Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  I took a drink of my ale and studied her face in profile. A small frown tugged the corners of her lips down, hinting at the ghost of sadness. She’d hidden it in the alley, when she poisoned me, but she didn’t hide it now or when she looked at the cup. When she wasn’t sneering, or barking commands, or glowering, there was a natural beauty in how her soft lips contrasted with her high, sharp cheekbones; a touch of color kissed her smooth cheeks, and those eyes … She had used kohl to darken her eyes in a smooth, accentuating line, in the style some eastern women were fond of. The look was subtle and most Brean women did not wear it. She wasn’t from Brea, that much was clear.

  “Are you finished staring?”

  “Maybe you should smile once in a while.”

  “What is there to smile about?” She arched a brow. “Mm, thief?”

  I shrugged. “We’re alive.”

  She didn’t look pleased. “This place, these people …” She shifted in her seat to face me. “It is not what I expected.”

  “Like many ugly things, Brea looks pretty from a distance,” I said.

  That delicate hint of sadness returned, and this time it reached her eyes before she blinked and banished it. What could she possibly be sad about? Certainly not the man she’d killed.

  “Forgive me for asking, but why is someone of your stature stalking Brean docks and alleys for unfortunate thieves to bully into your bizarre fantasy?”

  “I didn’t seek you out. You found me.”

  “That’s not how I remember it, although I was exceedingly drunk at the time.”

  “I was bound to the cup, same as I am now bound to you. You touched the cup and roused me.”

  “I roused you by touching the cup?” If my incredulous tone hadn’t given away my disbelief, then my frown would have. What she described wasn’t possible. Besides, I’d worn gloves the entire time I’d handled it, as the client had stipulated. “The first time I held the cup was when you asked me to drink from it.”

  “Then you were unaware of the touch, because the only way I could have been woken is by touch. A touch by someone worthy. Although, perhaps in that you are correct. I can’t imagine how you are worthy enough.”

  I smiled into my drink. “Social etiquette isn’t your strong point, is it?”

  “I am not yet whole. I need your strength and your life to help fully revive me.”

  “Revive you? Are you telling me you were somehow”—I gestured with my hands, encompassing a circle, or trying to—“inside the cup?”

  “I, my essence, my being—call it what you will—was hidden inside the cup, yes.”

  I’d have laughed like I had in the alley, but her face was stone cold serious. Perhaps my fingers truly had sailed through her arm when I tried grabbing her in the alley? No, because that would make her tale real. And if her tale was real, then so was magic. And if magic was real, then everything I knew, everything I’d been told since I was old enough to listen, was a lie. And if everything was a lie, then I’d watched my parents burn for that lie while my sister had screamed at me to do something. Anything. Magic wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. If it was, then that would make me a killer.

  I braced my arm on the tabletop and bowed my head, fighting against the tattered memories. I caught a hint of wood smoke from the fireplace and the memories surged again. Burning human flesh. Despite the years, I remembered precisely how their skin had blistered and sizzled. I pinched the bridge of my nose, breathed in the stale-ale smell of the inn, and took a generous drink to chase away the past.

  “Thief?”

  “Yes?” Her unforgiving glare was enough to ground me back in the present. “So, in this fantasy of yours, we are bound,” I said, “so that you may gain strength, as a sorceress of sorts?” I wore my smile easily enough and my voice held very little trace of the self-loathing trying to drag me down into despair. I’d been there before. “If you’re a sorceress of sorts, why can’t you just magic”—I tickled the air with my fingers—“those creatures away?”

  She sighed and teased a fingertip around the top of her tankard of ale. “I am very weak. And the mages, they are … they are far stronger than I am.” She flicked her gaze to me and caught my smile before I could hide it. “You don’t believe me. I understand. There is precious little magic here. I feel its absence the same as you must feel the absence of the sun at night. But there is a simple way I can prove our bond. You merely have to walk away and the bond will tighten the farther you go. When you’ve walked too far, you’ll suffer as you did in the market.”

  I wasn’t leaving the inn in the middle of the night so I could get robbed on the street and be left for dead in a gutter, probably by her. I smiled. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “Your lack of belief puts us both in danger.” Firelight warmed half her face. Shadows darkened the other half.

  “Princess, you put us both in danger.”

  “Do not call me princess.”

  “Don’t call me thief.”

  “That is what you are.”

  “My name is Curtis Vance.” I picked up my drink and leaned back in the chair. “A thief is not all I am.”

  “I have yet to see evidence of anything else.”

  And she thought I had to prove myself to her because…?

  “How do we part ways, then?” I gestured between us. “How do we break this suffocating magical bond that neither of us wants?”

  She hesitated and wet her lips. “It cannot be broken. Once two people are bonded, it is a permanent link.”

  “Permanent?” My voice pitched high. I coughed, clearing the squeak. “As in forever?”

  “Until I am whole again. But there is a way to hasten the process.”

  Thank the restless gods for the “but,” because a lifetime with her as my shadow would have driven me as insane as she appeared. Was insanity contagious?

  I shifted my chair back and considered refilling my tankard. “And that way is…?”

  “We must find the jewel before the mages do.”

  “Ah, the jewel. I wondered when you were going to mention this jewel the mage asked after. Is it valuable, this jewel?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, thief. It is precious to certain individuals. And if you want to be free of me, we had better find it.”

  Well, this conversation was getting a whole lot more interesting. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Yes.” She gave me a look that made it clear she wasn’t about to tell me exactly where and how to find the jewel. Anyone would think she didn’t find me trustworthy.

  “Wonderful. We find the jewel, you perform your magical doo-dah, and we part company.”

  And still she refused to smile. “Indeed.”

  Maybe if she had a few tankards of ale, she’d loosen up, but I doubted it. She was likely an angry drunk, and after seeing what she was capable of when not angry, that was something I didn’t want to witness. What in the four kingdoms would she be like furious? “Where and what is this jewel? Exactly now. Do not skimp on the details. Details can make or break a job.”

  She eased her hood back and leaned forward, briefly glancing at our uninterested drinking companions several tables over. “How long has magic been vanquished from these lands?” she asked, avoiding my question.

  “This is a trick question?” She raised her brow, so clearly not. “There has never been magic. It’s fantasy and fairy tales. Children’s stories.”

  “How do you know this is true?” Her voice was little more than an intimate whisper.

  “Reality is what you see, princess. Do you see any magic in this inn? No, you see weary men and women working all the daylight hours there are to fill their bellies and feed their children. You see thieves and conmen, whores and beggars. An innkeeper who waters down the soup and bulks out bread with chalk. He’ll serve the leftovers to the next paying guest. You see people who are afraid to travel at night for fear of robbers, rapists, or worse. Do you see magic in any of that? Was there magic in the hallway of my home, wh
ere a boy had his guts torn out?” I paused and swallowed the bitter taste of anger. “There is no magic in the city of Brea, or in the moor town of Calwyton, or in the Draynes valleys, or anywhere in the entire realm of Ellenglaze. It doesn’t, never has, and never will exist.”

  She regarded me as though waiting for me to continue, but what else was there to say?

  Her gaze softened and genuine confusion muddied her expression. “Why does the notion that magic is real anger you so?”

  I worked my lips around a sneer and pinched them together. My anger was none of her business, and I didn’t need her picking at old scabs because she wanted me to believe her madness. I stood, knocking the table and spilling our drinks. A few patrons glanced our way.

  “We’ll set out for this jewel in the morning,” I said without looking at her. I already knew what her disapproving frown looked like. Scooping up my empty tankard, I left the table and headed for the bar. I didn’t need to know the details. The less I knew about her, the better. We’d find this jewel and go our separate ways. I just hoped the trail of destruction following the sorceress had ended.

  Chapter Four

  The sounds of slamming doors and rattling locks echoed inside my thoughts and dreams. A quick glance about the unfamiliar room confirmed I wasn’t sprawled on the wooden pallet in the workhouse, but on a wool-stuffed mattress in the Eastside District inn. Heaving my body upright, I planted my feet over the side of the bed and buried my face in my hands. My heart still raced, as it always did when I woke from the nightmares. It could have been worse; I could have woken and still been locked inside that place where nightmares roamed the halls.

  “Are you unwell?”

  By the gods, the self-proclaimed sorceress was still here. I’d missed her when I’d glanced about the room, but that was no surprise. She had a talent for dissolving into shadows. Maybe it was magic? I chuckled.

  “You haven’t asked my name,” she said.

  “That’s because I don’t care to know it.”

  I dragged my hands down my face and looked up. Sure enough, she leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed over her chest. She’d let her silken black hair down and gathered it all over one shoulder, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. How was it possible for her to appear so flawless after everything we had been through, while I no doubt resembled a vagrant, and stank like one too?

  “Did you sleep?” I growled, voice as rough as stone. I rubbed a hand across my stubbled chin. I was long overdue for a shave and a bath.

  “Yes, Curtis.”

  I flinched at her use of my first name. “Just Vance. Nobody calls me Curtis. Not no more.”

  I couldn’t imagine where she’d slept. I had passed out on the bed before she returned to the room.

  I stood, stretched, and made my way to the washroom, with her eyes on me the entire time. I might have found her crawling gaze unsettling, but after spending a few hours in her company, I let her glare slide right off. She could watch all she liked.

  I filled the basin with water and splashed my face, washing off the vestiges of a restless night’s sleep. The gems I’d spent on the room had ensured the inn was equipped with the basics, so I set about lathering my face with soap and attempted to shave while the sorceress’s reflection watched. Occasionally, I flicked my gaze to her, but she didn’t move, just looked in that penetrating way she did. She had to blink, but if she did, she did so rarely.

  “Where did you learn to kill?” I asked, scraping the straight razor down my cheek.

  “It’s how I was raised.”

  “To kill?”

  “Yes.”

  Not a flinch or a flicker undermined her reply. I believed her. “You’re not from Brea, are you?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re not highborn, despite the accent?”

  “I acquired the accent by listening to those around me.”

  “So you were raised among the highborn?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She didn’t want to tell me, and I was fine with that. The less I knew about her past, the better. Now that we had struck a deal to find the jewel, this was strictly business.

  “What of you, thief? There are traces of Brea Inner Circle in your accent.”

  I ignored her question and concentrated on pulling the blade over my chin to hide the surge of alarm fluttering in my heart. I’d thought life on the streets had worn away my old accent. Not a single person had called me out on it in the three years I’d survived on the streets or the five in the workhouse before that. Had they known, had they heard it, they’d have shoved me back through the inner wall’s pearly gates, and not even to escape the workhouse would I go back there.

  “What kind of sorceress is raised a killer?” I asked.

  She pushed off the wall and strode forward to stand behind my right shoulder. Her lips curled in the smallest tease of a smile. “The dangerous kind.”

  My breath hitched. I lowered the straight blade, keeping my grip firmly on its handle. This close, I could smell her sweetness, like ginger lily with a leathery undertone that no doubt came from the warm leather of her assassin garb. She tilted her head and roamed her gaze over my neck and face. My heart quickened as my instincts heightened. She had cut the Brean gentleman’s throat without hesitating, but she needed me—if what she said about the bond was true—so she wouldn’t harm me. When we severed this bond and she was done with me, she could easily plant her remaining jewel-speckled dagger in my back or slit my throat like she had my unfortunate client. Unlike him, I would be waiting for it.

  “Do I frighten you?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t like surprises.” Not an answer, but I didn’t need to speak the words for her to know the truth. “Thieves plan to avoid surprises. You are somewhat unpredictable.”

  “When you are done, thief, we shall leave for Arach.”

  “Arach?”

  She leaned in close enough to startle me. If I turned my head, we’d be close enough to kiss. Considering what I’d seen of her so far, her kisses were likely poisonous. Although if she kissed with the same focus as she killed, it might be worth it. At the thought, a measure of icy fear turned into raw heat and stirred low, stoking lust at entirely the wrong moment. She’d probably tear my throat out if I tried anything. I gripped the basin and watched her reflection as she breathed in deep through her nose. Her eyes half closed. She blinked, met my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror, veered out of the washroom, her long hair rippling down her back.

  “Arach …” I mumbled, tapping out the straight razor in the water. “There’s nothing in Arach but ghosts.”

  When I lifted the blade to finish shaving, my hand trembled.

  Arach was a five-day trek from Brea, on horseback through the Draynes valley. And I was about to attempt it with a crazy woman who’d just looked at me as though I might be her next meal.

  If I truly didn’t believe her, then what was stopping me from walking away?

  I finished shaving, dried off, collected my coat, and headed for the door. The sorceress had suggested I leave. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain in testing this bond of hers. All I had to do was walk away.

  I made it as far as the plaza.

  Sunlight glinted off the carved marble dragon statues set at the four corners of the city plaza and sliced through the fountain waters, straight into my skull. Every step grew heavier and every breath harder, until I had to sit on a bench and focus on breathing like an old man running out of time. I refused to believe this was her doing. Maybe it was anxiety or a heart condition—anything but some ridiculous magical bond.

  I bowed forward, braced my elbows on my knees, and threaded my fingers through my hair. It’s not real. She’s not a sorceress. I didn’t wake her from the cup. And those things, those horrid creatures, they aren’t mages.

  “You’ll die a coward, Curtis. But I won’t be there to see it. Don’t make the wrong choices, brother.” My sister’s dying words drove the final nail home. It woul
d be braver to admit I was wrong and the sorceress was right. To believe her. And to face the consequences.

  I lifted my gaze to where the great spire cut into the sky and squinted into sun.

  “She will challenge all that you know. It is far better to live in ignorance, do you not think?”

  I had paid no mind to the old man seated beside me. Plenty of people milled about the plaza, but now that he’d spoken, I shielded my eyes and looked closer. I would have thought him a beggar, dressed as he was in layers of rags that must have been baking him in this heat, but the decorative walking cane he clutched in his gnarled right hand spoke of wealth. The stick reminded me of the dead Brean gentleman’s.

  “Who are you?” I rasped around aching lungs.

  He slapped his lips together and rolled his wide, red-rimmed eyes back to me. “Do you feel better?”

  I touched my chest and breathed in, lifting some of the lightheadedness away. “Some.”

  “Then she is coming, and I must go.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he planted both hands on the top of his cane and lifted his face to the sun.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Who are you?”

  “She is not for the likes of you, thief.”

  I might have laughed if I’d had the strength. Did I have thief branded on my forehead? “Have we met?”

  “She is dangerous, young thief. You think you know her, but you can no more know her than a man can know the stars, or the wind, or the ocean’s depths. Do you think to steal her heart, thief?” He cackled and a nearby flock of pigeons took to the air. “No,” he drawled. “She is not for you.”

  Steal her heart? Gods, no. Besides, she didn’t have a heart to steal. Sweat trickled down my back. My heart thudded hard, from the heat pulling on me and the old man’s words. “I don’t—”

  “Do not deny it,” he snapped, spittle flying.