by Elle Cross
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Text Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by:
Crimson Phoenix Creations
Formatted & Edited by:
EAL Editing Services
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Book Description
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
About the Author
Books by Elle Cross
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A montage of his life flickered before my eyes. I felt every joy, heartbreak, triumph, and defeat. And then there was nothing but terror…
For years, powerful empath Vesper Tallinn has kept herself isolated from the rest of the world. Because of her ability to manipulate emotions, she has the tendency to draw dangerous people to her. She can count the number of people she trusts on one hand, because in her experience, it’s altogether safer to be alone. Not only that, but keeping her head down keeps her off the radar of the Remnant Gods, powerful and ancient beings whose behavior is unpredictable at best.
But thanks to Corbin Troy, her police detective best friend, Vesper is pulled into an extremely disturbing murder investigation. Bodies keep turning up, and the emotions Vesper senses are terrifying and dark, oozing with cruelty and malice. Both the culprit and motive remain a mystery, but one thing is clear: the Remnant Gods are somehow involved. But are they the victims? Or the perpetrators?
Vesper finds herself caught in a web of intrigue and magic, leading her on a search through bars and sex clubs, crime scenes and portals, as she tries to track down a killer…and the mysterious Lord Master, who might hold the clue to the entire case.
Over the course of the investigation, Vesper finds herself drawn to Deimos, the most powerful, enigmatic man in the city. He’s clearly more than human and it’s obvious he’s tangled up in the case. Deimos has no interest in discussing it with Corbin, because in his opinion, this is a matter for the Remnant Gods. Vesper, though, is another matter. Deimos is fascinated by her and seems intent on having her in his life…and his bed.
All of which begs the question: Is he friend or foe?
And how much is Vesper willing to risk to find out?
This story exists because I was bored with a freelance assignment writing about real estate listings. I complained to my long-time friend, Vivienne Hart, who casually said: “Why don’t you write a fun story instead and publish it yourself?” Thus, the storyline of GRIT (and in a small part, So Dark the Night) was born out of a hilarious text conversation (that I still have) that lasted for hours in a Starbucks. Thank you, thank you for always being a sounding board and cheerleader for my most random ideas.
Thank you to my writing buddies who help me push for one-more-word, in and out of my writing-sprint room. Special nod to Sarah Bale and Yumoyori Wilson for your encouragement, feedback, and hilarious private message shenanigans.
Thank you to my beta readers for all your feedback, big and small. Special shout out to: Andrea B., April B., Ash B., Danielle S., Heather A., Laura W., Kristi F., Ellen Y., Yannyris L. Your lightning-quick read-throughs and cries for more words kept me working!
And as always, to my hubs: my soul mate, partner-in-crime, and inspiration for all the yumminess in my stories. ;)
Starburst confetti floated in the air, reflecting red and gold as they drifted in the cool fall breeze. They rose and fell with the current, swirled down from the paper lanterns that festooned the city's Lower East Side. Like gentle flurries, they lingered in the breeze, coating everything with a fiery shimmer.
The confetti for the Equinox festivities would take weeks for the maintenance crews to sweep off the streets.
Against the backdrop of night, the effect was like a burst of flame, the heart of a bright evening star. It was a spectacle that drew crowds and inspired iconic photography of the city skyline from across the river. A gentle reminder of the power the Remnant Gods wielded in this city from their secret spaces, a subtle warning that once upon a time, they had engulfed the city in true flames, and could do so again.
As if we could ever forget.
The patio door opened, and my latest client slipped through it to join me on the balcony. He was dressed in a ridiculous cloak that swirled a satin black around him. It matched the domino mask he wore. "Vesper! There you are! I wondered where you ran off to."
"I was just enjoying the crisp fall air," I greeted him with light air kisses on both cheeks. "Miles, your work is splendid. You should be proud."
I was proud of my client, really I was. His art pieces were truly inspired. But the buzz and noise of the art crowd only reminded me of why I gladly became a hermit. The inane babble, coupled with the sickly overripe scents that wafted from these types always made me a little nauseated.
At least I tolerated these fragrances better than the ones coming off of the blind date I’d bailed on.
My client had chosen to have a sort of masquerade ball that played up to the Venetian Carnival theme in his series. Being in a fully costumed masque was one of the reasons why I let myself come out tonight among the crush of people for Equinox festivities. With my sweep of hair piled on top of my head and a demi mask, I was completely unrecognizable despite my gloves in this temperate weather.
Miles ducked his head a little, nodding along like he'd heard praise like this before. Heard it, but didn't believe it. "I'm so happy you were able to come out. You have no idea what this means to me. I couldn't have done it without you," he said fervently. His eyes glittered in this light, reminding me of a beetle's shell.
The passion for his work, that innocent zeal that made him smell of summer sunshine and fresh cut grass still lingered around him, but now there was something else. A metallic tang that bloomed among the grass so it was like I was sucking on pennies. What was once his gentle nature was slowly hardening into something...else. Something cold and unyielding.
The addiction had started. It hadn't taken root yet, but it was there, trying to find a foothold. Miles had been the strongest of my clients thus far, my longest patronage, but like all of them, he too had developed an unhealthy attachment to me. I knew it wouldn't have been for much longer, and I could stay with him for a few more months without a permanent change, but it was always better to end the
relationship earlier on. Better for both of us.
I swallowed a jagged sigh behind a bright smile, slipped my gloves off and deftly tucked them into my coat, then took his hands in mine. "Yes you could have done it without me. No, don't interrupt me. You had this in you the whole time. Remember that. You did this, Miles, not me. I just kicked you in the pants every now and again. Kind of like a coach." I twined my fingers in his, touched as much skin as I could then absorbed all his doubt. He didn't need any negativity, not tonight. Tonight, he needed to enjoy himself, store up memories that he could look back on in the future when he needed strength.
And, he would need it. After tonight, he would forget everything about me. I would erase my presence from his life, and he would just be left with the knowledge that somehow, he'd been able to create something beautiful.
Another of his group knocked on the patio door, signaled for him to join them. He smiled and nodded at a group of people clustered around a sculpture of his. "I'd like to introduce you to a couple of people."
My phone vibrated discreetly in my pocket. "Of course. I’ll just enjoy the air for a few more minutes and I'll join you." I slipped my hands from between his, breathed a little confidence toward him as his fingers lingered, and let him walk away from me toward his group. In a few more steps, he'd forget about me.
I dug my phone out of my pocket. Corbin's hawk-like face filled the screen. "Corbin, impeccable timing as always," I said by way of greeting.
"Good to know. Listen, V, I need you at the station. You free?"
Corbin's tone was like a shot of adrenaline that cut through my melancholy. This wasn't her bailing-you-out voice. This was her detective voice. The one that commanded a squad of men to fall in line and get their shit done. The one that could cut through a raging bull of a suspect in the interrogation room and make him sing like the Sylphs.
I didn't hesitate. "I'm there," I said, then hung up.
I drained the last of my champagne and placed the flute on a nearby tray on my way inside from the balcony. Miles was talking animatedly to a group of people, more wine lovers than art lovers. His clean, springtime scents drifted toward me. I breathed them in, and they filled the hollow spaces in my heart, melted the frozen edges just a little.
He'd be all right.
I weaved my way through the crowd, careful not to linger too long in any one spot, a blank space easily filled and forgotten. The coat-check girl barely looked up from her book when I traded in my masquerade cloak and mask for my cashmere coat. I left the swirl of colors of the Venetian Carnival behind me and pushed into the night.
Corbin's precinct, Midtown, wasn't too far from the restaurant that hosted the masquerade, but I let the concierge hail a cab and tuck me inside it. This close to the equinox, the Remnant God tribes often vied for power. Though mere mortals weren't privy to their politics, we weren't immune from being collateral damage to their whims. Just as well, since an unusual chill seeped into the night air when the Sylphs' fiery hold should have kept the weather balmy for a few weeks yet.
A gathering dark had roiled over the city, blotting out the stars. No one had to ask where the shadows came from. Even now, nimbus mists uncoiled from the pinnacle of the black obelisk that loomed over the other skyscrapers, circling over the city like carrion birds over prey.
Though the Black Tower housed many prominent businesses, it was widely known as being a stronghold for the Remnant God; which tribe, was anyone's guess. I'd bet on the Sylphs. They were the only ones with enough of a remnant this side of the veil to be known as a collective, with power to spare. They were also the ones that had rained fire down upon the city a mere generation ago.
Besides, Sylphs enjoyed a good mind fuck. There was no other logical reason for the Black Tower to be visible wherever you stood in the city, from the dank alleys of Chinatown to the verdant jungles of Old Harlem.
The holiday festivities turned traffic into a thick snarl, so much so, that I was able to wave down a nearby food truck vendor and convince him to fill a couple of take-out boxes for me and my driver. After creeping up a few more blocks, the Midtown precinct finally came into view. I decided I'd be able to walk to the precinct faster than this bumper to bumper mess, so I threw a few bills at my cab driver, echoing a quick 'Nox blessing as I exited the cab.
Some of the narrowed side streets were darker than others. Those alleys were no-spaces, portals that spoke to the Remnant Gods, transported them to places deeper into the folds of the city, places that had driven regular Humans mad. The portals were doubly alluring for me this evening, smelling of the sweet grass and sunshine I'd just left behind, at complete odds to the dank, hot smells that wafted up from the subway tunnels beneath my feet. Power thrummed from them, like low bass tones that you felt more than heard.
I gathered my coat more tightly around me, careful to avoid the tendrils of mists that spilled from these darkened alleys, ignored the sibilant whispers from their depths. Some have said that the mists and shadows, and even the occasional spirals of fire, were part of the collective power that seeped from the Gods gathered together in this city. Power that became weighty and real, like sloughed-off snake skin that became a snake all its own, waiting to wrap around you and pull you into its maw. You could never be too sure which bits were sentient, and I wasn't about to try, so I skirted around them all.
Something tested my shields, a prickling of nettles between my shoulder blades signaling a drain on the blessing that was tattooed on my back. The precinct was just ahead, spanning the whole city block and bathing the streets around it with light. I rushed toward its comforting halo, and didn't stop until I was through its doors.
As soon as I stepped off the elevator on the interrogation floor, I found Corbin, all legs and hard edges, muttering in front of a vending machine. There was a sad little office plant on one side of the machine, a folding chair on the other. It served as a reception area for Corbin's department, and stepping into it was like coming home.
"I got here as quick as I could," I said, punching the machine once. It spat out a gooey-gumby snack, which Corbin bent to retrieve. "You know that's not exactly food."
Corbin pulled herself up to her full height, which meant that she had a good half a foot over me. "Not everyone can have steak and caviar every night," she said, tugging at the wrapper.
I plucked it from her hand and shoved it in my pocket.
"Hey, now—" she started.
I shoved the takeout box at her. "Not every night," I said.
She snorted and then smiled when she opened the box. Two slices of fresh, cheesy pizza steamed up at her. She beamed and nodded us toward the waiting rooms.
In her cop language, that was equal to a big hug and kiss.
She ushered me into the room they all called the "nice" lounge. The furniture looked like they were leftovers from some ambitious corporate office designer. An over-sized glass and beige coffee table took up most of the usable space. Black and chrome faux-leather seats dotted an available corner. There was even a sickly gray sectional sofa that was more slick than comfortable wedged in the back.
It was like a war of post-modern decor and we were all losers.
As she tried her best to swallow the pizza whole, she motioned us toward a pair of Wassily knockoffs positioned on either side of a black Formica end table. A cup of freshly brewed coffee waited for me. I caught a whiff of cinnamon and nutmeg rolled in caramel. Her best stuff.
I should know. I gave it to her. Which meant, she was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear.
I took off my coat, and perched at the edge of my seat, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. It was just shy of scalding, which made it the perfect temperature. Corbin was definitely buttering me up for something.
I took another sip. "So, what're you prepping me for? Murder, suicide? Was there a note or artifact of some kind?" Even though I was more attuned to living beings, I could still get feedback off of inanimate objects, especially if it had meaning to the person or wa
s a silent witness to a violent crime.
Those were the worst. But, for Corbin, I’d do it.
Corbin let out a deep breath. I looked up from savoring my coffee. She never hesitated, never doubted herself. But now, the doubt cut across the air, sharp like the tang of pine needles.
"What's the matter?" I kept myself from touching her. I wasn't in the habit of voluntarily touching people, but for my friends I made exceptions. Especially when I could help them with their pain. But, I knew that Corbin didn't like unnecessary touching as much as I did, though for different reasons.
"Turns out, I didn't need you here after all. It's just a little bit of a case, not something I wanted to waste your time on. I've asked Ruby to come and consult instead. You'll still get your consulting fee, I made sure of that. But I'm sorry I wasted your time." She had spoken mostly to her coffee cup, from which she now drank deeply.
I knew that move. I invented it. She was actually trying to dismiss me.
I looked at her blandly. "Do you think I need this police department's sad chump change? Cut the crap, Detective, and just tell me what the hell's the matter."
Corbin swung her aqua eyes at me, and it was nearly painful for me to keep her gaze. They were fathomless, like looking into the heart of the ocean. If I let myself, I could drown in them. She'd probably like that. Give me a good mind wipe and Voice me away for the rest of the night.
But she needed me. I could almost taste the need. And, I wasn't about to back down, even if she was too proud to ask for help. Especially because she was too proud to ask for help.
Something was eating her up here. She acted on pure gut instinct. Was known for it. It made her one of the most decorated detectives in this precinct. Hells, in this city. Not like she wasted her time thinking about stuff like that. Megan and I kept a scrapbook with news clippings and articles about her accomplishments, complete with stickers of gold stars and unicorns farting rainbows.