Scales: Book 1 of the Fate and Fire Series

by Amity Green

  I didn’t.

  “Get the bloody hell up right now,” he growled. He grabbed the back of my hoodie again, yanking me upward.

  I spun at him and stuck the blade into his arm twice with two quick jabs.

  He stared wildly, as if he didn’t believe I’d fight back.

  I stuck the blade out again not really having a target in mind, retracting my hand and thrusting it out again and again, so fast it was a blur. I don’t remember coming to my feet. A smile widened across my face, causing dried blood and goo to crack on my skin. I grabbed his shirt with my free hand to hold him up. His blood was all over both of us. He tried to run but I held him, catching a flailing arm so hard I felt the bone snap and pop up toward my palm.

  “Please! Let me live,” he said.

  “Uh uh.” I shook my head, incensed.

  He wept but swung one last fist at me, popping my lip open.

  Gotta take those shots while they’re hot, buddy.

  I stabbed my dirk deep into one kidney, realizing I laughed in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone deranged. But there was no stopping. I had the same feeling when I fought off Brea’s attacker that day fueling each strike of the dirk. I stood over him as he bled out. Gashes littered his torso, arms and face. At least his eyes were closed. My last victim’s weren’t.

  I pulled my ruined hoodie over my head and left it inside-out, using it to wipe blood and goop from my face and hands. I wiped my dirk clean and sheathed it. My Smurfette t-shirt would have to do. Crouched once again behind the car, I waited, having learned my lesson about making myself seen.

  The unmoving body beside me ran dry of blood.

  What a cruel beast I’d become.

  Chapter 30

  At least twenty minutes had passed since I’d seen Peter and Ezra. I remained behind the car, waiting. Surely Peter could have made it back with one, if not both Brea and Petra by then. The thought that Ezra could have drowned was something I wouldn’t allow myself to entertain. The dead man beside me became morbid fascination, and the fact that I’d made him that way was seriously messing with my mind. Self-defense was a hard call when it felt good killing him.

  I crawled forward and peeked around the car.

  Ezra was there, making his way across the yard. I had no idea how he’d ended up in the courtyard and I didn’t care, really. I was just happy to see him alive. The flow of water across the yard had stopped, so the soaked grounds glittered as if they’d been soaked with dew in the day’s late sun.

  Standing up so he could see me, I waved, grinning wide. I never thought I’d be so elated to see the old guy. Clouds flitted over the sun, pouting then bowing in the light, sending fleeting rays onto the yard. Sunshine glinted off Ezra’s white shirt and yellowed hair. When he saw me, he began flipping a dagger in the air, and catching it over and over, smiling knowingly. He’d saved Brea. I beamed at him.

  My smile faded. Hamish must have been waiting for one of us to show because the moment Ezra took the first step in my direction, he appeared from beside the house. Lethal sword in hand, he stalked Ezra with the stealth of an ancient warrior.

  That’s when it all slowed down. My heart sunk deep. I was helpless to save Ezra.

  Time crept and silence took over as I pushed my arms into the air, waving furiously. Ezra carried the large book beneath one arm. A split second seemed to take a full minute. I yelled to him to run while I waited for one of my feet to hit the gravel in front of me and begin my sprint in his direction.

  “Behind you, Ezra! Run!” I screamed so loud the words seemed inaudible.

  Hamish approached Ezra too quickly. My feet finally pounded the ground. I grew closer to them. Crimson flooded Ezra’s chest, giving way to blackened burgundy against the stark white of his linen shirt. Blood-streaked silver glinted in the sun, protruding brutally from his sternum. His smile faded, melting to an expression of shock. The blade jerked free. Ezra looked up at me with a resigned stare. His face took on relief, all too easily.

  I screamed and time caught up.

  My gaze followed the blade as Hamish pulled it free. Ezra’s lips drew into a slow smile. I continued to sprint toward him, but the lines dividing him from his surrounding grew fuzzy and blended. He leapt straight up—way up, dropping the book, human form bending and shrinking, arms stretching at his sides. A shriek sounded across the courtyard as what was left of Ezra became a huge, white and grey owl, flapping its wings hard. The raptor was gone behind the standing stones in a moment. My hands fell limply to my sides as I watched him vanish.

  Hamish yelled after Ezra, apparently feeling robbed.

  Rage built inside me, surging lava replacing my blood. I slowed briefly, bent at the knee and removed my dirk from its leather holster and began to sprint straight at Hamish, racing as my inner fire ignited into a burst of hell-bent speed. He was going to pay.

  Hamish stared at me, eyes growing wide at the speed of my approach. He dropped back on one foot, the other rested, cocked at the hip into a defensive pose. He leveled the sword in my direction.

  A millisecond later I let the dirk fly in a white ray of light that erupted from my hand on release. The blade embedded to the hilt in Hamish’s right arm. I continued to sprint, a short second later ripping the dirk free as I passed. I spun on him, standing face-to-face with an armed giant, David braving it with a dirk against a towering Goliath and claymore. A bad joke about bringing a knife to a gun fight came to mind, but I was small and really quick. And I’d surprised him. I grinned.

  Blood pulsed from the wound gashing his biceps, but Hamish smiled. “What’s that you’ve got there, lass? Looking for some taties to be peelin’?” One booted foot was placed in a cross-step in front of the other as he began to circle me.

  Keeping my face to him, I wasn’t willing to be hunted while standing still. Ezra’s expression as he’d been run through was branded on my mind, tainting every action. I locked my eyes on Hamish’s intent gaze and lunged forward, blind with anger, intending to put my blade through his ribs. The butt of his sword cracked across my cheek, spinning me away. I rolled from my knees to a crouch, blade held in one hand. Tears ran freely from my right eye. I blinked, trying to hold together against the ringing in my head and the numb sensation creeping across my face and jaw. I regrouped quickly but dizziness threatened to pull me down onto my butt. The blow had rocked me hard. I was far from all-powerful. Hamish was dangerous and I needed to remember I was just a little chick from Texas, no matter how pissed off I was. Speed was my only advantage and I needed to keep my eyes wide open.

  Advancing with the opportunity, he swung the massive sword at my shoulders. I barely dodged it, spinning with my dirk, slicing upward and deep into his sword arm below the other wound. Dark blood spilled down his arm onto his leg like I’d torn open a sack of pus. The sword fell forward in his limp grasp. I’d cut deep enough to sever a tendon. Perseverance paid off a little but I was growing woozy from the strike to the head.

  The world darkened as my right eye lost focus. I was badly injured and adrenaline gave way to the damage my body endured. The whole side of my face throbbed with heat. I backed away, trying to clear my senses. The anger that befriended me and made me stronger was abandoning me in the face of fear.

  Clouds shrouded the sun once more, showing the scene for what it truly was; a bloodied giant of a man with a sword almost as tall as I was, towering over my small frame and preparing to kill me. There was irony in seeing how our blood matched crimson tones in the lack of sunlight.

  Hamish reached with his other hand to grab the sword, the injured arm hanging lifelessly at his side, heart still pumping fluid from the gash. His long, matted hair was stuck to his arm and shoulder in places. He snarled.

  “You die this day,” he gritted.

  “You’re talking pretty tough for a guy with one freakin’ arm.” I might not be a big, bad, swordfighter, but I was a few other things. Know your strengths. I was tenacious, really pissy, in bloodlust, and a complet
e smartass. The bigger issue was I was punch drunk and injured badly. My head grew cloudier by the second. My right eye was in bad shape and continued to water. I wiped at the tears on my face, only to pull back a bloodied sleeve. I’d misjudged my injury. Seeing that much of my own blood staggered me.

  Sensing another opportunity, Hamish came at me, a little slower with his off hand. I stepped out of the way while the clumsy swipe of his sword whooshed by, but lost my footing, going down hard. Trying to roll to my feet didn’t work. As soon as I got a foot under me I became so dizzy I went back to the ground. I tried again, doing my best to ignore fast spinning vertigo and ringing in my ears. The metallic taste of copper pennies crept into my mouth again. My hair clung in sticky strands to my neck and face. On my hands and knees, I kept one eye moving with Hamish.

  He laughed, low and manically.

  One more attempt to get up was stopped as he drove a knee into my side. Two quick pops spasmed through my chest before sharp pain seared my ribs and back. I took a blow to the face, either with a fist or the sword’s handle again, I couldn’t tell which. My body spun. A splintering sensation erupted inside my shoulder as I slammed down hard on my back. The world tilted and suddenly I weighed a ton.

  Hamish ran his blade into the grass where he stood and walked toward me. He doubled over, lowering his face to mine. Sharp pain sliced through my shoulder, forcing a cry from deep in my chest. He held my dirk over my face, having removed it from my shoulder. I’d fallen on it.

  “A warrior passes between worlds with no honor, being killed with his own blade,” he told me.

  I swallowed a mouthful of clotting blood, watching pleasure grace his face. He was going to end my life, and he was elated at the thought.

  Of all the ways I thought I’d die, being stabbed by a psychotic gargoyle in Scotland would never be on the list, back at the beginning of summer. Everyone imagined how they might someday pass away, or possibly go out in a blaze of glory while enjoying their favorite extreme sport. I hadn’t even begun to live yet. Fate played cruel tricks and I wanted to know why.

  An ironic laugh escaped my throat, throwing me into a racking coughing fit. My breath was crushed inside my chest. I rolled to my side and spit blood. A pool had built up around my right eye and when I rolled to my left the blood ran into the only eye that wasn’t swollen up. I flattened against the grass and used the one hand I could still move to wipe my left eye in an attempt to see.

  The smile Hamish had been wearing was gone. All that was left on his face was monster and rage. He put the dirk to my throat, having waited until I could see so I could watch him kill me.

  He didn’t get that, too. I slammed my left eye shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

  I waited to feel the blade slice through my neck, wondering if it was going to hurt to die.

  Will my parents be waiting for me somewhere on the other side? And how will they know it’s me? And Robbie, will he be there, too? Dressed in his Dress Blues, beautiful, like in his picture on the Thomlinson’s wall? We’ll be a family over there, on the other side. A conjured image of what my mom might have looked like smiled at me with the love I was sure could only come from a mother. She looked like me. My father grinned and put an arm across Robbie’s shoulders. I smiled ….

  A feral scream drove the image from my mind. The blade never reached me. I pried my blood-crusted eyes open the best I could and saw bright sunshine where Hamish blocked it out before. A loud hissing, gurgling sound came from somewhere to my right.

  Petra stood beyond where I lay, fists doubled on the hilt of Hamish’s sword. I couldn’t see Hamish anymore. I guessed Petra had killed him. So sad for a “warrior” to pass, being killed with his own blade ….

  Pain coated every inch of my body but I was too weak to cry out as I rolled to my side to see what I’d missed when I’d drifted off. Many feet approached, beating the turf. Beside Hamish’s severed head, just out of my reach, lay the large, gilded leather book.

  I reached for it.

  “Tessa, No!” Peter’s voice sounded from somewhere behind me.

  When did he get here?

  My fingers grazed the comfort of soft leather. I scooted closer, using my good arm and one foot to propel myself.

  Footsteps grew closer.

  “Tessa!” Peter called again. He was close, but so were many others. A frantic feeling hung heavy in the courtyard. The sun was beginning to set. Soon gloaming would urge gargoyles from human forms. Terrible things would come about, with bloodshed, pain and centuries-old lust for power through battle.

  “Something wicked this way comes.”

  The thought that I wouldn’t be around to see the battle skipped through my mind like a smooth stone on a choppy lake. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs and I grew weaker, but I couldn’t risk the book falling back into the wrong hands. The last few centuries of Ezra’s life would have been in vain.

  I pulled the book closer and felt its warmth push through my hand, coursing up my arm. Fear gave way to relief. My chest tingled and became lighter suddenly, and it was easier to breathe. I sat up as heat cascaded across my body into my wounded shoulder. My right eye gained focus as the heavy swelling lifted from my once shrouded eyesight. I jerked the book into my lap. Energy thrummed through my being in a rush of elation. I hugged it to my chest, realizing the familiarity I knew was innate. Things were as they should be. The book belonged in my hands, and although I didn’t understand, it was the most incredible feeling of power. My senses roared to life, enhanced in the absence of physical pain. I was renewed.

  Dried blood cracked on my face as I threw my head back and laughed.

  Peter’s face came into view as he reached for me. “Don’t you do it,” he yelled.

  I opened the book.

  Chapter 31

  The din quieted. I knew warmth and safety. They were my creation. All pain left me; my body was whole again and my soul light as the day I first knew sentience. No grass lie beneath me, I floated effortlessly and weightless. The air smelled sweet, like the hyacinths that grew in the yard behind the Home. I was calm, and not alone, seeing through the eyes of another who knew what it was to live out of reach of worldly anguish. She enjoyed a deity’s perspective and shared with a generous heart.

  We watched together, omniscience fused into one.

  A child toddled on clumsy, soiled feet below, chasing a springing insect from clusters of blossoming gorse to thick banks of heather. Beads caught sunlight, gleaming from bound tips of her plaited hair. Giggles burst free and tiny hands clapped each time the cricket sprung to life, spreading delight far into the air, touching my heart. I craved more innocence, drifting close, keeping a distance so the precious scene would continue.

  Thick Lycanthrope mingled through air sweetened by wildflowers near the squealing child, growing heavy, encroaching. I drifted lower, catching quadruped footfalls crackling downed leaves, bending brush against matted fur. The hunter’s gut growled in anticipation. Earthen, biological nature ran a course of survival that I did not interrupt.

  Disturbed once more, the cricket hopped away from a probing, curious finger. More spritely laughter danced to my senses. The wolf lunged.

  So did I, admitting my growing weakness, my love for innocent mortals. What was done, was done. Soft grasses broke underfoot when I stepped forth, taking mortal form as my essence made contact with carbon-borne earth.

  The wolf’s wet nose sizzled against my hand. The beautiful creature backed away from contact with my palm, white heat disrupting the planned meal. A quick shot of flame at a nearby bramble provided a deterrent, ousting two fat hares, eyes narrowed on the pouncing wolf. Smoke billowed in slight waves as I tamped out any hope of fire spreading.

  The child watched the animals chase away, green eyes coming to rest on me. She smiled, approaching. I held out my arms as she fell into my embrace, tiny hands grasping fistfuls of my hair. I breathed in the scent of true contentment, innocence, and love, rocking her.


  “Wolf!” A man neared quickly, followed by his mate. I stole a last, sweet breath, prying tiny, reluctant finger loose of my robe and hair, grasping a small hand in mine. I bowed my head, waiting.

  The woman screamed. I remained still, youthful innocence next to me seeing tranquility in my beautiful, human form, and tainted humanity seeing a winged, leathered beast grasping the hand of their offspring.

  “Aine!” The woman wept. I shook loose of the baby’s grasp, willing her to her mother. Tiny feet stepped away. The man drew an arrow and snapped it at an impressive speed at my plated chest. The projectile puffed into flame as I batted it down and defied earthen gravity, taking flight. Wind buffeted the tiny one’s frock as my wings beat air. The family ran from me.

  I wept for ages. My dark, winged form became the stuff of haunted, human minds, transcending their sense of time as my likeness was communicated through centuries— engraved, sculpted, sketched, mounted to advancing architecture. Titled.

  Gargoyle.

  But I was eternally more. I saved another child, rescued her as her consciousness threatened to abandon life. I wouldn’t give away the love of another without a fight this time. I fused our existence.

  An annoyance, her physical pain was dissolved. I rested deep within, next to her tiny, lively heart, keeping a watch as humanity claimed our small form. They took us to the safety of harmlessly confused religion that was a suitable safekeeping. I knew happiness in her growth. I love her ….

  “Tessa!” Peter called, ripping me back toward the ground.

  I focused on nothing but the book in my lap, opened to the first, blank page. We were reunited, a forsaken bond replaced. This was the family I searched for, my home. I belonged in the vast possibilities of what the many pages held. They were the stuff of my existence. There was a need of nothing, and I ached for no fulfillment, having found the source of all I desired. I flipped another leaf, to find more gleaming, untouched vellum. Pristine, unmarked pages replaced etchings I expected to remain. Three words formed in fine silvery print, as if an unseen quill marked the parchment.