock, trying to pull it up from the ground. It was heavier than he’d thought. He shifted and looked at the baby angel.
“I’m going to have to move you aside for a bit. I need that rock, and you’re right in my way.”
“Braaa.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I’ll take it as a yes.” He lifted the angel gingerly out of the way and kicked up some grass and wildflowers to make a soft surface before placing her on the ground behind him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll put you back when I’m finished with this rock. Your mother will never know you’ve been moved. Okay? So keep quiet.”
“Ahrrr.” Clap. Clap. Clap.
He shook his head, turned around, and started digging at the base of the rock. He realized it wasn’t as heavy as he’d thought—it was just half buried in the ground.
He’d seen this material before. On Earth, they called it jade. He liked its light green color. It was extremely rare to see jade on this elusive piece of land. He pushed the tall grass and weeds aside, brushed off some dirt, and smiled at the jade rock.
He continued to scoop out the dirt along the side of the rock. It was much bigger that he’d thought.
Then he smelled it—the scent of fresh meat and blood. His stomach gave a hungry growl. He shook the thought and the temptation away and kept digging. When he pushed the next little bunch of grass away, a feathered wing dropped out.
Startled, he jerked back, falling on his backside.
Gathering himself together, he approached the bush again. He had seen many dead creatures before. He’d killed some of them himself. After all, he was a predator.
But something about this one made his stomach churn.
He finished clearing the bush away and found the body of a woman. He knew an angel when he saw one, and he didn’t need proof to know she was the mother of the baby behind him. He had never been on good terms with angelic creatures and didn’t know them well. But one thing he knew for certain—you never saw the dead body of an angel. They dissolved into light when they died.
The only reason he was seeing this dead body was that her death had been undignified. She had unfinished business—her child—and she would come back. He didn’t know what the angel had done, or what she would have to do to get back to the predator that killed her. And there was no reason for him to get tangled up in this.
Before turning back toward the baby, he inched over to the edge of the cliff and peered down. On the ground below was the body of a male angel, his body just as damaged as the female’s.
That must be the husband. Another angry angel spirit with unfinished business.
He shook his head.
He bent down, jiggled the piece of rock he had been working to loosen. The blood of the mother angel had soaked into a part of the rock, turning it an edgy amber color. Her white feathers and her milky skin had turned another part of the rock a shiny white.
He wanted the jade, but there was no time to break the entire rock to get to it. He didn’t want to be here when the angry spirits of the parent angels came back, or when more predators came to finish off what the others had left. He didn’t need drama in his immortal life. He heaved the entire rock up onto his shoulder and walked away with it.
Behind him, the baby angel clapped her hands and flapped little wings that would fly nowhere.
One
Earth 2017.
Lorcan reluctantly peeled the tiny recording and tracking device out from under the left sleeve of his shirt. This project and client were much too important for him to mess around. He couldn’t afford to have his cover blown by an amateurish mistake at this critical stage.
He looked in the mirror and adjusted his tuxedo and neatened his hair to ensure he had the million dollar looks his cover required. One last job, and he'd have enough to retire from this line of spy work. Then he could focus on his tech job and spend more time with Orla, the love of his life. Retirement wasn’t his focus, but a proposal was. He wanted to buy a beautiful ring and propose to Orla. Just thinking about it made him smile.
Admittedly, both his tech job and his spy job involved stealing information. But he only stole from the worst kind of criminals. As far as he was concerned, his work was justified. Last month, he had given an anonymous tip to the police based on some stolen information, and his tip had helped stop an armed robbery at a major bank. Didn’t that count for something? he thought.
The phone rang.
“Your transport has arrived, sir,” the concierge said.
“Thank you. I'll be right down.”
Adopting a polished accent wasn't too much of a stretch for him. Sometimes he wondered why he'd never told his parents he appreciated his privileged background and what they had given him. But what was the point? He shrugged absently. He’d been a runaway child, the black sheep in his family.
The target didn't trust him with information, so he had no idea where the party would be. As predicted, they sent him the most conspicuous limousine available in the country. He reciprocated by letting the target pick him up from the most exclusive hotel in London—one he’d booked by charging the client thirty percent more.
Big jobs cost big money. And they knew his rates weren’t cheap.
The limousine dropped him off at a yacht club in Brighton. He mentally rehearsed the steps and strategies once more before stepping onto the dark blue carpet, carpet so thick his shoes sank an inch when he set foot on it.
He chuckled inside as he entertained a vision of these pretentious upper-class criminals scrambling around after discovering he had robbed them of their precious artifact. What it was exactly, he had no idea, and he didn’t care. His job was to steal it and bring it back to the man who had hired him. He never got too attached to the details of a job because attachment was the first step to disaster. Spy and Thief Practice 101.
He kept his shoulders back and his head high, and he looked like any other aloof businessman going to a prestigious party. A flash of anxiety crossed Lorcan’s mind when he saw the entrance to a lavish lounge room on the boat and a group of polished-to-the-bone people having pre-dinner drinks.
Something felt seriously wrong.
He didn’t usually operate on hunches, but he couldn’t squelch his intensifying unease. He inhaled discreetly, hoping to shake off the feeling, and he walked toward the bar, sitting down nonchalantly on one of the stools. He positioned himself to keep an eye out for the target. A loud air horn went off, making the yacht rumble a little. He loo
ked askance at the bartender.
The bartender smiled politely. “It’s just a signal that the boat is casting off,” he said.
Lorcan maintained his composure, nodded, and ordered another drink. He hadn’t realized the boat would be casting off at all. He thought it would remain in the harbor, making it easy for him to escape once he had what he wanted. He didn’t like swimming. Swimming from just outside the harbor was bad enough, but he didn’t at all like the idea of having to swim from open sea to the shore, especially when it hadn’t been a part of his plans.
He thought of Orla again and smiled to himself. She would have laughed at him right now, seeing his reaction at the boat leaving shore. She could swim like a fish, but swimming was definitely not his forte.
Ten minutes or so went by after the boat had left the harbor, and he still hadn’t found his target, the host of the party. The man had to be on board. A stunning blonde woman in a long, blood-red velvet dress walked toward him. He had no desire to engage in conversation, so he turned quickly and pretended to look for the lavatory. On his way, he glanced up at the VIP section of the balcony above and behind the bar, and he froze. There he was, the business tycoon who dabbled in electronics—his target.
Now Lorcan needed to approach him and snatch the electronic swipe code so he could access the artifact in the basement of the boat. He could break the door lock in an instant, but breaking the code of the safe would take time—and he didn’t have much of that to spare—so stealing the code was his first choice.
He took a few steps toward the VIP lounge, and the woman in the red dress stepped out right in front of him.
Damn it, he thought and pasted a polite smile on his face.
“Mitch Wayland, rollercoaster tycoon. What a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said in a sexy, throaty voice.
