Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  “It pertains to magic.”

  I knew I’d made the right decision when he didn’t laugh, but looked me dead in the eye and said, “Tell me everything.”

  I did. We talked until the sun had set and moonlight crept in through the windows—until I was sure his evening event had finished. I told him about every moment, from Shaianna demanding I drink from her cup, to the collapse of the tomb. He asked about the wargs, the mages, and fell quiet as I attempted to describe the art in the tomb. I explained, as best I could, how I’d seen Shaianna summon light from the moors and how she had defeated a wave of mages in Calwyton. At last I mentioned the bond and the old man’s words. When I finished, I laid the dagger on the table between us.

  Fallford loosened his jacket and leaned an elbow on the table, his expression pensive and distant. He reached for the dagger. “May I?”

  I nodded and watched him turn the weapon over and over, admiring it from every angle. “She has the other.”

  “And you believe she is alive?”

  “I do. But she was done with me when she performed the spell to break the bond. If the old man is to be believed, she’s still out there.” And dangerous …

  He sighed and set the dagger down on the table. “There’s a woman, a scholar friend of mine, who knows far more than I do about such things.”

  The thought of another person knowing all these details didn’t sit well. Fallford I could rely on, but bringing strangers into this? “In all your antiquity trading, is there anything you’ve come across, anything at all, that might help me understand more? Anything that might help determine who has the Eye?”

  “Yes, I think so. There is much in the old tales of the power in precious gems. Of course, it’s all considered myth, and not worth serious study these days, but that is why I’d like to consult with some of my colleagues.”

  “And what do you make of harvesting magic?”

  He licked his lips and rubbed at his forehead. “I believe there is much the Brean authorities do not tell us.”

  “Shaianna’s magic healed what would have otherwise been a fatal wound. And I’ve seen … more—many years ago as a boy.”

  “Where?”

  My lips twisted around the truth. If I spoke of this now, I could never take it back and hide behind the lies. “In Brea. It matters not where, just that its existence was hidden.”

  He narrowed his eyes and likely already suspected I spoke of the Inner Circle. “Vance, if we truly believe in this, and you say the mages have the Eye, then we cannot investigate this alone. Allow me to reach out to a few trusted individuals?”

  “And they’ll listen to the word of a thief?”

  “No, but they’ll listen to me, and I have faith in you. I won’t mention you at all, if that is your wish, but I must confer with them. They’ll want to mount an expedition to Arach—”

  “That will take too long. We need to find the Eye now.”

  “I realize that.” He stood and adjusted his jacket. “The myths, Vance. Do you know how the Arachians are described?”

  “No.” But after everything I had seen, I could imagine.

  “Whether the restless gods or invaders from another land unseated the Arachian people, the Arachians rose as one formidable wave of destruction, like a terrible storm capable of swallowing a continent. Led by their queen, they rained fire down on both sides, killing all. Where the moorland is today, there once stood the true expanse of Arach, a city to rival Brea ten times over.”

  I thought of Shaianna standing atop a rocky tor, hands held skyward as she listened to whispers and summoned the emerald light. “Do you believe it?”

  “No, but I didn’t think to believe in magic until you arrived at my door.” He buttoned up his coat. “I shan’t be long. Will you wait or return later?”

  “I’ll return.” I had yet to determine Tassen’s whereabouts. The man had a habit of appearing alongside trouble.

  “Then let us meet here at the strike of midnight, yes? And Vance? Tread lightly. It seems you are not the only thief to walk Brea’s streets this night.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Regular coaches did not stop at Agatha’s coach house. Those that did didn’t do so to refresh their horses, but to refresh their paying customers’ carnal needs.

  My coach dropped me beside the entrance off Jules Street, tucked away between two high brick walls and hidden behind the neighboring tanner’s hides strung up to dry. As the carriage pulled away, two fresh-faced women and a man I recognized as a regular worker appraised me. I approached through the melting slush. The light from the single oil lamp above the door smothered the color in their clothing. All three were dressed in some of the best tailored outfits Outer Circle Brean gems could buy. Agatha never skimped on her investments.

  The three gave me the prerequisite once-over perfected by whores and thieves everywhere, taking in the quality of my shoes, the cut of my cloak, whether I was well groomed, and lastly, the look in my eye. How much was I worth and was I trouble?

  “If you be wanting the services of this fine house, sir, you’d best visit by way of the front door,” the woman with powder-blue eyes said. It must have been exceedingly dark for her to misjudge me so spectacularly.

  She reconsidered her assessment when I stepped into the light. A frown chased away her fake smile. Trouble, that frown said.

  “He’s Agatha’s,” the male said with more warmth than the woman’s greeting. “I’ve seen you here before. Business or pleasure, sir?”

  “Business,” I replied before he could latch onto the wrong assumption.

  “I’ll escort you. What is your name?”

  “No escort required. I know this house well, I assure you.”

  I knew each room, each hidden staircase, and each creaking floorboard. It was only when I’d gotten greedy and Agatha’s extended family complained about their missing gems that they discovered they had a thief among them. Agatha sent me out on the street to earn back the money I’d stolen; I went gladly, because otherwise, she’d have used her cleaver to separate my hand from my wrist. Few things motivated a twenty-year-old cocksure thief quite like a madam brandishing a cleaver. As it happened, I’d earned the gems back and more, saving myself from pursuing the same career as my male friend here.

  They let me enter with no further challenge. I carried enough familiar swagger to cruise past the people gliding about the reception rooms in their lace and satin finery as they entertained their clients. If Agatha heard me call it a brothel, she would have her cleaver out. This was a respectable Pleasure House, or so she called it. Her clientele—gentile and city guards alike—agreed.

  The air smelled of face powder and sweetness, and the lure of familiarity slowed my steps. I had my hand on the stair bannister, about to ascend, when a voice purred in my ear, “What have we done to deserve your esteemed company, sir?”

  “Catherine.” I didn’t have to work to smile. She was always a pleasure to see. Catherine knew me from the years when I would peek through her door while she entertained her clients. To her, I was the eager young man who had fetched and carried at her every whim. I’d spent many nights dreaming up ways to save us, only for her to laugh at my foolishness. She’d been right. Agatha’s coach house was the best outer Brea could offer folks like us, and it wasn’t a bad lot. Then there was our additional agreement. She would assess her clients’ worth, and once they were sated and drunk, I’d stalk them in the street.

  I turned and looked down at her from the bottom step. As one of Agatha’s longest serving girls, she’d seen it all, and taught me much of it, but there was no bitterness in her face, just mild affection.

  “Are you keeping well?” She spoke like an Inner Circle girl, all smooth and luscious, politeness hiding its true meaning. She had heard my accent a few times in the early days and borrowed the tone to add to her unique allure. Clients paid a high price to hear her sweet voice.

  “I’m keeping busy.”

  She stepped forward. I tensed,
stopping short of backing away, but she noticed and her smile stuttered. “You’ve not paid us a visit in some time.”

  Living in a pleasure house had its advantages. I’d always returned, and they’d always welcomed me. Until Arach. Until Shaianna.

  I looked around at the warm reds and golds, at the women and men escorting clients to and from their respective rooms, at the gilded niceties and the fake smiles pinned to rigid expressions. And I wasn’t sorry I’d left. Catherine’s expression told me she was.

  “Was it you?” I asked.

  Her lashes, blackened with coal, fluttered. “He came asking after a thief and described you well enough. He spoke of you as a friend, as though you’d been on some far adventures together. He’s not a subtle man.”

  That sounded like Tassen. All muscle and clout. The man was proving more than a nuisance.

  “I need to find him.”

  “We thought you might, hence the message we left for you. He’s been enjoying our services. Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, or so he believes.” She lifted her hand, inviting me to take it. “I’ll take you to him.”

  She escorted me to the landing outside one of the many rooms. Candlelight flickered, softening the edges of the wood paneling and hiding the threadbare carpet. “Vance, no trouble please.”

  I pressed a hand to her face and kissed her forehead. She tasted of powder and pipe smoke. There was a time, not so long ago, when I’d have let her lead me to one of these rooms and I’d have lost myself in her, but now I was already pulling away.

  “You seem … different. We won’t see you again, will we?”

  I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I hope not, in the nicest way possible.”

  “Come, if you need us. We care for our own, and you were always our thief … and my friend.”

  I nodded, then opened the door. Tassen lay sprawled, half-clothed, on the bed, clutching at his chest. Scarlet blood seeped through his shirt. He croaked a warning, “Mage!”

  Bloody footprints led to a section of paneled wall. Every room had a concealed chamber where workers readied themselves before the entertainment began.

  I removed my dagger. “Stay by the door,” I told Catherine. “If anything comes out, get out of its way. Don’t try to stop it.”

  I tightened my grip on the dagger and approached the panel. There was every chance the creature had gone, but it could equally be waiting on the other side. Where better to get answers than from the mages? I hesitated, my left hand resting on the panel.

  Don’t make the wrong choices, brother.

  A fool, certainly, but not a coward. Not anymore.

  I shoved the panel open. A blur of movement rushed out of the dark. It hit me like a steam train, but its momentum drove the creature into my dagger, and we tumbled to the floor. The stench of steaming, rancid meat rolled over me. My stomach heaved. The writhing, skittering mage snapped its teeth together, its stinking breath blasting across my face. I had a firm grip on the dagger in its gut, but the thing still lunged and snapped its jaws—again and again. Wedging my forearm under its chin, I twisted the blade, opening up its insides. It howled a drawn-out sound of agony.

  A pistol shot rang out. I couldn’t tell from where, possibly from Tassen. The mage snapped its head up and crouched to lunge. If it got free, it would tear into the only family I knew. I snatched at one of its spindly limbs and twisted onto my front to yank it back. Then I had it under me, snarling and snapping. Its claws flashed on my right. I flinched way, slashed outward, and took its clawed hand right off, then I stabbed the blade deep into its arm, pinning it to the floor. It bucked and kicked like a scrawny mule, but with its limb pinned, it wasn’t going anywhere.

  “What are you?” I shouted.

  I thought it smiled, although it was difficult to know if the lips, yanked tight over rows of sharp teeth, could smile.

  “We are you.” Its body twitched and it huffed as though it was laughing.

  “Why are you here?”

  “The shadow, the Eye, we need, we take.”

  Catherine loomed to my left with her pistol aimed low at the mage’s head.

  “Why do you need the Eye?”

  “To see the dark.”

  More riddles. More nonsense. “Is it over?”

  “No … No-no-no! It’s just begun. Just begun! She comes. She comes. She is shadow and dust—shadow and dust.”

  “What does that mean?”

  A wet gurgle bubbled up its throat—more laughter. “She is the beginning of the end. The shadow will embrace all. The light will die. All that remains is dust.”

  It bucked, hard and sudden. My grip around its wrist slipped. I felt the punch in my side, followed by a cool, seeping wetness. The pistol fired too close to my head. The shot blasted off half the mage’s face. It collapsed, pulling its claws from the wound in my side. I reared back, the room spinning, my head throbbing and ears ringing. Its claws had stabbed me deep, too deep.

  I was falling again. And from the dark, she watched.

  “Vance! Call the doctor … My voice—listen—towels …”

  This can’t be the end. The moorland woman said when the end came, I’d make the wrong choice. There was no choice here.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The air smelled different inside the Inner Circle, or so the High Guard would have people believe. I knew where I was before I’d opened my eyes. I couldn’t hear the market traders or the clatter of carriages. No shouts arose, and no laughter bubbled from the taverns. I’d have thought there would be peace in the quiet, but this quiet was the smothering kind. The kind that begged to be disturbed.

  The white- and red-clad Inner Circle guards had marched me from a windowless cell, through the narrow snow-softened streets, to the High Guard’s official quarters. The building was old Brean. High ceilings, ornate arches, and too much space filled with the bloated egos of the High Guard. But only one person awaited my arrival inside.

  “A thief. A liar. A runaway. A coward. And if the knot painted into your skin on your lower back is anything to go by, an ocra—a magic user.”

  I had a mark on my back? I kept the alarm from my expression and plastered on boredom instead. The woman standing in front of me was a high-ranking guard, if her white-and-gold attire was any indication. Easily as tall as me, she had broad shoulders and a solid stance, muscular in a way that declared she was familiar with swinging swords. Her blond hair was braided and fixed tightly against her head. Startling blue eyes looked right through me.

  I cleared my throat and laid on the Outer Circle accent. “I ain’t no magic believer, ma’am. You don’ need to waste your precious time with me.”

  She smiled a flat, humorless smile. “Oh, I think we do. I know who you are, Curtis Vance. I can see your mother in your eyes. Your father, before the sickness struck him, spoke highly of his beloved son, who would one day join the High Guard.”

  I fixed my gaze on the table between us, fighting off the fluttering in my chest and the sudden bout of lightheadedness.

  “You don’t look well, Curtis, which is hardly surprising considering your nearly dead body was left outside our gates.”

  I couldn’t remember much after arriving at Agatha’s. I’d seen Catherine, and I remembered the warmth of her hand in mine and something about goodbyes. But then there was just the smell of blood and the flash of pain. And then I’d woken back here, inside the walls.

  “Who are you?” I asked, dropping the fake accent.

  “Captain Anuska of the Inner Circle High Guard, appointed and accredited by his Royal Highness King Jacobie.” She lifted her chin and waited for me to comment.

  The only polite thing I could think to say was something about how she seemed too young to hold such a lofty position. The other comments balancing on my tongue wouldn’t be well received.

  “I remember what you did all those years ago, Curtis. It was right and just. Your sacrifice for the Inner Circle showed the clear and admirable devotion of a true High Guard. Had yo
u stayed, you might have been in my command now.”

  I lifted my head. “Had I stayed, you would have killed my sister.”

  “Only if she too is an ocra?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Well then, you fled for nothing. How … tragic.”

  I stayed quiet while anger bubbled around the edges of my control. If I let loose what I wanted to say, Anuska would probably lock me away until the end of my days—or worse. She had kept me alive up to this point, so perhaps there was a chance I could still survive this.

  “Such a terrible waste of talent.” She sighed and made her away around her vast desk. She stayed standing, with her fingers pressed against the desktop. “I must know, Curtis, if you are an ocra, as the mark clearly proclaims, why give up your parents at all? I considered what you did to be brave, but now I wonder if you were trying to hide behind their guilt?”

  I chuckled and winced as a twinge of pain skittered up my side and the healed cut in my palm throbbed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about magic.”

  “The mark on your back proclaims otherwise.”

  A branding, perhaps? Or something left over from the tomb with Shaianna, after she had severed the bond between us? Either way, it defied explanation. No excuse was going to save me. Anuska had already made her decision.

  “How do you explain your miraculous recovery?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t that badly hurt.”

  She leaned forward. The desk creaked. “You were stabbed four times in the gut.”

  I opened my mouth to explain and stalled. “They missed a bit?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “And so the Vances’ son became a petty Brean thief.”

  “Professional thief, if you please.”

  “Curtis, you don’t seem to appreciate your situation.”

  I smiled. “I may have run away from the delightful Inner Circle, but I certainly never forgot where I came from.” My accent was slipping, merging with the likes of hers. “I clearly didn’t run far enough.”