Royal Scales
Book 1, Once Lost Lords
Story by
Stephan Morse
Copyright © 2015 by Stephan Morse
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Events portrayed are based on alternate reality fiction.
First Publishing, 2016
Cover Art includes a modified photo originally found on Aelathen's DeviantArt page.
The unedited version may be found here.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Compulsive
Chapter 2 – An Odd Mix
Chapter 3 – They’re All Serious
Chapter 4 – Take the Dive
Chapter 5 – One of the Perks
Chapter 6 – A Few Times
Chapter 7 – It Always Gets Worse
Chapter 8 – Live for This
Chapter 9 – Blood-Bonded Male
Chapter 10 – Edges of Silver
Chapter 11 – Built All Wrong
Chapter 12 – Adopted by an Elven House
Chapter 13 – Most Other Races
Chapter 14 – Employee Fitness Day
Chapter 15 – A Dangerous Topic
Chapter 16 – Play in the Woods
Chapter 17 – Pretty Good Illusion
Chapter 18 – Elf, Wolf, Human, Vampire?
Chapter 19 – An Issue
Chapter 20 – Pack Lands
Chapter 21 – Adapted to Darkness
Chapter 22 – Almost According To Plan
Chapter 23 – Stay Until After
Chapter 1 – Compulsive
Elves had strange habits. Their nature turned them compulsive to the point of physical distress. No two shared the exact same problem either. Oh well. Everyone was addicted to something.
There were two at the far end of the bar, made obvious by thinner features, pointed ears, and a gaze that acted like others barely existed. One was a blonde female with ironed in curls and giant pitch black glasses. She wore an equally dark hat which extended circularly.
The male was fairly disheveled. His suit was halfway tucked in and covered with fresh coffee stains. Even sullied, those threads were worth a lot, probably three times my entire wardrobe's value. He counted out coins from a child’s piggy bank while taking up half the counter. Both elves had almost ground down the bartender’s patience. As it was she could barely stop her eyes from rolling.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, Jeff.” The bartender said.
Jeff was a new name for an old haunt. False names would help keep me unnoticed. Letting people know Jay Fields was back in town would surely bring unwanted attention. I had been in lots altercations during my lifetime. Of course, the word altercations equated to punching people in the vitals. Repeatedly.
A guy has to have a hobby.
“No rush, Julianne,” I answered while saluting her suffering with a raised shot glass. Tasty caramel and cinnamon trickled down my throat bringing calmness to the late evening.
Drinking was glorious after my self-imposed banishment from this bar. Four years had passed since I sat here. Those travels had ended less than a month ago. Julianne turned up the next morning demanding two things. A hug, and rent money. She owned the bar outright and spent her nights behind the counter serving drinks to poor saps like me. The apartment complex next door was also hers.
Tonight’s amusement, the male elf, had lost count again and started over with his pile of change. He had been trying to pay off some of his tab before Julianne would serve the sap another glass.
Elven addicts often got silly ideas in their heads. This particular slant eared man looked to be addicted to a beer that only Julianne could serve him. For her, it meant revenue. The fact that he had a change jar out in desperation meant that his family didn’t know about his habit or didn’t support it. Or part of his ritual was to steal the money from a kid’s piggy bank.
“No, no, no, not again.” He was muttering while shakily moving coins back and forth.
Elves have a hard time focusing when the withdrawals hit. This sap was one step away from throwing chairs. If he turned violent I would do something. Such as hitting him with a bottle. Repeatedly. Following that would be another name change and laughing.
“Look, leave that on the counter, I’ll sort it out.” Julianne and the elf were both increasingly frustrated.
“Would you, please?” He sounded desperate and groggy.
“Sure. I’ll serve it just the way you like it, but next time, you’re settling the bill with something bigger than coins.”
“I can do that.” He took a breath to steady himself. Julianne tactfully lifted a painted eyebrow. “I will pay you with something other than a piggy bank.”
Julianne didn’t waste any time and poured out a beer. She placed an olive inside with a little polka dotted umbrella. For a final touch, she threw in three ice cubes with a bit of grape soda. It looked like something a trucker would drink mixed with a martini. Their addictions always seemed like strange combinations. Not only physical, some craved certain situations, or places, or emotional rushes. Living with a need to fulfill some ridiculous craving must be hard.
Who was I to judge? I tilted back another shot glass. Only two more remained untouched on the counter.
Sipping his drink had a near immediate impact on the shaky elf. The shrewd edge to his narrow features took over and he gave the bar a once over. Elves were self-conscious about their weaknesses. Instead of panicking I downed the last two shots, hoping I blended in as another drunken patron. Mumbling to myself might help sell the act. Or singing along with the radio. No, his sober blonde guardian probably memorized my face. It wasn’t difficult to do. Buzzed brown hair, a light tan, brown eyes with a hint of amber or ruby. Beyond my linebacker size and a nose that had been broken several times, which had never healed right, my features were forgettable.
While both elves wore clothes that screamed money, she gave off a different vibe. Watchful, playful, and prone to sudden mood shifts. Maybe it was the glasses. It was hard to tell where she was looking with those monstrous shades. Or my tipsy mind naturally assumed I was being inspected. They made their way to the exit, leaving the pile of unsorted coins and a half empty jar behind. As the blonde one passed by me she lifted the shades for a moment, displaying a pair of purple and green tattooed eyes. She stuck her tongue out and flicked it in my direction. Her departing stride commanded attention. I would bet a grand on her addiction relating to bedroom activities.
“So, Jeff, rent’s past due.” Julianne snuck up on me while swaying hips caused a distraction. Hopefully, I didn’t look guilty as my vision swerved back to her. Small shot glasses clinked together as she cleaned.
“It is.” My unconscious lisp drew out the second word.
“Got my money?” She asked. There was a moment where I considered various excuses. None would go over well. Julianne disliked people getting between her and money.
“I take it that’s a no. Good.” She said. Both my eyes crossed in momentary confusion. Being unable to pay rent was bad, wasn’t it?
“Good?”
“Good. I need a favor instead.” Julianne said.
“Hell.” I slid my face down to the counter with a groan.
“Relax, it won’t be as bad as last time.”
“That’s what you said before.” Last time was nearly four years ago.
“Did I?” She was adorable when playing confused. Damn her tiny self. I settled for glaring at Julianne with one eye since my other was pressed shut ag
ainst the polished top of the bar.
“So about my favor.” Her hands went onto the counter-top.
“How much is it worth?” I asked.
“I’ll clear part of your tab and a month’s rent.” Her offer was decent. My apartment was reasonably cheap. The small building consisted of three. Mine had a top floor and a nice basement. It was cool and dark and quiet, all things perfect.
“Two months.” I raised two fingers.
“Two months, two jobs.” She countered and tipped her head.
“You call them jobs like you’re paying me.”
“Paying off what you owe.” Which was a fair point. I did owe, these shots weren’t cheap like beer.
“Semantics.” My arm waved in the air while I tried not to slur.
“I’ll make the second one easy.” Julianne offered.
“How easy?”
“Too easy.” She smiled, showing startlingly white teeth. Julianne, now that I thought about it, looked a lot like the shot I drank. Short, and cinnamon-tinted caramel. Not a single serving woman, though, she had firmly rejected me and half the other hopefuls who staggered in over the years.
“Too easy is a 'no thanks', I’ll take the first job.”
She shuffled around some glasses behind her counter and unlocked a safe located behind the bar. Seconds later she produced two tiny black velvet bags.
“You sure? Easy second month’s rent.” She lifted the second bag and nodded her head towards it.
I shook my head no and took the first bag.
“Too easy.” I threw the words back at her with a half smirk and went about fondling the bag she handed me. She grinned in return while waiting for me to open the pouch. I eyed her and dumped the container out over the bar.
A lock of black hair wrapped in a purple ribbon fell out. A lock that I recognized right away, if not for the color of the ribbon and hair, then for the scent alone. Crushed peppermint leaves, not sweet like the candy, a bitter smell.
“No.” I pushed it away.
“Come on, Jay, you promised. It’s this or pay up.”
“No. Not doing it.’ My face was still planted on the counter-top and almost eye level with Julianne. “Not worth it.”
“I think it’s worth it.” The little Indian girl was pouting with both arms crossed over her chest. A bell noise from the door signaled more evening guests arriving.
“You sadistic bitch,” I muttered it to myself. Julianne had already turned away. She was busy preparing for new customers.
I closed both eyes and tried to wish the lock of hair away.
That failed.
Julianne glanced my way between filling drinks. I tried to plead the seventh, which had something to do with being too drunk for decision making. Unfortunately, she didn’t buy my inebriated act. The truth was I didn’t have rent money and could use a chunk off of my bar tab, but I wasn’t an addict twitching for a fix like the elf was. I never let myself be driven to an extreme for money.
Making money with my skills was difficult. Punching people. Tracking down lost goods. Getting a newspaper ad would result in uncomfortable questions once the government looked my way. Questions about a Western passport or something about taxes. Official licensing and forced government contracts. Blood draws, DNA tests, none of which were topics I wanted to get into. My family had never put me in the system.
Julianne offered a means for income, even if I hated the current option. I waited for her to travel back my way before trying to escape impending doom.
“What was the other job?” I asked.
“Defaulted personal loan,” She responded quietly.
That was a not so clever code for someone who didn’t pay on Julianne’s second business. Loans which revolved around sports gambling. It wasn’t the money lending that was illegal exactly, it was the methods used when someone slipped on payments. Four years ago collections had been my job.
“Can I have that instead?”
She stared at me for a moment and then went back to serving other customers. I should be happy she gave me the legal job and not a potentially illegal one.
“Fine. I’ll need more drinks first.” My throat felt dry just looking at the hair. Bless her. Julianne was decent enough to stay quiet while loading up two additional shots. I had a high tolerance for alcohol and an equally high bar tab. She grinned from ear to ear in amusement. My middle finger raised in response once she turned away.
Julianne half turned and I saw her face in the mirror that stretched along the back of the bar.
“Busted.” A patron near me muttered around his glass. He drank his liquid while I downed both of mine. The burn sent a gasp through me.
I reached for the locket of hair. Who it belonged to was obvious. Hell. I should have contacted the owner a long time ago. After all, we broke up rather abruptly. Mostly because she bit me. The remembrance made me back up a step in my readiness meter.
“Do I have to?” This situation reduced me to whining. Julianne came back with a final shot glass.
“Last one.” She said. I knew where our conversation was going. “Seven, seven drinks to get you to talk to her! If I didn’t know any better I would swear you were a little boy.”
Little was a term that rarely applied to me. My body housed more than my fair share of muscle. The best part of being this big was the room people gave me at the bar. Seats on either side stayed empty even when the place was busy.
“Heh, if you’re looking for a man I’ll offer my services.” My earlier eavesdropper opened his mouth again. He had a hat on still and a belly that gave up trying decades ago.
“Honey, if I was after a man I would have had him.” Tiny Julianne could have her pick of any drunk in the city, and some part time drunks like myself.
“Sweet little thing like you, bet you could at that,” He responded.
“Flattery will get you nothing but a refill.” Julianne humored him with a smile and slid another drink over before wandering off.
“That’ll do fine,” He responded, hardly noticing the bartender’s absence.
Me and the lock of hair stared at each other for a moment. I had fled from the owner, then once half the Western Sector was between us it seemed safer to stay gone. But home was always here, always pulling me back. I grabbed the hair and looked outside at the setting sun.
“Can I wait until morning?”
“Only if you want her to be mad.” Her being the person this hair belonged to. “She knows you’re back and is expecting some sort of explanation.”
“I don’t want to talk to her.”
“You two were good together.” Julianne’s head rocked back and forth as she spoke.
“Maybe for you,” I responded. “Why this way? Why not a phone?” Or a letter, letters required no actual contact. Or a telegraph. Or smoke signals. Anything that wasn’t so personal.
“I don’t know. Either way, do it now or the deal’s off. Easiest money you ever made, for basically a phone call.”
“It’s more than a phone call.” My protesting sounded defeated.
What she wanted me to do was natural yet more personal than anyone knew. Julianne and I had an agreement. She gave me things to find and bring back, people, objects, and whatever. I found them and got paid. People I generally returned, items didn’t always find their way back to their owner. In fact, some of my ‘unsuccessful’ fetches could be found in the apartment I rented from Julianne.
My ability to track usually worked best with something tied to the main object. For people, hair or nail clippings became fantastic links. Clothing was more difficult but depended on the style, size, and mostly how attached the person was. The hair and the ribbon were put together with my needs in mind. Recently.
Touching the link and changing my point of view was enough. Viewing the object as mine, completely, with the intensity a two-year-old ripping their favorite toy out of a parent’s hands. Even if my belief was temporary. Those two elements would form a connection. From there I would hunt do
wn the object. Tracking was easy when someone gave me the item, easier still when I claimed it myself. Ownership by conquest.
If I completed things fast enough she, the person this hair had come from, might be none the wiser to my actions. Sunset was soon and I would need to move quickly. The hair itself wasn’t the danger. Holding it and remembering more than a few nights together, holding her, the moments where I truly believe we had a real chance. Together. Us. Those thoughts were dangerous. It was very, very easy to think of her in that way, a way that wasn’t healthy for my well being. Thinking of her as…
Mine
I closed my eyes for a moment and let the connection come. It had been awhile since I tracked anything. Each moment a brief capture of feelings. Connections forming between myself and everything nearby. Feeling each item’s weight, density, pressures, all the sounds passing through them. Anything that might disturb an object. All of it serving to outline the world as I passed through.
Eyesight fails. Touch expands. Back itches. Then twitches. Great limbs reach out. Feel air pass by. Swirls and eddies. The world leans against itself. Each weight an object. Each sensation a movement. A voice.
I always felt an itch on my back while tracking. As if I was spreading out something other than a set of arms, other than legs. The sensation felt so commonplace that I put out of my thoughts almost instantly. Mentally I grabbed the cord of energy connecting the hair to its owner. I imagined it as a crimson and purple chain. It slowly pulsed in time with a heartbeat miles away. Soon my mind was spiraling across miles at incredible speeds. A world went by shoving snapshots of sensation into my head.
A world lay below. Around. Passes quickly. Walls denser than air. Concrete indifferent to the weight pressing down. Feet press against floors. Air stirs in response to moving bodies. Each motion a ripple.
My senses slipped away from the bar towards the north across the city in a dreamlike rush of movement. Each movement brought a new rush of sensations. Feelings that brushed against me like I stood in the middle of a whirlwind of feedback.
Once Lost Lords (Royal Scales, Book 1) Page 1