By
Alexia Purdy
&
J.T. Lewis
Ever Dead
(A Dark Faerie Tale Series)
Copyright © March 2015 Alexia Purdy & J.T. Lewis
All rights reserved
Published by
Lyrical Lit. Publishing
Cover Design by Alexia Purdy
Photography from Shutterstock
www.alexiapurdybooks.com
J.T. Lewis Blog/Website
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Author’s Note
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
Author’s Note
From J.T. Lewis
Story Background
First off, I have to say that I have always loved Alexia Purdy’s amazing stories!
We’ve been friends for many years now, and when she offered me a chance to Beta-read History of Fire, part of her Dark Faerie Tale series, I jumped at the chance.
The concept was unique…because of the Unseelie’s trying to take over the world in the previous book Ever Wrath; there were now a whole slew of Unseelie in the human world.
Benton and friends take on the assignment of trying to remove them, but many times this resulted in the destruction of said beast on the human side of the barrier.
Part of my amazement of Alexia’s work has always been the way she creates new fantasy worlds for her stories…an amazement born in part by my background in mysteries and thrillers…genres that do not require recreating the earthly realm.
It was also this background however that got me to thinking…
“Hmmm….with all of those deaths…there would have to be at least one detective pulling his hair out at this point…trying to figure out who was murdering these people…and even who these people were!”
Giddy now with the prospect of a story line that we could collaborate on, I proffered the idea to Alexia.
Of course, I had to wait several months for the idea to filter down through her publisher, agent and attorney…just kidding! She loved the idea!
Thus was born Hank Snowden and his amazing dog Luci! Along the way of solving the who, and the why of the crimes, Hank inadvertently discovers something about himself that has long been hidden deep in his being…something magical!
I had a great time writing this and delving into the art of creating another world…so much so that I will be taking Hank Snowdon forward into his own series…tentatively titled…Hank Snowdon, Wizard!
So in essence, this story is a companion book to two series…Alexia’s Dark Faerie Tales series as well as Hank’s new one.
I can’t thank Alexia enough for working with me on what I consider a pretty awesome storyline. We both hope you will enjoy it!
J.T. Lewis
Alexia Purdy
Prologue
The sirens blared behind him, never taking notice of the lonely figure creeping down the way.
Benton pushed forward, limping. The blowing rain swept his scraggly, dark brown hair into his eyes, causing him to squeeze them shut. Shoving the strands back, he spotted a doorway down the alley he’d just turned into.
He had to wrap the jagged cut across his bicep. It was a deep one, soaking his shirt from the inside out despite the furious downpour. He checked the knob of the door, finding it unlocked before giving it a good, hard shove. The metal screamed into the night, but the wailing of sirens drowned it out.
Leaning against the cold steel door, he found the lock and bolted it shut. The building was a wrecked mess of abandonment, like many he’d holed up in before. The rain outside pattered against the rusted metal roof before drizzling down the support beams into puddles across the floor of what looked like an old factory. Dusty machinery, gears, rods and other gadgets lay rusting in the puddles formed on the floor.
Making his way toward the second floor area overlooking the factory, Benton hoped to find a dry spot to spend the night.
Running into a stack of rods, he cursed under his breath as they rattled across his path causing such an earful of ruckus, he was sure he’d be discovered. Luckily, the weather kept everyone inside their homes for the most part, and a place like this didn’t invest in constant twenty-four hour surveillance.
Upstairs in the barren office, the floor was covered in reams of old computer paper that were torn and shredded by whatever inhabited these walls now. Benton found an old sofa made of cheap pleather ripped at the edges and well worn. He wiped at the dusty layer that had settled on its surface before sitting down to examine his arm.
Peeling off his coat and hoodie was an excruciating experience. The blood was already drying to the layers of skin and cloth, ripping at the edges when he got his arm through.
“Shit!” he cursed, feeling the pain shock his system. It was enough for him to have to pause and let it drain away before he continued. Inhaling a deep, head straightening breath, he managed to pull out a bottle of water from his pack strapped to his hip. Pouring it onto the wound, he grimaced at the sudden burn.
“Mother fuu...”
He bit down on his lip and continued to dig through his pack for something useful.
He found the herbs he’d collected earlier. He’d learned much about them reading grimoires and studying with other witches and warlocks at the Scren Palace in the Land of Faerie. It was going to come in handy.
About friggin’ time, he thought.
Finding the right leather baggie filled with a mixture of crushed herbs and essential oils, he dug a handful out and pressed the patch over the long cut that was still oozing blood with every movement he made. Inhaling sharply, as he pressed down on the wound, the blood mixing with the concoction that some southern witch had drilled into his head. She’d shown him how easy they were to find…they were very common plants that grew almost anywhere.
What was that obnoxious witch’s name?
Her name evaded him for he hadn’t favored her style of teaching. In fact he’d found her downright annoying and dry. Still, he was relieved that he’d paid enough attention to heal himself out here by himself. Without anyone else to w
atch his back, he had to know more than just sword fighting to survive.
As the pain slid away, he knew it would be time to remove the patch and cauterize the wound himself. The thought made him cringe and he cursed the Unseelie faery who’d caused him the wound in the first place. The array of scars he was collecting wasn’t overtly crazy, but it could get pretty bad if every fight he got into sliced him up such as this one. Without thinking, he pulled the mash from the bloody cut, immediately sending a coursing vein of fire into his flesh.
“Fuck!”
Benton bent over as the pain amplified…it was beyond anything he’d felt before. Searing for a long, unsavory moment, it finally faded away into a dull, calmly throbbing ache. The herbal mash kept infection at bay and helped the wound heal, but he still had to seal it with a quick burn. Manipulating fire was his specialty as a Fire Elemental, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be an almost unbearable procedure.
The night rained on and he finally settled on the old sofa, covering it with old computer paper beforehand. A dusty old blanket he’d found hidden in one of the old standing storage cabinets covered his body for added warmth. Finding the pillow he’d stashed into his pack, which could conveniently shrink everything he wanted to stuff into it, he silently reminded himself to stash a sleeping bag and blanket into it at a store tomorrow.
He’d lost his last one when he’d been attacked by a gathering of Unseelie who’d jumped him by surprise back in Houston. He’d taken mighty fine care of that little faction with a swift, one-sided fire fight. They got to his sleeping bag and blanket, but he’d gotten their hides incinerated.
Not a bad tradeoff.
As the rain pattered across the metallic roof, he listened to the noises of other critters also making their shelter in the old warehouse. The sirens were silent, but he bet they had settled where he’d just left a nice, ashy mess for them to clean up.
The cops were another problem he hadn’t foreseen, and keeping them on the outskirts of his mission was becoming a complication. They wouldn’t believe him if he told them what he was doing here in the human realm: killing off Unseelie escapees who’d hidden amongst the humans to continue their conspiring ways. The cops would have him tossed behind bars faster than he could summon his fire sword, even if it had to do with the safety of the human world. He had to stay off their radar somehow, but that was proving harder than he’d initially thought.
Benton settled in, closing his eyes as he let the ache of the day’s work flow through him. He’d had many days like this…challenging…tiring…and many more were to come if his mission was to be completed. His sister, Queen Shade of the Scren Seelie Court was counting on him to do it. At least he was in the human world, where he’d rather be. The Faerie world was alright, but weirded him out.
There was no place like home.
Chapter 1
“He were a mean sombitch,” the grizzled and gray-haired black man mumbled to his friend as he leaned over the pile. “But I ain’t sure that be him.”
“I’ll bet you my shopping cart it’s him, Roscoe,” his friend Samuel replied, his head inches away from Roscoe’s as he also stared down at the pile. “Lookit there…that there’s that fancy belt buckle he always wore.”
“Damned if it ain’t,” Roscoe admitted grudgingly. “But what the hell happened to im?”
Samuel shrugged as he reached down to the pile of ash. The shiny belt buckle gleamed back at him, beckoning. “Don’t rightly know Roscoe, but Ima bettin he ain’t a gonna be needin this here buckle any more.”
“That is a fine looking buckle,” a third voice suddenly interrupted. Still bent over, Roscoe and Samuel turned their heads toward the third man, who was also leaning over the pile of ash. Looking back at each other, they both shrugged at the interruption. Neither one knew the new guy.
Looking back down, they were met by a hand holding a police badge.
“Detective Snowdon fellas, I have a couple of questions for you.”
Roscoe and Samuel turned their heads towards each other again, their eyes bugging out in fear before they both took off in different directions, scrambling to get away.
Reacting instinctively, Hank Snowdon flicked out the tip of an ancient-looking walking stick, tripping Samuel as he tried to run by. Looking up, he saw Roscoe running up the street like a man twenty years younger.
“Lucifer,” Hank yelled over to a muscular red dog with pointy ears. Instantly the dog glanced attentively toward him. Pointing at the receding Roscoe, Hank yelled simply, “Fetch!”
Lucifer was off like a shot, making quick work of covering the distance between herself and the disappearing Roscoe. Leaping gracefully over the piles of rubble that littered the street, the dog made a final turning leap that landed her square in front of the old man. Baring her teeth while growling quietly, she instantly got Roscoe’s attention. Sliding to a stop, Roscoe started backpedaling away from the animal.
Lucifer walked forward slowly, herding the old man back toward his master.
“You sick that devil dog on me?” Roscoe yelled toward Hank over his shoulder as he continued to backpedal, afraid to turn away from the dog.
Hank smiled, enjoying the show as he held a foot on Samuel’s back to hold him down. “I just asked her to bring you back. Looks like she’s doing that just fine. Now why don’t you have a seat on that curb right there.”
Roscoe sat down nervously, still eyeing the animal warily.
Hank lifted his foot off of Samuel and indicated that he should also sit on the curb. Lucifer sat down in front of them on the street, alert but seemingly relaxed.
“Like I was saying gentlemen, my name is Hank Snowdon. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Bureau (PPB), Homicide Division.”
“Homicide?” Roscoe asked suddenly, looking up nervously at the detective. “What’s that got to do with us man? We ain’t been killin’ anybody!”
“You said this pile of ash used to be a friend,” Hank replied, pointing to the small pile at his feet.
“He ain’t no friend of ours,” Samuel piped in, “That guy were one mean snake.”
“No friend, nosir!” Roscoe added while shaking his graying head. “We hid from him most days if’n we seen im. There were something wrong with that dude. Big and mean, and he always looked sickly.”
“Sickly,” Samuel nodded in agreement. “And I seen ‘im sparkle once.”
“Sparkle?” repeated Hank skeptically. “What’s that mean?”
“I seen it too!” Roscoe added, “Looked like if’n you took alumium foil and moved it around in the sun, all shimmery like.”
Roscoe’s hands moved back and forth frantically in front of him in demonstration.
Hank shook his head in frustration at the description. Eyeing both characters before turning toward the pile, he crouched down next to the ashes.
“Dude have a name?” he asked.
“Heard someone call him Albert once,” Samuel replied while squinting at Hank. “And someone told me he were a fairy, but he didn’t look gay to me.”
“Nope,” Roscoe added, shaking his head, “He weren’t no homo-sex-ule, and I wouldn’t wanna be around him if someone ever called him that neither.” They both muttered together, agreeing.
Hank nodded at their answers, but his concentration was on the ashes. Spotting something glinting in the sun, he was about to reach into the ashes when he heard the blurp of a squad car arriving behind him.
Standing, he turned to face the policeman exiting the car.
“Snowman!” the grinning patrolman exclaimed as he approached Hank. “How’d you get here so quick, I just now got the call?”
Hank shrugged, “Luci and I were in the area, George. Just happened across it.”
Hearing her name, Lucifer moved over next to the officer and sat, raising her paw toward him to shake.
“How ya doing girl?” George asked as he kneeled down and shook her paw. “Luci and the Snowman, you guys just slumming?”
Hank shrugged,
“Got wind of some strange goings-on in the neighborhood, we were just sniffing around.”
Looking over at the two men on the curb, “These gentlemen had just started telling me about their friend Albert, who they think is now this pile of ash.”
Shocked, George looked down at the heap of ash with a low whistle.
“Damn! You think it’s for real? I mean, how could someone disintegrate like that?”
Hank scratched his head, perplexed.
“Don’t know, George, but we gotta investigate it. You mind taking their statements? I’m going to call in a forensics team.”
“Sure thing Snowman,” George nodded before ambling over to Samuel and Roscoe.
Hank spent a few moments calling in his request before ending the call. Donning Latex gloves, he again crouched next to the ash.
Was there really anything worth investigating?
Gently reaching below the surface, he found what had caught his eye earlier and pulled it out of the dust and into the daylight. Feeling Lucifer next to him, he turned slightly to show her the green rock hanging from a tarnished golden chain.
“What do make of this girl?” he asked the dog softly as he turned it around in his hand. “You ever see anything like this before?”
Luci whimpered softly as she lowered herself onto her stomach.
“Yeah, me neither,” Hank continued, catching another bright glint in his eye when the sun caught the stone just right. Something about it wasn’t settling well with him.
I seen him sparkle once, Hank repeated Samuel’s words in a whisper.
Chapter 2
Hank was lost in thought as he manipulated the stick in a Hanbo kata. Having converted a room in his house into a small dojo, he went there often when he needed to think.
He’d been practicing Hanbō Jutsu since he was ten, a martial art practice utilizing a three to four foot hardwood stick, or Hanbo. Hank’s grandfather had given him the ancient hickory staff after Hank had crushed his foot in an auto accident that summer. His grandfather had then started him on the martial arts regime to help facilitate his recuperation.