“You have no idea.”
“I wish you would have talked to me about this, Tessa,” I say. The incense is driving me nuts. All I want is to focus on one spell, even a small one, to get me out of this mess. Then I notice the temperature dropping in the room.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Tessa says, either ignoring the temperature drop or she doesn’t feel it. “We just need to find the Progenitor. I think he’s with your friends. They must’ve either been so cautious they didn’t trust bringing him inside, or…” she shakes her head. “No, that’s giving them too much credit.”
“Possibly,” I say.
Wood splinters off the door. Jude may try clawing his way in through the door, but he’ll never make it in. I even hear my cat yowling on the other side. Aunt Tessa has become more powerful than any of us could have imagined.
It’s me and her now. And my sister.
“I’ll have to keep you subdued,” Tessa says. She seems strung out. She is pulling at her hair, and even though her hands are still gesturing with the spell every so often, the movement’s more erratic. How can she not see that her breath is coming out in white puffs?
I think about why she said she did this. For Carl, because she wanted him to have a normal life. Was that so different than what I was trying to attempt with Amelia’s life and my own? I’ve killed quite a few vampires trying to get to the truth. I’ve done so many things, wished so much that I could change my fate.
And here we are at a crossroads. Was Aunt Tessa truly an enemy? Or just a desperate mother?
“I’m sorry,” I say to her.
The temperature keeps dropping, and now it feels so cold, it’s as if the incense isn’t moving around as much, like the chill is making the smoke move slower. The beginnings of a spell start to form in my head, a dangerous one. It’s the only one I’ve got at the moment and if I hesitate too long, I’m going to lose my window and no longer be able to save myself.
Aunt Tessa looks at me curiously. “Sorry for what?” she snarls.
Meghan appears behind her, her ghostly face both sad and determined, her ethereal hair swirling about her face.
“Sorry for what I’m about to do.”
I unleash the pyrokinetic spell, heat neutralizing the cold of Meghan’s appearance.
Tessa moves to counteract, but my sister reaches out and holds her fast with both arms wrapped around her. My aunt looks behind her, her face a mask of horror. She can see Meghan.
The burst of fire catches my aunt, spontaneously combusting and charring her flesh, filling my nostrils with the smell of barbecued human. I turn to my side and vomit.
Tessa screams, her voice unnaturally high-pitched as the fire consumes her. The entire thing lasts only a few seconds.
Then, the door breaks down and Jude rushes to my side. Carl stands in the doorway, his tearstained face looking on the charred corpse that was once his mother.
Then, he collapses to his knees and screams.
40
Jude
“Yes, Graeme,” Edie sighs. She is sitting on the couch of the living room, holding the phone with her one hand. “No, I don’t want you coming over. It’ll be safer if you don’t.”
She’s been on the phone with him for a long time, since he’d been texting her and calling her, wondering if she was okay. She hasn’t mentioned the fact that she’s missing her arm; she also hasn’t told him that her aunt has betrayed us all.
And after this, at some point, she’s going to have to call the police to either report her aunt as a missing person or say someone killed her. I have no idea how that is going to pan out.
Her cat is holding vigil over her by sitting on the back of the couch, and I’m starting to feel glad for her presence.
Carl has shut himself in his room, and I don’t know if we’re going to hear anything else from him. I want to give him time to mourn his mother’s death, yet at the same time, we don’t really have the time to spare.
Edie’s hazel eyes meet mine, and I notice how tired she seems. All I want is a bit of respite for her, because we don’t know what’s next.
My own phone beeps and I check it. It’s Zhi, saying that they’re in an undisclosed location, keeping the Progenitor safe. I nod with approval.
I’m not going to tell him that we were betrayed either. It feels like a private matter, the details of which I’m not privy to.
“Tell Amelia I said hi,” Edie says, her eyes filling with tears. “Love you too.”
She hangs up, fumbling with the phone a bit since she’s now doing it all one-handed. How hard is it going to be for her to get used to living with one arm? How long until she’s able to fight again?
She hits the ‘End’ button and drops the phone in her lap.
“They’re safe?”
“Yeah,” Edie says quietly. “It’s probably for the best.”
I want to wrap her up in my arms and tell her that everything will be all right. But it won’t be. Not for a while.
“I’m sorry, Edie. I told you that I’d never leave you, and then Tessa told me to shower because…” I don’t want to tell her that I’d been covered in her blood. Carl had been on this very couch, sleeping nearby in case something happened. “I thought you’d be safe with her for a moment.”
Edie catches my drift and nods. “You don’t need to apologize. The person that needs to is now dead. I killed her.”
She tries to wipe away her tears, her left arm clumsily moving in an effort to reach her face. The feeble movement of it makes her cry harder in frustration.
I move from my spot on the armchair to the couch and hold her to my chest while she cries.
We stay like that for a few minutes, the sobs wracking Edie’s body as she finally lets the despair of all the events that have happened hit her fully. She needs to grieve, to let herself experience these emotions.
I don’t tell her that it’s going to be all right, because I honestly don’t know if that’s true. We have a mad vampire that has Edie’s blood on tap now. We have the father of all vampires who is almost comatose hiding out somewhere in case Anthony tries to make a move. And we have the Harker who may still be infected, who is without her main weapon.
However, she’s not without me, and I’m going to do everything I can to help her live a normal life.
“What do we do now?” she asks, her voice hiccupping.
“I told you five months ago that I’d help you,” I say into her hair, inhaling the scent of her, wanting to keep it with me forever. “That offer is still good. We’ll find another one of the Progenitor’s direct descendants. We’ll make them become the next Progenitor. And we’ll find a cure for you. That hasn’t changed.”
I kiss the top of her head. She sits back and looks at me a mix of emotions playing across her face. “Anthony recognized you,” she says at length.
“I know. And I promise, I’m not on his side.”
She nods. “I believe you. I just…” My heart thuds erratically while I wait for her to continue. “I don’t want to find out who you were.”
I kiss her trembling lips. “I can understand that. Because if that’s any part of my past, I don’t want to know who I was anymore either.”
“I just want you to be Jude. From here on out, no matter what happens.”
She clings to me, and I hold her.
We’ll have to figure out something, what to do next. The clock is ticking and neither of us can guess what’s around the corner.
For now, we are just Jude and Edie. Past, present, and future, that’s all I want to be.
* * *
To be continued in Damned if I Don’t
The End
Continue the Harker Trilogy in book two, Damned If I Don't.
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Acknowledgments
Damned if I Do has its roots as a story I wrote back in 2003. Along the way, so many people have had an impact, made suggestions, and wanted
more.
First of all, thanks to the Nerd Crew. You all are my crew and I’m grateful for you.
Thanks to BIC for making me keep my B in C. Sometimes it was very hard, haha.
My eternal gratitude goes to Emily Boehnke for being there since the beginning. You read this in its original incarnation back in high school and you haven’t given up on me yet. Love you like a sis.
Special thanks to Emily Goodwin for asking me for Jude’s point of view about two weeks before it was due to my editor. I might not have forgiven you yet for that, but holy crap, that made it so much better.
A Freddy Krueger-high five to Lori Parker for your support. You’re the first and the best.
Big hugs for Blaire Edens who had an early read of it and helped polish it from a nugget. You “showed” me the way. Versus telling me. Wink, wink.
Oodles of groveling to Felicia Sullivan, my editor. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.
Thanks to all of my friends and coworkers who I’ve neglected while writing this book. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.
Thanks to my Mom, Dad, Daniel, and Caitlin. We’re a tight-knit bunch and I’m grateful to have you every moment of every day.
And thank you to my husband, Chris. Without you, none of this would be possible. Without you, I wouldn’t have the strength to do this.
And thank you, reader, for believing in me.
About the Author
Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd, and wannabe manga artist Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she writes books. She lives in Birmingham, Alabama with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek paraphernalia.
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Follow her at:
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facebook.com/erinhayesbooks
twitter.com/erinhayes5399
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The Heartstone Thief
Pippa DaCosta
Copyright © 2017 Pippa DaCosta
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
* * *
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictions and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
* * *
www.pippadacosta.com
The Heartstone Thief
In the City of Brea, thieves and sorceresses do not mix.
When Curtis Vance—professional thief—stumbles into a sorceress’s trap, he’d prefer to kill her than help her. Now bound to the insane sorceress, his only escape (and chance to turn a profit) is to find the long forgotten Dragon Eye gem. Little does Vance know, the Dragon Eye holds more than the key to Vance’s freedom. The Eye could awaken a devastating power—a worldkiller bent on destruction, and Vance is all that stands in its way.
Part I
“Where once there were dragons there remains the dance of starlight. Look to the whisper in the wind, the stirring below still waters, and the rise of ocean waves. Only the realm of man remains, where once there were dragons.”
~ Anonymous carving, Ruins of Arach.
Chapter One
Had I not been drunk, I would have run from the woman who appeared in the alley like a phantom. It would have been the wise thing to do, but as I couldn’t claim to be wise, and I was most definitely intoxicated, I laughed instead. My sharp bark rattled down the narrow gap between overhanging houses and deep into the Brea City night. She didn’t smile, the woman. Didn’t even blink. Only her fingers twitched, hovering over the jeweled daggers sheathed against her thighs.
“Did Lyn send you?” My voice carried far, until the slumbering city noises devoured that too.
Dressed like she was, in dark leathers as though the night itself embraced her curves, she had to be an assassin. Her eyes absorbed the light. No sparkle, just hard, penetrating darkness. The city guards had daggers like hers, but she was no guard, not here among the stench of the docks and the shit-soaked alleys.
“I said I’d pay him. I’ve just been down on my luck lately.” The alley tilted, and I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. That last draft of beer had been a bad idea.
There were two ways this could go. She could kill me, which wouldn’t be difficult considering I could barely stand. Or I could hand over my bag as payment to whomever had paid her to track me down. Scratch that—three ways. She could kill me and take the bag. It’s what I would do.
I slumped a shoulder against the wall, dislodging red-brick dust that settled like ashes around my boots. I probably should have started begging for my life. I lifted my gaze and found her several steps closer, or perhaps she’d always been standing close enough to touch and I was too drunk to notice. A jewel—no bigger than a tear and inset high on her cheek—captured the subdued Brean light. Emerald, I assumed, such was the greenish color. I’d never seen anyone wear a jewel this way, as though it was part of her.
Her fingers twitched again. I groped inside my coat, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there. Ah, yes. I’d used it as payment for entertainment of the female variety. Tonight really hadn’t been the night to give away my dagger, worthless as it was.
The assassin dipped her gaze to where my coat hid my hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I slurred and tacked on a smile. If I couldn’t use a dagger, I’d have to use my wits. I’d been told they were just as sharp.
Slowly and methodically, her gaze crawled back up to my face. “Remove your bag.”
Shit. With a crisp, clean accent like that, she had to be highborn. Not from Brea, but close enough to speak the language. What in the Halls of Arach was a highborn doing stalking alleys, dressed like death on legs? Some very fine legs, they went all the way up to parts designed to distract even the most honest of men, of which I wasn’t.
“Are you a simpleton, sir?”
“No,” I grunted. “And I ain’t a sir either.”
“Then remove your bag.” She had ice in her voice, and her eyes too. Cold, bitter, unforgiving ice.
Clearly, she didn’t believe I was armed or that I could hurt her. I shrugged the large leather bag off my shoulder and set it down on the cobbles between us. If I could keep her talking, there was a chance someone might come by and distract her so I could run.
“Open it.”
I scratched at my cheek. “There’s very little here worth your time—”
She cocked her head, the gesture as sharp as her voice. “Do you know what I seek?”
“Well, no.”
“Then do as I command, thief.”
Command. Definitely highborn. And she’d pegged me as a thief. To know that, she must have followed me or asked after my name in certain circles. This was personal.
I slid my back down the wall, keeping her firmly in my sights, and pulled open the bag. I didn’t need to look to know there was only one item inside: a tarnished bronze cup. It wasn’t much, and it certainly didn’t look to be worth anywhere near the thousand rubies my client had promised in exchange for its procurement. “See … nothing of worth.”
She leaned forward, careful not to get too close in case she caught poor off me. She peered inside the bag. Only the smallest flicker slipped into her gaze, but I caught it. This cup meant something to her.
“Maybe we can do a deal?” I asked.
She straightened and narrowed her eyes. Given how quickly and silently she moved, she could likely pluck one of those bejeweled daggers free and fling it at my chest before I could plead my innocence.
“You don’t kill me, and I’ll tell you who hired me to steal it?”
The smile that slid across her lips was a wicked, hungry thing, and all the uglier against the smooth beauty of her face. “Do you carry water?”
“Yes?”
“Pour some in th
e cup.”
“I er … I’m—”
Her hand settled on the hilt of her dagger. She was clearly mentally unsound, but at least she wasn’t gutting me—yet. I untied my water pouch from my belt and poured a little water into the cup, spilling most of it on the cobblestones. I’d done some odd things since escaping the workhouse—the night I dressed as a whore to gain entry into a well-to-doer’s house came to mind—but crouching in a back alley, pouring water for some noblewoman who thought she could play assassin to stave off boredom was an entirely new experience.
“Drink from the cup,” she drawled, rolling the words around her tongue as though savoring a fine wine.
I took a breath to ask why but already knew she wouldn’t let me leave this alley until it was done. I picked up the cup.
“Stand.”
“Please?”
She looked down at me as if she’d prefer to grind me into the cobbles beneath her boot heel.
Fine. Get it done and chalk this up to life experience. With a sigh, I got to my feet and gave her a short bow. “Is this to your liking, your princessness?”
“Drink, thief.”
“Your wish is my command.” I lifted the filthy cup, tipped it to acknowledge her haughtiness, then drank the contents down in one gulp—and immediately retched it back up. Not water!
The cup slipped from my hand as what felt like acid bubbled up my insides. Fire and ice burned and numbed my guts, my chest, my throat, doubling me over in agony. My insides heaved, and I vomited a night’s worth of drinking at the assassin’s feet.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 44
