Ghosts at the coast, p.1
Ghosts at the Coast, page 1
Ghosts At The Coast
S.C. Stokes
Copyright
Copyright © 2023 by S.C. Stokes
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
A Note from the Author
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
Thank You For Being Here
Glossary of Aussie Slang
A Date With Death
Half-Blood's Hex
About the Author
The S.C. Stokes Library
A Note from the Author
Welcome to Ghosts At The Coast. I’m delighted to have you here. We’ve talked linguistic choices before, but before you dive into the next installment of midlife madness, I thought a little reminder might be in order.
The series is set in Australia, so you’ll find a few classic Aussie terms in here. For fun I’ve included a glossary at the end. Hand on my heart, the definitions are straight out of the Oxford Dictionary.
That said, the book spelling is in US English, with the singular exception of the word mum when used in dialogue. It just sounds and feels right.
With that little detail out of the way, let’s dive into the magical midlife crisis of Nora Byrne.
I’ll see you on the other side.
S.C. Stokes
Chapter 1
When my mentor told me he was taking me on an out-of-this-world shopping trip, a junk yard was not what I had in mind.
Then again, with Alasdair, things were seldom what they appeared.
Alasdair’s bike sent up a plume of dust as it rolled to a halt in the dusty gravel.
I held my breath to avoid getting a lungful of the gritty mess. I could have taken my own car but riding with Alasdair had its perks.
For starters, it was a perfectly serviceable excuse to wrap my arms around the handsome Scotsman. I still wasn’t sure whether the Camp had any rules about fraternization, but it wasn’t the sort of question I could really ask.
Our little collection of Bounty Hunters numbered three: me, Alasdair, and the Old One. It would be pretty obvious who I was asking about. I liked to think I was more subtle than that.
There’d been something brewing between us for weeks now, but I was a divorced woman in my forties with two kids in tow and enough family baggage to fill the rusted-out husk of the Toyota Tarago in front of us.
So I let it brew. After all, he was my mentor, and I didn’t need work getting any more complicated.
Bounty Hunting. Turns out it isn’t at all what I’d expected. On my first day coming face-to-face with the supernatural world, I’d watched Alasdair behead an ice troll.
Well, apparently there was a lot more tracking, investigating, and training than that, at least on your average day. Some of it, like my arcane training, had been a blast. Other days, it could be a little more eccentric.
Today was shaping up to be one of the latter. If I could make it through this morning’s lesson without incident, I could be at the theme park with the kids by midday.
I’d been promising them the trip for weeks. And I tried my level best not to let them down.
I reluctantly let go of Alasdair and climbed off the bike.
“I thought you said we were going shopping?” I asked as I stared at the wall of stripped-back vehicles that formed the outer perimeter of the wrecker’s salvage yard.
“We are,” Alasdair replied as he got off his bike and set his helmet down.
I put mine beside it as was our habit, and he waved his hand over the bike, whispering something in Scottish. I felt the release of power as he worked his magic.
When it came to theft deterrents, Alasdair had a predisposition toward arcane overkill.
If the next ass to sit on the seat wasn’t his, that ass was going to be in a world of hurt.
“Why do I feel like I’ve been misled?” I replied, looking about.
Alasdair chuckled. “I figured it would be easier to get you out of bed if you thought there was a chance of getting new shoes.”
I looked down at my shiny new boots. They laced halfway up my shins, had steel plates in the toe, and looked positively badass.
“That was one time, and you said it was fine,” I replied, feeling a little defensive.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Alasdair replied as he pulled his leather knapsack out of the bike’s saddlebags. “I was worried your old sneakers were going to get you killed. Look at those boots. You could crush a gnome’s skull with ease in those.”
“And stain my favorite new boots? Not on your life, mister.” I eyed the wrecker’s yard. “Are we picking up something for the bike?”
Alasdair shook his head. “We’re here to collect payment from someone.”
“Debt collecting?” I sighed. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Are things really that quiet at the camp?”
He swung the empty pack over his shoulder and leaned close. “Enjoy the quiet days, Nora. Normally, they are just the quiet before the storm.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t feeling particularly reassured. I’d gotten into this gig for the money, and while I’d cashed in on the Red Cap’s bounty, things had been a little quiet around town ever since. On Tangalooma, I’d been fighting for my life, but the Camp doesn’t pay you for dealing with familial drama.
I had considered sending a bill to my father, but he was the King of the Winter Court and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to antagonize him now that he knew I existed. He’d been pretty clear that he wanted to meet my kids, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
My mother had run for her life from the Winter Court. I couldn’t just open my world to him.
Alasdair and I left the bike, and wandered into the wrecker’s.
“Can I help you folks?” A big man in a plaid shirt called from behind a plain steel counter. He didn’t look up. He wiped at some sort of engine component with an old rag.
“Just looking to pick up a few things. Is the yard open?”
The man lifted his gaze. “Alasdair, you old grouch. It’s been a while. I was beginning to think some magical beastie had punched your ticket.”
“Sylvester, you wound me,” Alasdair replied, approaching the counter. “You’d bet on some supernatural stray over your old friend? The beastie hasn’t been born that can punch my ticket.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?” Sylvester replied, setting the engine part on the counter and placing the cloth over it.
“Cause if I ever do meet him, I’ll run like hell.” Alasdair chortled. “Nothing like knowing your limitations, Sylvester.”
“Indeed,” Sylvester replied, leaning on the counter. “That’s why we’re here, humble purveyors of the unusual and exotic.”
“So the Yard is open for business?” Alasdair asked.
“Sure is. Full house back there. Who’s your plus one?” Sylvester’s eyes lingered on me as he weighed my presence.
“Hunter,” Alasdair replied. “Latest recruit but she’s making a name for herself.”
“Is she now?” Sylvester asked. “And here I was thinking you’d found a squeeze at last.”
I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. It was a mild mix of blushing and irritation. I didn’t particularly enjoy being talked about like I wasn’t here.
“You think he could handle me?” I laughed, leaning forward on the counter. “Sylvester, was it? You’re adorable.”
The big man smiled as he held my stare. “I’ve been called worse, by women who couldn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” Alasdair coughed like he was choking on the word. “She cut off the Red Cap’s head with his own damned sword.”
Sylvester’s eyes bulged. “That was you?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” I smiled, enjoying the shock of that particular revelation. “Crossing me was a terminally poor judgment on his part.”
Sylvester swallowed. “Then I imagine you’ll be just fine in the Yard. If you’d be so kind as to show me your mark?”
“Mark?” I threw a sideways glance at Alasdair.
“Your coin, Nora,” Alasdair replied, producing his and setting it on the counter. I’d never seen Alasdair’s before. I was not surprised in the least to see an intricate flame patterned into the surface of the coin.
I reached into my pocket and drew out mine. Its surface was engraved with a beautiful snowflake.
Ice and fire. An unusual pairing to be sure, but it wasn’t like I had an abundance of mentors to choose from, and the Old One had certainly given Alasdair little choice in the matter.
“Why do you need my mark?” I asked, borrowing the term he’d used earlier.
“The Yard is open ground.” Sylvester pocketed both coins. “The Camp has no authority here. Inside you are simply citizens of the supernatural world. You cannot collect any bount ies here, and you are responsible for your own safety. The Yard takes no responsibility for what transpires within.”
“My own safety?” I echoed his words. “From what?”
“Old grievances,” Alasdair answered. “The Yard is not governed by the Arcane Congress and those who see us as its executioners might take the opportunity to try and dispose of us.”
“And you want to go inside?” I asked, unable to fathom why we should risk our lives for whatever this place was.
Alasdair stroked his beard. “The lack of congressional oversight creates opportunity to buy goods and services that might otherwise be illegal.”
“It’s a black-market for the supernatural world?” I replied, putting two and two together.
“Oh, the Yard is so much more than that,” Sylvester said, reaching beneath the counter as he pressed an unseen button there.
There was a whirring of gears and cogs somewhere out of sight, and then a whole four-foot section of the back wall of the shop slid to the left, revealing a shadowy tunnel leading away from the room in which we stood. Mist swirled in its entryway but didn’t spill into the store itself.
I remembered sizing up the store as we’d walked into it. There’d been nothing behind it but wrecked cars.
What was this place?
“Go in peace, hunters. Your marks are yours when you return.” Sylvester nodded toward the mist-filled tunnel.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Alasdair called over his shoulder.
An uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach. When I didn’t move, Alasdair beckoned to me.
“Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got places to be.”
I started after him. “I’d watch yourself, boss. Apparently, I’m allowed to kick your ass in there.”
Alasdair laughed. “You’ll have to get in line.”
“Sylvester did get one thing right,” I began as I fell into step beside him, peacocking a little. “They don’t hold a candle to me.”
“Perks of being an ice queen, huh?” he replied with that cheeky half-smile of his. “You might want to keep your winter vibe in check today. Here your kind tend to be either killers or commodities.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied as we strolled into the dark tunnel with its swirling mists.
The further we got into the tunnel, the more my instincts urged me to draw on my power.
“Just relax,” Alasdair said. “We’re almost there.”
I looked over my shoulder, but I couldn’t even see through the mist to the store beyond. As the mist engulfed us, I was struck with the impression the store was no longer there.
Or we weren’t. It was a strange sensation, but the very nature of the tunnel itself changed and the hum of the arcane energy running through it felt different.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The Yard,” Alasdair replied.
I gave him a shove. “I gathered that much. I mean, where is it? The whole place feels strange.”
“You can feel that?” Alasdair asked.
“Of course. The energy here doesn’t feel right—why?”
“We’re no longer in the mortal realm,” Alasdair replied.
“We’re beyond the Veil?” I pressed forward, more curious as to what lay beyond the smoke.
“Sort of,” Alasdair replied. “As far as I can tell, the Yard is a construct. It lies between the realms, not in our world, hence the Congress has no power here. But neither are we beyond the Veil. If we were, the magic would be in harmony with your own.”
I thought back to our flight from the Red Cap’s ambush. Alasdair and I had fled through the Veil. Strange as it had been, I hadn’t felt this unsettling sensation at all. I’d almost felt at home in spite of the fact we’d been running for our lives.
“It feels dangerous,” I replied as the mists ahead of us started to thin.
Light filtered into the tunnel, guiding us onward.
“It is,” Alasdair replied, “so stay alert. At least together there are two of us, so we have that on our side.”
The mist dissipated, and we found ourselves standing at the end of the tunnel looking out over a vast field.
The field was covered in rows of tents, gazebos, and portable shelters. It reminded me of a farmer’s market, only larger than anything I’d ever seen. I looked up. Instead of the blue sky I was expecting, it was shades of violet shot through with patches of pink.
You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
I turned to Alasdair. “If it’s so dangerous, why are we here?”
“We may not have any authority here, but neither does the Congress. So it’s a veritable black-market for goods one might not be able to find anywhere in the mortal realm.”
“And we need them because...?” I asked. I was still a little wet behind the ears when it came to bounty hunting but I thought we’d done pretty well for ourselves so far.
“Last week we battled the Leanansidhe. We’re fortunate she bit off more than she could chew, but she’s vanquished, not dead. We’re not paddling in the kiddie pool anymore. We’re in the deep end of the supernatural world. If we want to survive, we’re going to need an edge.”
“And this is where you expect to find it?” I asked, looking at the tent city.
“Exactly. In the supernatural pecking order, humans—even humans with powers—are more often prey than predator. You’re not nearly as used to your powers as the Leanansidhe. She’s had centuries to hone her craft. In the absence of a few spare centuries of training, we’re going to cheat.”
“So we are going shopping,” I replied, perking up a little. Anything that I could substitute for cardio would be welcome relief.
“Yes, just not the shopping you were expecting.”
“I thought you said something about collecting a debt.”
“That’s our first stop.” Alasdair led me toward the market.
The ground was soft and a little squelchy underfoot. Like it had recently rained, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I kept my eyes moving as we walked; Alasdair called it a swivel. He was always scanning, his head swiveling from left to right, searching for threats before returning to the path ahead.
I had never seen such a dense concentration of magical creatures in a single place.
At the edge of the markets stood a pen. An ogre rested against its gate, haggling with a man in a black cloak. Inside the pen, dozens of small wooly creatures milled about chewing on the grass. They looked like miniature sheep but with wool the color of charcoal and legs so short you could barely see them beneath their round forms.
We passed an open-air tavern with an old worn timber floor, no walls, and no roof. Patrons sat on stools or stood around wine casks, drinking while listening to a musician who at a glance appeared to be a Summer Sidhe playing an acoustic guitar. The Sidhe’s fingers moved like quicksilver as he strummed. His voice was smooth and soft like an angel.
As we strode past, the Summer Sidhe raised his head, his amber eyes meeting mine. I felt the air around me twist as he gathered his power. It was a reflex; I could tell from the manner in which he played. He gave it no conscious thought as his nature recognized mine. Then as quickly as it had happened, the gathering power dissipated and he averted his gaze.
As my powers grew, it was getting harder to conceal my true nature. Other Sidhe seemed able to sense my presence, my human half no longer able to provide enough cover for the burgeoning power of Winter that seemed to be growing by the day.
I was starting to become accustomed to the recognition and responses of those around me. The normals in my life had noticed no change. Sally had come closest, but in the end settled for the difference she detected being my new haircut.
On the plus side, I was getting better at discerning supernatural creatures around me. I knew, for instance, that Naerine Oaksidhe had been keeping tabs on me. I’d caught her in town a number of times, doing nothing in particular other than observing me at a distance. Once she’d used a glamor, but Sleet’s lessons had come in handy and my Winter Sight had shown her for who she truly was.
Her presence didn’t bother me. As far as I was concerned, we were even. I guessed things were different for her. She had responsibilities in the Summer Court, and now that she knew who I was—my true heritage—she had problems.
And they had only grown when my father had sworn her to secrecy. An oath she doubtless would not have considered without the power of the enraged Winter King hanging over her head. Now she was stuck. She couldn’t tell the Summer Court about my identity without breaking her oath, but neither could she let the Winter King’s offspring wander through Summer’s domain unchecked and unsupervised.
