Legacy: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1

by Denise Tompkins

  “Of course.” He held out his arm to me, and I took it. He turned me toward the northern copse of trees, and we began the walk through the field, our merry contingent hot on our heels.

  The area where Jossel had allegedly disappeared was unimpressive. It was located in the northern stand of the ancient oak trees. That was it. There was nothing remarkable about it, no flashing arrow pointing to a single clue. I began looking around the area with Tarrek trailing right behind me. I came across two sets of boot prints in the soft dirt, one large and the other, within the first, smaller. The smaller prints moved from tree to tree so that it appeared as if someone was stalking Jossel, or herding him in a particular direction. I held up my hand for everyone to stop. I got on my hands and knee to look for clues but also to say a quick prayer that I didn’t make a total ass of myself. The guards all watched me carefully, aware of who I was but, more importantly, what I was—a woman. Being a descendant of the Father of Who-Done-It was a blessing and a curse. It occurred to me as I ran my fingers through the sparse grass that these men likely knew my great-granddad. I sighed. Again, no pressure.

  “Tarrek?” I called out.

  “Here,” he responded, and I suddenly saw a pair of Italian shoes in my peripheral vision. “What may I do, Maddy?”

  “I need a digital camera. Preferably a professional grade one. How possible would it be to get one out here this morning?”

  “Give me a moment. Do you have a brand you prefer?” Before I could answer he turned and beckoned to one of the guards before turning back to me. I looked up at his face, which was all business.

  “Uh, Canon is my personal favorite.”

  “It will be handled. Give me a moment.” He stepped away and spoke to the guard, who nodded and disappeared. Literally. The guy was there one second, gone the next. I gasped. Tarrek walked quickly back to me and squatted down, forearms resting on his knees. “Remember what I told you about the ease of our traditional transportation? Earlier, in the car?” He touched nothing that was potential evidence. Or me.

  “Waxing and waning,” I whispered.

  “Very good.” He beamed. “You just saw Klayn wane. It’s common for us, so you’ll need to become used to it, okay?”

  He talked about it as if it were that simple a concept. It was like saying, “We prefer tea over coffee, so be prepared to drink tea.” I sat on the ground, hard, and hoped I hadn’t squashed any evidence. Tarrek stayed squatted next to me while I thought through the strangeness that was now my life. Before I could come up with any profound explanation for the question Why me? Klayn appeared, or waxed, about ten feet in front of me. I made that horrible girly eep noise and the guards’ collective chuckles rang through the morning mist that was developing. I scowled at them. Great. Now I was amusing.

  Stepping up to me Klayn said in a surprisingly deep baritone, “I apologize, Niteclif.” There was a small smile playing around his lips. In his hand was the camera. I didn’t ask where it had come from or how he’d obtained it in a matter of minutes, but instead took the camera when he offered it to me. I looked it over and began adjusting settings. This I knew how to do, and I was comforted by the familiar.

  “You know this piece of machinery?” Klayn asked.

  “Sure. I have one of my own and was an amateur photographer before…before all of this.” I waved my arm about, generally encompassing everyone I could see. “Nice to see modern equipment being mostly plastic works for your normal mode of transportation. Thanks for picking it up for me.”

  “You’re welcome. Call out if you need anything else.” He retreated to stand with the other guards.

  With Tarrek right on my heels, I began walking around the scene of the disappearance and taking pictures of the footprints, using my sneaker-clad foot as a reference point to size. Some of the footprints were very clear, as were some of the prints-within-prints, while others were nothing more than a mess of disturbed earth. I followed the prints, making mental notes about the size and space of the stalker and stalked footprints and apparent strides. Jossel’s footprints, which were easy to discern due to the direct pattern of his path, had been the larger of the two. Or was it three? A new set seemed to appear from nowhere. Taking more pictures, I walked on and came to a point where there had obviously been a fight. The boot prints were a mess, turning up dirt and grass, and there was a trail of rusty colored earth, likely where blood had been spilled, at the farthest edge of the struggle. But whose blood I didn’t know. And then I made my first mistake, one I have promised myself I will never make again. I failed to look up. Tarrek’s attention was focused on my progress, and as I turned to ask him about the possibility of typing the blood, I saw strange markings carved into the trees, spaced in a rough circle about seven feet up each trunk. Recognizing the symbols, I stood quickly and turned to ask Tarrek’s opinion regarding their origin.

  “Tarrek,” I began, my voice sounding hollow to my ears, “look at—” Something huge punched me in the left shoulder. It spun me like a top, and I began to fall. The last thing I remember was Tarrek’s bellowing rage, the rushing of the guards and the breaking of dawn. It was a beautiful sunrise.

  I woke up sweating, covered in piles of blankets. It was so odd. My shoulder didn’t hurt. Much. Okay, a little but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Because I was relatively certain I had been shot, though with what I wasn’t positive. The only thing I was sure of was that someone had been aiming for my heart and had to have intended my death. And I was sure I knew who that someone was. I wanted to talk to Tarrek before outing the guy because this was going to affect him directly.

  The door opened, and the devil himself came through. Tarrek had changed into cream leather trews, a long white poet’s-style shirt and black knee-high boots. Sort of a roguish pirate look. Slap his image on a romance novel, and it was bound to become a best seller. Yum. He even had the short sword strapped to his hip. And I was willing to bet he had other weapons tucked away on his person.

  “How are you?” he asked in a soft voice, as if I would crack from the sound.

  “I’m fine,” I rasped. “I could use some water, though.”

  He reached for a cup and poured something electric blue into it.

  “What’s that?” I asked, taking the cup from him and looking inside before I took a sip and made a face.

  “It’s a sleeping draught offered by our physician,” he said, reaching over to stroke my hair. The air he disturbed with his movement swept over me and I inhaled deeply. He smelled and looked delicious. It was sort of a combination of oranges and cinnamon. Manly potpourri. What was going on?

  “Are you wearing cologne?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended it to be. He smiled, and I can only describe the look on his face as bashful.

  “You can smell that?” He looked both embarrassed and pleased.

  “Smell what exactly?”

  He fidgeted, adjusting his boot tops, then his belt. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he said, “It’s just me, myself. In the sithen the smell becomes intensified.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s my home, and it’s my magic.”

  “But what is it?” I pressed.

  “It’s the smell fairies release to attract partners.” He saw the look on my face and said, “I’m not doing it to gain your affections, Maddy. I can’t help it. It’s an involuntary response when a male faerie finds someone he wants. And each male’s smell is different. It’s sexual in nature, nothing more.” He looked at me so intensely and said it all so calmly that I was even more flustered.

  “I don’t get you guys,” I muttered. I had a moment of sudden comprehension, and I shrieked, “I’m in the sithen? How the hell did that happen? How long have I been here? Someone tell me what’s happened! Did I really get shot?!” I gasped the last, a full memory slamming into me nearly as hard as the projectile had.

  Tarrek winced, no doubt at the decibel of my voice. “Maddy, relax—”

  “Relax? How the hell am
I supposed to relax when I’ve been shot by your driver.”

  “Maddox? No, Maddy, he wouldn’t have done this. He’s served the royal family for generations. You’re mistaken.”

  I forced myself to sit up, doing my best to breathe through the pain in my shoulder that movement brought. “Find him, Tarrek, and find him now.”

  “Maddy, you’re wrong. Maddox wouldn’t do this.”

  “I’m not wrong, Tarrek, and I’ll tell you why once I’ve interviewed Maddox.”

  He got up and went to what appeared to be a mirror. He cast his hand across its face, and a mist filled it. Then there were images and Tarrek tapped the side of the mirror to change the images, apparently the faerie equivalent of channel surfing. His brows began to draw together, especially when he surveyed the exterior, because Bahlin was standing there and even I could tell he was pissed.

  “Oh for the love of the goddess,” Tarrek muttered. “I’m not letting him in. He’ll have to stand out there and continue to wait.” He bent and drew a dagger from the inside of his boot, spinning it in his hands in agitation and silent threat.

  I began shifting covers off of me, my movements fitful.

  Hearing the rustle of cloth, Tarrek turned. “Maddy, stay down. You’re not supposed to get up for another day at the very least.” He abandoned the mirror and rushed over to me.

  “Screw that,” I said through gritted teeth. “I need to see both of you, and you just indicated that he’d have to wait outside, so that’s where I’m going. We’ll talk there.” I was sweating bullets, no pun intended, the pain in my shoulder much more pronounced.

  “You’ll be the death of me, and that’s something. He took small, halting steps away from me and then back, like he couldn’t decide whether to leave or make sure I didn’t get out of bed. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go get him.” He threw the dagger down with a thump on the small dresser. “So I don’t kill him,” he muttered, and he stomped off.

  I slumped back into bed. This gave me some time to look around the room. It was well lit and bright in the same way the morning sun brightens a lightly curtained room, soft and glowing. This may not sound noteworthy but there were no windows and no lamps. The room seemed to generate its own light. The room appeared carved from the earth, with floors that were natural gray stone and the walls whitewashed. The furniture was all extremely large, but it fit the space perfectly. The bed was another high bed, requiring a stepstool to get into it. The headboard was maple, with a darker burl all through the wood. Everything in the room had an organic feel. Steps from the bed was a doorway that led into the bathroom. From the little I could see, it looked as opulent and modern as the one at the hotel. I realized then how grimy I felt and wondered how I might get a quick shower.

  I heard muted voices and realized they were coming from the mirror. I looked over and saw that Tarrek and Bahlin were yelling at each other, gesticulating wildly and aggressively. I stared, fascinated. It was like a car wreck—you know you’re going to see carnage, but you can’t look away. Bahlin suddenly punched Tarrek in the face, rocking the other man’s head back far enough I instantly worried for his neck. Bahlin’s movements were so fast they were only a blur. Tarrek recovered and charged Bahlin, catching him around the ribs and taking him to the ground hard and fast, landing at least two solid blows to the ribs. The men pounded on each other as guards poured from the sithen through unseen doorways in the ground. Guards broke up what would have been an ugly fight and both men stood, straightening their clothing—Tarrek in his fine clothes and Bahlin in jeans and a T-shirt. More words, calm words, were exchanged and both men headed inside the sithen. Oh boy.

  It was about a half-hour later that the door opened, and Tarrek and Bahlin came through. Tarrek’s mouth was already healing, and he’d changed clothes. Bahlin’s split knuckles had healed, but he was still covered with the flotsam of the fight-grass, grass stains, a little blood. I smiled at them both. I couldn’t help it.

  “Maddy,” Bahlin breathed, rushing toward the bed in a burst of speed. “Sweetheart.” His eyes roamed over me, and I realized I was dressed in a very small tank top and my underwear; nothing else. Awkward. I pulled the covers up a little higher.

  “I’m okay, Bahlin. It’s kind of you to worry, but don’t. Nothing can be changed about what’s happened, okay? Tarrek?” He was standing near the door. I turned toward him. “Where do the lights come from?”

  “Lights?”

  “In the room. There aren’t any windows or lamps.”

  He grinned, though there was a shadow behind his eyes that bothered me. “It’s enchanted.”

  “I’m not buying that story,” I said, shaking my head then wincing at the movement.

  “It’s true. It’s enchanted lighting. There are words you can say in the old language to brighten or darken a room.” He said something that sounded like contarpay and the lights dimmed to a mood-light setting. Then he said something that sounded like pletenda and the lights came back up. I laughed out loud. There’s nothing like finding out that fairies do exist and then getting to stay in a magical sithen to lift a girl’s spirits. Speaking of…

  “Uh, thanks for taking care of me, Tarrek.” The words were soft, my gratitude sincere. Bahlin let out the lowest of growls, raising the hair on the back of my neck in a primal evolutionary response. “Stop,” I told him. “He saved me.”

  “How?” Bahlin demanded. “He let you get shot.” His voice rose with each word.

  “Don’t yell,” I scolded him. “No, he didn’t let me get shot. I was shot. Period.” This had to be part of the Niteclif heritage speaking, because in my mind I hadn’t stopped shrieking yet. “Tarrek, come over here. I want to tell this once. First, did you see Maddox anywhere in the sithen when you went out to get Bahlin?”

  “No, but I ordered the guards to look for him and deliver him here at once. The sithen is enormous, so he could be anywhere.” He sounded defensive, and the tension around his eyes told me he was still convinced I was wrong.

  “Thank you. When he can’t be found, you’ll be ready to believe this. Maddox was the shooter.” Tarrek shook his head, and Bahlin looked interested.

  “How do you know?” Bahlin asked. “From what I heard you went down pretty quickly.” His face grew dark, and his brows drew together. A dark, heady spice was coming from him, but his smell was different than Tarrek’s. Like the previous times I’d smelled his scent, he reminded me of fresh air and rain showers. They both smelled wonderful, though there was one my nose preferred. Regardless, it was apparent that Tarrek smelled it, too, because he glared at Bahlin. Oh good. At least I’d proven one thing successfully—testosterone has a smell. I’d always wondered.

  “Listen, I began to realize something was off when I got out of the car, but I was too slow to figure it out in time. Maddox is right handed. His handgun was in his holster on that side. But his sword was on his left leg, and it had been put in backwards, meaning he’d had it out to use it and struggled to get it re-sheathed correctly, probably because he was in a hurry.” I shifted, trying to get comfortable. “I also noticed the scroll work on his clothing. It wasn’t decorative. It matched some of the symbols in the clearing where Jossel’s blood was found. Those symbols were carved into the trees. The symbols must have provided some type of warding or protection, which means that whoever put them there intended to facilitate Maddox’s errand, either as the killer or the killer’s proxy when he shot me. His boots were the same style as the footprints within Jossel’s larger footprints, and Maddox was the only one who hung back when we proceeded into the woods. No doubt it was to find a better spot from which to shoot me.” My shoulder gave a harsh ache, and I sighed. Being shot at sucked. Being shot at and hit sucked more. “I’m betting he disappeared from the faerie mounds in all the chaos after I was shot, and I bet that whoever he’s working for is not happy with him right now for missing me.”

  “But he didn’t miss you, Maddy,” said Bahlin. Tarrek looked pale and disbelieving.

  “Yes, Ba
hlin, he did. He meant to kill me. He was aiming for my heart, but I turned at the same moment he pulled the trigger. I was going to tell Tarrek what I’d discerned.” I looked at the other man, and he was stricken. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him. I held out my hand and he shook his head at me, getting up and walking out of the room. I dropped my hand and watched him go. He shut the door softly behind him, the sharp click of the latch making me jump in the echoing silence.

  “I’ve met Maddox before. He’s been with the family for hundreds of years and I know he helped raise Tarrek, so this will be hard to accept.” Bahlin’s voice was empathetic but firm. “However, as we discussed, Niteclif word is law, so he’s done for.”

  The weight of accountability was the heaviest of yokes. I didn’t know if I wanted this, the responsibility of being judge and jury burdening me like the weight of a thousand potentially wrong choices. Could I do this? Could I deprive some supernatural creature the length of life it had expected? What if I was wrong?

  “How long do faeries live?” I asked in a subdued voice.

  Bahlin smiled gently at me and shrugged, leaning his hip against the edge of the bed. “Easily three thousand years. That’s the oldest I’ve known personally. Beyond that, I don’t know. They’re a fairly secretive race.”

  I thought about that and couldn’t help but wonder how old Tarrek was.

  When Bahlin told me I’d been in the sithen, unconscious, for three days, I lost it again. I demanded he get me some pants and get me up and walking. I couldn’t stay in bed another minute, especially knowing the hurt my revelation had caused Tarrek and, I was sure by default, his family. Plus Jossel and Maddox were still missing. The shirt I wore was borrowed, from whom I had no idea. My pants had been declared ruined due to the bloodstains and were subsequently discarded. There were no other pants to be found. So Bahlin pulled his T-shirt off and let me borrow it so that I had a shirt that hung well passed my hips at least. He went bare-chested, and thank the merciful heavens for that. The man had a six-pack that made me long to trace the swells and valleys of muscle with my tongue. I could imagine running my lips all over that. Man I needed a cigarette.