Adaire Winfield (Season 1): Episodes 1-4 (Seal of Solomon) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  Fortune's Favor

  Chapter One

  The Goddess Cauldron

  Chapter Two

  Sands of Morpheus

  Chapter Three

  Blood of Gods

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Keep Reading

  About the Author

  ADAIRE WINFIELD (SEASON 1)

  Season 1 (Episodes 1-4)

  The Seal of Solomon

  MATT LARKIN

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

  ADAIRE WINFIELD (SEASON 1)

  Copyright © 2013-2014 Matt Larkin, Brenda Pierson

  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.

  Fortune’s Favor by Matt Larkin

  The Goddess Cauldron by Matt and Juhi Larkin

  Sands of Morpheus by Matt Larkin and Brenda Pierson

  Blood of Gods by Matt Larkin

  All Stories Edited by Brenda Pierson and Matt Larkin

  Covers by Juhi Larkin

  Published by Incandescent Phoenix Books

  incandescentphoenix.com

  mattlarkin.net

  From Matt: For Juhi, who sees magic.

  From Brenda: To those who never stopped believing in me. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  The Seal of Solomon recollects and rebrands two stories originally published as the Relics of Requiem, adding two more. Adaire Winfield is one of several intended protagonists—a kind of supernatural detective hunting down relics left behind by the jinn. On behalf of myself, Juhi, Brenda, and the full IPB team, I want to thank all of you for taking a chance on this urban fantasy series. Enjoy the ride and watch out for Season 2.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Yeah, maybe sitting in the back of a detective’s car, hands cuffed before me, wasn’t a reason to smile. But the way that smile made Detective Sullivan’s ears flame red sure was.

  The idiot kept glaring back at me in the rearview mirror. “Keep it up, professor. We’ll see who enjoys that pretty grin where you’re going. What kind of moron robs the National Gallery, anyway?”

  I shrugged and thumbed the wheel pendant around my neck. A plain leather cord and a small wooden wheel. It was so ordinary it would never draw notice. Sullivan didn’t even realize it had come from the museum.

  That car following us, though … they knew. They had to. And that scared me a hell of a lot more than a handful of cops ever could.

  “Fortes Fortuna adiuvat, detective.”

  “What the hell? You want to show off how smart you are? Try not breaking the law.”

  I slunk down in my seat, bracing my knees. Was I looking forward to what was going to happen? Well, without knowing exactly what that would be, in a small way, yes. I mean, I could use some luck right about now … and Sullivan deserved a run of bad luck, right?

  The detective mumbled to his partner, then something screeched, like a building moaning in agony.

  Then a billboard toppled.

  It fell as if in slow motion, a shadow growing over the highway, as bile rose in my throat. What had I done? I hadn’t meant for …

  The billboard crashed into the road three cars ahead. Split a Ford damn near in half. A wave of dust and steel and concrete rushed forward as cars piled into each other. Sullivan screamed, slamming his brakes. Too late.

  Much too late.

  Our car plowed into the pileup and I flew from my seat into the Plexiglas shield. Glass exploded all around me, tearing through my skin, though I hardly felt it. The car flipped upside down, leaving me weightless while it spun through the air. Red filled my eyes.

  And then it hit.

  Everything went quiet for a heartbeat. Nothing but a dull ringing filled my ears. There should have been more pain, shouldn’t there? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hurt. But after a crash like that, I’d expected to hurt.

  I tried to push myself up, shards of glass tearing into my palms. Blood and vomit covered the floor—or rather the roof. The car was still upside down.

  I shook my head, trying to focus. Bad idea. Dizziness clouded my vision again, and I almost collapsed.

  People were screaming, crying, honking horns, running. Stinging scrapes covered my arms and face. The copper taste of blood mixed with the foul vomit in my mouth. I probably didn’t want to know how much blood I’d lost.

  No time to think about it. I had to move. Even with my hands cuffed before me, I was able to drag myself through the shattered window. The effort earned me fresh jolts of pain as the broken glass tore more gouges in my arms.

  Outside, I grunted, pulling myself to my knees. I clutched the pendant. Still there. No one would believe what I’d done to get it.

  I wasn’t sure I could believe what I’d just done to keep it. It shouldn’t have been this bad. It had never been this bad before.

  The smell of gasoline filled the air, stinging my eyes and sinuses. I couldn’t even tell one car from the next in this pileup. God, how many were dead?

  The car that had followed us lay on its side. No one moved behind the tinted windows—not that I could tell. At least that was some good luck, there.

  I knelt beside our car’s front window, bending forward to check the officers’ pulses through the broken glass. Still alive, thank God. They’d confiscated my cell, so I snatched that. Keys. Where were the damn keys to these cuffs?

  It was only a matter of time before people started noticing a bloodied, handcuffed guy searching a couple of unconscious cops. And my time had run out. I heard murmurs and a few weak protests for someone to stop me. I glanced up. No one was approaching yet. But … something was moving in that other car. Was it him? Shit, I didn’t have time for this.

  Luck would have to find me a way out of the cuffs later. I scraped my knees as I crept away from the upside-down car.

  Getting to my feet took more effort than I’d like to admit. For that matter, I’d like to call what I did running, but I doubt anyone watching would have. It was more like a glorified hobble. As soon as I reached the guardrail I leapt over it and rolled down the hillside.

  Three, four times I spun end-over-end. Just as I was about to lose my lunch—again—my shoulder slapped against something hard. It stopped me cold. After a moment, I tried to rise, but another wave of dizziness sent me stumbling to the ground.

  I didn’t have time for this.

  Two deep breaths, then I stumbled back to my feet. There was a bridge almost a quarter mile away. Best place for me to lay low for a bit.

  My jog there was even more pathetic than my run earlier. As soon as I was hidden in the bridge’s shadow, I slumped against the nearest support pillar, lightheaded and perilously close to half-dead.

  Had to catch my breath. My stomach kept leaping about, threatening to heave, though it had thoroughly emptied itself after the car crash.

  Wrists still cuffed together, I cupped my face in my hands. A shard of glass had impaled itself in my cheek. With a wince I slid it free, then gaped at the bloody thing. It was almost two inches long. A little higher and it would have poked my eye out.

  Hot blood poured down m
y face and neck. I tossed the shard aside.

  Had to stop the bleeding. Fast.

  I ripped off a piece of my tattered shirt and wadded it in my mouth. Ever pad your own stale sweat in your mouth? Not the most fun I’ve ever had.

  My hands shook as I reached for the cell, my fingers trembling almost too much to dial the number. Damn thing just kept ringing. Why wasn’t she answering? I thumbed the wheel. A little luck? I sure could use some right about now.

  “Adaire?” Her voice sounded tired. But at least she answered. “What do you want now, Ady?”

  “Shay,” I said, or tried to say. The wadded shirt in my mouth turned it into more of a moan. I pulled it out—tenderly, trying not to make the hole in my cheek worse—and swallowed, working some moisture back in my throat. “Shay. I need help … Please.”

  “Damn it, Ady, I don’t have time for this.”

  “Shay, I’m in bad shape. There’s no one else I can turn to. I need you.”

  She sighed, as if knowing this was a Bad Idea but resigned to doing it anyway. I’d heard my share of sighs like that from her over the years.

  When I told her to pick me up under the bridge, she was quiet for a minute. I could practically hear her thoughts: Adaire Winfield, you are a moron. Why do I even bother?

  But I knew she’d come. She had to. She always thought she could save me. That might have been why she stayed with me as long as she did.

  Turns out she might be right this time. I did need her to save me.

  I was an escapee, bleeding out under a bridge, and I’d be lucky if Sullivan was the one to find me. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be a damn sight better than Option B. I had no doubt a certain spook would be very interested to get his hands on what hung around my neck. And to hang me out to dry in a very dark hole in the process.

  I doubted I was lucky enough to have him die in the car crash. If it was even him. It had to be, didn’t it?

  A slammed car door jolted me awake. Shit, hadn’t meant to fall sleep.

  I braced myself. Not like there was much I could do if the cops had found me. Or the spook, for that matter. But I wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

  “Ady?”

  I released my breath and leaned against the bridge. Shay. Thank God.

  Her concerned expression morphed into a scowl the moment she realized I was awake.

  “What the hell have you done this time, Ady?” With a hand under my arm, she pulled me to my feet. While she stared at the handcuffs, I tried to think up a clever response. She shook her head before I managed one. But, hey, I was hardly at a hundred percent. “Get in the car.”

  I tried to smile, then grunted at the fresh pain in my cheek. Smooth, Ady, smooth. Probably best if I just got in the Beetle.

  Yup. An attractive, young, intelligent woman driving a Beetle, with the backseat stuffed with props and magician’s tools. But even if I hadn’t long since run out of jibes about it, now was not the time.

  I slipped into the passenger seat, wincing as the car jostled when she got in. “Aspirin?”

  “In my purse.” She snatched the bag as soon as I reached for it, then fished through Band-Aids, medicine bottles, trick cards, lockpicks, and balloons. She’d come prepared.

  Her scowl never faded, even as she dropped the aspirin in my hand.

  I leaned against the window while she drove, stealing a glance at her here and there. She’d always said everything was my fault. And it pretty much was, so I couldn’t complain about that. Even so, I couldn’t help but miss our times together. Maybe there was still a chance for us. She had come for me, after all.

  When we reached the lot for her apartment, I grabbed her leather coat from the backseat and draped it over my arms. Trust some nosy neighbor to report a guy in handcuffs. I darted around her and stood in front of her door. Yup, Shay, I remember the place. Go ahead, try not to smile.

  She succeeded, pushing me aside, and unlocked the door.

  The apartment hadn’t changed much, everything in its place, from the polished tables to the LCD TV she probably never watched. It would have looked better in my place, though she hadn’t thought so.

  I made a beeline for the couch.

  “Don’t sit! You’re covered in blood!”

  Well, yeah. That had something to do with why I wanted to get off my feet.

  She pulled out a trash bag and threw it over a kitchen chair. “I’m sick of cleaning up your messes.” She waited until I sat, then began to unbutton my shirt, without any of the tenderness she’d once shown. Shay wet a cotton swab with alcohol and dabbed it against my cuts, ignoring my sudden intakes of breath. I definitely did not gasp, though. “I want the truth, Ady. Why on God’s good earth were you under a bridge, handcuffed, and covered in blood?”

  I shrugged. Careful what you wish for. “I robbed the National Gallery.”

  She stopped swabbing and stared at me, slack-jawed. I used to think that was just an expression. Nope. You could drive a small bus through her open mouth. Always good to be able to surprise a woman, right?

  “Shit, Ady …” She mumbled after a moment. “Your last extra-curricular activities cost you tenure, so you decided to go for broke? You’re unbelievable.”

  “Thanks! You’re not bad yourself.” I held up my cuffed hands. “Can you pick these?”

  She laughed and rocked back on her heels. “Ady, those are police cuffs, not stage props. There’s a big difference.”

  I raised my hands to my chest in mock prayer—all the better to spin the wheel. “Just give it a try, Shay. Fortes Fortuna adiuvat, you know.” When she folded her arms and eyed me, I sighed. “Fortune favors the bold.”

  “I remember. I took your class, professor.”

  Yeah. And don’t think I didn’t notice that was the second time she brought up Georgetown. Rub it in, why don’t you? Kick the injured man while he’s down. But, hey, at least she was fishing out the picks.

  Shay almost jumped when they clicked open.

  Surprise, surprise. Luck was with me.

  I rose, rubbing my bruised wrists, and sauntered to her fridge. Soy milk. Whole wheat bread. Yogurt. And not a single beer. She clearly needed my wholesome influence back in her life. And in her cupboard.

  “Why the hell do you think you even deserve my help, Ady?” She pushed me away from the fridge. Which was okay, since I’d have called it empty of real food anyway. “I’ve finally gotten my life back together. I’ve got shows scheduled most weeks—not just birthday parties, but real shows. I’m making ends meet.” She looked away. “And I’m sleeping at night without any of that relic nonsense. Why should I get pulled back into your delusions?”

  “A friend in need—”

  The water heater burst.

  “What the hell!” Shay rushed toward it.

  Yeah, not the best timing for the backswing. In all honesty I probably shouldn’t have gotten her involved, but she did know about the relics. She might not have believed before, but she would soon.

  Shay called a plumber while I tried to stem the flow of water. Which means all I accomplished was to end up a soaking mess. As soon as we got the water shut off I rummaged through Shay’s closet. Nice to see she still had a few of my things.

  Hope was not lost, after all.

  The apartment was as soaked as I had been, but there was nothing to do but wait with Shay while the heater was fixed. I wandered around, finally pausing behind her TV. She didn’t even have the damn thing hooked up right. Okay, so I owed her. I fiddled with the wires until I got the speakers working.

  Why stop there? I mean, I was exposing her to legal and paranormal danger. I could at least get her free cable, right?

  “Fortes Fortuna adiuvat.”

  A few wires in lucky positions, and wouldn’t you know it, all those pay channels came in crystal clear. If I were a bastard, I’d have called that my good deed for the week. Since I’m not, I was only gonna call it half a good deed.

  I crashed on the couch, but gave up on TV as
soon as the plumber turned on those drying fans. Damn things could wake a slumbering volcano.

  As Shay finished with the plumber, a series of crashes resounded from the glass door to the back porch. Over the noise of the fans, I wasn’t even sure anyone else had heard it, but Shay wandered over.

  “God,” she said, looking at the pair of dead sparrows that had slammed into the glass.

  I grimaced, then spread my hands. “Fortune’s a fickle mistress.” I slipped my arms around her.

  She shrugged me off, then shook her head. “I cannot take this right now … This noise is unbearable.” She massaged her temples. “It’s gonna take days for the carpet to dry. I’m getting a motel room.”

  “Great! I’ll go with you.” Probably best to get out of here, anyway. Sullivan’s goons were too dumb to find us any time soon. The spook was another story.

  She sighed, but didn’t stop me from climbing back into the VW. “I want the whole truth, Ady,” she said, starting the car. “What did you steal?”

  I scratched my head. “Most of it doesn’t matter. Just a distraction.”

  “For what?”

  “You remember how I told you about a CIA spook looking into the relics?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I remember your paranoid delusions outstripped even your insane faith in those old treasures.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to know …” I folded my hands.

  “Fine. What’s this one about?”

  “There’s an old Roman story.” I waited for her overblown sigh before continuing. “According to the story, there was a goatherd. He had everything a man could want. He had a beautiful wife, a nice house, and enough goats to ensure him a comfortable life.

  “But he often failed to make offerings to the temples. So when he fell on hard times, men said he got what he deserved. He learned one day that his wife had been sleeping with his neighbor. Heartbroken, he told her to go to him if she loved him more. And he went home and got very drunk. While he was drunk, he knocked over a candle and burned down his house, barely escaping with his life.