Chrysalis: Writs of Blood, #1

By Michael Cummings

Niki Hunter wasn't ready for her life to be thrown upside down. When her mother is murdered, she is thrust into a life and world she didn't know existed. Inheriting her mother's job as protector of the line between the Seen and the Unseen, she is given the duty of protecting both sides.

But before she can begin working for the Moth Queen, she has something she wants to take care of first: she wants to find her mother's killer. But even dealing with a wolfman and a fire elemental doesn't prepare her for how to handle the ire of a fallen god.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Cummings
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386983354

Michael Cummings

Michael Cummings currently lives in the Portland, Oregon area with his three daughters, two cats, one dog, and a very forgiving wife. 

Book preview

This novel is dedicated to my wife and kids, who endure my writing time.

Thanks to my copy editor, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, for everything he caught in the preparation of this book.

Finally, thanks to the Imgur gang, for encouragement and support.

Spring

Chapter One

NIKI woke up to a door slamming.

Niki! She didn’t recognize her mother’s voice at first. She had never heard her sound panicked. Scared. Niki sat up in bed, confused. She could hear drawers slamming. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of soft footsteps, then the creak of her mother’s closet door.

Mom? Niki called, climbing out of bed. She slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and shuffled out of her room. The apartment was dark. Her mind told her it had to be early morning now, but she couldn’t smell coffee burning in the kitchen. She felt her way carefully, stopping in the doorway of her mother’s bedroom. Anya Hunter knelt beside her bed, tugging the comforter into place. She didn’t spare Niki a glance. Satisfied with her bed, she stood up.

I need you to listen to me, Anya said, crossing the room to grab a jacket from the open closet.

What’s going on? Niki rubbed her face to wake up.

Anya glanced over at her daughter. Her eyes were wet, glistening in the dim light of the closet bulb.

This is not how I wanted to spend your birthday. I thought we could make it, I really did.

Make what? What’s going on?

Anya slipped on her jacket, patting the pockets. There’s too much. Too much to explain. Too much I should have told you a long time ago. I never thought it was the right time, you know? She fumbled with her zipper, then gave up in frustration. I never realized time was against me, too.

Mom, you’re scaring me. Are we in trouble?

Anya reached out and grabbed Niki’s arm, squeezing it hard enough to sting. Good, Niki. It’s good to be scared. I won’t lie, there are going to be some hard times ahead for you. And I won’t be able to be there for you. But if you’re scared, maybe you won’t make the same stupid mistakes I did.

I still don’t understand. Niki tried to squirm free, but her mother’s grip was unyielding.

How could you understand, Niki? Gods, Anya said, throwing her head back. How do I sum up everything I’ve learned, everything all of us have ever learned? Anya lowered her head, her eyes unblinking. Listen very carefully. No matter what anyone tells you, it’s all lies. You’re not what they say you are. You’re not a tool. Her mother let go and reached into her jacket pocket, taking out a gold chain. A medallion hanging from one end. She put it in Niki’s hand, then closed her fingers over it tightly. I want you to promise me you will keep it safe. Do you understand me?

No, Niki said, shaking her head. Tears ran freely down her cheeks. I don’t understand any of it. Keep what safe?

Just promise me that if they find you, you’ll keep it safe. Don’t give it to anyone, no matter how much you think you can trust them. Promise me, Niki.

Sure, fine, I promise. But you’re scaring me, Niki said, sobbing. The tears running down her cheeks were hot. You’re hurting my hand, she whispered.

Sorry, Anya said, letting go. She stared at her own hands for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe her own preternatural strength. Sometimes it’s hard to remember how strong I am. How strong we are, she corrected, then frowned. It’s all going to be yours soon. I hope you figure out what to do with it better than I did.

There was a loud bang in the street outside.

Damn it, Anya said, glancing back at the window. Niki, someone is going to come for you. When they get here, go with them. Don’t trust them, she said with a manic laugh, but go with them. If you find a way to get to Peytr, you go. Remember that. Get to Peytr if you can.

Who’s Peytr?

Promise me, Anya said, voice rising.

I promise.

Good. She smiled at Niki, then reached over to help Niki put the worn medallion around her neck. I’m proud of you sweetie. I’m sure you’ll do a better job at all of this than I did.

At what? she asked, but her mother continued talking as if she hadn’t spoken.

It’s all going to be yours. All your legacy.

There was another bang outside, louder and closer. Niki stared at the window for a moment, confused. It didn’t sound like a car backfiring, but she couldn’t make sense of the sound.

Shit, Anya muttered. She squeezed the medallion with one hand, lifting her other hand to wave at the window. A gust of wind blew through the room, slamming the shutters closed. When the medallion fell back to rest on Niki’s chest, the metal was warm on her skin. Go to your room, Niki. Anya leaned over and kissed Niki’s cheek. I love you, she whispered.

I love you too, Mom. Something hollow welled up in her chest.

Go, Anya insisted, turning her back on Niki. Pulling her jacket tight, she brushed past. Niki headed towards her room slowly, watching her mother over her shoulder. Anya stopped in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and muttering. She glanced up one last time to catch Niki watching her.

Close the door, Niki, Anya said. Her eyes were wet again.

Niki closed the door. A moment passed before the front door of the apartment slammed shut, the walls of the old apartment shaking.

She rushed across the room to her window. Outside, her mother crossed the street, joining a figure obscured by shadows. They hurried down the street at a fast pace. Niki watched for them to come back, but within moments they were lost to her. She continued staring for a while, her eyes growing tired.

She started turning away when on the other side of the street a lone man walked down the sidewalk, cane in hand. He seemed to melt from shadow to shadow as he moved along the street. When he reached the light post across the street, he paused, glancing up at her window. Niki thought she recognized him, his face somehow both familiar and foreign at the same time.

She shrank back from the window, pulling the curtains shut. She climbed back into bed, pulling a pair of headphones over her ears. She fumbled with the player, hitting play finally. There was a pause, her world a fuzzy silence, then the drowning noise of music filled her head.

Burrowing under the covers, Niki cried until she fell asleep, a deep sense of loss filling her heart. Her sleep did not last. Her dreams were swift and terrifying. Dark branches reached out to her from the shadows of room, creeping from the dark places in her nightmares to scratch at her.

When she woke up, there was still a scream on her lips, her heart pounding. Shuddering at the remembered touch of the branches, she rolled over to stare out the window at the dark city. It seemed that there were more streetlights broken than usual, leaving the outside darker than a city should be at night. Like a dark cloak was draped over the lamps and lights of the buildings, the light dim behind the dark material. Her mouth was dry, even bitter, but she was too frightened to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Instead, she lay there, tucked in tight until true sleep finally began tugging at her, pulling her back into its embrace. Soon she was softly snoring, never wondering how the curtains had opened while she slept.

❖

She lay in bed the next morning, groaning at the pain that hammered at her temples. She felt like someone had spent the night hammering her face and head with ice picks. Her hair was damp against her skull, her pillows cold and wet. Gingerly she raised a hand, partly to massage at her aching temple, partly to confirm it wasn’t blood that soaked her scalp. Niki pulled her hand back, squinting in the light to look at her fingers splayed out in front of her face.

Nothing. No blood, nothing visible. She let out a moan, her hand falling back to the bed beside her and clutching at the sheets.

When will this pain stop? Where is my mother? She would know what to do.

Mom, Niki called out, her voice hoarse. Then she remembered the night before, her mother rushing through the apartment before vanishing into the night. She listened anyway, listened for the sound of her mother moving around in the other room.

There was only silence.

Reluctant, Niki sat up in bed, putting her feet on the floor. Something punched her in the stomach, then grabbed her guts and twisted them around. Niki bent over, choking on the taste of bile as her stomach threatened to revolt. She stumbled from her bed, one hand clasped over her mouth to keep it in. She paused in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the door frame for support, then took the final two steps to the toilet and sank down on her knees, vomiting.

She stared at the contents of the bowl for a moment, not recognizing any of the colorful bits that floated in the blue water. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she pulled on the lever and watched it all wash away.

Niki knelt, still for a moment, her eyes closing for longer and longer breaks. It wasn’t sleep that threatened to overcome her on the bathroom floor. It was something more primal, more akin to pure unconsciousness. In the gaps of consciousness that now swam around her, she had a sense of otherness about herself. It reminded her of a time when she was younger and had tried smoking. That first shot of nicotine had given her a taste of what it was like to get high. It was a feeling she had never wanted to have again, especially not after Anya caught her with the lit cigarette still in her hand.

Niki grabbed the edges of the sink and pulled herself up onto her feet. She refused to make eye contact with the figure in the mirror. She knew she would only see a gaunt, worn out version of herself staring back. She turned the handle on the faucet, splashing her face with cold water. Then, cupping her hand, she drank.

Her stomach churned at the cold water hitting her belly, but she kept drinking. The nausea threatened to get worse, but the pounding pain in her head began to subside. She turned the faucet off, water still dripping from her face, and stumbled back toward her bedroom.

Her bed loomed in front of her, invitingly calling her back into its embrace. In the front room she heard a noise, a scratching sound.

Niki paused. Mom?

There was no answer. She waited a moment, listening. The scratching sound started up again, like nails on wood. Niki turned her back on the bed and walked toward the living room. She had lived in the apartment most of her life and they had never had a problem with mice.

The scratching stopped as Niki walked into the living room. She took in the room, the old worn furniture and threadbare rugs. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was home. Movement caught her attention as an envelope slid under the front door.

Niki rushed across the room, grabbing the envelope off the floor and swinging the door open. She heard footsteps, but when she stuck her head out into the hall it was empty. Niki closed the door, locking it first, then leaning back against it. She looked down at the envelope in her hands. It was addressed to her.

With shaking fingers, she opened it and took out the simple letter and card inside.

To Whom It Is Of Concern,

We regret to inform you of the passing of Anya Hunter. A final service shall be held Friday.

Niki stared at the letter, confused. This has to be some kind of sick joke, she whispered. The rolling in her gut told her that she knew better, though. She had known it since she went to bed last night. It hadn't all been a sick dream. Her mother really had said goodbye to her. She looked at the business card that tumbled out with the letter. With fancy flourishes and scrollwork, it identified the funeral home of Garrote and Boche. She didn’t recognize the names or the address, but she suddenly found herself filled with questions. Maybe she could get some answers there.

At her mother’s funeral.

Chapter Two

IT rained heavily the day of the funeral. Large drops fell from the heavens, making the grass a muddy quagmire to walk through. Niki smiled to herself despite the weather. Her mother had loved walking in the rain, especially in the summer. But even in the colder months, when the rain was cold and bitter, she had liked sitting down with a cup of tea and watching it come down.

Rain helps cleanse us, Niki, Anya had once said. It washes away all of the crud that we’ve accumulated, all of the little bits of trash and dead skin and leaves us whole again.

Niki knew it wasn’t right, not on this day, but thinking of her mother made her smile.

This way, Boche said, leading her down the path. The man had spindly legs and arms sticking out of a rotund body like the spokes on Sputnik. Hovering behind them, Garrote followed with a ratty cloth umbrella held high to shield them from the rain. Both men wore three piece suits that looked like they had been found in a Victorian chest.

When she first met them, both men smiled at her warmly, but their eyes had been cold and calculating. Niki thought she had seen points on Garrote’s teeth, but when she blinked his thin lips had folded down again in a somber smile.

Niki’s breath caught as they approached the casket. The reality of seeing the casket hit her hard in the stomach. The cloud of euphoria she had been swimming in vanished, leaving her only with the grief of her mother’s grave.

The casket. Why is it closed? she asked.

Both men exchanged a glance.

It is better this way, Boche said, patting her arm. Your mother was in no state to be viewed today.

Niki nodded numbly. She still didn’t know what happened to her mother, how Anya actually died. It was a week later, but already her memories of that night and the morning after were a blur. A rush of unfamiliar faces and patronizing smiles carried her through the week.

Niki stopped in mid step, causing the small train of Boche, Garrote, and their attendees to bump into each other.

How did I get here? she asked.

Don’t be silly, child, Boche said, slipping a skeletal hand under her elbow.

There’s no mystery, Garrote added, bumping into her from the other side.

You were brought-

You were delivered-

You are here for the funeral, Boche finished. Everyone is.

Everyone? Niki echoed.

But of course, Garrote said, slipping his arm around Niki’s shoulders and guiding her away from the casket.

But who? Who’s here to see? Nobody knew my mother.

Boche, hobbling along behind them, chuckled. It was a dry sound, like gravel in a grinder.

Don’t mind my associate, Garrote said, patting her shoulder as he led her to a seat.

But why is he laughing?

It is only, he said, then paused, glancing at his Boche. "It is only, who didn’t know your mother?"

❖

Niki had never seen such a strange array of people. She wasn’t even sure they were all people. Some were tall, so tall they had to bend their heads to keep from hitting the ceiling. Others seemed only vaguely human. She saw skin that glistened with wet scales and hair in such quantity it could only be called fur.

Are you all right, dear? Boche asked at her side, but she ignored the old man. It only took a moment for the tension in her gut to begin easing off. Her head began to feel lighter, but by sitting still she kept vertigo at bay. Her eyes lost focus for a moment, her attention drifting. Frowning, she stared at the casket, giving it all of her attention.

Many approached her mother’s casket warily, as if they expected Anya to jump out at them. Most rushed away after, but a few lingered to whisper condolences. Their words washed over her, empty as the feeling in her chest.

Boche and Garrote were still sitting beside her when the room suddenly filled with noise and commotion. Niki turned in her seat, spotting the center of the chaos. With long limbs and a short trunk, the newcomer seemed almost like walking oak tree. A man rushed in front of the walking tree, trying to stop it from getting any closer, but a swift sweep of one of its long arms flung the man away.

Despite the violent chaos around them, no one was screaming or running in panic. Most just stared at the tree thing, watching with mild distaste as it thrashed its way to the front of the room. She clutched at her neck in reflex, her fingers stroking her mother’s medallion beneath her blouse. Even through the thin cloth the metal felt warm.

What is that? Niki asked, forcing her hands down to her sides.

Boche gave a dismissive chortle. A faernig. Their like are always temperamental. That’s what comes from serving a tree god.

I really don’t know why we let them enter, Garrote added under his breath. He glanced at Niki, his pale flesh somehow finding a way to blanch even further.

I still don’t understand, Niki said, fighting the calmness that draped over her mind. What is a faernig?

Boche, no one has explained to her the Unseen, Garrote hissed, eying his partner.

Niki looked from one man to the other. Before either could say anything more, a woman stepped out into the aisle, blocking the faernig’s progress. She wasn’t as tall as the tree, yet somehow seemed to dwarf the wooden man. She wore a black and white dress that shimmered in the dim lighting of the funeral home. She looked up at the faernig, her ebony skin as dark as night as she placed both fists on her hips. Niki couldn’t hear their exchange of words, but the woman said something low to the faernig that caused it to shudder. It glanced around at the gathering crowd of onlookers, as though recognizing for the first time that it had created a scene.

Who is that? Niki whispered, but neither man paid her any attention. They were too busy watching the woman with a glare that seemed to hover between contempt and lust. Neither man had a chance to answer as the woman turned to face Niki, meeting her gaze. Niki felt her throat clench at being the object of the woman’s attention.

Chapter Three

THE woman’s name was Ganymede, and for the remainder of the funeral she would say nothing more than