Scorpio's Grace: The Scorpio's Grace Saga, #1

By Rosie Wylor-Owen

Dark and dangerous things are hidden in Freya Aldana's past. After twelve years on the run, they are coming for her. A druid with coveted powers, Freya is wanted by the most influential power-trafficking mogul in the supernatural black market: Gregory Kander.

Accompanied by her old flame and two fellow escapees, Freya investigates Paris' magic exclusion zones and London's back streets to discover what Kander has planned for her. Her freedom at stake, she turns to the Goddess Scorpio to grant her the strength to defeat her enemies and protect her young daughter. However, Scorpio has greater gifts in mind for her steadfast loyalty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie Wylor-Owen
• Release date: Nov 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781916274808

Rosie Wylor-Owen

Rosie Wylor-Owen is an award-winning author of speculative fiction, specialising in urban fantasy. Her work has been featured in literary magazines The Fiction Pool, Anti-Heroin Chic and Ariel Chart, and on the Manawaker Studios Podcast. Rosie regularly contributes to the lifestyle magazine Unwritten and is currently working on her debut urban fantasy novel. For updates about Rosie’s upcoming work, visit www.rosiewylor-owen.com and she would love a follow on Facebook and Twitter.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The 2:00am post had just arrived. Freya picked up the letter off her doormat, unaddressed and without a stamp. Heavier than usual, she mused as she ripped it open. She wandered into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. Although, a niggling feeling told her that she might need to add a drop of something stronger to her tea before she opened the letter.

Noel insisted she stay awake to receive his letters. The conversation escaped her, but a few of his sterner words came drifting back which all amounted to one essential message: You can’t be compromised.

Freya snorted at his choice of words. The man was a small-time criminal who employed freelancers to do his dirty work for him. Dirty work that wasn’t nearly high-profile enough to warrant the secret agent terminology he enjoyed using.

She kicked a forgotten Lego across the tiles on her way to the kitchen table and sat down, making a mental note to retrieve it from under the fridge later. Olivia hadn’t tidied up her toys quite as well as she claimed apparently.

The kitchen resembled an art studio more than anything else, as usual. Three finished canvases were laid out next to each other on the counter, as they dried and two more half-blank paintings blocked the sink on their easels. Sky portraits had taken her fancy lately. Silhouettes and starry skies that she wished to hang on her own walls. But they would do little good there. If she hoped to eventually stop taking Noel’s well-paying but still criminal jobs, her paintings would have to pay the bills.

Splotches of paint stained the tiles, some of which Freya took full responsibility for. Many others were the consequences of Olivia’s ever-improving masterpieces. Today had been a particularly creative day, which had caused both of their clothing to bear the brunt of their artistic freedom. Freya doubted even several washes would get the smears off her jeans and t-shirt, never mind Olivia’s dungarees.

Ignoring the tinge of apprehension at the bulging envelope, Freya rearranged a few empty glasses from dinner to make space and emptied the contents onto the table. A piece of paper slipped out, followed by a small pouch that made a clunk as it hit the table.

Unfolding the paper, Freya squinted to decipher Noel’s deliberately scrawled handwriting.

Freya,

My other worker-bees won’t touch this one. Can I count on you?

Enclosed with this letter is a Kunzite talisman with a soul inside. I need you to drop this at the address (see the reverse) in the bedroom specified on the blueprints. If you’re happy to take this task on, let me know.

Noel

Freya eyed the pouch, her skin prickling. The very idea of having a Kunzite talisman under this roof, where her daughter played and slept, made her uncomfortable. Their only purpose was to house souls, usually for consumption by a particularly vindictive magical creature.

She reached into her jacket pocket hanging on the back of the chair and retrieved a pair of black gloves. She slipped them on, but not before pulling at every seam to check for holes. The last thing she needed was to accidentally absorb the soul trapped inside. For all her illicit dealings, soul-eating wasn’t the high-risk behavior she would dare expose her daughter to. The high it gave was allegedly out of this world, but no amount of money could convince her to dabble in such things.

With careful fingers, Freya teased the talisman out of the pouch and into her palm.

Ugh.

Strands of silver light glided beneath the surface of the purple icosahedron, the 20-faced sphere-like talisman. Glowing, liquid light that once belonged to someone, that once had a purpose and a life somewhere, shimmered under the dim kitchen lights.

Freya looked to the fruit bowl instead. She couldn’t think too much about who the soul used to be or how it had come to end up as someone’s property, a commodity. The only consolation she could conjure for the trapped soul was that if Noel wanted it planted, it probably wouldn’t get sucked into someone else’s body for their love of mind-alteration. With any luck, Noel’s plan was to use it to incriminate someone. Possessing a soul was one of the most illegal things one could do.

No wonder Noel’s other freelancers had turned him down. Whenever he was in doubt, he turned to her. The jobs Noel gave her entailed a great deal of ignorance on her part. She knew the what and the where, but never the who and she preferred to keep things that way. She didn’t have the luxury of walking into the local talisman shop and asking if they had a store assistant position. That sort of position wasn’t afforded to runaways.

Luckily, her skills were highly sought after in the dark underbelly of the magical world and unfortunately, that was where she had to delve to feed her little girl. Not many others would dive this deep into the darkness.

Freya reached a gloved hand up to the pendant at her collarbone; the pewter Sigil of Scorpio. She hoped that her chosen deity would understand the choices she had made to support Olivia, few as they were.

With tentative fingers, Freya returned the talisman back to the pouch and reached for her phone.

I’ll do it.

Noel’s response was swift:

Tell me when it’s done.

She found a black curl wrapped around her Sigil and teased it free, wrapping it around her finger. One day, she would keep the promise she made to her daughter and the Goddess Scorpio the day she first said yes to Noel Harris. Whether through selling her art or getting a job at Starbucks, one day she would walk away from the black-market life altogether.

One day…soon.

A creak in the hallway had her up on her feet, stuffing the contents of the envelope into a baggy jean pocket. She tried to calm her racing heart. Olivia was overdue for her nightly trek downstairs in search of a cuddle disguised as a glass of water.

Freya wandered through the living room to the hallway door, hoping to intercept Olivia before she could make herself comfortable downstairs.

Her fingers inches from the door handle, she snatched her hand back as two loud bellows shattered the silence on the other side of the door.

What the hell? an unfamiliar, male voice demanded.

Heart in her throat, Freya yanked the door open. Two black ski masks obscured the faces of the figures glued to the floor under the effect of her gravity trap. She swore under her breath over the sound of the back door crashing open.

Two more surprised yells ripped through the still of the night. The back-door trap had been activated, too.

They were under attack.

Without another moment’s pause, Freya leapt over the two struggling figures, barrelling up the stairs and onto the landing. Throwing herself to her knees, she tore open the airing cupboard door and reached into the back. The backpack she plucked out had spent years gathering dust, and recently, Freya thought herself paranoid to have put it together at all. Now, she thanked Scorpio above that she had.

Sweat began to bead on her forehead. Only one man alive would send this many henchmen to invade her house.

Kander. How did he find me?

Slinging the rucksack onto her back, she dashed into Olivia’s room. Her lungs seized up at the sight that greeted her. Olivia lay spread-eagle on top of the covers, underneath the windowsill. Her black curls were strewn about the pillow, lips parted in the deepest sleep, in the shadow of two more shrouded figures crouched on the roof fiddling with the frame.

Sons of…

A crystal popped out of the wood and into a waiting, gloved palm. They were dismantling her most intricate trap: the one she had designed to protect Olivia’s room.

You bastards, she hissed.

She dove for Olivia, gathering her up in her duvet.

Mummy? she murmured into her shoulder.

It’s okay baby, you’re okay.

Freya snatched up Beanie, her long-suffering and worn rabbit stuffed animal and slipped it into the crook of Olivia’s arm. Home invasion or not, she doubted her daughter would ever forgive her if the treasured bunny got left behind.

The concealed faces at the window had spotted her, but she gave them little opportunity to react.

Freya extended her free hand towards the glass, heat radiating from her palm. The temperature built quickly, filling the room with hot air. The glass cracked, splintering. Freya closed her eyes just in time to feel the window explode in a hailstorm of jagged glass.

She opened her eyes just a sliver as a pair of horrified screams broke the silence of the night. Olivia twitched in the depths of the duvet, stirring. The intruders’ dark uniforms burst into violent flames, their arms flailing before they tumbled off the roof.

Mummy, Olivia mumbled, trying to wriggle her way out of the duvet.

Stay still, Livvy. Everything’s okay.

Freya bundled her up a little tighter and slipped out onto the roof, watching the fallen intruders burn, unconscious from the fall. She enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction. Anyone working for Kander deserved far worse.

She sprang lithely to an extended branch of the neighboring tree and wobbled along it to the trunk. Heights never were an enjoyable experience for her.

A branch above her shook a few leaves upon her head, and her stomach lurched. Freya stumbled backwards as yet another masked figure jumped down from the branches above. An orb of red energy began to accumulate in his palm and he raised it in her direction.

Freya felt the world slow to a crawl. No matter what sins Kander believed she committed against him, her daughter would not suffer the consequences. She shoved her free hand into her personal talisman pouch that dangled off her belt, full of her own talismans. With no time to select one, she grabbed the first thing she felt and hurled it in the intruder’s direction.

The talisman struck him square between the eyes, lighting up in the brightest orange as it touched his skin. His face contorted as the talisman burned a mark into his forehead. Freya used his moment of agony to slip her athamé, a blade imbued with the same cinnabar crystal she had struck him with and thrust it into his throat.

His granite eyes widened through the slit in his balaclava, his mouth moving silently beneath the dark fabric. Freya gave the blade a sharp twist, ensuring to completely sever all his vocal cords. Still half asleep in her arms, she couldn’t allow her daughter to hear so much as a peep from a dying man, enemy or not. No sound escaped him as he fell from the tree, smacking his head on a branch on the way down.

Freya crouched low, listening for any other footsteps or rustles, but heard only Olivia’s gentle exhales. She jumped down from the tree and retrieved her fallen talisman, stuffing it back into the pouch. Carefully, Freya set a somehow still sleeping Olivia down at the base of the tree trunk, facing away from her dying enemy.

He twitched, gurgling as blood pooled in his throat, his arm jerking in panic as Freya knelt down next to him. She ignored him and rummaged through his pockets, snatching his own pouch of talismans and what looked like two power-enhancing potions.

She paused, acknowledging the gnawing feeling in her stomach. She had no doubts about who sent these people but a part of her wanted to deny it outright. Yet, there was a sure-fire way to check.

With hesitant fingers, Freya rolled up his sleeve in search of his coven mark. Magically inked onto his pale bicep were two initials: GK.

Most coven marks had a tad more thought put into them. Inspired by runes or the artwork or marks of their ancestors, coven marks were works of art that covens prided themselves on bearing. All the adulation Kander needed was the sight of his own initials marking the skin of those in his coven, to feel as though he truly owned them. As though his ruthless imprisonment wasn’t enough for him.

Freya left his mark exposed. She wanted it to be the first thing the Nexus agents saw when they descended upon the crime scene the following morning. Dead bodies attracted police and any mention of cultish weapons or weird crystals would have the supernatural police force descending on the place like crows on a worm farm. Faster still, when the police discovered four suspiciously dressed thugs suspended in the doorways, as if by magic.

Thank goodness she had used fake credentials to rent the place. The last thing she needed with Kander on her tail was the Nexus agents alongside him.

Freya allowed the anxious feelings to soak in. The mere thought of setting eyes on the man who had stolen her freedom from her sent dread seeping into every blood vessel. Escape had its consequences and Kander didn’t do his punishments by half. She needed to feel afraid, to want to look over each shoulder often. There was no better motivator than fear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia’s duvet moved. Freya’s heart sank. Twelve years since she had escaped Kander, she had hoped fervently after Olivia’s birth that she would never have to watch her mother battle for their freedom. In the blink of an eye any hope she clung to was dashed.

In one swift movement, Freya bundled her up and held her close. She planted a kiss on her forehead and the little girl’s eyelids stopped fluttering. Freya took off down the street, sparing no glances back. With safety off the table, distance was her greatest ally at that moment.

Olivia needs to be safe.

Before she was born, Freya could wander aimlessly. Catch quick catnaps in alleys or in hard to find cafés until she felt it was safe to put a name down on paper at a hotel or elsewhere, even a fake one. Her heart heaved with guilt and sorrow. She had promised Olivia a normal, happy life the moment she was placed in her arms. Even though Kander had ripped that away from them both, she would never see a night without a roof over her head.

I’m sorry, Livvy, Freya whispered, a tear rising to her eyelids.

She touched the Sigil of Scorpio and welcomed the sliver of hope it granted her. The Goddess Scorpio had a sanctuary for them.

Manchester still sported its fair share of drunks roaming the streets, even on a Tuesday night. Freya kept to the shadows, avoiding the flashing lights of the police as they raced past every so often. The drunks were a little too inebriated to pay much attention to her, even though she was carrying a little girl wrapped in a Peppa Pig duvet.

The air was a little chilly for July, but the skies were clear, the stars lost under the glare of the sodium lights. A fox skittered away down an alley as she approached, abandoning the torn takeout bag it had rummaged through.

Freya sidestepped an empty cider bottle and kept her rapid pace. The route was familiar to her, as she took it at least twice a week. Once upon a time, religion was a weapon. It was a means for Kander to keep them obedient, to do as they were told or suffer the wrath of the Zodiacs. Escape had given her a whole new perspective on the subject of Gods.

Earning the wrath of one God was inconceivable back then, let alone all thirteen. Yet, after she had escaped, Freya had learned that the Zodiacs cared little about the misdemeanours of children.

The Goddess Scorpio had put her on a path to a calmer mind. The Temple of Scorpio in Manchester provided everything an abuse victim didn’t know they needed. Counseling, recommended to her by Priest Horrock, she had begrudgingly taken while Olivia attended the preschool. Scorpio help her, she had also attended a few meditation classes. Calm, peace and emotional management felt beyond her comprehension, but the temple, the priests and the teachings had gifted her it all.

Now, when her entire life balanced on the edge of a knife, she couldn’t think of anywhere safer to run to.

The temple was in quiet competition with the neighboring buildings in terms of extravagance. Chunky, pale rainbow bricks built high and intricate spires stretching into the sky. Carefully chiselled balconies overlooked the street, fountains pouring crystal clear water over the edge into the ground floor fountains.

Even at this time of night, the lower floors were brightly lit, a welcoming sight banishing the shadows. Freya hastened her pace until she reached the double doors, constructed from ancient wood studded with steel and pushed on them, but they didn’t budge. Teeth gritted, hissing curses, she grabbed the knocker and slammed it against the door.

She stood, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, until the door creaked open. A familiar face peered out at her. Kind eyes, a long nose, and well-trimmed sideburns that she had a small chuckle at in her spare moments.

Priest Horrock, she said.

Freya Aldana. What on earth brings you here so late?

I come seeking sanctuary.

The priest’s brow creased, his gaze drifting to the bundle in her arms.

Sanctuary? he asked, concern coloring his tone. Of…of course. Come in.

He stepped aside and let her in. Freya stepped into the stone atrium. It looked all the more beautiful at night. Streams babbled around the edges of the atrium, beneath several footbridges. Hanging baskets overflowed with flowers, and fountains gushed with crystal clear water. A sense of peace washed over her, and she fought for the ability to stay cautious. Sanctuary or not, she couldn’t underestimate Kander’s reach.

Priest Horrock locked the door behind her, pocketing the key. Despite the late hour, he still wore the robes required of