The Reunion

  Legacy

  The Reunion

  Michelle E. Lowe

  Copyright

  Legacy Copyright © Michelle E. Lowe 2018

  This is a work of creative fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead or immortal is purely coincidental.

  Michelle E. Lowe asserts her moral right to be identified as the author of this book.

  All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Any copyrighted material is reproduced under the fair use doctrine.

  ISBN-13: 978-1978013018

  ISBN-10: 1978013019

  To my mother.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank those who have helped the Legacy series along on its journey. First, I’d like to thank my daughters, Mia and Kirsten, who keep encouraging me to tell stories, and to my dad, Jim, and Aunt JoAnn for always being there. Special thanks to my husband, Ben Deda, for your support.

  Thanks to MontiLee Stormer, Michael Arnold, Michael Kobernus, Jonathan Rose, Jessica Ellis, Kelly Evens, Dara Crawley, Mad Wilson and William Bitner for their assistance and advice. Thanks to Amy Coughlin, Elena Lange, Elisa Jiang, Evan Pitman, Heather Pitman, Oliver Bagley, Ruth Daly, Glenn Ramos, Scott Carol, Kimberley Luce, Landry Prichard, Taunji Hurlbut, Erin Mulligan, Amber Heyman, Russell Hinson, John Cook, Tom and Jennifer Allard for their time and generous support. Thanks to my editor, KH Koehler, for your hard work.

  Although they’re no longer here, I’d like to thank my mother, Janice, and my brother, Jimmy. Missyou both so very much. And a huge thanks and heaps of gratitude to my mentor, Catherine Rudy.

  Legacy

  The Reunion

  “Consider this not farewell, little brother, but rather, I’ll see you around.”

  —Joaquin Landcross

  Exchange

  Within one of many of Earth’s realms, Spring, 1639

  The sun kissed Temenitis’s naked body as she stretched it across the rock by the pond. She had adjusted herself comfortably over the stone after her cool swim. Gooseflesh rippled over her whole body, and just as the warmth of sunlight was seeping through her skin like rain through soil, a soft voice said to her, “You are perfection.”

  When Temenitis rolled her head to one side, she saw a man staring at her. At first glance, his feminine face made her believe the stranger was a woman dressed as a man. Yet, after admiring him briefly, Temenitis found he was a handsome-looking young thing with the scent of age and impishness about him. A Trickster god, she surmised.

  “I know,” Temenitis told him matter-of-factly. “I am a nymph, after all.”

  “No,” he argued while approaching. “You’re far more than that. You have ambition.”

  She knitted her eyebrows together and sat up. The Trickster had magnificent features, she thought. Never in all her years had she seen such a creature as he. To tease him, Temenitis turned completely around. He stopped and unlatched his gaze from her face to look at her down there. He stared hungrily while licking his lips.

  Temenitis set her elbows upon her knees and rested a chin on her open palm. “Ambition? Explain that?”

  His attention didn’t waver from her exposed womanhood. “I can sense it. You want more. Want to be more.” His eyes finally flicked up to meet hers. They were brimming with lust and wisdom. “And I feel your willpower. You will do what it takes to accomplish any goal you set before yourself. That alone intrigues me.”

  Temenitis didn’t know about that, for she never had a goal she wanted to achieve before.

  “Does it?” she challenged, opening her legs wide. “Or does this?”

  His breath deepened. “Naturally, I want that, my dear lady.”

  The Trickster approached again, but Temenitis remained in place, observing him. A pull, gentle at first, but gradually strengthening as he drew closer, tugged at her loins. Was he doing this? No, this sudden longing felt much bigger than the Trickster, larger than the world and all the realms attached to it, even. But what was the cause? What grand audience was intently watching them as they interacted with one another?

  She leaned back, propping herself up on her hands, wanting to show herself entirely. As it is with all nymphs, she possessed a flawlessness body. Every curve, every shape of her form, was a masterpiece.

  When he came close, she pressed her foot against his chest. He halted and breathed in a long breath.

  “You haven’t mated with anyone before,” he stated.

  “No,” she answered truthfully and without shame. “I never met anyone worthy enough to lie with.”

  “I doubt it not. You are a rare treasure who should be valued and worshiped.”

  “Oh, you do know how to craft your words well in order to get what you want, Trickster. You have a scent, too. You’re in heat.”

  The corner of his mouth rose. A twinkle in his eye sparkled like a diamond gleaming in the light when he touched her foot and began rubbing it carefully. Her own heat rose to the surface. He may have captured her interests, but she would not allow it to get the better of her.

  His nose pointed between her legs, smiling as if he was sniffing a flower. His eyelids fluttered as he said, “I want to offer you a gift.”

  “Do you?” she asked as he slid his hand languidly over her firm calf. “What sort of gift?”

  “A Cambion demon.”

  “A demon? What would I ever do with such a thing?”

  “Anything you wish. Thooranu is a slave, you see.”

  She mused at the idea of owning a demon. At the very least, it would provide her with some form of entertainment. There wasn’t much to do as a nymph. All of them, including her halfwit sisters, were content with their simple existence, but not Temenitis. She wanted so much more. The Trickster hadn’t missed his mark where that was concerned. But what would she have to give for this gift? She had only one guess.

  “How has this demon become a servant?” she inquired curiously.

  His hand slid over her leg and reached her inner thigh. Temenitis didn’t stop him. In fact, she removed her foot so he could dance his fingertips lightly over the short pubic hairs. Never had she let anyone touch her this way before. The Trickster had certainly brought out this playful side of her. She knew he wanted to do more with those curious fingers of his, but she wouldn’t allow it—not yet, anyway.

  He continued his gentle touching as he explained, “I tricked him. Now Thooranu is under contract, which expires with each passing year unless someone fills in his or her name. Whosoever’s signature is on the deed is the owner of him.”

  “Did you capture this demon yourself so as to woo me, Trickster?” she demanded, slowly sweeping her hand delicately over her breasts.

  Her heart thumped greatly beneath her fingertips. This was indeed the single most thrilling moment of her entire life.

  “Actually, I spotted you as I was passing through this realm. I have had several offers for my demon.”

  For a moment, she believed he was lying. A ruse to trick her. Nymphs had the talent to sense perfidious, even if the person worked well to hide it. To her amazement, the Trickster spoke with honesty.

  “And you would give up these other offers so as to give the demon to a nymph in exchange for sex?”

  “Not just any nymph. You! You’ve truly captivated me.” He began stroking her thigh roughly, but with care. “I sense it. We’re meant to be together. Do you not recognize it, as well?”

  Temenitis did. Her suspicion of a deeper purpose behind this
“chance” encounter intensified with each passing moment. The fact that the Trickster sensed it only confirmed her belief that there was something more at work here.

  “The contract expires on the morrow,” the Trickster explained, reaching into his pocket. He brought out a timepiece and held it by its chain. “At 1:26, according to this watch, my name will vanish from the deed. If you wish to replace it, then meet me at the meadow near the falls.”

  The Field of Uncertainty.

  Temenitis knew the place from where she had listened to the Teller of Forgotten Tales spin a yarn not too long ago.

  “All right,” she said, but not agreeing completely to meet him.

  He placed the watch in her palm. The cover was a web of bronze with stained glass set between the vacant spaces. She clicked it open and saw a peculiar sight lay beneath. An hour hand and a minute hand ticked in a circle as normal, while a second pair of hour and minute hands remained still. The secondary hour hand rested over the number one, while the second minute hand was stationed only three ticks down from twenty. On the outer edge of the clock face, each month of the year was written.

  “It’s custom-made,” he explained, “and of my own design.” He backed away, sliding his fingertips across her leg as he did. “Until tomorrow, milady.”

  He vanished in a blink. When he was gone, and she was safely alone, Temenitis dove back into the pool to cool herself.

  * * *

  The following day, Temenitis crossed the meadow, wondering if she really wanted to go through with this. It wasn’t that she really cared if she gave up her virginity, but the feeling of being nudged along, someone trying to push Temenitis to mate, frightened her a little. If only she knew what was behind it. In the end, Temenitis decided that instead of trying to figure it out, she would just go to the Trickster. After all, it would be a new experience, and she’d get a prize demon when it was over.

  As she neared the falls, she spied a round cottage. A simple thatched cottage with walls made of stone and a red brick chimney sprouting from the side. No doubt, the Trickster put the house there. Inside, it smelled tremendously of chamomile flowers. The entire place was covered with them. White flowers littered the floor and were stuffed in vases. Petals were sprinkled like snowflakes over the bed in the back.

  And standing by a table in the center of the single-room cottage, was the Trickster. With him was a young-looking man who stood on the other side of the table. He wore simple clothing, his pretty face was smooth, and he had a slender build. The demon, she presumed.

  The Trickster wore an outfit of many shades of red. He took off his feathered hat and placed it to his chest. “You came.”

  “I did.” Temenitis approached, her salmon-colored lace gown drifting gently behind her as she walked.

  She glanced at the pocket watch in her hand. The moveable second hand ticked toward the still hand, and the hour hands were joined. A half minute remained. “Just in time, I see.”

  She set the bronze watch down beside a quill and a single sheet of paper lying upon the table. The name “Jack Pack” was scrawled in next to the demon’s mark.

  “So, are you agreeing to do this, then?” the Trickster asked eagerly.

  She studied the imprisoned creature who kept his gaze to the floor. She had never cared for the likes of demons. She viewed them as foul and disgusting things that only wanted to destroy, to fuck, or do both. Yet, she sensed something more in Thooranu. Perhaps he wasn’t just some lump of mindless flesh. Maybe this demon had many dimensions—credited to his human side, no doubt. He could actually be intelligent enough to amuse her for a time.

  “I do,” she answered Jack Pack. “I accept your gift, and in return, I shall bed down with you.”

  His breath fell heavily, and it excited her.

  Jack Pack’s signature began vanishing from the contract. Temenitis picked up the quill and signed behind each fading letter. Once his name had completely faded, and hers had fully replaced it, Thooranu took in a breath.

  “Finally,” he growled, moving towards Jack Pack.

  “Stop, demon,” Temenitis commanded.

  The demon did so, instantly. With teeth clenched, he looked upon his new master.

  “You shall not harm him while you belong to me,” she ordered with a firm tone she had never used before. It made her feel powerful, and she liked it. “Do you understand?”

  The demon stepped away from Jack Pack with head hung low. “Yes, mistress.”

  Temenitis couldn’t have anticipated it before but having a demon as a personal slave was truly a gift. The superior feeling of being able to command a being with such power made her giddy. She walked around the table to stand before the Trickster.

  “Let’s see how gifted you are, Jack Pack.”

  She slipped the sleeves of her gown off her shoulders and allowed it to fall completely off her body. Jack Pack feasted his gaze upon her.

  “You grant me permission, then?” he asked anxiously.

  Temenitis nodded. “Yes.”

  Her feet left the floor when Jack Pack lifted her into his arms. As he began carrying her away, he stopped short and turned to the demon still standing in his place by the table.

  “Should you not tell him to leave?” he asked her.

  Temenitis eyed her new salve and shook her head. “No. He shall stay, and he will watch.”

  Obeying her command, the demon raised his chin and fastened his eyes on them. Jack Pack proceeded to whisk her to the bed, where he claimed his prize.

  Chapter One

  To London

  London, Spring, 1843

  Hundreds of buyers and sellers packed Spitalfields Market. Customers and vendors alike worked to elevate their voices over the loud auctioneers. Some auctioneers were extremely audible as they spoke into their mechanical speaking trumpets. Animal dung and meats left out in the sun too long tainted April’s sweet air.

  The bustling marketplace was the perfect hunting grounds for Jasper. His wife, Nona, and their companion, a young black woman named Taisia Kuzentsov, had arrived in London that very morning. The journey from Newcastle had been exhausting. Traveling without the rest of the nomadic clan had proven more daunting than expected. Halfway through the trip, food had become scarce. They had sold trinkets and told fortunes, but it wasn’t enough to pay for meals.

  The sight of fresh fish sitting on slow melting ice, as well the thick cuts of beef and lamb, made Jasper’s stomach growl

  “We should go to the lawyer,” Nona urged.

  “The market will close at noon,” he argued.

  His wife looked at him scornfully. “This is not what we came here for.”

  He should have listened.

  “Perhaps we could sell the horse,” Taisia suggested in her Russian accent.

  She held the reins to their only transport, an old mare on her last legs. The mangy animal looked half dead just standing there.

  That nag isn’t worth piss. Jasper thought grimly. No one would buy or barter for her.

  He didn’t see the marketplace as an obstacle, merely a short stop to gaining easy money. He eyed a dark-skinned Persian man in decent clothing who was buying cuts of meat and a pound of cheese. Jasper studied his target and his leather coin purse. After the man placed the purse in his right pocket, he grabbed his sack of goods and left.

  “Wait here,” he told both women.

  “Jasper, no,” Nona whispered.

  He ignored her and pressed on. He snaked his way between the people, doing his best not to be distracted by the sights and smells of the food surrounding him. The act of pocket-picking was far less dangerous than stealing from vendors directly. Constables were everywhere, keeping watch.

  The target headed for a horse. Jasper assumed the mount belonged to him. He needed to act quickly.

  It had been ages since he’d done this, yet his hand slipped into the man’s pocket like it was a comfortable old glove. He grabbed the purse and slid it out flawlessly. Once the coin purse was his, Jasper
spun on his heel and went in the opposite direction.

  “Hold it right there,” someone laden with a thick foreign accent commanded from behind.

  Jasper stopped cold. A voice inside his mind told him those four words were meant for him. He craned his neck, only to find the person he had just robbed pointing a pistol at him.

  “I saw you eyeing me, thief. You’re not as clever as you think.”

  “Neither are you, monsieur,” Nona said, coming up behind the Persian. “Lower your gun.”

  Jasper couldn’t see it, but he knew she was holding her knife against the man’s spine, the same blade she used for skinning prey. For a moment, Jasper believed they’d make it out of this. Then the Persian jerked his elbow back, hitting her in the stomach. He quickly turned and shoved her hard to the ground. He moved with such speed and precision that, in the blink of an eye, Jasper’s wife was down.

  “Nona!” Jasper yelled.

  He almost ran to her, except the revolver was trained on him.

  “Don’t,” the foreigner warned.

  Nona clutched her belly. To Jasper’s dismay, Taisia appeared and took her into her arms.

  “Nona,” she asked. “Are you all right?”

  “Guards!” the dark-skinned man yelled. “Thieves!”

  Taisia grabbed Nona’s knife and leaped to her feet. “Bastard!”

  She charged and sliced at him. He jumped back from the swooshing dagger, barely avoiding having it slice open his belly. He could have shot her, but he threw a tight fist instead. She ducked and went at him again. He cried out when she carved the blade across his arm. He caught her wrist as she made another attempt to cut him and struck her across the cheek with his gun. Jasper rushed at him, but the Persian was quicker. He swung the weapon, striking Jasper across the face with it. By then, guards had arrived and surrounded the group with their rifles aimed at the threesome.