City of Magic (Happily Ever Afterlife Book 1) Read online

  "Kadie Meyer. Kadence." I stumbled over my own name, not sure how else to explain myself. At least, that was one more thing I could add to my list of assets. I had my brain, I had my pajamas, and I knew who I was. But as the man studied me as intently as the woman had before, I was getting the impression that that wouldn't be enough.

  The man scowled, "What are you doing here, Ms. Meyer?" The way his eyeline seemed to fall over my outfit suggested his third question would be why exactly I was wearing fleece pajamas in the middle of the day.

  Flustered, I couldn't offer any explanations. I didn't know what to say. I stepped back, wishing I was anywhere else. And I didn’t even know where I was! Not really.

  The man reached out and grabbed me by the wrist, the callused skin of his hand brushing up against mine. I would have sworn my heart stopped as he slowly twisted my hand over, turning my palm up toward the sky.

  At first, we both looked down at my hand, not saying a word. But then I saw it. Right there on my wrist, a scar that hadn't been there the day before. The puckered skin looked like it had been there for years, shaped in an arc sloping toward my hand with thin lines coming from the edges. I would have said it was in the shape of a sunset, if I hadn’t been more concerned with how it had gotten on my body in the first place.

  Whatever it was, the guy holding me in place didn’t seem happy about it. His grip tightened around me, more punishing than before. "You’re coming with me."

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Let go of me!” The grip around my arm only tightened.

  I stared up at the man holding me, but the only face I could truly see was my own. My horrified expression was reflected in the dark glass of his eyewear, chasing away the part of me who might have considered asking him for help. "Please, this was a misunderstanding. I'm supposed to be meeting someone." The words tumbled out of my mouth. I’m sure it was blatantly obvious that I was lying, just rambling to get him to leave me alone. His grip didn't loosen even a little, as though as soon as he saw the mark on my wrist he made up his mind. Like there was nothing I could've said to convince him to let me go.

  “Relax, miss,” the man answered, voice irritatingly calm. “I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

  I looked around frantically, feeling anything but safe. Everything inside of me was telling me to get away from this guy.

  A few people across the street glanced our way, but they quickly looked away and kept walking, probably seeing the same thing I did. Whoever this guy was, he radiated the authority I'd been looking for earlier, with more than a hint of brute strength to back it up.

  As I opened my mouth to shout for help, I was jerked backward, my body moving toward his against my will. "Keep quiet and follow me."

  Trying to twist my wrist slightly, I tested his grip. There was no way I was willingly going anywhere with this guy.

  Until he yanked me down the sidewalk and I had no choice but to start moving or fall on my face. I probably would have preferred the fall, but working on instinct, my feet had a different idea.

  Casting a prayer upward, my eyes caught the perfectly clear sky overhead. The sun pressed down on my skin, so warm it would be comforting if things had been different. It was quite a perfect day for an abduction.

  My captor and I had already moved half a block and there was still no sign of anything that might tip the scales in my favor. Cars sped by, but even the sidewalk had cleared. Whichever gods ruled this world, they weren't on my side. Not today.

  A block away, a line of school children followed their teacher to the park, and a large bird swooped over the trees in the distance, freer in that moment than I might ever be again.

  Freedom. Wasn't that what this world was all about? The freedom to write your own story. My mind sharpened at once. No one was going to help me, but I was free to help myself.

  I'd worked as a yoga instructor for the past two years after graduating college with what my parents promised was a useless degree. And while I wasn't all that good at my own job, I'd used the discounts that came with working at the fitness center to enroll in self-defense classes, like the ones I’d loved as a kid. I'd never so much as hit anyone in anger outside of those padded classrooms, but in theory, I knew what to do.

  Okay then, so what’s my first move? My muscles tightened, panicked, but ready.

  My feet continued to move, step by step, but the man who had a hold of me was barely paying attention since I'd stopped fighting against him.

  In one smooth movement, I jerked my hand upward, moving it toward my face. It wasn't enough to break his hold, but like I'd hoped, it was at least effective in shifting the position of his hand, and loosening his grip. With my free hand, I grabbed onto his wrist and twisted, shifting it to an extreme angle that I'm not sure I could've gotten away with it if I hadn't taken him by surprise.

  It was enough to get him to let go, but in an instant my advantage was gone. In what felt like slow motion, I could see him moving toward me again. With a sudden burst of enthusiasm, or maybe just the will to survive, I did something I'd been dreaming about for years.

  Determined not to surrender, I shifted my weight onto my right foot and, with everything I had, kicked out with my left, my bare foot colliding with the chest of a man who was arguably twice my size. It would've been quite the movie moment if I hadn't lost my balance, or if I'd managed to give the kick a bit more power. Instead, I wobbled sideways and needed a moment to regain my balance. That second was all my attacker needed to grab hold of my waist and pull me in toward him. I shrieked out in rage and did my best to kick out blindly behind me, but my foot didn't connect.

  The whole thing would've gone a lot better if I'd been wearing shoes.

  I’d lost my chance to run, and now he had a better hold on me than ever. I was out of luck and out of chances to get away.

  Part of me wondered if I was going to die right then and there. Would people in this place stop a man from murdering someone in cold blood on the street? I couldn't say for sure.

  I looked up at the sky again, hoping for inspiration. Instead, all I found was that damn bird circling above, watching us both.

  Cold metal slipped beneath the loose fabric of my pajama top as a hand moved up to grasp my shoulder. Soon after, the barrel of a gun was pressed against my spine. "Come along now. There will be no more of this."

  I was done. So damn done.

  I wanted to close my eyes and wish myself back to my old life, and out of this terrible nightmare. But the sight of a massive bird swooping down toward me was enough to send those thoughts flying inward and glue my eyes wide open; surely, I was about to be assaulted by this winged-creature on top of everything else. As if losing to this one guy wasn't lousy enough.

  Instead of coming for my face, the bird shifted slightly as he approached the ground. Right as it looked like he was going to crash into the sidewalk in front of me, that same bird turned into an incredibly good-looking man.

  He stood six feet tall, with shiny black hair and lean muscles that, while physically less impressive than those of my captor, were impressive nonetheless.

  My heart was already in my throat as the second man turned toward us. He wore jeans that wouldn't have been out of place in a western, and a polo shirt with short sleeves that gripped the muscles of his neck and shoulders. His expression was impossible to miss—angry. But it wasn't me he was watching, instead he locked his gaze on the man behind me.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" the newcomer asked. He didn't wait for a response, instead he barreled toward the both of us at a run. I was certain I was about to be squished between these two mountains of men. Instead, my attacker shoved me out of the way. I tumbled to the ground, catching myself on my palms as gravel scraped against the delicate skin of my hands. By the time I managed to right myself and look back at the scene behind me, both men were already swinging punches.

  It was safe to say that the second guy was not a friend of the first, but I wasn’t about to wait around to
know for sure.

  I stood up and ran as fast as my bare feet could take me. The street around us had mostly cleared out, other people having had the same idea that I did. Whoever these guys were, nobody wanted to get in their way. Me, more so than most.

  I turned onto a side street the first chance I got, hoping both men were still too preoccupied with each other to be following me, and unwilling to take the risk of letting myself slow down.

  Turn, turn, turn. I didn't bother trying to keep track of where I was coming from. There was no way I wanted to go back to that park anytime soon, if ever.

  Really, I just wanted to go home. Even if home was where Darren and Kelsey were starting their lives together, it had to be better than the pain and exhaustion my feet were experiencing, let alone the confusion of everything else that was going on around me. I wanted my room, my parents, my pillow.

  And none of that was an option.

  I had to get away.

  Eventually I turned into what looked like a busy commercial area and forced myself to slow my pace to better blend in. I was still wearing my fuzzy blue pajamas, so there was only so much blending in I could do, and as a fun update, my pants had streaks of blood where I'd wiped my hand. But if I acted like I belonged, no one really looked too closely. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  It was as my pulse began to settle down that the rest of my body's complaints really started to register. Everything from my hands, to my knees, to my left foot hurt like nobody's business, and my stomach was beginning to growl in protest from the lack of food. Still, the most overwhelming sensation was the dryness in my throat. Considering I was dangerously lacking in water, an intense cardio workout was the last thing I needed.

  No, I reminded myself, the last thing I needed was to be kidnapped in the street by some psycho. Or, attacked by a birdman.

  But lack of water was coming in at a strong third.

  Still, I had no money. I had nothing. Even the clothes on my back were getting increasingly worthless as I sweat and bled in them. I couldn't go much further without risking even more unwanted attention.

  Not far in the distance, I caught sight of a one-story pub squeezed between some retail stores. It was red brick, old, and had a thatched roof, and the sound of music was already floating in the air toward me. I couldn’t quite make out the tune, but really, I didn't care what the music was so long as I could just sit and be closer to food and water. A sign overhead declared the pub as The Pint and Fiddle.

  Good enough for me.

  More than anything my body needed sustenance, and I didn't think my brain was going to fully start working again until I got some. As I approached, a few people sitting out on the patio looked up at me briefly, but no one took any real notice or objected to my being there.

  I had to hope that not unlike restaurants at home, a glass of water might be free. If nothing else, getting some fluid in me might be enough to convince my body that I could run again, just far enough to escape from an angry waiter who felt stiffed on my bill.

  No. I couldn’t risk somebody catching me and drawing any attention until I knew who exactly had tried to grab me and why. I had to lay low.

  Once I stepped inside, the bar greeted me with a more intense version of the music I'd heard earlier and a strong smell of meat and bread. A hint of stale beer lingered as well, and together the aromas formed what had to be the best thing I'd smelled all day. My mouth started watering as I tried to push down the shaky feeling that threatened to overwhelm me.

  For a second, I stood near the front door pretending to study the menu pasted to the wall, not sure I was fooling anyone. There was no way I looked like I belonged there. I needed to get rid of my pajamas, and find something to wear that was both more practical and less noticeable.

  It looked like the pub served everything from sandwiches, to stew, to chicken wings and veggie burgers. There was something for everyone, so long as everyone enjoyed pub fare.

  More than once, I reminded myself that it didn't matter. I could get away with a glass of water, but I certainly couldn't afford food. The menu wasn’t a luxury I’d get to enjoy.

  Not wanting to waste a table, I turned toward the interior of the building, spotting the bar across the way with a few empty stools standing beside the long marble counter.

  A series of long tables and booths occupied the bulk of the building, with some smaller tables tucked near the window. People enjoying lunch filled a third of them, but it was the waiter that caught my attention. A dark-skinned man dressed in ripped jeans and a band t-shirt flitted from table to table, refilling drinks with a snap of his fingers. And I meant that literally—both the snapping of his fingers somehow refilling empty cups, and flitting. Or more specifically, flying! He couldn't have been more than three feet tall, and had wings about the length of my forearm extending from his back; they were translucent but shimmering, metallic looking in their strength as they carried him through the air.

  After refilling a pitcher of beer, he looked up at me, his brown eyes locking onto my own. His smile faltered right away, and I realized my mouth was hanging open. He looked at me like I was just another bug to crush, but didn't stop to say anything and continued his path from table to table, leaving me to my own devices.

  A few men sat at one end of the bar, talking animatedly about a soccer game they'd watched the night before. One girl sat on the other end, hunched over a plate of nachos, shoving one after the other into her mouth. Her skin was the color of cream, unnaturally pale, while her hair was a shock of white in a pixie cut that didn't look like it had been styled recently. I sat down, one barstool away, and did my best not to stare hungrily at her plate.

  "What can I get you?" A female bartender moved toward me. She was a large woman, but well-dressed and with her graying-black hair pulled back into an elegant bun. Her voice had more than a hint of a Russian accent.

  "Just water for now," I said. "Still deciding."

  While I waited for my water, my legs vibrating with anticipation. I couldn't help but look back over at the nachos. And of course, that was the very same moment that their owner looked up at me. Unlike her skin and hair, her eyes were a vibrant green. But it was the smear of red on her lips that was the most alarming splash of color against her pale features. I looked away, apologetic. This was not the time or place to be staring at people and making an ass of myself. I needed to get my water, and get out.

  When the bartender brought back my glass of water, I grabbed at it, losing my cool for a moment. A second later she pulled out a menu from under the bar. "Only the water is free," she said, staring at me knowingly. "If you don't want any food, drink the water and go." The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear she knew I couldn't pay for food, or anything else, but somehow, she didn’t manage to sound unkind. She wasn't going to take any shit, but was willing to help where she could.

  Probably since I looked just about homeless.

  And at least she hadn't kicked me out entirely. A minute later, she even returned with more water after I finished the first in one long gulp. It felt like she'd saved my life with that one gesture.

  Not ready to go back outside, and half convinced I'd run into either of those men as soon as I did, I forced myself to take my time with the second glass of water. I sipped it slowly before leaving my elbows on the counter to support my tired head. I was feeling a little more myself after the first drink but still lightheaded.

  I looked up again, and this time it was the other girl at the bar watching me instead of the other way around. Except, it wasn't my face she was studying. The sleeve of my top had fallen down to bunch around my elbow, and the girl's eyes had focused in on my wrist. My body tensed up in response, bracing itself for another fight. There was no reason for this girl to care about me in the slightest, and the day's events had given me plenty of reason to be suspicious.

  "You're going to want to cover that up," she whispered urgently. A few feet away, the bartender looked up at us, but didn't co
mment.

  Studying her for any sign of attack, I did as she suggested, and tucked my hands into my lap, moving the fabric back up as I went. Heat rushed to my face, though I couldn’t explain why I felt like an idiot. I was hiding and running from so much at one time, I couldn't keep track of anything at all.

  I hadn't thought much about the scar marking my wrist since I'd first seen it, and I had just assumed it was part of this new life. But, that wasn't the case. I tugged at my sleeve again, double checking I had completely covered the crescent sun-shaped design, before taking another sip of my water while trying desperately to look natural.

  It must not have been working because the white-haired girl had moved on to studying my face, watching my every expression. She opened her mouth to speak, and I thought she was going to say something to me, so I sat up a little straighter.

  Please, let whatever comes next be answers.

  Instead, the girl waved over the bartender. "Valyria, she’s going to have something to eat." The white-haired girl cocked her head toward me. "It's on me."

  I sat there, dumbstruck for a second, before the girl nudged the menu back toward me. "Come on, dealer’s choice. I’m either going for the fish and chips or a sandwich, but the stew looks pretty damn good as well."

  My stomach only grumbled in response, and I picked up the menu.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Together, we moved to an empty table in the corner of the room. An alcove wall behind me was blocking out some of the music. I still had no problem hearing my heart thudding in my chest.

  This could still be a trap. But it could also be a chance to get ahead of whatever was happening to me.

  Once our food arrived, the two of us ate in silence, and I would've sworn I was almost having a religious experience as each spoonful of hearty beef stew passed my lips. I thought I had known what it felt like to be hungry before this, but the shakiness that almost went to my bones, promised my body was far more famished than it had ever been before.