Blackbirds & Bourbon

  BLACKBIRDS & BOURBON

  By

  HEATHER R. BLAIR

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  © 2016 Heather R. Blair

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Other works by this author:

  Celtic Elementals

  Smoke in Moonlight

  Blood In Fire

  Phoenix Inc.

  Phoenix Rising

  Phoenix Fallen

  Phoenix Broken

  Sing a song of sixpence,

  A pocket full of rye.

  Four and twenty blackbirds,

  Baked in a pie.

  When the pie was opened,

  The birds began to sing…

  1

  The tinny Christmas music being piped down the gleaming walkways of Miller Hill Mall has me longing to commit murder via mistletoe.

  The holidays are in full force here in the Christmas City of the North, but I'm not in a holly-jolly frame of mind. It's been three weeks since my ex-best friend almost killed my sister. Three weeks since I killed said ex-best friend's mate, along with most of her pack.

  It’s also been three weeks since I've seen my ex. I tell myself that's a good thing. A stellar thing. Jack’s absence certainly has nothing to do with my maudlin mood, or why I’ve been going through vibrator batteries like a satyr through fermented grapes.

  Move along, nothing to see here. And I do mean nothing. Luna has vanished into the wind. Along with the silver athame my mother used to take her father's life—the same one Luna used on my sister and my friend, Thomas. I still can't find the gnome that may or may not have sold me out to the werewolves, and I haven't heard a peep from the Dark Council since they sicced an assassin of the realm on me, and put a bounty on my head.

  My sister Carly thinks that once word went out about what happened to the werewolves who tried to collect that bounty, folks started thinking there are safer ways to earn gold. Her boyfriend Styx disagrees. He says my little hand-of-God episode on that South Shore beach is sure to attract even more dangerous bounty hunters looking to make or solidify their reputations.

  More dangerous than a pack of werewolves lead by a half-mad alpha? Oh joy.

  Merry fucking Christmas to me.

  I wander around the mall aimlessly, fighting the urge to put my hands over my ears as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” comes on for like the third time since I’ve been here. Haven’t these people heard of Trans-Siberian Orchestra? Or at least Mannheim Steamroller?

  I like shopping, normally. At least with my bestie. But Syana isn't here. She’s still over at the Den, the bear shifter compound not too far from the scene of my showdown with the wolves. Sy got bit by Owen, the afore-mentioned nut-job alpha, because the son of a bitch kidnapped her and Carly to get to me so he could collect the bounty. That didn’t quite go the way he planned.

  Unless dismemberment via witch was his goal.

  I’ve only seen Sy once since that night. She’s joined at the hip, and apparently other places, with one of the bruins. A redheaded bit of trouble named Ajax. I'm fine with Sy getting some bruin nookie, and being where she needs to be for her peace of mind, but I miss her. I want her home. So does her boss at Beaner’s. He’s been calling me trying to find out if her extended vacation is a prelude to quitting. I assured him not, but what the hell do I know anymore? I should go visit her again, but seeing Georg—the bruin king and my sorta-kinda other ex—is still a bit awkward for us both.

  I sigh and wander into Teavana. Not that I am a tea drinker. Nope, I like my caffeine high-octane and free of herbs or healthy shit. But the smell is nice and Ana loves this stuff. My oldest sister is still recuperating from her run-in with Luna. There’s not much that can take out a fully realized witch permanently, but being stabbed with a possessed blade comes close. Thomas almost died. Carly had to work round the clock for a couple days to stabilize him.

  His second brush with werewolves. I shudder, hoping he never tempts fate with a third. My old student teacher is still recuperating at our place, since our local hospital isn’t exactly equipped to deal with his injuries.

  We were so fucking lucky.

  Sometimes it doesn’t feel real—the fact that no one I loved died that night—even though so many others did. It feels like I cheated something, unbalanced some scales that will be looking to right themselves soon.

  I shove the morbidity aside and grab a half dozen of Ana’s favorite tins, buying them quickly and rushing out of the store. Shopping trip over, time to—

  “Seph, where are you going with all those tea leaves? Looking for a reading?”

  I'd recognize that bubbly voice anywhere. Aimee Cross. We were in kindergarten together. And middle school. And high school. Aimee was a cheerleader, a homecoming princess and the all-around popular girl. You think that would make her some awful Mean Girls clone, but Aimee’s always been as sweet as she looks, not a mean bone in her body. I like her a lot, but I’m so not in the mood to engage in fake normal chitchat with a person who is clueless about my world. But with no choice, I plaster a smile on my face before I turn.

  “Oh, hey, Aimee. Just an early Christmas present for my sister.”

  Whoa. Aimee's wearing a light-up sweater in a truly hideous shade of magenta that clashes violently with her pale red hair. It looks like a Christmas tree mated with a ball of yarn, by way of a mangy cat.

  “It was ugly Christmas sweater day at work,” she says with a laugh at the look on my face. “I lost.”

  “Seriously?”

  Aimee actually looks cute in the awful thing, just like she did in school. Her teeth are straight as Chiclets and almost as white as she giggles again. “Yeah, you should've seen the other guy. Rudolph nose on the sweater, one that lit up and played “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” when you poked it.”

  “Hard to beat that.”

  “You're telling me.” Her eyes flick over me, from head to toe and back again. She frowns. “You look kinda down, Seph. Wanna grab a pretzel? My treat.”

  “Well…” I look around, trying to think up an excuse and quick. I am down, tired and generally messed the fuck up. But somehow I don’t think a pretzel and human company is gonna cure what ails me.

  “Come on,” she hip checks me lightly, “give me a few minutes of much-needed grown-up time. I’ve been riding herd on the little ones all afternoon.”

  I look over at the fountain a few steps away and see two rug rats, one barely walking and the other on his tiptoes trying to steal the coins out of the water. I’d heard Aimee had kids, but seeing them in person makes me feel weird. I don’t have anything against kids, I’ve just never been around them. They’re like this little alien species, one I’ve only heard second hand accounts of. Most of them scary.

  The questionably mobile tyke is in pink and has red hair like her mother; the enterprising older one is a towhead and looks like a pocketful of trouble. He solidifies this impression by running up to his mother and encircling her w
aist with his soaking-wet hands. She laughs before picking him up and giving me a pleading look. What can I do but give in?

  “Alright, let’s go OD on some carbs.”

  Ten minutes later we’re at one of the little tables in the food court, Aimee’s oldest in my lap. I don’t know how he got there. He’s squirmy and sticky, but his hair smells nice and he’s cute when he’s not trying to force-feed me half his pretzel. I avoid another bit of germy dough shoved at my face, smacking my lips loudly.

  “Yummy,” I say. “But Sephie is all full up. You eat it.”

  “No. No. You!” He tries again and I shake a finger in his face.

  “Watch it, little man. My boobs weigh more than you.”

  Aimee chokes on her pretzel.

  I freeze. “That’s probably not really kid-appropriate, huh?”

  She only shrugs, grinning, as I snatch her offspring’s hand at the wrist to avoid the pretzel guts on his fingers. I tickle him under the arm, mostly in self-defense. He collapses between my legs, giggles and then runs over to shove his gooey digits in his poor sister’s face.

  “Julie, you eat it!”

  “Your kids are pretty adorable, Aimee,” I say, snatching a napkin from the pile Aimee placed in the center of the table. “Little bit gross, but adorable. You did good. How’s Tom anyway?”

  She beams and chatters away about her husband, who I vaguely remember as being earnest and cute, in a nerdy sort of way. They’ve been married at least five years now. I study Aimee. We’re exactly the same age. Both twenty six going on twenty seven. Both born and raised in Duluth. She doesn’t have my powers, but I’m betting Aimee also doesn’t have nightmares about a dark beach soaked with blood under a full moon. Our lives are as different as different can be.

  “…but listen to me, going on and on. What’s new with you, Seph?”

  I don’t know who is more shocked when my eyes fill with tears.

  “Hey. Hey now.” She hands me another napkin, her bright expression fading to concern. “What’s wrong, Seph?”

  “It’s nothing. Really,” I lie through my teeth, blinking hard, balling the napkin in my hand and squeezing until my knuckles ache. “My life is a bit…crazy right now is all. It’ll settle down.” Probably not, but here’s hoping. After looking at me for a long moment, Aimee doesn’t press, but takes my phone and enters her number before handing it back.

  “In case you ever need to talk, okay?”

  “Okay. Yeah.” I get to my feet, anxious to get away before my body starts leaking again, already knowing I won’t call her. “Thanks, Aimee. This was …nice.” And despite the almost waterworks, it really was.

  “Yeah, sometimes normal can be nice.” Her smile is gentle and somehow wise.

  “It sure as hell can. Oops,” I say when her boy covers his mouth and giggles.

  She puts his little arms in his coat and zips it up, tucking in his Winnie-the-Pooh scarf carefully over the blond curls.

  “Nothing wrong with a little crazy either, Seph. Normal can get old, too. Some of us get too much of one, not enough of the other. You just need to find your balance.”

  I watch Aimee pull her daughter into her arms and reach for her son’s hand, thinking I’ll be lucky if I ever achieve her kind of balance. The little guy turns around to give me a toothy grin and a wave. I wave back. It’s weird how much better I feel, though. Aimee’s right, maybe a dose of normal now and then is just what the witch doctor ordered.

  As the glass door swings shut and I turn back to the food court, a familiar masculine voice calls out my name, popping my brief bubble of normal. Despite the way we left things, I wish it was Jack, but of course, it’s not. A lean guy with long black hair and even blacker eyes steps out of the crowd and smiles.

  “Hello, lovely.”

  Tyr, assassin of the realm. Another man who tried to kill me and failed. One I captured, then let go. In hindsight, maybe that wasn’t such a hot idea.

  Especially since he’s holding a sword and pointing it at me.

  2

  That’s not a euphemism. He’s holding a real sword, one that hates me. The feeling is mutual. I glare at the glowing red blade and I swear it flickers, almost like a wink. A sly evil one.

  “What are you doing, Tyr?”

  “You a favor. Catch.”

  He tosses something shiny and hard at me and unbidden my fingers wrap around it. In the next heartbeat, he’s swinging Old Pointy at me so fast I have to make for the floor in a big way. Lips meet tile. Pain ensues. I curse and spit blood.

  Tyr and I’ve played before, and even though I came out the victor last time, I had help. Technically you could say he kicked my butt. I’m not supposed to cast here, not in a mall full of Christmas shoppers—the Council would have a tizzy. The legitimate Council, not the Dark One. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Assassins of the realm may skirt the law, sure, but they don’t usually drop trou and shake their junk at it.

  And I sure as hell can’t.

  Of course, given a choice between explaining myself to the Council and dying, I’ll take door number one. Whispering my favored rhyme fast and low, I push to my hands and knees, gathering power as I rise.

  Tyr doesn’t bother to dodge the web of magic I toss at him, not that he could see the spell anyway, but he calmly walks right through it as if it’s not there. The lavender and gold strands go all wispy wherever his body touches them. My jaw drops. Tyr’s smile widens. He’s protected by some kind of mirroring spell. Great. I really want to meet the witch this fucker gets his scrollwork off of.

  The only thing left to try is soul magic and for that I’ve got to get close. Tricky thing, getting that close to an assassin, especially when he’s armed and you’re… not. I tense to make a run at him anyway.

  Tyr shakes his head. “Sorry, no time for fun, Seph.”

  A whistling slice of steel through air has me kissing the tile again. He’s good, too good. Without my magic or a weapon, stick a fork in me, I’m done.

  I don’t try to get up again, a decision encouraged by the finely honed blade pressing against the back of my neck. Tyr sighs and I know the son of a bitch is admiring my ass. I resist the urge to squirm or curse, going for calm and reasonable. This fucker owes me and he knows it.

  “You won’t kill me, Tyr.” I mean it to be a firm statement, but it comes out more like a question.

  “Won’t I?” he says, before lowering his voice to a whisper, fast and low, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “A word to the not-so-wise: get your human friend to teach you some more of her moves. You’re gonna need every one of them very soon.” Tyr bends over—I can see him in my peripheral vision—lifting that goddamn sword again. I hold my breath, not at all sure what his intentions are.

  He tosses something that bounces past my face. I follow it with my eyes, frowning. It looks like one of those colorful balls you can get out of a vending machine for a quarter. Whatever it is, it lands on the floor once, twice…and then the world explodes.

  Beneath my stomach the cold tile rolls as if it’s been laid over a very busy waterbed. Smoke and dust instantly fill the air, stinging my eyes.

  Screams and the sound of shattering glass make my stomach clench—what the hell did he unleash?—but before I can react Tyr moves, driving the hilt of his sword toward my temple.

  “We’re even now, lovely.” As the lights go out in a burst of pain, I want to tell him that’s not fair.

  But then I’m down for the count and fair is beside the point.

  When I come to, there are lights and sirens everywhere, and I’m freezing, even with the silvery shock blanket some harried-looking EMT has wrapped around my shoulders. I grab him long enough to find out the basics.

  Miraculously, no one was hurt. Well, killed. Whatever that ball was that Tyr threw, it was apparently the magical equivalent of a flash bang. Lots of boom, very little bite. The local police and fire departments aren’t saying anything so far, but a gas explosion seems to be the prevailing theory amo
ng the emergency workers.

  The interior of the mall is a mess from what I can see through a big hole in one wall. Smoke drifts out, twirling into the night air, tingeing it with an acrid smell. Most of the glass appears destroyed. Shopkeepers and workers stand around with horrified customers, looking somewhere between blank and devastated. Ten days until Christmas, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

  I’m wondering if I can sneak in and try to repair some of the damage when my phone rings.

  It’s Jett. She sounds rather annoyed. “Get your ass home.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but she’s already hung up. Glaring at my phone, I shrug off the blanket. Wincing, I slip out of the back of the ambulance, my head throbbing. That fucker hit me hard. Something I plan on keeping in mind when we met up again.

  My Fiat is unharmed, just covered with a bit of dust dirtying the perpetual layer of snow. As soon as I get in I feel something hard digging into my leg. My fingers trace the lump curiously before I remember. This is the object Tyr threw at me. I must’ve shoved it into my pocket sometime before the bastard knocked me out.

  It feels like a stone of some sort. I turn on the interior lights to examine it closer. Yup. Looks like an agate.

  Agates are pretty common around Lake Superior. You see people combing the beaches for them all the time, but this one is huge. Almost as big as a robin’s egg and highly polished. The striations are beautiful; purple, brown, white and crimson. I frown at it, feeling and hearing a light thrum of magic. As if the stone is humming softly to itself.

  Weird. Hoping the damn thing doesn’t explode, I tuck it in the glove box, which already contains a couple of pieces of scrollwork, one for concealment (from cops) and,

  more fortuitously, one for protection. It’s a low-level one I use to keep my pink baby safe from fender-benders and other mishaps, but it should be enough to keep this rock from imitating that bouncy ball in the mall.