The Storm Sullivan Saga: The Emerald Seer Series Box Set

by Violet Patterson

  Storm’s world came to a halt. Dammit! What were they all thinking? She suddenly felt small, and worse, guilty. Gut-wrenchingly guilty. Her voice came out much squeakier than she intended. “You should have gone when they called, Luc. Why did you stay?” For the thousandth time in six months Storm resented her emotions, wished she could put the genie back in the bottle and return to the unfeeling wonder she used to be. Then Ryder squeezed her hand, such a simple thing, but one that set the world right again. Giving up her emotions would mean giving up him. How could she do that?

  “Storm, I am only going to say this once for very obvious reasons. I care for you, I think you are amazing and what you have done for Ryder is nothing short of a miracle. When I first arrived here six months ago I told Ryder I would back him and I keep my word.” The intensity of his gaze dissipated, replaced with a sarcastic one, “Besides, I love a good fight and this could prove to be the fight of a lifetime.”

  Ryder rolled his eyes and Storm relaxed into a giggle which erupted into a full fit of laughter.

  Lucian

  The fire receded with Storm’s laughter. Not that he lied about any of it, he meant every word, but the beast reacted so strongly to her emotions that Lucian had to make her laugh to gain some relief. Sparring with the Scots daily could not keep the beast at bay. Angeline had not been enough. Lucian had to accept that the Phoenix had been growing more volatile since Sophia. He recoiled internally at the thought of her. The beast hissed and lashed out, searing through his veins. Keep smiling, Luc, do not let on. They have enough on their plates.

  Ryder and Storm were reaching that point again; he could see it in their eyes. Perfect opportunity to make his getaway and slip back into the study where he really wanted to be. Keeping everything from Ryder would have been much more complicated if not for everything going on his own life, not that Lucian wished such trials and tribulations on his friend. He just needed more time with the Sullivan archives. Lucian knew the answers he sought would be there or nowhere. As vast as Ryder’s collection had been, the histories he required were Sullivan territory. Of course, speaking to Trin Sullivan herself would have been best, strange that Storm remained unaware of her aunt’s former position in their world. Not that it mattered for him anymore, he arrived too late and now it would just be an added weight on her shoulders. Perhaps one day Trin would explain it to her.

  “Guys, I am going to have myself a drink and leave you to your canoodling.” They did not seem to hear him. Lucian sauntered off, straight for the study. He had to be cautious or reveal everything and what good would that do? Stopping outside the kitchen, Lucian checked on the Scots. Kell and Pollux were still bickering over who would wash and who would dry the dishes. Lucian could have reminded them of the dishwasher but decided against it. Serves them right, and it buys more time.

  Thankfully the study remained empty. Lucian tried to picture Trin Sullivan sitting at the massive desk thumbing through transcripts and ancient tomes. He met her once or twice in passing but Lucian was never been able to ask her the important questions. The beast roared inside him and sent fire rolling through him. Lucian forced it back down. Scotch, that would be good. Making his way to the wet bar, Lucian filled a highball glass a third full of ice and topped it off with mid-level scotch that Storm kept stocked special for him. Tasty.

  “Immortal. Why do you summon me? Where is Storm? What has happened?”

  Lucian nearly dropped the glass. The voice not whimsical enough to be Damarra’s, not sultry enough to be Angeline’s, caused him to whirl into a defensive stance. Not. Possible.

  “I don’t have time for games, why do you summon me?” The ghost of Trin Sullivan seemed to be speaking to him. Lucian looked at the glass in his hand, not two sips gone and he only had two glasses of wine at dinner so he could not possibly be drunk. The Phoenix seemed to be wary, waiting.

  “Immortal, do not toy with the dead, it is simply rude.”

  “Who are you?” Storm said she visited with her aunt and something about Trin being bound to a Soul Mirror but not even Ryder had seen her. What the hell? The apparition hung her head and shook it, clearly dismayed.

  “Honestly, why is everybody so careless lately? I mean, at least Storm can blame her pregnancy. What’s your excuse? You were thinking of me and wishing for me, the Soul Mirror answered, here I am. What business do you have with me, Immortal?”

  Ah, Okay, that explained it. Interesting. “Uh, well, sorry for the confusion but while you are here I do have some questions I have been seeking answers for, do you suppose we could have a chat about a witch?” Subtle, real subtle.

  “Perhaps. Which witch would you want to discuss? I knew many, I now know many more, but do I know the witch you wish to discuss?” An amused smile played across the specter’s lips. This may be less helpful than he hoped.

  “Were you like this when you were alive?” Lucian leaned against the wet bar, working to loosen up.

  “Actually, yes, I was. Ask Storm. But that’s not why I am here.” Ghostly Trin drifted toward him. “Quid pro quo, luv. Are you game?”

  Her nose was inches from his, or would have been if she were not transparent. “Sure, I am game.”

  “Very well then. I will tell you what you want to know in exchange for a kiss.”

  “Er, a kiss?” How could that possibly work? Wouldn’t it be like kissing the wind?

  “Silly Immortal, you know less than nothing of the ghost realm.” Ghost Trin reached out and touched his cheek with a fingertip. A chill passed through Lucian from that spot and then Trin Sullivan stood before him, solid as could be. “Kiss first, Immortal.”

  Before he could react, Trin’s arms were wound about his neck and her lips found his, warm and soft. The faint scents of amber and jasmine filled his nostrils and his eyes closed. Lucian lost himself in the kiss, one that should not have been possible but it did not matter if his questions were answered. It ended as suddenly as it began. Lucian’s eyes flew open to an empty study. How? Well, hell. He had just imagined it.

  “No, you didn’t, I just used the rest of my time for that luscious kiss. Thank you, Immortal.” The whisper tickled at his ear and he was alone again. Lucian heard a click and a cabinet door to his left swung out exposing a hidden collection of books. A black, leather-bound journal fell to the floor. Setting his glass on the wet bar, Lucian walked over and scooped up the book. He shut the cabinet and settled on the nearest couch, his drink forgotten. The cover of the book bore a familiar symbol. Lucian exhaled at the sight of Morgaine’s emblem.

  2008 – Lucian

  Why anybody loved the dampness of downtown Seattle escaped him. It reminded him too much of his time in London. The people smelled just as foul now as then, homeless bums and meth heads milling about begging for money, polluting downtown with their utter disregard for life, especially their own. Strange how you could walk a few miles in any direction and find an entirely different population of people and certain neighborhoods fared better than others at holding the riff raff at bay. Walk a few more miles and you could find water or mountain with plenty of beauty to steal even the hardest man’s affections. Still, he sought the witch Sophia and this is where she lived. Lucian followed her for weeks, watching her actions and reactions, wondering if she practiced as her ancestor had. More often than not, Lucian wondered if she practiced magic anymore at all. Each day it seemed less and less likely.

  Sophia Bedeaux lived in a modest studio overlooking Lake Union. Every day she rose early, collected her handcrafted herbal wares in a basket, and rode her antique bicycle to the Market where she peddled the goods to loud, ignorant tourists. What struck Lucian about Sophia was her relentless smile, no matter how rude the tourist she never seemed to break with it. Once or twice he swore Sophia sensed him but Lucian quickly disappeared into the crowd. On Saturdays she took the day off, sat on her small balcony in a cushioned wicker chair, and sipped tea from a dainty tea cup while staring out over the lake. Lucian liked to watch her those days though he could not
pinpoint why specifically. He would have to remind himself of the purpose of his reconnaissance and grimly go about detailing Sophia’s actions.

  Until the day she did not walk out on her balcony. Lucian sat for half an hour, tucked away on a small bench in the park across from her studio, concern working its way into the hatred.

  “Immortal, if you are here to kill me, just be done with it already. Watching me as you do, it is creepy to say the least.”

  How did he not hear her approach? Lucian’s eyes slowly traveled up the new arrival, faded sneakers under tattered jeans beneath a well-worn purple sweatshirt that used to say Washington in white. Her raven locks had been released from the characteristic ponytail and he realized just how long it actually was, flowing nearly to her waist. Her fair skin looked as smooth as fine porcelain with a subtle flush of color on each cheek. Sophia stood staring down at him, one finely groomed eyebrow arched in curiosity but without a shred of fear or contempt.

  “Whatever do you mean? Do I know you?” Mmhmm, good cover.

  “Save it. I know who you are and why you are here. I assure you I will not put up a fight but ask you to make it painless.” Sophia spoke matter of factly given the topic under discussion. Her wide violet eyes held a sadness and wisdom uncommon for such a young woman. This one knew true pain. Lucian could almost feel his heart breaking, could almost feel the thirst for revenge receding, but the Phoenix flared in response to the young woman’s blood, child of Morgaine it hissed, reminded him of the only thing he had in common with the beast.

  “You ask for mercy though you know my plight? You offer yourself willingly as well. What is your trick?” Lucian stood, towering more than a foot over the girl. She seemed thin. Did she not have enough food?

  “Why do you care? You come for vengeance on my line, take it and move on. I do not fear you.”

  “Now that is not something I hear very often, well, I never hear it actually. People shrink from me if I look at them cross wise but you, all five feet of you sidles up and asks for death. What are you woman?” Lucian studied Sophia as she scrutinized him in return. Something about her seemed different, broken in a way that none of the others had been, resigned to something greater than him yet strong-willed enough to raise a challenge.

  Sophia jutted her chin out defiantly and frowned, “I am five foot three actually. And, I am just that, a woman. Well, I guess I am a witch but it matters not, I have no coven, no coven will have me.”

  No coven? Lucian had never in all his centuries of life known a solo witch, other than Morgaine. They tended to go mad without the company of others of their kind, similar to the fae. Lucian scrutinized her further, she did not seem cracked. She shrugged just then, a simple gesture but he found it endearing. Gods, this whole thing was suddenly taking a terrible turn. He pitied her.

  “Don’t pity me, Immortal. Come on, I will make some tea for the both of us and you can tell me how wretched my line is and we can plan how you will end my life. Deal?” She tugged at his hand. Sophia actually reached out and touched him without flinching. She truly had no fear of him. Lucian wondered if he was losing the touch, yet he followed her, listening intently to her prattle and wondering at the softness of her skin. The Phoenix bristled at Sophia’s nearness initially but almost purred in response to the witch’s voice by the time they reached her apartment. She continued to ramble about the weather while preparing the tea and Lucian took the liberty of walking about her small apartment.

  “How long have you known I was here, Sophia?” Her name rolled lightly off his tongue. Lucian picked up a picture frame holding a picture of Sophia and several other women smiling widely in black caps and gowns. Another showed her lounging on a boat with a mousey-haired girl with drinks in their hands. Everything seemed remarkably clean and orderly but surprisingly warm and inviting. Sophia thrust a small mug at him, the warmth a welcome sensation. She gestured to Lucian to sit in an antique wing-backed chair. Sophia settled into a similar but mismatched chair opposite him.

  “I saw you in the Market about three weeks ago, and every day since. Why are you doing this? Is it your attempt to torture me? Dragging this whole process out?” Sophia sipped her tea, never breaking eye contact. Lucian found it unnerving.

  “Why not confront me sooner?”

  “Why should I? You are here to torture and murder me. I figured you would approach me sooner or later but then I got tired of waiting and you looked sad down there by yourself. It was fun watching your reaction to our weather.” Sophia chuckled, a genuine laugh that warmed Lucian elsewhere.

  “Why do you embrace death but ask for mercy in its method of delivery?” Lucian felt he was missing some glaring bit of information but for the life of him he could not piece this woman together. She behaved nothing like her kin. They had all been self-righteous, remorseless, and vain. Like Morgaine, they practiced recklessly with no regard to consequences and Lucian felt like he was performing a service to the world when he slayed each of them. This woman could not be more different.

  “You do not know, Immortal? In all of your vast reconnaissance you did not discover the answer?” Sophia raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Here I thought you were torturing me for sheer pleasure.” She sat back in her chair, expression unreadable.

  “Sophia?”

  “I am dying.” Sophia met his gaze and smiled ironically. “I am half human, and my human half is not amenable to treatment so I am dying, slowly and rather painfully.”

  “But you are a witch. Surely you can find a way.” No, this could not be right. Lucian ticked off the others mentally, all children of witches and warlocks, Sophia should have been.

  “No. My mother had an affair with a human. You remember her, I am sure. My stepfather murdered her before you arrived. It was the last thing he said to me before casting me out and marking me as a half breed. So, no coven, no money, nothing but a guess as to my real father’s identity.” Sophia laughed awkwardly and shrugged, “So, I found him with the help of some human friends and tracked him here only to discover he succumbed to cancer the year before. My real father never knew I existed.”

  She did not cry, not a sob or a tear, just sipped at her tea in utter acceptance. This woman could not possibly be from Morgaine’s line. Yet, the Phoenix initially reacted exactly as it had to the others. Now, however, it seemed content, curled onto itself. Lucian probably would have given the conundrum further thought if Sophia had not interrupted his thoughts.

  “So, what did you have planned for me? Poison?” She set her cup down on the simple craftsman table beside her, still not breaking eye contact.

  “I had not actually worked that out yet. Your kin were not as, er, accommodating as you seem to be.” Lucian cracked a grin, “Now you kind of killed the fun of it for me.”

  “Oh, poor, vengeful Immortal, how I pity thee. Is there not another way to make peace in yourself? You are a guardian and protector, strongest of your kind or you wouldn’t have survived all this time, and still you spend centuries seeking revenge on the children of Morgaine for what? Why do you hate us so?”

  Gods, how to answer her? Lucian set his own mug down and exhaled. “Morgaine betrayed me. Yes, I agreed to take on the Phoenix but she was to take on part of it as well. She did not. Since then the beast has fought me, fought to be free of me, and I have suffered more than my share of lifetimes with this thing inside of me. It was never vengeance though, not really.” Hell, Sophia would not be able to help him without a coven, or in her current state, it could not hurt to share his secret with her. Lucian looked at the girl, her frailty suddenly more apparent in the yellowed light of the apartment, dwarfed by the chair, her large, violet, doe eyes watching him in earnest. “You would not know. I understand that my ways seem cruel. I had to keep my true intents a secret to give myself the best chance, but I do not expect you to believe me.” Lucian hung his head in his hands.

  “Immortal?” He could not look at her but then again, he did not have to. Sophia Bedeaux’s slender face had
been burned in his mind’s eye.

  Storm

  “Lucian? Luc? I don’t know Ry, he’s not responding to anything.” Storm tried to shock him with her glowing hands trick again to no avail.

  “Storm, I think he is fine. It could be a few different things but there is some type of block around his mind so I think we could do more harm than good if we continue this way. He will wake up, my love. It is Lucian after all and the Phoenix would not tolerate harm to befall him.” Ryder’s laissez faire attitude toward their fallen friend was not making her feel better. He never handled things so nonchalantly, Mr. Brooding himself. She scowled at her husband and sought a second opinion instead of continuing the discussion. Storm reached out to Damarra and flashed an image of Lucian’s body at her. It didn’t take long for the deity to waltz into the room with Roane and Angeline on her heels.

  “The nursery is coming along beautifully though I am still not certain about the color. Perhaps we should go a shade or two warmer.” Damarra looked at Lucian. She leaned over him, fluffed his hair a bit, felt a bicep, and stood to face Storm. “Well, dear, it appears the great protector is rehashing a rather important memory in dreamstate. Even I cannot wake him from this. He needs to see it through. Lucian will be just fine, other than a small headache and a growling belly when he awakens.”

  “How did it happen? I mean, I am sure he came in here for a drink.” Storm turned to the wet bar and pointed, “See, there’s his glass and it is nearly full. That is absolutely not like Lucian.”