by Krista Wolf
“HOLY SHIT!”
The old woman rolled the orb in her hands, turning it over and over. The more Melody looked at it, the more she noticed something: the orb seemed to glow.
“Why the hell would you do that?” Melody asked. “What would make you—”
“Do you know what this is?” Xiomara asked. She held the orb out in her palm.
“No.”
“Touch it.”
Melody reached out hesitantly in the direction of the tiny object. She laid one finger on its glass-like surface… then jerked her arm back violently.
“OW! It’s freezing cold!”
Xiomara looked almost pleased. “That’s because it’s not for you,” she said. “It’s not for me either, although I know barely enough to be able to handle it.”
She stared down at the orb, which Melody could swear had somehow grown bigger. There looked to be something inside it now, too. Something white. Something cold and… swirling.
“This is one of the greatest prizes the Order has ever recovered,” the old woman said gravely. She looked up to Melody again, and there was pride and gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you Ms. Larson.”
She nodded slowly. “You need to thank Lucus too,” she said. “Without him—”
“I realize that now,” Xiomara smiled.
She opened a drawer, and pulled out a small but intricately carved box. Melody watched as she flipped it open. Inside the velvet-lined container was a circular depression — exactly the right size to fit the strange, glowing orb.
Xiomara put the object away carefully and locked the drawer with a loud ‘click’. Then she sat back in her chair.
“Not bad Ms. Larson,” she said with a sigh. Though her expression was hardening again, her lips betrayed a wry grin that not even the stoic old woman could contain. “Not that bad at all...”
38
“So I’ll stay here?”
Lucus’s gaze was everywhere, staring around with wide-eyed interest at the centuries-old halls of Blackstone Manor. It wasn’t all that unlike Evermoore, really. Only much bigger. Much more secluded.
And of course, filled with modern day amenities such as electricity, television, internet…
“For now,” said Melody. “This is where I’ve been staying, while studying and learning. Although I think I’m ready to move on for a while.”
He nodded as they walked, slowly taking everything in. A gentle snow was falling outside — the first of the season. He seemed utterly fascinated by it.
“You’ve seen snow before, right?”
Lucus shook his head.
“Oh honey,” laughed Melody, looping her arm through his. “We’ve got so much ground to cover…”
It had been an easy decision, at least as far as Melody was concerned. Thankfully, Xiomara had given her blessing. Lucus would stay at the Blackstone, and Melody would be responsible for bringing him up to speed. In a way it was historic — he’d be the first non-member of the Hallowed Order to actually live there.
Then again, Lucus himself was historic. Possibly even more historic than anyone in history.
“He’s an invaluable resource,” Xiomara had told her when they finally spoke privately. “A crystal clear window into the past. We can learn a hell of lot from him. He can provide us with—”
“I think he’s given us enough,” Melody had countered. “At least for now.”
For once, the Head of Order didn’t fight her. She’s actually even agreed.
“He’s your charge though, Ms. Larson,” Xiomara had said sternly. “Your responsibility.”
She’d looked the blacksmith up and down, wondering how he’d look in modern clothes. Handsome, no doubt. A two-hundred year old specimen of manhood, chiseled from the annals of history.
“If he fucks up, it’s on you. If he so much as—”
“He’ll be fine,” Melody had said. “Better than fine.”
You’d better hope so.
She shoved the inner voice to the side, and not for the first time today. She was tired of listening to it. Tired of being told what to do.
This is my time, thought Melody, squeezing Lucus closer. My chance for something different.
“Can we make a snowman?” Lucus asked. His wonderment was childlike and refreshing.
“Not yet,” smiled Melody.
“My sister Cora…” His eyes unfocused as he looked into the swirling grey sky. “She told me you could—”
“Give it another few hours,” Melody said happily. “We’ll go into the courtyard and make ten snowmen if you want to. Snow angels too.”
“Snow angels?”
Melody laughed giddily. She really couldn’t help herself. She stopped walking the ancient hall, then spun around and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.
“You have no idea how fun this is going to be.”
Lucus kissed her back, wrapping his strong arms around her as the snow drifted down in big, heavy flakes. She looked into his steel blue eyes, beneath the ridge of his arched brow. The clouds parted for a moment, and a lone ray of golden sun beamed down from the sky.
Never in her life had Melody felt more content. And the best about it?
They had all the time in the world.
Ready for more
Chronicles of the Hallowed Order?
First of all, thanks for checking out Beyond the Gates of Evermoore. Here’s hoping you loved it!
If you enjoyed the story, I’d be eternally grateful (or pretty close) if you could leave a review on Amazon. Even just a sentence or two makes a big difference to an author, as well as helping other readers to discover the book!
Each book in the Chronicles is its own standalone novel, so the series can be read in any order. The first book of the series is already out:
BOOK ONE: GHOSTS OF AVEROIGNE
And be sure to check out BOOK 3 of the series: Claimed by the Pack. Below you’ll find a preview of the fantastic cover, plus the first several chapters so you can check it out for yourself!
Hugs and kisses!
Krista
1
SERENA
From what I could tell, the two assholes were still behind me. The third one… not so much. I couldn’t risk a look back yet, at least for now. But I could still hear them, huffing and puffing, trying to keep up.
Unfortunately for me, they were gaining.
It was stupid, going out this late. Going out at all, really. I’d actually been ordered not to do it, but like most orders I didn’t like I’d promptly disobeyed. I’d done it anyway, stupid or not.
And now here I was.
“Wait! Hold up!”
One of them yelling again. Wasting their breath. I should’ve saved mine, but I couldn’t help it.
“Fuck off!”
I turned left at the next nameless junction. All of these alleyways were the same. A new series of cobblestones spun out before me, jagged and narrow, looking exactly like every other godforsaken alley I’d sprinted through in the last few minutes.
I hated this part of the city for its cleanliness. Its complete lack of anything to hide behind or jump into — a doorway or an alcove. Shit, I’d give anything for a dumpster right now.
Paris was nothing like New York.
“You’re to stay inside the hotel, Ms. Weston. Don’t fuck around. Sit on your hands like a good girl and wait to be contacted.”
Xiomara’s words rang loudly in my ears. It was the ‘good girl’ part that got me, I think. That, plus the fact that I was never any good at sitting on my hands.
Besides, I really wanted a drink.
It wasn’t the first time I disobeyed the Head of the Order. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. If Xiomara found out though, the ass-chewing I received wouldn’t be worth a hundred nights of drinking.
Well… maybe a hundred.
Footfalls. Close. Closer than before.
Shit.
Up ahead the alley forked sharply. I let instinct pick my direction just a split-second too late
. The indecision cost me; for a moment I lost my footing, pinwheeling wildly, taking on even more speed as I tried to regain my legs. When I finally did, I risked a quick look back. A quick look was all I could afford.
They were almost on top of me now.
You’ll just have to do it, the little voice in my head said sternly. Don’t even think twice.
It was a dumb move, picking these darker streets. Trying to lose them here, rather than gain the safety of a more public avenue. But damn, it was almost midnight. It was unbelievable how early people went to bed here. Again, nothing like New York.
A hand touched my shoulder. Time was up.
“Gotcha!”
I dropped to the ground, curling myself into a tight ball. The momentum rolled me painfully. I could feel the cobbles stabbing across my back, my elbows slamming hard as I skidded to an ungraceful stop.
My move however, had the desired effect. Asshole number one went sailing over me, his legs completely taken out by my body. I watched as he went cartwheeling into the street, yelling in pain as he locked his arms out to protect himself from eating the pavement.
I was up quickly, and spun around to face my other pursuer. The guy with the greasy ponytail — the one who’d attacked me initially — looked almost surprised to see me. He slowed for a second, probably trying to figure out what happened to his companion, before sprinting directly my way.
Do it.
My arm shot out.
It happened in a flash, the way it always did when I went hard with it. One second I was focusing on my target, and the next I was flat on my ass… and it was all over.
The guy didn’t just fall backwards, he flew. I saw his body bend into a ‘U’, his chest collapsing inward as it took the full brunt of the impact. His ponytail flew forward as the rest of him sailed back, his face contorted into an almost comical expression of fear mixed with complete, unbridled astonishment.
That was my favorite part. I loved that part.
Then he hit the wall, harder than I’d even intended. And to be honest, I’d intended pretty hard.
I heard a muffled ‘crack’ that could’ve been his spine, or his head, or whatever else. Then he slumped to the ground, his limbs at odd angles. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
In the end though, I looked too long. Because when I turned back to find asshole number one, he was no longer where I’d left him.
Damn.
I was still scrambling to my feet when something hit me hard, in the back of the head. An explosion of silver white sparks obliterated my vision. I fell again, for a third time in as many minutes, and this time I knew I wouldn’t be getting up. I was too drained. Too dizzy. Both from the blow, and from what I’d just done.
“You still wanna talk?” I sneered. I needed time. A distraction, maybe. “You still—”
He kicked me, doubling me over. A cheap shot. It knocked the wind out of me though, which meant I couldn’t talk. I spat at him instead. He didn’t like that at all, and I really couldn’t blame him. It occurred to me that the peace and quite of my hotel room — as boring as it was — sure sounded good right now.
You’re a jackass, Serena. Xiomara’s voice again, this time in my head. An insolent, rebellious-for-no-reason jackass.
The man standing over me already had his fist raised for another blow. There was murder in his eyes. And something else, too. Something more primal, more savage and—
“Umffhh!”
I blinked as my attacker disappeared entirely from my vision. Something hit him sideways, something that knocked him clear to the other side of the alley with vicious, blinding speed.
There was an opportunity here. I seized it. I was up in a heartbeat, backing away and keeping my eyes on the two men now struggling against one another. The asshole who’d kicked me was getting the worst of it. He was on his back, getting repeatedly punched in the face by some pretty-boy blonde with a flowing, shoulder-length hair and really fast fists.
My conscience screamed at me to go help him. The rational part of my brain forced me to take another step backwards.
What are you doing?
My attacker kicked upward, connecting hard with a knee. As my would-be hero was rocked onto his back, I found myself rushing forward.
A repeating horn blared, loud and obnoxious, followed by flashing lights. I thought it was an ambulance at first, but then I remembered where I was. In Paris, the monotonous two-toned sound meant the police were arriving. And judging from the volume, very soon.
Now, even.
I glanced back again, unusually torn. My handsome savior was back on top again, raining down blows. He was going be okay. Arrested probably, but okay.
I on the other hand…
He looked up for a second, and we locked eyes. Was that a smirk? I thought it could be. My hero was beyond handsome, almost to the point of being pretty. His jacket had fallen off, his exposed body accentuating a lean, muscular physique that was slender yet still rippled with muscle. He looked like an athlete. Or with the long golden hair, some kind of surf god.
More flashing lights. The noises grew louder, and now they were accompanied by yelling voices.
Go!
My hero broke eye contact and took off running. I ran in the opposite direction, passing two full blocks before ducking through to the next alley. From there I made a series of blind turns, each crazier than the last. Every street brought me deeper, closer to the heart of the Gordian knot that made up this stupid tangle of a neighborhood.
And then I saw it; a neon blue sign. A bar or nightclub, still open: Le Sirène.
Off in the distance I could hear shouts and commands. The crackle of a bullhorn. But still, nobody in my alley. Nobody in my alley yet.
I ducked through the doorway before that happened, melting easily into the dimly-lit smoke and shadows.
2
SERENA
The bar was more crowded than most at this hour. By the time I’d crossed the room and settled into a stool that put my back to the wall, I was among a good thirty or more people.
Settling in, my eyes shifted left and right. Nobody had seen me, or even wanted to take notice. To everyone except the bartender, I’d been there forever.
They’re not really looking for you, I told myself. Relax.
I’d come here to relax. Hell, I’d risked getting jumped outside my hotel to relax. Might as well relax.
I ordered a double shot of bourbon and slammed it quickly, tipping the bartender twice what the drink cost. He smiled appreciatively, then I ordered a beer. It came in a glass — always with a glass with these people — and a strangely rounded glass at that. At least in England they used pint glasses. Something big and solid you could really wrap your fist around.
England…
A lump formed in my throat, unbidden, unwanted. Rather than continue along down that path, I used my beer to swallow it down.
The minutes ticked by, and still no one came. If anything, the police were looking for the two guys beating the piss out of each other in the alley. An image of my handsome savior floated to mind, all hair and stubble and rugged jawline. Whoever he was, I hoped he’d gotten away. Probably some midnight hero, jacked up on alcohol and feeling especially brave.
But who were those other guys?
Slowly I played the scene over in my mind again; the three strange men approaching me, just outside my hotel. Walking calmly, but just a little too quickly. One of them grinning a malevolent grin. Another one grabbing my arm…
I wondered which of the three I’d sent hurtling into the wall, and whether or not he’d be alright. Probably, I thought to myself. Then again, I’d been amped up. Pumped with adrenaline. And when that happened…
Well when that happened, all bets were off.
I shoved the memory of my attackers from my mind and took another long pull from my beer. It was a lot warmer than I would’ve liked. That was a thing here too — if you didn’t order your beer cold, you got whatever you got. Just anot
her annoying mental note to jot down on this already long, bullshit trip.
It had been four days already — a long, monotonous four days stuck at the top of some random hotel. The room service was good at least, but by now I was restless. Beyond restless.
And lonely too.
Here in the bar, at least there were people. Music played, glasses clinked. I soaked it all in, not even realizing how much I’d been starved for these things these past few days. Normally I enjoyed being alone, but being told to isolate myself somehow bothered me.
As time wore on and no one showed up to get me, I reveled in the smug satisfaction of having gotten away with something. A few things, actually.
“Fuck you Xiomara,” I toasted, hoisting my glass.
I drank in peace. For a little while, anyway. Then the bartender came my way again, this time with a troubled look on his face. I knew right away something was up.
Damn. And I was this close to actually having fun…
“’Allo’ miss,” the man said awkwardly. The French accent on his English was hard, but better than most. “I don’t normally do this, but the gentleman at the end of the bar would like to… well…”
“Well what?”
“He’d like to know when you plan to buy him a drink.”
My eyebrows came together in confusion. The man looked embarrassed.
“His words,” the barkeep said, putting his hands up defensively. “Not mine.”
I scanned the entire line, everyone at the bar. I should’ve just started at the opposite end.
There, in the very last seat, sat the long-haired blonde guy from the alley.
He looked younger than me, but not by much. His jacket was still missing, exposing a set of broad shoulders and tight, well-built arms that looked flexed even when they weren’t. And he was handsome too — even more so than in the alley. Almost model handsome. Obnoxiously handsome.
“He wants a drink, does he?”