by Krista Walsh
Cassie’s shock fell into a thoughtful frown, and she pulled her hands from Jeff’s and reached for the camera. Without words, she flipped through the photos, catching the one Jeff had snuck of Ariana walking up the aisle, and one of the wedding party waiting.
“It seems a shame,” she said.
Jeff didn’t prod her, allowed her to take her time.
“You should have asked me three hours ago, doofus. Then we could have been married with all our friends around.”
She looked up at him with a wink, and Jeff’s heart flooded with warmth, hope rising.
“Is that a yes?”
Cassie set the camera down and threw her arms around Jeff’s neck. “It’s a maybe. Conditional. On us finding a bigger apartment.”
Jeff laughed. “Done. This afternoon. We’ll move out in a week.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “I want to spend the rest of our lives making you happy, Miss Murphy. And making up for every stupid thing I’ve done to mess us up.”
Cassie smiled, tears spilling over. “Then it’s a good thing we’ll have the rest of our lives. You have a lot to make up for.”
Jeff couldn’t stop smiling. His was a debt he would gladly pay. With interest.
He would have started with kissing her forever, but she pushed him away, leaving a peck on the tip of his nose. “I need to go home.”
Jeff’s frowned. “What? Why?”
Cassie smiled. “Because I’m tired and I want to shower.”
Jeff kissed her neck. “Shower here. Sleep here. Don’t go.”
Cassie pushed him away again. “And then I’m going to call up all my girlfriends and squeal like a child about how happy I am. And I don’t want you to hear me. You might lose some respect.” She headed towards the door. “While I’m out, why don’t you call the property manager and see if there’s a nice two bedroom apartment available for next month. Or maybe even a three bedroom?”
She brushed her hand over her stomach, and Jeff’s heart stopped, his mouth went dry. A flurry of emotions rushed through him, but none he could name. “What are you saying? Are you?”
Cassie winked. “Not yet.”
She left, and Jeff heaved out a sigh. So many changes happening. He’d meant what he said to Venn: it was time to start a few adventures of his own. And he looked forward to facing them.
He left a message with the property manager to call him back, and then he pulled out his computer chair and for the first time in months, booted up his laptop with something in his heart other than frustration and despair. He even found himself whistling as he logged in and opened up his writing program.
Stretching his arms over his head, his shoulders and knuckles popping with the strain, he closed his eyes and allowed the words to wash over him.
He listened to the clock ticking on the wall, heard the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He still waited to hear the haunting laugh of the Sisters, and knew that he would keep an ear out for them for a long time to come.
When the apartment remained silent, a smile spread over his lips.
Setting his hands down on the keyboard, Jeff Powell began to type. New characters, new worlds, a new future for himself, and they were all at his fingertips.
Read on for chapter one of the first book in the sequel trilogy. Follow Venn Connell's story as she picks up five years after the events of the Meratis adventures and loses herself in an even darker threat...
BLOODLORE
Chapter One
Venn Connell’s boots pounded against the dirt road as she ran, the thud of her soles a steady rhythm to focus herself on the man ahead. Shoving a Feldall soldier out of her way, she leaped onto the back of a fleeing bandit to send him crashing face-first into the dirt, trapped under her weight. Her heart pulsed with the thought of how many dead these outlaws had left behind and how much she would enjoy resetting the balance.
She reached around to grab his chin, squeezed his waist with her thighs to keep from being bucked off while he tried to fight his way free. Skin and sinew tugged the edge of her blade as she drew her knife across his throat. The body twitched and sagged, and Venn jumped to her feet to rush to the aid of a soldier pinned against a tree, a dagger inching towards his abdomen in his struggle to fight off his assailant.
“No, no,” Venn crooned into the bandit’s ear, sinking her own knife into the man’s lower back. “Allow me.”
Stunned by the pain, the man whirled around to face her, catching her by the shoulders just as she forced a second knife up between his ribs into his heart.
She stared into the man’s eyes and saw the wild terror and confusion as the life drained out of him. His grip went slack and he slumped against her before sliding to the ground.
“You good, soldier?” she asked.
He drooped against the tree and mopped his brow with his sleeve. Blood and sweat smeared his face, and he squinted as it dripped into his eyes. More droplets slid off his chin onto the green and gold hawk of Feldall embroidered on his chest, but from what Venn could make out, none of it was his. Between quick breaths, he nodded.
New recruit, she reminded herself. She turned away to give him a moment, and faced the other four soldiers in the road.
“That all of them, Rem?” she asked.
“Yes, sir,” Remy Herrigan called back.
Venn cringed at the title. As proud as she was to have been knighted by the queen of Andvell for services rendered, it still felt odd to be reminded of it after having spent most of her twenty-three years thumbing her nose at authority.
She bent down to pull her blades from the man at her feet. “Good. Then let’s call it a day and head back. Unless anyone wants to wait for more to show up?”
She waggled her eyebrows at the other troops and felt a twinge of disappointment when no one volunteered.
Wiping her knives on the grass before sheathing them, she straightened her leather jerkin and smoothed the black hair out of her face with the back of her wrist. Sweat trickled down her neck as the sun moved west, its rays sneaking through the thick canopy of trees overhead. With a good pace, they’d make it back to Feldall’s Keep by supper, and her stomach grumbled in appreciation.
As she headed towards her white stallion, Corsa, Remy fell into step beside her. Venn cast her a sidelong glance, taking in the mess of shoulder-length blonde hair, hazel eyes, sharp features, and the scar that ran from left eye to left ear — a souvenir from a Cordelayan knife fighter after her country had been demolished by a mad sorcerer. Venn knew people focused on the scar when they saw her, but she thought it gave Remy a touch of distinction. Proof that she had fought and won. A visible warning to anyone who faced her now. It was why she liked having the scout on her team.
Remy nudged her shoulder. “That was a good fight, wouldn’t you say?”
Venn ran her fingers over Corsa’s mane. “It was a fight.”
“It would be great to know where they’re coming from,” Remy continued, not acknowledging Venn’s lacklustre response, “but there’s a certain satisfaction each time we take down one of their packs, isn’t there?”
Venn forced a smile, appreciating but not matching the woman’s enthusiasm. “It’s good exercise, at least. Hundreds dead on the road thanks to those bastards, and we’re only able to pick them off four or five at a time. I’d prefer running at the source and cutting the issue off at the head.” She mounted up and settled in the saddle, patting Corsa’s neck as the stallion pawed at the ground. “There hasn’t been any news on that?”
Remy rested her hand on her sword hilt, shifting it out of the way as she mounted her own chestnut mare, Shalla. “None at all. It’s like they’re coming out of nowhere.”
Venn frowned and glared down the road in the direction the bandits had come. “They can’t be emerging from the mists.”
“Are you sure?” Remy grinned, but the expression faltered at Venn’s look of surprise. “I just mean it would solve a lot of mysteries. What did you think I meant?”
; “It doesn’t matter,” said Venn, clicking Corsa into a walk. “As much as it would answer a few questions, the possibility of anything popping out of nowhere ended five years ago. Trust me.”
She sensed Remy’s confused stare, but didn’t bother to explain. After five years, Venn didn’t think she understood either. At least not enough to make sense of it to anyone else. She pushed the thought away and stroked Corsa’s neck to soothe the rising memories.
The ride home took a few hours, and as they passed forest and then field, Venn scanned the road for more bandits. For a land that had been devastated by magic and by dragon fire, she could never take this route without thinking of how quickly the territory had risen from its ashes. New cottages popped up along the way, creating small villages where before there had only been farmsteads. Gardens and crops flourished with the coming harvest, and people and land oozed a sense of prosperity.
They passed through the gates and headed right towards the barracks, reaching the stables as the sun touched on the horizon, the evening glow surrounding Feldall’s Keep with a golden aura. Up on its hill, separated from the rest of the village, the rounded stone walls stood as a symbol of peace and stability. The closest place to home Venn had found in almost fifteen years.
She dismounted Corsa and allowed Paul, the stable-hand, to lead him away.
“Extra carrots tonight, all right?” she called after him. “He gave one of those bandits a good kick to the head and deserves the treat.”
“Got it,” Paul called back, giving Corsa a proud pat on the side.
“Will you eat with the soldiers tonight?” Remy asked, preparing to lead Shalla away.
Venn debated the alternatives, but a whoop from a scout as he bragged about their recent skirmish to some of the other troops made up her mind.
“You guys go celebrate. I’ll run up to the Keep and fill in the family.”
Remy tilted her head. “Everything all right? For a victor, even of a skirmish, you don’t look too victorious.”
“Just grumpy,” she replied, and flashed a wink. “Only got off a few good punches.”
Remy chuckled. “We’ll hope for more action next time.”
She raised a hand in farewell and headed off, leaving Venn to her grumpiness.
Not that she wanted to be in a bad mood. The soldiers had done a good job today, clearing the road of the third bandit pack that month, and they had reason to be happy with their success. But she wasn’t feeling it. She felt detached from the celebration around her, along with a certain discomfort in her detachment.
Turning her back on the laughs and stories, Venn plodded through the village, skirting people coming and going within the horseshoe of shops. To the right of the village were the homes of the household staff, and light from the lanterns cast a warm glow over the path as she walked between the cottages and the shops towards the Keep.
Sweat gathered under the layers of leather armour and cotton, and she felt more like water than flesh by the time she crossed the bridge and climbed the stone steps to the front door. Grunting against the weight of the door, she stepped into the cool foyer and stripped off the armour, knowing someone would be around in a minute to clean up after her. It was one of the perks of living in the Keep proper and having the Lady of the territory owe a few favours.
Down to her tunic and trousers, Venn heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall, pressing the back of her neck against the cool stone as she closed her eyes.
It felt great to breathe. She still hadn’t adjusted to the armour Arms-master Brian insisted she wear on scouting trips. The days when she was free to prowl in the shadows and leap on unsuspecting victims for their coin or food scraps were too ingrained in her habits and routine.
But those days were behind her. Now that she lacked for nothing, it was difficult to come up with reasons to prowl in shadows.
“Hey, you’re back! That was quick.”
Venn opened her eyes to see Magdalen Stanwell, House Feldall’s blonde and bubbly enchantress, reach the top of the stairs that led down to her workshop, known around the Keep – either affectionately or with horror, depending on the smells and noises rising from the depths – as the Haunt. Her blue corset and white tunic were stained with some sort of black liquid, but years of experience had taught Venn not to ask. At least this time there wasn’t any smoke trailing after her.
Anyone else’s company might have grated on her nerves, but with Maggie, Venn didn’t feel the pressure to force a smile. “Yep. Everything went according to plan. They’re dead. Roads are clear. People free to come and go as they please. All in a day’s work.”
Maggie’s smile widened at her apathetic tone, and Venn could see the understanding in her blue eyes. “Just a matter of routine at this point, isn’t it?”
“That’s just it,” Venn replied, feeling the enchantress had hit the heart of the issue.
“Well, the people appreciate it, and therefore Jax appreciates it. If nothing else, you can pat yourself on the back for giving Lady Feldall some much needed breathing room.”
Venn shoved away from the wall and headed towards the stairs. “I’d rather let Jax do the patting. I’m on my way to let her know.”
“Oh!” Maggie exclaimed, and Venn turned back. “Did you happen to see William while you were out and about? He was supposed to pick some herbs for me, but that was a few hours ago.”
“Nope,” Venn replied, popping the word. “Haven’t seen your son all day.”
“Oh. All right, then.”
Venn heard the enchantress’s false cheer, no doubt to cover her disappointment, and flashed an apologetic smile before heading up the stairs.
Subtle, Mags. Real subtle.
In spite of Maggie’s best efforts, Venn hadn’t fallen for Will in the years they’d known each other. Being only two years older than her, he’d become the closest thing to a friend she would admit to having other than Remy, but that’s where it ended. No matter how much his mother—and he, she suspected—wished otherwise.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, she bumped into Will at the top of the stairs, too caught up in her musings to notice him until they collided.
He dropped the book he’d been reading, two others hitting the stone with dusty thumps, and grabbed her arm to keep her from falling down the stairs.
“Sorry,” he said, releasing her to pick up his book. “The dangers of reading and walking.”
Venn bent to grab the other two for him, but Will snatched them back, tucking them under the book he’d been so engrossed in. She quirked an eyebrow, wondering what it was about “Summonings and Banishings” he didn’t want her to know about.
“Lucky you ran into me and not down the stairs,” she said, allowing him his mysteries. “Reading anything good?”
He pushed his fingers over his short brown hair. “No dragons or anything, but it’s an interesting perspective on the theories of—” He noticed her expression, cleared his throat, and answered again with a simple, “Yes.”
Catching his chocolate brown eyes, she said, “Sounds fascinating, but you might want to pause the studying and head down to the Haunt. Your mother’s looking for you.”
Will’s cheeks flushed, and he rested his knuckle against his upper lip. Venn struggled not to smile at his expense, knowing how self-conscious he was of being thought attached to Maggie’s apron strings at twenty-five. She knew better, but liked to watch him squirm.
Because I’m a rat turd like that, she acknowledged to herself.
“Right. I guess I should bring the herbs to her. I wanted to grab this so I could start —” He held out the book and closed his mouth mid-sentence. “Anyway, sorry to have walked into you. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”
He pressed his lips together in a tight smile and headed down the stairs.
Venn finally allowed herself the grin and shook her head, still smiling as she entered Jasmine’s office.
Jasmine Reed, née Feldall, as she would always remain in Venn
’s mind, sat behind her large oak desk, cursing to herself as she tried to clear papers away from a puddle of spilled ink.
“Rough day?” Venn asked, righting the overturned bottle and using an empty sheet to blot the mess.
Jasmine puffed a stray hair out of her face in response and tapped the pile of papers together to straighten them, setting them down in one corner of the desk before burying her face in her hands, her right elbow in the ink stain.
“You might want to move your arm,” Venn suggested, dropping into one of the three chairs across from her. She leaned back and stretched her arms out along the armrests.
“Shit,” said Jasmine, twisting her arm around to check the damage. She laughed an exhausted chuckle. “Not that it matters. I haven’t bothered to get my clothes washed in five years. Found it easier to get the seamstresses to make new ones.”
The cause of the woman’s dark circles and stained wardrobe shrieked and ran down the corridor screaming, “Nononono!”
A second set of footsteps chased after her. “You get back here, young lady. Don’t make me call for your mother.”
“No!” the five year old stretched out the word as she turned around and started running the other way towards her room.
The girl’s nurse, blonde hair wild and skirts twisted, poked her head into Jasmine’s office. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you, my Lady. I’ll make sure Naya stays in her room for the rest of the evening.”
Jasmine waved a hand. “You’re doing your best, Tanya. You can’t help it if my daughter is part possessed demon. Do you need me to come help?”
Tanya leaned back to peer down the corridor. “I think I managed to put the fear of you into her blood. She should settle down now.”
She bobbed a curtsy and closed the door. As soon as she was gone, Jasmine’s shoulders drooped, and she rested her chin in her palm.