Contents
Introduction
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
All books by J.A.Armitage
Introduction
This is a New Adult fantasy series set over the course of one whole year. This particular book is the third in the series and is set over the third week from 15th January to 21st January from the eyes of Tarragon Club. Each book in the series will be shown through the eyes of a different character, all within the world of Vanatus. Each book can be read as a standalone book (no cliffhangers), but the overall arc of the war will play in the background throughout.
Here come the Clubs!
January 1st - January 7th
Rose Persimmon Club (Two of Clubs)
January 8th - January 14th
Stargazer Lily Club (Three of Clubs)
January 15th - January 21st
Tarragon Brodie Club (Four of Clubs)
January 22nd - January 28th
Ash Ever Club (Five of Clubs)
January 29th - 4th February
Iris Larkspur Club (Six of Clubs)
5th February - 11th February
Juniper Hawthorne Club (Seven of Clubs)
12th February - 18th February
Fern Foxglove Club (Eight of Clubs)
19th - 25th February
Sorrell Snapdragon Club (Nine of Clubs)
26th February - 4th March
Sequoia Hollis Club (Ten of Clubs)
5th March - 11th March
Sage Salix Club (The Jack)
12th March - 19th March
Heather Lotus Club (The Queen)
20th March - 26th March
Reed Cardamom Club (The King)
Chapter one
NEW YEAR’S EVE
“Hey, gorgeous, how about another round of Cherrybeer brandies and keep the change, or, you know, buy one for yourself!” A Heart kid with mousy hair styled into a quiff with way too much hairspray slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the waitress’s hand, knocking a pile of poker chips onto the floor as he did.
“Thanks,” the waitress replied, pulling the corners of her mouth upwards for a millisecond before turning away from the braying drunken gamblers and rolling her eyes.
The man previously known as Joe stifled a smile. He’d been watching the group from the darkened corner booth for the past ten minutes, and already, he’d pegged them for what they were: A group of overly privileged, ridiculously dressed, spoiled Heart brats who believed their suit made them superior to everyone else. He mentally calculated the price of the round of drinks. The leftover change wouldn’t have bought the waitress an ice cube, let alone a Cherrybeer Brandy. She obviously had come to the same conclusion, because as he watched, she purposely under measured the shots that she poured into the sugary cocktails and topped them up with tap water.
No one wanted to be working on New Year’s Eve and especially not in this dive, pretending to be a classy joint. Ok, yes, it was situated in Cerce, which was usually the epitome of high fashion, but it was at the seedier end, bordering The Club District. It was almost as if someone had forgotten to tell the manager that disco lights and half-naked dancers on podiums were not stylish, but were, in fact, tacky. It was also very dark. If you discounted the flashes of purple and pink that highlighted the two women gyrating on the platforms, the place would have been in pitch blackness. It was the main reason he had chosen this place. He couldn’t lower himself enough to actually drink in The Club District where barroom brawls and cheap ale would be the entertainment choice and preferred beverage of the evening, but at the same time, the refined bars of Cerce were places you went to be seen which was exactly why he had ended up here in the darkest corner, in the strangely named Corked Orc Inn.
He watched as the pretty waitress trayed up the drinks and brought them out to the table of men. He had to hand it to her; she smiled patiently as one by one, the lewd boys made comments about her ass, with one of the drunker ones actually slapping her on it. He was just about to intervene, put a spell on him, possibly one that would make his dick turn green and drop off when he saw the waitress slyly take a fifty-dollar note from the table as she thanked them for the generous tip. It had been left on the table, no doubt, as a bet for the poker round.
He watched as she pocketed the note and smiled, this time for real, leaving the bunch of braying idiots at a loss for words as well as cash. She then did something that completely blew his mind. She put the fifty in a charity box that had been left on the bar for loose change. He wasn’t one for believing the best in people. What she did shocked him.
He also wasn’t one to talk to women in bars, it broke all his rules, but he couldn’t help himself. Rules were made to be broken, and tonight, he was damned if he didn’t want to break this one. He held up his hand and motioned for the waitress to come over.
“Nice move,” he said when she came to his table, notebook in hand. Away from the neon-lit bar, he could barely see her, only a pink glow around her edges, leaving her silhouetted perfectly. He didn’t need to see her fully, he’d already memorised the exact shade of black of her hair, the almond shape of her indigo-coloured eyes and, just like the idiots on the other table, the roundness of her ass, although he had the good sense and manners not to mention it. Instead, he asked for a strong black coffee.
He could just about make out her arching a brow. No doubt because The Corked Orc was not somewhere that people would just order a coffee.
“A coffee?” she asked sounding bored. He had travelled all over Vanatus, but he couldn’t place her accent. She wasn’t from Cerce; that was for sure. She probably wasn’t even a Heart. “Would you like anything else? Something stronger? Maybe I could drop a little whiskey into it for you?”
He smiled, another thing he rarely did.
“Just a black coffee, please.”
“Ok.” She turned, not bothering to write down his simple order and walked back into the light of the bar. He’d been wrong about her hair colour, now that he looked more closely. The purple hint he’d taken as the nightclub lights bouncing off it was actually hair die. Maybe he was wrong about her not being a Heart. Purple hair abounded in Cerce and throughout the Heart Kingdom, along with every other colour of the rainbow. Still, he was not usually wrong about things. Her understated attire (ok, waitress uniform) had no extra embellishments, no flowers, lace, or fake fur adorning it. It was a plain black tee and black jeans. The only other waitress he could see had a bouffant of bright yellow hair, seven-inch heels, and a skin-tight, pink, sequinned dress, in other words, normal attire for a Heart. Of course, he could have read her mind and known for sure, but where was the fun in that?
“That’s just a dollar.” She placed the coffee in front of him and held out her hand.
He fished around in his wallet and brought out a fifty-dollar bill, which he placed in her hand.
“Keep the change, or, you know, buy one for yourself,” he echoed the gambler’s words from earlier.
He didn’t see the corners of her mouth go up; it was just too dark, but something had shifted in her aura. He could sense it, and the thank you she gave him was genuine.
He felt good. It was not a feeling he was used to, nor was it one he’d expected to feel on this night of endings and new beginnings. He glanced down at his watch. He still had thirty minutes to midnight, until the bells chimed in the New Year and the time for him to leave. He decided to break another of his rules. He was going to play a game for fun.
“Hey, boys, how about you let an old man join you in your game of poker?”
Eight pairs of mascara’d, gold-lined
eyes swivelled towards him. He never understood why the Heart men felt the need to wear makeup and dress like pantomime dames, but it didn’t matter to him what they were wearing to get their asses handed to them on a plate. He knew he could be anyone he wanted to be. There was only one other person he knew that could shift into any shape and take on the appearance of anyone at will, and he didn’t like to think about him. These boys wouldn’t know that the old man in front of them with his cup of coffee was not him at all, but a guy he’d seen a few weeks back in a village in the Spade Kingdom. No one knew what he really looked like. The man he’d essentially copied wasn’t actually old. He was in his late thirties or early forties, tops, but he’d be ancient to these college kids. He moved closer to them into the light so they could see him. He watched as they smiled and read their thoughts. They thought he was an easy mark. They were about to learn that appearances could be deceiving!
“There’s always room for one more,” said the boy who’d whipped the waitress’s ass earlier as he pulled a seat over from the next table. The older man stumbled over, tripping over it slightly and dropping his wallet, which spilled out its contents—a considerable amount of cash and a photo of three adorable young girls in pigtails. It was all trickery, of course. He had no daughters or nieces. He’d stolen the photo months ago, along with the wallet, waiting for a moment like this to put it to good use.
If he was going to be honest with himself, he really was a complete bastard. He knew exactly what the men held in their hands as soon as the cards were dealt, thanks to his mind reading powers. Still, honesty was not a strong point of his, so he decided not to dwell on it.
The first round he played perfectly—perfectly badly! He bid too high on cards that were too low. The boys loved it.
“Never mind, old chap. I’ll get you a drink,” said the quiff guy.
“I don’t drink, but thank you.”
“Nonsense! It’s New Year’s Eve!” He motioned the waitress over again. “A round of drinks and make our friend’s here a double.” He handed her the correct amount and made sure that all the other money was covered up so she couldn’t repeat her trick from last time
“Coming up!”
She walked away as another round of cards was dealt. He was going to enjoy cleaning these guys out.
He played the next round just like the first, bidding higher and higher before folding, and losing a couple of hundred dollars. It didn’t matter; he’d get it back.
The third round was dealt just as the waitress came back with a tray. She placed a cherry beer in front of the eight men and a black coffee in front of the older man.
“As you requested,” she said, “a double espresso for the gentleman.” She winked as she placed the coffee on the table in front of him. He noticed it had a little posh biscotti on the side.
He liked the girl more and more.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he turned back to the Hearts. “Let’s play!”
It was too easy. He could probably have beaten them just using his poker playing skills, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Their minds, he found when he plunged into them to read their cards were as putrid as he expected them to be. Actually, putrid was much too interesting a word for their banal thoughts of spending their poker winnings by sticking bills into the knickers of the dancing girls. Quiff guy had spent the last three minutes fantasising about being blown by the waitress. The old man couldn’t blame him, but at the same time, he was offended for her. He accidentally on purpose knocked his coffee right into the lap of the guy, rendering him unable to think about doing anything with his dick other than cooling it down.
“Sorry, old Chap, unfortunate accident!” He knew he shouldn’t, but he allowed himself a grin as he placed the king and queen down on the table. “I do believe I’ve got a royal flush!”
He picked up all his winnings and stood. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen.” He nodded slightly and turned to leave. Passing the bar on the way out, he dropped all the winnings into the charity box before stepping into the night.
The air was frigid, and he could see his own breath spiralling up before dissipating into it. A newly fallen dusting of snow crunched lightly beneath his feet, and he could hear the sounds of New Year’s Eve revelry all around him. Cheesy pop songs, people cheering, and the sound of someone vomiting after consuming one too many.
He needed to get away. Tonight, he had come too close to humanity, too close to liking someone, and he didn’t like people. He didn’t like anyone, and that’s the way it was supposed to stay. He was just about to transport himself away when he sensed her behind him—the waitress. He should have gone right then, but he didn’t. He hesitated, just a fraction of a second, and then she spoke.
“You can’t go yet!”
“Why?” he asked, without turning to her. He couldn’t let her see his eyes. They would frighten her. He usually covered his bright violet eyes with sunglasses or went to very dark bars, but out here with the glare of the streetlights, there was nothing he could do to mask his strange appearance. His eye colour was the one thing he couldn’t change, and it was the one thing he wanted to most.
“It’s nearly midnight!”
“So?” He turned to her, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Most people were taken aback by the luminosity of his eyes; he’d even had a couple of people scream. That’s one of the reasons he didn’t like people.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, silly, the end of one year, the beginning of another.”
She didn’t flinch at all. If anything, she was looking at him as if he was crazy for not caring about the significance of the day, not the strangeness of his eyes.
“You know,” she continued when he didn’t speak, “countdown, parties, merry making—New Year’s Eve!”
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang out.
Bong.
“That’s the countdown. The bells of The Ace’s Palace ring ten times and then it’s a new year.”
Bong
He stared at her then, desperate to read her mind, to know if she was hiding her fear of him, her revulsion.
Bong
He didn’t though. If she was hiding it, she was a really good actress. Her eyebrows were raised in a playful way, as if she was expecting him to do or say something. Out here, away from all the flashing pink and purple lights, she looked younger. In the club, he’d pegged her as being in her mid-twenties, but in the light of the gas lamps, which all the streetlights in Cerce were, she looked to be in her late teens, twenty, tops.
Bong
“So? Are you coming back in? It would be a shame to miss ringing in the New Year inside. If you are worried about the college guys, they are busy drooling over Hannah and Rebecca now, you know the dancing girls.”
Bong
“Why did you put the money in the charity box?” He couldn’t help but ask. He could see that her black jeans had been patched and there was a safety pin holding the strap of her top together. She was not a wealthy woman.
“Why did you?” she replied.
Bong
He didn’t have an answer for her, at least not one she would understand. He was not a charitable man. He’d not even bothered to read the label on the box when he’d thrown it in. The money could have been for anything: blind children, sick cats, hell, it could have even been the nightclub manager’s holiday fund for all he knew. The truth was, he didn’t need the money. Money was very easy to come by for someone like him, and it wasn’t important. If he were to admit it to himself, he also wanted to appear better, better than he was. He wanted her to like him.
“I put the fifty in because it’s for the homeless,” she answered him when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to. “There are a lot of homeless people in Cerce. I know because I’ve been there myself. Homeless, I mean.”
Bong
“I’m ok now. I have somewhere to sleep.”
He found he did want to know. He wanted to know a great deal more about this young woman, w
ho gave away such a large amount of money when she barely had any for herself. This was bad. This was very bad. He had to go.
Bong
Now. He had to go now before it was too late.
“You know, tradition dictates that you should always kiss someone when the New Year begins.” She moved closer.
Her skin was perfect, flawless and makeup free—something that was unheard of in Cerce. The pink in her cheeks was natural, probably brought on by the freezing weather, and it matched the rose blush of her lips. Lips that were coming closer.
Bong
“Happy New Year!” She moved towards him, closing her eyes as she did so. Her lips connected with his and the final ring of the bells rang the New Year in. He’d known many women, but nothing braced him for the impact of how he felt when those soft lips touched his.
Loud bangs and flashes of colourful light erupted over them. Fireworks!
When she opened her eyes, he had disappeared.
Chapter two
It was not a cafe that he frequented, but then again, he didn’t frequent anywhere. He moved from place to place. It had been three days since his troubling encounter with the young woman, and he’d not thought about anything else since. He didn’t even know her name, damn it! Why did her image appear indelibly on the insides of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes? Why was he having vivid dreams about her, dreams he didn’t even need to have. As an ancient, he didn’t need to sleep at all, but he found himself sleeping precisely for the reason that he didn’t have to think about her. It obviously wasn’t working.
He sipped his coffee and pulled a newspaper towards him, one that had been left on the cafe table by the previous diner. There were few people sitting on the outside patio, most were inside the cafe, keeping warm by the real log fire burning brightly in there. A couple of wolf shifters in their human form were braving the cold, sipping lattes at the next table. A third cup, this one filled with hot chocolate, was going cold, no doubt ordered for the little wolf cub curled up and asleep by its parent’s feet.
Four of Clubs (War and Suits Book 3) Page 1