Chest of Bone (The Afterworld Chronicles Book 1)

by Vicki Stiefel

  “I saw more than three of them,” I said.

  “In the wind, for now. We’ll find them.”

  I got a mug of coffee, held it up. “More?”

  He shook his head.

  “Roberto?” I asked. “He wore a tux with a red cummerbund. Round. Florid featured.”

  He nodded. “Dead. What else can you tell…” His voice trailed off.

  Larrimer stood at the foot of the stairs. The man could move like a leopard. He was taunting Bob on purpose, damn him.

  Larrimer prowled toward us. Unruffled. Groomed. Menacing. At least, he’d put on clothes.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “How was your nap?”

  He grinned, all white teeth and satisfaction. “Refreshing.”

  Bob almost leapt from his chair.

  I still had my knife. I could just throw it and wipe the damned smile off Larrimer’s face. I swear he could read my mind, because his smile widened.

  Bob emitted a sound between a growl and a bark. Larrimer snarled back.

  And the testosterone match escalated.

  I snatched my keys off the hanger and slipped out the door.

  could drive to T-Rox blindfolded. Tommy and I had named the place in grammar school, a secret spot where two dino-sized rocks kissed, and we’d leave each other notes there. Stuff we didn’t want anyone else to see. He’d remember. Time to speed things up. Today, I’d leave a new one.

  I flipped open the glove compartment and searched for the pad and a pen. Urgency dried my throat.

  The world shimmered. Tears, about to slip out. Screw that. I wouldn’t cry, not like some sappy eight-year-old whose doll had been stolen by a bully girl.

  Tommy had rescued my doll, Brenda. Why had I named her Brenda? After that incident, Tommy taught me how to fight.

  I was his Clea.

  My palm slammed against the steering wheel. Angry, heavy. Hopeless.

  The Master had to die. And my fireflies were the only way I saw to kill him. My Tommy was dead already. Except I was glad he was alive, that he still breathed the same air as I.

  I finally admitted the truth. When I killed Tommy, I might die, too.

  I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek. So I was crying. So what.

  The dirt road I drove lumped and bumped for a mile. When I found the right spot, I pulled to the side, wrote the note, and got out.

  Immense silence wrapped me in its arms. Oh, how I loved the woods in winter, the way they comforted me like a hand-knit sweater. I could think, reason, fantasize, explore.

  The air was still, as if waiting.

  Damn! Stop stalling!

  I walked down the sleepy, snow-laden path. But the woods told me spring was coming, the bear, the chipmunk, the chickadee would have more food. Plants would push from the earth, their yearly miracle. Sounds would amplify, the rustle of leaves, the chitter of foxes, the clatter of squirrels. Not yet, but soon. Today, my breath still puffed mist and my footsteps crunched snow.

  Soon, glorious spring. Would I see it?

  The giant granite outcropping, T-Rox, reared just ahead.

  A man materialized before me. I backpedaled. As tall as Larrimer, but slender. Jeans, a fitted tee, long braided hair the color of wheat, a faint smile on his long face. And pointed ears. Hello, Mr. Spock. Except—whoa—when he tilted his head, I glimpsed small, pearlescent horns protruding from his skull.

  I held up my right hand, palm out.

  He stepped forward and took it in his. “No need for that.”

  Angelic voice. “You’re not an angel, are you?”

  “No. Better.” He reached for my hair, held a long dreadlocked curl on his palm. “You might be Mage, but the Fae in you is strong, too.”

  I swallowed. “Oh.” Could I be any more witty? “You can teleport.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can all Fae?”

  “No.”

  Well, this was stupid. “What do you want? Are you here to kill me? Take me to The Union?”

  “No.”

  He sure talked like Spock. “I see you’re a Fae of many words.”

  His silver eyes warmed. “Taka called you a viper. I find you delightful.”

  I jerked back, gathered and unfurled my senses. A strange vibe, one that sang somewhere deep inside me. I sensed no violence. Then again, I’d been wrong before. “So, why are you here?”

  He smiled, all sunshine and rainbows. Gods, I’d be seeing unicorns next. Were unicorns real? Shit, off track again.

  He sat on a flat rock warmed by the sun. In idiotic mode, I followed.

  “To answer your questions, Clea,” he said. “My power’s faded, been stolen, here in the mundane. I no longer can transport others. Since I now consider The Union my enemies, I don’t plan to kill you.”

  “Gee, that’s reassuring. How did you find me?”

  “I followed you. It wasn’t hard.”

  He turned his head toward me, and, no, he didn’t sparkle. Not much, anyway. Those horns… and out popped, “Can I touch them?”

  He shrugged and bent his head.

  I reached up and delicately touched the tips of my fingers to one horn.

  “Tickles,” he said.

  I snatched my hand away, the horn’s warmth lingering on my fingertips. “Why—” I superglued my lips.

  “Why horns?” Those silver eyes laughed. “Very old Fae begin to grow them. In mundane terms of time, very slowly. They’re a source of pride, in fact. Since my power has faded, mine have diminished.”

  The fury pulsing from him literally hurt and snapped me back to the now. “I’m sorry about the horns, about what The Union did to you. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you, to see what all the fuss was about.”

  Ah, that explained everything. Not. But there was more. There was always more. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

  “I loathe when people mispronounce it, which you would. Call me Charlie.”

  “That’s… nevermind. You wanted to see me. So here I am.”

  He again took a lock of my hair. “You’re not like her, yet you are.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “That’s forbidden by our queen.”

  Oh damn. Just damn. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now go away. I have stuff to do.”

  He laughed. Swear to gods it sounded like bells tinkling. “I’m glad I amuse you.

  “They have no idea who and what you are. None. I have something for you.” He pulled out a black knife, all one piece and shiny. “Give it to the man you call lover. Only he.”

  How the hell did he know that? “Why?”

  “It will help him in battle.” He tweaked my hair and released it. “He’s my child. I gave him the spark of life.”

  “You’re—”

  “Yes. James Larrimer. He was my first. I was promised, the last. They lied. Like the wyvern, they drained me. Almost dry. And for that, I despise them.”

  It sounded horrible. His sorrow and hatred bruised my heart. “Will you get your power back?”

  “Perhaps.”

  His enigmatic smile chilled me. Even so, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why? Why did you help them at all?”

  “Because we’re all fools at one time or another. Be careful, little Clea Artemis. Guard your heart.” He nodded toward me. “Our type of Fae, we tether for life, when our sparks harmonize, they sing the same song.”

  Larrimer and I. Our song. Images of what was and what could be careened through my mind. “What kind of Fae?”

  “In your language, a protector. It’s in our blood, in our bones, in our soul. That’s why the Union chose Larrimer, you see, expecting his Fae spark to resonate with you.”

  Which it had. “He knew,” I said.

  “No. He did not. The Union understands nothing of the actual tether—your song, Clea. “Resonate” and “harmonize” are two similar, yet different aspects of our spark. Yours and Larrimer’s and mine resonate. Yours and Larrimer’s alone harmonize, one with the other.
”

  Dear gods.

  He smiled, and it was grim. “A grave mistake by The Union, one which, perhaps, may ultimately be their downfall.” His sideways glance cut deep. “Or his.”

  “You gave him the spark. Why don’t I harmonize with you, too?”

  His face stiffened to porcelain perfection. His bitter chuckle, the brush of leaves on the wind. “Because I am changed. I also suspect each spark received is somewhat altered by that person’s soul essence. Plus, Larrimer is more.”

  The wyvern. And in so many other ways. “Yes, he is. The spark thing still bugs me.”

  He spread his arms wide. “This is all new territory. These Mundanes interfering, acquiring, corrupting magic. It sucks.”

  “Are you immortal? Is he?”

  “Not entirely.” He shrugged and vanished.

  I jerked to my feet. Well, hell. I wished I could poof, too. Talk about TMI and NEI, too much and not enough, at the same frickin’ time.

  “Know this,” came Charlie’s disembodied voice. “If I die, so will he.”

  “Thanks for the PS, Charlie!” I screamed.

  I thumped back onto the flat rock where we’d sat, a knife in one hand and my crushed note to Tommy in the other, too stunned to move.

  Long minutes later, I got my act together. All righty then. A few steps, and I again stood in front of T-Rox. A bright yellow piece of paper peeked from the join of the two rocks. I withdrew it.

  My Dearest Clea, I knew you’d come.

  I slammed my back to the cold rock, scanned the woods. Shame on me. I’d been so intent on the Fae, I hadn’t paid attention. His men could be lurking. He could be lurking. Fool.

  Yes, as Charlie aptly said, we’re all fools sometimes.

  But no, I was alone. This battle had boiled down to just the two of us. I knew it, and so did he.

  I sighed, and continued to read.

  Tomorrow. 10:00 a.m. at The Bridge. I’ll bring the girl. You bring the chest. Fair trade. Be alone, sweetness. Tommy

  I fisted the note I’d brought him.

  I’d written almost exactly the same thing.

  I wish I was more clever. I am fairly bright, but my mind isn’t as devious as I’d like. I could deceive, lie, even, but clever eluded me. I had to go AWOL from Ronan, Bernadette, and most definitely, James.

  So I came up with a really dumb plan. It was the best I had. Sue me.

  When I arrived back home, Larrimer walked outside to greet me sporting a lovely black eye. It added a mean exclamation point to his healing yellow and purple bruises. My imagination supplied what Bob must look like.

  Watching Larrimer saunter toward me, lips twitching to an almost-smile, eyes heavy lidded and bright, happiness bloomed.

  Just him. Just the sight of him. It occurred to me that I felt that bloom when he walked into a room or when I watched him from a window as he worked on some task. His mere presence offered a quiet comfort and joy.

  Such an odd emotion. Such a welcome one.

  Ronan waved from the window, and I could smell what had to be a Bernadette Special—prime roast and Yorkshire pudding, horseradish potatoes and buttered asparagus, pumpkin ravioli and mushroom strudel—I’d bet to commemorate Larrimer’s amazing recovery. Oh gods, the scent of pecan pie. Heaven. She was mostly back with us. Score one for good news.

  Later, bellies full, and after Bernadette trundled to bed around eight, Larrimer and I talked to Ronan, vowing again to find Lulu. We watched as the tormented boy plodded his way up the stairs, shoulders bowed, Mutt and Jeff following close on his heels.

  “I’m going to shower,” Larrimer said, face stoic, but eyes a challenge.

  A sly grin. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “One could say treacherous.”

  “Oh dear. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Nor I.”

  “I’ll be sure to protect you.”

  Once he disappeared, I ran to the barn, found a padlock, and dashed to lock the bulkhead. I raced back to the house, where Grace whoofed an exuberant hello, as if I’d been gone for three hours, not three minutes.

  Clothes doffed, I shrugged on my sleep shirt and forced myself to casually walk down the hall.

  And there was Bernadette, peeking out of her room.

  “Hey,” I said, all blasé.

  “Where are you going?”

  Ah, the drill sergeant. “To the bathroom.”

  “Agent Larrimer’s in there.”

  In for a penny. “He is.”

  She mimed zipped lips.

  Was nothing normal anymore?

  “Nice eye, James,” I said as he soaped me.

  “One lucky punch.”

  Since he hadn’t mentioned a body bag, I assumed Bob survived.

  As we showered, his psyche sparkled. I’d never sensed him so lighthearted. He laughed when Grace scratched at the door.

  “She’s jealous,” he said.

  I ran my hands across his beautiful body. Scars in varying sizes mapped his flesh, and I kissed as many as I could find until he lifted my chin and took me in a kiss that curled my toes. Long moments later, I touched his new scars, raised and red, from Tommy’s quills, reminding me of tomorrow and what was to come.

  “Clea?” He frowned.

  “I hate that he hurt you.” I lifted my hands to his broad shoulders, down his muscled back, over his ass, relishing his hard erection pressed between our bodies.

  “I’ve been hurt worse.” His eyes ate me up. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I wasn’t, but hey, if he saw me that way…

  He slipped his hand between us, down to cup my mons, and one finger pressed against my clit. I moaned.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” I rasped. “In the best way possible.”

  He moved that one finger, and I threw back my head, the spray of water cascading down my face. I groaned, and the slough of his breath touched my neck just before he bit it. I yelped, laughed. He pulled me closer still.

  I desperately wanted him inside me, ached for it. Tomorrow wasn’t here yet. I wasn’t gone yet. And I needed this night and James. Us. I wanted this wonderful, impossible man to know all the passion, all the care, all the tenderness I felt for him. I wanted us to be together, not alone, never alone.

  He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around him. Hands on my bottom, he raised me higher still, and I felt the tip of him touch me. I opened to him.

  “James.” I hung on, bent my head, and sucked.

  He groaned. “Christ.” He lowered me onto him inch by inch until I sheathed him.

  “Oh, the wicked things you do to me, James Larrimer.”

  Water flowed over us, slick and hot, and we began our dance, the intensity of our harmonic song almost too much to bear.

  Later, much later, after we made slow sweet love again, we nestled warm and cozy in my bed. I lay tucked against his chest, he on his back, his arms surrounding me. I hadn’t felt that sense of rightness in forever.

  “What will happen when they learn you failed to retrieve the chest?”

  He ran a hand across my hair. “Irrelevant. I’m their biggest-ticket asset. Your dreads are glorious. Keep it long.”

  “Not sure I have a choice. James, if anything bad happens. Look out for Lulu and Bernadette?”

  Arctic cold. “Don’t even—.”

  I kissed him. “Not to worry, my beautiful dragon dude. Not to worry.”

  I rose at five-thirty, slipped out while he slept on, didn’t allow myself a backward glance. While I took care of the animals and then showered, I relived last night, the way I’d touched him. The feel of him beneath my hands. The way his eyes softened just before he kissed me. The scrape of his calluses across my breasts, the brush of his lips.

  Stop.

  I rinsed off, rubbed myself dry, and by the time I reached my bedroom, he’d gathered his clothes and gone. Except for the red socks. He’d left his red socks.

  I rubbed a hand across my chest to ease the hurt.

>   The black turtleneck and leggings I donned were a favorite of Tommy’s, designed to spark his memory. I slipped into my Frye boots, which would accommodate the ankle holster I’d strapped on, then slid in the smaller of my two guns.

  I’d given myself forty minutes to get to the meet. I couldn’t be too early for my plan to succeed, just a tad, because I bet Tommy would be early, too. I emptied my large backpack and began to place the chest inside. Hesitated. What a terrible risk. But, I had to take it. If I brought a fake chest, Tommy would suss me out. With the bait in my pack, I added my Glock, my shoulder holster, the small Bowie knife, and a True Bal. I’d weapon up when I arrived at MacDaniel. I was tempted to take the Fae knife, but suspected it was keyed to Larrimer in some way.

  I stretched, got the blood flowing, a freight train through my body. I snapped the lock and opened my bedroom window wide. Finally, I sat on the chair beside the window, focused, and pushed my fireflies.

  Whoa! A miniature shower of them erupted from my palm. I projected outward, out the window. They fizzled. Twice more I replicated my moves, and received two more fizzles in return.

  Shit.

  Memo to Self: learn how to firefly minus the high emotion.

  I slung on the backpack and trotted downstairs around eight-thirty to the scents of waffles and eggs. The normalcy of it made me dizzy.

  “Isn’t that the outfit, cookie,” Bernadette said when I walked into the kitchen.

  I winked. She smiled. I reached in the fridge and took out a yogurt, then refilled my go-mug, my third injection that morning.

  “Ronan off to school?”

  She nodded as she washed another plate, rinsed, and stacked it neatly in the drainer.

  “That’s what we bought a dishwasher for,” I said, annoyed. Yeah, I was cranky.

  “Your idea, cookie,” she said. “Not mine. Wastes electricity and water.”

  No it doesn’t. The words wouldn’t clear my throat, so I kissed her cheek, which earned me a semi-caterpillar eyebrow. I swiped the keys and headed for the truck.