Amy Hopkins's Blog, page 5
May 17, 2018
Dream Stalker Chapters 1-4
The sun’s rays were just beginning to kiss the damp pavement when I stepped outside. The morning air still held a touch of mist and I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms.
“C’mon, Lenny,” I called, summoning my dog.
Lenny bounded over, his too-long legs and floppy ears making the effort look clumsy, if adorable. I scratched his head, then pushed it away as he sniffed my basket.
“It’s just teas,” I told him. “Keely said she needs some soft-sleep and three boxes of awaken on top of her usual order.”
He snorted appreciatively, then perked up as someone approached.
Well… someones. Pax and Tox, two of my demigoblin customers, were strolling towards us.
“Mornin’, Emma!” Pax called. His gruff voice made it hard to tell what sort of mood he was in, and his deeply wrinkled face didn’t suggest much, either. Still, his pointed ears hung limp—I’d learned from experience that when a demigoblin’s ears stood forwards, it was best to tread carefully.
“Morning, Pax.” I waved with my free hand.
“You openin’ soon?” Tox asked. “I need some luck.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What for? You know I won’t sell anything that lets you cheat.”
He grinned. “I’m meetin’ a lady tonight. Don’t want to trip on my face, or have a swarm of angry ‘oney-badgers pop up to ruin the night.”
“Honey-badgers?” I shook my head, sceptical.
Pax laughed. “I told him, there’s no chance of that happenin’ twice in one month. Well…” He looked at his brother. “Almost no chance.”
I lifted my basket. “I just have to run this over to Keely’s. Come back in about half an hour?”
Pax and Tox both nodded, and went on their way, and I set off, quickening my pace. The tea shop had been getting busier of late—my trade with the Otherworlders had always been strong, but as the stigma of being part-Talented slowly wore away and people became more accepting, I’d gained an influx of curious mortals wanting to try the magical effects of my tea.
Just yesterday, a trio of young businessmen had come to sample my blends for alertness and calculations. They’d bought a single box to share, but returned minutes before closing to buy every last leaf on my shelf.
By the time I rounded the last corner, my cheeks were flushed and the biting London air seemed a little warmer.
I approached the worn red door with a sigh. Empty bottles lined the front step and a pile of cigarette ash filled one of them.
Keely’s father was a heavy drinker. They often fought about it, but she refused to move, insisting that if he didn’t have someone looking after him, he wouldn’t last the week.
I knocked on the door and waited. Beside me, Lenny whined nervously.
“It’s ok, boy,” I reassured him. “It’s just Keely’s. You’ve been here before.”
When no one answered, I tried again, thumping harder. If I didn’t get back to my shop soon, I’d be late. When your customers include trolls and ogres, it’s best not to piss them off.
I raised my hand to knock a third time, and jumped when it cracked open.
“Whaddyawant?” Keely’s father, Ernest, sported at least a week’s worth of rough stubble and his eyes barely opened.
“I’ve got to drop these off to Keely,” I said. “I told her I’d be around early this morning—is she up?”
“See fer yerself.” He turned and stomped away, leaving me to push the door open.
Lenny pressed against my side and whined again.
“Wait here, boy. Stay.” I stepped inside, nose wrinkling as strong fumes hit it. Rum, I thought.
I picked my way through the mess. I hadn’t been inside the tiny flat before, and Ernest had already slumped back into a snoring heap on the tattered couch.
Taking a guess, I tapped lightly on the pink-painted door hung with feathers and sticks. When no one answered, cursed under my breath and checked my watch.
I had fifteen minutes to get back. Stealing a glance at Ernest snoring away, I debated leaving the basket outside Keely’s door. Ernest didn’t know about Keely’s attempts to sober him up, though, and I couldn’t be sure of his reaction if he dug through the teas to find the addiction-enchanted box.
After knocking one more time, I slipped out my wand.
Keely and I weren’t close. She knew I didn’t approve of her curse-selling business, and thought my own rules for selling ‘took all the fun out of magic’. Still, we had a friendly professional relationship.
Hopefully, that relationship would survive the early morning intrusion. Aving my wand in a particular pattern, I dismantled the simple charm that kept the door locked. I pushed it open.
“Keely?” I stepped quietly over to the silent lump under the covers.
She didn’t stir, so I carefully placed the basket on the bedside table. In trying to balance it amongst the clutter, I knocked a lamp. It teetered and before I could grab it, it fell to the ground.
The soft clink of broken glass sent my heart into my shoes.
“Dammit!” I whispered.
I couldn’t leave now—there was nothing in the room to clean the glass up with, and I didn’t want to go skulking around the house looking for a broom.
“Keely!” I called a bit louder, and reached over to shake her.
Her skin was cold and stiff. My heart thumped a hard beat and I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat.
“Keely?” I asked timidly.
I pulled her shoulder and the body rolled towards me. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling and an inch-wide hole gaped under her collarbone.
It took me a moment to realise the high-pitched scream was mine.
Chapter TwoDetective Charles Greyson jotted down another note. “What about her dad?” he asked, again.
“I’ve already told you—I know he’s got a bit of a drinking problem, but Keely never said anything to make me think he was violent.” I absentmindedly reached out to stroke Lenny’s head and he thumped his tail, happy for the attention. It eased the ache in my heart, just a little.
“And the mess in the living room?” he asked.
I shrugged, then wiped my nose. “It was a cluttered mess when I came in. When I screamed, Lenny came bolting in. He’s… not very coordinated.”
Lenny’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he gave Detective Greyson a wide, panting smile.
Greyson ignored it. He sighed and put his pad away, then looked me over. “I’ll get in touch with the relevant department.”
Anger prickled at me, flaming my grief and fear into anger. “Of course you will,” I spat.
Greyson looked wounded. “Look, I’m just a regular copper. These kinds of things are out of my jurisdiction.”
“Bullshit.” I stood and turned away, but my emotions got the better of me. I turned back.
“You’re just like the rest of them,” I snapped. “Do you think I’m stupid? I read the papers, I know Keely’s death is just another in a long string of them. But we’re half-bloods. Nobodies. You’ll kick this over to those useless twats at the O.C.U. and wipe your hands of a case that was too much effort to follow through.”
I knew I was right. When Arthur, the first victim was found, there was an uproar. The idea of using magic to kill wasn’t a new one, but this had happened outside of the cloistered Inner City, and that meant regular people might be at risk.
By the time the second and third deaths had rolled around, and the mortal realised all the victims were half-blood… suddenly, the front page story became an addendum at the back. The Otherworld Crime Unit, a bunch of washed-up rejects who weren’t quite bad enough to be fired from their policing jobs, hadn’t come up with a single lead.
The Talented, those high and mighty lords who lived behind the walls of the Inner City, wouldn’t lower themselves enough to care about a dirty half-blood. Despite the fact we shared half our genes with them, the intermingling of pure magical blood with a common mortal was anathema to them.
“That’s not how this works,” Greyson said. His dark eyes searched mine. “It’s not that I don’t care. I really can’t—”
“Can’t and won’t are two very different words, Detective Greyson.” I stood and gestured to Lenny. “If we’re done?”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Someone will be in touch.”
“I very much doubt that.” His heavy gaze settled like a weight on my shoulders as I left, but I knew I was right.
No one cared about the half-bloods.
Chapter Three“Another attack?” Pax asked.
I nodded. “You know how it is for us. There’s no one to turn to. Is there anything you can do?”
Tox grabbed his parcels. “We’ll keep an eye out, make sure the Others report anything suspicious. Don’t want our favourite tea-shop shuttin’ down.”
Pax’s beady eyes shot open in alarm. “You’re not gonna shut shop and run are ya? Your speedin’ tea is the only thing that keeps me faster than the Balrogs when I go huntin'”
I shook my head. “Not a chance Pax. I appreciate the help, though.”
“Don’t mention it. You know you’ve earned your place here and you’ve looked after us. We’ll keep an eye out.” I knew he meant it—Otherworld creatures took things like honour and loyalty seriously… even if they didn’t have the same respect for concepts like ownership or personal boundaries.
Pax and Tox handed over their chips, the currency of the Otherworld, and I busied myself getting their orders ready. I made a quick note of the sales in my ledger and waved goodbye.
Outside, tyres screeched as a car slammed on its brakes. I looked up to see a nine-foot-tall half-giant waving a sheepish apology to the car she’d nearly stepped in front of. Despite the vehicles having been around for over a century, the Otherworlders still struggled with the basics of road safety. Mavis waited for the car to pass, then headed into the shop.
“Mavis, I haven’t seen you for weeks! Is everything well?” I wasn’t sure how else to phrase the delicate question.
Mavis, hunched over to fit her large frame into my tiny shop, blushed. “Yes, m’lady. I’m with child. Three, actually.”
I flew around the counter to embrace her. Having brewed various teas for the local Giant clan for a while, I’d been surprised to get a request such as hers. Mavis, being a mixed-breed of two different clans, had been having trouble conceiving. A standard human fertility tea would have helped somewhat, but I’d tweaked the spell I’d used on it to account for the slight variance in giant anatomy. I hadn’t been sure if it would work. “Three? Is that typical?” I didn’t think it was.
“No, m’lady. If all goes well and they survive, I’ll be able to gift one to each of the major clans. I’ll be looked upon quite favourably after that.” Despite my discomfort at the child raising customs of the giants, I was happy for her. She spoke little of her personal situation, but I’d gathered her place in the giant hierarchy was quite low because of her mixed birth. That was something I was painfully familiar with.
The day continued, all manner of creatures visiting my little tea shop, and not all were coming in because of the rumours I’d had a brush with a serial killer.
London was a busy place, a central hub that acted as one of the major thoroughfares between the Otherworld and our world. Though this made for an interesting mix, we generally existed together in peace. Generally.
Trouble came a short while before lunch. I’d just waved over Jacoby, one of the few Talented lords who frequented my shop. Old and wheelchair-bound, probably due to some magical disease or curse, he seemed to have more empathy for half-bloods than most of his kind.
“Bye, Hent,” I called, waving to the Kobold on his way to the door. He ducked his head as he reached for the doorknob just as a small, flying piske flung the door open with a spell. It caught Hent in the face.
“Oh, gods,” I whispered.
Hent grabbed the piske with lightning fast reflexes but was immediately blinded by a sparkling bomb to the face. He roared, letting go of the smaller creature, and stumbled around trying to swat him out of the air.
“STOP!” I screamed.
This did not bode well for my shop. The piske, determined to fulfil the orders given to him by his master, didn’t leave. He zipped around, staying just out of Hent’s reach as he lumbered around the tiny, enclosed space.
Hent swung an arm and I ducked to avoid being hit. He crashed into a shelf of boxed teas, and I screamed as it came crashing down, just missing my head.
“So help me, Hent, if you don’t stop this right now…”
I raised my wand despite having no idea how to stop an enraged kobold, but paused when I saw Jacoby’s already out, tracing a delicate pattern in the air. I waited, my own defences at the ready.
His spell took about a second and a half to trace. Both Otherworld creatures dropped to the ground. They were conscious but woozy, and neither could stand. Jacoby wheeled his chair over to them and looked down. “You both have about twelve seconds until you can walk—or fly.” He looked at the piske. “At that time, it would be best if you both left, in a calm and orderly manner. My next spell may not be so gentle.”
True to his word, the two were shortly up, and out of my shop. Jacoby turned discerning eyes my way.
“Thank you so much,” I breathed. “I may have been able to stop them myself, but not before they caused more damage. I’m in your debt.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” he said. “A simple spell. Cast in my own interests, I might add, as I don’t have my own order yet.”
“The usual?”
“Please.”
I packaged up the same tea he ordered every week—one for pain. It made me sad that this kind man had been reduced to using simple charms to manage in his daily life.
Though I abhorred most of the full-blooded Talents for their elitist, bullying ways, Jacoby seemed different. He was always polite, and never looked down his nose at me. Most of the Lords from the Inner City thought themselves beneath shops like mine and sent servants like the piske to collect their goods. As he left, Gibble came in. He growled at Jacoby.
“Nasssty,” he said.
“Gibble!” I snapped, alarmed. “Be nice to the customers.”
Gibble could be off-putting—he was a boggart after all—but he was generally polite. Or at least, not outright rude. Gibble had been helping in the shop since I’d opened it, and this was the first time he’d had such a strong reaction to a customer who wasn’t out to cause trouble.
The day progressed, and my shop got busier, but I couldn’t keep my mind off Keely, r her devastated father.
“I’m going out. Can you grab me a basket?” I asked Gibble when we hit a slow period. He didn’t look up, just grunted, retrieved a wicker gift basket from the top shelf and settled himself in a chair. He would handle the shop while I was out.
I grabbed the basket and filled it with teas—Heartsease, Comfort and some plain old black English tea. I whistled for Lenny and he followed me down the street. We headed to the grocery strip first. I bought some bread and eggs to add to my basket, then set off to Keely’s house. When I got there, it was still roped off with police tape. Ernest paced the footpath while Detective Greyson tried to talk to him.
I stopped a short distance away, not wanting to interrupt, but Greyson spotted me.
“You’re back?” he asked.
I nodded. “I brought this over for Ernest. I… to be honest, I thought you’d be gone already.”
According to the local grapevine, the O.C.U. hadn’t spent more than twenty minutes at the last crime scene. Come to think of it, I didn’t see any of their vans here yet.
Greyson shrugged. “This is my beat. My case.” He caught my eye. “My responsibility.”
I squashed down the flutter of hope at his words. His superiors wouldn’t let this fly, not for long.
I held out the basket, eyeing Ernest. He’d slunk over to the steps, huddled against the wall as he stared into space.
When I’d found Keely’s body he had come rushing in a moment after Lenny. They shock seemed to jolt him from his drunken stupor, but was quickly replaced by a grief-stricken fugue.
“Lattersby Street Teas?” Greyson lifted a box and read off the label. “For grief and despair. Steep in warm water for three and a half minutes. No more than three cups daily.”
“They’re enchanted,” I explained. “I sell them.”
He lifted another. “What’s this one for?”
“Drinking,” I said. “That’s just normal tea.”
“Ah.” He carefully put it down and waved me past. “Be my guest,” he said.
Timidly, I approached Ernest. “Mr… um, Ernest?”
He didn’t respond, just stared past me.
“I brought you some tea.” I set the basket down on the step beside him. “It might help a little.”
“You think I’m an addict?”
His words made me jump. I looked up nervously.
“I saw the box,” he said, voice flat. “Old Ernie. Pisshead. Not fit to look after his own kid.”
I opened my mouth but words escaped me.
“You’re right,” he said, pushing off the wall. “I am a pisshead. ‘S my fault she’s deaed. Should’a looked after her better.” A tear leaked down his face. “She was a good kid.”
“She was,” I agreed, and scurried away. His grief sent a shiver of sadness down my spine, but I didn’t know how to respond. After all, Keely and I had never been close.
Greyson snagged my elbow as I passed him outside.
“I really am sorry about your friend,” he said. “And I’ll make sure old Ernest there gets some help.”
“Can you tell me anything?” I asked. “Do you know who it might be?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Greyson schooled his expression.
“Look, you know as well as I do that the Talented community outside the walls is being hunted.” The anger I thought I’d pushed away resurfaced. “The Lords in the City don’t care. The police—no offence—can’t handle this. There’s magic involved and no-one seems able to protect my people.”
“It’s a police matter. We’ve got it under control.”
“Yeah?” I asked, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Tell that to my corpse when you find it.”
Greyson lurched forwards. “You’ve been threatened?”
I laughed caustically. “The guy who did this? He’s threatening all half-bloods. We don’t know who’s next. We don’t know when he’ll stop, or if he ever will.”
I shook my head in frustration and started to walk away when he called after me. “Lattersby Street, was it? I might drop by sometime. You know, for tea?”
I didn’t stop.
Chapter FourGibble was swamped with customers when I got back. I jumped behind the counter to help and had the rush under control fairly quickly. Most days I only opened the store until two, but it was closer to three when I finally closed the door. Gibble sighed, and settled back into an over-sized chair in one corner as I tidied up. He pulled out a small book, thumbing through it until he found the page he wanted. I joined him once I’d finished, flipping open today’s copy of The Protector, a local rag that helped to pass news to the half-blooded community. News of Keely’s death was on the front page.
It didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know or hadn’t guessed. There were no suspects, no witneses to the crime. Ernest claimed he’d been unconscious when it happened, and based on the state he was in, I could believe it.
Besides, the killer had magic and Ernest did not. There was no non-magical way they’d found to inflict a wound like that without spilling any blood.
Gibble glanced up from his reading but didn’t comment. He knew what I thought. I felt helpless and scared and I hated not being able to act.
Eventually, I stood. “I’m going to go and restock. Let me know when you leave?”
Gibble nodded. I went into the office, behind the storefront, and assembled my equipment, taking my inventory, my wand and a pile of new, flattened tea boxes. After a few minutes of preparation, I set to work enchanting batches of tea with various spells. We’d been busier than normal and turnover was up. That was good for business, but it took a lot out of me to keep up with the demand for product.
It worked better to enchant the tea in small batches; the spell seemed to stick better, giving it a longer shelf life. With each small pile, weighed and measured, charmed and then packaged into neat little boxes, my weariness grew. About an hour into my task a hollow sensation gnawed at my gut and a dull ache had formed behind my eyes. I’d need to start working in the mornings before I opened to keep up. It only took me a few hours to recover from minor spell-casting like this, but it was tedious work and the strain built up over time. Still, it was a sign of my growing success so I couldn’t complain too hard.
I was almost done when Gibble knocked at the door. Lost in concentration, I waved goodbye and he left.
#
It was almost a week later that I got a break of any description. I’d been working the shop and had just closed. Gibble had taken off as he was sometimes wont to do, having mentioned a stop at the local book shop. I’d just slipped into the back room to create some more stock when there was a knock at the door.
“Gibble? Is that you?” I called. No answer. I stuck my head out into the empty shop, but there was no one at the door. Nerves fluttering in my gut, I darted over to check it was still locked.
Gibble usually did that for me, knowing I’d be so absorbed in my work that I’d forget to check. Today, I was glad he did.
The window showed an empty street, so I unclipped the bolt and peeked outside. A fat, yellow envelope sat outside my door. I looked around but not a soul was in sight. I grabbed it and went back in, locking the door behind me. A quick peek revealed the contents and I hurried upstairs to my flat.
I quickly cleared off my kitchen table, then spread out the contents of the envelope. Photographs and documents stared up at me, forms, reports, and images of dead people. My initial excitement at having the information I needed was struck down by the reality of what I was looking at.
Five people. I knew every face, every name. Two were friends. One, I’d only seen from a distance, only knew by sight. Two more were acquaintances like Keelie, who I’d stop and greet on the street. It broke my heart. A monster was targeting my people and it seemed like no one cared.
Someone did, though. Someone had dropped the envelope at my door, hoping I could help. Perhaps it was Greyson, I thought, remembering the detective’s heavy eyes. But why? Why had he shared this, and so secretively?
I assumed it would get him into trouble if anyone knew, or he’d have given me more information when I spoke to him earlier. Grateful, I made a silent promise that if he ever ventured into my shop, he could have anything he wanted at no charge for the rest of his life.
I sorted the papers by victim. Keelie’s file was fatter than the others, and I had to believe that was Greyson’s doing. Really, though, the police had very little information.
The mortal procedures used, fingerprinting, DNA, other forensics they’d applied had shown nothing. There was no sign of struggle, no witnesses, no anomalies in the victims’ tissue samples. Blood work was absent, due to… well, to the lack of blood to work. Victims. I had to call them that; I couldn’t put names, names I knew to these horrible reports.
Each of them had been found in the morning, one or two knife wounds and completely emptied of blood. I knew there’d been no blood at the scene, but completely drained? That was… odd.
On four occasions, there had been someone else present in the house. On three—both times when the victim had been home alone, and in Keely’s case—the knife wound was consistent with one that was self-inflicted, based on the depth and angle of the incision. That was interesting…
One of the other three had taken the wound in the back, so it was impossible that the victim—Carmel, who’d been a close friend—had inflicted the wound upon herself.
Looking at the time, I was surprised to see it was coming on 7pm. I’d call the police station in the morning and try to talk to Greyson. I needed to get a look at the bodies to see if any magical residue had been left, something that might grant a clue as to what was happening. The shop was only open Tuesday to Saturday, so I had a couple of days free to investigate.
Once I’d gone back to read through each file, noted any inconsistencies and similarities, gone back through to check for anything I’d missed… hell, I almost had the damn things memorised by the time I was done. It felt like something was missing, some nagging thought that I’d overlooked. Not from the files—I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. Finally giving in, I packed them up, put them safely in a drawer by my dresser, and went to bed.
I crawled under the blanket, put my head gently on the pillow and let the tears fall, until I sank into a restless sleep.
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March 22, 2018
Broken Skies Chapter 3
Margit? She sent the call across Irth, all the way back to the Mystic Temple on the other side of the Madlands.
The thought still filled her with wonder—though she’d been using Artemis’s device for month to stay in contact with Bastian, the ability to ‘speak’ to those back in the Temple while she was gone… well, it changed everything.
You’re late, came Margit’s brisk reply. Run into trouble, did you?
The blasted rains slowed us down, Julianne explained. The ground was so soft even the horses were having trouble.
But you’re safe in Tahn?
Yes. Julianne sent a quick mental image of their arrival at Annie’s, followed by one of her perched on the rocker by a hot cup of tea.
Margit quickly shot back a vision of her own predicament—sitting in Julianne’s office, paperwork piled high beside her and a congealed plate of barely-touched food.
Watch out, girl, Margit said. I might just waltz across the Madlands and join you, if these fool Mystics don’t stop making work for me.
Concerned, Julianne wondered what had gone wrong. I made sure everything was up to date before I left!
Bah, Jonsen has it in his head that everything needs to be double-annotated while you’re gone, and wants me to check the papers Artemis has been producing, too. Margit’s distaste at the idea leaked through the thoughts she sent.
Tell him to stop. By direct order from me, if need be. Julianne felt Margit’s mental eye-roll and added, If he won’t listen, hook him up to a device of his own and I’ll tell him my damned self.
Margit snorted, the tone and inflection so perfect that Julianne knew she must have made the sound out loud. That might even stop him. Silly old goat is petrified of the sight of his own blood—maybe that can be my threat of choice while you’re gone.
Julianne sent a wave of affection, laced with commiseration. The mystics were an odd bunch, and loyal to a fault, but in Juliane’s absence they tended to make everything into a drama.
As much as I’d like to reminisce about Jonsen’s frustrating attention to detail, Julianne sent, ignoring a second snorting impression from Margit, We have things to discuss.
That we do, Margit sent, voice resigned. Will you go first? I don’t expect you have much to share.
We were attacked by a roving remnant well beyond the Madlands, Julianne sent flatly. Just the one—it was either separated from its pack, or had abandoned them.
Or been abandoned by them, Margit pointed out. They’re not exactly known for their strong family ties, after all.
Fair point, Julianne conceded. But still, this was a little far out for my comfort. The beast wasn’t from the Mads, I don’t think.
How can you tell? Margit’s interest was caught, now, and her thoughts were soaked with curiosity.
Julianne took a sip of her tea, and grimaced when she realised it was already starting to go cold. It was a common problem. Always busy, always distracted. Still, she enjoyed the adrenaline coursing through her as she faced this new problem.
It had white marks painted on its face, like the creatures we saw who claimed Chet as their leader. That was a story that had fascinated the mystics when she’d told them. Remnant rarely claimed a leader for more than a raid or three.
Margit didn’t respond immediately, going quiet for a moment to think over the ramifications. If remnant had indeed travelled all the way across the marshy forest toward a rival group, something must be driving them.
Do you mind if I pull Amelia and our Tahn contingent in? Julianne asked. I still haven’t told Bastian I’m back yet.
Oh, go ahead, Margit sent comfortably. The boy will be knocking on my mind any minute now.
Oh? Margit hadn’t mentioned that earlier.
Yes, she sent wryly. Every afternoon, checks in like clockwork to see i you’ve reached your checkpoint.
Why doesn’t he ask me himself? Julianne wondered.
Doesn’t want to bother you, I imagine.
Shaking her head, Julianne reached out to Bastian and Amelia, twin tendrils of magic stretching across the world thanks to the amphorald at her wrist.
They both answered immediately, Amelia with a buoyant excitement and Bastian with a rush of relief.
Julianne! Amelia sent. I’m so glad to hear from you. Are you really so far away? Her thoughts had the same eagerness as Julianne’s had the first time she used the communication device.
I am, Julianne replied, reflecting the other woman’s wonder. Isn’t it amazing?
You arrived safely? Bastian sent.
More or less, Julianne thought back, making sure to keep her communication open to all three of them. Bastian, have the townspeople complained of any remnant attacks out this far? I ran in to one just past Annie’s.
Startled alarm suggested he hadn’t. We’ll need to set patrols to circle the whole town. Worry flickered at the edge of his thoughts, now. I don’t know how much farther Bette can stretch her men, though.
I’m desperately short of soldiers myself, Amelia broke in, but let me know if the situation is desperate and I’ll see what I can do.
Gratitude suffused their bond, from both Julianne and Bastian. We can discuss that with Francis later today, Julianne said. Amelia, you’re an absolute gem. Margit, do you have any updates?
There was a pause and Julianne imagined the older mystic shuffling papers. The first crate of communication devices arrived from the rearick. Found out why that bastard Tavich took so long—he made the damn things look pretty!
Julianne had to hide a wry appreciation for the old man’s tactics. Julianne had ordered over two-hundred of Artemis’s communication devices, to be delivered in staggered lots over the next two years.
Though she hadn’t explained their use to Tavich, he would know that the mystics would wear them—and that meant they would be seen. Nothing less than the very best could be associated with rearick crafting, so Tavich had made sure that fine details and quality work would be clearly visible.
Julianne rubbed her own bracelet. The gem was the one Artemis had used, but it was reset into a heavier strap with an ornate surround. It would easily pass as a simple piece of jewellery—something Julianne had insisted on.
She didn’t intend to keep the communication devices a secret, specifically, but the mystics were, in general, a mysterious bunch. Julianne certainly wouldn’t be advertising their new ability to communicate across Irth and she didn’t think anyone else would, either.
Let them be, she told Margit. You know what the rearick are like. If you tell them to make the devices less detailed, they’ll turn the blasted things into works of art.
Silly old fools. The thought escaped Margit and echoed through the mental bonds they all shared. Julianne smiled at the sentiment. It was something Margit had been called more than once.
Bastian quickly filled the silence. Did you manage to bring one for Danil, Master? He’s been dying to try it.
I did. Julianne shared a brief mental image of the bracelet she’d had made for her fellow mystic. And I brought two more, in case they are needed this side of the Mads. She had hoped for more, but could not afford to wait for the crafters to finish them.
We can discuss the bracelets later, Margit said pointedly. Despite their valuable nature, I want to know what’s going on at that portal.
Has your research turned up anything new? Julianne asked her.
A resounding sense of frustration flooded her mind in reply. These Bitch-forsaken records are so incomplete! Not a damned word about them. For all we know, they’ve never been seen before.
Maybe they haven’t, Julianne thought back. She was dubious about it—the Matriarch had travelled so far, seen so much that it seemed impossible for anything to occur that she hadn’t experienced.
We’ve gone through what little information we have here, Amelia said. There’s no mention of strange creatures or portals.
Julianne shrugged off the light disappointment she felt. No one had really expected to find the answer to what they were facing in their degraded, incomplete histories. Bastian, any new developments?
The arrivals have slowed. Just one in the last three days. Concern touched his thoughts about the small creatures like the ne Julianne had adopted as a pet. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad one.
Do you have a total count?
A scatter of numbers crossed her mind as Bastian’s mental calculations leaked through the bond. I’d say… thirty or more?
Julianne’s eyebrows shot up. That many?
It’s just a guess, but I don’t think I’m far off. Of course, quite a few of those are dead—the remnant seem bent on wiping the poor things out. Bastian’s shudder or distaste made goosebumps run over Julianne’s skin.
Absentmindedly, she reached into her pocket to stroke the little creature inside. It was curled up tight, probably in response to her use of magic. Every time she’d cast a spell or used mental communication, the little beast had skittered away or wrapped itself into an impenetrable ball.
The increased remnant activity is certainly a worry, Julianne said. But, I wish there was a way to stem the flow of incoming… whatever they are. At least until we work out what they are.
You think they’re dangerous? Bastian asked dubiously.
Worry twisted Julianne’s gut. Though the small things had so far caused no more trouble than a few eaten bits of paper, her mind was weighed down with the possibilities—more of them, in plague numbers; larger beasts, more destructive than their tiny kin; or, something else entirely.
No one knew what lay on the other side of the portal. It could be a fiery hell, or paradise lost. It could harbour all manner of creatures, and likely not all would be as friendly as their little companions had been so far.
Amelia saved Julianne from sharing her fears. Bastian, until we know without a doubt what these things are and where they are from, we can’t say how dangerous they might be.
Fair enough. Bastian almost managed to hide the reluctance in his voice, but Julianne wasn’t fooled. She knew the younger man wanted the portal to become a beacon of hope and progress. Julianne wished she were still that naive.
Bastian, I know you want this to turn out to be a good thing, a new frontier. Julianne filled the words with warmth, then added an edge to them. But we have no idea what’s out there. Remember, Bethany Ann left Irth to face threats we can’t even imagine.
That was hundreds of years ago! he protested, though a trace of disappointment in his thoughts showed the warning had begun to sink in.
And she was, as far as we can tell, immortal. If she’d beaten the threat, would she not have come back? Julianne waited, letting the heavy silence stand for a moment. Of course, the very fact that we don’t know anything about these portals means I could be completely wrong. Just… don’t do anything crazy, ok?
Of course, Master. I’m not Danil. A cheeky mirth crept back into Bastian’s thoughts and Julianne shook her head wryly.
And thank the Bitch for that, Margit interjected. Not even a mystic could put up with two of him.
Margit! Julianne admonished. Amelia, I’m sorry for this lot.
Amelia’s humour flooded Julianne’s mind. Oh, I don’t mind a bit. It’s a welcome distraction.
I hate to cut this short, but I really need to go, Julianne admitted. We almost rode straight through the Madlands—Marcus wouldn’t stop for more than a few hours at a time, and I’m exhausted.
I heard the noise you two were making in the wee hours every morning you were here, Margit huffed. Don’t pretend you’re not used to missing a bit of sleep in favour of spending time with your man.
Margit! Julianne had to concentrate to block her embarrassment leaking through the mental link. If Margit saw that, she’d never let the matter drop. We were training. To fight!
Is that what the kids call it now? Margit’s tone was sweet enough to make sugared sweets taste like lemons.
Goodnight, Margit. Julianne promptly dropped her connection to the older mystic. You too, Bastian. I’ll see you in the morning. She let him fall away too, leaving her link to Amelia until last.
Jules… how much of a threat are we facing, really? The deeply-etched worry of a leader facing an endless battle coloured Amelia’s thoughts.
Julianne’s heart ached, knowing that if she dropped her shields just a little, the same fears for her people would be mirrored back to the Arcadian Chancellor. I wish I knew, Amelia.
Broken Skies Chapter 2
Julianne rapped on the wooden door, fresh white paint glowing in the brightly-lit night, and rubbed her eyes as she waited for it to open. Behind her, Marcus shifted irritably.
“Hush,” Julianne admonished. “And for Bitch’s sake, wipe your feet before we go in?”
Marcus eyed his boots. Mud caked around the edges of each sole, a smeared up one toe where he’d tripped on a clod of dirt. His gaze slid to Julianne’s pristine leather shoes. “Why are yours so clean?” he grumbled.
Julianne knocked again, this time smiling when a grumpy, “Hold your horses!” called from the other side.
“I cleaned them in the creek,” she explained. “And then I rode through the swamp, instead of clomping through the mud like an idiot.”
Marcus opened his mouth to protest—she was the one who’d asked him to lead her horse through a particularly swampy field of grass—but was cut off as the door swung open and hit the wall behind with a thump.
“I don’t know what business you have at this time of night, but—” Annie looked up, her eyes widening and words faltering as she recognised who stood on her tiny front porch. “Well, Bitch bless me!”
She slapped a hand to her mouth at the words. Annie wasn’t one to take the Bitch’s name like that, but damned if she wasn’t shocked to her bones to see these two standing here.
“Annie!” Julianne leaned forward and wrapped Annie in a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed. “How are the boys?”
Annie pushed Julianne back to look at her, eyes moist as she clucked over the travel stains on Julianne’s pants. The one pair had lasted her the entire trip through the Madlands and they showed the result of the gory fighting.
“Boys are just fine.” Annie ushered them in, with only a cursory glare at Marcus’s boots. Nevertheless, he slid them off and set them neatly outside the door before stepping inside. “Harlon’s gone to work for Francis, you know. Some kind of secretary, he says. Both are doing well, thanks to you.”
Julianne shook her head at Annie’s beaming smile. “That has nothing to do with me,” she said. “They’re smart, capable men. Francis especially has a gift for working with people.”
Annie couldn’t argue with that, so she set about taking the couple’s packs and piling them by the door. “You’ll be staying the night, I presume? Too late to be traipsing into town.”
“We’d hoped that would be ok,” Julianne said gently. “But if it’s too much bother—” Even Julianne’s words faltered under the furious glare Annie gave them, as if the old woman were offended at the suggestion.
“Have you eaten? Of course not.” She jabbed an elbow at Marcus. “I know the kind of food that one packs when he’s going somewhere.” Nodding, Annie bustled off to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Marcus called. “Any soldier would be happy with my cooking!”
“You’re not feeding for a soldier,” Annie snapped, sticking her head back around the corner and waving a tea-towel at him threateningly. “You’re catering for a lady, and an important one at that!”
Marcus shrugged, grinning at Julianne. “Well, she’s got me there.”
Julianne shook her head, and waved at the bags. “Go put them away and stop hassling the poor woman.”
She wandered into the kitchen where Annie was just sliding a square tin into the oven. White dough puffed out of the top, dusted by tiny black seeds. On the bench beside her, three trays of raw oat cookies were carefully laid out.
“Having a bake up?” Julianne asked, inhaling the comforting scent of cinnamon and apple as she perched on a stool.
Annie scowled. “Since the traders have stopped coming so often, things have been scarce. I thought I’d run these into town first thing tomorrow, see if it don’t make a few smiles crop up amongst the gloom.”
Julianne bit her lip, wincing. She’d come back to Tahn because of the strange portal, but knew that the recent increase in remnant numbers had harried the town in her absence. “How bad is it?” Julianne asked.
“Well…” Annie blushed, an uncharacteristic reaction that Julianne noted with surprise. “A few brave men still make their way down, and they’ve been good enough to make sure we’re not wanting for anything urgent.”
“Oh?” Julianne asked, itching to know what had flustered the other woman so badly, but unsure what question to ask to discover it.
That Julianne could read minds had no bearing here. Annie had not only been good to Julianne, she’d also been clear about her thoughts on reading minds uninvited. No mystic who had met her would intrude there without a damn good reason.
Thudding footsteps announced Marcus’s return and he slipped into the kitchen with a grin. He leaned down to peck Annie on the cheek, then darted away from a flick of her tea towel.
“Don’t you be getting fresh with me, young man,” she scolded. Despite her words, her eyes twinkled happily. “The bread won’t take long to cook. You both go and freshen up.” Her eyes raked Julianne’s blood stained clothes with distaste.
“Thank you, Annie.” Julianne slid off her chair, but paused on her way out. “I have to attend a meeting. You know…” She tapped her temple to signify the meeting would take place in her mind. “I might be a bit late coming down.”
“Get yourself dressed, then go make yourself comfortable on the back porch,” Annie said. “There’s no one here to bother you, and I’ll do my best to make sure this one is too busy to get in your road.”
Marcus lifted his hands. “I never would!”
“Fact remains, I need a man’s strength to help me with something things. You’re a man, if I guessed right?” Annie left the taunt hanging.
“All you had to do was ask.” Marcus’s face was painted with a wounded expression, but it was quickly followed by a grin when Annie rolled her eyes at him.
Julianne quickly ran upstairs to find her things stacked neatly on a bed. It was the same room Annie had put her up in last time she had been in Tahn. The bedsheets were smooth and neatly tucked and despite holding the stale scent of a long-closed room, not a speck of dust marred the thin mantle over the tiny fireplace.
Apart from plain linen curtains and a small corner table, the room was undecorated. Julianne preferred it that way—it suited Annie’s perfunctory, no-nonsense attitude.
Julianne fished the alien creature from her pocket. Uncurled, it was shaped like an almond—if almonds had long, straw-like snouts and flared ridges along each side.
The shell sparkled, a deep rust-red colour that threw flecks of light onto the walls as she held it up to the sun. “I know, boy. It was a long trip and you’re hungry. We’re nearly there, though. You can see your friends again!”
She had no idea if the little beasts has a social structure like bees or ants, or if they were solitary. She didn’t even know if—or how—they mated. Her assumption that she held a boy was based on nothing more than a gut feeling, and the vague memory of a pet rat shed had for a short time as a child.
With her free hand, she dug into one of her bags and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Tearing one off, she twirled it around. The creature shivered in anticipation, shrugged its shell over its head twice and letting out a high-pitched whistle.
The paper jerked from her fingers, and trembled and vanished into a mouth hidden beneath the shell. As it ate, the creature warmed in her hand. Not enough, though—after a good feed, the little beast would heat to burning.
When the door creaked, Julianne jumped.
“It’s just me, girl.” Annie shouldered her way past the door holding a large pitcher and a bowl with a cloth draped over the side, all piled on top of a thick, folded towel. “Water’s warm, but won’t be for long.” Setting the crockery on the table and the towel on the bed, she turned, then jumped back.
“Sorry, Annie.” Julianne held the creature close. “I forgot to tell you—I’ve brought a friend.”
“I’m well familiar with those little vermin,” Annie said. “Ate my only copy of Tessa’s scone recipe, they did.”
“Oh, dear.” Juliane frowned, feeling the tension in the air.
“It’s not that I mind them, so much as I don’t like them,” Annie explained. “That’s no beast of Irth, you mark my words. And that flaming doorway to nowhere your friend found? Nothing but trouble.”
Julianne sighed. “I hope you’re wrong, Annie. I really do. And I wish I could say I thought you were.”
Annie nodded curtly. “You just keep that thing away from my kitchen. Long as it doesn’t eat any more of my important notes, it can stay.”
“Thanks, Annie.” Julianne lifted it to her face and pursed her lips in a kiss. “You won’t be any trouble, will you boy?”
Flicking an eyebrow high, Annie snorted. Then she stomped of downstairs, leaving Julianne to dress.
She set the little beast on the mantle, knowing from long nights watching it that it wouldn’t fall off. As she expected, its little snout felt along the edge and it backed up a safe distance, then settled down to nap again.
Satisfied, Julianne set herself to getting ready. She poured a little water into the bowl and dipped her hands in, scrubbing them together. Then, she dipped the cloth in and carefully sponged off the worst of the travel-dirt and remnant stains.
It took some time, but when she was done it felt like she’d been given new skin. Her flesh glowed pinkly from the scrubbing and despite a brisk towelling off, was still damp when she slipped her dress on.
The fabric clung and bunched up and by the time she’d wriggled it down past her hips, Julianne’s face was flushed and her hair had started to curl from the warmth of her skin.
When she made her way downstairs, the portal-beast back safely in her pocket, Marcus had one of Annie’s windows on the ground and was fiddling with the hinges.
“Making yourself useful?” she asked.
“Well I figured you’d be busy for a while,” he replied. “May as well make myself at home.”
“Good call.” Annie was nowhere in sight, but when Julianne stepped out of the back door onto the small, tidy porch, a pot of tea and a finely painted cup sat ready for her.
She sank into an old white rocker and took a moment to center herself. Steam drifted lazily from the spout of the tea pot, indicating it was still hot. Julianne watched the tendrils rise and twist, then vanish into the crisp evening air.
Blinking to bring herself back to the present, Julianne poured herself a cup and held it in both hands, letting the heat soak into her skin. Her eyes clouded over with a soft white glow as she reached out with her magic
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Broken Skies – Start Reading Now
“I could have taken him,” Julianne said.
Marcus blinked, as thoughts dragged back to their earlier conversation after a period of weary silence. “I told you, that remnant was too big. He’d have squashed you.”
“You’re not actually any taller than me,” Julianne noted. “Well… maybe a finger-width, but not enough to make a difference.”
“It’s not about height.” Marcus patted his rifle, now securely strapped to his saddlebags, and straightened his shoulders. “It’s about strength, dexterity, precision in the face off—” His words stopped short as he stumbled on a rock, hidden by the lengthening shadows and washed out colors of dusk.
“You were saying?” Julianne asked with a laugh. “Tell me again how precise you are.”
“Shut up.” Marcus focused his eyes ahead, trying to will the heat from his cheeks. “You know what I meant.”
“You meant that you were too scared to take the beast on in a fair fight, so you assumed I would be, too.” Julianne lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb across a jagged bit of nail on one of her fingers. She’d broken it in the fight earlier. “You know what they say about people who assume things?”
“That Marcus is an ass,” he grumped. “Fine. Maybe you could have taken him. But why? This rifle isn’t for decoration. If we’d waited for you to fight off old fish-breath, we wouldn’t make it out of the Mads until well after dark. And blow a fair fight—I’m dying for a soft bed, Jules.”
“Well, it’s all behind us now,” Julianne consoled him. “We’re past the big mean remnants keeping you from your beauty sleep. We can—”
A hiss cut her off, and her horse skittered to one side as a figure leaped out from behind a tree.
“Dinner!” The red-eyed beast bared his teeth and growled.
“Shit!” Julianne squealed. Her horse agreed and reared back on two legs with a high-pitched whinnie, almost kicking Julianne in the head in its distress.
The remnant took advantage of her distraction and lunged forward. Julianne yanked at the horse, fending off her attacker with a clumsy kick. The remnant barked a short laugh and tried again.
This time, she was ready. The big, white horse came down, eyes wide and flank twitching. Julianne, now able to use the slack in the reins to move more freely, met her attacker with an elbow jab to the face, followed by a swift punch to the gut.
It made little impact. Yellow, cracked nails clawed at her face and fetid breath washed over her as the remnant opened its mouth, trying to snap crooked teeth at her neck. The remnant’s face brushed hers, and Julianne felt the greasy, white face paint it wore as it smeared onto her skin.
A pulse bounced through the air that could be felt more so than heard. The remnant convulsed and coughed, blood-filled mouth spattering Julianne’s face with warm liquid.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Julianne spat. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.” She dabbed her eyes with a sleeve and opened them again.
“Let me guess,” Marcus said. “You could have taken him?”
“Don’t be silly.” Julianne patted the horse’s neck, soothing him. “I was busy with old ‘fraidy-pants here. What took you so long, anyway?”
“What… Gah!” Marcus threw up his hands and turned away, missing the glimmer of mirth in Julianne’s eyes.
“Thank you, dear,” she called after him. “And sorry for being a crotchety old woman earlier.”
“And?” Marcus prompted.
“And?” Julianne repeated, not willing to give him too much ground.
Marcus sighed. “You’re never going to admit I was right, are you?”
“Of course, I am,” Julianne quipped. “As soon as you actually are right.”
Marcus prodded the dead remnant with the toe of his boot. “What’s he doing this far from the Madlands, anyway?”
Julianne shook her head worriedly. They were too close to Annie’s for comfort. “Bastian said they’d been infesting the area, but I didn’t realize they’d come this far. Did you see the face paint? It’s not one of the Madlands pack members.”
Marcus nodded. “Well, that’s what we’re here to fix.” He left the still-warm corpse and mounted his horse. “Let’s ride the rest of the way. I want to make sure these pricks haven’t been bothering Annie.”
Julianne nodded absentmindedly as she slid a hand into the deep pocket of her robe. Inside, her fingers brushed a small, round object, hard as stone and cold to her touch. She stroked it gently and felt it shudder, then unfurl.
Tiny claws clutched her middle fingertip, and a dry snout wrapped around it. “Sorry, little one. No treats just yet.”
The tiny creature soon grew bored with the lack of offering from Julianne. It pulled away, wriggling around to wedge deeper into the cloth. A moment later it began the rhythmic, telltale shudder that signaled it was asleep.
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December 15, 2017
Dawn of Days Chapter 3
They set up camp that night, laying out bedrolls but going without a fire. Julianne stripped her clothes off and wrapped them inside out to stifle the dank, coppery smell.
Noticing Marcus watching, she paused before slipping a fresh shirt over her head. Julianne flicked a glance towards Artemis, to make sure he had his back to her and was still absorbed in whatever project he was working on.
She slowed her movements, reaching one arm above her head before pulling the linen shirt over it. She shimmied the shirt on, then turned her back on him, giving him a perfect view of her ass as she stepped into a fresh pair of underwear.
As she pulled them up, then stood for a moment, shirt brushing the backs of her legs, she heard footsteps behind her. Marcus’s stubbly face grazed her shoulder as he nibbled her ear.
“You’re gonna make me pay for the Artemis thing, aren’t you?” He asked in a rough, low voice.
“I just showed you my naked butt, and you’re thinking about Artemis?” She said, turning around to slap his arm.
He pulled her closer. “Only because if I forget he’s here, even for a moment, he might get a shock when he turns around and sees me—”
“Marcus?” Artemis called. “Where did you put my pack?”
Marcus growled and let Julianne go. “You should put some pants on, my dear.”
“Not like anyone around here will notice either way,” she said with a sigh. She bent down to grab her clothes, standing up quickly when Marcus pinched her ass.
“Over there, Artemis,” Marcus called, cutting off her protest. He hurried off to help before Artemis could get distracted and wander off into the trees.
Julianne finished dressing and joined Marcus and Artemis near the pile of saddlebags and riding equipment. She shoved the last of her things into her bag, frowning when she touched something hard.
“What’s this?” She murmured, pulling out a smooth, round object. It shimmered a strange reflective colour that threw off shades of red and orange as she turned it over in the fading light.
“Where did you find it?” Marcus asked, wandering over. “Back at those ruins?”
Julianne shook her head. “In my bag. Artemis?” She called. “Did you pick this up?”
He gave an irritated glance at the ball and shook his head.
“Huh. A gift from someone back in Tahn, maybe?” Marcus suggested.
Julianne hefted it in her hand, chewing her lip. “Can’t be. This was the last bag I packed, and I strapped it straight onto Cloud with another bag on top.”
Marcus took it from her and tapped it. The solid thock gave him no clues as to what it was made from. “Weird. Are you going to keep it?”
“My bags are heavy enough as it is, I don’t need to be collecting rocks,” she said.
Marcus lowered his voice and said, “Maybe Artemis can keep it with the rest of the rocks in his head.”
Julianne whacked his chest hard enough to make him wince. “Don’t be mean. Maybe he did pick it up somewhere and just forgot. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
She put the rock on the ground, and smiled as Marcus handed her a small parcel of food.
“Annie outdid herself this time,” he said. “Have a look.”
Julianne pulled back the cloth to reveal a small sourdough roll dotted with olives. She took a bite, savouring it before swallowing. “Oh, that’s divine!” She murmured.
Marcus pulled her down to sit beside him on a bedroll, while he lit a small lantern.
“What’s Artemis doing?” She asked, noticing a small glow surrounding his silhouette.
“Playing with his toys,” Marcus said. “Hey, Artemis! Are you coming over to eat, or what?”
“Almost done,” he called back. “Just have to… and twist that in, yes… and… haha! It’s done!”
He scurried over to them, clutching something in his hands. “Julianne, it works! It works!”
“What works, Artemis?” She asked, sidling over on the mat to make room for him to sit.
Artemis collapsed next to her, folding his gangly legs awkwardly. He grabbed her arm.
“Woah, steady on old man,” Marcus said, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“Marcus, it’s fine. He won’t hurt–OW!” She yelped as Artemis strapped something onto her forearm.
Julianne yanked her hand back. The gold band was tightly clasped around a white stone, pinching her skin underneath.
“Don’t!” Artemis yelled as she tried to wriggle it loose. “That wire is fragile!”
“So is my skin,” she snapped, fiddling with the catch. It wouldn’t come undone, but a wet drop ran down her arm from beneath the stone. “How do I get this off? I’m bleeding, Artemis!”
“Of course you are. If the amphorald worked without a blood connection, we’d have realised its use much sooner, you know.” Artemis grabbed Julianne’s arm and she let him dab away the blood.
She stopped struggling and watched him work carefully, cleaning the area without dislodging the awful pinching sensation. “There’s a needle in that Bitch-damned thing, isn’t there?” She asked warily.
“How else do you think I was going to break the skin?” Artemis asked, shrugging.
Marcus, red-faced and furious, made to stand. Julianne reached out with her free arm and pushed him back down.
“It’s just a little blood,” she said reassuringly. “I assume there is a purpose to this, Artemis?”
“What? A purpose?” He shook his head roughly. “You think I’d go around stabbing people with needles and hooking them up to amphoralds for no reason?”
“You sneaky bastard,” Marcus hissed. “Thief! You stole my amphorald, didn’t you?”
He reached one hand out to grab Artemis, but Julianne swatted him away.
“I only borrowed it,” Artemis grumbled. “But don’t think you’re getting it back. Pah, wasting good magic on a stick that goes boom.” He looked at Julianne. “Go on, try it!”
Julianne sighed. “Artemis, you haven’t told me what it is, yet?”
“Yes I—oh. I didn’t, did I?” He frowned, wracking his brain to try and remember.
“Let’s pretend you didn’t,” Julianne said gently. She shuffled around to turn her back to Marcus, who had a snarl on his face and, quite possibly, murder in his eyes.
“Reach out to Bastian,” Artemis said. “Or, did I give it to Danil? Which one is the rude one?” Artemis asked.
Julianne rolled her eyes. “Artemis, you had months to sort them out. Danil’s the one you didn’t like.”
“Ah. Then I gave it to Bastian. Go on, mind-speak to him.” Artemis waited, eyes wide.
Shaking her head, Julianne tried. Bastian was two days ride away, a distance far out of range of any—
Julianne, is that you? It really works!
She jerked back in shock. “Bastian?” She said. Then, realising she’d spoken it aloud, she repeated it in her mind. Bastian? Where are you?
In the hall. Julianne fancied he was wearing a smug grin by the tone of his thoughts. I’m guessing you’re halfway through the Madlands by now?
A little farther, she answered. But, Bastian—how? She loaded the question with all of her wonder and disbelief.
She felt the mental equivalent of a shrug. Ask Artemis. He’s the mad genius.
“Artemis, what is this? How does it work, can I only speak to Bastian? What about—”
“Stop! Stop talking. You’re talking too much and it’s making my head hurt. Like him.” Artemis scowled and pointed at Marcus.
“I saved your ass today, old man,” Marcus reminded him. His face twitched as he struggled to stay mad, but curiosity got the better of him. “What is it, Jules?”
“I spoke to Bastian,” she said. “He’s in the hall–back at Tahn!”
“Wow.” Marcus rocked back to lean on his elbows. “Maybe that is better than a rif–boom stick. I’m calling it a boomstick from now on. Sounds so much cooler than a rifle.”
“Of course it’s better,” Artemis said distractedly. “I made it. Move your arm,” he snapped, giving Julianne’s arm an experimental tug. “It should stay in place. It won’t need recharging, not like those silly weapons. You can send and receive messages to anyone who has one.”
“We can make more?” Julianne asked, eyes alight.
Bastian, did Artemis leave the schematics? She asked.
None needed, Bastian answered immediately. He just said the amphorald has to touch your blood, or be linked to it by something conductive. I’m guessing he was right. You know, seeing as I can hear you.
She could hear the excitement in his voice.
“See if you can read his mind,” Artemis said.
Julianne reached out, but couldn’t feel anything. She shook her head.
“As I thought.” Artemis dug a small book out of his pocket and began scribbling in it. “Messages, but not control or invasive thoughts. That makes it relatively safe, I suppose.”
“Safe?” Julianne asked, suddenly wary. She immediately ran a mental check for signs of strain, or fatigue. She felt fine.
“Well, I thought it was ‘safe’ to show Rogan that spell, didn’t I? And look what happened!” He squinted. “You don’t think this could be used for bad, do you?”
Julianne bit her lip. “Only as much as it could be used for good. And we’ve got them now. If it’s as simple as you say, it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out.”
Artemis slumped in relief. “I’m not telling anyone else. Only you and Bastian know. Oh… and him.” He narrowed his eyes at Marcus suspiciously.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus said. “I can’t use it, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Artemis continued to scribble notes while muttering, “Can’t use it my ass. Stubborn fool. Still, probably safer if he didn’t. Bastard’s oath, that man with magic? The world would fall.”
“I’m right here, Artemis,” Marcus said.
Artemis looked up, surprised. “What? Oh. Was I talking aloud.”
Marcus scowled and pointed two fingers at his own face, then pointed them at Artemis. Artemis just squinted, shrugged and went back to his notes.
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August 22, 2016
New covers and some light reading
I thought I’d better throw an update here because I know more than one person is eagerly awaiting the next book. It’s… not coming along quite as fast as I’d hoped, thanks to a nasty bout of flu and some life stuff that happened last month. At the very, very latest, it’ll be released at the end of October. I think there’s a good chance it’ll be sooner than that, though.
If you’ve been floating in the vicinity of my social media channels, you’ll see the new covers are coming along nicely. They’re a lot shinier and it’s a bit easier to see what the books are now, though I will miss my old covers. I’m going to do a bit of a re-launch when they’re finally uploaded, so watch out for special deals and maybe even a giveaway when the paperbacks are done (yes, you’ll be able to order all three books in physical editions soon!).
Meanwhile, I thought I’d share some books in the speculative fiction genre. These are all available via Intafreebie – sign up, get the book free and hear more about the author’s offerings. Just click the images below (and you can get Dream Stalker, complete with the latest version of the cover, by clickign the imange above)
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May 27, 2016
Review: Grave Beginnings
A photo posted by Theodore Ashford (@ashfordtheodore) on May 23, 2016 at 9:29pm PDT
Grave Beginnings is the first in a paranormal detective series by R.R. Virdi. It is, in fact, one of my favourite stories. Full of snark and wit and with the obligatory ‘suave, mysterious guy in a suit who shows up twice’, it contains all the things I love about the genre. Graves himself is a body snatching soul, with only the vaguest memories of his past and no idea why or how he’s doing what he does. He has a single mission: get the bad guy. Using his ‘borrowed’ bodies, he trawls the Earth looking for creepy stuff that’s escaped into our world, saving the innocents and really rocking the solo gig. That is, of course, until he’s forced to pair up with a tough cop with a flair for fighting the supernatural herself. Ortiz is my kind of gal, with a kick-ass style and the street smarts needed to help Graves solve the case.
The villains are spooky, the sidekick, Church, has his own fanclub (I’m… *cough*… well. #teamChurch) and the action Just. Doesn’t. Stop.
For fans of: Dresden Files, Alec Verus novels, Dead Man or Thrice Cursed Mage.
My rating: 4.5 stars.
Buy Grave Beginnings, and the sequel Grave Measures at Amazon:
Check out R.R. Virdi online here.
Love the Instagram snap above? Go and follow @ashfordtheodore! Beautiful book pics, including a gorgeous shot of Dream Stalker 
May 14, 2016
Giveaway – Dream Stalker Paperback via Goodreads
Hey Scribers! I’m hosting another giveaway for the paperback copy of Dream Stalker over at Goodreads. If you’d like to enter, just click below!
I love hanging out over at Goodreads, and I’ve just enabled the ‘ask the author’ feature on my page there. Got a question? Of course, you can always drop it as a comment here, on Facebook or over at Twitter, but this is another great platform for those nitty gritty questions.
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Dream Stalker
by Amy Hopkins
Giveaway ends May 30, 2016.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
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May 10, 2016
The Tea Test: How HOT do you like it?
Ok guys, I have a bit of a conundrum. For those of you who’ve read both books, you’ll know that things are… well, heating up a little. Nothing’s happened yet, but if it does…
How hot do you like it? I’ve had great comments from readers about how clean the books are so far. I’ve also had people ask when ‘it’ is going to happen. What do you want to see?
What do you want to see? Whatever happens, it will be done with elegance and a little shyness. You know what Emma’s like – she’s gung-ho when it comes to saving lives, but nervous as anything when it comes to relationships. Are you a fade-to-black person? Like it a little hotter? Tell me here, or send an email if you prefer.
And, just to see where the readers are at: Are you Team Greyson or Team Harrod?
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