The Fae's Amulet Read online

  The Fae’s Amulet

  Book One of The Lady of Death

  By

  J.F. Posthumus

  PUBLISHED BY: New Mythology Press

  Copyright © 2018 J.F. Posthumus

  All Rights Reserved

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  Discover other titles by J.F. Posthumus at:

  http://www.jfposthumus.net

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  Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”

  and discover other New Mythology Press titles at:

  http://chriskennedypublishing.com/

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  Cover Design by J.F. Posthumus

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  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold 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, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  To The Beast. Keep the place rockin' until we get there.

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  Acknowledgements

  To Mia, who let us take a rough moment in her life and turn it into the beginning of a novel, to Vasara, Kim, and Bill O'berst Jr, for inspiration, and to the family for their support.

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  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  About the Author

  Connect with J.F. Posthumus Online

  Excerpt from Book One of The Worlds at War Saga:

  Excerpt from Book One of The Milesian Accords:

  Excerpt from Book One of The Warp:

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  Chapter One

  Sunday Evening

  A knock on the door pulled my attention away from the emails I was sorting through for the day. I lifted my brows in surprise at the visitor standing in my doorway. Dark eyes met mine, and it took every bit of willpower to keep from admiring the way his designer clothing fit his body. He wore the perfectly tailored three-piece suit with the same ease most wore jeans and a t-shirt. His face was elegant and had aristocratic features, which fit his six-foot-three-inch frame perfectly.

  Thankfully, unlike most people, I wasn’t intimidated by his height, stature, or handsomeness. Or his reputation.

  “The Consigliere,” I said. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

  “Dubious?” The Consigliere’s honey smooth baritone carried across the room. “You wound me, Lady Catherine. I am here on good business.”

  “That’s Miss Woulfe to you. Good for whom?” I said through gritted teeth I hoped looked like a smile.

  “For all parties concerned, naturally.”

  Naturally.

  I drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he entered my office, allowing the door to shut with a soft whisper behind him.

  The man was handsome and immaculate from his brown hair to his loafered feet.

  He could have been a model for Men’s Fitness or a Chippendale’s dancer. There was sensuality in his movements, and he exuded confidence. We moved in similar circles, and his reputation preceded him wherever he went. While I was spoken about in cautious whispers, he was spoken about in awe, if not longing.

  And the bleeding sod refused to take his twinkling brown eyes off me.

  His gaze made me want to check my snug, professional-looking chignon to make sure no stray, black strands were flying loose. At least I didn’t have to worry about my long-lasting lipstick.

  I paused a moment and glanced away as though I were pondering his unspoken request. When I met his eyes again, I replied in a flat, cold tone, “No. Whatever it is you’re trying to sell, you can take elsewhere. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  “You don’t know what my business is; nor do you know who besides you could benefit…yet you dismiss it.” He was still looking at me, smiling, while his words poured from between his yummy lips. “Is my reputation that sullied in the circles in which you walk that you won’t even listen, or is there another reason for your behavior?”

  I snorted. “Not hardly, and you know it. There are few reasons you, of all people, would desire my services, and it isn’t for the appraisal of any occult item.”

  “Are you as wrong in your appraisals as you are in your presumptions?” Fergus Sterling taunted before continuing, “Your reputation must have been paid for.”

  He held out a photograph.

  My impulse was to cursorily glance at the picture, but my eyes locked on it once I saw the item captured on the paper. Ancient workmanship surrounded a jeweled eye of blue. The amulet was legend, myth, and history.

  “Ilygad Amon,” I said, realizing a moment later I had said the words under my breath instead of speaking properly.

  Sterling’s voice was smug. “So, you do know some of what is reputed.”

  Ignoring his attempt to rile me, I took the picture and looked closer at it.

  “The captured eye of the Christian demon, Amon,” I explained, “transmogrified into a jewel by ancient fae Magick—some claim by traveling gypsy witches, others give credit to followers of Anubis—and locked into a box made of equal parts gold and lead. It’s ancient and used only in the darkest Magick.”

  “Would you be willing to help track down this piece, verify its authenticity, and turn it over to parties who wish it to remain unused or, at least, contained from further use?” Sterling asked. I could hear the smile in his voice as he waited to see how I would react.

  “How do you know I won’t try to keep it for myself? I am, after all, a practitioner of the Dark Arts, or to be more precise, a necromancer of considerable talents.” I offered him a placating smile. “Or is that why you came to me? You could easily authenticate this piece, unless my parents were incorrect when they said you’ve been alive since the middle ages.”

  “How sweet of them to make me younger than I am,” he replied jovially. “I could do the job, but my age and reputation are considered disadvantages to the interested parties. They want someone who has less experience with such powerful objects.”

  “Then they obviously aren’t aware of half the items I possess,” I replied. “Who are the ‘interested parties?’ I don’t go into anything blind.”

  “You know my reputation, so you know I don’t give out my clients’ identities.” Sterling countered. “They were referred to me by Zeus and Merlyn.”

  I wasn’t going to touch that one with a fifty-foot pole. Instead, I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

  “Have a seat, and let us discuss fees.”

  Once Sterling was seated in the plush, antique chair opposite my oak desk, I nodded. The Eye of Amon was an artifact I’d only heard about growing up. Finding
it and verifying that it was more than myth would certainly add to my resume. The job would have to take precedence over any opinion I had of the arrogant, but delectable, male in my office. “My standard fee for such a task is $250,000, plus expenses.”

  “A quarter million?” he retorted. “That’s all?”

  It really annoyed me that I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or incredulous.

  “You have a problem with my fee?” My voice was sharp, like a whip’s crack.

  “Had I known you charged bargain prices, I would have sought you out sooner, for other clients.” He smiled cattily. “Of course, I’d only do so if you deliver what’s being asked for.”

  I knew I was leaning toward him, narrowing my eyes and smiling tightly. I didn’t care, though. “Of course. And, of course, you won’t have a problem signing a contract. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  Turning slightly, I opened the drawer to my left and removed one of the contracts I kept there for such occasions. I had two types of contracts: one for mundane, normal people and another for anyone of a Magickal, supernatural, or preternatural persuasion. The latter contract was binding in multiple ways.

  It took less than five minutes for me to fill it out, then I slid the papers across the desk to Sterling.

  “You know how this works: read, sign, and date. No blood is required for this particular contract.”

  The disapproving expression was priceless, and the way he glowered as he accepted the pen I offered made the corners of my lips twitch toward a smile.

  When he finished signing, energy surrounded and bound us for a brief moment. As the Magick around us settled, I leaned back in my chair. “Tell me about the necklace. I presume you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know something about its last known whereabouts.”

  Sterling pulled a photo from his suit’s inner pocket and placed it in front of me. “The necklace was last seen around the neck of this individual.”

  “I should have charged you more,” I grumbled as I pulled the photo closer.

  The individual was a fae woman with beautiful auburn hair, blue eyes, and a lovely smile. The necklace was nestled in the hollow of her neck, accentuated by the plunging neckline of the black blouse she wore. It was an amazing photograph that revealed the woman’s inner beauty. Unfortunately, the photo told me nothing other than what she looked like and that she was wearing the amulet when the photograph was taken.

  “She wears the necklace constantly?”

  Sterling nodded, and I sighed. That belief that the best place to hide things is in plain sight? It’s not the best idea when it’s a freaking necklace that anyone with a modicum of Magickal knowledge would recognize.

  “I’m going to need more than the photograph, starting with her name, home address, name of her workplace, and where she was last seen. Any information about her friends or habits, and the names of anyone who knew she wore the necklace all the time would also be beneficial.”

  Once again, Sterling smiled knowingly, and with a flourish, produced a leather portfolio from nowhere. I wasn’t impressed. Materialization was a standard spell every journeyman learned, and I’d moved beyond that stage by the time I had a learner’s permit.

  Taking the portfolio from him, I unzipped it and raised my brows at the details listed on the first page of legal-sized paper. There were at least a dozen more with information on the fae and her life. It more closely resembled a file from a classified government agency than something thrown together.

  I looked up at Sterling with grudging approval. “This is a good start.”

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  Chapter Two

  Monday

  Being summoned to a murder scene wasn’t my idea of a good start to the day. I suppose there are worse ways to start your day, but I was hard pressed to find one.

  Maybe being caught in the act. That would be a worse, I thought as I stared at the corpse sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the Masonic building’s stairwell.

  Then I leaned forward and looked up.

  The stairwell angled up, turning at each floor. The view made for an awesome photo; there was one hanging on the wall in my office, one floor up from where I stood. The stairwell was one of the many architectural beauties of the building. Built in 1895, the building had both classical and medieval details, complete with a Masonic temple on the top floor. The temple boasted gorgeous stained-glass windows, a small stage, and a throne-like chair. The energy within the temple was strong and easy to collect, one of the many reasons I loved having an office there. One- and two-bedroom apartments were available for rent, as well as business offices. Even the local college used the building, albeit only the top floor, as a place for theatrical dress rehearsal.

  I loved the black-and-white checkered stairwell and hoped there wouldn’t be any blood marring the walls. Looking back at the body, I caught some red in my peripheral vision, which drew my attention. The large amount of blood staining the walls past the corpse forced me to acknowledge I’d been unrealistic in my hopes.

  I suppressed a sigh; they were going to need a lot of bleach to clean this mess up and remove any physical stains, not only from the blood, but from the bowels which had emptied upon death, as well as the bladder.

  Death is anything but clean. It’s messy, and it stinks.

  Thankfully, I’m not a stranger to corpses or the mess they leave. In fact, I’ve committed my share of murders in the past. Not that any murder could be tied to me. No self-respecting necromancer ever gets caught when it comes to death or black Magick.

  “Why am I here staring at the corpse of this…actress? Model? Wannabe singer?” I paused as I tried guessing her profession from her clothing. “Hooker?”

  The dress was one of those body-contouring things that left nothing to the imagination. Considering she was at least 60 pounds overweight, it wasn’t the most flattering style for her, especially since she had more flab than toned muscle. The color could have been flattering, but there’s very little that flatters a body that fell several floors. You could see the mousey blonde roots of her very bad dye job. Either that or the red that colored the rest of her hair needed a touch up.

  The shoes left me wondering about her profession. They were plum-colored, glittery spectacles with stiletto heels at least five inches high.

  Since her large, sunken eyes were closed, I had to content myself with guessing. It was a pity. People typically didn’t die with their eyes closed. Had they been open, I might have been able to garner a few clues. I suspected the lead detective didn’t want me sneaking in some Magick on his watch.

  Angels tended to have strong morals and ethics, especially when dealing with dead humans.

  When he didn’t respond immediately, I asked again. “Well? Why do you want me here, Raziel?”

  “Did you know the decedent, Catherine?” he asked.

  I didn’t question how Raziel Elwyn, the angel of mysteries and a homicide detective, knew me. Brown haired with pale blue eyes, Raziel was handsome and charming. We were of the same height, or close enough to count, since I could look him in the eyes without lifting my head.

  He was a literal angel, and I was a major player in the dark arts. If he hadn’t known who I was, I’d wonder if he had lost his angelhood, or whatever it was angels possessed that made them celestial beings.

  “Nope. Never seen her before,” I replied easily.

  “Your office is on the second floor?” Raziel asked in a pleasant voice that was all business. Instead of a snippy retort, I replied with a single nod. His mouth turned up into the slightest of smiles. “And yet you claim you don’t know her? Did you ever see her here before?”

  “Raziel, just because I have an office here doesn’t mean I know every single person, or hooker, who comes and goes. In fact, I’m rarely in my office since I tend to meet clients by appointment only. I only come to my office other times to reinforce my spells or make a perfunctory appearance. I prefer people not question why I have a rarely-used office,
since it’s mostly for appearances.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, though he didn’t sound happy with my answer. “Do you recognize this?” He held up a photo of the necklace I’d been tasked with finding. It was identical to the one I’d been given the previous day. In fact, I suspected it was the same one.

  “It’s a picture of an item an interested party asked me to find. The one in your baggie looks exactly like the one I was given by my client yesterday.” I smiled sardonically and added, “Let me guess. It was hidden somewhere on the corpse. In a shoe, perhaps? Oh, I know! Was it tucked between some rolls of skin? Because there are no pockets on that dress.”

  Raziel snorted. “Let’s not disrespect the deceased. The photo was actually found on the floor near her.”

  “Raz, she’s wearing hooker red lipstick and the brightest red fingernail polish conceivable, along with shoes you’d only wear for one reason in this building. Last I checked, none of the plays going on include the role of ‘hooker.’” My smile grew just a smidge more as I added, “If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and has feathers, I’m going to call it a duck.”

  He snorted, and his eyes trailed from my head to my toes before he lifted a brow. I was wearing a white short-sleeved blouse with a black under-bust corset, a short black skirt and black two-inch wedge sandals.

  But the dead woman resembled a streetwalker on the prowl for her next john, while my outfit was classy, revealing nothing other than my shapely legs, narrow waist, and decent bust.