Taking The Night (Nightshade series Book 1)

by J F Posthumus

  She bowed her head, closing her eyes as she remembered that fateful day. “I went to what you would call our ‘morgue’ and used a spell that was forbidden. I raised the young girl from the dead and questioned her, learning her master had beaten her, forced her to do unthinkable deeds, and then killed her. The princess’s consort was believed to frequently beat those who displeased her, often killing them for no other reason than mere amusement.”

  The Sandman leaned forward. “Why did you do that? If you knew the magic was forbidden?”

  “The magic is forbidden because the necromancers used those spells for evil. Their intent was evil, and so the spells came to be thought of as evil and forbidden. Magic comes from life. They used it to kill, and not as defense, either. The necromancers would control people, forcing them to act against their will, often breaking their psyches in the process,” Selia explained before taking a sip from her glass. “The spell I used didn’t literally bring the girl back. It was more like speaking to her spirit, which is more of a gray area. Not that anyone would believe my thoughts about the spells, or even agree with me.”

  “That makes sense, I think,” he said slowly. “So, what happened?”

  “I told the headmistress what I’d learned, and she said they couldn’t use the information because of how I discovered it. That I had to flee because she could sense the ‘taint’ of the spell I’d used on me and anyone powerful enough would sense it also. She said necromancy left a stench, and it would take years for it to wear off. Since the punishment for using those spells is death, she doubted I’d be able to hide long enough for my aura to cleanse itself.” Selia shrugged, still not entirely believing what she’d been told. “The headmistress promised to find a legal way of learning what I knew to stop the wedding and punish the noble, but I had to run before I was caught.”

  A sardonic smile twisted her lips, and she paused long enough to take another sip of her soda.

  “I had always been a favorite of the headmistress. She cared about me, more than she should have, I suspect. She told me to run to the docks, that the trader there might be able to help me. I collected a small bag of my belongings before running to the ship. To Soren’s ship. I managed to get there before the bells started tolling. Someone else had learned what I’d done and had turned me in.”

  Selia set her glass on the table and stood, walking away from the sofa, her arms folded across her chest. Sitting still wasn’t possible. She hadn’t spoken of her past to anyone. Ever. Soren was the only other person who knew why she had traveled to New Campania on his ship. She doubted even Al knew the entire story behind her desire to leave the island. If he did, he’d never spoken of it.

  “I was able to find Soren easily and asked… No, I should be honest. I all but begged him for help. He wanted to know why I’d want to leave the island and I told him the truth. For years I believed it had been a foolish choice, but now I think it was the right one.”

  “Why’s that?” the Sandman asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. He didn’t get up and try to console her, but rather stayed on the sofa, allowing her space and time. The man knew how to endear himself to her. From the genuine curiosity in his eyes, she doubted he knew what he was doing. Of course, he could also be an incredibly good actor, but something told her he was genuine.

  “I think he already knew but wanted to know how naïve I was. He agreed to give me safety if I agreed to his conditions. I’d have to stay with him for three years, graduate high school, and do exactly as I was told before I would be allowed to live on my own. I had to promise to work for him as his personal assistant, and the job would include glamouring people into being receptive of his offers, requests, and demands.” She turned around to face the Sandman. “I agreed, pretty much believing I was selling myself and my soul to a man who I saw as the devil himself. Not that I had a choice.”

  Actually, she’d been closer to capture than she was admitting to the Sandman. The fact her people knew she had read the tomes scared them all. She had just agreed to Soren’s terms and been placed in a small room in his cabin before hearing the Royal Guards shouting for Soren. The thumping of their spears against the deck above her had echoed in the quiet office-like room. She’d heard Soren’s calm voice and eventually they had come to where she’d been hiding.

  Soren’s voice never wavered from his ever calm and authoritative tone. The guards hadn’t found her, and he had practically been forced to drag her from the small office to her own cabin that adjoined his. He’d later tried to coax her out of the small cabin. It hadn’t worked. She, instead, chose to sneak out at night, silently creeping around the ship.

  Curious yet fearful, she had obeyed Soren on the ship, allowing herself to hide in the lessons he had given her. When they docked, she followed him to his house, becoming his adopted daughter. Soren had introduced her to Big Al, as most of the Family referred to him, and been formally adopted into the Family. She had been sent to a small, exclusive Catholic school, learned to keep a low-profile and how to be a wallflower.

  Soren had taught her everything she needed to survive in his world, from lessons about the society and her new homeland to giving her access to the best technology and training her on how to use guns and other weaponry. He had even made certain her ‘babysitters’ were enforcers who she had developed a close friendship with over the years.

  “Yet you call him family,” the Sandman said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “He’s been a father to me when I had no family at all. Even on Temeria, I didn’t have anyone as close or caring as Soren. For a long time, I was afraid to think he truly cared, but he proved how much he cared for me when I snubbed Alfi. He had my back, and it cemented my belief that he wouldn’t betray me.”

  That caught the Sandman’s attention. His head lifted and his eyes brightened with interest. “You ‘snubbed’ Alfi? What happened?”

  “Alfi thought I would be the pliant, willing mistress I appeared to be,” Selia replied dryly. “I turned down his advances and then, when he refused to take ‘no’ for an answer, I made it more… poignant… by breaking his wrist.”

  The Sandman snickered. Selia took note of his smile, which was charming and not forced. He had even, white teeth and what she could see of his face was relaxed, comfortable with the conversation, and to some degree at least, her.

  “No wonder he hates you.”

  “He’s wanted Soren’s position for years, even before I came to New Campania.” Her smile grew darker. “Not that it will matter after he’s lying lifeless in a pool of his own blood.”

  The Sandman bolted to his feet. He held his hands up in supplication or, perhaps, trying to approach her cautiously. As though she were a danger to herself or others and he was the one trying to talk her down.

  “Wait a minute, Selia. I don’t mind taking a life when there’s no other choice.” She raised a brow, and he rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many lives I’ve actually taken?” He gave a brief pause before answering his own question. “Seven. I’ve been accused of ten times that many. Mostly I cripple or destroy their livelihoods.” He moved closer and grasped her by the shoulders. “Have you ever taken a life before?”

  She gave him a pointed look, her eyes cold and hard. “I’m a mage with warrior training from a warring nation. Think about what that means.” As realization flashed in his eyes, she continued. “As for Alfi? He goes down and I know how to make it look like it was done by anyone I want. Magic is a wonderful gift, especially in a world where it isn’t considered real. I would prefer having your help in making it happen.”

  “Fine, since you’d no doubt attempt to do this on your own,” he grumbled. “You can stay here. The sofa pulls out into a bed. We’ll discuss details tomorrow.”

  A slow smile grew on Selia’s face. It was nowhere near warm or benevolent. “Agreed. When this is over, I’ll go back to being the quiet little wallflower I was trained to be.”

  “No, you won’t,” the Sandman said. “Ple
ase stay here, for your own safety.”

  He drained his glass, pulled the mask back down, and turned away. He headed up a set of stairs she hadn’t noticed on the other side of the room. A door opened, then closed and she wondered briefly if he slept with the mask on.

  A light-weight afghan lay over the back of the sofa. Tugging it off, her smile softened as she curled up on the sofa, not bothering to pull it out into a bed, and closed her eyes. The sofa was pretty soft and comfortable. The afghan was heavy enough to keep her warm. The morning would come soon enough, and she needed at least one night’s peaceful sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  I t was closer to noon when Selia finally woke up. No sunlight greeted her, but she didn’t need it to tell the time. The clock on the TV stand did that job just fine and the clock read 11:38 A.M. Probably the longest she’d ever slept in, but that wasn’t surprising, considering she’d barely had any sleep in the past forty-eight hours. She felt refreshed, and her magic replenished.

  The door opened and she rolled to her feet, gun out and pointed towards the noise, even before she realized what she was doing. It caught her by surprise because she’d never before slept with the weapon, nor did she make it a habit to draw on someone opening a door.

  Not that it was surprising, once the past two days-worth of memories caught up with her. She lowered the gun and slipped it back into her holster in time to see the Sandman putting the two bags with the logo of a local café on the coffee table.

  “Interesting greeting,” he said, not bothered by the fact she drew a weapon against him. “At least you didn’t shoot.” He glanced at the sofa, the fabric of his mask moving as he chuckled in genuine amusement.

  “Always determine your target before firing,” she replied automatically. It had been the first lesson a warrior learned, regardless of the weapon you used. She followed his eyes and added, “I don’t need a bed to sleep peacefully. Temeria doesn’t have the soft luxuries that you enjoy here in New Campania.”

  “Good rule to live by. I would have thought you’d be more accustomed to the pampered lifestyle of an underboss’s daughter,” the Sandman replied, setting the bags on the table before pulling out a breakfast sandwich and offering it to her. He wasn’t wearing the sunglasses at the moment, or the fedora. “There are a couple of bagels and another sandwich in there. I wasn’t sure what you might like. The other bag has some drinks.”

  Considerate, polite, and dangerous, Selia thought with a smile, if I’m not careful, I could end up falling for this guy.

  To hide her thoughts, she reached into the bag and pulled out a drink before accepting the sandwich. Unwrapping it, she replied, “Oh, I enjoy the benefits, but I also go camping and hunting whenever possible. When I do, I leave the luxuries behind.”

  She bit into her sandwich and closed her eyes at the deliciousness that greeted her taste buds. Food was food and she wasn’t a picky eater. Though, truth be told, she still preferred fresh food to processed, especially venison. There wasn’t anything quite as tasty, at least to her, as a freshly cooked venison steak. She did love a good breakfast sandwich, though. This sandwich was hot and filled with cheese, bacon, ham, and scrambled eggs. They were real eggs, too. Not the powdered or frozen stuff most places used.

  “So, how did you find me last night?” she asked, as he pulled out two bottles of Coke from the other bag.

  He glanced at her, and she had the impression he was smiling under his mask. It was something in his eyes. Or the way he looked at her. She couldn’t figure it out, and to be honest, she was afraid to try.

  He didn’t eat, which meant he must have eaten already sans mask. “I’m rather old school. I found Soren’s phone and checked the numbers. I then did a quick Google search for the phone number you sent him.” He sounded nonchalant as he spoke. Selia guessed he wasn’t lying about his method. “I took Soren to the hospital, then came to you.”

  “How did you find my room?” she asked between bites. She uncapped the cola and took a sip from the bottle.

  He laughed softly. “I told them I was meeting my mistress there, that you already had a room, and described you. Tossed in a fifty for a tip and they were more than happy to give me the room number.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Selia asked before taking a longer drink from her cola.

  “Because you know all too well what people will do for money,” he replied.

  That was too true. People did everything for money or power, including making deals that often ended up with said people injured or dead. Sometimes they came out on top, but not always. She finished eating in silence, allowing her thoughts to wander where they would. Sometimes it gave her useful ideas, most of the time it just kept her sane. This time, realization dawned on her.

  “Al doesn’t know where Soren is,” she said slowly. “Unless you cleaned up the mess…” She trailed off at the Sandman shaking his head before continuing. “Then that means the Family, at least those not loyal to Alfi, will be looking for Soren and me.”

  Soren wasn’t just an underboss to Angelo ‘Al’ Lascari, who ran the Lascari syndicate. He was Al’s right hand. Selia suspected Soren did more for the syndicate than Al did, but she never voiced it. She was all-too aware there were six underbosses, and then about three times that many captains below them. Each captain had about thirty or so men beneath him. That didn’t include the ‘made-men’ or those who were Italian but weren’t anything higher than thugs, cleaners, or who were base members and ran the day-to-day operations.

  The pyramid always grew larger the closer you got to the bottom. Because of Soren’s position, she knew the basics, even if she didn’t know all the intimate details.

  Soren’s position kept him a step above the other underbosses. Selia figured it was due to his trading with Temeria and being so close to Al. She didn’t ask, and Soren didn’t volunteer information.

  She suspected Lucien Vaschetti’s outfit had a similar pyramid, though with fewer underbosses, and wondered for perhaps the millionth time why they didn’t join forces. In fact, according to one of the tales, the Lascaris and Vaschettis had once ruled the city of New Campania together with iron fists.

  That is, until Vincent Lascari fell in love with a woman of untold beauty from another city, or land, depending on which version you listened to. Now, if it had just been Vincent who’d fallen head-over-heels for the dame, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Constantine Vaschetti had fallen for the same woman. It had turned into an all-out ‘Helen of Troy’ battle because the girl picked Vincent over Constantine and that hadn’t sat well with Constantine. The war had occurred about twelve generations ago, and though Constantine, Vince, and Laurel were no longer amongst the living, the feud continued.

  Selia didn’t know if she believed that tale, or the other less interesting story where the two families had settled in the same city and competed with each other throughout the ages. Not that it mattered to her. She had been adopted into the Lascari family, which meant no rubbing elbows with the Vaschettis.

  The Sandman pulled out the other bottle, pulled up his balaclava, and sucked down about a third of his drink. Selia watched as he swallowed. Somehow that simple, normal act had her thinking of many intimate ideas. That surprised her and she quickly looked away. Dating hadn’t been forbidden, but her fear that someone would learn her secrets had kept her from getting too close to anyone. Not that him learning her secrets was an issue since she’d just told him almost all of them.

  “So?” he finally asked, tightening the cap on his soda. “That just means you’ll have to avoid them.” Setting down his soda, he fitted his mask back into place.

  “I’m not avoiding my Family,” she muttered. “That will simply ramp up their search for Soren, which I won’t allow.”

  “You won’t allow it?” he asked, drawing it out.

  Suddenly the room felt a few degrees colder to Selia. “No, I won’t allow it. I know where Al lives, I know where he keeps his mistresses, and I even know where his secret
stash of moonshine is kept. I spent the first three years of my life here learning about this city. I spent the following three years learning everything I could about the Dueling Dynasties thinking it would keep me safe. In many ways, it did. Now, it will help keep Soren safe.”

  “Dueling Dynasties,” the Sandman said with a chuckle. “Nice. I’ll have to remember that one. How do you know they didn’t let you follow them?”

  “When I don’t want to be seen, I’m not,” Selia said with a deadly softness in her voice. “I trained from an early age to hunt and kill. Not just animals, but people. I learned in the jungles, the villages… even the castle. Anywhere an assassin could enter, or battle could and would be fought, I learned in those places. Not just with weapons, but with magic also. Day or night, it didn’t matter. Assassins don’t care when they attack, as long as they think they can succeed.”

  He studied her for a few long minutes and Selia guessed he was at a loss for words. Finally, he reached over and ran a once-again gloved hand over her hair. “Your hair’s a mess. Looks like a bird’s nest. Want to freshen up?”

  “You have a shower here in your secret lair?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with delight and mischief. “I could totally use a hot shower.” He gave a soft groan and she grinned that much more. “Well, I hate being all sweaty for no good reason.”

  “Yes, there’s a shower,” he replied, his eyes darting away from her. “I’ll show you where it is. You have a change of clothes?”

  “Hoping I’ll say no and be forced into wearing nothing by a bath towel?” she quipped.

  Nudity wasn’t a problem for her, though she had quickly learned upon arriving in New Campania that people here were embarrassed by a nude body. Something she’d found highly amusing.

  When he didn’t answer immediately, she let him off the hook. “I have a change of clothes and my dojo uniform, so no worries about me walking around in nothing but my skin.”