Midnight Labyrinth
An Elemental Legacy Novel
Elizabeth Hunter
Contents
Midnight Labyrinth
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
Epilogue
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Afterword
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The Elemental Legacy Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Elizabeth Hunter
He’s one human caught in a tangled maze of theft, politics, magic, and blood.
In other words, it’s just another night.
MIDNIGHT LABYRINTH
Benjamin Vecchio escaped a chaotic childhood and grew to adulthood under the protection and training of one of the Elemental world’s most feared vampire assassins. He’s traveled the world and battled immortal enemies.
But everyone has to go home sometime.
New York means new opportunities and allies for Ben and his vampire partner, Tenzin. It also means new politics and new threats. Their antiquities business is taking off, and their client list is growing. When Ben is challenged to find a painting lost since the Second World War, he jumps at the chance. This job will keep him closer to home, but it might just land him in hot water with the insular clan of earth vampires who run Manhattan.
Tenzin knew the painting would be trouble before she laid eyes on it, but she can’t deny the challenge intrigues her. Human laws mean little to a vampire with a few millennia behind her, and Tenzin misses the rush of taking what isn’t hers.
But nothing is more dangerous than a human with half the story, and Ben and Tenzin might end up risking their reputations and their lives before they escape the Midnight Labyrinth.
MIDNIGHT LABYRINTH is the first book in an all-new contemporary fantasy series by Elizabeth Hunter, author of the Elemental Mysteries and the Irin Chronicles.
Praise for Elizabeth Hunter
Praise for Midnight Labyrinth…
This marvelous story is part caper, part mystery and part political skullduggery as an attempt to do a good deed backfires spectacularly. Although this is a stand-alone book, Hunter's legion of fans will be thrilled to find a number of familiar characters included in the tale. ...Primarily a caper novel, it is also jam-packed with character revelations and sometimes painful growth.
—RT Magazine
Familiar and pulse-driving motifs readers have come to expect from Hunter, supplemented by a mystery-driven plot.
—Kendrai Meeks, author of the Red Hood Chronicles
Praise for Elizabeth Hunter…
Elizabeth Hunter’s books are delicious and addicting, like the best kind of chocolate. She hooked me from the first page, and her stories just keep getting better and better. Paranormal romance fans won’t want to miss this exciting author!
—Thea Harrison, NYT best-selling author of the Elder Races series
The Staff and The Blade is a towering work of romantic fantasy that will captivate the reader’s mind and delight their heart. Elizabeth Hunter’s ability to construct such a sumptuous narrative time and time again is nothing short of amazing.
—ReaderEater.com
“Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I’ve read this year. It’s sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet, and at the same time emotionally intense.”
—Nocturnal Book Reviews
“Hunter has created a magnificent world of amazing characters entangled in a web of deceit, danger, loss, power, politics, and love that will have your heart racing time and time again.”
—Cross My Heart Book Reviews
Midnight Labyrinth
Copyright © 2017
Elizabeth Hunter
ISBN: 9781941674154
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by: Damonza
Edited by: Anne Victory
Formatted by: Elizabeth Hunter
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold 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. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, please delete it and purchase your own copy from an authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Created with Vellum
For every reader who ever asked,
“So are you going to write a Ben and Tenzin book?”
Reader, I decided to give you five.
I hope you enjoy the first, and I thank you for your patience. I’ve been waiting to write this book nearly as long as you’ve been waiting to read it.
With much love, EH
To be trusted is a greater
compliment than being loved.
—George MacDonald
1
He chased his quarry up the ladder, launching himself onto a gravel-strewn roof in Hell’s Kitchen. Ducking under a broken scaffold, he followed the dark figure who threatened to elude him. She was half his size, dressed in a black hoodie and leggings. She moved like a cat in the dim, predawn light.
She was getting away.
He ran left, skimming the side of a cinder block building before he leapt across a narrow vent, using longer legs to his advantage. He landed hard, rolled in a single somersault, then took to his feet in one smooth movement. He could feel gravel in the small of his back, and his arm was bleeding from the bite of a rusted ladder, but he kept running.
He was gaining on her. He scanned the landscape as he’d been taught, mentally calculating the most efficient way to get from his position to hers.
His lungs pumped in steady rhythm. In-in-out. He pulled in the humid air and tried not to choke. He’d been running at seven thousand feet the week before. His thin black shirt stuck to his skin. Grey light filtered over a city that still clung to the memory of the previous day’s heat. New York City in July. Another day; another sauna.
The small figure scrambled up the side of a building—sticking to the stained brick like a spider—then she disappeared over the edge and into nothing.
He wasn’t concerned for her safety.
He found the lips of the bricks she’d used to climb. He wasn’t as fast as she was. He was forced to take his time crawling up the side of the building, finding each fingerhold and jutting brick to move his body up the wall. From a distance, he’d appear to be sticking too. He felt a fingernail tear,
but he didn’t pause.
Hoisting his body over the edge of the wall, he kept himself low and scanned the urban landscape. Water towers and rusted fire escapes mixed with recently gentrified gardens and sleek patio furniture.
She was barely visible in the distance, leaping from the top of one building to the next.
He ran after her, but he knew it was futile. She’d gained too much ground during his careful climb. She disappeared over the side of another building, and Ben knew he’d lost her.
Panting, he followed her tracks, not allowing himself to slow down. He leapt over the edge of a familiar building and jumped fire escape railings five stories down until he hung on the last rung of the old ironwork.
Ben Vecchio closed his eyes and did three rapid pull-ups, pushing his muscles right to the edge of exhaustion before he gave them a break. He had a runner’s build, but he was six feet tall. Moving a large frame quickly would always be a challenge. He dropped to the ground and jogged down West 47th Street to the deserted playground. The gate was locked, but he easily jumped over.
She’d taught him that trick early.
A small hooded figure perched on the top of a red-and-green play structure. Still breathing deeply, Ben jumped to the first platform and squatted in front of her.
“Believe it or not, you are getting faster,” Zoots said.
“That wall nearly killed me.” With the adrenaline waning, Ben was starting to feel his hands.
“But you made it up. That’s a ten-foot brick wall, and you climbed it.”
“Slowly.”
“But you climbed it,” Zoots said. “Remember, I grew up here. I know every inch of those roofs. I have the advantage.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I have to be faster.”
It had to be more instinctive. He wouldn’t have the luxury of running in familiar places.
Zoots rolled her eyes and pulled out a cigarette. “Whatever, man.”
When he’d first moved to New York, he’d watched. There were parkour and free-running groups, but they were cliquish and Ben was a beginner. Though he’d been drilled in martial arts and weapons training since he was twelve years old, parkour was new to him. It was only the lightning-quick reflexes of a girl he’d met a few years ago that had attracted him to the practice. She’d moved inhumanly fast.
Of course, she hadn’t been strictly human.
Ben was. The sweat dripping into his eyes proved it. He wiped it away and sat next to Zoots.
He’d found her by watching. She wasn’t part of the group, but they knew her. She was the one they wandered over to talk to when they were practicing. Zoots was tiny—barely five feet tall—with a slight figure. Her skin was pale under her hood. Her hair was short and her eyes were dark. She came out in the early morning and at night. He’d never seen her in the middle of the day.
It had taken Ben weeks to figure out who she was and what she was to the runners in Central Park. If the young traceurs in the park had a guru, it was Zoots. She claimed to be self-taught from YouTube videos, but Ben suspected that Zoots was like him. He’d been running since he could remember, mostly to get away from trouble. She was just better at it.
Zoots ran everywhere, and she was a loner. She’d ignored Ben for weeks until her curiosity got the better of her. She’d talked to him, and he’d eventually hired her. He wanted to learn parkour, but he wasn’t interested in joining any group. Zoots nodded and told Ben to meet her at Hell’s Kitchen Playground and to bring two hundred bucks cash.
So he did.
She finished her cigarette, flicked off the cherry, and carefully tucked the butt into a tin she kept in her pocket. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been doing this for six months now. You know the basics. You sure you want to keep paying me for lessons?”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“It’s your money, man.” She smiled. “I just spend it.”
“I need to be faster.”
She eyed him. “That’s practice. You’re twice my size; you gotta figure out your own style. Tall means longer legs and longer arms, but it also means more meat to move.”
“I’ll keep paying you if you keep teaching me.”
“Like I said, it’s your money.” Zoots narrowed her eyes. “You told me once you needed to learn this for work.”
“I do.” His fingers itched for a cigarette. He’d stopped smoking when he was fourteen—his uncle could smell the slightest trace of cigarette smoke—but he still wanted one occasionally. Especially when people started asking personal questions.
“But one of the guys in the park said you were in antiquities or something.”
Damn nosy kids. “Yeah.”
Zoots frowned. “You jumping roofs at the museum or something?”
Ben couldn’t stop the smile. “I work for private clients.”
“Huh.” She nodded. “So… you’re into some serious Indiana Jones kinda shit, huh?”
Ben rose and raked a hand through his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’d look good in a hat?”
He caught the quick flush on her cheeks before he jumped off the play structure and walked toward the gate. “See you next week, Zoots.”
“Later, Indiana.”
Ben caught the train to Spring Street station, then walked toward Broadway and his favorite café. He sat at the picnic tables outside Café Lilo and watched the growing rush of pedestrians filling the sidewalk. He read a newspaper someone had left behind while he drank coffee and devoured a bagel.
There was no typical crowd at Café Lilo, which was one of the reasons Ben liked it. Stockbrokers, dog walkers, young parents, and college kids all frequented the family-owned café. A few tourists came in, but it wasn’t a flashy place. Morning delivery and sanitation trucks competed in the narrow streets while a growing crowd of taxis and hired cars dodged between them, heading toward Lower Manhattan.
He flipped to the Arts section of the paper and made a few notes about gallery openings. An auction announcement. A charity gala sponsored by some outfit called Historic New York. A new surrealist exhibit opening at the Museum of Modern Art.
His sunlight quota met, he headed back to the building on Mercer he was still renovating. He’d called the massive, unfinished penthouse home for two years. Both stories had finished floors and the semblance of rooms. The roof garden was a work in progress.
He nodded at the silent doorman, who was known for discretion more than amiability, and took the elevator to the top floor. He had two full floors of the building. He pushed the button for the living area on the top floor, bypassing his office on the floor below.
The loft was home. It was his office.
Finely honed reflexes were the only thing that saved him from the three-inch-thick book that dropped from the loft overhead.
The loft could also be a death trap.
He glared up. “What are you doing?” There were books—his books—scattered on the floor under her loft. “Tenzin, what the hell?”
Another book fell flat on the floor to his left.
“Stop throwing my books!”
A dark head poked out, cloaked in carefully placed shadows that protected her from sunlight. “Did you move my swords?” She held out another book, narrowed her eyes, and dropped it.
“Cut it out!” Ben shouted. “And no, I did not move your swords. I swear, Tenzin—”
“Are you sure?” A small figure floated out of the loft like the proverbial angel of book death, arms stretched out with two of his massive art books in her hands. “Are you sure you didn’t move my swords?”
Damn pain-in-the-ass, stubborn wind vampire.
Ben glared at her. “I did not…”
Oh shit. He had.
“I told you,” she said.
“One sword, Tenzin! One. Sword.” He held his hands out, ready to rescue his books. “Do not drop those books.”
Tenzin hovered over him, a pis
sed-off, flying demon with a pretty round face and a sheet of black hair falling around her. She looked young, but she wasn’t. She was one of the most ancient elemental vampires on the planet, born on the northern steppes of Asia thousands of years before. She was also Ben’s partner.
And a book abuser.
She wouldn’t have tried it when she’d been working with his uncle, Giovanni Vecchio. Of course, Giovanni was a rare-book collector and a fire vampire who would have seriously wounded her if she tried.
Tenzin narrowed her eyes. “It’s not nice when someone messes with your stuff, is it?”
“I didn’t damage your damn rapier! The way you had it placed, it almost took out my eye every time I left the downstairs bathroom. So I moved it. I didn’t drop it on its hilt from a height of twelve feet!”
“It wouldn’t have taken out your eye if you weren’t looking at your phone all the time. You should watch where you’re going.”
“You’re making me mental.” His hardbacks were still suspended in the air. “Please put my books down. I’ll tell Giovanni you’re abusing them if you don’t.”
Tenzin had been friends with his uncle hundreds of years before Ben had been born, and they’d worked as assassins for a time. Tenzin wasn’t afraid of his uncle, but she found Giovanni’s disapproval annoying.