Once Lost Lords (Royal Scales, Book 1)

by Stephan Morse

  Sounds assault objects. Vibrations outline the world. Conversations dull quick. Babies cries pierce heavier. Honks shake metal and flesh. Pulses jump in reaction. Living creatures warm the air with each puff. Bloody cord pulls still further.

  These senses could extend up to roughly sixty miles but the distance was more than a day's walk. Travel speed slowed down as my mind approached one dark mansion in a rich neighborhood. This was certainly posh compared to what I remembered of her. Lights were slowly flickering on in conjunction with a sunset in the background.

  Mine. Closer. Down. Through sheets of grainy wood.

  Traveling through objects is the most disorienting portion of a normal trip. It feels like moving through panes of flowing water while senses flickered off and on. The denser the object, the more intense the shock. But until the link was released it would be difficult to stop drawing closer.

  As my senses passed through layers of the building to the core I could feel myself growing both resigned and apprehensive. The final layer was a dense floorboard. Passing through this material was akin to a painful belly flop from the high dive. Hinges could be felt on one side, all the locks on the bottom. She lay in a dugout area barely big enough to house a high-quality mattress and ten feet of clearance. This was a small room designed to be hidden and protected.

  No light. No warmth. No whisper of air. Difficult to feel the differences. Wood to one side. Fabric surrounds slumbering flesh. Resisting urge to feel more.

  Her black skin melded in with the darkness of the hiding space. I had practice at finding her. Here just before nightfall, from this sort of remote viewing, she felt almost peaceful. Too bad the sun was setting.

  I watched her in my intangible form. Not hard with this many drinks in me. Her hair was carefully maintained, tonight it was straightened out. Clothes were tantalizing and failed to cover slender shoulders and legs. Not an unhealthy anorexia, she had toned muscles across a tall frame. She dressed in fabric that felt purple, even at night she wore her favorite color. Purple also carefully wrapped around her wrist in a bow, something that covered an old scar which would never heal.

  Air shakes. Vibrates me like rock tumbler. Energy surges through, magnetized, from somewhere else, towards female’s body. Her eyes flutter. Open. Unaligned. Unfocused. No light.

  The tint of her eyes wasn’t tangible. Her irises should be a deep ruby color, surrounded in a pool of pure white. If I didn’t know who she was, or what she was, I might have guessed her eyes were a dark brown like the rest of her skin. Her gaze stayed unfocused for only a moment, then locked onto the area where I floated.

  Words brush by. Shudder against walls confines. Sink in. Meaning lost at first. Then vibrations of sound are understood.

  “Welcome home, Cat-nip.” The curve of her lips as they moved. Her words triggered flashbacks of kissing her lips and nuzzling the space between ear and neck. The memories were intense enough to smell a teasing scent of peppermint.

  It was impossible to tell if she was angry or excited, her expressions for both were often the same. A hungry smile framed exaggerated incisors. Those very teeth had nearly killed me years ago yet somehow I was conned into looking her up again like nothing had happened.

  Distress laced throughout my body while a panicked heartbeat grew in intensity. My incorporeal mouth wouldn’t move. Here I was, watching over her like a love struck dope. What a joke. No part of me wanted to get sucked back into whatever we had been. To risk that result again. She knew I was back and that was enough for Julianne. Every thought of belonging shattered and I mentally snapped across the distance back to my body.

  Senses shatter. Last glimpse of her face. Trail a finger down her jawline. Feel her smile. Last touch of lips. I am drawn in even as link falls. Eyesight returns.

  The aftereffects of a return trip were terrible. I could feel myself winding back onto my frame. Those extra limbs settled down along my back. Folding up and under each other. Tactile senses were on overload giving feedback from everything around me.

  Creature down the bar feels cool wetness on calloused hands. Pool balls slam into each other. Collisions crack spikes through air. Heels tap concrete near front door. Voices chatter, too many voices. Building walls alive with sound. Music thumps under everything. Pulses realign to heavy noise.

  “Janne!” I was angry and using a nickname that would get me punched. The others in the bar were either too polite to notice, or knew better than to make eye contact.

  “What, Jay?” Which was an older name of mine.

  “The other one. Now. I’ll do it.”

  “Running already?” She asked. There was a mocking smile on her face. Julianne had won whatever battle we were having.

  “Hell yes.” My head hurt.

  The phone behind the bar started ringing, the number that only those close to Julianne knew. She eyed it for a moment and then pulled out the other velvet pouch and tossed it at me. I felt for a moment at what was inside, not a lock of hair certainly. Round, cylindrical, hard. A lipstick container?

  “You’ll be coming back, right?”

  I nodded. It had been bad enough leaving the first time, leaving again would be worse. Even after four years I never felt like I belonged out there. Only here was close enough to call home, to call mine.

  “Usual percentage of whatever you manage to bring back.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Over ten.” Thousand, not a huge debt, but enough to make someone’s night bad. Hell. I really wanted to ensure someone else was having a worse night.

  “Done.”

  My percentage wouldn’t cover rent for the extra month she promised. Julianne had been trying to sweeten the pot in order to make me contact my almost, but not officially, ex-girlfriend. Because four years of no interaction hadn’t been clear enough. Vampires, even partial ones, didn’t track time the same as normal people.

  Waiting around the bar or quibbling over the price of rent was no longer an option. Distance, quick distance, was required at this stage. Kahina, my ex, could cover ground a lot faster than I if she felt inclined. Living with that kind of money meant she could have someone drive her down here first thing.

  My surroundings were still overdosing tactical senses with feedback. Bits of movement here. People rearranging in seats, sliding coins into a machine. Beyond that, I felt Julianne’s words. “Yeah, he just left.” Controlling my drunken swerve was difficult as I sped for the door.

  Kahina would take thirty minutes if she was serious. That provided me twenty to get clear. An unheeded voice nagged at me. Part of my mind thought that avoidance wasn’t an answer, that perhaps we should sit down, say hello, and catch up. Such a wonderful idea would never occur to sober me. Maybe with a regular girl I could have done it, but she was far from regular. Regular girls were human.

  The first stop was home. There was no use hiding where I lived from her, and it was worth the trip. I wanted a little protection against my ex’s anger if things went south. Getting home required travel through a coded security gate. Numbers were easy for me. My door was the third one down. I opened the front and received a rush of cool air. The place was a tiny two-floor apartment. Up top was a kitchen and living room that made sparse sound like an overstatement. There was a couch, workout bench, and a privacy screen that ran along ceiling hooks. There used to be a grill on the back porch, but it had been stolen during my travels. Eventually, I would track it down.

  Near the sliding door that went to the back porch was another cubbyhole that could be mistaken for a closet. It led downstairs. I opened this door only enough to slip into the stairwell. Opening it too far would knock over a rock set on the top stair. My simple and hopefully clever trap would let me know if my inner sanctum had been invaded during an absence. I flicked the light switch on without hesitating and looked at the wall.

  There were more than a dozen crosses, horseshoes, carefully pressed clovers. I even had rocks with holes worn through the center. The collection covered any warding
charms that superstition might allow. Each one placed carefully on the wall in a descending pattern to the bottom of the stairs. Some actually worked. My favorite was a tiny cross made of pure silver. Dual function. Next to that was a set of knuckle covers made of iron underweight coated in silver. The metals combined in a slightly mushy exterior when fighting certain races. Not my most violent tool, but effective, quiet, and legal. I grabbed both. Being ready with the right equipment had allowed me to succeed years ago. Tonight’s armaments weren’t needed for a reputation. One was in case my ex managed to find me and was unhappy. The other in case tonight’s job wasn’t as easy as I hoped.

  Habitually I roamed the entire bottom floor. Each room got a once over for disturbances. Nothing felt out of place. A lot of the items were still in boxes from my four-year exodus. Others were on shelves for display. Dust and webs piled up in untouched corners. Everything seemed secure.

  Fourteen minutes had passed. Dawdling now would put me face to face with my greatest worry. A cab should be available outside Julianne’s. Seven shots meant escaping without a car would be difficult. I might run into a wall in panic.

  Twenty blocks to the east things were looking a bit better. The cabby hadn’t talked beyond asking for a fare. No rain threatened to ruin the walk. More importantly, Kahina was nowhere in sight. She could have been truly happy to see me, or satisfied that I finally dared to return home.

  I had been pacing on the sidewalk since leaving the cab. Vehicles never sat well with me. Most of my traveling took place by walking or a bus. Hell. Buckling down and keeping busy would serve me well. Even if the hasty escape required sitting in a car. Tonight wasn’t the best night to try and track someone down. Panic induced adrenaline couldn’t completely cancel out my inebriation.

  One hand brought out the small pouch. The other fidgeted in a jacket pocket with the silver coated knuckles, slipping them off and on again. I undid the button and pulled out a cheap brass lipstick tube. Its top popped off easily so I could peer inside. Rather than the hue of pink or red smear-able paste there was a tiny rolled up picture.

  Fine, pictures were usually a better focus than the tube. Even if it had been used until the lipstick was gone. Well, both might serve. A moment of concentration later I felt a pull at my left shoulder. Not too far away, not too close, it seemed an hour out by foot, which was good.

  Eastward I went, wandering the late night with a fuzzy cloud over my vision. Sobriety should be closer by the time I found whoever it was these items connected to. In my haste Julianne hadn’t gotten a chance to give me the name. Still, the pouch never lied.

  Hell. I somehow left without my prepaid phone so calling back to the bar would be tough. That was another sign of how inebriated I was. Or of how much modern technology annoyed me. An hour or two later, depending on the delay from my drunken stagger, I was smack in the middle of an L-shaped apartment complex. Real low-class stuff, a barely sanitary pool on one side, overstuffed parking lot on the other. Cars were crammed into spots that didn’t really exist along the grass and near trees. My tracking vision had led me up to one of the apartments upstairs.

  Full on trance mode wasn’t needed yet. The weaker the link, the harder it was to get a solid fix. This picture was of two boys at some sort of camp. One an elf, grumpy looking, the other an excited human. Both with sun-drenched blond hair and the same closely cropped haircut. Ears and their expressions were the only things different.

  The lipstick tube was completely separate in its impression though it still went to the same spot. It was almost like tracking through triangulation. Both items tied to the same person for different reasons.

  First was a lap around the house to check for alternate exits. Some people bolted when you tried to collect bills. Others fought back, trying to make it difficult to push the issue. Occasionally they sobbed. The only exit was in the form of two parallel windows that likely went to bedrooms. Nothing to be concerned about, if he squeezed out and fell two stories catching up would be easier. He also left me with an entire house of things that linked back to him if I needed something fresher than what I had.

  Hopefully, he wasn’t the elf in the picture. Some played dirty, with illusion and deceit I couldn’t keep up with. Luckily they were a limited breed, not like some of the other species Julianne sent me after. The official statistic was that one in twenty elves could do illusions. From personal experience it was even less than that. I was only human, sure I had one of the rare spin-off gifts of tracking and other things, but it wasn’t a substitute for raw speed or power or both. My abilities were all situational.

  Both focuses went into my front pocket. I hiked up the stairs. The cheap half rusted railing rattled as I traveled. Breaking down the door had its uses for scare factor, but there were a lot of neighbors and one would likely call the police.

  Four minutes of knocking had an effect. Two people yelled at me to shut up and finally the space behind the peephole lit up. A brief flash of darkness over the hole meant someone was looking out.

  “Who is it?” The voice was tired, male, timid sounding.

  “I’m here to talk to you about some business ventures.” I never thought negotiation was a bad tactic to try first. It avoided unwanted attention and sometimes they ran. In running, they sometimes ended up in an area without any witnesses. Sometimes they shot at me, and that made everything I did to them justified.

  “Are you sure?” It almost sounded like he was expecting someone else. “What for?”

  “A debt,” I said.

  “Go away.” No denial and the objects in the pouch pointed this way. The little guy sounded firm now. I’d lay money on him not being older than eighteen unless he was the elf in the picture. Years are hard to tell on them.

  “I’ve got all night, and I don’t mind shouting.” It was as close to voicing a threat as I could safely get.

  “Leave me alone,” He said.

  “Hey, I’m here to help you.”

  “You are not here to help, you are a thug who wants to break my kneecaps.” The idiot, what did he think I was? Some sort of old fashioned vampire gang member? Then again it was near midnight. I was increasingly likely to break one kneecap.

  “No need. I can find you anytime, anywhere.” Talking through the door was annoying.

  “What? She has her tracker back?” He sounded strangely hopeful.“Maybe. Let me in, we’ll work something out.” I didn’t need to take it all back by force. Anything of value could be pawned for a partial repayment. That kept the debt open and collectible, and no one needed to get hurt.

  “No, I would rather not,” He said.

  “Suit yourself.” Plan B, I started knocking louder. “Davie, Davie I know you’re in there.” I had no clue if his name was Davie or not. “I saw what you did to my little sister you raping bastard.” My voice wasn’t exactly loud, but it held a tone like I was restraining myself. It was the kind of comment people tended to hear but ignored, letting things sort themselves out.

  “If you don’t open this door, Davie, right this minute, I’m calling the police.” I almost gave the impression of shouting the last part.

  “Davie!” The door opened and I could see one of the blonds from the photo. It was hard to tell which one since his hair was longer and a downright mess.

  “What in creation is wrong with you?” He asked.

  I walked inside by shouldering his thinner frame out of the way. Practiced eyes wandered through his house gauging items for their value. Anything worthwhile and mobile might take a trip home with me. The elf trailed behind me, barely awake. He was muttering to himself in elvish. The accent sounded different from the normal waterfall noises elves spoke in.

  A brief search of the house revealed he had less than I did, at least my upstairs. There was no chance of solving this tonight unless he had a debit card with hefty savings tied to it. I kept one hand around the knuckles and the other checking drawers for rolled bills or a jewelry. Oddly the thin man didn’t fight back. He wasn’t even nervo
us as I wandered about the apartment getting nowhere. Maybe he had nothing or was too tired. While his skin and voice seemed young, the eyes looked worn down. I settled in the living room after taking one last scan.

  “Ten thousand.” Blond bastard didn’t even blink, but he wasn’t making eye contact either. Good, my brain wasn’t firing in one direction due to drunkenness.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “I do not have it. Tell her I can not pay yet.” His words were painfully crisp despite his exhaustion.

  “What do you have?” I asked. Turned out the elf had a lot of silence. My mind was too far from this whole thing to get into a properly intimidating role.

  “Alright. Here’s the friendly version. By tomorrow night, have something. Anything to pay towards your debt. Tonight I’m peaceful.” I said. The alcohol on my breath must be terrible. Hopefully, work was more fun if they thought I was a crazy drunken bill collector.

  I looked around for something to cut with. A better link would be needed for tracking him again. There was only one solid option. A kitchen knife sat on the counter. Scary, and effective. Poor guy was too meek and worn to deal with my nighttime intrusion. I wasn’t feeling it either, this whole thing had been a poor excuse to get out of the area. Still, work was work.

  “Stand still.” I grabbed the knife off the counter top. His eyes went to the blade’s edge. A sane person would have thrown up arms, backed up, protested, the elf just put off a confused air. He must have been sheltered by his clan until recently.

  “I'll be taking a sample.” I lifted a swath of hair and sliced away. His scalp was rudely yanked, but the elf only winced. He seemed almost sad. Clearly I was not what he expected.

  It only took one hand to get a good feel for the weight of the knife. A quick heft of the cheap item and it was lodged into the far wall. Blades weren’t my thing, but they were intimidating in the right hands. That little trick had taken a long time to get down right.

  “I could call the cops.” The blond man finally found a measure of backbone. His voice more emotionless than it was a moment ago, perhaps it had something to do with me cutting off a chunk of his grimy hair.