Where to Read Twenty Sided Sorceress Justice Called

  Justice Calling

The Twenty-Sided Sorceress: Book One

Annie Bellet

Copyright 2014, Annie Bellet

All rights reserved. Published by Doomed Muse Printing.

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

No role of this publication may exist reproduced or transmitted, in whatsoever class or by whatsoever means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may exist addressed via email to [electronic mail protected]

Cover designed by Ravven (www.ravven.com)

Formatting by Polgarus Studio (world wide web.polgarusstudio.com)

Electronic edition, 2014

If you want to exist notified when Annie Bellet'south adjacent novel is released and go free stories and occasional other goodies, please sign up for her mailing list by going to: http://tinyurl.com/anniebellet Your electronic mail address will never be shared and y'all tin can unsubscribe at any time.

Life-changing moments are sneaky petty bastards. Often we don't even know that nothing will e'er be the same until long after, and simply in hindsight can nosotros look and say, "At that place! That was information technology! 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 but somewhat pretending to heed the register in my comic and game shop. That's the benefit of being the possessor, I suppose. No one was going to tell me to be cheerful and pay attention to customers.

At that place weren't whatever, anyway. Th nights are game nighttime and we close early on. I hadn't flipped the sign however 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.

"Certain," I said, trying not to express joy. It was an erstwhile gripe. Whatever race her opponent played in the game was always OP, according to the logic of Harper. "Peradventure yous should play with a mouse instead of just your trackpad?"

"I'chiliad 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 confront the front of the store, figuring it was either a college educatee 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 homo who came in was no college student, and he definitely wasn't a soccer mom. He walked through the door and paused, his caput turning and his eyes wide from the modify between daylight and the strategically placed lamps I keep in my shop. He took in the front end 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 dubiousness gave me a moment to await him over. He looked roughly 30 years old and somewhat like a Hollywood version of a Norse God. About half dozen foot six with shaggy white-blond hair, features that a romance novel would telephone 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 volume or tabletop gaming enthusiast.

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

Not that this was weird for the boondocks of Wylde, Idaho. Most of the non-higher-educatee population isn't wholly human. We're the shape-shifter majuscule of the W. Harper herself is a fox shifter; ii of the other 3 in my game grouping are a wolverine and a coyote. Guy who owns the pawnshop adjacent 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 border of town draw all kinds of supernaturals to the area.

It was what had fatigued me here. I'd always heard the all-time identify to hide a foliage is in a forest.

I was immediately on my guard. Wards aren't really my strong suit, and so I didn't know what season 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 volume displays. I gathered my ability inside myself, preparing to send a bolt of pure energy into his breast if needed. I hadn't cast a real spell similar that in years, but I figured I could get a unmarried ane off without knocking myself unconscious with the effort. Probably.

"Can I assist y'all?" I asked, glad the counter was between us, fifty-fifty if the glass case full of dice and card boxes would be little more than than a stutter step to clear for a shifter.

"Who are you?" he said. His voice was deep, with a slight emphasis. Russian possibly. His eyes were the blueish of glacier ice and his expression nearly as welcoming.

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

"Hullo handsome," Harper said, climbing out of the overstuffed chair side by side to me that she'd been gaming in. She snapped her laptop shut and gave the newcomer a dazzling smile. She was athwart and punky, with spiky brown hair and a way of making men forget what they were going to say when she smiled.

And so she stopped smiling and her eyes got huge, focusing in on the silver feather strung around his cervix. "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 footling 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 and so dorsum at the intruder, keeping my eyes on the plumage talisman. Aye, 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 afterwards.

"I am Aleksei Kirov, a Justice of the Council of 9. And y'all," he said, gesturing at me, "are a murderer."

"What?" Harper and I said at the same fourth dimension. We shared a baffled glance. I hadn't killed anyone in my life, though not for lack of trying once. Simply still.

Behind the Justice, and invisible at the moment to anyone but myself, my spirit wolf guardian stirred, ascent from where she'd been sleeping. Wolf didn't growl though, but cocked her head and stared at Aleksei, ready for trouble but conspicuously non expecting information technology quite yet.

"I haven't killed anyone. E'er." I let become of the magic inside me earlier 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. "Yous tell the truth," he said. "Only I saw you in a vision. The Nine sent me here. At that place are shifters in danger and you were at the eye, at the crossroads betwixt their lives and their deaths."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. A modest chill went through me. The just 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 Ix was practically legend, the shifter version of gods. They had Justices, powerful shifters appointed to continue the peace among shifter p

opulations, and to keep the secret of shifter existence from well-nigh of the human earth. They were estimate, jury, and executioner all in one. Shifters didn't go up to much crime, but if they did, the sentence was well-nigh always death. Pretty good deterrent, I suppose.

"Likewise, I'g non 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 optics narrowing. Subtlety was plainly 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 power to detect lies. Harper wasn't lying considering equally 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 impale me, or at least drive me away. Nobody likes sorcerers. Probably because most of us are assholes who kill and swallow the hearts of supernatural beings for their power.

I was saved from having to verbally confirm or deny my witchiness past Ciaran. He pushed through my front door, all four foot nothing of him, his copper and silver hair neatly combed and his red glaze 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 up have that await at my things before I die of one-time age."

"For a man who watched Saint Pat bulldoze 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 twenty-four hour period before, and as always with sometime things he liked to take 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 similar detection was as piece of cake as breathing for me, and so I did the neighborly matter and helped out when he needed.

"Then, uh." I looked at Aleksei. "Since I haven't killed anyone and am not planning to, maybe yous can just go Justice somewhere else? I'k endmost store."

"I will stay here. We will talk after. My visions are never incorrect."

From how rigid he was and how intently he stared at me, I wondered if peradventure he had a sword up his ass or something. "Okay, buddy. Just tone down the creepy earlier I get back. And you'll wait exterior my store. I don't do strangers." Whoops. That came out weird. "In my shop. I mean, solitary. I mean I can't exit you here alone. So wait exterior." 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'southward nightmare. Also probably a nightmare if you have allergies. He kept information technology tidy, in its own cluttered way, but trying to keep grit off a few hundred old books, paintings, and curio cabinets total of knives, glassware, fine art plates, figurines, tools with unknown purpose, guns that last saw use during the Civil State of war, and other interesting items was a task even an immortal couldn't manage.

The store 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 y'all felt as though y'all might come effectually a table piled with swords and find the wardrobe that leads to Narnia. The air wasn't musty; information technology was perfumed with orange and clove and some sort of citrus smell from whatever Ciaran used to wipe downward the tables. The best office was that sometimes Ciaran actually did have a magical detail or two, though information technology was rare and he more often than not had me destroy them if nosotros couldn't figure out what they did. Letting normals buy magical things was just asking for afterward 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 brute flavor," I said, whacking the back of her head with my palm.

"Oh. Tiger." She grinned and rubbed her caput.

"Figures," I muttered. "Gauge 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 anyhow, but odds were that self bastard would exist similar 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 exist a super predator, right?"

"You two done gossiping?" Ciaran called back to the states. He was already halfway through the store.

Harper and I wound our fashion through the tables and cabinets toward the back part where Ciaran kept whatever 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 language for Harper'due south benefit. "But got the goods shipped in today. Some old pieces; might be worth checking out before I put a price on them. Fifty-fifty found some of those argent buttons your mum likes so much, Azalea."

Harper wrinkled her nose at him. He knew she hated existence called past her name and preferred her gamer handle. She was about to reply when she stopped cold in front end of me, forcing me to do a picayune trip the light fantastic toe 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 always vicious in here, it would domino and the whole place would crash similar a bad YouTube video.

"Where… how… no… I…" Harper couldn't go words out. She just pointed at a big stuffed fox that was perched on top of an oriental dresser.

"What about information technology, love? Are you lot all right?" Ciaran reached for Harper equally she started to sink to the floor with horrible half-mewing, half-gulping cries.

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

"That'southward 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 earlier she even realized she'd finally stopped sobbing. Which was skillful, 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 up out that way. I'd known him for maybe half an hr at present and it seemed he only had i gear and it was stuck on one level: intense.

"I will get through my records, Jade, and see if I can get the ID of the human being that sold this to me, all right?" Ciaran said. "Information technology was a beau, on Tuesday, I remember that much."

"Meet it done." Alek turned his icy glare on Harper. His gaze seemed to soften, but it was hard to tell. "And why did no 1 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. Information technology's normal for her."

"How would a poacher go her?" Harper high-strung out. "She shouldn't have fifty-fifty been in fox course."

She was correct 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 adult female 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 Surface area attracted.

"I was sent here past 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 bear upon a gun even if information technology snuggled and fabricated me waffles." I glared at him. "Oh, Universe damn yous. Now you are interrogatin

grand me. This is not cool."

"My vision says you are the primal," he said, folding impressively muscled arms over his broad chest.

"Maybe you demand 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. Assistance 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 some other glare at Alek, making it clear this was definitely his fault.

"Hey! Jade? Ciaran?" a male voice chosen out from dorsum 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, Muddied Harry. They're hirsuite friendlies."

"Is anyone man 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'southward sweater.

"Harper? You okay? What's going on?" The twins had fabricated their way back to united states of america.

Ezekiel and Levi Chapowits are Native American similar myself, but Nez Perce, non Crow. They're congenial, not identical twins, just they share a lot of the same features. Stiff bone structure, to a higher place average height, thick black pilus, nighttime eyes. Beyond that, and existence 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 upwards at Juniper Higher.

Levi is a wolverine who wears zippo simply 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 apply it to strain pasta.

lockethearde59.blogspot.com

Source: https://graycity.net/annie-bellet/526699-twenty-sided_sorceress_01_0_justice_calling.html

Share this post