half-lich 02 - void weaver Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Copyright

  Get Exclusive Content!

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  Author's Note

  Get Exclusive Content!

  Giveaway!

  A Sneaky Epilogue

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Copyright

  Get Exclusive Content!

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  Author's Note

  Get Exclusive Content!

  Giveaway!

  A Sneaky Epilogue

  THE VOID WEAVER

  An Ashwood Novel

  Half-Lich Series, Book 2

  By Lee Dignam & Katerina Martinez

  THE VOID WEAVER

  An Ashwood Novel

  Half-Lich Series, Book 2

  Copyright © 2016 by Lee Dignam & Katerina Martinez. All rights reserved.

  Published by Katerina Martinez.

  Cover Art by Rebecca Frank Art

  Editing by Stacia Williams

  Visit: www.ashwoodchronicles.com

  ***

  WARNING: This book is intended for mature audiences since it features mature language and some explicit sex scenes.

  ***

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or tell your friends about this serial to help spread the word!

  Thank you for supporting my work.

  Get Exclusive Content!

  Get an EXCLUSIVE peek at Book 3 “Night and Chaos” as well as not available anywhere else Ashwood content when you sign up to the Ashwood Reader’s Group Newsletter! Details on the exclusive Launch Day giveaway can be found at the back of this book!

  Their enemy is getting away. Their danger is just getting started…

  Alice is in hiding. Holed up in a magically-protected house without her main weapon, the supernatural bounty hunter wants nothing more than to hunt Nyx down. But her enemy is in hiding too, and without her powers the dangerous Pain Children are more than a match for her.

  When Alice learns that Isaac Moreau remains in Magistrate custody, she has no choice but to follow Nyx’s trail without backup. Her only chance to catch the villain may lie in Isaac’s attempt to learn the dark, deadly secret of the Void. His failure could get them all killed in the process.

  Prologue

  Dark Kiss

  Raegan Theroux was a dead girl walking, and within the next hour of her life she would know it.

  Her evening began just like any other did. At half past five in the afternoon, after the nurse arrived, Raegan left her mother’s side and took the subway halfway across town to her place of work; a small, 70’s style all-chrome diner clinging to the edge of the Warwick financial district, a dwarf among giants. The yellow neon light on top spelled the word “Kasey’s”, and hanging from one of the long windows was another sign which read “Burger and Fries, only $3.99 after 8pm.”

  The diner sat on a busy street opposite a gas station. It had a small parking lot all to itself, black and white checkerboard tiles, and red vinyl seats. Mounted on the walls next to a number of—tastefully fake—platinum records were images of Johnny Cash, the Beatles, and the three kings; Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, and Freddie Mercury.

  Kasey’s was also the proud owner of a classic jukebox that let you play a whole host of old school songs, if you had the quarters for it. No one used it much these days, but Raegan did when the place was quiet. She had a special key she could use to make it work without the need for quarters and enjoyed watching the records slide out of the rack, slip onto the turntable, and wait for the needle.

  Just after six, a couple of minutes late for her shift courtesy of the clogged up and piss-ridden Ashwood metro system, Raegan slipped into her black and Barbie pink uniform and got to work waiting tables during the dinner rush. It wasn’t a job she enjoyed, serving plate after plate of burgers, chili cheese fries, and fried chicken for minimum wage plus tips, but it was something, and someone needed to pay her mother’s medical bills.

  Raegan had wanted to be a musician once, a singer, and had been for a time. She and a couple of her college friends had started a little rock band and had landed a couple of small shows playing covers. They were working up to originals. But when her mom got sick she had to, as her own mother had put it, give that crap up and get a real job.

  And now she was here, at midnight on a Friday, getting ready to close up on her own because Marie’s babysitter had only been paid up to eleven and she needed to get home early. It wasn’t the first time Marie had pulled a similar line on a Friday, and Raegan was sure if she checked her social media account in an hour or so she’d see pictures of Marie at some club somewhere with a drink in her hand and a guy attached to her mouth.

  Whatever, Raegan thought, and she went over to the jukebox, unlocked it, and slid a record onto the turntable. A mariachi band was playing and Johnny Cash was singing about falling into a burning ring of fire when Raegan spotted the large truck pulling into the diner’s parking lot. She wasn’t sure what it was at first, but when she went to the door to flip the sign from open to closed, the massive, rectangular crushing machine attached to the cockpit identified it as a garbage truck.

  Raegan stared through the glass door, seeing both the truck and her own ghostly, caramel skinned reflection. When it became clear that the driver, a tall man wearing a set of blue coveralls and sporting a receding hairline and a comb over, was stepping out of his truck with the intention of coming into the diner, she grabbed the open/closed sign and held it between her fingers. The diner didn’t close for another half an hour, but she had been left on her own and she had a subway train to catch. It was either close early or miss her train.

  The garbage man came up to the door just as Raegan flipped the sign to Closed.

  “Sorry,”
she said through the glass, “But we’re closed.”

  “Aww, no! Aren’t you normally open a while longer?” the man asked as he approached.

  “Yeah, but we’re closing early tonight for… maintenance.”

  The man smiled. “That’s a shame. Listen, if I could trouble you for a cup of coffee, that’s all I really want—I’ve got food in the truck.”

  “I’m really sorry but I’ve turned the machine off. I think they do coffee at the gas station across the road though, right? Maybe you could try there?”

  “I could, but if I’m honest, that coffee tastes terrible. Yours is pretty good.”

  Raegan realized she hadn’t yet let go of the sign on the door. Her hands fell away from it covered in a thin film of sweat.

  “All I need is a cup of coffee before my rounds and I’ll be out of your hair,” the man said, smiling. “I’ll drop you a big tip?”

  Raegan opened the door and let the night in remembering she had a baseball bat under the counter, and telling herself she would use it if she had to.

  “Ahh, Johnny Cash,” said the garbage man as he walked inside, rubbing his hands and courteously nodding at Raegan who had stepped aside. “I haven’t heard this song in a while. Big Country fan?”

  “Big oldies fan,” she said, closing the door behind him. For a garbage man, he didn’t smell bad. She circled around the counter, making a mental note of the baseball bat lying inert under the cash register, and asked “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Diesel n’ dynamite.”

  Raegan stopped at the coffee machine and turned her head. “I’m sorry? I didn’t get that.”

  The garbage man smiled. “Sorry. Means I like it strong, dark, and with three sugars.”

  “Alright, coming right up.”

  He drummed his fingers on the counter to the tune of the music until the song was over. When Raegan turned around again with the coffee in a to-go cup, she found him looming over the jukebox and selecting another song.

  “Coffee’s ready,” she said, placing the cup on the counter for him to pick up.

  The garbage man turned around and smiled, but he did something she hadn’t expected him to do, something which didn’t… feel… quite right. He had started dancing to Johnny Cash’s “I walk the line” as he approached the counter, stepping and hitching, doing a cowboy boogie and singing along with the music.

  Raegan smiled a nervous smile. “You’re definitely a fan, then,” she said.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, grabbing the cup of coffee and helping himself to a stool at the bar. “I went to see him back in, oh, ninety-three I think it was. Willie Nelson was at that one, and Mellencamp. Charlie Daniels, too. Man, that guy can fiddle, let me tell you. Still got the t-shirt from that one somewhere. Little faded now, though.” He took a sip of the coffee, smacked his lips, and raised the cup in a gesture of cheerful satisfaction. “Now that’s good stuff. Exactly what I needed.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “That’s two fifty.”

  The garbage man went to reach for his pocket and then his eyes went wide. His coveralls didn’t have any pockets. “Oh shoot,” he said, and he laughed at himself—a real high-pitched giggle more appropriate for a little girl than a grown man. “Left my wallet in the truck. I’ll just go get it.”

  “No,” Raegan said, having immediately decided that it would take longer for him to retrieve his wallet and pay her than it would for her to simply pay the two fifty out of her own pocket and call it a night. “It’s on the house… since you’ve given me a little dance.”

  The garbage man smiled again, a big, wide, wolfish grin. “That’s real kind of you. I’m going to come back here tomorrow night and make sure to plant a nice, crisp, twenty on your lap for being so kind.”

  “You really don’t have to, it’s fine.”

  “No, no. I insist. What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t repay such generosity? Too many bad things happen to good people these days, but I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Wow, that’s… that’s really nice of you…”

  Doug,” he said, “Name’s Douglas M Church. I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself a long time ago. I come here so often I just assume everyone knows my name by now.”

  “Well, now I do.”

  She looked up at the clock hanging sentry over the front door. Twelve fifteen had come and gone, and she hadn’t even started cleaning up yet. If she wasn’t out of here in ten minutes she’d miss her train, and a cab ride home would cost more than she had made here tonight. When her eyes fell back on Doug, he was grinning at her.

  A cold shiver ran down the length of her spine, rooting her to the spot momentarily. The world swam in and out of focus as Doug mentioned something about having visited New Orleans a couple of years ago. Instinctively she reached, as subtly as she could, for the baseball bat beneath the counter and gripped the handle. But the moment passed, her mind righted itself—what the fuck are you doing, Raegan?—and she let the baseball bat go.

  “I’m sorry,” Raegan said, “But I really need to close up. I have a train to catch and—”

  “Say no more,” he said, laughing and putting one of his hands up. He stood and snatched the coffee from the counter. “This big mouth of mine could talk for hours.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, following him to the door.

  “Anyway, thanks for the coffee. I appreciate it. And I’ll be back tomorrow to keep my promise, don’t you worry.”

  Raegan reached for the door handle and as she went to pull it realized that the music changed. Johnny Cash was no longer singing; instead she heard a woman’s voice humming some kind of soft, light, song. It felt almost like an operatic piece, but since when do we have operas in the juke? The record skipped, and when Raegan turned her head to open the glass door, the proximity of the—monster—woman standing on the other side of the glass made her jerk away and smack Doug’s coffee into his chest.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, more concerned with having possibly burned the poor man than the woman who had just given her a fright.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Doug said, “These clothes will get into a lot more trouble before the night is over, believe me.”

  The door twinkled open and the woman came in. Her blonde hair was frizzy and damp, her clothes were soaked, but she had an air of grace Raegan couldn’t ignore. The woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled, but Raegan’s mind superimposed upon her the image she had seen from the other side of that door. The skin around the woman’s lips had been black, hadn’t it? Hadn’t she seen tiny black lines spreading out of the corners of her mouth?

  “Hello,” said the woman who, despite how cold the air was and how wet she was, didn’t seem to be shivering. “It’s quite cold out there. Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Raegan said, her voice shaking, “But we just closed.”

  “Oh, now, don’t be like that Raegan,” Doug said, “This poor girl needs help. Why don’t you come inside and we’ll see about warming you up?”

  The woman looked quizzically at Raegan and waited for an answer.

  “I, no, I really can’t,” Raegan said, “I have to clean up and catch the train before the metro closes for the night.”

  “I have a truck outside. I could give you a ride if you like?”

  Her mouth was starting to dry up, and she could feel the steadily increasing speed of her own heart. Catching a ride with a stranger wasn’t exactly her idea of being responsible, but then wasn’t catching a cab the exact same thing? It wasn’t, she supposed. Cab drivers drove people around in exchange for money, and that—in itself—provided some level of security. Hopping into some random man’s garbage truck didn’t have that.

  She scratched the back of her hand, sighed, and said “Okay. Come inside.”

  Raegan was about to turn around and head for the counter when she realized the juke had stopped playing again. She headed toward it instea
d of going for the counter, pulled her key out of the machine, and shut it down. A moment later, when she was about to reach the counter, she heard the music start playing. She stopped walking, held onto the counter for support, and turned her head slowly, listening to each floaty note as it touched her ears and wormed its way into her heart. But the jukebox was dark.

  “Something wrong?” Doug asked. He had gotten up and was stretching his back.

  “Do you hear that?” Raegan asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “The music.”

  Doug turned his head and looked at the jukebox. He turned back to Raegan and shrugged. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe you just got the music in you.”

  “Maybe…”

  “Anyway, let me know when you’re ready to roll. I’ll be in the truck.”

  “Sure…” Raegan said, trailing off. Her eyes were starting to sag. Doug said something else, but he sounded like he was underwater. She couldn’t hear anything now, in fact, except for the song. What is that song?

  Her hand slipped, her knees gave, and she hit the ground. She was aware, in the same way a dreamer is aware of anything, of the blonde woman fast approaching and kneeling beside her. She took Raegan’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” the blonde woman said, only Raegan heard that with her mind and not her ears.

  “Everything… alright…” Raegan repeated, almost dreamily.

  Slowly, almost as if to kiss her, Helena bowed over Raegan’s face. The blonde woman smiled, and when she smiled, the same black veins Raegan had thought she had earlier seen surrounding the woman’s mouth reappeared. Helena’s eyes became bright blue headlights on a dark road. Raegan tried to turn her head to shield herself from the brightness—too much, too much—but the effort she made was too weak. In a moment, she felt a set of lips press against hers.

  They were cold lips, but Raegan surrendered to the song playing on the juke and in her mind, to the kiss, and to Helena. In the moment of transfer, when Nyx’s dark energy passed between mouths like a breath of shadow, Raegan’s mind took her back to the first time she had ever been kissed by a boy named Carter Higgs when she was fourteen years old.