Contents
Title page
copyright
Dedication
Prologue| The Exodus of Atargatis
1 | The Party
2 | Birthday Girl
3 | Gravity
4 | Trust
5 | Fallout
6 | One Month
7 | Kiss Me
8 | Rebirth
9 | Awakening
10 | The Fall
11 | Lunar Sanctum
12 | The Ritual
13 | Initiator
14 | Secret Symphony
15 | Hunt
16 | Starry Eyed
17 | Those Magic Changes
18 | Promises
19 | Lust
20 | Impress
21 | Exiled
22 | Ball
23 | Veil
24 | Aftermath
25 | Duality
26 | The Upside-Down Storm
27 | Ride
28 | The Scythe Of Atargatis
29 | The Calm
30 | The Warning
31 | The Equinox
32 | The Vessel
33 | Home
34 | The Darkness Within
Afterword
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
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The Tidal Kiss Trilogy – Book 1
TRILOGY ONE IN
THE QUEENS OF FANTASY SAGA
First published by Kristy Nicolle, United Kingdom, December 2015
QUEENS OF FANTASY EDITION (3RD EDITION)
Published March 2016 by: Sapphire Press
Copyright © 2015 Kristy Nicolle
Edited by: Kristine Schwartz (The Schwartz fiction edits)
Adult Paranormal/Fantasy Romance
The right of Kristy Nicolle to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Disclaimer:
This ebook is written in U.K English by personal preference of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-51725-004-1
www.kristynicolle.com
For Grandad,
Who taught me that blood may be thicker than water,
But that magic is always thicker than blood.
You may be gone,
but you still haven’t lost yours.
On the higher plains, among the Gods and Goddesses of the sea, who constitute the rulers of the heavens, is where our tale begins.
The God Poseidon and Goddess Atargatis had a love unlike any other, but their relationship was not without flaws. Atargatis was curious, curious to the point of angering her beloved Poseidon. She would sit, looking down upon the mortal world, feet dangling from dense clouds of magic, chin cupped in hand, lilac hair flowing in the salty breeze, observing Man and wondering exactly what it was that made him tick. He had no power, no omniscience, and yet a forceful will and determination to not only survive but thrive and strive for progress unlike anything she had ever seen. He not only reproduced, but loved. Not only thought, but dreamed. She couldn’t help but fall in love with Man, each day tempting her further to journey into the lower plains, meet a human, and study them. Perhaps even love one for herself. She wondered if this would allow her to understand her love for Poseidon more fully, for she had been created in the crucible of Gaia, at the very beginning of time and space.
Poseidon, unfortunately for Atargatis, was more tentative to her mood than she realised, and as he watched her from his looking-glass chamber, he became transfixed and terrified of her fascination with the mortal world. He took a chance, banishing her in the form of a Mermaid, the only form that could hold her Godly powers in flesh, removing her magic and binding it in a scythe, which he gifted to her, a weapon to protect her soul while on Earth, sentencing her to a life of protecting the seas in his name.
Atargatis realised soon what Poseidon had done; sentencing her to be close to mankind but denying her the love of a mortal. Her half fish form prevented her from walking among them trapping her within a watery prison. She took the scythe and with it cast the seas into tumult, riding the waves and drowning an entire city, a city known to us now as Atlantis.
Atargatis looked over the sunken ruins, the destruction, the dead, and cried.
Regardless of her desperation and growing guilt, Atargatis refused to beg Poseidon to restore her omniscient form. She vowed to protect mankind and their progress from invasion by the sea and the demons it allowed to walk among them. She moved to appease her guilt over drowning Atlantis with an eternity of servitude, not for Poseidon but for Man.
An eternity passed until one day Atargatis was captured, bound in a net of heavy chains by a northern fisherman. Her scythe fell from her into the seas and she was reeled upward, eye to eye with the monstrosity of humanity, the cruellest qualities rearing themselves, revealing themselves to her. The man took one look at her radiant form and immediately fell so deeply in love that he could not bear to remove his eyes from her. He freed her from the net and putting her in his arms, she turned to sand, burning in the heat of the day.
Upon release from her sentence, Atargatis returned to the higher plains and to Poseidon. He promised to take her back, their souls being two halves of the same whole, but she must find a replacement to protect the seas. Her magic had weakened the walls between dimensions, allowing great evil passage into the mortal world, leaving the lower plains open to invasion by more powerful demons.
She agreed, deciding to task humans with their own protection, enhancing their power by trapping their souls in the same shell in which she had once been encased. However, Atargatis gave a reward for the men’s servitude to the Gods. The gift she had been deprived. She blessed them, allowing them to walk on land among their own kind for three nights a month when the moon was full.
A deep icy blue penetrates me, pinning me to the spot, stopping my breath with the chilling warmth of its depth, taunting me, haunting me. I want to get lost in its frosty glaze, swim in it and writhe in it, wrap myself up in it as though it were silk. It is familiar and yet strange. I am watching it as the pastel cold blazes with a promise I cannot quite comprehend. I extend out to touch, but cannot quite reach …
My eyes fly open, my body is soaked in sweat … gross. The alarm clock blinks neon green to my right as I turn over under the plain, white duvet that clings to my perspiring form. I groan to myself, breaking the illusion of getting back to sleep by remembering that I have school. The ceiling, with its white swirling pattern greets my eyes that feel like they’ve been taped open before their time. I sigh, peeling the cotton cover back from my legs; they cool as the air hits my skin. I fling them off the mattress and onto the cold wooden floor reluctantly, my head still fuzzy from my dream. My alarm goes off as scheduled and I panic, turning and hitting the off button with more force than I intend. My palm rings with the pain for a moment before I rise to my feet and walk haphazardly towards the bathroom, reeling and groggy from sleep. I can hear my Mom and little sister, Kayla, bustling around the kitchen below
as I push open the bathroom door and lean against the sink, palm pounding from my assault on the alarm clock. I look up into the mirror, my aqua eyes blink back at me, watery and full of sleep. I breathe hard, sucking in air for the sake of clarity, as I reach for my toothbrush and become lost in my early morning routine.
After showering, brushing out my curly blonde hair, and applying concealer to cover the nasty bags hanging out under my eyes, the dream dissipates and becomes lost in a jumble of other things I cannot quite remember. I am glad to forget the blue, it makes me feel empty, but I can’t help but wonder, even if it is just for a split second, why it’s always the last thing I can remember before I open my eyes. Ever since I was a child, the same dream has reoccurred night after night. I guess I am just weird. I’d heard some people dreamed in black and white, so maybe it was like that, just something different about the way my brain was wired.
I emerge from the bathroom feeling ready, finally, to greet the day as I head back to my room with a large white towel clutched around me. I dress in a black tank top, black jeans, and black pixie boots and eye myself with approval before rushing to collect my stuff. I slink downstairs, slinging my schoolbag over my shoulder after grabbing my phone off the nightstand, which is scattered with numerous college brochures. I press the ‘ON’ button; no texts from the girls yet so it looks like it’s going to be a quiet day, or so I hope. I’m really not awake enough to deal with drama, even if it is Friday.
Downstairs in the duck-egg-blue kitchen, all is ordinary. Lacy white curtains flutter in the light San Diego morning breeze, and the smell of slightly carbonised toast diffuses throughout the room. I move to make breakfast, keeping my back to my family before plopping down on a stool at the kitchen island. I eat groggily, operating in teenage mode, shovelling cereal into my face like a zombie child. My mom is sitting next to Kayla at the wooden table in front of the island where I’m perched, and Carl, my step-father, sits reading his morning paper at the head of the kitchen table. I watch him watching my mother watch Kayla eating her cereal. I swear they observe her like she’s a monkey in a zoo, clapping each time she places the spoon in her mouth successfully. She’s four for craps sake, if she couldn’t do that I’d be worried. I look down into my cereal, brooding with golden child envy. My step-father looks over at me, notice I refer to him as ‘father’ rather than ‘dad’. This is because ‘dad’ implies I like the guy rather than having to deal with him as one would deal with a caged, slobbering, and very pissed off rhino; that being with extreme caution, and a safe distance of at least fifteen metres. Well, I think to myself, at least he makes my Mom happy. I smirk as I watch her smiling, wishing that I, too, could be so in love with the guy as to ignore his balding head, stern brow, and medieval values. What kind of twenty first century man expects a teenage girl to wear shirts that come up higher than the arch of her eyebrows for goodness sake. It’s like he wants me to look like a turtle or something! Okay rant over. So anyway, my sister is eating breakfast looking at me, her almond shaped, chocolate brown eyes so cute they make a baby unicorn look ugly in comparison. I look at the roundness of her face and can’t help but leave my seething resentment in the past and smile back at her.
“Callie?” she asks, taking another mouthful from the spoon that looks about half the size of her head.
“Yeah?” I respond tilting the bowl to my mouth and downing the remainder of the milk. I step over to the sink and load the dirty crockery into the dishwasher.
“Will you play tea-party with me when you get home from school?” she pleads, blinking through masses of long black lashes that any girl would kill for.
“Yeah … sure. As long as I don’t have any homework, okay?” I promise. I walk over to her and stroke her hair; it feels like silk, the kind I’d like to make a sheet out of and crawl back to sleep in. She reaches up, pudgy hands outstretched, she wants me to lift her up, but I really don’t think my back can take it at this time of the morning, so instead I bend down and hug her lightly. She smells like cookie dough, I don’t know why as I’m pretty sure Carl would not allow that before breakfast, but it smells good so I quickly drop that thought and release her. My mom smiles a patient smile at me, fitting seeing as her first name is Patience. My eyes reflect back at me in a luminous turquoise and her hazelnut hair looks about as silky as Kayla’s feels.
“Did you hear back from Brown yet?” my mom pries looking hopeful, her eyes are bright with the earliness of the day.
“Nah, nothing yet. They said I’d hear back in a couple of weeks, it’s only been four days,” I remind her, remembering the terrifying woman in horn-rimmed spectacles that had interviewed me.
“Ah well, let me know,” she nags and I roll my eyes. Of course she’ll be the first to know when I hear. As soon as she heard I had been invited for Interview at Brown University in Rhode Island she had become insufferably nosey. I am stationary for a moment, contemplating the possible outcomes of my interview, about what it would be like to move across the country to Rhode Island, when I’m reminded why I so seek to flee. Carl coughs from behind his paper deliberately.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks. I feel irritation rise within me clawing to escape in a bout of verbal abuse, but instead of starting a fight my mom will never back me up on, I turn around, grabbing my bag from the island. I wink at Kayla.
“Catch ya later Kaylagator.” I recite our usual parting words and she returns with a wave.
“In a while Calliedile!” her face falls into a beaming smile of tiny, white, pearly teeth. Carl scowls as I turn to walk out the door, he hates that his daughter and I get on so well, that I’m something he can never remove from her life without some serious heart breakage. I smile to myself, savouring my silent victory.
The ride to school passes quickly and I enjoy the breeze running through my ringlets. It wakes me and as I leave La Mesa my rage from the step-monster is lost. It’s hard to be out in the morning sun in my convertible without feeling happiness spread through me. I turn my little red vintage convertible into the school parking lot. I stare into the rear view mirror, checking my hair isn’t too unruly, recalling the day I got this car. My mom brought home two shiny things that day, one more welcome than the other. The first was the vintage car of my dreams as a present for my 16th birthday. The other was her engagement ring that Carl, after 4 years of dating, one child, and a joint mortgage, had finally decided she was worthy of.
I listen to the engine purr as I glide into an empty parking spot before I turn off the engine and it sputters into silence. I love my car, but it is not without its faults. I place the steering lock onto the wheel and glide from the white leather interior, slamming the door behind me as I turn to face my daily dose of smitten Daryl. I really like Daryl, don’t get me wrong, he’s cute, smart, and funny. He’s even captain of the football team and everyone knows he’s headed for a place with the Chargers, but in all seriousness, he is just not my type. He has been trying to land me as his girl for over a year now and much to my friend’s annoyance has not succeeded. I can hear Mollie’s voice in my head as I stare into his boyish grin, ‘If you don’t want him, just destroy all hope he has of getting with you already and let someone else have a shot at him!’ I stand there musing over this before my thoughts drift toward the day’s biology homework. I’m thinking about recessive alleles when I realise that the background noise I’m so used to blanking out has stopped. Daryl is staring down at me with an expectant and lopsided smile. I hear teenage hearts crying out everywhere at the humanity of it all, disgusted at my disinterest.
“So?” he demands, a little too enthusiastic for this time in the morning. I give him a questioning look and he continues on with his over-amorous spiel. “Will you go to prom with me?” He breathes the words, looking hopeful but out of breath from the speech I missed. They’re the words any normal girl would be squealing at internally, but as usual my stomach drops through my butt.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m just going with my friends. Than
ks for asking me though.” This is all I can muster for the poor guy. His face drops about a million feet.
“But you kissed me at –” He begins, but I cut him off, raising a hand.
“Look Daryl, this has been going on for a long time now so I’m going to level with you, okay?” He nods, eager, as I fidget on the balls of my feet, uncomfortable. “I don’t like you in that way. When I kissed you I was drunk because Chloe spiked my lemonade with vodka.” Yeah enough to get an elephant drunk, I remember fuzzily. “I have told you this a hundred times,” I breathe out impatiently. “If you want to be friends I’m okay with that, but I’m not attracted to you and that’s not going to change,” I conclude. My heart is heavy as I watch his frustrated expression and chiselled chin formulating a response to my rejection.
“So, same time tomorrow?” He bursts into another charming smile and I can’t help but giggle. This guy just doesn’t give up! I’m not interested in a relationship right now, I never have been. My friends don’t get it either. I may be a day off turning eighteen and therefore almost legally cleared for take-off in the sex department, but I honestly feel as though I am still too immature for all that drama. I have enough problems of my own; I’m not ready to help someone deal with theirs too. I turn away from Daryl as he saunters off towards the pitch to throw his ball about in front of his adoring fans. I scurry forward, feeling the San Diego sun beating down on my back, today is going to be a scorcher.
I reach homeroom and Manda, Mollie, and Chloe are already sitting around our favourite back-of-the-room table, chatting away while habitually checking their phones every two seconds. The walls are decorated with the usual lame school stuff, trying to get kids to read or try out for glee club or whatever, pushing so hard to be enthusiastic it’s making the room even drearier. As I enter through the peeling paint of the doorway, they all turn and look at me smugly before they burst out laughing. The maturity is staggering. I wonder sometimes how I ended up being friends with three people that I have nothing in common with. They love trashy magazines, but I’d rather read novels. They love talking about cute boys, and I find all the boys I know boring and immature. They love gossiping, while I find other people’s drama somehow petty. I make my way across the room as I compare us mentally, but then remember I’m glad I have them. It would be awful if I was alone again like I had been before we moved here five years ago from Tulsa. That was when mom and Carl had decided to move back to San Diego since my grandparents needed looking after. I had lived here once before technically, when my Mom was pregnant with me. She had moved away after my father died before I was born, but there has always been something that felt more like home in San Diego than in Tulsa. I prefer the heat to cold, the beaches to the snow, and I always wonder if I am visiting places my dad had been. Maybe going to school with the kids of people he had known or grown up with. I realise in this flash of memories far too painful to dwell on, I am standing with all three of my friends faces looking up at me.
The Kiss That Killed Me (The Tidal Kiss Trilogy Book 1) Page 1
