Other Worldly Ways (Anthology 1)

by Connie Suttle

  "Yes. I can't lie about that. And I don't know that you and Kyle might not break up tomorrow. The gate is closing. You have to decide now."

  She turned from me to look at what I saw beyond her—the gap that was gradually closing on her life.

  "I can't stay," she wept. "Tell Kyle I'm sorry, but I just can't stay."

  "I'll tell him," I agreed and let her go.

  * * *

  Dried blood crusted my suit and watch as I sat in a chair before Ron Glass' desk, explaining what I knew. Shane held one of my hands, because I wasn't at my steadiest at the moment.

  "Vince Gregg got in because he claimed to be the family attorney," Ron sighed. "You talked to them, didn't you?"

  "To Lynn, yes," I nodded wearily. "The others were already gone."

  "Vince Gregg is dead—he can't explain himself. What can you tell me?"

  "I believe that if you go into Vince's discarded e-mails, you'll find a chain e-mail from one of his victims—likely Nina Shelton. You'll probably discover that all the other victims were connected by the same e-mail, Detective. Vince was already a little unhinged over his daughter's death and became certain that the chain e-mail was responsible. He went looking for those who sent it to him because it brought bad luck to his door. I also have this," I handed my cell phone to Ron, with Steven's e-mail pulled up.

  "That message says that Vince was Carter Michael's attorney back when he was involved in petty crime," I continued. "It's my guess that Carter went to Vince after he'd killed Cherie, so Vince took the gun and sent Carter out of the state. Carter likely paid Vince with what he stole from Cherie." Ron read the message before handing the phone back to me.

  "So Vince Gregg was an accessory after the fact to the murder in Decatur, and likely guilty of receiving stolen property." Detective Glass tapped notes on his computer.

  "I figured it out just before he walked in," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't put it together sooner."

  "Then what did you and Lynn talk about?" Ron blinked at me, "If she didn't tell you all this?"

  "About whether she wanted to stay or go," I said. "Detective, I'm tired. Can I go home, now? It's New Year's Eve and I want to forget these last few weeks before the New Year comes along."

  "What would you have done if Lynn said she wanted to stay?" Ron asked.

  I brushed off his question as Shane walked me out of the office. It was better—so much better—if he never knew.

  BODYGUARD

  In my books, I've given several references to the fact that Glinda worked as Erland Morphis' bodyguard before she met Jayd and took her place as Kifirin's Queen. I started this short story before I began publishing, but didn't finish it. A few people expressed interest in how Erland and Glinda met, so I finished the story for this anthology. As you'll see, Erland wasn't always the accomplished diplomat. That skill developed over time.

  Campiaa

  Tiny cubes of broken glass crunched under Lord Erland Morphis' chaugis-skin shoes as he surveyed the damage done to the front windows of his casino. This was the third time in two weeks, and weeks on the gambling planet of Campiaa were eight days long.

  He'd owned the Sea Spray Casino for exactly one month; thirty-two of Campiaa's days, and ever since he'd refused to pay Divil San Gerxon's exorbitant demands in protection money on the tenth day, this sort of thing had happened regularly. Erland's chief of security stood in the now-empty slot machine section of the casino, talking to three of his night guards.

  "No injuries," Baxter Indis stated before Erland could voice the question. "The shield held, thank the gods."

  "It will get worse," Erland muttered, mostly to himself.

  Baxter nodded anyway. He was aware that his employer was also receiving death threats. Baxter was one of perhaps two people employed by Erland who knew his true race and nature. Erland Morphis was a Karathian Warlock with power of his own, but his moral aversion to employing spells to kill held him back in matters such as this.

  Many of his kind dabbled in the darker spells and had no qualms over killing anyone who stood in their way. Those were mostly kept on the homeworld of Karathia—it wouldn't do to give the universes at large the idea that Karathians as a whole were something to be feared and hunted. They were a nearly immortal race, but they could be killed if someone were skilled and determined enough.

  "I've placed an advertisement in the appropriate locations," Baxter added. Erland grimaced. He'd never had a personal bodyguard before, and the fact that he needed one now annoyed him intensely. He did have to sleep, however, and even his shielding spells could be compromised with the proper power, provided someone laid out enough credits to have it done.

  Others of his kind would gladly perform the necessary spells for the right amount. They were like most other races—prone to disloyalty if the paycheck were large enough. Divil San Gerxon owned most of the casinos under one guise or another, and the amount of his demands was quite steep—nearly a third of the take, before expenses.

  "Wonderful," Erland muttered to Baxter. "I will make myself available for interviews. Did the local constabulary even bother to come?"

  "Not since there were no injuries or deaths," Baxter snorted. "They informed me that it was likely some drunken gambler."

  Erland growled and his dark eyes became darker. Baxter knew to get as far away as possible if Erland's eyes ever went black. "Drunken gamblers," Erland snarled, "do not have disrupters. They are carefully searched before they board the ships and are searched again when they arrive. Visitors are not allowed weapons."

  "Unless the Divil himself provides them," Baxter muttered. Divil San Gerxon's name was often the butt of jokes, but if anyone made one of those jokes in Divil's presence, they didn't live long enough to make another.

  "He has the local constabulary under his thumb," Erland's eyes lightened to their normal dark brown. Baxter nodded. Everyone knew that.

  * * *

  "He's about to rip limbs off," Baxter whispered to his second-in-command, Templir Wrede. Templir was from Trell and had once done security work for the Queen. Lord Morphis had done interviews for three days and his normally short supply of patience was in shreds and tatters at the moment.

  "Do you think he has a spell for that?" Templir smiled wryly.

  "More than likely." Baxter wasn't smiling at all. "We've got three more bodyguard candidates coming in this afternoon. If he gets through those without hiring someone or killing someone, I'll take bets myself on the sun rising in the west."

  Baxter had been leaning against the wall outside Erland's private office. Neither he nor the security staff at any of the casinos were allowed to gamble. The laws governing Campiaa prevented it. That law was strictly kept, even if San Gerxon, his family and hidden partners ignored most of those laws unless they worked out in their favor.

  "He's shouting again," Templir noted. Baxter didn't need the warning—he'd heard it for himself.

  "Time for another rescue mission," Baxter sighed and let himself in the door.

  * * *

  "It wasn't personal," Templir assured the hulking Darskilhini. Erland had insulted the four-armed behemoth's ability to fend off an attack. He'd moved too slowly, according to Lord Morphis. The Darskilhini muttered under his breath in his native language, which Templir didn't understand. Templir was glad of that; he felt sure the Darskilhini was making threats.

  "The car will take you straight to the spaceport; your ticket will be reimbursed," Templir shoved the four-armed humanoid inside the luxurious coach the casino provided for their more important guests. The Darskilhini was still grumbling as the solar-powered coach drove away. "Damn," Templir ran a hand through his hair and went back inside, worried that he might be faced with more of the same before the day was over.

  "Two more," Baxter blew out a breath as Templir strode into his superior's office. "We're breaking for lunch now; Erland even shouted at Tobias when he brought tea."

  "Oh, lord," Templir held his head in his hands as he sat in the chair next to Baxter
's desk. He was getting a headache—a bad one. Templir and Baxter both knew about Erland. Anyone inclined in that direction—both women and men—swooned over him.

  Baxter knew that Lord Morphis might be the most beautiful man he'd ever met, and Baxter preferred women. Women often begged Erland to bed them. Occasionally, Lord Morphis complied—if he were in a generous mood. He preferred males. He treated the males very well in his bed. Begging women? Not so much. Tobias was a favored pet in Erland's eyes, and Tobias was more than willing. If Erland was shouting at Tobias, then things had deteriorated to a dangerous level.

  "Who are the final two?" Templir rubbed his face and looked up at Baxter.

  "A Campiaan assassin right after lunch, and a woman after that."

  "Where is the woman from? Are you sure that's a good idea? He holds most females in contempt." Templir's headache had just gotten worse—he didn't want to haul an unconscious woman out of Erland's office.

  Female bodyguards tended to be from the larger races; he'd seen some who were seven feet tall and weighed three hundred pounds. They were effective, though. They couldn't work in a male-dominated field if they weren't.

  "It wasn't listed on her application," Baxter replied. "But her list of credentials is impressive. She worked as a bodyguard for the Amterean Prime Minister."

  "Are you kidding?" Templir wasn't sure he believed this. Amterean Dwarves were tougher than Tulgalan Rhinos, and their skin was nearly as thick.

  "We have a letter of recommendation from her former employer; she left after the new Prime Minister came to power." Baxter held up the letter in question. Amterean Dwarves preferred paper, still, instead of electronically coded chips. "Don't worry, I've double-checked the authenticity. Gero made the call for me. Everything is as she says." Baxter placed the letter back in his file.

  "What's her name?" Templir was curious, now.

  "It says Glindarok, but she goes by Glinda or Glin."

  "She's a lesbian," Templir muttered.

  "All the better. She won't be irritating the boss." Baxter gave a halfhearted grin.

  "Let's just hope we don't have to carry her out of here when Erland loses his temper."

  * * *

  "At least he didn't yell," Templir told Baxter after putting Erland's latest interview into a casino suite. Erland was thinking about this one, and the fact that he'd been an assassin hadn't hurt, either. Lord Morphis might need those talents, before all was said and done.

  Baxter thought the woman had gotten lost at first. She was barely one and a half meters tall, or five feet, in Earth measurements. Baxter almost laughed at himself. As if Earth measurements mattered on Campiaa. Mostly Earth measurements only mattered on Earth. They still didn't have a spaceport—refused to build one, actually. None of the separate countries could agree on who should build it, or whether they should contribute toward the building of it. It puzzled him. Baxter preferred to visit planets that had one government to contend with instead of many.

  He brought himself back to the matter at hand, staring at the woman. She was beautiful. Lovely skin, blue eyes and the whitest platinum hair he'd ever seen. It was braided down her back, falling nearly to her waist.

  Baxter imagined how it might feel in his hands if he were to loosen it. She wore what looked to be a leather vest and pants, with sturdy boots. His eyebrows rose a bit when he saw the knife in a sheath clipped to the waistband of her pants. How had she gotten a weapon past the guards at the spaceport?

  "Hand over the knife, and I'll escort you off the property," Baxter held out his hand expectantly.

  "I am here to interview for the bodyguard position, and I will only hand over my knife if I know it will be given back to me." The woman glared at Baxter.

  "You will hand over the knife and I will not give it back to you; it is against the laws of Campiaa for you to have it."

  "I am not native to this planet," came the cold reply. "I care not for the laws. I am a bodyguard by profession, and my own protection is also of primary importance. You will return the knife, or you may wish you had later."

  "You are Glindarok? Why is it that you list no last name?" Baxter was doing his best to maneuver around so he could snatch the knife away. Glindarok was watching him closely, moving strategically with him so he couldn't put his hands on the knife. Templir chose that moment to appear in the hallway.

  "What is going on?" Templir noticed the subtle dance between Baxter and the strange woman.

  "This one has a knife," Baxter grunted. "She doesn't want to give it up."

  "Shall I get Lord Morphis?"

  "Go ahead. He may be relieved that he won't have to interview this one, since she refuses to cooperate."

  "I did not refuse to cooperate," Glinda replied calmly, watching Baxter's every move. "I only asked that my knife be returned after the interview."

  Templir was knocking on Erland's office door in a blink. Erland sounded angry when he answered. "What the hell is going on?" Erland demanded.

  "This is your last interview, but she won't give up her knife," Templir explained.

  Erland muttered an expletive in his native language and gathered power. Stunning a humanoid was a simple thing, not even requiring a spell. Erland lashed out with power and then stood in the hall, feeling stunned because Baxter was the one who dropped to the floor, unconscious.

  "If you expected that to work on me, you should reconsider," the woman said as Erland stared at Baxter, whose limp body had slid down the wall and dropped onto the floor at the woman's feet. Erland lifted his eyes to the woman, surprise crossing his features. He never missed. The woman had been his intended target. Baxter should have been untouched.

  "Spells, poisons, compulsion and power have no effect upon me or my kind," the woman said. "I am Glindarok. I came to interview for the position as Lord Erland Morphis' bodyguard. I see I am not welcome." She stepped over Baxter and walked away.

  "Wait!" Erland almost shouted at her.

  "What?" She turned to look at him. Her eyes glinted with anger; Erland could see it even from a distance.

  "Are you saying that even if a wizard or warlock placed a spell against either of us, that it would have no effect on you?" Erland was almost afraid to hope.

  "That is correct. If you stand close enough to me, it will have no effect on you as well."

  "Come into my office," Erland held out a hand, indicating the door. "Templir, please try to wake Baxter and extend my apologies," Erland mumbled as Glinda stepped over Baxter's prone body for the second time.

  * * *

  "I see you worked for the Amterean Prime Minister," Erland leafed through Glinda's file.

  "The Previous Prime Minister. The current one is too fond of bribes and kickbacks. I refused to work for him."

  "Come now, you must have worked for several who engaged in those sorts of activities," Erland said, disbelief in his voice.

  "Of course I have. This one, however, not only mismanages public funds, he is obstructing the building of hospitals and other facilities in order to get the best kickback he can from prospective builders and project managers. He would sell his mother if he could get a good price. He is not to be trusted." Glinda turned her head away from Erland's gaze.

  "I'll be honest, I have my doubts as to whether you can handle the position," Erland informed her. "I was thinking of hiring another instead. Tell me why I should hire you."

  "If you only want a bodyguard, you should hire the other one," Glinda snorted and turned back to Erland. "If you want to stay alive, you will hire me."

  * * *

  "I will not pay this much—this is an outrage," Erland slammed his fist on the desk after reading the latest demand from Divil San Gerxon. Glinda had been hired and had served as his bodyguard for two days before San Gerxon's next message arrived.

  "Would you like him dispatched, Lord Erland?" Glinda asked quietly from her chair in Erland's office. She'd moved the chair to the corner facing the door, in case anyone came in who wasn't invited.

 
"I can't kill him now—I'd be the prime suspect," Erland grumbled. "While Arvil, Divil's brother wouldn't mind taking his brother's empire, nobody wants to see what Arvil will do to show his strength against his brother's assassin."

  "So it's to keep him in power because we know him, rather than opening the way for his next of kin?"

  "Exactly. The Divil you know is better than the Arvil you don't," Erland quipped. "I'm amazed I don't have a continuous headache over this idiocy," Erland rubbed his forehead as if it pained him.

  "You'll be attacked again, then," Glinda said, pulling a comp-vid from a jacket pocket and thumbing through information. "I think you can negotiate the amount—I believe others have."

  "I've asked, and without placing a truth spell on someone, which would reveal my warlock status, I won't get to the truth. All of them lie to me."

  "I can tell when they're lying," she shrugged and pocketed the comp-vid.

  "How do I know you're telling the truth?" Erland lifted a dark eyebrow in speculation. In his experience, no woman had gotten this close to him and failed to stare incessantly at his beauty. Even those who preferred other women stared. His new bodyguard steadfastly ignored him unless he spoke.

  "You can try it," she responded.

  "Baxter," Erland shouted.

  "Lord Morphis?" Baxter poked his head in the door.

  "Invite our fellow casino owners to a party. Extend an invitation to Master San Gerxon as well. My bodyguard claims she can tell truth from a lie. We'll test that theory," Erland offered a lovely (if somewhat doubtful) smile to Glinda.

  * * *

  "You're wearing that?" Erland studied Glinda's clothing—she was dressed in black leather pants, boots and a black silk shirt. The shirt was the only thing that didn't look as if she were prepared for a fight. Her knife, which she insisted on carrying, was clipped to the back waistband of her pants.

  "I have a matching leather jacket," Glinda said. "I intend to protect you, Lord Morphis, whether you desire that or not."

  "I imagined that someone as becoming as you might want to dress a little better for a party," Erland coaxed.