Knight's War: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye series Book 5)

by Taylor Aston White

  Riley raised an eyebrow, opening his own. “Looks like cheesecake.”

  “Hmmm, not as good as chocolate.” She held her box closer to her chest when he tried to sneak a peek. “Mine,” she growled.

  Riley raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting his lips before he lunged forward, taking them both down onto the rug. A deep kiss, his tongue brushing across her lips. “Mmmm, chocolate.”

  Alice lay there, laughter building as she tried to find where their desserts had gone. Riley, in his speed, had carefully balanced both her chocolate cake and his cheesecake on top of one another by her head.

  “Meow!” Poe trotted over, his multicolour eyes staring at her only an inch away, pink tongue stuck out the side of his mouth. With a purr he headbutted her.

  “Okay, okay.” Alice sat up, patting Poe on the head before turning her attention to Dread’s paperwork. “I think Dread was researching before he died.”

  “Researching what?” Riley glanced at the papers Alice brought out and placed on the floor, his spoon poised as he started on his own dessert.

  Alice opened the journal, his words flowing across the pages. “Researching me.”

  War, the concept and ideology still unbelievable, even with all the evidence, Dread noted in his masculine script. There are three parchments that I’ve been able to authenticate. I couldn’t let it rest, not knowing what she was up against as War. But that’s now three similar prophecies, with several more yet to validate.

  He went on to explain the poem she knew off by heart, and even highlighting several sentences, adding his own comments while referencing to other pieces, all in different languages. Except, it wasn’t just the poem she knew, it was more.

  The watchers, the winged gods observe from a height.

  Supposed protectors of the realm, failing in their fight.

  The veil was torn, destroyed, the bane allowed to grow.

  Amongst the Earth Side, the magic, the elemental glow.

  Once mortals, corrupted from the other world, so bound with a seal.

  It gave the winged gods time, to plan, to heal.

  Generations of Earthen warriors delayed in the truth of the past.

  Anger, resentment, the winged gods knew wouldn’t last.

  The seals corrode, over time, one by one.

  The bane, the poison, grows until it’s won.

  They were no longer mortals, their power out of control.

  The Far Side darkness spreading, shading their soul.

  With intensity, detestation, they mount their once preventable fate.

  What once was a gift, but now a curse. The winged gods knew it too late.

  With steady breaths, they ride towards the dawn.

  Mortals cower in the dark, defenceless, prepare to mourn.

  Shadows move across their souls, as darkness, corruption and power grows.

  The four elements, magnets against mortal breath. Generations of lies, of wrath.

  Power in its truest form, made physical with greed.

  Are they saviours who wish to lead?

  Famine destroys along the path, against Pestilence in his wrath.

  Death stares and waits his turn, as War's flames turn to burn.

  The apocalypse they bring to earth, destroying it for all it's worth.

  The watchers, the winged gods observed from a height.

  Supposed protectors of the realm, failed in their fight.

  “‘The watchers, the winged gods,’” she read aloud.

  “Winged gods?” Riley frowned over her shoulder. “Angels?”

  “Angels?” she parroted. “Don’t you mean Fallen Angels?” A Breed she had only just learned even existed.

  Riley chuckled, sitting back. “Those that are fallen, were once angels. Not necessarily what different lexicons described, but pompous arseholes who believed themselves better than everyone else.”

  “Really?” Well, wasn’t she learning a lot lately.

  Riley’s forehead creased, his smile tight.

  “How do you know about them?” she pushed. “Riley?”

  He caught her eye, giving her his complete attention. “I promise that’s all I’ve heard. But I will find out more, if I can.”

  Alice released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. They trusted each other, but it was still difficult, a minefield of secrets that they were learning to share.

  “A fallen angel met with Dread just before he died.”

  A raised eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” she laughed, the sound hollow. “Most of these papers are in another language.” A language she had never even seen before. At least, she assumed it was a language, the words a mixture of runes and hieroglyphics. She wasn’t sure if they were read left to right, right to left or in their panels top to bottom.

  “Let me have a look...” Riley studied the sheets, taking his time until he found a total of ten pieces of paper with the same style writing. “There’s a box?” He showed her a 3D diagram.

  “This?” Alice looked for the small wooden box, finding it suspiciously close to Poe.

  When she picked it up, it was cold. She slowly turned it in her hands, unable to figure out how it opened. It looked to be solid, with no indents or lines. Except, there was a faint rattle.

  “There’s something inside.” She handed it to Riley, who didn’t comment on the temperature of the box, which made her feel like she was crazy.

  “I think these are the instructions on how to open it.” With a shake of his head, he set it down. “There’s also this.”

  Alice stared at the image on the sheet, unsure why a deep sick feeling had settled in her stomach. She went to touch it, her hand shaking until she clenched her fist.

  “What’s that?”

  Riley watched, his attention on the tremors that rattled down her arm. “I’m not sure, but I have someone I can ask.” Concern deepened his voice.

  “Someone who can translate?”

  Riley looked at the papers again. “Do you trust me?”

  Before, Alice would have hesitated. But not now, not for him.

  “Yes,” she replied immediately. “I trust you.”

  Riley’s hand gently gripped her neck, his lips soft against her own. She held him against her when he began to pull back, wanting to feel his heat, to help fight against the increasing nausea.

  A dark chuckle, one that deliciously vibrated down to her thighs.

  “I need to go, sweetheart.”

  Alice reluctantly released her grip.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.” Another lingering kiss. “Stay safe.”

  Alice smiled, but stayed on her knees as Riley left.

  She stared at the remaining papers, unable to concentrate as the nausea slowly subsided. It was a drawing, only a drawing, and yet she felt something awaken inside, terrified. Or was it exhilaration? She wasn’t sure.

  How could a drawing of a coin, the centre cut out in a diamond shape cause such a reaction?

  Chapter 9

  “Are we getting out of the car?” Alice asked Peyton when he made no move to exit, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “We have to meet the Pathologist at three.”

  The leather squeaked beneath his fists. “What should we expect?”

  Alice opened the car door, stepping out to observe the large cottage situated in the shadow of the bastion. A bastion that surrounded a castle she recognised, the grounds still blackened.

  She kept her eyes up, not wanting to check to see whether the blood stains still tainted the grass. “I have no idea.”

  The cottage was two storeys, the pale stones echoing the style of the castle perfectly. The roof was thatched, a chimney bellowing out thick smoke that darkened the sky above.

  “The air is thick,” Peyton murmured as he joined her. “Like oil.”

  Alice understood what he meant. “You want to wait in the car?”

  Peyton shot her a scathing look, eyebrows cros
sed.

  The large circular door opened as they approached, the doorway dark and empty.

  “You must be Alice Skye,” a voice purred from inside the house. “And Detective Brady.”

  “Peyton,” Alice corrected. “Detective Brady had to attend another meeting.”

  The cottage was larger inside than anticipated, the space to the left open plan. Fire crackled in the oversized hearth, a black cauldron swinging above, the liquid bubbling away. A woman sat on a thread-bare armchair, the pattern similar to the random rugs placed sporadically on the floor. Skulls and bookshelves adorned the bare walls, thick leather grimoires and crystals carefully placed on the wood.

  Alice flared her chi in greeting, the returning chi powerful.

  Peyton remained by the threshold, his muscles tense as two other women entered, both taking a seat on one of the large matching sofas.

  “Are you Christine Shade?” Alice asked the woman when Peyton remained silent. She was young, maybe in her early thirties with eyes so dark she could have been a vampire. Alice assumed the High Priestess would be older, or at least older than the rest of the coven. The two women that joined them watched with both curiosity and dis-interest. The left was a similar age to the priestess, her brown skin glowing while the other woman, who looked to be in her fifties, had skin as white as snow.

  “Frederick mentioned you were coming.”

  Alice knew the cottage held three other witches, their chis pulsating in the distance rather than concealed. They wanted her to know they were there, and they were close.

  “I don’t usually take these meetings,” Christine said leaning forward in her chair, her hair pure white as it partially covered her meanly pinched face. “But I was curious to see you up close.” She stood, the cat leaping off her lap to sit by the open fire. “We watched you complete your trials, and defeat that monster. Impressive.”

  Peyton’s head snapped to Alice, ears red.

  She hadn’t kept her trials a secret, but she also hadn’t given Peyton the details. It wasn’t like he ever asked. He was aware she had been hurt, and had already begun healing when he recovered from his own ordeal.

  “But I don’t see how you require our services.” A different cat jumped onto her legs, yellow eyes staring. She stroked the black fur, her nails long and grey.

  “Has Frederick explained the circumstances?” At Christine’s nod Alice continued. “I’m unfamiliar with black magic, I was hoping you or one of your coven could assist.”

  “You don’t taste entirely of earth magic,” Christine said with a smirk. “You don’t require our magic, you need our knowledge.”

  “I’m unfamiliar with black magic,” Alice repeated.

  “Lie, but I’ll allow it to pass.” Christine stood, her long lace dress touching the floor. It tugged at the rugs as she walked forward, getting caught in the fringe. She stopped when she was nose to nose with Alice, their height similar. “You’re connected,” she hesitated, eyes flicking to Peyton then back again. “Connected to him. Now isn’t that interesting.” She lifted a single finger, the tip touching Alice’s cheek before lightning struck, pushing her back.

  Her skin was blackened, the finger bent at a painful angle, but she didn’t comment. The two other witches stood, wands ready.

  Peyton moved behind her, the wild magic electric between them. He had opened their connection, allowing his magic to react and protect.

  Christine laughed. “I will help with your investigation in exchange for the spell used to tether the...” she hesitated, her chi stretching to touch Peyton. “Hmm, what are you? You feel human, but there is clearly magic between you?”

  Peyton crossed his arms and didn't correct her. He may have embraced his hair, but he still looked and felt human. The only reason she thought different was because of the wild magic that was a taunt tension between them.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” Alice shrugged. “It was an accident. We’re actually trying to remove it.”

  Christine narrowed her eyes. “Tell me how you did it. He feels human but clearly has magic, which must make him a weak mage at the very least. It’s impossible to connect two magic bearers in a familiar link, yet there you stand… boasting it.”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t know...”

  “TELL ME!” she snapped, the hearth exploding. The cats screeched, running away as a dark substance oozed from beneath Christine’s dress. “TELL ME HOW I CAN CONNECT ANOTHER MAGIC BEARER TO MY POWER!”

  The dark substance grew, slowly creeping towards them.

  Alice calmly stepped back, taking Peyton with her. “I don’t know how it happened.”

  “Christine?” the older witch cautiously warned.

  The Head Priestess grabbed her broken finger, bending it back into place with an audible click. “I offer you one of my witches service for one-thousand per hour, plus expenses.”

  “You never had any intention of helping us, did you?” Peyton finally said, anger shooting his words like bullets.

  Christine chuckled. “I took this meeting as a favour to Frederick, and maybe to meet Alice.” She settled back into the armchair, the black substance staining the fabric. “I wonder if our councillor knows you have a familiar?”

  Peyton ignored her question. “Then you have wasted all of our time.”

  “It’s illegal you know,” she continued. “The punishment is death.”

  “I think it’s time to leave.” Alice backed away, keeping all the witches in her sight.

  “Good luck finding a black magic specialist,” Christine clicked her tongue. “We’re the only coven in over three-hundred miles that are trained in the darker arts.” She turned to the closest witch. “Kyra, escort these two out, I have to call Frederick.”

  “Priestess,” the woman named Kyra bowed. “If you could please...” She held her arm out, gesturing towards the front door.

  “Shit.” The air was cold, the soil beneath Alice’s feet damp. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “She won’t call him, you know,” the dark witch said. “She hates Frederick, and she’s too interested in learning how you did it to sabotage that.”

  Alice looked towards the sky, unable to see through the soot and smoke from the chimney.

  “I really don’t know how it happened,” she murmured.

  “Good, because that sort of information is forbidden for a reason.” Kyra closed the door behind her, stepping down onto the earth. “What help do you need with your investigation?” she asked, eyebrows pinched.

  A dark chi brushed Alice’s, an uncomfortable sensation like little pinpricks across her aura.

  “Are you a necromancer?” Not that Alice needed the woman to actually confirm, she could feel the death that radiated off her, even from the short distance. It didn’t necessarily mean she was bad, or even evil. But it was hard to get over such a ‘go fuck yourself’ atmosphere that she naturally presented.

  Her chi, however, didn’t match her cat-like eyes when they met, the dark amber orbs quiet, but wary. The woman tugged at her long black braid, a beautiful compliment to the bronzed brown of her flawless skin as she gave Alice a shallow nod.

  “My name’s Kyra Farzan.”

  “We need someone to assist us in the Shifter Slayer case,” Peyton answered. “There was a magical residue at the scene…”

  “One that I’m inexperienced with,” Alice finished. “I hoped a necromancer would have better luck.”

  Kyra looked towards the closed door, taking her time to respond. “Do you have the body?”

  Peyton jingled his keys. “We do…”

  “Then I will assist you, but I can’t guarantee that I will have the answers you need.”

  “That’s great!” Alice smiled. “Will that be a problem with Christine?”

  Kyra shook her head. “I’m not part of the coven, I’m registered independent with The Magicka. She doesn’t make the decisions for me.”

  Alice moved to the car. “Brilliant, meet us at three.”

 
She waited patiently, or as patiently as she could without bringing unwanted attention to herself. No, she only wanted one man’s attention, and he was currently working behind a desk, his dark hair messy from the amount of times he had frustratedly yanked at it. He looked to be in his thirties, thirty-six to be exact. She knew he lived alone, had no pets or parents. Had no friends.

  He wouldn’t be missed.

  Which was exactly what was needed if they were to go under the radar. It was obvious the fates were in her favour, which made a change.

  The clock ticked, his lunch hour coming up just like she knew it would. On cue he slapped his pen down, thick eyebrows furrowed as he aggressively pushed himself away from his desk.

  She felt excitement hum through her blood, much to the horror of her host. But that wouldn’t matter, she could feel her slipping away, almost gone. Just as they all did. She should thank her, in the month she had had control of the body she had already improved it, regardless of how stubborn the voice was.

  She was strong, beautiful. Not a pathetic piece of addicted flesh.

  She wouldn’t waste it.

  She slipped off the seat, elegantly walking forward until she was just about...

  “Oh, fuck,” he said in strong Russian when he walked straight into her, his hand automatically reaching out to stop her fall. “I...” he paused, eyes widening. “Who are you?” he snarled, his demeanour becoming aggressive once more.

  One of his colleagues coughed violently, vomit scenting the air seconds later.

  He quickly reached into his pocket, placing a mask over the bottom part of his face.

  She smiled, her lips painted the same shade as her hair. It was a stunning effect, she knew this from the reactions it had on the men who she had passed in the hall.

  “I’m here to release you,” she replied in his native tongue. “And remove the muzzle you have put upon yourself.”

  His hand squeezed her arm, hard enough she knew he would bruise her beautiful skin.