by Annie Bellet
Thicker Than Blood
The Twenty-Sided Sorceress: Book Six
Annie Bellet
Copyright 2015, Annie Bellet
All rights reserved. Published by Doomed Muse Press.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to [email protected].
Cover designed by Ravven (www.ravven.com)
Formatting by Polgarus Studio (www.polgarusstudio.com)
Electronic edition, 2015
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Dedicated to all those who get knocked down, brush themselves off, and get back up again. You have a superpower that should not be underestimated.
The Twenty-Sided Sorceress series in reading order:
Justice Calling
Murder of Crows
Pack of Lies
Hunting Season
Heartache
The diner was nearly empty when I stumbled in, looking for coffee and a plate full of fat and protein to soothe my starving stomach. I was glad for the lack of people to stare at me, but the emptiness meant the waitress had no one else to pester.
“What’s your story, honey?” she asked me as she leaned a hip against my table, holding the coffee pot precariously in one hand. She was plump with wide blue eyes, and had probably been pretty before smoke and sun and the disappointment of years working in a diner in the middle of nowhere got to her.
“I used to be a sorceress,” I told her. “Until I took an arrow to the knee.”
“Sure you did,” she said with a small shake of her head, easing away from me like I was rabid. “Holler if you want a refill.”
All right, so it was a bad joke. But it was true. Only instead of an arrow, I’d burned myself out by pulling some seriously timey-wimey shit. I’d created a freaking save file in real life. Which was pretty cool. And I’d saved my friends from my psycho ex. I’d saved Alek.
Well, saved most of my friends. My every thought was haunted by that sickening puff of feathers as Junebug was shot out of the sky, and Harper streaking past me, out of reach of Iollan’s spell. I still saw Harper’s face every time I closed my eyes. I’d failed her the worst.
I shoved away those thoughts and thought instead that it was funny, almost, that in saving everyone, in resetting the entire world a few minutes back, and getting the druid to teleport us all to here and gone, I’d lost the very power that had made Samir hunt me. Not that I expected for a minute he would stop, even if I was an ex-sorceress. My wounds were healing, so I guess I was only a powerless sorceress and still not human. He’d eat my heart; it would just make less of a meal at the moment.
Because the power was gone. Poof. No more. I could reach inside me and there was nothing there but a vast empty hole. A dry well. I couldn’t have lit a candle or a match with it. Or bent one of the tarnished and chipped spoons on the table in front of me.
No magic. Not a drop. Not even mind-Tess chiding me in my brain anymore. All my ghosts were silent, though their memories still floated around in my head. They were just memories now, however, no more distinct than my own. Even my talisman, the silver d20 necklace, was damaged. Where the one had been on the die was just a pockmark now, a divot. It hung from my neck, a cold reminder that I was totally powerless.
Which really sucked. Because I wanted to find Samir and rip his fucking heart out and swallow it whole.
Literally.
Iollan’s spell had spit me out on the edge of the wilderness. I’d stumbled, too stubborn to freeze to death, until I found I-95. A trucker couple had picked me up and taken me to Boise. I was surprised they’d bothered, since I looked like death with bruises everywhere and lots of drying blood on my leg. They’d assumed most of the story and I seeded in enough details about getting away from an abusive boyfriend that they left me alone. I got to pass out somewhere warm; they got to feel like they were doing a good deed. Everybody won.
I had slept fitfully, my dreams turning to nightmares as I watched everyone I loved die over and over, Harper’s look of utter betrayal the last thing I saw before I awoke. The couple wanted to help me in Boise, but I told them I had an aunt here, and in the end they hadn’t pressed too much.
I had no aunt here, obviously, but I did have a stash. Nothing says low point in life more than breaking into your own storage unit. I had no identification, no money, and I looked like someone who had been through some serious shit. Filthy, bloody, tired as hell. So I waited for full dark and climbed a fence instead of trying to bluff my way past the gate guy, glad I had opted for a combination lock.
I had a few units like this all over the States, prepped for if or when I had to run away without taking anything with me. Much as it sucked to admit, my paranoia was saving my ass again. The unit had cash, changes of clothes, and a new identification that would let me hide while figuring out my next move. Just call me Jade fucking Bourne.
A motel room and a shower later, I’d crashed out again, risking the nightmares for more sleep in the hope that my magic would return. Morning brought nothing but the sound of cars passing on the nearby freeway. So here I sat, in a diner, alone and powerless, trying to plot my next move.
I was tempted to try to call Alek or the twins. It had been over a day since the fight. I had no idea if they were safe or together. There was a burner phone in my pocket. I gave in, trying Alek’s number. I had to know.
It went straight to voicemail. I’d half-expected that, since we’d ditched our stuff before preparing for the final battle, worried that Samir might use human technology to track us somehow. He was using mercenaries, both shifter and human, after all, and he’d used humans to keep track of me apparently, all these years in Wylde. I tried the twins and Harper’s numbers after that, fighting the tears that threatened to spill as each number went straight to voicemail. Out of desperation, I called Brie’s number, too, hoping she might have forwarded her bakery phone to a cell or something. I had no way to reach her or Ciaran, my leprechaun neighbor. They were in Ireland still, doing universe knew what. It wasn’t like they could help right now anyway. That number went to voicemail too, for the bakery. No answer from anyone. No help.
I hadn’t felt this alone in over twenty-five years.
It was safer this way. I knew that. Samir wanted me. He’d come after me. I hoped. I remembered his words, his gloating about how he’d known where I was, how this was about more than just me. What if he didn’t come after me?
I chewed my way through a plate of waffles and bacon, every bite like swallowing sand. I had to think about this logically.
We’d fought. I’d lost. Well, I’d almost won. I could have killed him, turned that pure bolt of power from the ley lines on him and taken him out.
It only would have cost me everyone I loved to do it. So I hadn’t.
What did that tell me? That I could have won. We weren’t as mismatched as it seemed. Well, if I had my magic. Samir wasn’t some all-powerful being. I could kill him.
With magic.
That stupid pesky detail kept coming back.
Break it down, I told myself. I needed magic to fight Samir. I needed to know what else he might be up to, and if he had any weaknesses. I’d learned a hard lesson fighting him, now I needed to put what I’d learned to use.
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Operating under the idea that I could get my magic back was part one. I’d slept most of the last twenty-four hours, but maybe whatever I’d done would take more time to heal. Which was the bitch of it, because I didn’t have time. Samir had clearly chosen now to come after me for a reason, and he wasn’t afraid of doing big shit humans might notice. Killing the librarian witch and burning my store with the fire elemental or whatever the fuck that was had shown that as much as anything.
Alek had made it pretty clear the Council of Nine was out of the picture, some kind of infighting going on there, so even Samir threatening shifters wasn’t going to cause them to send help. I knew of no other magical source of assistance. Mostly things that went bump in the night hid from the human world, keeping to the edges. Humans outnumber us millions to one, after all, and magic had been fading from the world for a long time. As Brie had once told me, the time of gods had come and gone. Which royally sucked, because I could have really used some divine intervention right about then.
I’d ditched my allies to try to protect them. Going back was option one, I supposed. I thanked the waitress absently as she refilled my coffee. The morning was slipping away; a few diners had come and gone while I sat, lost in thought. I couldn’t go back. Not without magic. I was worse than useless to them this way.
“So go get your mojo back,” a gentle male voice said to me.
I spilled coffee all over the table as my hand jerked in surprise. Sitting across from me, where I swear there hadn’t been anyone before, was a mid-forties looking Native man with short black hair and dark eyes that held flickers of red in their depths. Not human.
“Let me get you a washcloth, honey,” the waitress said, coming over and helping me contain the coffee spill. She didn’t even look at the man or offer him anything, which was my second clue that he wasn’t normal.
I decided to say nothing about him either, in case my suspicion was accurate. “Thanks,” I said to her again. A family of four came in and saved me from having to say more.
“You done yet?” the man asked.
“Who are you? They can’t see you, can they?” I whispered, trying not to look like a crazy lady.
“Of course not. I’m not here.” He leaned back and smiled.
“Ash?” I guessed. Half guessed, because my brain provided me an image of a man who looked like him but younger, bending over my mother, Pearl. A memory that wasn’t mine.
“Good to see I didn’t breed stupid,” my biological father said. Well, the whatever-the-fuck vision or hallucination of my father said. “You asked for Deus Ex Machina; here I am.”
“Awesome,” I said, trying to wrap my brain around this. “How do I get my magic back?”
“Come see me,” he said.
I wondered if there had ever been an actually helpful vision anywhere in the history of magical shit happening or if they were all so damned cryptic.
“Great, where are you?” I asked, keeping my voice low and trying not to get openly annoyed. Though if he was in my head or whatever, he’d know I was frustrated anyway.
“You don’t know, so I can’t tell you,” he said with a sad shake of his head.
“Super fucking useful,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” the waitress asked as she passed by me again.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m good.” I waited until she walked back to the front again before leaning forward and asking, “So how do I find you?”
“If only you knew someone who knows things,” he said. I could see a little of my own face in his, though I hoped my smart-ass smile didn’t look so annoyingly smug.
“I don’t know—” I started to say, then stopped. I did know someone who knew things, someone whose job it was to accumulate knowledge. It was a long shot, sure, but looking at my options, any shot was something.
“Good,” he said. His body became translucent. “Find me, and I will show you who you are.”
“Wait,” I said but he was gone. I went and found the waitress, tipping generously when I paid.
“Hey,” I asked her before I left. “There a library near by? Where I could use a computer?”
“You can catch a bus easy enough to the one at Hillcrest, or go all the way downtown,” she said. “They don’t open until ten, though, I don’t think.”
“Thanks,” I said. I walked out into the winter sunlight with a plan. First step, find a computer and see if the Archivist had a website or phone number. Second step, question mark, question mark, question mark. Third step, magic.
Turns out, Noah Grey, Archivist and vampire, did, in fact, have a website. I had no idea what to Google, but I knew where his warehouse-slash-home was, so I ended up looking at a Street View map until it identified the building. There was a nice blue arrow with a pop-up leading to a website.
I guess you really can find anything on the internet these days.
Leaving the main library, I walked across Capitol and waited until I was in a snowy park near a museum to dial the number off the site. A woman picked up the call.
“Noah Grey, please,” I said, unsure if I should use his name or just call him by his apparent title.
“Mr. Grey is not available, may I take a message?” the pleasant voice on the other end replied.
I pressed my lips together and withheld swearing at her. “He’ll want to talk to me,” I said. I had no idea if that were true, but I could at least try.
“I’m sure he will,” she said, her tone still frustratingly smooth. “If you’ll leave your name and number, he will return your call at his earliest convenience.”
“This is Jade Crow,” I said. I rattled off the number of the burner cell, though I was sure they had it already now that I’d called him on it. “My offer is open for an hour, no more,” I added, taking a risk. “He’ll want to hear it.”
She repeated the number back, confirming, and then hung up on me. I paced the edge of the park, not knowing what else to do. Without the Archivist’s information, for which I had nothing to trade at the moment, I wasn’t sure how I’d even go about finding dear old dad. A father I hadn’t even known I had until this last year.
Worst case, I supposed, would be finding my way back to Three Feathers and asking my mother. She’d banned me from there a second time now, so I could only imagine how that reunion would go.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now except getting my magic back, finding Samir, and finishing him. This time without my friends getting killed around me. I’d pack them into boxes and ship them to Australia to keep them safe if I had to. Samir was my problem. I should have faced him on my own.
I should have faced him years ago. This was my failure, and I was going to fix it.
My phone rang and I fumbled it on with chilled fingers.
“Hello?” I said.
“Ms. Crow,” said a cool voice on the other end. Noah Grey.
“I need your help,” I said. I gave him the barest sketch of the events of the previous week, eliding much of it. I finished with, “I have to find someone, and was hoping you would know where I could look.”
“You want to find your father,” he said. I had half expected him to know that, somehow. It was just easier to accept that there was a lot I didn’t understand about the world and just roll with it.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
“Yes,” Noah said. “I do. It’s complicated. Plus we have a bargain that must be struck. I do not run a charity. You will come here.”
“To Seattle?” I said, buying myself time to think. He knew where Ash was, which was great. I had nothing to trade, which was not so great. I wondered if the Archivist took IOUs and then decided I really didn’t want to owe this guy anything. Seattle was about seven to eight hours driving from Boise.
“Where are you?” he asked.
I hesitated. The Archivist was, from what Yosemite had told me, an information and magical items dealer. Forbidden knowledge, hidden things, that stuff was his specialty. His information was
for sale, and I could think of one powerful dude with deep pockets who would love to know where I was.
“I am not going to sell you to Samir,” Noah said, his voice taking on a weary edge. Apparently my hesitation had spoken volumes.
“How do I know that?” I said.
“He uses my competition. I have no business dealings with him.”
“You have competition?” I asked. That did surprise me. How many people were in this business? Also, Noah hadn’t seemed like the encouraging competition kind of guy.
“I have one competitor. Who enjoys the protection of a very powerful sorcerer,” he said and I could almost picture the vampire’s angular face looking annoyed at me.
“Boise,” I said. Fuck it. I had so few options. I had to trust someone, at least for the moment.
“I’ll have a driver there within an hour. Give me an address.”
I told him the location of the main library and went back to wait. It was one of the longest hours of my life.
The driver the Archivist sent was a short, compact woman with a friendly smile and no small-talk skills. She made it clear with one-word answers and grunts that she wasn’t going to talk to me, not about herself, about Noah, anything. She asked if I wanted music, and when I said no, she went back to driving.
It was a long seven hours.
It was spitting rain in Seattle, the temperature somewhere in the fifties. We pulled up at the warehouse I’d been to before, but this time I was led through a lower side door into what appeared to be a very normal living room. The two armchairs and the single sofa were comfortable microfiber and modern in their red, grey, and white color scheme. I dropped my bag and waited for my host, trying to contain my nervousness.