Peerless

By Victoria Escobar

Without the touch of time affecting her, Tiranna has spent the last two thousand years protecting dangerous artifacts that have the potential to destroy the world. Her distinctive magic makes her one of the most powerful, and at times, one of the most feared.

When she finds a demonic artifact that shouldn't exist, she fears the return of a long-forgotten demon that has a single goal: create his version of Hell on earth. The world she spent her life protecting, could be lost.

Time never concerned her before, but now it's her worst enemy. Only she has the power to destroy the demon masquerading as a black witch. All she has to do is figure out how.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victoria Escobar
• Release date: Jun 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310351211

Victoria Escobar

Born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but with the ability to claim eight states as home; Victoria Escobar writes fiction from her current home in New York. She writes whatever comes to mind and because of such has a variety of genres written including Young Adult, New Adult, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, and Contemporary Fiction.In spare time if not with family, and friends Victoria enjoys curling up with a book from a favorite author with music playing. If not reading or writing she spends time drawing, sketching, crocheting, or some other random art project. She enjoys staying busy, but most of all enjoys staying creative.

Book preview

Peerless

Victoria Escobar

Copyright © 2014 by Victoria Escobar

Smashwords Edition

Edited by AGC Editing and Services

Cover Art by Whit & Ware

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Of Gaea

Of Sparta

Just About Healing

Coming Soon

Leaving Tracks

Unnatural Selection

Table of Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

98 AD

Somewhere in Italy

The bone chilling scream rented the otherwise quiet, new moon night. The crows jumped from their trees and eagerly circled above the small, shadowed glade from which the sound emanated. That kind of scream always meant fresh meat. Then just as abruptly, it cut off.

The people living in the village nearby didn't come looking for the source of the sound. Instead, husbands checked the doors to make sure they were firmly shut. Wives checked the shutters to makes sure they were tightly latched. Everyone prayed for the rushed arrival of the morning sun.

You stupid whore! You think to cross me? I will kill you for this betrayal, Valene! What had once been human was now a vessel for a demon king. The Demon King was furious beyond reason at the betrayal from one he had assumed to be docile and broken.

The woman in question, slumped against the Elf Lord she had saved. Both of them knelt in the tall grass, but she only remained upright because of the arm he had banded around her slim waist. He, however, was drawing on nature for healing as elves were wont to do and were gaining strength with each passing moment.

Sweat matted her curly, ebony hair and exhausted stained purple circles encompassed her beautifully green eyes. She had just accomplished what she had thought impossible, and it had nearly cost her life. It may yet, still take that price.

The demon roared, a non-human sound coming from its mortal body and launched at the kneeling figures. The protection seal flared to life and threw him back to the center of the original circle. The demon roared again, a frustrated sound and paced the small, magic circle shouting obscenities in his native language.

How long will that hold? the Elf Lord asked in a low undertone. His gray eyes were newly alert and the flush in his skin signaled new strength.

Wearily, Valene lifted her arm to the east, It depends on the sun and his strength. The moment it touches the circle it will begin to deteriorate.

Then we should be going, he replied, dragging her to her feet when he stood. As the sun is not long in coming and nor, he tilted his head listening, are those that willing serve the demon.

They both looked at the demon a moment. He was frothing at the mouth, and his eyes were filled with hate. His speech was still mostly unintelligible, but Valene could still make out belong to me, and cannot hide forever, and drink the marrow, before she let it all run together once more.

The Elf Lord managed to drag her a few feet before the little energy Valene had remaining drained away. She stumbled and crumpled to the ground. The elf crouched in front of her.

I know you are tired, but we cannot tarry here. He made to help her back up, but she shifted slightly away.

I have not the strength, my Lord. Valene gave him a tired smile. You should go. I will, it seems, bear the consequences of my naivety after all.

The elf crouched and studied her face for a long heartbeat before speaking, There is no man on this earth whose hands are not stained with mistakes. No one learns without them, but should you die here, nothing will be learned. You cannot change what was, that is done, but you can shape what is. There is still time for that, he paused and wrinkled his nose. Come, we've lingered too long. We can speak more of this later.

He gathered her up wrapping an arm under her knees and cupping the other at her back. Then, bizarre for the situation but not for the species, he began to sing quietly as he trotted into the remainder of the night with curses flailing their backs.

Present Day

Somewhere in Boston, MA

People often dream of immortality, but she did not believe they understood the true consequences of what they dreamed. If they knew what it was like to watch others die, with no power to stop the death or to watch the passage of time on a single city, would they still choose immortality? Perhaps, and then mourn the loss of their morality when it took a back seat to preservation of self.

She had, after all, learned that lesson the hard way. It was why most of the Peerless only took a passing interest in mortal things; change was too often, too fast. Perhaps it took someone that was once mortal to understand that change, and instead of letting it overrun her, she moved with the current.

Had she not changed all those centuries ago when she saved an elf lord? Had she not changed again when he took her into his home, renamed her, and taught her? A life debt he had called it. She had called it a saving grace.

She was Tiranna to the elves. The first star of the evening sky. The one to appear before the sun was completely set. A sign of Hope and of Continuity. It was as still humbling now, as it had been all those centuries ago.

The crash of breaking glass pulled her from her inner musing. Tiranna’s brilliant green eyes stared at the broken vase, unfocused for a moment as her mind came back to the present. In the dark of the house, the vase looked like it had been an heirloom of some kind. It was another form of immortality for the ones that die within a century’s time.

While she was unconcerned about the security system of the house she was currently, without invitation, rooting through, she hadn’t intended on doing anything more than taking what was not rightful property of the head of the house. The broken glass troubled her enough to pull a single stick of chalk from the pocket of her crimson duster and pick up the largest piece. Tiranna drew a simple seal on the inside of it then dropped it onto the pile of pieces.

She smiled to herself when the vase drew itself up and reformed. Dropping the chalk in her pocket, she lifted the now whole vase from the floor and examined it. Satisfied she had left no visible damage, she replaced it on the doily it had previously occupied.

Her hair had probably knocked it over. The twenty feet length of it had been tightly braided and lasso looped at the crown of her head, but it still hung some length down her back. She meant to cut it, she always meant to cut it, but she hadn’t heard from Deke in some time.

Deke was the only one she allowed to cut her hair. It was hard to explain to a hair salon that she hadn’t cut her hair in thirty years. Especially considering the max age she could pass for was twenty-four.

With her focus back on the present, Tiranna moved from the parlor to the front hall once more. She hadn’t found her target yet, though she hadn’t expected it to be out in the open. She only had the basement left to check.

Being one so old, she was distrustful of basements. Dungeons in castles were different. Castles were made of heavy stone and had little chance of collapse. Basements were small spaces with too much chance for collapse. Without enthusiasm, Tiranna passed down the hall into the kitchen and opened the door that lead down. She didn’t flick the light on the wall next to her that would have ruined her night vision. She did, however, close the door behind her as she went down.

In the windowless space at the bottom of the stairs, Tiranna stood a moment allowing her eyes to adjust to the even darker shadows of the under house. There was an impressive looking floor to ceiling wine rack to her left. There were two doors, evenly spaced on her right, and directly in front of her was a giant metal door with a boat wheel at its center; the walk in safe her information had told her was there. Though she had dismissed it as who really had a bank safe in their basement.

Tiranna didn’t immediately go to the safe. She perused the wine rack. She was delighted enough with a few of the bottles to mark them with her chalk and watch them wink out. They would reappear on her rack at home.

She checked the doors on the right. There was a wooden inlaid room with a bench and a pit in the center that would probably vent steam–a sauna room. The other door revealed the torture chamber of exercise equipment. She had never understood that habit. Being healthy was, of course, a good thing, but the thread of life would still be finite at the end of the day. Why end that day or start it in agony? Shaking her head at the peculiar habits of mortals, she closed that door and walked to the vault.

It was definitely a bank grade vault by appearance. There was a security camera to her right that she didn’t bother glancing at. She had already looped in a different feed before even entering the house. None of the cameras would ever reveal she had been there.

Pulling out the piece of chalk once more, she drew a decent sized circle around the wheel and then drew in the font–drew because it was too artistic and an insult to the font to say write. It was as elegant as any calligraphy and as foreign as Picti. It flashed brightly once when it was completed then vibrated softly. Tiranna deposited the chalk back to her pocket then stepped through her circle and into the safe.

The inside was the size of an efficiency apartment. There were shelves lining the three adjacent walls to the door. A quick glance told her it didn’t hide the item she had been fishing for–the statue was still for the moment MIA. Still, she carefully went through the items to see if there was anything out of place she could confiscate besides six bottles of wine.

There was a chest of raw gemstones, several small stacks of gold bars, and a few paintings carefully covered leaning against the far wall under some of the shelving. There were all kinds of relics lining the shelves in hap hazardous piles. A black box with stark carvings drew her eye.

The box had to be made of onyx or obsidian. Either black stone was supposed to ward off negativity or absorb it depending on who one talked to. Curious to know what such object could warrant such a box, Tiranna flipped open the box and just as quickly, slammed it shut as she dropped to her knees coughing.

The box was keeping in, not as she had assumed, keeping out. The dark energy that had attacked the moment she had opened the box would have been enough to kill any of the White Coven on contact. There was no way she could leave such a potentially dangerous—whatever in the box—free in the world.

Carefully, without accidentally opening the lid, Tiranna lifted the box from the shelf. With her free hand, she withdrew her handy chalk stick. On a relatively clear surface, she drew a transport seal then as carefully as she picked it up she placed the box into it. The seal flickered longer than she had liked before the box vanished from sight and the seal closed itself.

Light suddenly flooded the safe and she whirled. Outside her seal, someone had turned the basement lights on.

Two very different colored eyes scanned the room from the bottom of the stairs. His heterochromatic eyes had stopped a lot of people in their tracks before. His black hair was slightly too long to be considered a military cut and yet, slightly too short for it not to be thought of before being dismissed. His uniform was clean and pressed crisply. Image he knew was important to many.

Nothing looked out of place with the first scan of the room. Until he took a few steps into the room and saw the magic seal on the safe. He reached for his radio on his shoulder.

Mr. Fiske, there’s something in the basement. His voice was mellow and relaxed country. Not something heard often in the breast of New England territory. He stayed where he was, back to the stairs, and facing the three doors of the room.

Good job, Averill. His partner of one week jotted down the stairs and patted him on the shoulder. His blond hair bounced slightly as he walked across to the safe. Never seen anything like this before. Secure the room, I’m going to go call the PECs this is definitely their call now.

Sir? Averill asked slightly puzzled. I thought PECs were only for the peerless issues.

And you don’t think some weird, glowing circle is a PEC job? Fiske asked with slight derision.

I don’t know any peerless that need a conduit for their magic, Averill replied easily. Could it be a hoax?

Fiske stopped with one foot on the step and gave Averill a careful once over. We’ll let the PECs decide. Better to be safe than black listed for overstepping boundaries. Secure the area. He vanished back up the stairs.

Averill nodded. Yes, sir.

He checked the rooms with a quick scan to make sure they were empty before turning and standing in front of the safe with his back to it. It was his greatest mistake.

Tiranna clucked her tongue inside the safe, while she studied the back of the officer. Foolish boy was he to turn his back to a magic seal. As foolish boys went though, he was on the cute side for a mortal. Perhaps around a quarter of a century in age she’d guess, not much older if he was older than that.

The startling blue eye coupled with the dark chocolate eye had given her pause for a moment. In any other circumstance, she might have introduced herself and gotten to know the owner of such unique features. He had a familiar, comfortable facial structure, not as pointy as Johnny Depp but not as square as Brad Pitt. Maybe if Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp had a child… She brushed the thought away. It was time to leave instead of puzzle over the cute officer.

Since her chalk was still in hand, she stepped partially through the circle and lightly, barely touching him, drew a new circle on the officer’s back. When it flashed completely to life, she stepped through the rest of the way and turned to the safe. Out of her left jacket pocket she pulled a travel pack of wet wipes. Briskly and efficiently she wiped away her circle on the safe. Stuffing the used wipe in her pocket to be discarded later, she stepped around the statuesque officer and studied him for a moment.

Bonjour. Tiranna greeted in perfect French. Then continued in heavily accented English, How do you do?

He couldn’t move, not with her seal on his back, but she could see the outrage and fury in his eyes. She smiled easily and studied his name plate. Did you know, she asked tapping it, that Averill is actually a form of Everild, which is actually a Latinized version of Eoforhild. And Eoforhild means boar battle?

He, of course, couldn’t respond, but his eyes were definite mirrors of his mood. He was puzzled and still angry.

Tiranna leaned closer and tip toed up to look closely into his eyes. I thought perhaps one might be a contact. But they’re real, aren’t they?

Suddenly, she sniffed deeply. You don’t smell human, she murmured. It was her turn to be puzzled. All humans had a rusty smell, from the metals in their blood. The smell varied a little based on cologne and perfume and soaps, but the base smell was always there. The peerless of course smelled differently depending on species.

A commotion overhead jerked her attention back. "Ah, well, no time to fret over it now. C’est la vie. She shrugged with her last statement and stepped back. I must be going."

Tiranna took two steps and her head jerked. She turned back to Averill and smiled indulgently. He had managed, somehow, to fist some of her hair in his hand.

Now, now. She untangled her hair. None of that. How about an exchange? Here, she leaned up and pressed her lips gently to his and ignored the electric shock of the contact. She would puzzle over that later. Visually steady, she stepped back and gave him a flirtatious smile. "See, fair is fair. Now, I must be going. A la prochaine fois."

With her chalk, she drew on the door to the sauna. It flashed and blinked rapidly to life. Then blowing him a kiss, she opened the door and stepped through.

He could do nothing but watch her go, and watch the seal flash twice more and disintegrate into a pile of dust in front of the door.

The chatter overhead turned into a trundle on the stairs. Averill tried-to no avail-to move, to speak, to do something other than stand there. He was still stonily motionless when the noise turned into people that he could see and identify.

Not people, he corrected himself. His partner was a person. The tall woman next to him was unmistakably peerless.

She stood willowy thin, and a foot over the six foot of his partner. Her hair was the color of varnished poplar and braided loosely to her waist. Her tipped almond eyes were a color changing jewel tone primarily he noticed a deep forest green and currently amused with some annoyance under it. Her pointed ears stood out at least three inches and identified her as Elf kind.

She didn’t wear any kind of uniform that he could see. Simple pants were tucked into knee boots. He supposed her shirt would have been called a doublet back when doublets were popular, but it looked comfortable. She looked comfortable and at easy with her job, even with the old fashioned sword at her hip.

There was something distinctly graceful and otherworldly about the way she moved. A professional ballet dancer would look clumsy next to her. Even her hand gestures were somehow fluid and grace embodied.

Averill, I’d like you to me Randailene. She is the Peerless Enforcement Corp representative for us today. His partner frowned when Averill didn’t move then punched Averill lightly on the shoulder, Gavin, you’re being rude.

Randailene tilted her head considering. I think I know what’s wrong. Do you have a handkerchief? Her voice was a quiet hum of a wind instrument.

Handkerchief? Fiske dug around in his pockets and came up with a wrinkled napkin stamped with the Dunkin Donuts logo.

That will work. Randailene took the napkin and slowly scanned Averill before stepping behind him. Ah, yes, this would be the problem. There was a quiet click as she snapped a quick picture with her pocket digital camera before she wiped the seal away.

Thank you so much. Averill stated with genuine feeling even as his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor. The tingling sensation was close to unbearable and covered his whole body. Holy… He muttered swallowing the rest of the curse when Fiske tapped him with a shoe. Then he tried to massage the feeling back into his legs.

Randailene’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she stepped back around him to face him. There’s nothing on the safe.

"There was a woman. Around five ten or eleven. She had very long, I mean almost to the floor black hair while it was coiled up, and very, very green eyes. Pure green, not another color in them. She wore a red leather jacket that touched her knees, dark blue jeans, and a wine red blouse under the open jacket. Averill blurted. She spoke in a French accent and did speak some French though I couldn’t tell if it was natural or if she was playing me. She drew another circle on that door, he gestured. Then opened the door and walked through. When the door closed behind her, the circle disintegrated into that pile of dust." He gestured again.

Randailene tapped her chin thoughtfully. I will have to speak to Lord Taurenis about this. Will you go up and send down my partner? Ramses should take a sniff around.

Averill frowned at the odd statement but climbed to his feet slowly without commenting on it. Thank you again. He stated then trudged up the stairs.

Ramses was not hard to spot. He stood just as tall as Randailene but where she was willow thin, he was sycamore broad. And it looked like all muscle. He had a vase in his massive hands and was turning it around slowly.

Ramses, sir? Averill made it sound like a question just in case he was wrong.

The big man turned to him and pinned him with dark mocha eyes partially hidden under shaggy brown hair. Yes? His voice was a deep rumble that sounded as if it came from a deep place.

Randailene sent me to get you. She said she wanted you to…sniff? Around. Averill replied.

He grinned, revealing unusually long canines on top and bottom of his teeth. Did she now? Slave driver. Follow me, boy. You got markers? You’ve always got markers. Mark where I tell you to.

If