Fleur
Fleur slipped past the streetlamp, skirting the low fence bordering the expansive Victorian house. Making sure her gray hair was hidden, Fleur tugged the black beanie down and glanced at the street behind her.
Empty. Perfect.
She pulled herself over the low iron fence, flinching as the rails scratched her wool leggings, and landed with a squish on the damp moss. The rain may have let up hours ago, but Fleur would have to be careful not to leave a mark.
If her stepmother’s flippant remarks about the Whethermores’ malfunctioning alarm system were right, this should be a simple grab and go job. Thankfully, Viola loved gossip, and Louisa Whethermore’s ugly gray pendant with its horribly faded etching was just the intel Fleur needed—assuming it was what she thought it was. Viola wasn’t known for her accuracy.
Fleur hustled up the garden path, keeping to the shadows. Her step was light, careful never to leave much of an impression on the soft soil. She crept past the hedges and onto the obscured porch, inching closer to the keypad on the door.
A chill tripped down her spine, lancing her with fear. Fleur stilled, sinking into the porch’s gloom.
Her gaze darted over the bare winter branches and rows of juniper until a shimmer, like water rippling in sunlight, caught her eye. Could it be? Her heart sped up and for a moment the urge to call out, to greet Lenora, bubbled in her throat.
But it wasn’t Lenora. Fleur squinted in the darkness to better make out the spirit. The splinter of light was thin, a wisp in the darkness, whereas Lenora’s essence had always been vivid. A month had passed since Fleur had helped her free her brother from captivity. A whole month without a word, without a single peep from the Inbetween. Not that Fleur really expected one. The case was closed. Lenora had the flute—or rather the Guardians of the Inbetween had it. That’s why they sent her—to find the magickal flute relic from the fifth realm. The same relic that Lenora had discovered while alive. Fleur took a breath and held it before blowing it out slowly. She didn’t want to miss the spirit. Lenora forced her back into a world she wanted left alone—her mission had brought the relic search back into Fleur’s life. No. She didn’t want to miss her. But she did.
Fleur frowned and focused on the glimmer, irritated that she’d thought it could be anything other than a nameless spirit. It wove, expanding and contracting in the chill. The sliver of light faded, erasing all sound until only a vast opaque shadow hovered over the garden.
She pressed into the dark gray siding, her hand crept upward to the slender key at her neck. To most, it was unremarkable — small, rusty and round, a faded Goddess symbol etched on the bow, its teeth dull with age, but to Fleur, the ancient key was a talisman, given to her by her mother. It was all Fleur had left of the woman who gave her life.
The metal warmed against her soft leather glove, warning her.
The darkness swelled, closer this time. Fleur gripped the key, a breathless chant on her lips. She eyed the halo of dusk stretching from the creature’s core. Grima, or Shadelings as her father called them, were getting bolder. They fanned out in recent weeks, breaching the delicate balance of this realm in droves. Fleur had only encountered them a handful of times in her twenty-nine years, but now they were everywhere. It paused, smoke webbing over the garden.
She willed the Shadeling to continue, adopting the stillness of a tree, her mind bright with fear.
Frigid air brushed her cheek.
Smoke filled the garden, dusting the dormant shrubbery with darkness. A spirit trembled in the center, its body heaving as if it still held breath. A new soul, freshly harvested from its body, reaction gilded its light, coloring its aura gray with confusion and fear, the perfect prey for Shadelings. Grima feasted on the emotions of both creatures and spirits. The more potent—like spirits, or Atua in the ancient tongue—the better the taste, and the damned creatures’ hunger seemed insatiable. The spirit flickered and faded, its energy too new to fight off its attacker. The chill dissolved, leaving the cold, damp winter air void of magick.
The Shadeling vanished.
Fleur released the key and rolled her shoulders, moving away from the wall. She turned to the keypad lock and tugged off the plastic cover. Pulling two wires loose, she threaded them together and waited until the pulsing red light turned green, then keyed in a series of zeros, praying the You-Tube video she had watched earlier was accurate.
The door opened with a dull click.
The safe should be upstairs. Fleur closed the door softly, ignoring the tinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach, and eyed the security box on the inside wall. The red light pulsed. Fleur moaned. Viola said it was malfunctioning, not broken, she reminded herself as she hurried over the Persian rug and up the curved staircase. Her boots tapped on the polished hardwood. She didn’t look back; she didn’t glance around. In and out. She wasn’t there to window shop.
She was there for the jasper stone relic. Her stepmother would have something to say if she ever discovered Fleur’s new hobby, especially as it involved the president of Viola’s Women’s Club, but she didn’t want to think about that. This wasn’t about Louisa, or Viola, or even her…this was about the stone relic upstairs. The one Louisa claimed came from a royal lineage and flaunted endlessly; the stone Viola hated enough to gossip about—the stone, composed of fossilized algae and three billion years old, was ancient bioluminescence, growth magick, forged in the darkness of the tenth realm.
The jasper was all that was left of the life that once inhabited Qahil and served as a beacon for Grima—but that was long ago before its magick faded…or so Fleur hoped. After finding the Shadeling outside, she was having her doubts.
Fleur hastened down the upstairs hall, peeking into each room. The safe was behind a framed Chagall lithograph. Fleur frowned and moved to the end of the hall. Dark drapes cloaked the turret room at the front of the house. Pulling a penlight from her pocket, Fleur scanned the room from the desk to bookcases. There. Above the narrow brick fireplace hung the Chagall, encased in a gilded frame.
The lithograph was stunning. Roughly nine by twelve, it largely pictured a woman’s face, long drooping nose and wide blue eyes. A smirk crooked her mouth as if she knew the secret hidden behind her. Fleur slid her hands over the frame, feeling for wires tied to the alarm system.
Upper left corner thinly concealed. Fleur tilted the frame from the wall, careful not to disturb the wiring, and examined the safe. Fairly typical, albeit ancient, large Sentry safe with a key lock.
Fleur pulled her leather lock pick case from her jacket pocket, extracting a small tension wrench and curved diamond pick. Sweat beaded over her brow. She could do this. She’d practiced on every lock she could find, but this…this was her first safe-cracking. Using the mantle for leverage, Fleur rested the edge of the frame against her shoulder and worked quickly, biting her lip as the lock clicked.
The safe’s heavy door swung open, revealing a mess of files and loose documents. Fleur’s hands shook as she searched the stacks of paper and family mementos until a velvet box knocked against her thumb. It pulsed warm to the touch. A sign of the magick within. Fleur flipped open the case and examined the oval jasper pendant nestled inside. There, barely visible, unless you knew to look, the Goddess symbol etched into the back—crescent, eye, sun, balancing light and dark.
It was a relic—one of ten, their magick once harnessed within the powerful sheath that protected the ten worlds. Time and human hands almost destroyed all evidence of the shimmering algae that once laced the stone like filigree.
Stuffing the box in her pocket, Fleur closed the safe. Her hand slipped ever so slightly, tugging the edge as she rehung the picture over its bulk.
And triggered the alarm.
Fleur raced down the hall, her feet tripping over themselves. She flew down the stairs, leaping for the door before cracking it open and peeking outside.
Stillness.
She closed the door behind her and moved swiftly through the garden to the fence. Her heart pounding in time with her frantic breath. With a groan, she hoisted herself over the wrought iron and onto the darkened sidewalk, willing her legs to move at a normal pace. No suspicious movements. She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets.Â
As she rounded the corner, her ancient white Subaru 360 flared to life. Its white paint was faded and chipped around the wheel well. Specks of rust darkened the chrome edges of its condensed form. It growled and puttered, a cloud of exhaust leaking from its rear. Fleur cringed and glanced around, praying the noise would go unnoticed. She jogged over, yanked open the passenger’s door, and slid onto the cracked red leather seat.
“Did you get it?” Theda turned, moonlight illuminating the curve of her cheek. She wore the same dark clothing, her tight curls piled high and wrapped in a black scarf. She waited; anticipation flushed her brown skin.
Fleur patted her pocket and leaned closer, pressing her lips to Theda’s. Her skin was soft and warm, a balm to Fleur’s frenzied nerves. Theda kissed her back, caressing the delicate flesh behind Fleur’s ear as she broke away. She smelled like jasmine and citrus, like the darkest part of the night, like hope. “Yup.”
“Can I see it?”
Fleur pulled the velvet case out of her pocket and opened it. The stone gleamed in the dim moonlight.
“I expected something…more.” Theda ran her finger over the stone’s smooth surface embedded in a frame of silver.
“That’s the trick. Most Chieftains enchanted whatever they had on hand. This used to be a plain old rock. This world cut it and made it into a pendant.”
“Where is this one from?”
“Tenth realm, Qahil.” Fleur tilted the pendant. Ten realms, ten relics for her to find, and thanks to Lenora, she already had three. There were few records of the magickal items, aside from her uncle’s ledger, but most of it was folk lore. Legend passed down as a lullaby—a series of couplets her mother taught her. Fleur hummed the melody softly, offering Theda a small smile. The tenth, now bleak, once flourished with life…she squinted at the stone’s striations. Goosebumps scattered over her arms as she closed her fingers over it. Barely any heat, Fleur released a breath. “It’s inactive.”
Theda nodded and shifted the car into gear. “So, it could just be another random piece of junk?”
“No, look.” Fleur turned the pendant over and pointed at the faded symbol. “It’s a relic.” She looked up at Theda, pride widening her smile.
“My little thief.”
The newness of her current situation hovered over her. Fleur wasn’t a thief. Not really. She was simply completing the quest given…finally. Her mother had made that clear when she sent Lenora’s spirit to help, hadn’t she? Ellory Harkyn wanted Fleur to resume her quest, the one given to her by Hemsut, the Goddess of Fate and was then passed down to Fleur after her Ellory’s death. A death Hemsut has caused, Fleur’s stomach twisted at the thought. For years Fleur had resisted the lure of magick, of her world, this quest. Her anger at the Goddess of Fate had only been part of the reason.
But the magick beckoned, softly at first, a whisper in the dark, a reminder of who she was, and Fleur ignored it for as long as she could. It had been too long, too much bad blood, and after helping Lenora, well, it was time. Time to grow up. Time to stop running. The certainty she fought against for so long was strangely comforting.
It was time to finish what her mother started by finding all ten relics and using them to rebuild the Amaranthine Sheath that had once protected the realms.
Still, she shrugged. “Not a thief, a collector. Besides, they don’t belong here. This realm is sapping them dry.”
“And that’s bad.”
“It is bad. The balance depends on these little pieces of junk. Without them, we won’t be able to restore the sheath.” Fleur crossed her arms over her chest and watched as they chugged away from the Whethermores Victorian. A flash of blue light illuminated the pavement. The Seattle PD had arrived. Fleur blew out a breath as they turned the corner.
“I was only kidding. I know the stories.”
“They’re not just stories, Theda.” Fleur slipped the pendant into her coat pocket, her gaze on the side mirror, tracking the blue lights. “You know that.”
Theda reached for Fleur’s hand and squeezed. “I do. Sorry. Sometimes all this,” she pointed to the box in Fleur’s pocket, “is just kinda unbelievable.”
Fleur turned to her. “But you believe it, anyway.”
Theda lifted Fleur’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re very convincing.”
“I think you mean charming.”
“Hell, no.” Theda snorted out a laugh, the Subie speeding up the hill toward home.
