Contents
Books by Rob Blackwell
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Epilogue
More Information
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Books by Rob Blackwell
The Sanheim Chronicles:
A Soul to Steal (Book One)
Band of Demons (Book Two)
Give the Devil His Due (Book Three)
Complete Box Set
The Soren Chase Series
Closed at Dark (Sign up for Rob’s newsletter here and receive it for free)
Carnival of Stone
The Forest of Forever
The Last Blog (A Soren Chase short story)
The Pretender (Coming soon!)
Audiobooks
A Soul to Steal
Band of Demons
Give the Devil His Due
Carnival of Stone
Rob Blackwell
This novella is dedicated to readers who leave reviews. Thank you for making your voices heard. The book world would not function without you.
Author’s note: In terms of chronology, this novella takes place between Closed at Dark and The Forest of Forever. The story is stand-alone, however, and you do not need to have read either book to enjoy it.
Chapter One
Soren scrambled up the stairs, running as fast as he could.
He hit the exit door, flinging it wide open, and emerged onto the roof of an office building. He could hear his pursuers close behind him. He sprinted across the roof while looking for an escape route. There had to be a way down that didn’t involve plummeting ten stories to his death or confronting whoever was chasing him. He couldn’t be sure, but they looked like they were carrying some serious firepower.
There was no sign of a fire escape and the neighboring buildings were too far away for a jump. Soren kept looking for a way out but the unfortunate truth struck him: he was trapped.
Soren had known going up the stairs was a terrible idea, but the other routes were blocked. It didn’t help that he didn’t know the building or the area very well. He was used to operating in Virginia, and had only reluctantly agreed to a meeting in Washington D.C. Once he got here, it had taken him only a few minutes to realize it was a setup, but by then it was too late.
Now he stood on top of a building that probably bustled with life during the day, but this late in the evening was completely deserted. He could shout for help, but he was in the city’s business district near Metro Center. It was unlikely there would be anyone nearby to hear him, least of all a policeman or someone who could actually assist.
Soren walked to the edge of the rooftop and looked at the nearest building, reconsidering whether he could make it across. There was no railing and although it was at least a ten foot gap, it might just be possible to make it if he got a running start. He decided to try it, turning back to give himself some room to build up speed.
As he did, two figures emerged from the shadows of the stairwell, running right at him. There was no time to jump; he would make his stand here. Soren pulled his gun and aimed it at the two men. Assuming they were men, of course. He hadn’t gotten a good look and they were standing in the shadows. About the only identifying characteristic he could make out was that they were really short, less than five feet tall.
“Stop right there!” he said.
The two halted roughly fifteen feet away, but both already had their own weapons drawn. He couldn’t see the men, but he could make out their weapons, which reflected the pale moonlight from above. The one directly in front of him was holding a revolver. But that was nothing compared to what his companion had. It looked like an assault rifle, the kind capable of obliterating a target with a storm of bullets. He also appeared to be wearing a modified hunting vest, stocked with more guns and other weapons.
Soren was outmanned and outgunned, but he held his ground, keeping his weapon pointed low at the first man’s head.
“Drop it or die,” one of his pursuers said, his voice betraying a thick Irish accent.
“No chance,” Soren said. “If either of you make a move, I’ll kill you. Your friend might take me out, but I’m betting you aren’t ready to die.”
“Oh, boyo,” the man replied. “When we make our move, ya won’t even see it happen.”
Before Soren could puzzle out the meaning of the words, the second pursuer disappeared. There was no warning, just a nearly imperceptible popping sound, and he vanished completely.
Soren barely had time to flinch before he felt the barrel of a large gun jammed into his back. Somehow the second man had gotten behind Soren within a fraction of a second.
“See what I mean?” the first man said. “Drop yer gun. I won’t ask again.”
Soren wasn’t sure how he had moved so fast, but he decided it would be pointless to resist any further. He bent down slowly and lowered the gun to the ground.
“Kick it over here,” the man said.
Soren did as he was told and put his hands above his head.
“Very good,” his pursuer said.
Soren could blame no one but himself for ending up here. The story someone had concocted had been tailor-made to draw his attention. A woman had e-mailed him claiming her husband had been acting oddly. She listed all the signs of a pretender—creatures that could transform themselves to look like a person and assume their identity—including aggressive behavior, memory loss of key events and abrupt changes in personality. The woman claimed she’d heard Soren could help her.
Soren had let his excitement get the better of him. Ever since he posted a couple blogs about pretenders, he’d received a deluge of e-mails about alleged doppelgängers. Mostly it was from cranks who were convinced their postman was one. A surprising number believed the president was also a pretender.
But this e-mail exchange appeared genuine. The woman had been rational and observant, not given to rants about politics or errant mail delivery. Soren agreed to meet her, ignoring the gut feeling that told him he might be walking into a trap. The opportunity to track down another pretender so close to home was too much to resist.
He hadn’t been completely stupid. He’d scouted the place out and even confirmed that a woman, presumably his client, had entered the building a half hour prior to their meeting. Soren had been careful, but not nearly enough. There was no woman waiting for him when he arrived for their meeting on the eighth floor.
Instead, he’d walked into an office to find a man pointing a gun at him. Soren hadn’t gotten a good look at him other than to notice his diminutive height. As soon as Soren saw the gun, he knew it was a trap. He didn’t wait to find out what his mysterious assailant was going to do next, but had turned around and fled.
He didn’t make it far. Another man had cut off the exit to the downstairs, forcing Soren to flee upwards—exactly where, apparently, his pursuers had wanted him to go. And now he was stuck.
“Who are you?” Sor
en asked.
The man took a step forward out of the shadows, allowing Soren his first true glimpse of his opponent.
He was a short man dressed in a pinstripe business suit. Even from the distance he was at, Soren could tell it was an expensive one, tailored to exactly fit its owner. He had red hair and a matching beard with a ruddy complexion.
He might have looked human, but there was something ancient in the man’s wrinkled expression, and Soren guessed he had been alive for centuries. The man sneered at Soren, exposing a jumble of crooked teeth, some of which were black from decay.
There was no green outfit or bowler hat to give them away, but Soren realized he knew what kind of creatures he was dealing with. He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.
“No way,” Soren said. “You’re leprechauns. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“We’re deadly serious,” the man replied in his thick Irish brogue. “I’m Lochlan and the one behind ya is Keevan. A finer pair of representatives of our people yer not like to meet in this world.”
Soren craned his neck to see the one standing behind him. He was dressed in an identical pinstriped suit. They almost looked like twins.
“No,” Soren said. “This is a prank, right? I mean, I know I have bad luck, but leprechauns aren’t even real. And they’re supposed to be really small, like tiny people.”
“Yer thinking of elves, ya daft git,” Lochlan yelled. “Everybody gets it wrong cause of that fookin movie.”
Soren stared at them in horror. He’d faced dozens of deadly creatures and he’d just been chased—and outwitted—by two leprechauns.
“You’re here to kill me?” Soren asked.
If they were, he hoped nobody found out who did it. Soren wasn’t sure he could stand the shame.
“Of course not,” Lochlan replied. “If we were, ya’d be singing with the angels already.”
Behind him, Keevan spewed out a stream of words—gibberish to Soren.
“That’s very true,” Lochlan said. “Me brother says ya may still have to die, but it depends on ya. Ya have to excuse him. He’s never bothered to learn to speak yer filthy fookin tongue.”
Keevan moved around Soren so he was facing him again, keeping the assault rifle aimed at Soren’s chest. Keevan spat on the ground and muttered a few more unintelligible words, apparently emphasizing Lochlan’s point.
Soren eyed both of his assailants. He’d never studied leprechauns before, assuming they were a children’s story. But he didn’t remember any kids’ book with guys like these. With their firepower and fancy suits, they seemed more like gangsters than mythological creatures.
Soren also hadn’t realized that leprechauns could teleport, but Keevan’s sudden appearance behind him spoke for itself.
“Are ya just going to stand there staring at us all evening?” Lochlan asked.
“You’re the ones holding the guns,” Soren said. “It’s your move. I’m assuming you want something from me.”
“Right, we do,” Lochlan said. “We work for a man. Well, best not to call him a man, really. But he’d be unhappy if we gave more details, and believe me, we don’t want to make him unhappy. Anyway, he recently had a business proposition with a certain person, and I’m using that term loosely, to buy a boy. It was a very special boy. But it turns out that person ended up dead. Our employer asked us to do some checkin’, and we found out it was ya who killed him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Soren said.
Lochlan raised his gun.
“C’mere, if that’s true, I’ve got no reason to let ya live, do I?” he said. “So I’m going to ask ya straight up now—do ya know what I’m referring to or don’t ya? Think carefully before you answer.”
Soren weighed his options. If he maintained his ignorance, it was very likely he was going to be shot. But there was no way he was going to tell these two—or anyone else—about Alex. About a month before, he had helped an old friend when her son, Alex, had been threatened by a supernatural creature. The monster involved had kidnapped the boy with the intention of selling him to someone, but Soren had helped to stop it. He hadn’t, however, been able to locate who was trying to buy Alex, and that loose thread had worried him. It appeared he was right to be anxious.
He decided to play it carefully.
“I know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“That’s a good boy,” Lochlan replied. “Our employer wanted us to ask ya for the name and location of the boy. He said he’d pay ya nicely for the information. And if you didn’t give it to us willingly, he urged us to find other means of winning yer cooperation.”
Lochlan smiled. It was icy and ruthless. All at once the idea of dying at the hands of two leprechauns didn’t strike Soren as very funny. He suspected most people who encountered these two had underestimated them and paid a heavy price for it.
“So what’ll it be?” Lochlan continued. “Will ya take our money and buy us a round at the pub down the street? Or will ya be a yob and make us work for our pay? I’d prefer the drink, but me brother might have other leanings.”
Keevan laughed and let out more gibberish. Soren saw him raise his assault rifle a little.
Soren had two options. He could fight, and probably lose, or he could give them a fake name and address to buy himself a little time. He suspected that last tactic wouldn’t work. Lochlan’s “drink at the pub” would probably really be a drive to try and locate the “special boy.” And Soren had no intention of giving them Alex’s real name and address, no matter what they might do to him.
“Come on, come on,” Lochlan said. “It’s not a hard choice, is it? Live or die. It’s all the same to us.”
Soren opened up his mouth, aware that “die” might be the last word he ever uttered, when the door to the roof swung open. Another person—this one tall and lean, clearly not a leprechaun—stumbled out and lurched unevenly across the rooftop in their direction.
“Exsscusse me, misters,” a male voice slurred loudly. “Does anyone know where the bathroom is?”
Soren couldn’t make out the guy’s face, but he watched as both Lochlan and Keevan turned in the intruder’s direction. It was all the distraction he needed. Soren lunged for Keevan, figuring it made sense to attack the more heavily armed leprechaun. He had a moment to savor the fact that he’d just had to qualify the word “leprechaun” with “more heavily armed”—his life really was insane—and tackled Keevan to the ground.
The leprechaun had a large weapon in his hand, but Soren’s height and strength gave him significant leverage. He used his size to his advantage, pinning the assault rifle to Keevan’s chest with one hand and punching him repeatedly in the face with the other.
He heard a gunshot behind him, but surprisingly, it didn’t seem aimed in his direction. Soren glanced up to see Lochlan chasing the other man across the rooftop. Soren realized that his unexpected savior was no drunk—he was now moving in a zigzag pattern intended specifically to evade gunfire. Whoever had helped him by distracting his captors had done so on purpose.
When he looked down again at Keevan, he noticed the leprechaun had freed one of his hands and pulled a small hunting knife from his vest. He jabbed it at Soren’s eye. Soren dodged the blow, but the leprechaun used that moment to kick his legs out, succeeding in throwing Soren off of him.
The leprechaun pounced on Soren’s chest. If he’d been smart, Keevan would have stood up, aimed his weapon and shot Soren at point blank range. But the leprechaun appeared to be caught up in the moment and instead of using his gun was now trying to cut Soren’s face with his knife.
Soren struggled on the ground, uncomfortably aware of the ridiculousness of his situation. When he’d set out to become a paranormal investigator, he’d expected to be caught in bizarre moments, but this was far beyond his wildest imaginings. Keevan shouted what Soren could only assume were Gaelic curse words and tried to shove his knife into his skull.
Soren used his free arm to hold
Keevan’s knife hand at bay, but the leprechaun was stronger than he looked. Soren wasn’t sure just how much longer he could hold out. The knife inched gradually toward his face. With a burst of energy, Soren shifted his hip and lashed out with his arm, pushing the leprechaun over.
Soren tried to pin Keevan down to prevent him from using his rifle or knife. But Keevan shouted and rocked his own body. They began rolling over each other, with Soren on top for a moment and then Keevan above him the next. Soren realized what was happening too late to stop.
He and his attacker fell off the roof and began the ten-story plunge to their deaths.
Chapter Two
It might have been exhilarating in any other circumstance.
There was a moment of weightlessness and then a free fall as the two of them plummeted to the ground. Soren had a dim memory of a particularly scary roller coaster ride he’d gone on with his friend John a decade earlier. But at the end of this ride, he wouldn’t be getting off and demanding to go again. He was going to be a small indentation on G Street below.
There was no time to think and no strategy to employ. Soren was simply falling to his death. He kept his eyes open, looking past Keevan’s angry face to watch the pavement rushing toward them at terrific speed. He waited for a flashback of his life to start and had the fleeting thought that he hoped it wouldn’t include John’s death. He could do without seeing that part again.
Then there was a popping sound, and he and Keevan were suddenly back on the rooftop. Soren was still on top of Keevan, but he felt a dizzying sensation and was momentarily confused about where he was.
Just as he realized that Keevan had teleported the two of them back to safety, the leprechaun lashed out with his knife. Soren barely recovered his wits in time, blocking the blow and knocking the knife out of Keevan’s hand. Soren began punching him in the face. The leprechaun appeared to remember his assault rifle and tried to aim it, but Soren held it down.
Carnival of Stone: A Novella (The Soren Chase Series) Page 1