Legacy First Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3 of the Legacy Series Read online

  Amaymon stepped behind me and tripped me forward. I was sent through the portal with the grace of a tumbling sea lion. We emerged outside of my office and my stomach lurched. Amaymon leaned over as I hurled chunks.

  "Because it's highly amusing," he whispered cruelly. His evil laughter echoed throughout the empty street.

  Chapter 7

  Life tended to be pretty simple for normal folks. You get up, go to work, do something after work that makes you hate life just a little less and then go to bed.

  Repeat the following day.

  Here's how life worked for me: get interrupted during sleep, deal with clients, confront monsters and psychos, try not to strangle the cat, and go to bed, if at all possible. I had just confronted five lizardmen and a Behemoth. I think I deserved some fucking sleep.

  But no, Erik gets no sleep.

  This particular nightly interruption was a premonition of sorts. I've been through some weird stuff throughout my career but this was a unique experience.

  All of a sudden I was a stranger, like an out of body experience. And just to shake things up a bit, I was a girl. A pretty one, but a girl nonetheless.

  First came the flashes. I was a waitress at a coffee shop because I remembered serving clients. I also remembered getting hit on quite a lot, much to my annoyance. Then, I remembered running down an alleyway from something—something dark and evil.

  Something that was chasing me.

  I remembered running away towards my college dormitory and made my way to my room. My roommate was there and I felt she was someone I could trust. I remembered talking to her and she dismissed my worries, blaming it on stress.

  But even as she smiled and comically waved her hands, I could still see the worried glint in her eyes.

  Another flash and I was at a party. My roommate had dragged me out with her to blow off some steam. I didn't really feel like partying, so I made my way towards the small swimming pool at the very back of the house. I liked the way light reflected off of the water. There was something soothing about it.

  A few seconds later, she came into view, a vision of utter beauty.

  Her high heels rapped against the floor as she approached me. The shadows slowly peeled off, revealing an epitome of the female human form. Her pale skin glistened under the moonlight as her jet black hair danced sensually over her shoulders and chest. Those wavy curls seemed to end in an even darker shade of black than the atmospheric darkness around. Her blue dress hugged her immaculate body like a second skin and her eyes completed her godly image.

  As she came within speaking distance, her eyes sparkled in an amethyst hue. I stared deep into them, completely spellbound. Never in my life did I feel drawn so strongly towards another person. I wanted to both ravage her and worship her—I felt like I could cry just by staring at her. Her eyes seemed to burn a hole in my soul.

  Were her pupils always elongated, like a cat's, or was it just a trick of the light?

  "Are you all right?" Her voice rang like a note from a pan flute.

  "Y-yes, I'm fine," I stuttered. I felt my body temperature rise as she got very close to me. She smiled, revealing dimples that nearly gave me a heart attack.

  "Lovely night," she said as she turned those beautiful eyes toward the starry heavens. "It has been too long since I had the time to stop and admire a night such as this."

  As she spoke there was a voice screaming in my head, telling me that something was very wrong. It felt a lot like being in the jungle with a tiger. You can't help but stare in awe at the majesty before you, at the raw power that can tear you to shreds. You knew there was absolutely no competition, that this was the tiger's ground, and that you could do nothing save struggle in vain.

  That voice in my head let out a second warning, similar to the one I felt when seeing those shadows and sensing danger on my way from work. Except this time it was on a much larger scale.

  Despite the warnings, I wanted to lick the very ground she stood on and beg her to make me her slave. If only she spat on me, I would be more fulfilled than I ever had been.

  But all I could do was stay there, rooted on the spot and nodding effervescently.

  "I used to enjoy many nights like this with my former lover." Her voice darkened all of a sudden. "That is, until that weak-willed bastard grew fond of another and threw me out into Hell itself."

  Anger rose from her like a tidal wave and the area around us seemed to darken.

  She leaned forward. "But luckily, I now have many, many children to keep me company," she whispered. Her lips twisted into a pleasant smile that failed to reach her eyes as they turned wild, feral, and full of lust.

  "You have kids?" I asked. Her sudden change had upset and confused me but I tried to keep the conversation going—anything to keep her attention on me.

  "How nice. How old are they? What are their names?" I asked.

  The woman beamed pleasantly. "Oh, I have many children. I know as a parent you're not supposed to have favorites, but we all do, don't we? I like my asmodaii the best. So sweet, so obedient," she cooed.

  "What a weird name," I managed to say before fog filled my mind and the world began spinning. I found it hard to focus on anything. My heart rate sped up and I felt the very air around us thicken.

  "Do not worry. It will all be over soon," I heard her say. Her voice was melodic, yet it had none of the previous beauty. This was not the song of a siren but the menacing growl of a predator toying with its food.

  Pain flared in my shoulder as she laid a slender hand on it to hold me in place.

  She leaned forward, her motion very deliberate. A moist tongue trickled down the length of my neck. I heard faint crackling coming from her mouth as her neat set of pearly white teeth shifted into a row of fangs. With one swift movement she struck, digging into my neck. Blood gushed forth, trickling down my body.

  I was helpless to do anything except wait for that creeping darkness to overtake me. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of falling and the rush of cool water against my skin.

  I back in my regular body now, but there was still nothing I could do except stare at the red-headed girl floating face up in the pool as blood was mixed in with the water.

  Suddenly there was a flash of light, like a supernova going off. But calling it simply a light would have been like calling the sculpture of David a carving or the Mona Lisa a doodle.

  It was light with power, a light that was alive. I felt its power radiate into me, giving me strength. Not that it helped. I was a specter, a useless observer intruding on a very disturbing dream.

  But the woman, the vampiric monster who just tore a hunk of flesh from the girl's neck, screamed and recoiled.

  "This isn't over," she snarled, before disappearing back into the darkness.

  And just like that it was over. I watched as the poor girl floated spread-eagle in the pool.

  Protect the girl, a disembodied voice echoed inside my head.

  There was no question, or request. The voice spoke with such power that I felt myself compelled to obey. The idea of saying no was non-existent to me.

  Another flash and we were now in a hospital room. The redhead girl lay there with wires and pipes in her arms as nurses patched up her wound. For the first time, I could see the details of her face. She was very pretty, in an earthly kind of way. None of that superficiality—she was a natural beauty.

  Protect her.

  There was that voice again, echoing in my head like a madman with a megaphone. This time I was ready for it, and when the voice echoed again I could still retain a portion of my analytical mind and try to figure out who, or what, was talking to me.

  It was a message in a bottle. Problem was, these mystical disembodied voices rarely gave you any real investigative information. Like, for example, a name or an address.

  Instead they spewed clichés and messages of impending doom.

  I could hear her heart monitor in the background.

  Beep beep.

  Then
, a new sound, like the ringing of a bell. That can't be right. No heart monitor rang like a bell on those hospital dramas where everyone sleeps with each other and then they spend entire seasons trying to figure out their feelings.

  "Wake up, Erik." It was a familiar voice, maybe Amaymon's.

  I ignored it, pining for a few more moments of sleep. Maybe I would dream about a sandy beach full of models in bikinis this time.

  A sudden flash of pain jerked me awake. I felt my arm on fire and looked down to see blood oozing from four deep scratches on my arm.

  Looking up, I caught a glimpse of the cat's tail disappearing from my room.

  "What was that for?" I yelled as I rubbed my face. The doorbell rang again.

  "Answer the freakin' door, dumbass. I'm trying to sleep here."

  Chapter 8

  Whoever was behind the door rang again. If this was another door-to-door salesperson, there will be a murder today.

  Who in their right mind would ring a door bell at nine in the morning?

  "Whatever you're selling, I don't give a-" I stopped mid-sentence and looked at the girl standing on my porch. Tanned, possibly Latina, medium height and piercing black eyes. I stared at her as if I'd seen an apparition. This chick was quite literally the girl from my dreams. Well, one of them at least.

  She was the redhead's roommate.

  "Mr. Ashendale?" she asked.

  "Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?"

  Her face lit up, suddenly hopeful. "Mr. Ashendale, I've heard that you are able to solve certain problems that others cannot."

  I raised my eyebrows, waiting for more details.

  There was a screening process to my clientele. When you dealt in the supernatural, skeptics and religious nut jobs made up most of your clients. Most just wanted to see a performance and, when I left them disappointed, they weaseled out of paying me. Over the past couple of years I've refused twice as many clients as I'd helped out. And just because I dreamt about her, that didn’t automatically give her a pass.

  "I'm gonna need a little more than that, lady. But if you're looking for a dare or something to blow your mind, I'm sure Criss Angel is still around," I said.

  Her eyes flashed in panic. "Mr. Ashendale, please, I'm not trying to fool you." Panic: that was a hard one to fake. The despair in her eyes looked real, too. "Please, hear me out. I will give you a token of faith," she said.

  Token of what now?

  "This should be good," I muttered.

  "You're a wizard, right? Which means that you can do all kinds of mind control stuff just by knowing a person's name, right?" she asked.

  "Not as much as you'd think, but sure, yeah, I could."

  Truth be told, that was more of an urban legend. I could have harmed her just as easy even without her name. Personal details were only good for bloodline curses or thaumaturgy. That wasn’t really my style—I was more direct.

  Fireball-to-the-face direct.

  "My name is Gracie Valdez." She looked around. Was she expecting to randomly blow up or something?

  "My friend Abigail was seriously hurt last night. You're the only one who can help her," she continued.

  My heart sank.

  "Is Abigail a redhead by any chance?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  Gracie's eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

  "Lucky guess. Come on in."

  "So, let me get this straight," I said. I was pacing around my desk while Gracie sipped on some coffee. "Your roommate was at a party, got assaulted, and is now in the hospital. Why not call the police?"

  "I did. But there's more." She seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Abigail always had this thing about her. She could sweet talk anyone. She was nice and comforting and always attracted people to her."

  "Sounds like one of those charismatic types to me," I said, rolling my eyes.

  I didn't like charismatic people. Women always fell for them and I considered that cheating. It should be a level playing field.

  I supposed that was just a long, convoluted way of me wishing I was a charming guy.

  "Yes, she is," Gracie replied. "Recently she's been very spooked. She felt like she was being watched. A few days ago she came running to our dorm saying something was chasing her."

  She looked me in the eye. "I know it's not much, but I'm really scared for her. And now she's in the hospital after some psycho woman bit her neck. She could have died." Gracie shifted uncomfortably and reached inside her purse. "Money is not an issue."

  I sighed. I wished this was all just about the money. Even under normal circumstances the case seemed genuine enough. But then there was that dream, a series of visions, like a person's memories.

  Abigail's memories.

  Somehow, somewhere, a being powerful enough to invade my mind wanted me to take the case. I was tempted to say no there and then, purely out of spite. I hated following orders.

  But if I did, the girl would suffer. She would probably be targeted again. Heck, it might be too late already. I could already be investigating a murder instead of an assault.

  It was the light that sold me. When I heard that reverberating voice screaming ‘protect the girl’ in my head I felt something stir inside me. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

  Or rather, I didn't want to remember the last time.

  This case, this girl, was somehow connected to my curse. I didn't know how I knew that—I just did.

  But I wasn't about to say yes that readily. People like me tended to live longer if they were just a little too paranoid.

  "How come your friend lived?" I asked Gracie.

  The girl choked on her coffee. "What do you mean?"

  "She ended up in the hospital, right? Hospitals don't take dead people. So, how come she's still kicking?"

  Gracie shrugged. "I guess she got lucky."

  I raised an eyebrow. "First lesson in this world, there is no luck." I leaned against the table. "I think you know exactly what happened. And for some weird reason you're not telling me."

  "I am telling you all I know, Mr. Ashendale."

  "Then explain the white light."

  Funny how one simple sentence can cause such a big reaction.

  Gracie's eyes widened in something that was either pure shock or horror, or a mixture of both. Either way, I had scored a point there.

  "That's the funny thing about dreams," I said. "Some you never remember, but others just keep replaying themselves over and over in your brain like a broken record. And here's the kicker. Once you get over the main events, you start focusing on the little details. Like how you were first on site after Abigail fell bleeding into the pool, even though you were the farthest from her."

  I rested both hands on the desk like a cop during an interview scene.

  Try not to judge—this was my moment.

  "So, you are either on the bad guy's side and were waiting for Abigail to die, or you knew that she had a means of protection."

  "No, I-"

  "Just give me the whole truth, Gracie," I insisted, cutting her off. "I don't like half-assed stories. Because usually I don't end up getting paid."

  Amaymon chose that particular time to show just how much of a wiseass he can be.

  "Not to mention the fact that you risk burning half your actual ass."

  On reflex I arched my head back and yelled, "That happened one time!"

  Then I remembered that cats didn't talk and I had a regular, sane human sitting on my couch.

  Gracie sat very still with her eyes wide open, and slowly turned to look at the cat. And despite the latin tinge in her skin, she was white as a sheet.

  Oh, crap.

  Chapter 9

  Gracie's mouth opened but no sounds came out. The cat just stood there, right by the kitchen entrance, as if daring her to say something. Finally enough of her rational mind came back online to make sense of the situation.

  "Oh, my God, the cat just talked!"

  My first reaction was to reply with something sarca
stic, but I decided to cut the girl some slack. Better she state the obvious than run away screaming.

  Less likely for the cops to show up at my door later.

  "Yes, it talks," I confirmed. "Although sometimes I wish it didn't. Sometimes I wish it could just obey simple instructions like stay away from clients. I'd be happy with a cat that just meows."

  "It talked!" she yelled again.

  This was getting us nowhere.

  I leaned in and gently grasped her hands. "Yes, the cat talks."

  I laughed, hoping to reassure her. "I'm a wizard with a talking cat. It's a cliché, I know, but at least I follow the archetype." I squeezed her hands just a little, enough to gain her attention. "I'm gonna need you to accept that and move on. I need to know the full story, about what happened with your friend Abigail."

  The girl completely ignored me. I could feel her shaking as Amaymon approached her and leapt into her lap. That cat had absolutely no sense of boundaries. He stared at her for a second and the only sound was his purring.

  "Relax, Erik," he said, breaking the silence. "She's not gonna snap."

  He turned his head in my direction and let out a meow.

  "Can't you tell? She's a practitioner," he said as his tail flicked in annoyance. "And I ain't the weirdest thing she's seen. What are you trying to pull here, lady?"

  Actually, I couldn't tell.

  Stupid, Erik.

  I should have read her aura the moment as she entered the door. Or maybe upgrade my security system to zap anyone or anything magical, rather than use the low energy one I had right now. Sure, it was a pain in the ass to activate and maintain but at least I wouldn't have these kinds of surprises.

  Thank God Amaymon was more attentive than I was. Guess the cat had a use after all.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but now that I knew she was lying I could see through her disguise.

  It was in the subtle details. The tone of voice, flicks of hair, the pursing of lips. She must have realized it was a losing battle because she wasn't even bothering to lie anymore.