“There was a rogue coven causing some trouble just outside London. I intervened, it got ugly, and they had a goblin. I found the scuffle exhilarating. Sadly, I need time to heal and the others will have dissolved the coven by now so I will have to wait for the next supernatural uprising.” Lucian smiled mischievously reminding Ryder of their past adventures as enforcers.
“A goblin? It has been a while since one of those surfaced. I am glad you had a good spar. I am heading home now if you would care to join me you are most welcome.” Ryder led his friend to the black Benz he’d “borrowed” for the drive over. It would not do to have any of his vehicles at the cemetery. Lucian raised an eyebrow but slid into the passenger seat.
“It has been a while, Ry. What have you been up to?”
Ryder glanced at Lucian out of the corner of his eye as he slid the car into drive. “This issue has been time consuming, far more complicated than I imagined, Lucian. Trin Sullivan was different than the others, far more powerful. I am relieved it is over. It is time for a new mission; I am weary of this one.”
Lucian scowled, “Enough of this serious talk. I did not come to discuss work. It has been decades, what are you up to other than Seer-slaying? Have you met anyone? Any women in this lifetime?”
“No. I may take it solo for a while longer. Jasmine was hard on me.” Ryder blinked out her face, the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin; he could not go there now.
“Jasmine was special, brother. Women like her are hard to come by in this modern world, pure in soul and wild in bed.” Lucian wagged his eyebrows, “I am flying solo as well. Of course, that does not stop me from enjoying women as I see fit.”
“Lucian, you give us all a bad name.” He chuckled silently as he navigated the route back to the manor, “How long are you in town?”
“That remains to be seen, friend.”
“Stay as long as you will. We can catch up and I would like to bend your ear on something I am working on.”
Lucian settled into the seat, “Well then, start talking. I love a good research project.”
“You said no more serious talk. Tell me about the goblin, how did you take him out?
Storm
Storm pushed open the white-washed doors in the most dramatic fashion she could muster; something she’d always wanted to do and finally could. Aunt Trin had left the doors unlocked and the foyer looked exactly as it always had, other than the wilted bouquet of lilies upon the round, marble-topped, catch-all table. Trin’s keys were laid out in small porcelain dishes around the vase; dead petals littered half of them. Storm ran her fingers over the nearest dish, a Lamborghini symbol on the keychain. She smiled. Her favorite car from the lot, the one she parked her Beetle next to in the massive attached garage. She’d always shared her aunt’s love of cars, especially fast ones.
Pac Man snorted and sneezed. He lumbered over, plopped on her foot and rolled to his back exposing his pink underbelly. Some faint scars littered his left side, a reminder of the abuse he’d sustained as a pup.
“You are such a big baby. I am not rubbing your belly now. Let’s go up to my room so I can shower before the guys get here.” Storm looked up the massive double staircase, modeled after the one used in Gone with the Wind. Cherry wood railings usually wound with seasonal lights were now bare, odd in and of itself; Aunt Trin had always liked the twinkling lights year round. The carpet that ran the middle of the stairs seemed worn, threadbare in a few places where they had been tread one too many times. She would need to replace the lot of it.
Twenty steps to the landing and she found herself gazing out into the back yard, the orchard where she hid as a child, the storage shed where she received her first kiss, the white washed cottage where Aunt Trin kept an herb garden for potions. All looked a bit worse for the wear but essentially unchanged. Storm relished the picturesque quality of the blooming trees; she’d painted the orchard several dozen times and actually won an award for a photography study of the trees. It seemed like an eternity ago. She found herself wondering about the harvest this year. Storm wondered who had handled it last season. Perhaps there were receipts in the study, though she doubted Trin kept much by way of books. Dammit. Stop procrastinating.
Storm’s large boho purse weighed on her shoulder and the duffel bag straps dug into her palm as she climbed the next twenty steps. The room at the top of the stairs had belonged to her mother. Through the open door Storm could tell that Trin had not touched anything since Sophie’s passing. The four poster bed still covered by an heirloom quilt and pictures of Storm on the bedside table, all antique pieces of course, exactly as they had been ten years ago. She forced her feet forward remembering the need for a shower when the stench of sweat and body odor overwhelmed her reverie.
The next two doors opened into guest suites with private baths where Dan and Shane would most likely pass the night. Storm had the room at the end of the hall, opposite her old studio. Storm sighed and pushed open the door to her past. It did not escape her notice that it was the only closed door she’d come across.
Her bedroom looked exactly as she’d left it. The heavy violet velvet curtains were parted and hung over wrought iron tie backs. Sheers of various shades of purple still draped the matching wrought iron bed, the lilac satin bedspread half turned down to reveal silky silver sheets. Yes, she had been in a romantic Goth phase before she’d left. The walls were still plastered with her favorite posters, a shirtless Jim Morrison, Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, several John Hughes movie posters, and a tour poster for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Her bookshelf still overflowed with Stephen King, Jane Austen, and Tolkien. A well-worn copy of Catcher in the Rye lay half open on her nightstand.
Everything came back in a rush, the reason she fled. Seventeen years old, two weeks after her high school graduation, and a vision that rocked Storm to her core. She slipped out in the middle of the night and never looked back. Storm had not told a soul about the vision. She simply threw some clothes in a knapsack, grabbed her purse and hopped on her Vespa. The crisp autumn air had done little to numb the shock of seeing her own death.
Aunt Trin had tried her cell phone for weeks after she ran away. Storm ignored the calls and eventually chucked the phone altogether. At some point she’d mailed a postcard letting Aunt Trin know she was alive but that was all. Storm swore she would find a way to prevent the vision from occurring and hopefully find a way to end the visions altogether. If Aunt Trin knew she’d have stopped Storm and that would have made her an accomplice, would have made her life forfeit as well. Storm could not risk that.
Eight years Storm traveled the world, hopping cruise ships where she worked as a waitress and moonlighted as a cartoon artist doing those silly caricatures. Europe, Asia, Australia, each destination meant new resources, new witches and warlocks, other Seers and mystics, even a smattering of other supernaturals who might hold the key. Every lead came up empty. The visions continued and she logged them all. One of the boxes on the moving truck held more than 50 journals detailing the visions she’d had since leaving Willow Wood. Nobody knew about them and nobody would. It would never be safe for her. As long as she never acted on her visions, Storm could pretend and blend in with everyone else. The Immortals would never learn she could foresee her own death, never learn how deep her Sight could go. The thought of being their toy, their instrument, chilled her to the bone.
For a few years she felt guilty, hurts she could have prevented but didn’t. Some as simple as a theft or broken bone, others more devastating. Of course, if she saw something deadly an anonymous tip mysteriously made it to the authorities, but always from an untraceable cell or payphone and then she would move on. Storm learned how to balance things; she had to in order to survive.
One horrifying vision, one moment, changed everything about her, made her hate herself in ways that did not make sense, made her miss her mother and most of all, made her want to apologize to Sophie for the tears she’d wept at that first vision. Storm understood
everything after her death vision, understood even among Seers she would be an anomaly, hunted by her kind and coveted by the Immortals as a weapon. The Seer’s Circle would imprison her or kill her to prevent the Immortals from collecting her. The Immortals would track her and imprison her to be their fortune teller. Either way, she would not be allowed to remain free. No matter how strong her family’s influence. So, Storm ran. To save herself and her family she left. In the end, it merely delayed the inevitable.
After years without answers, Storm stood in the place where it all began. She dropped her bags on the bed and peeled off the sweat-drenched clothing. A cool shower would set things right, at least for the moment. Destiny may be unavoidable, but it certainly could wait a little while longer, until she had a shower at least.
Ryder
Ryder returned the car to its owner and left a wad of cash in the console. He led Lucian to the strategically parked Jeep Wrangler and sped off toward home.
“Why do you do that?”
Ryder knew what he meant. He remained an oddity among the Immortal Brethren, in more ways than one, but he often played dumb to make life easier. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Ry. Why do you bother returning it or leaving money or anything? We are superior and it is our right to exercise that superiority within the Code.” Lucian paused briefly and Ryder realized his visit was more involved that it appeared. “You are an odd one Ryder. The Brethren are concerned that you are drifting from the goal. I assured them that you were still on board and the death of the Seer stands as evidence of that. They remain unconvinced. I confess I have been sent to speak with you on this matter.”
It was Ryder’s turn to sigh, more of a grunt of annoyance really, the Brethren were shortsighted and power hungry – the wrong combination. “Well then, ask what you came to ask of me, Lucian. I have nothing to hide. I eradicated the line of Sullivan Seers since they were deemed most dangerous. I am hunting down the last loose end. We may arrive at the manor to find him awaiting us in chains. What more would I need to do to prove myself to the Brethren? It seems they wish to make me an enforcer again. You know I no longer wish to live under their thumb.”
Ryder cast a sidelong glance at Lucian who seemed to be working hard to disguise his true emotions. Ryder felt the internal conflict, friendship and duty at odds in his friend. Lucian had been his friend since their beginnings. They trained together, evolved together, and now Lucian felt influenced against him by the Brethren. Perhaps they were not as foolish as he once thought. They did send a friend and clearly gave him some reason to doubt Ryder’s loyalties.
“Ry, I am not against you, Brother. I am on your side. I volunteered to come, just in case, I – well, you know we go way back and I would never turn on you.”
“I know Lucian, but truly, I have nothing to hide that should concern the Brethren. I am working on something and I will share it with you. I have discovered some holes in our archives that concern me and should concern all of us.” Ryder wanted to tell Lucian everything, wanted to share his true discoveries, but he could not bear to put his friend in such a precarious position, it would be better to send him in another direction. It would give him something to take to the Brethren to occupy their time for the foreseeable future, and it was only partial bullshit. Ryder nearly snickered; instead he turned up the radio and started singing to the tune, a cool number by the Doors that had been a long standing joke between them. Lucian recognized the song and chimed in, a broad smile on his drawn face.
Storm
Storm stepped out of the shower, wrapped a ratty old towel around her form, the only one left in her bathroom. She cursed herself for forgetting to hunt one down before climbing into the old claw foot tub. Shaking her hair out and minding her step so as not to slip on the slate flooring, she crossed back into the bedroom and checked the front drive. No sign of Dan and Shane. Of course. They were probably still fighting.
Neither one answered their phone. Storm sent them each a text before throwing on the lounge pants and tank she’d had the foresight to pack. Chuckling at her play on words, Storm ran a pick through her hair and whipped it up in a bun. And it hit; the searing white pain that felt as pleasant as an ice pick through her skull.
When she came to, Dan and Shane were standing over her, concern evident on their faces. Storm pushed aside the vision for the moment and feigned a weak smile. “Took you boys long enough, I actually passed out from hunger!”
“Storm, what happened? We searched the whole house and found you in here with Pac Man whimpering next to you.”
“I told you, Shane. Very hungry, food with you, passed out.” Storm struggled to sit up on her elbows. Dan slipped an arm behind her for support and Shane handed her a glass of water. They were two very sweet men. Looking from one to the other she felt safe for the moment; they would both do anything to keep her safe. If only they could. She would wrap herself between them and lose herself in their warmth. They were both still sweaty and their muscles bulged from the physical strain of the move. Shane’s sandy locks lay haphazardly about his head, those in back curling at the nape of his neck. Several stray hairs had escaped from Dan’s low ponytail giving him an even greater sex appeal than usual as they fell across his left eye. Truly beautiful men who wanted her, and she had to get rid of them. This one could not wait until they unloaded the truck.
“Guys, I am famished. Would you please take my car and run into town for some pizza?” The pair exchanged a worried glance and shrugged. That was easier than she’d expected, but, just to be safe, “Could you go to Sale’s? I could really go for a deep dish and a beer. And if you don’t mind, maybe a quick run to the grocery store for some staples, you know eggs, coffee, the usual.” Hopefully she didn’t overdo it with the sweetness, it sounded fake to her.
“You must have hit your head hard, Storm. “ Shane raised an eyebrow at her, “You are never this nice, almost sounded like a lady for a second.”
Storm flung a pillow at him as the guys scurried out her door. It bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. She waited until the Beetle’s engine started before yanking her most recent journal from her purse. Thumbing through the pages she ran her finger over the words detailing her last vision, the one from two days ago. Somewhat similar but she knew they were different. Storm thought back to the current vision, wrote it moment by moment, and then compared again. Different shirt color, yesterday was green but today was bright pink. She didn’t own a pink shirt, hated pink in fact. Why would she be wearing pink?
Okay, other differences. The warehouse looked different. Yesterday, there were boxes, stacks of boxes in all directions. Today, today it was empty but for an old car, a mustang perhaps, bright red. Her feeling, she felt frightened yesterday, the fear caught in her throat before she came out of it. Today, well, she felt exhilarated. Something excited her; heart racing in a completely different manner, like, well, like she was aroused. Storm didn’t see her death today, didn’t feel the steel piercing her abdomen, didn’t feel the warmth of blood spreading down her legs as she stood looking at the faceless man. She never saw his face, just a body with a misty cloud where a face should have been. Today she felt different warmth rising in her abdomen, sweat beaded up in her palms and a smile spread across her face. She could feel. Storm sucked in her breath at the memory. The man in today’s vision made her feel. This man had raven locks that touched his bare shoulders, and his body, the most smooth, sculpted chest she’d ever seen. And that was saying something given her previous company. His faded blue jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped revealing the waistband of undies that could only be boxer briefs. Wow. Why couldn’t she have more visions like that? She would take the searing head pain if it meant seeing him again.
Storm’s mind drifted, wonder and hope warring within her. A beautiful man, one stunning male specimen like no other she’d ever met - one who made her feel. A tear dribbled out of her eye, down her cheek, and onto the journal page. Storm marveled at it. She’d never c
ried, not once in her life. This was bad. This was very bad.
Ryder
Lucian whistled as they pulled into the garage. “Brother, you have done well for yourself. I truly appreciate the digs, my man. You will have to give me pointers. Is that a Maserati?”
Ryder grinned, “Absolutely. Want to take it for a spin? I also have a classic Mustang and a Delorean.”
“I am definitely staying long enough to test drive everything you have collected. More importantly, we are going out on the town tonight, and I am driving.”
Ryder noted the hungry look in Lucian’s eyes as they passed each car. “You know, you could have this as well if you would just settle for a while. It is becoming more common among Immortals, especially with all the modern technology.”
“Beautiful specimens like these are almost enough to make me give up the Nomad way.” Lucian ran his fingertips across the hood of the bright yellow Hummer.
Ryder stopped and raised an eyebrow at Lucian as he pushed open the door into the back hall.
“I said ‘almost,’ brother.” A throaty chuckle followed as Lucian crossed the threshold, his steel-toed cowboy boots clicked loudly on the hardwood and echoed down the length of the hall.
“I figured you would qualify that statement. Still, there is something to be said for the steady life. I have set myself as a recluse and the wealth of my enterprise allows for such an eccentricity. Not to mention, I can have an ‘heir’ and with a little sleight of hand, reinvent myself every once in a while as necessary.” Ryder shouted down the hall after Rosalee, the only regular housekeeper he’d kept for this life. A rather voluptuous witch with a rocking nightlife, she had a small brood of her very own. Ryder often wondered if Rose even knew the fathers of her children. Rosalee liked to keep their business arrangement quite separate from their personal lives, except for the mornings she rolled in with dark glasses and hair quite askance. Those mornings she regaled her antics from the previous evening and he nodded along as expected.
The Storm Sullivan Saga: The Emerald Seer Series Box Set Page 2