Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  Even my partner Dion wouldn’t believe me. He thought I was on a wild goose chase. That part really hurt. I'd spent the few months before specifically investigating the death of a young woman who had been a psychic. Poor Beverly Dean had been heavily into drugs and was found overdosed on cocaine. I had traced her phone records and found Stephen had been in contact with her a few times before she died. Yet after interrogations and lack of evidence, I couldn't directly connect him to the case. No one believed it was a murder, or that Stephen was behind it.

  He was suave, and he knew his way around red tape. What's more, he knew that I suspected him.

  And then he kissed me.

  It had been at that very police ball, the one where the photograph was taken. It was to celebrate a huge donation from—you guessed it—Stephen Cross. I had gotten gussied up at Aimee’s and Dion’s request. The two of them cornered me and made me put on a lavender ball gown, something that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. Ben came with me, looking dapper as he always did. I had felt ridiculous and not myself.

  At the time, Ben and I were already on the fritz. After I was forbidden from working on the Dean case, I’d been working constantly on the Stephen Cross case in my spare time. I was obsessed. I kept telling myself that if it saved lives and stopped the threads of mass spread crime, then it was worth it.

  Ben didn’t see it that way. He and I had gotten into an argument the day before about my obsessiveness with the Cross case, so we were a bit tense with each other.

  I could tell he was hoping that this police ball was our chance to reconnect. To me, it was the final nail in the coffin of our dying relationship. We had a few nice dances, a few laughs, but it had all felt empty to me. And Ben felt it too, because he left me alone, while he had a cigarette in the back garden.

  I had been alone when Stephen Cross walked up to me.

  “For being such a pain in the ass, you look very lovely tonight, Detective Saunders,” he told me, giving me a dazzling smile.

  I looked up at him and fought the urge to sneer. To anyone else he would have looked like a knight in shining armor—expensive white Armani tuxedo, his black hair with silvering sideburns slicked back, his clear blue eyes watching me intently. I knew better.

  “Is that how you earned your reputation as a playboy?” I asked. “Picking up women by calling them pains in the ass?”

  He grinned at me, showing a row of perfect white teeth that cosmetic dental surgery surely helped with. “I’ve found, in my years of being a playboy, that women like being treated like that, Saunders. Why else do you think they all go for the bad boys?”

  What a misogynistic pig!

  “May I have this dance?”

  I glared at his proffered hand and was about to throw it back at him, when I saw Police Commissioner Forrest glaring back at me from across the room. His meaning was simple: Dance with the police department’s biggest benefactor or you’ll be fired.

  I didn't want to be fired. I took his hand.

  With a flourish, he pulled me up to my high-heeled feet and led me to the dance floor where he showed me how much three years of ballet as a child helped me out with dancing. In other words, I had two left feet and no sense of rhythm. I let him lead and he twirled me around exposing my less than capital dancing skills.

  “How did a lovely young lady end up as a homicide detective?” Stephen Cross asked.

  “None of your business,” I croaked.

  “You make every detail about my life your business,” he said with a shrug, undeterred. “It’s only fair.”

  I glared at him. I wasn’t about to tell him about my father’s death.

  He sighed, resigned. “Relax, Saunders,” he said. “I’m trying to get you to relax.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, pulling away from him, but he held my wrists. “Let me go.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered, his voice threatening.

  “And what is that?” I asked, exasperated. “Trying to take down a megalomaniac?”

  He grinned maliciously. “Trying to seduce one, you mean.”

  I would have laughed if I wasn’t so shocked at the accusation. “Seduce you? As if.”

  His eyes glittered at me. “You will, Saunders. You will. Once you see what I will become, you'll be begging to have a piece of me.”

  And then he kissed me.

  It caught me off guard so much, he kissed me longer than I would have let him. I was so angry, I pushed him off me and staggered backwards. He was lucky I didn’t slap him. Then someone snapped a photo of us, quite unexpectedly.

  I blinked the stars from my vision because of the flash, and I saw Ben’s hurt face as he was re-entering the ballroom.

  “Ben,” I called, as he turned away and left me there. I knew how bad it looked to him, since I had been obsessing over Stephen Cross for two years.

  That night was the final straw in our relationship. Ben asked me about it later, and I told him what happened, that Stephen Cross was a jerk and he was trying to mess with me. That, combined with the rest of the burned bridges between us, dissolved our relationship.

  And now, this photograph had resurfaced over Cerberus' dead body. As a calling card?

  No, a taunt.

  “I know who's doing this,” I said. I looked at Plutus. “I know who's trying to kill you.” I didn't have a motive yet. I knew.

  Tisiphone, along with an entourage from the palace, appeared from around the corner. She halted when she saw the mess. “Oh, gods!” she cried.

  “Do you have my tablet?” I asked, running up to her.

  “It's here,” Tisiphone said, taking the tablet out from her backpack.

  “Great,” I grabbed it from her. “We need to alert the security around here, and increase everything, okay?”

  “We have already doubled the security...” she said softly.

  “I don't care!” I cried. “Whatever we have, we need to increase it. Have Daedalus triple our security. Somehow, someone's killed Cerberus. I'm not letting them get to Plutus.” I felt like a madwoman. I didn't want to create a stir or a riot or anything, but this was getting too close, and if Stephen Cross was willing to kill an innocent puppy, I had no doubt about what he'd do to get to Plutus.

  “Just do it, please, Tisiphone.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I quickly snapped photographs of the crime scene. I didn't need much else, just something to document Cerberus' death. I didn't want to spend too long here. I had a lot to do to keep Plutus safe.

  “All right, you're clear to clean the scene,” I commanded to the servants. I grabbed Plutus' hand. “I need you to go back with me to the palace and stay in your room. I need to keep you safe.” He gave me a slow nod. I took that as a sign that it was okay to bring him back with me.

  I practically dragged him back to his room. I was doing a stilted run, pulling him along at his limping pace. He didn't argue or say anything during this time. The only indication he was surprised with the entire thing was his heavy breathing. He wasn't used to running like this.

  I deposited him into his room. “Stay here,” I ordered. “Lock the door and don't let anyone come in unless it's me, okay?”

  With that stoic mask in place, he stiffly relented.

  “Please be safe,” I said, closing my eyes.

  I turned to leave.

  “You too, Callista” he replied, although I couldn't see his face.

  I closed the door behind me. The lock slid home and I rested my head on the cool wood, closing my eyes.

  Focus on your next steps, Callie.

  I went to my room and shut the door, locking it myself.

  You are strong.

  My father's voice reverberated in my head.

  I sat at my desk, looking at the wall where I had everyone's picture posted. This was preposterous. How did Stephen Cross know about this entire thing? He was a conniving billionaire without morals. But he wasn't a god, he was a mortal. Or...or was he? In my
distress, I had failed to link the two together. He was a demigod.

  “I'm such an idiot.” Some all-star detective I was, failing to miss all that. Why had I missed all the signs? Stephen Cross had grown up without a father, and because of that, he had sworn to not live impoverished all his life. That was surely because his father was a god.

  Hands trembling, I took out my tablet. There was an email from someone named Alecto, with the subject: CONFIDENTIAL List of Living Demigods. I opened it, and found there was no message, only an attached spreadsheet. I clicked on the link and was rewarded with a list over 7800 names long.

  I paused, my hand hovering over the screen, trying to digest that. 7800 names? And those were just the living ones.

  Damn.

  The list was sortable based upon whatever variable I wanted. I searched by first name and had a list from A-Z of all of the names. I scrolled down to the S's and found four Stephens, yet none of their last names, nor their dates of birth matched Stephen Cross'. I had memorized the facts of his life by heart. I knew exactly when he was born and when his first million was made, what his mother's name was, everything. I searched by last name, and while there was one Cross, it was a girl born in London only fifteen years ago. I knew I wasn't going to find his name there, no matter how many ways I tried to sort it.

  It had to be there. Had to be. I flung the tablet away in frustration and put my head in my hands. None of this made sense. Not that it did before, but now, it really didn't make sense.

  He had to be a demigod, yet his name wasn't on the list. Unless someone had tampered with it.

  Had someone taken Stephen's name off the list? The only people I knew who had touched this list were that birthing goddess Ilithiya, Hades' secretary Alecto, and Hades himself.

  I ran an internet search on Ilithiya. Based upon what I read, she had no motive to kill Cerberus or Plutus. Alecto was a Fury, much like Tisiphone (Wikipedia even said that they were sisters), was acting as one of Hades' secretaries for the moment. I doubted she would have taken the initiative to leave Stephen's name off unless she was asked to.

  By Hades.

  I looked back over at the newspaper clipping. Why hadn't I seen it before? The dark hair, the nose, the silvering sideburns? I didn't need a list of demigods to see the connection.

  Almost-death was making me really dense.

  I grabbed the newspaper clipping and the tablet, and I practically tore the door off its hinges to get out. I stormed down the hallway towards Hades' office. I hated being played for a fool, which he had already played me for once. I hated it when things didn't make sense. And this whole thing certainly did not make sense.

  I almost barreled into Charon in a hallway and nearly dropped everything I was carrying.

  “Charon?” I asked, confused. “What are you doing here?” Wasn't he supposed to be out on the ferry, taking the Dead from one place to another?

  I noticed the harpoon in his hand, one of those fishing ones that you'd picture in stories like Moby Dick. Not in the Underworld. He grinned at me with a wide, toothy smile that sent chills down my spine. I realized what it was that I didn't like about him.

  He was crazy.

  “This,” he said in his craggy voice.

  He speared me through my left shoulder. I screamed as it drove me backward onto the floor. Charon was surprisingly strong. He leered down at me, and the harpoon went all the way into the tile on the ground, cracking it and holding me there. Indescribable pain exploded throughout my body. A sob escaped my throat. He'd missed my shoulder blade, so it went through without too much damage, probably puncturing a lung. If I was lucky. Otherwise, I had a long wait to die.

  It felt like I was breathing through a straw.

  My mind flurried through everything. Why didn't anyone come running? Surely my scream had alerted someone that something was wrong. Unless…oh shit, I had just put more reinforcements on the outside of the palace. There was probably no one else close by. I wasn't close enough to Hades' office yet. We were in the hallway, and no one had heard me scream.

  “You…” Oh God, it hurt to speak. “You...killed Cerberus.” I coughed, and I spat out blood. He had hit something inside that was very important. “You're helping Stephen Cross.”

  Charon peered down at me. Next time, I should make a note to trust my instincts. Anyone I didn't like, I should treat as suspects. I was never wrong. And now I was fully dying because of it.

  “Why?”

  He cackled, his wrinkled, weather-beaten face breaking into a crazy grin. “Yer asking me?” He bent his skinny, spider-veined legs and brought his face close to my level. “I been working fer Hades fer thousands o' years. Thousands. An' 'ave I ever gotten a raise? No. Not a once. I learned 'bout a thing called inflation, an' I'm makin' next to nothin' these days. Nada. Zip. So how do ye get more money? Ye change jobs.”

  “Working for Stephen Cross.”

  He grinned serenely. “Yep.”

  “You brought the Shadow Assassins here.”

  “Yep.”

  “You tried killing Plutus.”

  “Yep. That little punk.”

  I took in a shuddering breath, feeling more than physical pain at the moment. “How...how did Stephen get into contact with you?”

  He gave me a toothy, huge smile. “He said you'd ask questions,” he groused. “He had an...oracle...a woman who tol' me about him.”

  “You talked to an oracle?” I closed my eyes. Beverly. He was talking about Beverly. The poor psychic whose death I had been investigating. I had been right. Stephen had a hand in her death.

  “He offered me more money so I took the job.” He nearly spat out the words, completely satisfied with himself.

  Even though it hurt, I started laughing, a coughing, rasping laugh that probably meant that I sounded like a dying, crazy woman. For all I know, I was. Things were slowly starting to fall into place. I should have picked up on it when he was talking about what Plutus “deserved”. Stephen had used the psychic, poor Beverly Dean, to make contact with the Underworld. That's how he would have found out who his father was. That's how he had a mole. And that's why he killed Beverly when she knew too much.

  I should've known. I guess that could go on my list of should'ves.

  “I've never liked you, Charon.”

  “Same,” he cackled.

  “How did you poison the food?” That was the last bit I didn't know. If he answered that, at least I knew he was working alone here.

  “Pah,” he spat, spraying spittle across my face. “You'd be surprised at how easy it is to sneak into the kitchens. They talk a big talk about security, but they're stupid. Just like you.”

  That was confession enough for me. He was the only mole among Hades' servants, which was a relief to me.

  With my right hand and whatever strength I had left, I pulled my gun out from the back of my pants. He was too wrapped up in my suffering to really notice and held me by my chin so he could breathe his hot breath in my face.

  “You...do realize…that you're...just a pawn, right?”

  At such a close range, I didn't even have to aim. I simply pointed it in the direction of his head and pulled the trigger. His smug little head exploded into a spray of red. The recoil from the gunshot threw me back onto my back with such force that I lost control of my head, cracking it on the tile floor.

  I passed out. This time, I wasn't expecting to wake up.

  13

  At first, I thought I was waking up in a hospital in San Francisco. The light coming in from the window seemed too bright for the Underworld, and I wasn't in my usual room. Being somewhere different gave me a little sliver of hope. I slowly adjusted my eyes to my surroundings.

  Was I back? My shoulder hurt, badly, but I didn't feel any bulky bandages.

  “Morning.”

  I froze, hearing a familiar voice, and even though I'd been half delirious when I heard it last, I couldn't mistake it. I turned my head to the left and saw Apollo sitting there, watching me.
>
  “Ugh,” I grunted. “I'm still here.” I groaned, shutting my eyes, and writhed on the bed, turning away from him, and away from what was now my world.

  “Not quite the greeting I was hoping for,” said Apollo blithely. “I'll chalk that up to you being a bit disoriented.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You're still in the palace, but we moved you to be closer my guest room and to the sunlight. It seemed to be healing you a bit more than I ever could.”

  “Let me guess,” my voice sounded weak, even to my own ears, “you and Asclepius healed me again.”

  “Just me this time,” he said, sounding amused. I heard the creak of him sitting back in his chair. He loudly sighed, and I was reminded that despite his scholarly, nerdy looks, he was still a god. “You were in such bad shape by the time Plutus found you that they had to call in the big guns right away.”

  I swallowed, trying not to focus on the fact that it was Plutus who had found me. He was supposed to be back in his room. What was he doing out in the hallways, when I warned him that he should stay safe?

  “Was it worse than my poison bite?”

  He nodded gravely. “The bite was immediate death for you, but we only had to remove the poison. This time I had to repair your left lung, a couple of ribs, and quite a few arteries and veins, which was quite intense. You were bleeding out when I arrived.”

  So I had nearly died. “I need to stop dying.”

  He grinned. “You're telling me.”

  I glanced back behind me to try and look at him, although my neck didn't stretch far enough. “Is everyone safe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is...is Plutus safe?”

  “Yes.” It wasn't Apollo’s voice.

  I turned on my back, so I could see the doorway. Plutus stood there, leaning heavily on his cane, a tray of food in his other hand. He gave me a small smile. “Welcome back.”

  “You idiot,” I rasped. “You were supposed to stay in your room.”

  The smile turned into a frown. “If I hadn't left my room, you would have died for real this time. And there wouldn't be an Afterlife for you.”