Omens and Artifacts

  Contents

  Omens and Artifacts

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Dear Readers

  About the Author

  Connect with Elizabeth

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Elizabeth Hunter

  Copyright

  In the elemental world, reputation is everything, but gaining it can get you killed.

  OMENS & ARTIFACTS

  Setting up shop as an antiquities hunter means nothing if you don’t have clients. Benjamin Vecchio, nephew of a famed vampire assassin, is the subject of widespread speculation, but so far that speculation hasn’t translated into work.

  What Ben needs is a job. A big job. A profitable job.

  A legendary job.

  Finding the lost sword of Brennus the Celt, the mythical Raven King of the British Isles, would make Ben’s reputation in the immortal world, but it could also draw dangerous attention. The Raven King’s gold hoard isn’t famous for being easy to find. Luckily, Ben has his own legend at his side.

  Tenzin is a wind vampire who doesn’t like digging, but she’s more than happy to let Ben do the dirty work while she provides the muscle he needs to make other immortals pay attention. They’re partners. Or so Ben thinks.

  But when finding this treasure puts Tenzin’s future plans at risk, will their partnership survive? Tenzin isn’t used to taking orders from anyone, particularly from a young human who used to be her student. Digging into ancient Scottish history can get you dirty. It can also get you killed.

  OMENS & ARTIFACTS

  An Elemental Legacy novella

  ELIZABETH HUNTER

  For Lora

  Who knew all the spoilers

  Prologue

  New York City

  2016

  SHE STARED AT THE BLANK white wall, mentally placing the weapons she would hang there. The bustle of traffic was barely audible on the top floor of the factory on Mercer Street. The building was old but renovated with the highest level of care. Luxury with character, the agent had advertised.

  But Tenzin didn’t care about the luxury below her. She didn’t care about the discreet doorman. She didn’t care about the stunning view of the New York City skyline.

  The massive loft had twelve-foot ceilings, a roof terrace, and nearly three thousand square feet for sparring. There was another two thousand square feet below them that functioned as office space and sometimes a basketball court for certain humans with insomnia.

  Ben had chosen well.

  It wasn’t as spacious as her warehouse in Southern California, but if Ben insisted on living in New York City, then this would do. When the shutters closed over the giant windows during the day and Tenzin was alone, the loft almost reminded her of one of her favorite mountain caves in Nepal.

  Almost.

  But she couldn’t decide how to organize her swords. Should she line them up in neat rows? Organize them by size? Arrange them in order of usefulness, historical era, or just make it random?

  Such a large blank wall. So many choices.

  Ben had introduced her to an entire television network that was focused on home and interior design, but there were few shows that spoke to her specific needs. It was rare for Americans to decorate extensively with weapons. And as a wind vampire, the wall needed to look good both from the ground and the air. She’d fixated on the question for weeks now but still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She couldn’t go out in sunlight, but she didn’t sleep either.

  Tenzin’s surroundings had always been important to her. If she was going to spend twelve or more hours a day limited to the indoors, they had to be.

  A polite chime echoed from the kitchen on the other end of the loft. Tenzin set down the hammer and nails she’d been holding, picked up a throwing dagger, and walked warily toward the sleek silver machine that sat on the counter.

  “This is Cara.” The delicate lilt of a woman’s Irish accent filled the space. “You have an incoming voice call from Benjamin Vecchio. Shall I accept?”

  Tenzin frowned and tried to remember what she was supposed to do. The voice didn’t belong to a real person, Ben had told her. It was something called a “virtual assistant.” Like a tiny day-person who lived in the computer. Tenzin found the whole concept very odd. If you were going to keep a servant, why not just hire a living one that could also provide blood?

  “Shall I accept?” the voice asked again.

  It might be a trick. Benjamin was in London and had no reason to call her.

  And if he did call her, he’d probably ask what she was doing. Tenzin guessed “pounding nails into your walls so I can hang my knife and sword collection” wouldn’t elicit a positive response.

  “Shall I accept the call from Benjamin Vecchio?”

  “No?”

  “Very well,” Cara said. “Sending Benjamin Vecchio to voice mail.”

  The voice went silent and Tenzin relaxed.

  The polite Irish woman was hooked into the Nocht voice-recognition system that had been installed in the loft two weeks before. One of the Dublin vampires had flown to New York to oversee its installation and customization. “Cara” could run the computers, security systems, and communications. All without a vampire needing to touch a button. It was voice command. Everything was voice command.

  At first Tenzin had been suspicious of the voice that came out of nowhere. It felt like she was never alone. As if she were being watched or monitored by something she couldn’t see. The omniscience of the polite voice unnerved her.

  But the first time Tenzin had shouted, “All I want to do is watch Property Brothers!” into the empty loft and the voice had answered, “This is Cara, and I’d be happy to assist you,” Tenzin decided she and Cara could be friends.

  Cara chimed again. “Benjamin Vecchio has left you a voice mail. Would you like to listen to it now?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes?”

  Ben’s voice filled the room. “Tenzin, I know you’re there. The security monitor in the loft shows me there’s someone small flying around the room, so it better be you. Do not put holes in my walls. I’m going to call again in five minutes. Tell Cara to accept the call.”

  Tenzin glanced at the open doors of the roof terrace and considered going out for a short flight just to spite him. She was being watched. How annoying. And efficient. Her paranoid nature was forced to admire Ben’s cunning.

  Cara spoke again. “You have an incoming voice call from Benjamin Vecchio. Shall I accept?”

  “That was not five minutes.” She eyed the terrace doors. Then she eyed the sleek silver box that housed Cara.

  “Shall I accept?”

  Tenzin flopped down on the Persian rug that covered the floor in front of the media center. “Fine.” She tossed the throwing dagger end over end, catching it before it stabbed her face. “Accept call.”

  “Is Cara working?” Ben asked. “There weren’t any hiccups in the system when I left. What took you so long to answer?”

  “I was deciding if I wanted to talk to you or not.”

  He sighed. “Tenzin.”

  She smiled at the irritation in his sigh. He was so delightfully stuffy sometimes.

  “If I’m calling you from London, there’s a reason,” Ben said. “So the next time I call, can you just answer so we don’t have to waste ten minutes?”

  “That’s not true.�
�� She tossed the dagger again, higher this time. “You called the other day to ask me how my night was and tell me about your research at the library.”

  “What?”

  “I am pointing out that there wasn’t any reason for that conversation, so your previous statement was untrue.” She caught the flipping blade between her palms. “But I know you are prone to hyperbole, so I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Is Cara working or not?”

  Tenzin called out, “Cara, are you working?”

  Cara answered, “I can run a systems check if you would like. In order to run a systems check, all current operations will need to be ended. Would you like to end your voice call now?”

  Ben started, “No, don’t—”

  “Yes,” Tenzin said. “End call and… run systems check.”

  Ben’s voice cut off mid objection, and Tenzin laughed.

  A moment later, Cara spoke up. “I am currently running a systems check. You have an incoming voice call from Benjamin Vecchio. Shall I end systems check and accept call?”

  “Sure.” She flipped the dagger in the air again, catching it on the way down.

  “Dammit, Tenzin, will you cut this out!”

  “I think Cara is working correctly,” she said. “But she had to cancel the systems check to answer your call. I hope you didn’t mess up her programming, Benjamin.” She flipped the dagger again. This time it went so high it stuck in the ceiling.

  Tenzin winced. Ben wasn’t going to like that.

  “I’m in London, and I need you to fly over here. Can you just do that? Meet me at that house I rented last summer. I’ve got a line on something big. Something that could really get our name out there. Other than the Aztec artifact we recovered for that friend of Gio’s, the phone has been dead for months. If we pull this job off, I don’t think we’ll ever worry about finding work again.”

  Tenzin curled her lip. “But… my weapons just arrived. I was hoping to hang them up before you got back.”

  “Do not put holes in my walls, Tenzin.”

  “You told me I could bring my weapons if I moved out here with you.”

  “You can hang and display some of them. Properly. With brackets mounted by an actual contractor. Not random nails pounded into my walls, Tiny. Put the hammer down.”

  She flew up and grabbed the dagger out of the ceiling, then landed on the Persian rug and brushed away the plaster dust. “I don’t have a hammer. I have a knife.” She looked up. “And the hole in the ceiling isn’t even noticeable from the floor.”

  “What hole in the ceiling?”

  “I suppose I can come to London, but can you have someone hang my stuff up while we’re gone?” An idea struck her. “Cara, can you help me with that?”

  “What hole, Tenzin? There wasn’t a hole in the ceiling when I left.”

  Cara said, “What can I help you with?”

  “Can you find someone to hang up my weapons while I’m in London?”

  “What hole are you talking about, Tenzin?”

  Cara said, “Let me look.” There was a pause. “I can e-mail you a list of general contractors within a five-mile radius. I can also e-mail you a list of custom firearms cabinet builders. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  Ben was muttering curses. “There better not be any holes in the ceiling. So help me, if there are holes—”

  “Send me a list of contractors,” Tenzin said. “I don’t own any guns.”

  “Very well.”

  “Ben, I’ll see you in London in a few days.” Tenzin tossed the dagger back on the pile. “Cara and I need to find a contractor, then I’ll fly over there.”

  “Do not hire a contractor, Tiny. The loft is not yours, it’s mine.”

  “Technically it’s Gio’s, isn’t it?”

  “Technically it belongs to a corporation that doesn’t exist, and it doesn’t matter because do not hire a contractor without me!”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Tenzin said. “Cara, end call.”

  “Tenzin—”

  “Ending call now,” Cara said.

  A soothing silence swept into the room along with a gust of wind from the terrace doors.

  “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Tenzin?” Cara asked.

  She didn’t really want to hire a contractor. She wanted to hang the weapons herself. But it was so fun imagining Ben’s face turning red, she decided to let him stew until she met with him.

  Tenzin walked over to the blank wall again. “Are there any reruns of Divine Design?”

  “One moment please… There are five episodes currently streaming online. Would you like to watch one?”

  Tenzin grinned. “Excellent.”

  Chapter One

  London, England

  BEN STEPPED OUT OF THE tube station at Ladbroke Grove and turned left, dodging the two laughing mothers in Eritrean scarves pushing strollers up the road. He ducked into the Tesco a block up. He wanted Indian food and beer, but he didn’t want to order delivery or go out. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He could barely tolerate the brush of fellow shoppers.

  He was in a foul mood.

  It was cold and damp. The sun had set at four thirty, and the fog had fallen with the dark. Even more than the damp weather, hunger, and crankiness was the impatience of waiting. He’d been in a holding pattern since he’d spoken to Tenzin a week ago. He’d expected her two, maybe three, days after they’d spoken.

  So far, nothing. Not a single blessed sign of her, and he was hitting a brick wall with his research.

  He didn’t have many friends in London. Gavin was in New York at his new bar. He’d called the house in Rome and tried to get Fabi to come visit him, but the sun-loving girl’s only response was a laugh. Even Tenzin seemed to be avoiding him. She was probably at home, tucked into their clean and spacious new loft, putting holes in the walls with manic glee while his own boxes sat unopened in a corner of the office.

  Yep. Really foul mood.

  Ben worked his way through the after-work crowds to grab a tray of lamb korma and a pack of Sharp’s pale ale before he headed to the self-checkout. He didn’t even want to talk to the clerk at the front of the store.

  He’d spoken to every early Celtic collector who would respond to him. He’d interviewed several professors and dug into old land records, but until he could meet with Gemma—and hopefully Tywyll—he was stymied. And until Tenzin got to London, he didn’t want to meet with either of those two, because he was more than happy to admit he was out of his depth when it came to teasing information out of very old vampires.

  Why was the damn line taking so long? He craned his neck to look around the older woman in front of him.

  One machine working. Perfect.

  He’d met Terrance Ramsay for a drink the night after he’d landed at Heathrow. The vampire in charge of London was an old family friend of his uncle’s. The VIC was also neck deep in dealing with massive vampire political shifts in the Mediterranean at the moment and didn’t have much time to worry about lost treasures that no one born after 1000 AD really thought existed.

  His tired gaze landed on two teenagers who ambled in, suspiciously close to a woman with a diaper bag and a stroller. Ben narrowed his eyes as they moved closer.

  Dammit, he was going to have to talk to someone or they’d have her wallet in seconds.

  Just then, the woman’s toddler let out a high-pitched shriek and the boys changed directions, unwilling to mark anyone attracting that much attention.

  Saved by the screaming two-year-old.

  Ben moved three feet forward. Thunder rolled overhead, and outside the shop windows, rain began to pour down on the pavement.

  Why had he picked London in winter?

  Oh right. Gold and notoriety.

  The gold hoard of Brennus the Celt was a tale draped in shadows and wrapped in myth. It was an urban legend among vampires, for heaven’s sake. A legendary treasure of weapons and gold artifacts so beautiful that Viking invaders
wept at the sight of it, which was what gave Brennus time to kill them and hide his treasure.

  According to the rumors.

  But no one knew what had happened to Brennus, ancient immortal chieftain of Britain, much less his treasure. Everyone had stopped looking for traces of him or it a thousand years before. That chapter of history had drifted into legends. Searching for the treasure was a dead end. If no enterprising vampire had found it in twelve hundred years, then it was lost to history.

  Ben wasn’t buying it.

  He finally made it to the front of the line and swiped his card for his dinner and beer. He left the market and turned left, heading toward the quiet house on Oxford Gardens.

  The house wasn’t noteworthy in any way. Just another rental house on a street of nearly identical row houses. It had three stories and a back garden. It was close to a tube station. It was anonymous and nowhere near most immortal neighborhoods, which was exactly the reason he liked it. Half the owners on the street were part-time residents or in a constant state of refurbishment, which meant no one paid attention to the dark-haired American man who came and went at odd hours of the day and night.

  Ben unlocked the heavy door and walked to the kitchen. He put the korma on the counter and the beer in the fridge. Then he went back to the entryway to kick off his shoes and peel off his damp overcoat. Clad in stocking feet and already feeling lighter, Ben returned to the kitchen and opened a beer.

  Despite the disappointing news from the cartographer today, he was certain the treasure existed.

  Ben had asked questions. Dropped hints. Listened to stories. Then he went where vampire treasure hunters didn’t think to go. He looked in the human world. The tedious, daylit human world. He didn’t look for a big treasure. He looked for one artifact. A weapon of such renown that it had been given a name by the Romans who encountered it.

  Sanguine Raptor.

  Ancient writers called it the Blood Thief.