The Fae's Amulet

by J F Posthumus

  “As to our business,” Xantos said, interrupting my memory. From his robe he produced another small sack and held it out to me. I took it, then looked at him. “You will find your commission within. Thank you for your services.” He bowed, then was gone.

  Although I knew I was alone in the room, I still took a moment before peering into the sack. Inside were five gold bars like the one Dante had pulled from his bag. There was also a rectangular, wooden box.

  Sitting on the couch, I reached in and pulled out the box. Once it was clear of the bag, the weight of the box demanded I use both hands to move it to my lap. A simple silver clasp held the lid in place. Turning the clasp, I opened the lid.

  Inside were two hand scythes with ornately carved silver handles. They were very similar to the primary weapons I used when I went by the title Lady of Death. The curved blades of these sickles were made of obsidian. I lifted one out of the box. The weight was perfect, and the weapon felt like an extension of me. Instead of picking up the second, I put the first one back and closed the box. The weapons were too tempting to try here. I put the box back in the bag and went home.

  My phone chimed, and I checked the screen. Sterling had sent me a text.

  “Mess all cleaned up. You owe me dinner. Talk to you later.”

  I smiled and sent a reply saying to be at my place tomorrow at five, then put my phone away.

  * * *

  Returning home after a completed job typically left me elated and satisfied. This time, though, something was missing. It dawned on me what it was as I placed the Magickal bag on my kitchen counter.

  I still didn’t know who had killed the hooker.

  “Damn it,” I said aloud.

  “Forget something?”

  I yelped in surprise and jumped in a circle. Finally, I discovered where the voice had come from. All I had to do was follow the clacking sound of his jawbone as the dragon laughed.

  “How in all the Hells did you get into the kitchen?” I demanded.

  The damned skull clacked faster, nearly drowning out the laughter.

  “You forgot to latch the basement,” he finally said. “I’ve been able to manipulate objects as big as your bed or sofa for a long time, so that door was no challenge. As for getting into the kitchen, I can levitate. Do you honestly think I spend all my time on that table? I would have lost my considerable mind a long time ago, if that were the case. I came up here to wait for you. Before you returned, I was enjoying your bathroom.”

  What he had been doing in my bathroom, I did not want to know. Suppressing a shudder, I asked, “Why were you determined to meet me when I came home, instead of waiting for me to come downstairs?”

  “I wanted answers to a few questions, and the idea of waiting was unappealing,” he replied. “So, what did you forget?”

  I was really starting to hate his smug tone. A deadbolt on this side of the door would keep him in the basement, and it wouldn’t be hard to install.

  “To be honest, I forgot to summon the spirit of the dead hooker and ask her who killed her,” I said after a few moments of silence.

  “Do you have some pressing need to ask the corpse if she enjoyed being killed by the crazy woman who put her up to the job?” Maekyl replied.

  “The one I killed last night?” I asked. Maekyl nodded, and I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest as I studied the skull. “I thought it was Nick who sent her to my office?”

  “Nick did so at Charise’s suggestion. She really was playing him like a stringed instrument, until he was no longer useful,” Maekyl said with complete delight. “What makes the most sense to me? I’m confident her intent was to have Nick framed for the murder. More than likely, she had already begun stealing from his blood supply or had found a dealer of her own. So, his usefulness was coming to an end, one way or another.”

  “He should have paid her to run things,” I muttered. “So, the hooker was a failed attempt at framing Nick. What a waste of a good death.”

  It showed there were few who could appreciate, and collect, the power provided by a death. It was a pity.

  “So, Emmett told Charise about the amulet, and she decided it was the perfect opportunity to become a false queen,” I snorted. “She obviously wasn’t a Practitioner; otherwise, she would have known any summoned god would kill the summoner. They aren’t beholden to the same rules as everything else.”

  That’s why the first rule was never summon a deity. No circle known to mankind could protect you from a deity.

  “What was Nick’s cousin hoping to gain?” I asked Maekyl, since he seemed to have all the answers.

  “You’ve dealt with enough humans to know his type,” Maekyl said dryly. “He was looking to live a lifestyle like Nick’s without putting in the time or effort. All Charise had to do was appeal to his greed, offer him power, and soothe his ego.”

  “If he was jealous of Nick, it wouldn’t have taken a lot to convince him to go along with the plan.” I shrugged. People could be easily manipulated if you knew what buttons to push. “And I suspect it all began with Emmett.”

  “Such a vain little man, even in life,” Maekyl mocked. “He was a landowner, who happened to own the property that would later become the lower half of the city’s downtown. Based on the sale of the land to the city, he thought he should get partial credit for everything built on it, streets named after him, the town hall, anything and everything that was likely to outlive him. What he received was a “thank you” plaque on the least trafficked corner of the city building.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  “He’s told his sob story to every tenant that’s dwelt in that graveyard. The rather conservative sisterhood of ladies who remain there were very eager to complain about him to Xantos when he went there,” Maekyl said. There was definite smugness in his voice.

  “They didn’t figure him for a devil?” The idea was too funny not to ask.

  “He made himself look like an angel!” howled Maekyl. “Xantos told them he was there to take their woes to a higher authority. He spent an entire night listening to that little group whine on and on in order to get that information. Gods, but I’ve missed him and his sense of humor.”

  “He figured a group of women would have all the gossip,” I said with irritation. “How very medieval of him.”

  “No, no,” the dragon corrected. “He looked for a small group who stuck together, barely socialized, yet freely judged everyone but themselves. This time it happened to be that gang of women. He has had a great deal of experience. Finding them was an easy task.”

  “When did he do that?” I asked, still trying to picture Xantos as an angel—an image that wasn’t forthcoming.

  “After your first visit to the cemetery,” Maekyl replied. “He’s been watching you for a while.”

  “Of course he’s been watching me. If I were the paranoid type, I’d wonder if he planned the whole thing,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now that everything has been cleared up, I think I’m going to deposit my gold in my safe and test out my new blades.”

  “Before you run off to play with your toys, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question,” Maekyl interjected. “Have you picked out names, yet?”

  “For my blades? Not really my style, Maekyl,” I replied. Though, considering how perfect they were, it was tempting.

  “No, not those.” Maekyl sounded impatient. “I refer to your and Sterling’s ‘love child’ that’s currently baking in your womb. Have you picked out girl or boy names?”

  “Ha, ha. Not funny,” I retorted, grabbing the bag from the counter. “You know I have the infertility ring, and I never take it off.”

  The immediate silence from Maekyl was neither expected nor reassuring.

  Finally, he said, “So, it wasn’t you that deactivated the ring.”

  “What?” I screeched, nearly dropping the bag.

  Thankfully, I managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Shifting the bag to one hand, I removed t
he ring and held it up. With a whisper of Magick, I discovered Maekyl was right. There wasn’t a speck of Magick in the ring.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  “No, I didn’t,” I snapped. “Who…”

  I trailed off as a memory sprang to mind, a memory of Xantos kissing my hand, and the ring changing temperature, from hot to cold.

  “Xantos,” I snarled before turning on the dragon leiche. “This had better not have been a suggestion from you, Maekyl, or you’re going to have a very short trip into a very active volcano.”

  “Nay, lady, not me!” Maekyl answered quickly. “I have no interest in small humanoids, no matter whose offspring they may be.”

  I clutched the bag of goodies to my chest and stared at Maekyl. I wanted to disbelieve him, to blame him for it, but I knew the ancient, undead dragon wasn’t lying.

  “My parents are going to kill me.”

  # # # # #

  About the Author

  Wife and a mother of five, J.F. Posthumus is an IT Tech with over a decade of experience. When she isn’t arguing with computers and their inherent gremlins, or being mom to the four younger monsters (the eldest has flown the nest and is doing quite well on his own), she’s crafting, writing, or doing some other sort of art. An avid gamer, she loves playing Dungeons & Dragons, and a variety of other board games with her family and friends. She’s also a hopeless romantic, thanks to all the fairy tales she cut her eyeteeth on—they were what J.F. Posthumus learned to read before she discovered the Boxcar Children Mysteries. From there, she fell into the rabbit hole that’s reading, where she discovered a love for mysteries, fantasy, and the occasional romance. Since writing was her favorite subject, she naturally incorporated her love of murder, mysteries, and fantasy into her works.

  When she came up with the idea of a body being found at a local building, it was only natural to create a necromancer for the job. From there, Catherine’s story unfolded, complete with monsters, magic, and a little bit of romance…

  * * * * *

  Connect with J.F. Posthumus Online

  Website: http://www.jfposthumus.net

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjfposthumus

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Worlds at War Saga:

  The Replicant War

  ___________________

  Chris Kennedy

  Now Available from Anticipation Press

  eBook, Paperback, and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “The Replicant War:”

  Mech Storage Facility, Planet Utopia

  At least six of the Advents were slithering up the hill, Ryan saw, with another two in trail close behind. Instead of one and a half, he was now in for killing four of the giant creatures. He held his fire as he raced toward them, knowing he couldn’t win a long-range shooting contest at four-to-one odds; his best chance was to mix it up with them. Noah must have realized the same thing, for he held his fire, too.

  The plan would have worked beautifully if they had only been going up against three snakes, as it had originally been envisioned, or even the group of six they thought they were up against. What killed it were the two snakes in trail, who saw them before they made it into position, and who immediately began firing at them.

  Laser bolts streaked past Ryan, and frantic hissing came from the trailing Advents, causing three of the main group to turn toward Ryan. Two more broke off toward Noah, while one continued over the hill toward the newbie.

  Ryan had a moment to transmit, “Look out! One coming over the hill!” then he was engaged with the enormous snakes and didn’t have time for John—the newbie would have to take care of himself. He fired a burst of .50 cal at the one on the right as he continued racing toward them, and the sword blade sprang out on his left arm. The left snake stopped and began firing at him, scoring several glancing hits on his armor and illuminating a number of caution lights. The center one continued straight toward him and lashed out—striking at the canopy of his cockpit.

  As the snake struck, Ryan jumped up and over the diving reptile—wishing yet again for rocket assist—and lowered his arm to embed the sword blade in its head as he dove past.

  The drag on the blade as it sliced into the giant snake brought his momentum to a stop and spun him around, and he fired off a burst at the snake who was still shooting at him with its laser, despite the fact that Ryan was in close contact with one of its allies. The snake dove to the side, and Ryan withdrew the sword blade and stabbed the Advent through the head again with it.

  Ryan was slammed to the side as the first one he had fired at crashed into the side of his mech, knocking him off his feet. The mech smashed to the ground, and Ryan saw stars as his head bounced off the side of the cockpit. The Advent was on him before he had a chance to move, jumping on top of the canopy as if it were trying to break it and get at him. Ryan slammed his left arm into the creature, but the sword blade had snapped off in the skull of the other Advent, and all he succeeded in doing was punching the snake in the side.

  “I killed one!” the newb exclaimed.

  “That’s…great,” Ryan said, grabbing the snake’s body as it began to wrap around his mech. “Come…help!”

  * * * * *

  Get “The Replicant War” at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FVVN1J8.

  Find out more about Chris Kennedy and “The Replicant War” at:

  http://chriskennedypublishing.com/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Milesian Accords:

  A Reluctant Druid

  ___________________

  Jon R. Osborne

  Now Available from New Mythology Press

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio

  Excerpt from “A Reluctant Druid:”

  “Don’t crank on it; you’ll strip it.”

  Liam paused from trying to loosen the stubborn bolt holding the oil filter housing on his Yamaha motorcycle, looking for the source of the unsolicited advice. The voice was gruff, with an accent and cadence that made Liam think of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. The garage door was open for air circulation, and two figures were standing in the driveway, illuminated by the setting sun. As they approached and stepped into the shadows of the house, Liam could see they were Pixel and a short, stout man with a greying beard that would do ZZ Top proud. The breeze blowing into the garage carried a hint of flowers.

  Liam experienced a moment of double vision as he looked at the pair. Pixel’s eyes took on the violet glow he thought he’d seen before, while her companion lost six inches in height, until he was only as tall as Pixel. What the short man lacked in height, he made up for in physique; he was built like a fireplug. He was packed into blue jeans and a biker’s leather jacket, and goggles were perched over the bandana covering his salt and pepper hair. Leather biker boots crunched the gravel as he walked toward the garage. Pixel followed him, having traded her workout clothes for black jeans and a pink t-shirt that left her midriff exposed. A pair of sunglasses dangled from the neckline of her t-shirt.

  “He’s seeing through the glamour,” the short, bearded man grumbled to Pixel, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

  “Well duh. We’re on his home turf, and this is his place of power” Pixel replied nonchalantly. “He was pushing back against my glamour yesterday, and I’m not adding two hands to my height.”

  Liam set down the socket wrench and ran through the mental inventory of items in the garage that were weapons or could be used as them. The back half of the garage was a workshop, which included the results of his dabbling with blacksmithing and sword-crafting, so the list was considerable. But the most suitable were also the farthest away.

  “Can I help you?” Liam stood and brushed off his jeans; a crowbar was three steps away. Where had they come from? Liam hadn’t heard a car or motorcycle outside, and the house was a mile and a half outside of town.

  “Ja, you can.” The stout man stopped at the thresh
old of the garage. His steel-grey eyes flicked from Liam to the workbench and back. He held his hands out, palms down. The hands were larger than his and weren’t strangers to hard work and possibly violence. “And there’s no need to be unhospitable; we come as friends. My name is Einar, and you’ve already met Pixel.”

  “Hi, Liam.” Pixel was as bubbly as yesterday. While she didn’t seem to be making the same connection as Einar regarding the workbench, her eyes darted about the cluttered garage and the dim workshop behind it. “Wow, you have a lot of junk.”

  “What’s this about?” Liam sidled a half step toward the workbench, regretting he hadn’t kept up on his martial arts. He had three brown belts, a year of kendo, and some miscellaneous weapons training scattered over two decades but not much experience in the way of real fighting. He could probably hold his own in a brawl as long as his opponent didn’t have serious skills. He suspected Einar was more than a Friday night brawler in the local watering hole. “Is she your daughter?”

  Einar turned to the purple-haired girl, his caterpillar-like eyebrows gathering. “What did you do?”

  “What? I only asked him a few questions and checked him out,” Pixel protested, her hands going to her hips as she squared off with Einar. “It’s not as if I tried to jump his bones right there in the store or something.”

  “Look mister, if you think something untoward happened between me and your daughter –” Liam began.