Unchained: Feathers and Fire Book 1 Read online

  “What is it? What does it look like?”

  I could see the struggle in his eyes, debating how much to share with me. “A spear…”

  I frowned, and then a very prickly feeling began to crawl up my neck. “You’re kidding me. There is no way you’re letting me handle something like that.” I began to panic. Me, not even religious, protecting the spear… “Say it. Out loud. What spear?” I asked in a whisper.

  Claire was frowning, glancing from one to the other.

  Roland nodded, removing all doubt. “The spear that pierced Jesus Christ on the cross. The Spear of Longinus.”

  Rather than committing that name to memory, I focused on preventing myself from screaming incoherently. This was beyond insane. But… if I didn’t help him, he would do it himself, and die from blood loss. I knew it.

  Unable to think straight, I stood and began to pace. “Claire says you’ll be fine in a week. Surely, it can wait that long. Something like this? Or you can call one of the other Shepherds,” I said, not sure if any of them were even close to Kansas City.

  He was shaking his head, and winced as he subconsciously tried to move his leg. “No time. That paper sealed the deal. It was the confirmation for a seat at the auction I was going to attend tomorro—” he cut off abruptly, face pale. “How long was I unconscious?” he asked, suddenly anxious. Claire stood, leaving the room on soft feet, as if not wanting to be part of the conversation. Or the argument.

  “Calm down. It’s early, early morning. We were attacked last night, technically.”

  He let out a relieved breath. “The auction is tonight. You must be there to buy the second piece of the spear. At any cost. I can’t imagine anyone will be there who can outbid us, but you must be alert. Monsters will be there, like none you have ever seen before.”

  I was already shaking my head. “No way. I won’t fit in, and I don’t have money like that.”

  He shot me a cool smile. “I’ll take care of the money. I’ll give you my account number. If you do not go, then I will go. The church already has a reservation much like the one found in the storage unit. No name.” It was an icy promise. Just like I had thought he would. I tried to compose myself. All I had to do was get the piece and get it to him. Pretend it was something else. I could do that for one night. Buy it with the church’s money, and get out. An errand girl.

  But I found myself angry, clenching my fists, hating being forced into anything. “I don’t want to do what you do, Roland. I’m only here to learn magic!” I shouted.

  “Sometimes the Lord calls on us to be more.”

  “Your sales tactics are rusty. I’ve told you a billion times that I don’t want to be like you.”

  His eyes tightened, and I realized how it had sounded. I hadn’t meant it personally. I had meant his job, but I could tell it was too late to take back, and I didn’t want to take it back if it got my point across. No one had ever called me a master orator.

  “Be that as it may, you are all we have. Or… I will go. Even if I die doing it. We cannot let that piece fall into the wrong hands.”

  Claire placed a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see her holding up a nice dress and I almost snapped at her. She had gone to my closet at first mention of the auction, finding me something suitable to wear, knowing that would have been my next argument. Roland smiled delightedly, acknowledging Claire with a newfound appreciation.

  “Fine. Only to save the world,” I said sarcastically, “but this is temporary. Because you are a crippled, conniving, good-for-nothing, old man.”

  He didn’t look happy, more relieved than anything, but he did smile lightly at my words. Christ, he really had been willing to die getting the piece of the spear if I declined.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. “If you can talk, you can eat. And you probably need to relieve yourself. There’s a bedpan next to you, Gramps.” His face turned back to stone and I smiled sickly sweet at him.

  “You’re the one with white hair. If anyone looks old, it’s you.”

  I smiled darkly. “With a cherub face like this? Fat chance.”

  I was only doing this so he wouldn’t kill himself, and I didn’t like the idea of a Door to Hell opening in my city. All I had to do was get one of these pieces, foiling any plans to open doors to celestial realms, and let him lock it away where no one could find it. I wasn’t a Shepherd. Never would be. After tonight, that was abundantly clear. I didn’t have the mettle for it. I didn’t want to be like him. I just wanted to learn magic, and how to defend myself. That was it.

  “Soup is beside you in the Tupperware. And a plastic spoon. And a napkin. Then you will sleep. If you try to stand, I’ll break your other leg. I’ll be back later to check on you. Sweet dreams.”

  And I stormed out of the room, snatching Claire’s sleeve on the way.

  “We need to find you a dress. You’re going with me.”

  Her arm jerked in terror, but I didn’t let up, dragging her into my room, magic tingling around my free hand as I felt myself losing control. I was scared shitless. And I needed a second set of eyes. Even if it was only a set of eyes as scared as mine.

  Chapter 10

  I sat at our favorite bar, wrapping my light trench coat around me like a robe. Underneath, I was dressed way nicer than any of the other customers. I was waiting for Claire, and had wanted a drink to calm my nerves. Not being able to bear any more time around Roland, with his endless list of reminders and advice, I had fled to our favorite drinking hole. Never dressed like this, I thought to myself with an amused grin as I sipped my dirty martini.

  We had slept in shifts, making sure one of us was always awake in case Roland needed something, which he hated. I had made sure to be extra motherly on my shifts, informing him that it wasn’t good to grind his dentures like that, which had made his face turn a purple I had never seen before on a human. It was small recompense.

  Claire had run to the zoo to pick up a few things just in case, but seemed surprised that he wasn’t infected, and didn’t look to be leaning towards future infection. Which sounded hunky-dory to me, until she repeated that it didn’t change his condition, and that although his fracture was minor, he would need to stay off it for quite some time, and really should go to a doctor for an x-ray, just in case. He had grown tight-lipped at that, but didn’t outright deny her.

  Beneath her clinical demeanor, I could sense Claire was terrified, just like she had told me. So was I, but I tried to think about it from her perspective. She was a Regular. No magic whatsoever. And despite that handicap, she seemed to excel, almost radiating confidence, infecting me with brighter cheer than I wanted to have.

  If Claire, a Regular, could walk into a den of monsters looking unafraid, then I could, as well. I tried to apply that rationale to my nightmares, wondering how to make it help me. Claire seemed to be acknowledging the facts, and although unhappy about them, she still embraced them. She had told me there was no point in focusing on why she was afraid. That fear wasn’t going anywhere, so she accepted that what we were doing was terrifying, and that was that. All that was left was to get the piece of the spear and get the job done.

  She was a gem. Truly.

  I had come to the bar to clear my head — not only to get away from Roland — and try to embrace my own fears, wondering if Claire was wiser than I had ever thought. My nightmare still nagged at me, lurking in the shadows, but it was slightly muted after allowing myself to focus on it several times throughout the day, riding the memory, so to speak.

  I was still scared, and nowhere near her level of mastery, but I did feel better. More in control.

  I sipped my drink, waiting for Claire to arrive. I wasn’t intending to get drunk, although the idea did slightly appeal. Anything to overcome my trepidation. But one drink couldn’t hurt. Maybe two, if Claire didn’t hurry up. I wasn’t much of a drinker. I liked drinking for taste, not results. Except when I was about to enter a den of monsters. Then, I would drink for results. Just enough to cal
m my nerves.

  “Why so serious?” a voice murmured from my right. I turned, masking my features. And blinked.

  A nerdy, but handsome man, close in age to me, was smiling back. He wore chic Ray-Ban glasses, and didn’t fit into the crowd of locals. He drank a whisky, judging by the color of the amber liquid and the short glass. He was in decent shape, and his messy, coal-colored hair caught the light, making it shine. His eyes were a deep brown, and he was clean-shaven. He wore well-fitting jeans, a pair of Adidas sneakers, and a Game of Thrones t-shirt.

  The bar wasn’t exactly a dive or anything, but it was typically full of frat boys bathed in Axe body spray or old working men. An occasional suit would walk in, due to the proximity of the financial district, but would rapidly find an excuse to leave, searching out a trendier pond to graze at. This man wasn’t the typical patron. Not unusual compared to anywhere else, but not usual for this place.

  Then again, I was wearing a sleek dress and heels, and I had noticed a dozen dirty looks upon sitting down, even though several of those faces soon recognized me as one of their own, suddenly baffled at my clothing. “Quoting Heath Ledger’s Joker is not the best pickup line. Not at all.” I said, since it was obvious no one else was going to talk to either of us.

  The other reason Claire and I came here was because of the owner, Martha. A sharp-tongued old woman who cursed like a sailor and loved Claire and me as if we were her own daughters. She rolled her eyes behind the bar in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t draw attention to her.

  He blushed, nodding after a moment. “Point taken. You just looked very serious. All dressed up, and no one here to take you anywhere,” he smiled warmly. Not creepily. Not even seeming to hit on me. Just observing. He also sat two chairs away, when anyone hitting on me would have already swooped in for the kill, taking my look as a sign I was about to toss my panties to the ground. Martha watched in the mirror, pretending to dust bottles, humming to the music in the background. She averted her eyes when I looked at her.

  “I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Bad habit, that,” he said, turning back to face the bar, glancing up at the TV in the corner, taking a slow sip of his drink.

  “What’s a bad habit?” I smiled in spite of myself. Just friendly conversation.

  “Waiting. Really bad habit. Trust me.”

  “Oh?”

  He turned to me, face overly serious. “Yes. Since you are so interested in me, I guess I’ll go to lunch with you tomorrow.” He plucked out a pocket-sized Moleskine journal — of all things — and thumbed through it for a few seconds before setting it down beside his drink. He really was a nerd! “Yes. I’m free tomorrow. Let’s say noon at Jim’s. A steakhouse on the Plaza.”

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a laugh. “Very clever. Why not just ask me to do something tonight?”

  “Because you’re obviously busy, and I’d rather not be jumped by your date. I might look strong,” he leaned closer, as if to whisper conspiratorially. “But I’m not. And fishing for late night hook-ups isn’t really my style.”

  “Style, eh?” I said, glancing at his outfit.

  He nodded, still with the mock serious face. “Game of Thrones is awesome,” he said defensively. “Anyone can take a girl home. Not everyone can show a girl a fun time during the day. Plus, this isn’t my local spot. I’m only here because my sister picked it at random.” He pointed over a shoulder where a trio of pretty girls were talking to a few boys in a booth, playing a drinking game of some kind. They looked younger than the man beside me. He rolled his eyes as I looked back at him, knowing what I had seen over his shoulder. “Plus, asking a girl out for the night is a good way for me to get taken advantage of. I know the tricks your kind plays,” he smiled. I just stared at him, intrigued. His eyes flicked over my shoulder. “I think she’s waiting for you, but doesn’t want to ruin our chance at budding romance. I’ll see you tomorrow…” he drew out the silent question.

  “Callie,” I answered, turning to see Claire standing in the doorway, grinning at me, nodding excitedly at the man beside me.

  “Callie,” he repeated the name like it was succulent chocolate. “Is that short for Calliope?”

  “Sure,” I laughed, even though it wasn’t remotely close. I did that often — misled people, because it seemed everyone I met felt they needed to guess what Callie was short for.

  His smile stretched thoughtfully. “My name’s Johnathan. I’ll see you there. And have a good time tonight,” he said, turning back to the bar. “Can I get another, please? This is for the servers tonight,” he said, setting down a folded bill by his drink. Martha stared at it for a second, and then, smiling, moved to take his glass. Johnathan casually grabbed her hand, and before Martha could pull it away, he kissed it. “And that’s for me.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing as Martha began cursing him up and down. He smiled back, as if expecting full well how she would react.

  “Yes, I imagine you will…” I turned to go, shaking my head as Claire beamed at me from the doorway, nodding her approval. She also wore a coat to cover her evening attire, but her hair looked exquisite. She had done it herself, the bitch.

  My thoughts drifted back to Johnathan as Claire tugged me out the door. Well, that was… interesting. I had never had anyone hit on me at a bar only to ask me to lunch. Maybe it was a sign that tonight wasn’t going to be so bad.

  Chapter 11

  We stood at the top of a grand staircase, white marble cascading down to an atrium that sparkled with signs of wealth.

  The atrium held a sea of tuxedos, evening gowns, and well-dressed servers with polished silver trays. Bouquets of aromatic flowers decorated the room in ornate vases, filling the air with soothing hints of spring, but it was overpowered by the musk of cologne and heavy perfume from the attending masses. A crystal chandelier was suspended over the crowd, easily ten feet tall, the lower end hanging fifteen feet from the ground, and sparkling like a thousand camera flashes. Claire and I stood before the crowd as they turned to appraise the newest guests. The host had timed it so that each new party entered the event alone, victim to appraising stares from the already present guests. And there was a slight hush in conversation as they turned to judge us. I spotted a few lanyards around necks. Reporters, of course. The string quartet continued playing, but the sudden drop in conversation was unsettling, like we had rudely interrupted something important.

  The sea of bodies watching us glistened with sparkling throats, begemmed fingers, and precious metal watches, like a dragon’s treasure trove. If dragons existed, of course.

  My knees locked rigid as those eyes roved over me. Social situations didn’t typically make me uncomfortable, but the knowledge of how much money these people represented made me feel grossly out of place. And the fact that I expected some of them were monsters, as Roland had warned, didn’t help.

  I took slow, measured breaths, calming myself, bending my knees slightly so as not to pass out. Claire — just as nervous as myself — placed a comforting palm on my lower back, which was exposed to my tailbone. My black dress clung to me like oil had been poured down my shoulders, falling into place as the contours of my body dictated. Not indecent, but leaving little to the imagination. Roland had insisted on it after seeing it on me. It exuded elegance and, I hoped, incited a small sense of trepidation in those below eyeing me. It made me look bold, daring, commanding. Roland had said I would need that slight edge. Rather than him reminding me that he would attend if I didn’t wear it, I had accepted the inevitable.

  My thick, wavy white hair cascaded down my shoulders, freshly curled and now coated with sparkling hair spray that Claire had blasted me with in her car on the way over. It reflected the light below like drops of dew in a morning field. Claire had insisted on that. As nervous as she had been to join me, she had declared — more to herself than me — that if we were going to go to a place like this, we were going to do it right. We might never have the chance again.
r />   She wore a lacy, well-fitting, full-necked dress that left her arms entirely bare. Her heels were tall, making her look average in height, a little shorter than me, and they were bedecked with green and crystal stones — fake, of course — and she wore a flashy bracelet of similar design. Still, they were good knockoffs. Assessing the crowd staring up at us, I had a feeling that they would be able to instantly tell faux from real gems. Still, they would have to get a good look up close to discern that. And I wasn’t too keen on anyone getting that close.

  I felt like I was on my first day in a new prison yard.

  Or like I was a lone wolf stumbling onto a pack of hardened killers.

  It wasn’t just the attention of so many people striking at once, or the amount of money those faces represented, although that was extremely uncomfortable.

  It was that I kept coming back to the fact that at least a handful of these people were not as they seemed. Killers and monsters, in truth.

  The silence of speech stretched, seeming to overpower the jaunty tones of the violins still playing in one corner of the gathering. Then the strangest thing happened.

  One man laughed.

  A great booming laughter full of a physical joy, not just idle amusement. I saw Claire’s shoulders tighten out of the corner of my eye, and I took a subconscious step toward the laughter, searching for the man, as if placing my foot between him and Claire. She murmured thankfully to me under her breath, and I felt her begin to relax. I finally spotted him by the bar, swirling a glass of opaque green alcohol in one hand.

  He wore a bespoke suit of a distinguished pattern I doubted would ever be found on a rack anywhere, and his crisp white shirt seemed to glow in the soothing lighting. His tan hands contrasted with the white cuffs barely peeking out of the deep blue — almost black — coat. His other hand was absently twirling a coin around his fingers, rolling it over each knuckle before it disappeared into his palm, and then reappeared near his thumbs to begin the process all over again — the coin resembling a stone falling down the waterfall of his knuckles.