The Apsara Chronicles Boxed Set

by T. G. Ayer

“I think you’re mistaken. You won’t mind if I call Rossi and verify this, would you?” She glared at him. “I wasn’t exactly informed of this part of the deal.”

  “It isn’t necessary to involve anyone else, Vaishnavi. Between us and the powers we both possess, we can eliminate all possible dangers within the city.”

  Vee laughed and shook her head. “Okay, buddy. I don’t know what you think, but claiming to have powers just so that I’ll continue to work with you is just weak.”

  His eyes darkened and Vee could have sworn the temperature in the room had dropped.

  “You do not believe that I possess powers? Like you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean? I’m not a witch or anything.” She took the innocent-stupid route. The guy was a nutball, and as soon as Vee left the coffee shop she was going to give Rossi a call. They definitely could not work with an informant who was two cards short of a full deck. “Whatever powers you think you have, they aren’t going to be enough to convince my boss. Or me, for that matter.”

  Vee shifted in her seat, getting to her feet slowly. She knew she’d pissed him off. That black stare was a dead giveaway.

  The music in the room stilled. She barely paid it attention, chalking it up to a glitch in the system.

  Karan held her gaze and she couldn’t look away. Seconds later, his stare softened and a cold smile curved at his lips. What the hell was he so amused about?

  Vee lifted her chin, stepped around her chair and stopped in her tracks.

  The room was frozen.

  As if someone had hit a pause button and the entire room had stopped in time. Vee stared around her, shocked, then looked back at her informant. The man had the gall to stare back at her with a satisfied smile.

  “What the hell is going on?” she whispered, glaring at him. At the next table the writer’s fingers were curled over her keyboard like a tyrannosaurus rex on the prowl.

  “You are not the only person with powers.”

  “So what?” Vee snorted, deciding the best reaction would be a non-reaction.

  Act unimpressed.

  “Any sorcerer worth his salt can pause time.”

  You’re so full of bullshit, Vee.

  Karan smiled wider and around the room gravity faded. Coffee cups and wallets and keys began to float away from their owners.

  The writer’s mug drifted away, tipping over to release a glob of coffee that hung in the air above the girl’s head. Her laptop took flight as well, bumping against her curled fingers before gliding away on a collision course with the window.

  Vee grunted and reached for the laptop. For some reason she herself wasn’t affected by the no-gravity magic Karan was using. Annoyed, she grabbed the mug, scooped up the coffee and placed it beside the girl’s hand before setting the laptop firmly back on the table.

  Then she glared at him. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now, you can stop endangering people?”

  He frowned. “Endangering people?”

  Vee shook her head and pointed a thumb at the barista at the counter. “Steam is rising toward her face from the frothing machine.” Then she pointed to her left. “The guy with the beanie . . . he’s going to get a face full of boiling hot coffee when you cut this shit out.”

  Vee glared at Karan and then pointed behind him. “And over there in the corner . . . there’s a baby floating in the air and I’m not sure her mother is going to catch her in time when gravity returns.”

  The look of shock on Karan’s face surprised Vee and she realized he’d genuinely not intended to hurt anyone. Then he shook his head, clicked his fingers and everything was back to the way it had been just minutes ago.

  Except for Vee, who was now hovering over the writer girl—textbook psycho stalker.

  The girl stared up at her, worry and curiosity flitting across her face. Vee quickly mumbled an apology, claiming a missing contact lens, then slumped in her chair giving Karan a dirty glare.

  “Fine. I’m convinced.”

  He smiled like a four-year-old being praised for riding his bike for the first time.

  The man was strange.

  “Just don’t ever do that again.” She glanced around the coffee shop again, checking to ensure that everyone was okay.

  “They are all fine.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “You can manipulate time?”

  He nodded. “Only . . . I’m not allowed to do it too often. It tends to upset the balance of things.”

  Ya think?

  “Who are you?” Vee frowned and stared at him. “Why do you want to help us?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Vee tried a different tack. “What do you get out of helping us?”

  He leaned forward and smiled. “Catching the bad guys?” He was merely telling her what she wanted to hear.

  She shook her head. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  His face cleared, all emotion smoothed away in an instant.

  “Whatever it is, I can promise you, I will find out.”

  “But until then, we work together?” he asked, his expression expectant.

  Vee pursed her lips, then nodded. He looked so enthusiastic that she found herself laughing. “Fine. And for what it’s worth, that’s a pretty awesome magical power.”

  “Magical,” he repeated as he sat back, his wide smile making his eyes twinkle.

  Despite his arrogance, and his subterfuge, Vee accepted the one fact she’d planned on denying all along.

  She actually liked the man.

  Chapter 9

  Woman and dog materialized in the front hall of Vee’s home, which she shared with her stepfather Niall—Mac—McKinnon and her grandmother Radha. The place was tastefully decorated with a Persian-Indian-Far East influence. The decor was in part due to Vee’s taste, although tacked onto the remnants of her mother’s various trips around the world and her penchant for collecting ancient relics.

  Vee had to admit she’d been glad that Devi had left them all behind when she’d walked out on her mother, her husband, and her daughter.

  Vee tried not to think about the massive collection of artifacts hidden in the basement. She’d had the choice of stowing a few of the ancient relics at the FBI safe storage but she’d never been confident the Bureau could guarantee their safety. At least here they were under her own watchful eye.

  At Vee’s side, the hellhound straightened, the air around her swirling with black shadows, like tatters of obsidian fabric. Shadows swathed the dog as her body began to glow, an iridescent black that spoke of magic and danger. The shape and form of the dog melted, twisting around into impossibly contorted shapes.

  Vee held her breath, as she always did while watching Syama, even though she knew by now what would follow.

  The hellhound, whose head reached to Vee’s shoulders, was neither fragile or dainty, her muscular legs implying a strength and lethality that Vee was happy to not be on the receiving end of.

  Though the dog was swarthy and powerful, the girl who now stood in its place looked anything but. Shorter than Vee, she was dainty and small-boned, with her wrists tiny enough for Vee herself to snap with one well-positioned blow.

  Her pitch-black hair was cropped short in an elfin style, long spikes framing her face, giving her a delicate pixieish look. Her black eyes glowed as if in warning of her nature. A deadly warning.

  She wore black—jeans, singlet, leather jacket, and boots—looking for all the world like a biker chick. Only problem was, she didn’t ride a bike, didn’t own a bike, and probably would never do either considering her current position as guard-dog.

  Syama’s eyes flashed as she shifted her head and met Vee’s gaze. “I really hate this.”

  “I know.” Vee folded her arms, waiting patiently.

  Syama’s perky little nose twitched as she sniffed her disgust and tugged at the cuffs of her jacket, the hem of which shifted to reveal an angry-looking, curved, forked-tip dagger. “Why can’t I come with you in this form?” asked Ve
e’s hellhound bodyguard, her eyes flashing angrily.

  Vee rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I have a choice, you know.”

  Syama let out a puff of air, defeated. “He should have known better than to send me here. It’s like being in prison.” Then her gaze snapped toward Vee, as if she’d suddenly remembered something. “You . . . please do not do that again.” Syama gave a delicate shudder and a bark of laughter escaped Vee’s lips before she was able to stop it.

  “Sorry,” Vee said, grinning.

  “Sorry?” Syama growled. “Sorry? That’s all you have to say? You made me watch you and that . . . demon . . . Ugh. I can’t even say it.”

  “Grow up, Syama. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  Syama gave another shudder and glared at Vee. “You don’t have to demean yourself that way.”

  “Why Syama, I had no idea you were a prude.”

  She shrugged, giving Vee a cold glare. “I’m not a prude. I just have standards.”

  Vee snorted, removing her Glock from her holster and releasing the clip. “You can’t have standards. You’re half-rakshasa anyway. That’s probably called racism.”

  “I’m half hellhound-half human, just FYI,” Syama snapped, a little too vehemently.

  Vee was about to go into detail regarding Syama’s hellhound ancestry being technically that of a demonic canine, when she caught sight of something on the carpet before them.

  A gold filigreed box sat in the very center of the red-and-white paisley rug covering the floor of the front hall. She’d almost missed the box, placed perfectly in the very center of the rug, aligned with the square detail sent leafy vines radiating outward like undulating rays of a red sun.

  The moment she’d set eyes on it, her stomach twisted, warning bells clanging within her essence. Vee glanced around the room, leaned back to peer first into the front lounge and then into the formal dining room.

  Both empty.

  The house echoed silence.

  “What is that?” whispered Syama. The low volume of the question confirmed that she had a pretty good idea of how Vee felt.

  Vee closed her eyes, took a breath. When she opened her eyes she scanned the multitude of aural fragments lingering in the hall. Every single one matched a family member.

  “Not sure.”

  She focused on the box, scanning for residual energy of a delivery man or courier guy, anything. But she got nothing. The area around the box was blank, empty . . . as if nobody had touched the thing.

  Ever.

  Syama nudged Vee in the ribs. “What do you see?”

  Vee shook her head slowly. “That’s the thing. I’m not picking up anything. Not a single trace of residual energy.”

  “How did it get inside our house if nobody touched it?” Syama asked, indignant now.

  “Yeah,” mumbled Vee. “There ought to be some residual fragment from Mac or Ma, if either of them received it.”

  But still, nothing.

  Slipping her hand into her back pocket, Vee withdrew a pair of gloves. She donned them, and knelt carefully in front of the box. Her hand was halfway to the lip, ready to open it when her gut twinged again.

  “Be careful, Vee,” Syama spoke right beside Vee, her breath sweeping Vee’s cheek.

  Vee jumped, and swallowed a shriek.

  “Don’t . . . ” Vee growled, “. . . don’t do that.” She grabbed the box, got to her feet and headed down to the basement.

  Three rooms occupied the lower level of the house. To her left, an ammunitions store, and to her right, the artifact room.

  Straight ahead, was a temperature-controlled room where the Scrolls were stored.

  The Apsara Scrolls. For untold lifetimes, Vee’s maternal bloodline had protected the writings of the ancient, long-dead Apsaras. Knowing she possessed some tiny drop of her foremother’s DNA had made the task an honor and a privilege. Vee’s duty had been to keep it safe, but unbeknownst to everyone but Radhima, she’d also used the writings within the Scrolls to educate herself.

  Now, Vee ignored the call of the Scrolls and turned to the door on the right which held a keypad, into which Vee typed her personal code. Lead-lined, soundproofed and magically-warded, the room was both a strong enough and safe enough space in which to open even the most dangerous of demonic items.

  Out of habit, Vee allowed Syama to enter, then shut the door—not that it was necessary since the hellhound was in human form and she could open and close her own doors. It was just a little hard to remember that in her human guise she could not pass through walls.

  Inside, Vee placed the box on a table in the center of the room and pressed a switch on a panel set into the edge of the table. White light flared, illuminating the glass table from below, exposing even the finest details of the box, and Vee had to admit it was one amazing masterpiece.

  “Nice workmanship,” Syama said, studying the detailed carvings.

  But the workmanship of the box was the least of Vee’s concerns. She snorted. “Mysterious packages never bode well for anyone, least of all the intended recipient.”

  Vee wasn’t even sure she should be opening it.

  In a narrow tray to her left sat an array of metal, plastic and wooden tools. Vee selected a wooden ice-pick, and lifted the lid with it.

  Blood-red silk lined the base of the box.

  A small rectangular white card sat stuck on the inside of the curved lid. The pendant gleamed, the gold metal shimmering in stark contrast to the tawdry red of the fabric. Syama craned her neck to get a better look and Vee took a step closer as her heart hitched, lodging in her throat, forcing her to take another breath.

  She knew exactly what it was.

  Her father’s pendant.

  Using a pair of wooden forceps Vee lifted the pendant and studied it. The coin had been inscribed with her name on the front, her parents’ names intertwined on the back. It hung on a broken chain, the snapped links discolored with oxidation and something else, dark and gritty.

  Vee’s hands shook as she forced herself to place the pendant on the surface of the light table, and reached for the card.

  One side bore her first name written in Sanskrit: Vaishnavi.

  She turned it over to study the single word on the back.

  vairaniryātana

  Also in Sanskrit, the word meant revenge.

  The bottom of the card bore an address, the font embossed onto the card-stock paper. An address in the suburbs outside New York City.

  Vee forced herself to work slowly, to store each object inside its own plastic evidence bag and, leaving them on the table, still garishly lit by the fluorescent light beneath it, she went in search of her dad.

  Mac was in the garage. Or as he liked to call it—the toolshed.

  In reality, it was a weapons workshop because Mac was a History professor with a love for ancient weaponry. Currently he was fawning over the superfine edge of the knife end of a Viking ax.

  He looked up and smiled, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he saw her.

  “Hiya.” Vee sank onto a metal foldout chair beside her step-dad. “Nice.”

  Syama stepped up beside Vee, and Mac glanced at the girl, giving her a wink. “You like it?” he asked.

  “Yep.” Vee grinned as Syama nodded. “Just no lead please.”

  Mac nodded. He never used lead anyway, considering they’d learned a long time ago that the dense metal impacted Vee’s ability to see auras. Lead absorbed auras like a sponge, and could be used to hide the aural patterns of anyone wanting to hide their actions.

  Good thing that piece of information was not public knowledge.

  Now, Mac was watching her, his expression curious. “What’s up?”

  She shrugged. “I like mysterious gifts you know, but usually it’s something nice, like chocolates or a fine brandy.”

  “What are you on about?” Mac asked as he lay the blade inside a narrow box and propped the package on the floor-to-ceiling shelf that covered the entire back wall
of the garage.

  Toolshed, my tush.

  “Guess you didn’t see the random box sitting in the front hall?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Been in here all evening.”

  “Ma?”

  “Bingo.”

  Vee snorted. “That old woman will die before she plays bingo.”

  “You have that right, young lady,” said her grandmother from the threshold to the garage.

  She strode closer, purposefully strong strides for such an old woman, and had Vee snaked into her open arms for a squeeze. Not a particularly affectionate woman, Radha Iyer still managed to shower Vee with all the love she needed.

  In the absence of the love of her own mother.

  “So what’s this about a mystery gift?” she asked, smoothing an errant strand of white hair into the bun at the back of her head as she glanced from Vee to Syama and back.

  Vee sighed and headed for the door, crooking a finger at her curious family. “Come see for yourselves.”

  “Now, that was not what I’d expected when you said ‘mysterious gift.’” Radhima stared at the pendant as if it were a coiled serpent, swaying and hissing, waiting for the most opportune moment to pounce.

  “You can say that again.” Vee stared at the pendant. “Can someone please tell me what my father’s pendant is doing here, when it’s supposed to have disappeared with him?”

  Mac’s normally kind and gentle face was dark with worry, and Vee’s gran looked like she’d aged a decade in seconds. She glanced at Syama who lifted her eyebrows, mirroring Vee’s question.

  “Guys?” Vee asked hesitantly. She stared from Mac to Radhima and then back again, the pit of her stomach hardening. “What’s going on?”

  Mac shifted his gaze away from Vee and studied at the pendant. “It belongs to your father, Vee. Perhaps your mother would be the best person to ask?”

  Vee’s jaw tightened. Her mother was the last person she wanted to speak to.

  Radhima patted Vee’s shoulder. “Sometimes one must perform the most painful tasks in order to move merely a single step closer to one’s goal.”

  “Ma, do you have to make it sound so epic?”