Charming (Exiled Book 3)

• Title Page
  
• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  

Charming

Exiled, Book 3

Victoria Danann

Copyright 2016 Victoria Danann

Published by 7
^th
House Publishing

Imprint of Andromeda LLC

Read more about this author and upcoming works at
VictoriaDanann.com

CHAPTER ONE

Farsuitwail

The first body was discovered in the park early on a beautiful Tuesday morning when two retired chess players arrived intending to enjoy the privilege of playing an indoor game outdoors. Charming was on his way to his office at the Farsuitwail City Hall when he was stopped by a police department messenger and made aware that his presence was required at the scene.

Farsuitwail had a modest police force consisting entirely of humans because crimes were committed by humans, not hybrids. For that reason, Charming had never had a reason to interact with police officials. Naturally he thought it was strange that officials had specifically requested him, but seeing the serious expressions on the faces of the two men sent to fetch him, he thought it best not to ask questions on the sidewalk.

Charming had been intercepted just a block away from the park so it was a short five minute walk to reach the scene of the crime.

It was grisly by anyone’s standards. The victim was a human boy in his late teens. Though forensics were not sophisticated, it was clear, seeing the ragged edges of the wounds, that no weapon had been used. The unfortunate kid had the look of someone who’d been torn and savaged by a wild animal. The death mask he wore to his grave would haunt crime scene visitors for the rest of their lives.

Newland

Crave and Dandy cherished their own children as precious treasures, but insisted that the others they were raising in their own household, the Rautt orphans, would never feel less loved or receive less attention. Like all the orphans who lived at Newland, when their adopted children reached mid-teens, they were given the option of going to live in Farsuitwail at Town House. It was a dormitory-style halfway house run by Trace, who had been part of the Rautt foster program from the beginning. The kids could live among familiar faces while finishing their education with children of Exiled and humans. Since there were no birth records, and since the children had no idea when their birthdays were, it had been up to Crave and Dandelion to make guesses as to when they might be ready to face a more diverse population with a human majority and Exiled of all ages.

They’d prepared the children for the transition by making regular field trips to Farsuitwail throughout their lives so that the kids could make an informed choice when the time came.

Three of them decided to go together. Dread, Raze, and their house sister, Ember. The boys teased her incessantly, but they adored her, felt protective of her, and would have done just about anything for her. Moving day was a mix of emotions, excited anticipation for the three in transition whose lives were ahead of them mingled with a mix of sadness and pride for those at Newland watching them leave.

“We’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know until someday when you have children of your own.” Dread snorted at that. “You make noises now, but the day will come when you’ll be asking me to babysit.” Dandy gave each of them a big hug saving Dread for last. She didn’t show partiality to any of the children, but Dread had carved out a special place in her heart when, at eleven years old, he’d told her he would go across the desert and bring the male that Dandelion loved.

New York

Money is not an issue for demons. Demons can have whatever they want in material terms. Their challenges usually have more to do with relationships, particularly when they attempt to have relationships with humans or other kinds of elementals, such as angels.

So Elora Rose Storm, usually known as Rosie, wasn’t shopping on a budget. But even though she could shop where she wanted and get what she wanted, she wasn’t a Bergdorfs kind of girl. She was a Bloomingdales kind of girl. And she liked to go there on Saturdays when the atmosphere was as much circus as department store.

There were nine floors at the original 59
^th
Street location, but she was only interested in the first four. She prowled around every one of them. When anybody approached with a perfume spritz attack, she did her best to make it clear she wanted none. If they did it anyway, they found themselves wondering how they’d come to be standing in the middle of Bloomingdales soaking wet with water pooling on the floor around them.

Rosie was normally amicable, social, and engaging. But she was married to a guy with mixed human-werewolf heritage and he had a
very
sensitive nose. Her own undisguised scent was the only thing he wanted to smell.

She tried on two dozen pairs of skinny jeans before finding the one pair that made her look like an ad for an ass-lift. Added to that were several silky-feel tank tops for layering, some killer platform ankle boots with open toes and slits like sandals, and a bag full of sexy lingerie.

When she realized that she’d spent several hours entertaining herself with the modern day equivalent of Rome’s market place, she exited by way of the east entrance, heading straight for the Starbucks just one short block away. She took the shortcut through the pedestrian-only walkthrough, which was busy on weekdays, but practically deserted on weekends.

Pleased with her purchases, she was looking down at the four bags looped over her arms, which is why she didn’t see the girl, the one who collided with her as she turned the alley corner at a dead run.

On impact Rosie stumbled backward into a granite wall. One of the bags remained looped around her arm, while the other three landed on the ground with contents spilling haphazardly.

The girl didn’t fare as well. She ended up on her rear end, all appendages splayed.

Rosie stepped forward to help her up, but when she saw the girl’s face she knew that the reason she’d been running wasn’t fun and games. The girl was terrified of something.

“Are you okay?”

Rosie grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a standing position.

“Please,” the girl said, “help me.” She was so afraid her breath was stuttering, while wild eyes darted every which way.

“What’s wrong?” Rosie asked.

“They’re going to kill me.”

For just a second Rosie indulged herself in a longing look at the gorgeous lingerie on the ground.

“You’re not going to like this much.” Rosie bit into her own arm, enough to break the skin and bring a few drops of blood to the surface. She grabbed the back of the girl’s head and forced her mouth onto the cut.

The girl fought and even bit down on Rosie’s arm, which was the outcome Rosie had hoped for. All she needed was for the girl to swallow a drop of demon blood.

When the girl was released, she said, “What! The! FUCK?!?”

Instead of answering, Rosie took the girl’s wrist in hand and said, “If you want to live, grab onto me and don’t let go. No matter what.”

The girl looked at her strangely, but the second reality shifted into a cloudy gray murkiness with swirls of maroon-colored ribbons, she scrambled to take hold of Rosie like her life depended on it. And, actually, it did.

Within a couple of minutes they emerged at the flat rock location in a dimension where Rosie usually met Kellareal.

“Sit yourself down on that rock and don’t move until I come back,” she said.

Rosie almost squealed with delight when she arrived at the scene of the crime to find her Bloomingdales purchases still on the ground where she’d left them. As she was gathering her things up, a passerby looked at the lingerie and said, “Somebody’s getting lucky tonight.”

She hoped that was true, but damsels in distress took priority over the pleasures of a marriage still new.

Once the bags were secured over her arm again, she looked up and thought it couldn’t hurt to take an extra five minutes and return with Starbucks. She guessed the girl was a caramel latte customer. So she got one of those and an Americana for herself.

When she returned, the girl spat, “You made me drink blood!”

“I did, but it saved your life and you won’t have to do it again because it will last long enough to keep you alive.” She held out the cup. “I got you a caramel latte.”

The girl’s eyes dropped to the Starbucks cup. “That’s my favorite.”

Rosie had to give her credit. In spite of just experiencing reverse vampiric assault and a dimension slip, she was almost taking the events in stride. Rosie had to wonder what all had happened in the girl’s life to make her so atypically adaptable.

“I’m Rosie. What’s your name?”

“Ana.”

“Ana. Suits you. So what’s the story?”

“You kidding me? Why don’t we get back to the blood thing first?”

“To put it in terms you’ll understand, I brought you here by magic.” Rosie widened her eyes and fanned her fingers in a cheesy gesture. I brought you here via a means of transportation not meant for your biological constitution. In short, my blood made it possible for you to come with me.”

“But…”

“You’re never going to understand the mechanics. So move on.”

Ana seemed to consider that and accept the wisdom that some things might be beyond her. “Moving on then. Who are you? Where is this? And why did you bring me here?”

“We’ll get to that. But unless you want me to deposit you right back where you ran me down, start telling me why you were running.”

“Okay. Okay.” She sniffed and took a sip of latte. “This is good.”

Rosie shifted her weight and put a hand on her hip. “Talk.”

“My boyfriend stole money from like the worst person in the world to steal money from. Then he disappeared.”

“Who did he steal money from?”

“A dealer. Not just any dealer. More like a supplier. He’s the guy who supplies the suppliers who supply dealers.”

“With what? Drugs?”

She looked at Rosie like she was stupid. “Duh. What do you think?”

“You’re not in a position to be belligerent. Right?”

Ana looked a little less haughty. “Right,” she said quietly.

Rosie took a good long look at the girl she’d just rescued. She was wearing shapeless jeans, old duck boots, a dark tee shirt and a lined plaid shirt. Her long hair desperately needed a trim and her clothes needed a wash. Rosie wouldn’t have been too surprised to learn she was living on the street.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty three.”