[Twenty-Sided Sorceress 01.0] Justice Calling Read online

  Justice Calling

  The Twenty-Sided Sorceress: Book One

  Annie Bellet

  Copyright 2014, Annie Bellet

  All rights reserved. Published by Doomed Muse Press.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to [email protected].

  Cover designed by Ravven (www.ravven.com)

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio (www.polgarusstudio.com)

  Electronic edition, 2014

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  Life-changing moments are sneaky little bastards. Often we don’t even know that nothing will ever be the same until long after, and only in hindsight can we look and say, “There! That was it! That changed everything.”

  Well, at least we could, if we’re alive to do it.

  For me, it was just another Thursday evening on a blustery spring day. I was finishing up a Japanese-to-English translation job and only somewhat pretending to mind the register in my comic and game shop. That’s the benefit of being the owner, I suppose. No one was going to tell me to be cheerful and pay attention to customers.

  There weren’t any, anyway. Thursday nights are game night and we close early. I hadn’t flipped the sign yet as I was waiting on Harper, my best friend of the last four years, to stop swearing at her game of StarCraft.

  “No amount of Banelings in the world are going to save you here,” I said, glancing over at her screen.

  “Marines are overpowered,” she growled.

  “Sure,” I said, trying not to laugh. It was an old gripe. Whatever race her opponent played in the game was always OP, according to the logic of Harper. “Maybe you should play with a mouse instead of just your trackpad?”

  “I’m practicing my hotkeying,” she said. “Shut up, you’re distracting me.”

  The string of bells on the door tinkled and I turned away from my laptop to face the front of the store, figuring it was either a college student or a harried mother looking for Pokemon or Magic the Gathering cards. Those types, beyond my regulars, are about all that trickle into my store on weekdays.

  The man who came in was no college student, and he definitely wasn’t a soccer mom. He walked through the door and paused, his head turning and his eyes wide from the change between daylight and the strategically placed lamps I keep in my shop. He took in the front display of the latest adventure releases and the wall rack of new-release comics, then stepped further in, head turning as though searching for something or someone.

  His uncertainty gave me a moment to look him over. He looked roughly thirty years old and somewhat like a Hollywood version of a Norse God. About six foot six with shaggy white-blond hair, features that a romance novel would call chiseled, and more lean muscle than a CrossFit junkie. He was also packing a handgun, mostly hidden beneath his custom-fitted leather jacket.

  So, you know, not your average comic book or tabletop gaming enthusiast.

  There was also the part where my wards hummed for moment, a sound only I could hear. Which meant he wasn’t human, either.

  Not that this was weird for the town of Wylde, Idaho. Most of the non-college-student population isn’t wholly human. We’re the shape-shifter capital of the West. Harper herself is a fox shifter; two of the other three in my game group are a wolverine and a coyote. Guy who owns the pawnshop next to me is a bona fide leprechaun, and the woman who runs the bakery on the other side is some kind of witch or maybe a druid. The thick ley lines that run through the River of No Return Wilderness at the edge of town draw all kinds of supernaturals to the area.

  It was what had drawn me here. I’d always heard the best place to hide a leaf is in a forest.

  I was immediately on my guard. Wards aren’t really my strong suit, so I didn’t know what flavor of preternatural this giant was, but the gun didn’t bode well. Nor did the way he looked at me like he recognized me, or the way he came over to the counter, moving with preternatural grace around the comic book displays. I gathered my power inside myself, preparing to send a bolt of pure energy into his chest if needed. I hadn’t cast a real spell like that in years, but I figured I could get a single one off without knocking myself unconscious with the effort. Probably.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, glad the counter was between us, even if the glass case full of dice and card boxes would be little more than a stutter step to clear for a shifter.

  “Who are you?” he said. His voice was deep, with a slight accent. Russian maybe. His eyes were the blue of glacier ice and his expression about as welcoming.

  “Jade Crow,” I said, teeth grinding with the effort of speaking and keeping control of my magic. “Who are you?”

  “Hi handsome,” Harper said, climbing out of the overstuffed chair next to me that she’d been gaming in. She snapped her laptop shut and gave the newcomer a dazzling smile. She was angular and punky, with spiky brown hair and a way of making men forget what they were going to say when she smiled.

  Then she stopped smiling and her eyes got huge, focusing in on the silver feather strung around his neck. “Oh, shit. Justice. Forgive me.” And she bowed her head like she was addressing some kind of royalty.

  “Justice? Like one of the shifter peacekeepers, right?” I said, my voice shaking a little with the effort of holding on to my powers for this long without letting loose. “The fuck is going on?” I glanced at Harper and then back at the intruder, keeping my eyes on the feather talisman. Yeah, it was better to look at his neck. Or his chin. His lips were way too kissable.

  I shoved that thought away for later. Much, much later.

  “I am Aleksei Kirov, a Justice of the Council of Nine. And you,” he said, gesturing at me, “are a murderer.”

  “What?” Harper and I said at the same time. We shared a baffled glance. I hadn’t killed anyone in my life, though not for lack of trying once. But still.

  Behind the Justice, and invisible at the moment to anyone but myself, my spirit wolf guardian stirred, rising from where she’d been sleeping. Wolf didn’t growl though, just cocked her head and stared at Aleksei, ready for trouble but clearly not expecting it quite yet.

  “I haven’t killed anyone. Ever.” I let go of the magic inside me before I accidentally lost control and unleashed. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I ran my shaky hands over my hair, and tugged my waist-length ponytail over my shoulder.

  Aleksei relaxed as a confused look came over his face. “You tell the truth,” he said. “But I saw you in a vision. The Nine sent me here. There are shifters in danger and you were at the center, at the crossroads between their lives and their deaths.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. A small chill went through me. The only way I could see shifters dying because of me was if he had found me. My psycho ex-mentor and lover. I started to mentally pray to the powers of the universe that that hadn’t happened or we were all in deep, deep shit.

  “Nobody is in danger that we know of,” Harper said. “Uh, Justice,” she added, still trying to look respectful.

  What I knew of the Council of Nine was practically legend, the shifter version of gods. They had Justices, powerful shifters appointed to keep the peace among shifter p
opulations, and to keep the secret of shifter existence from most of the human world. They were judge, jury, and executioner all in one. Shifters didn’t get up to much crime, but if they did, the sentence was almost always death. Pretty good deterrent, I suppose.

  “Besides, I’m not a shifter,” I pointed out. “So you have no power over me.”

  “Unless you pose a danger to shifters. What are you?” Aleksei asked, his ice-chip eyes narrowing. Subtlety was apparently not one of his charms.

  “She’s a hedge witch,” Harper answered for me. I was glad, since this Justice guy seemed to have the ability to detect lies. Harper wasn’t lying because as far as she knew, that’s what I was. She was just wrong.

  Even though she was my best friend, I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell anyone that I was a sorceress. Because they’d all try to kill me, or at least drive me away. Nobody likes sorcerers. Probably because most of us are assholes who kill and eat the hearts of supernatural beings for their power.

  I was saved from having to verbally confirm or deny my witchiness by Ciaran. He pushed through my front door, all four foot nothing of him, his copper and silver hair neatly combed and his red coat clinging to his plump body. I looked at the clock on my computer monitor and muttered a curse. It was later than I’d thought.

  “Harper,” Ciaran said with a nod and barely a glance at Aleksei. “Jade,” he addressed me in Irish, “I’d really like you to come have that look at my things before I die of old age.”

  “For a man who watched Saint Pat drive out the snakes, you’re looking fine to me,” I said, also in Irish.

  That leprechaun neighbor of mine I mentioned? That’s Ciaran. He’d picked up a load of things in an auction the day before, and as always with old things he liked to have me check for magical auras and any hidden surprises. I didn’t use my talents much out of fear of broadcasting my location, but minor magic like detection was as easy as breathing for me, so I did the neighborly thing and helped out when he needed.

  “So, uh.” I looked at Aleksei. “Since I haven’t killed anyone and am not planning to, maybe you can just go Justice somewhere else? I’m closing shop.”

  “I will stay here. We will talk after. My visions are never wrong.”

  From how rigid he was and how intently he stared at me, I wondered if maybe he had a sword up his ass or something. “Okay, buddy. Just tone down the creepy before I get back. And you’ll wait outside my store. I don’t do strangers.” Whoops. That came out weird. “In my store. I mean, alone. I mean I can’t leave you here alone. So wait outside.” Great. Now I was babbling.

  “Fine,” he said and I swear to the Universe the bastard smirked at me.

  Ciaran’s shop is an antiquer’s paradise and a neat freak’s nightmare. Also probably a nightmare if you have allergies. He kept it tidy, in its own cluttered way, but trying to keep dust off a few hundred old books, paintings, and curio cabinets full of knives, glassware, art plates, figurines, tools with unknown purpose, guns that last saw use during the Civil War, and other interesting items was a task even an immortal couldn’t manage.

  The shop had an almost smoky, magical feel that I loved. Above us, chandeliers of all kinds, from elk antlers to Waterford crystal, lit the place, casting shadows into the shadows until you felt as though you might come around a table piled with swords and find the wardrobe that leads to Narnia. The air wasn’t musty; it was perfumed with orange and clove and some sort of citrus scent from whatever Ciaran used to wipe down the tables. The best part was that sometimes Ciaran really did have a magical item or two, though it was rare and he generally had me destroy them if we couldn’t figure out what they did. Letting normals buy magical things was just asking for later trouble that nobody wanted.

  “Hey,” I whispered to Harper as we entered the shop, “what flavor is that Justice, anyway?”

  “Flavor?” she whispered back. “Scary with a dollop of sexy?”

  “No, like animal flavor,” I said, whacking the back of her head with my palm.

  “Oh. Tiger.” She grinned and rubbed her head.

  “Figures,” I muttered. “Guess he wouldn’t be, like, a rabbit or something.” I’d bet a week of earnings he would be the biggest damn tiger ever. Shifter animals were usually larger than real-world ones anyway, but odds were that cocky bastard would be like the strongest, prettiest tiger ever to live. The universe was just like that.

  “Most shifters are predators,” Harper said, ducking in front of me. “Makes sense someone who has to hunt bad shifters and stuff would be a super predator, right?”

  “You two done gossiping?” Ciaran called back to us. He was already halfway through the store.

  Harper and I wound our way through the tables and cabinets toward the back office where Ciaran kept any interesting purchases for me to go over, just in case, before putting them out on the floor.

  “Was at an auction in Seattle last month,” Ciaran explained, using English for Harper’s benefit. “Just got the goods shipped in today. Some old pieces; might be worth checking out before I put a price on them. Even found some of those silver buttons your mum likes so much, Azalea.”

  Harper wrinkled her nose at him. He knew she hated being called by her name and preferred her gamer handle. She was about to reply when she stopped cold in front of me, forcing me to do a little dance sideways to avoid running into her. My arm whacked a cabinet and it jingled and rocked but settled without breaking anything. Thank the universe. I figure if something ever fell in here, it would domino and the whole place would crash like a bad YouTube video.

  “Where… how… no… I…” Harper couldn’t get words out. She just pointed at a large stuffed fox that was perched on top of an oriental dresser.

  “What about it, love? Are you all right?” Ciaran reached for Harper as she started to sink to the floor with horrible half-mewing, half-gulping cries.

  I caught her first, wrapping my arms around her wiry body and finally seeing her face. Tears made her mascara run, and her shoulders shook in my arms.

  “That’s Rosie,” she gasped. “That’s my mom!”

  Through the power of Irish hospitality or maybe some magical leprechaun mojo, Ciaran had Harper bundled in a sweater and holding a cup of mint tea before she even realized she’d finally stopped sobbing. Which was good, because Aleksei, who insisted Harper now call him Alek instead of Justice, was grilling her and Ciaran like a cop pushing a suspect.

  To be fair, I don’t think he intended it to come out that way. I’d known him for maybe half an hour now and it seemed he only had one gear and it was stuck on one level: intense.

  “I will go through my records, Jade, and see if I can get the ID of the man that sold this to me, all right?” Ciaran said. “It was a young man, on Tuesday, I remember that much.”

  “See it done.” Alek turned his icy glare on Harper. His gaze seemed to soften, but it was hard to tell. “And why did no one notice her missing all this time? You said she’s been gone since last weekend.”

  “Because she was out picking mushrooms,” I said, stepping firmly between Alek and Harper. “Rose does that. She’ll be gone in those woods a week or so. It’s normal for her.”

  “How would a poacher get her?” Harper choked out. “She shouldn’t have even been in fox form.”

  She was right about that. Rose, her mother, ran a bed and breakfast on a ranch that was grandfathered into the River of No Return Wilderness. She was an earthy, eccentric, and loving woman who took all sorts of shifter strays in. She liked to go camping in the wilderness every spring before the summer season brought in wildlife photographers, whitewater rafters, hikers, and all the other people the Wilderness Area attracted.

  “I was sent here by the Council,” Alek said and he shook his head, eyes narrowing speculatively at me. “That means foul play.”

  “Hey, I was manning my shop. Plus I wouldn’t touch a gun even if it snuggled and made me waffles.” I glared at him. “Oh, Universe damn you. Now you are interrogatin
g me. This is not cool.”

  “My vision says you are the key,” he said, folding impressively muscled arms over his broad chest.

  “Maybe you need your psychic eyes checked,” I shot back.

  “Guys,” Harper said, sniffling. “Please. We need to find out how Mom… oh God, I can’t say it. Just. Help me.”

  I turned to her, taking the tea from her hands and setting it aside. She collapsed into my arms, shaking with renewed sobs. I couldn’t resist another glare at Alek, making it clear this was definitely his fault.

  “Hey! Jade? Ciaran?” a male voice called out from back within the shop.

  Fuck. Game night.

  “Ezee, Levi, we’re back here,” I yelled to them, then said to Alek as his hand reached for his gun, “Ease off there, Dirty Harry. They’re furry friendlies.”

  “Is anyone human in this town?” he asked. He’d already sniffed at Ciaran and established he was safe, since he wasn’t a normal.

  “Steve,” Harper said, swallowing another sob and wiping her nose on the now damp sleeve of Ciaran’s sweater.

  “Harper? You okay? What’s going on?” The twins had made their way back to us.

  Ezekiel and Levi Chapowits are Native American like myself, but Nez Perce, not Crow. They’re fraternal, not identical twins, but they share a lot of the same features. Strong bone structure, above average height, thick black hair, dark eyes. Beyond that, and being giant nerds, they are nothing alike. Ezee is a coyote shifter and wears designer knockoff suits he sews himself. He teaches American History and Native Studies up at Juniper College.

  Levi is a wolverine who wears nothing but cargo pants, work boots, and tee-shirts stained with the guts of the cars he works on in his shop. He wears his hair in a long Mohawk and has enough piercings in his face that I joke I could peel his skin and use it to strain pasta.