Legacy: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1 (28 page)

The doorman hailed a cab for me and it had hardly stopped when I crawled in and sat back, content to rest and enjoy the ride to Heathrow. If I could just get out of this forsaken country…

The cabby shook me awake and said, “That’ll be eighteen quid even, miss.”

Disoriented, I dug through my wallet and gave him the fare plus a healthy tip and rushed into the airport. The next flight leaving for New York was in forty-five minutes, so I dashed to the counter, bought the ticket by leaving an arm, a leg and my credit card number, and I ran for the gate. I made it onto the plane with only moments to spare. I walked to my seat, equally grateful and heartbroken.
Chaos can reign for all I care. I just need to get back home and start over. I’ll pretend this never happened
,
repeated through my mind
.
I was so tired I had a hard time keeping my eyes open for take-off and once we were in the air. I vaguely remember hearing the pilot welcome everyone aboard before sleep took me under with no apologies.

Chapter Fifteen

The attendant shook me and asked me to return my chair to its upright position and I complied, feeling the plane begin its descent. Disoriented due to the heavy, dreamless sleep of the last eight hours I rubbed my eyes and reached over to raise the window shade. Dawn had long ago broken over the horizon, and the sky was bright but overcast.

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom and said, “Thank you for flying with us today, ladies and gentlemen. We’re beginning our final descent into London’s Heathrow airport now. Local time is 10:53 a.m. and the temperature—”

I didn’t hear anything else after that. I reached up and punched the attendants’ button frantically, looking over the seat-tops for the woman who had told me to raise my seat back. She came down the aisle with brisk, teetering steps, frustrated at my repeated buzzing.

“Yes?” she asked in her best professional tone, reaching across me and firmly turning the call button off.

“Why are we landing at Heathrow?” I demanded, my voice pitched high and slightly crazed. “Why? I bought a ticket to New York!”

“Ma’am, calm down. This is the flight from New York to London. Seems you slept harder than you thought.” She smiled brightly, no doubt placating the loon.

“No. No, no, no. I left Heathrow last night,” I insisted, leaning toward her.

“Is there a problem, Kay?” asked another attendant, this one male. He did his best to look threateningly over Kay’s shoulder, but it was difficult in his little blue vest and jaunty red necktie.

“No. This young lady just slept harder than she thought and got confused about her destination.”

I shut up, trying to figure out what to do. I
knew
I’d left London last night. I
knew
I had. Wait. What if I’d been dreaming? What if this whole thing was a nightmare? No, I’d fallen for that when I’d met Bahlin, thinking he wasn’t real. I wasn’t going to do this again. I waited until we’d landed and taxied to the gate before I jumped up and opened the overhead bin. If I’d only been dreaming and this was my first trip to London, I’d have carry-on luggage because my first trip had been luggage-heavy. If I
hadn’t
been dreaming, there would be nothing there. I opened the cover and looked inside. My heart fell: the bin was empty. I sat back down, watching passengers disembark.

When the plane was empty Kay approached me again, a concerned look on her face. “Do you need help, miss?”

Yes, I needed help, but it wasn’t the kind she could provide. Regardless of her intent, her chipper kindness made me feel violent, and I knew I needed to get off the plane without any trouble. I shook my head, grabbed my purse and got up, walking slowly up the aisle to the gangway and out through the airport. Reaching Heathrow’s cab queue, I grabbed a taxi and asked the driver to take me to any mid-range hotel, his choice. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and I knew he was only about five minutes away from the truth. I was about to lose it. The cabbie tried to make conversation for the first few minutes of the trip and then gave up when he realized I was nearly catatonic. Instead he turned the radio up and sang along to some type of Indie music with a grating beat.

Twenty minutes later I was standing in the quiet and graceful lobby of the Hardley, though I couldn’t have cared less what it looked like. Checking into a single room, I moved like an automaton and the clerk watched me from the corner of her eye. I suspected I looked frightening but, again, didn’t give a crap.

I made it to my room and walked in, glancing around woodenly. The room was nice but sterile, with none of the charm and elegance of the Pemberton. I turned the air conditioner down to its lowest setting and stripped off my clothes. The bed was sufficient and that was all I cared about as I folded the covers back and slid under. I huddled with my head under the comforter, my breath heating up the small, enclosed space quickly so it became humid and stifling. Still I was cold. Rolling onto my side, I curled into the fetal position.
So this is what rock bottom feels like
.
I’m much more lucid than I’d hoped for. Oh well.
Sleep claimed me without apology, and I slid into its dark embrace with a sense of giddy relief.

“You’ve really bunged this up, child,” said a deep voice.

I suspected I was dreaming when I sat up in bed and found a strange man in my room. I looked around and saw the owner of the voice was of medium height with a pipe and a British accent.

“Who are you?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and yawning. “My dreams—hell, my realities—haven’t had much normalcy to them lately, so you’re a pleasant surprise. Unless… You’re not anything supernatural, are you?”

The man chuckled and pushed up from the chair he was occupying at the small two-seater Formica table. The sweet scent of his tobacco wafted over me and I inhaled, thinking of my father. He’d smoked a pipe similar to the one the stranger held between his teeth. The man wore a charming three-pieced suit sans jacket, with shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms and the top button of his shirt undone. His shoes were well made but worn. His face was gently lined from laughter, his hair graying slightly at the temples.

“I’m not familiar to you? I took this form simply to try to be recognizable but it appears I’ve failed. What do you see when you look at me?”

I hesitated.
What the hell. It’s a dream.
So I told him what I saw.

“Very good, though superficial. Now tell me what you
see
.” He stood very still, almost as if posing for a painting.

“Your hair is well-cut but in need of a trim, so you haven’t had time to see a barber. You shave yourself because there’s a small knick on your chin that indicates a horizontal swipe of the razor; barbers go top to bottom. Your facial hair is as dark as your head hair and graying in too random a pattern to be died, so I know it’s your natural color.” I took a deep breath and looked even closer. “Your nails are trim, clean and buffed, so you don’t do heavy work with your hands though you’re lean and lightly muscled, so you’re not totally idle, either. Your clothes are well tailored, so you have some form of funds. The pipe you’re gripping between your teeth is well worn, and you speak clearly around it so it’s familiar enough that I believe you smoke it without apology. Your shoes are clean of mud and dirt, so you’re not from the country nor have you walked far in London. Finally, you’ve got the look of a scholar that’s only further enhanced by the wire-rimmed glasses poking out of your vest pocket.”
Crap. The Niteclif legacy was alive and well
.

He smiled, puffing away. “Sound familiar?”

I just stared at him. “If you’re telling me you’re Aloysius, you can just jump right out that window, mister. A three floor drop will hurt but you can’t die twice. I don’t need to be haunted on top of everything else.”

“But it’s still a long way to the ground and, as you indicated, it could hurt.” He smiled more widely, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, how’s that for a way to greet your great-granddad, Maddy?”

If I hadn’t been sleeping I would have pulled a repeat fainting performance, but since I was already out cold, I had nowhere else to go. So I got mad. Throwing the covers off I stalked around the room like a caged lion, staying just out of reach of the man himself. “What the hell? Are you serious? If it’s true and you’re really him, why haven’t you manifested or whatever before now? I could seriously have used you before now, you know. I have been beaten, shot, poisoned, stalked, forced to commit murder, ridden a dragon and had my heart broken in less than a week! You
suck
as a granddad, Aloysius.”

My visitor sighed and sat back down in the same chair. His eyes dulled a bit, and he looked tired. “There were lessons you had to learn that were best learned the hard way.” He looked away and whispered, “Except for the heart… For that, I’m sorry.”

“You
saw
all of that? Please tell me you and Brylanna are the only peeping Tom’s out there. I can’t take much more of people looking in on my love life, Pops,” I said sarcastically. I threw myself down on the bed and gasped, rolling myself up in the cover. I was still nude. “You sick bastard. Why didn’t you remind me I was naked,” I shrieked.

“Maddy, I’m only taking the form of Aloysius because it was supposed to be familiar—”

“Then who in the sweet hell
are
you?” I yelled, my anger boiling over into rage.

His form shifted and shimmered and a giant of a man, easily taller than Tarrek, stood in front of me. He wore a thigh-length forest green tunic with rough black pants underneath and a wide leather belt around his waist. His hair was white-blond and shoulder length with a slight wave to it. Over his shoulder he wore a back scabbard in which a sword large enough to be considered a claymore was sheathed. “I’m the first Niteclif, my dear. You may call me Tyr.”

“As in the Norse god of wisdom, war and justice?” I asked.
Why did I know who the hell he was?

“One and the same,” he said, looking pleased. “I was the first Niteclif, and I am thus charged with helping new Niteclifs transition into their roles with as little heartache as possible.”

“Yeah, well, you freaking suck at your job.” I huddled in the comforter and stared at him. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before I completely lost my tenuous grip on what was left of reality.

Ignoring my snark, he said, “As you are the first female Niteclif, we’ll learn together how best to suit each other’s individualities. Agreed?”

“Whatever. I’m tired.” I flopped back on the bed, fully intent on ignoring the crazy apparition in my dream.

“Do not mock me, Niteclif!” he boomed in an earthquake-inducing voice.

I jumped and, holding the comforter, stood. “Fine. Then I need your actual help. No more hanging out to see what happens. No more letting the Fates have their way with me, regardless of their Greek affiliations. No more neglect. Your tender mercies are as humane as Bahlin’s.” I shoved a finger in his face. “And let me tell you, I don’t need
any
more of that shit.”

“Sit you down, girl,” he growled. Involuntarily my body complied. “Here are the things you’ll need to know at this point. One, I can only come to you in sleep or deep meditation. With your temper I wish you the best of luck with the latter. Two, you will inherit certain gifts from your lineage—language skills, enhanced self-defense, weaponry knowledge, superior logic skills and natural immunity to the sway of the supernatural. You will need a tutor for self-defense and weaponry. Use Bahlin.” I blanched, but he didn’t even pause. “Other skills may develop, but I will not discuss those until they manifest. This way you’re not disappointed or misled in any way. Three, I will help you through the beginning of your tenure and will be available to you at any time during your service as Niteclif. It is my lot. Four, I will not answer questions for you regarding the creation or end of the world, love, investment tips or the manner of your pre-determined death. Period.” He stared at me hard, and I nodded. A Norse god was the icing on Hell’s cake as far as I was concerned, but my impertinence didn’t slow him down. “Five, I
may
answer other
questions for you but never, under any circumstance, will I do your job for you. It’s against the rules, and Odin looks unfavorably on that. Six, I needed you to learn that you have a lot to learn. The path you’ve just navigated was the most circumspect. Are we clear, child?” His voice softened at the last and he looked me over, head to toe.

Jaw clenched to keep from gaping, I nodded.

“Good. Then let’s discuss your first case. But Maddy?”

I sat staring at him.
A real Norse god. Huh.
“Yeah?”

“Put some clothes on.”

I came out of the bathroom after grabbing a quick shower. He was immortal. He could wait. My hair was still wet, and I continued to dry it off with a hand towel as I sat across the table from my infinitely great-grandfather, Tyr. I smiled slightly at the thought that I trumped Tarrek’s royalty with my own deity.

“I know what you know so far, so ask away,” he said, forgoing niceties in lieu of directness. I could play that way, especially as raw as I was over Bahlin.

“Why a Norse god instead of a Celt?” I asked, meeting his eyes with unspoken challenge, daring him to lie to me.

“The Celts are descended from the Norse. Their gods are the infants of ours.”

“Oh. Why can’t I leave England?”

“You can, but only to move about the British Isles.”

That explained why I ended up coming back here on the Hitchcock flight. What a waste of money. Hopefully my Niteclif salary kicked in soon.

“What happens at the end of my ten years?” I asked.

“You’ll serve twelve years given the nature and timing of the Change.” He held up a hand when I started to argue, stopping me before I could even get a good, deep breath. “It’s unchangeable, so bear it with grace.

“You must see through the veil that most humans do not, recognizing that the paranormal and the mythological walk among your kind on the same plane of existence. The purpose of the Niteclif’s evolution is to lift the veil for one person—you—and render justice for the veil’s other side.”