by Lisa Edmonds
Heart of Ice
Lisa Edmonds
HEART OF ICE
By
Lisa Edmonds
Copyright © 2018 Lisa Edmonds
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Edited by Heather McCorkle.
Cover Design by Mibl Art and Tina Moss.
All stock photos licensed appropriately.
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Published in the United States by City Owl Press.
www.cityowlpress.com
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For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.
To Jennifer White, friend and boxer, who is a real, honest-to-goodness superhero;
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To Amy Hopper, who makes magic with ink and paint;
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To my father, who loved gardening;
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And to Bill, for all the love and laughs.
Praise for Lisa Edmonds
“Edmonds’s prose is energetic... Alice is both spunky and self-deprecating, with incredibly advanced magical powers... There is promise in Edmonds’s melding of the supernatural and the everyday.” — Publishers Weekly
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“Alice is a pretty badass heroine who has potential to be one of my favorite in the genre. She takes a beating, heals herself, and goes back into the fray. The plot is fast-paced and revolves around an excellent magical mystery with earth shattering consequences should something go askew. I loved Alice's backstory and learning how this world works. I look forward to seeing what is in store for Alice in the next book.”— All Things Urban Fantasy
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“Edmonds’s suspenseful second urban fantasy novel is just as action-packed and entertaining as the first... Edmonds has an eye for both detail and entertaining characters, and her story is fun and energetic... Readers will enjoy this installment and look forward to more in the continuing saga of Alice Worth.” — Publishers Weekly
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“What a cracking read...ages since I read a new fantasy story that's gripped me like this, that I so enjoyed. It’s up there with my favourite reads and I hope Lisa is hard at work with the next book.” — Jeannie Zelos Book Reviews
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“There is NOTHING better than finding a fantastic new paranormal series. Lisa Edmonds has started a series that grabbed and held my attention...Heart of Malice successfully shows me the new world as it’s experienced. With a little info here…and a little info there, I wasn’t bombarded all at once and I got to see it all live and in action.”— Stacey is Sassy
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“Add everything together, great writing, great characters, interesting pasts, and great plotting, I can’t wait to read more! Highly recommend!” — Librarian, Penny Noble
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“A nice mystery wrapped up in suspense and a few hotties to top it off! A perfect way to describe Heart of Fire—a paranormal romance with a set of characters that pull the reader into the story.” — InD’tale, Jacey Lee
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“Lisa Edmonds has made an instant fan of me. I look forward to reading the next case that requires Alice’s special set of skills.” — The Reading Cafe
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“The Alice Worth series quickly turned into a must-read series for me. As soon as you think you have a handle on what she can do, another level of power is revealed. She truly is a bad-ass and it’s amazing to witness what she can do. As with book one, I didn’t want to stop reading when the book ended. I look forward to seeing what book three will bring to the table.” — Urban Fantasy Investigations
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“Alice is the type of Heroine I live to read about and scour the net looking for others of her ilk. Tough, no-nonsense, a bit damaged, yet so real and full of compassion and needing love yet afraid of it when it finds them. Edmonds can’t get book three out fast enough as far as I am concerned.” — Boundless Book Reviews
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“10 New Urban Fantasy Series You Need to Read: Alice Worth is a Mage Private Investigator with a ghost sidekick and some really cool magic. She can conjure a cold fire whip! There are vampires and werewolves and all our favorite old school UF elements. I wish more people were talking about this series.” — Vampire Book Club
Author’s Note
Don’t miss the first book of the Alice Worth novels with HEART OF MALICE.
Meet Alice.
Private Investigator of the Supernatural.
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The first time Moses Murphy’s granddaughter killed on his orders, she was six years old.
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For twenty years, she was a prisoner of an organized crime syndicate, forced to use her magic to make Moses the most powerful and feared man on the East Coast. To escape his cruelty, she faked her own death and started a new life as Alice Worth. As a private investigator specializing in cases involving the supernatural, Alice walks a precarious line between atoning for the sins of her grandfather’s cabal and keeping her true identity hidden.
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Hired to investigate the disappearance of a mysterious object of power, Alice enlists the help of Malcolm, a ghost running from a past as nightmarish as her own. It soon becomes clear the missing object was taken by someone with a dangerous secret and an unknown agenda. When her client is kidnapped, Alice must find her and the object of power before a vengeful killer destroys the city and slaughters thousands—starting with Alice.
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BUY NOW!
The Alice Worth Series
By Lisa Edmonds
Heart of Malice
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Just For One Night (Short Story)
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Blood Money (Novella)
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Heart of Fire
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Heart of Ice
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
ALICE WORTH SNEAK PEEK: BOOK 4
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Publisher
Additional Titles
1
As a private investigator, I’d pretended to be a lot of different people: a sex worker, a door-to-door doughnut salesperson, a tarot card reader. Hell, I’d once posed as a member of the Russian mob. This role, however, was by far the most difficult I’d ever had to play.
“It’s not just the fangheads who have to die, you know.” Mike Robinson, aspiring terrorist, leaned forward in eagerness. “It’s mages and shifters too, and everyone who stands with them. If we’re ever going to be free, we have to exterminate them all. This wo
rld was meant for humans, not creatures like that.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
We eyed each other across his living room. Robinson was the leader of the group and the host for this meeting. The manager of a quarry thirty miles from the city, he was in his late forties and heavyset, a widower with no children and a lot of pent-up rage. He and I sat opposite each other in armchairs.
I crossed my legs and settled back. “We all want a human future, but it won’t be easy and it won’t happen overnight. We have to plan five steps ahead and think big-picture. That’s why groups like the one I represent are always on the lookout for the kind of people who are truly committed to not just winning one battle here or there, but to winning the war.”
“We are committed,” Robinson assured me.
I studied the faces of the others in the room. On the sofa sat Andrew Davis and his kid brother Corey. Andrew, an A/V installation tech by day, was the group’s self-described “gadget guy.” He’d met Robinson in a support group for people who’d lost a loved one to a vampire attack. Unlike Robinson’s wife Samantha, who’d died after being drained by a vamp, Andrew and Corey’s brother Luke had become a vampire. Drinking blood was worse than being dead, according to his human brothers. Corey, a mechanic, had tagged along to the meeting but been quiet. While Andrew was angry about his brother’s recent transition to vampire, Corey seemed to be grieving.
The fourth member of the group stood off to the side, arms crossed, biceps bulging. He’d been standing for almost an hour without moving, expressionless and silent. Kent Stevens was a former Marine who worked at the quarry with Robinson. He’d shaken my hand when I arrived and then stationed himself near the doorway as a very large and ominous sentry. His brother had been killed by a vampire while Stevens was serving overseas in Afghanistan. If Mike Robinson and Andrew Davis’s anger was visible and red-hot, Stevens’s was ice-cold. For all Robinson’s talk of genocide, I was pretty sure Stevens was the real menace in this room.
No doubt my driver-slash-bodyguard agreed. He stood behind me, a silent sentinel in a suit. Though Robinson and the Davis brothers glanced at my companion constantly, Stevens watched me, as if sensing I was the bigger threat, despite the size of the man standing behind me and the fact I appeared to be unarmed. It was this perceptiveness as much as anything that made me wary of him.
“We’re ready to act,” Robinson said. “Give us a target, or we’ll find one on our own, but we want to do something. This city is the place where it starts, Ms. Day. This is where the revolution begins. People are angry after the harnad murders. They hate mages; they hate shifters. They’ve always hated fangheads. I heard local membership in Human rights organizations like yours is up by three hundred percent in the past two or three months. It’s the perfect time to declare war.”
I held up my hand. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mike, but as I said before, Human Future is cautious about making new affiliations. That’s what has kept this side of our organization under the radar for so long, while the public front supports laws and political candidates who share our vision of a supe-free future. After this meeting, I’ll go back and make my recommendations, and then we’ll decide whether to bring you into the network.”
Robinson drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “When can we expect a decision?”
“When the background checks are complete and we’ve had a chance to evaluate your prospects.” I regarded him. “You’re enthusiastic and driven. You have good leadership instincts, and I believe you have the potential to do well in an organization like ours.”
Robinson preened at my praise.
I glanced at the others. “The rest of you each bring skills to the table that would be useful, but so far, all I’ve heard is the same kind of big talk I read in the comments section on our website, or in the online forum where we first made contact with Andrew.” I raised my hands, palms up. “You claimed responsibility for quote, ‘the biggest attack on the fangheads,’ unquote, during the protests a month ago, but several groups have made that assertion. There were a half-dozen cases of arson, but none of them were what I’d call major attacks. For a city you argue is on the front line in the war, there doesn’t seem to be much going on.”
“We didn’t set any of those fires.” Robinson looked smug. “We bombed a business belonging to a member of the Vampire Court.”
Stevens’s eyes flicked to Robinson. I wondered if he was unhappy Robinson had told me that. Andrew crossed his arms, as if daring me to contradict their leader. Even Corey raised his chin defiantly.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re the third person who has told me they were responsible for that bombing.”
“Bullshit,” Robinson snapped, his face reddening as he pointed to the others. “Corey obtained the van we used, Stevens built the pipe bomb, and Andrew made the detonator.”
“And what did you do?” I asked, my tone skeptical.
“I chose the target and did the recon.” He crossed his arms. “The bar was closed, but the building was destroyed.”
I glanced at Stevens. “Why did you put ball bearings in the bomb?”
He remained impassive. “I didn’t. I used silver flechettes.”
That particular detail had certainly never been released to the public, but that question had tripped up others who had claimed responsibility. It would appear they were telling the truth.
I nodded slowly. “Perhaps we can find a place for you with our organization. Let me ask you this: if you had access to better weapons and better resources, what would your next target be?”
Robinson didn’t hesitate. “Northbourne Manor, the headquarters of the Vampire Court.”
My eyebrows went up. “That’s a big target.”
He smiled. “With the right people and the right weapons, it could be done. I want to be the one to do it.”
“I,” not “we,” I noticed. Interesting.
I rose. Robinson and the Davis brothers followed suit. I extended my hand to Robinson and he shook it. His palms were damp. “I’ll be in touch,” I told him. “Keep a low profile for now, until you hear from me. There are a lot of feds in town, thanks to the protests and the attacks on Darius Bell’s cabal. It’s a lot of heat. Not a good time to be careless.”
“We’re never careless,” Stevens said, with a note of finality in his voice that I didn’t particularly care for.
I picked up my briefcase and headed for the door, with my driver in front of me and Robinson right behind us.
The meeting had gone well―better than I’d hoped, really. I wasn’t home free yet, but thanks to the recording device in my briefcase, we had what we needed.
My escort reached for the doorknob.
And that’s when it all went to hell.
Several things happened pretty much simultaneously.
My escort stiffened and turned toward the living room just as the lights went out.
“What the—” I began.
Someone brushed past me, knocking me aside. An explosion went off behind me and the blast felt like a punch to the side of my head. Disoriented, I staggered as the world went blindingly white for a millisecond, then pitch-black.
Blinded, confused, and unable to hear over the ringing in my ears, I stumbled and reached toward where I thought my driver was standing, but my fingers encountered nothing but air.
Somewhere in the darkness there were indistinct voices and muffled pops like distant firecrackers that some part of my brain recognized as gunshots. Without warning, a white-hot fist punched me in the upper back near my shoulder. The impact spun me around and I went down with a shriek I couldn’t hear.
At first my left shoulder and arm were numb, and I wondered if someone had hit me with a pipe or a bat. Then the pain arrived and stole my breath. I curled up on my side and clutched the wound as hot blood pumped through my fingers. Apparently I’d been shot, but by whom?
I still couldn’t make sense of anything, but some of my vision was coming back. Indistinct
shapes moved around me in the dim light. The sounds of gunshots had ceased. I heard voices from beyond the buzzing in my ears, but they sounded like mwaaaa mwaa mwaaa mwaaaa-mwaaa mwaaa.
A very large shadow appeared above me. I tried to scramble away, but whoever it was had an iron grip on my leg. My earth magic spiraled out of my hand and I lashed out instinctively with my cold-fire whip.
I heard a grunt but the hand on my leg didn’t let go. A face swam in and out of focus above me and I felt a jolt of recognition, but what I thought I saw didn’t make any sense. Maybe I was concussed; my brain definitely felt muddled and I still couldn’t string together a coherent thought.
