by PJ Friel
A Twist of Wyrd
PJ FRIEL
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, PJ Friel.
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © 2018 PJ Friel
Edited by Rita Roberts
Published in 2018 by PJ Friel in the United States of America
DEDICATION
For the three best teachers in the world—Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Donato, and Mr. Hever. You unlocked worlds for me and encouraged me to create my own. I am forever in your debt.
For my son Eddie. Thank you for putting up with me, kiddo. I know it hasn’t been easy having a mother whose head is in the clouds, but you handle it well. You are the best son in the world and I don’t deserve you, but I’m blessed to be your mom. Love you!
And for Michael. If there’s really a Valhalla, then I’ll see you again, babe. I just hope that Odin was wise enough not to give you anything pointy...for your own safety.
CHAPTER 1
BRYN
Six humans walked into a coffee shop.
Sounded like the start of a joke.
But laughing hadn’t put this knot in my belly and comedy wasn’t how I paid my bills.
I rolled my shoulders and positioned myself between my best friend Desiree and the new additions to Kono Koffee’s never-ending line of customers.
Two men, four women.
Casually, I assessed them. No suspicious bulges under the men’s suit jackets. The women were in clothes too form fitting to hide a concealed weapon, unlike me. No twitchy body movements from any of them. No menacing crackles inside the green auras that surrounded their bodies, just lazy swirls of energy.
In theory, if law enforcement had my aura-reading ability they could nab offenders before they even committed a crime. The reality would probably be more disastrous, something along the lines of that sci-fi movie with the three crime predicting pre-cogs who spent all their time floating in a pool.
One by one, I made eye contact with the newcomers—fleeting and non-threatening. The hangman’s noose in my stomach eased.
“All clear,” I murmured over my shoulder.
Dezi sighed. “Calm your tits, Ms. Paranoia.”
I bit my tongue over the nickname and let the smell of coffee and baked goods sweet-talk me while I scanned the shop. My bestie, per usual, seemed oblivious to all the possible dangers. Sometimes, I wished I was.
By the front door, a couch and two chairs created what an interior designer would call a quaint conversation corner. To me, it was a kill box. Where people go to die, possibly of boredom, depending on the company one keeps.
A guy with a man bun and two women currently occupied the couch. His glazed-over eyes begged me to call 911.
Sorry, buddy.
Between the chatty death corner and the service area ran a long countertop with barstool seating. Also known as the target practice seats. Facing the wall like that, you’d never see it coming. Both good and bad, depending upon your point of view. Personally, I’d sooner join ManBun in the box.
The only decent seating, in my opinion, was the cluster of six tables along the right wall of the shop. From the moment we’d walked in the door, that area had been on my radar. A single round table had just opened up.
“Hey Dez, I’m gonna—“
“Go get the table closest to the emergency exit.” Dezi hooked a manicured thumb to the right.
“Yeah.”
Tennis shoes squeaked behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A yoga-pants-wearing woman in line with a quad of clones narrowed her eyes at me. She broke off from her pack, moving fast.
Her target?
My table.
Heck no.
I was already moving to intercept Yoga Clone. Just needed to give Dezi my order. “Order me a—”
“Double chocolate chip muffin and a small mocha frap.”
She thought she knew me so well. “A large.”
Dezi arched a perfectly plucked brow.
I winked, and then vaulted over the rope separating the service line from the seating.
Yoga Clone spotted me. The lazy swirl of her green aura sparked. Her lips flattened.
Oh, it was on.
I dashed.
She power walked.
No joy for her. My butt cheeks slid into the winner’s circle chair. I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Better luck next time.”
Yoga Clone’s nostrils flared. “I saw this table first.” She loomed over me and tried to look intimidating.
Adorable.
I held her stare.
“Blonde bitch.” She flounced away, the little swoosh logo on her thigh bouncing.
“Just do it.” I shifted and settled back against the wall so Dezi was in my sights.
A few moments later, my bestie joined me with our order. “Quite the victory.”
“Meh. I was going to sweep her feet, but...” I scrunched up my nose. “Police reports.”
Dezi slid my mocha frap across the table.
I stuffed a whipped-cream-covered finger into my mouth and moaned. Sweet, creamy, and worth the extra miles I’d have to run tomorrow. “Anyway, so what? She found alternative seating.”
“In the kill box.”
I shrugged. “The police aren’t usually called to coffee shops for active shooter situations, so statistically, the odds are in her favor.”
“Yet, you refuse to sit there.”
“I’ll take precautionary planning over statistics any day of the week.” I pointed at the single muffin sitting in front of me. “There’s only one.”
“That’s all they had.”
I stuck my hand in the middle of the table, prepared to win the best two out of three Rock-Paper-Scissors.
Dezi flashed me a bright smile that never reached her eyes. “You can have it.”
The back of my neck prickled and I zeroed in on her aura. Lazy green swirls, like most of the humans in the shop, but that didn’t mean anything with my best friend. After years of being interrogated over minor stresses, she’d learned to calm and center herself around me.
“Are you pregnant?”
Her face screwed up, head rocking back on her neck. “Pft, no.”
Her aura didn’t even budge.
“Break up with Jace?”
“Nuh uh. He’s at a gun show. Back in a couple of days.”
Hmm. Oh-Crap-ometer still pegged at zero.
“Getting married?”
“No.” Dezi stretched out the word and hit me with her Realtor smile. “Can’t I just take my best friend out for coffee and muffins after a hard day at work?” She pointed at my muffin. “If you don’t eat that, I’m going to.”
That’s what she said, but what I heard was, “Want some manipulation with your muffin? A little coercion with your coffee?”
I let her go, though, and spent the next twenty minutes listening to a rundown of the latest season of some fashion show she insisted I should binge watch this weekend. She and I both knew I’d rather gouge my eyes out than watch reality TV.
“Need another frap?” Dezi pushed back her chair and waited for my answer.
I blinked at her.
Dezi cleared her throat and gave me her are you listening to me look.
Answers were what I needed, not another frap. But did I have time for an interrogation? I glanced at my watch. Six o’clock. Two hours and sixteen minutes until the sun dipped beneath the h
orizon and I did battle with my nemesis—nyctophobia. My fear and I had been duking it out for the past nineteen years. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d kissed the canvas.
My ears rang and I shook my head. I needed to get home, surrounded by anything and everything that produced illumination.
“B, do you need another frappuccino or not?”
I did the math. Ten minutes in line to get the additional fraps, another twenty minutes’ worth of chitchat. Then, because Dezi drove like a granny, it would be another fifteen minutes back to my office to get my motorcycle before I could zoom up the highway and lock down my place. Add twenty minutes for that.
If I encountered a traffic jam on the way home, I’d be a twitchy finger on a hair trigger as the sun set. Dezi knew this. She even called me a reverse vampire.
I preferred the term anti-vamp.
Dezi’s phone pinged. She glanced at it and her aura sparked.
“Jace?”
She shook her head. “Work.”
Bingo.
I smiled at my best friend as I popped the last morsel of double chocolate muffiny goodness into my mouth. “So, how is work?”
Her aura blazed like she’d hit the nitro button.
I leaned forward.
Dezi seemed to find her fingernails fascinating. “It’s fine.”
“What’s the number one rule of Bestie Club?”
She picked at her cuticle.
Our number one rule?
No lying.
Ever.
She peeked up at me, smoky eyelids opened wide. Her white teeth gnawed on her bottom lip.
I stared, body in neutral, while my heart revved and my palms slicked. Experience told me that if I let silence fill the gulf between us, she’d spill like a dump truck.
Dezi sprang out of her chair and hooked a thumb towards the counter. “I’ma go get a frap for the road. Sure you don’t want one, bestie?”
Blink. Blink. “You only call me that when you’re in deep crap.”
Dezi teetered on her stilettos and twisted her hands in front of her, but didn’t move from our table.
I was the vulture. Looming. Waiting.
“Speak now or forever hold yourself,” she said.
The end was nigh.
“Okay, look.” She plopped back down in her chair.
I propped my elbows on the table, chin resting on my linked fingers. “Yes, bestie?”
Her gaze flicked to the windows then back to me. The entire time her fingers rubbed her little keychain rosary. Was she actually saying Hail Marys? Dezi hadn’t been to a church service in years.
“Bryn, I need a favor.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“Jace is out of town for the next few days.”
“Right. Gun show.”
“I need someone to go with me to show a building to a client. The neighborhood is really shady and I don’t want to go by myself. I was wondering...”
“If I’d go with you?”
“Mhmm.”
I flopped bonelessly back into my chair. “So, you need a bodyguard.”
“Yeah. It’s at a warehouse, though.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. What did you think I was going to say?”
“Geez. With all your twitching around, I thought you were going to tell me you were sick or something.”
“No. I’m fine.” She shook her head and grinned. “I just didn’t think you’d take this so well.”
“Who’s the client?”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “You remember last week when you came to the office to take me out to lunch and a client was just leaving?”
“Caucasian male, six and a half feet tall, weight approximately two fifty, short black hair, goatee, amber eyes. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat.”
“Yeah, that guy.”
“No. I don’t remember him at all.”
Dezi gave me The Look.
I gave it back.
Leaning closer, she whispered, “The one you said was an—”
“I know what I said and I know what he is.”
An Outlander.
I interrupted her, not because anyone in the coffee shop would know what that word really meant, but because I didn’t want to hear about Outlanders. I didn’t want to talk to Outlanders. I didn’t want to see Outlanders.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice about that last one. Their auras gave them away. I couldn’t escape them. Visitors from other realms were trapped here on this planet and very few humans even knew they existed. Lucky me. I got the memo.
I clenched my fists. “Why would you agree to take him on as a client after I told you what he was?”
Several people glanced our way.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay, but if it’s going to upset you, you don’t have to come with me. Really.”
If my eyes were lasers my best friend would be ash. “You know I’d never leave you alone in a bad neighborhood, especially with one of them.”
“One of them?” Dezi glared at me. “Seriously?”
She hated it that I painted an entire group of people with the same bloody brush. People judged her based on the color of her skin every day and I’d seen how much it hurt her. I knew the damage that kind of closed-mindedness could do.
Heat flushed my cheeks and I cringed. “I’m sorry. I just...” I shook my head.
“You’ve gotta let go of the past, Bryn.”
Logically, I completely agreed with her. However, the scars covering my stomach and the terror I felt every time the sun dipped below the horizon told me that being extra cautious about Outlanders was the right decision. They had their own agendas. And those agendas hurt humans.
Adult logic versus emotional landmines.
Fun times.
“Hey.” Warm fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed. “You’ll get there.”
She was letting me off the hook even if I didn’t deserve it. “I want to come with you. Tell me more about the guy.”
“Well, the best thing about him is that he’s motivated. He already has one nightclub opening up in a few weeks and he wants to build another one ASAP.”
“That’s really good...uh. For business.” I forced my lips to smile. “What’s his name anyway?”
She sat up super straight and looked down her nose at me. “Demarion Gilad Hinterland, but please call him DG.” She cracked up. “He’s the only son of Mordechai Hinterland.”
I froze at the name. “Mordechai Hinterland...the guy who owns the fancy theater and nightclub in Northfield.”
“That’s the one.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Of course he is. Mordechai Hinterland has his fingers in everything and is worth millions.”
He was also a power player in northeast Ohio and the head of an Outlander mob. He’d never been arrested or charged with a crime, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dirty.
This was a disaster.
“I stalked DG’s Twitter and Facebook. He seems okay. Upstanding member of the community. No skeletons that I could find.”
“Yeah, because he’s going to post a graveside selfie of himself and whoever he just murdered.”
“Bryn! Oh, my god. Just because he’s...you know...doesn’t mean that—”
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to me, growled into her ear. “He’s a mob boss.”
Dezi jerked back and her brow furrowed. “DG?”
“No, his father. You need to cancel that appointment. Hand it off to someone else.”
Her aura went nuclear. “I can’t.”
My pulse throbbed and I slapped my palm against the table. “Yes, you can.”
She wilted in her seat. “He’s expecting to see me at seven.”
“Tonight?”
Dezi nodded.
My gaze locked onto the darkening sky and I whispered, “I don’t understand. You know I can’t.”
“I thought y
ou understood it was tonight.”
“No. Doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have a choice. He called my boss and specifically scheduled tonight. I can’t piss off my boss and a mobster.”
Acid burned the back of my throat. No. That was the last thing I wanted. I’d heard a story or two about people disappearing after “disrespecting” Hinterland. Sure, they might be tall tales, but was I willing to take that chance with Dezi’s life?
“It’s fine. I’ll go.”
“Bryn, it’ll be dark before you get home.”
I shrugged.
“Are you sure about this?”
No. God, no.
“Because if you’re not sure, I understand. And they might be...you know...mobsters, but they’re businessmen, too. It’ll be okay.”
And that was the main difference between Dezi and me. She was sure that people were reasonable and everyone could walk away a winner. I was just as sure that if it meant getting what they wanted, those same people would thrust a shiv in your back and dump you in a lake somewhere.
I forced myself to spit out words. “We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, B.” Dezi grinned. “If I actually sell this, my boss is gonna shit kittens.”
“Yeah. It’ll be great.” I pulled my shaking hands into my lap. “We need to stop by my office before we go. Okay?”
I needed more ammo.
“Sure. No problem. I’m going to the little girls’ room real quick.”
“I’ll be at the car.”
Poop-covered kittens. Awesome reward. I’d just be happy if we both walked away from this sane and unscathed.
Pain seared my stomach and I massaged the rigid scars underneath my shirt, a reminder of the last time I’d found myself inside a dark warehouse with an Outlander.
I needed to get away before I lost it. Maybe Dezi had a straightjacket in her SUV I could curl up in.
I crossed the shop and reached for the door. A tiny wisp of a woman yanked it open from the other side. Surrounding her was a shimmering glow that only I and other Outlanders from her realm could see. The blazing red of a Fire Elemental. She was from Muspelheim.
My entire body tensed, fists curling at my side.
She pressed a hand to her chest and laughed. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
