This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
More Books by Amy Sumida
The Godhunter Series(in order)
Godhunter
Of Gods and Wolves
Oathbreaker
Marked by Death
Green Tea and Black Death
A Taste for Blood
The Tainted Web
Series Split:
These books can be read together or separately
Harvest of the Gods and A Fey Harvest
Into the Void and Out of the Darkness
Perchance to Die
Tracing Thunder
Light as a Feather
Rain or Monkeyshine
Blood Bound
Eye of Re
My Soul to Take
As the Crow Flies
Cry Werewolf
Beyond the Godhunter
A Darker Element
Out of the Blue
The Twilight Court Series
Fairy-Struck
Pixie-Led
Raven-Mocking
Here there be Dragons
Witchbane
Elf-Shot
The Spellsinger Series
(The Last Lullaby)
Sign up for Amy's Newsletter and get a free gift:
http://google.us11.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=398603e0fc6b3876340e37356&id=3abd32edce
Dive further into the worlds of the Godhunter, Twilight Court, and Spellsinger, at Amy's website:
AmySumida.com
Acknowledgments
I want to thank Kara Dempsey for her suggestion of using Angels Rock Bar in Baltimore for one of my scenes, and for being an inspiration to kick ass women everywhere. Karmen Simmel is also owed a huge thank you for all of his work on countless trailers and promotion pieces for me. And finally, thank you to my editor, Michelle Hoffman, whose help has been priceless.
Pronunciation Guide/ Character List
Adam MacLaine: Human client
Arnet: Are-net, Knight of Fluorite
Ava: A-vah, Queen of Sapphire
Banning: Ban-ing, Gheara of the Kansas Gura
Barret: Bare-it, Commande
Branna: Bra-nah, Duchess of Jade
Carrick: Care-ick, Knight of Onyx
Cerberus: Ser-bur-us, Demi-god dog-shifter
Declan: Deck-lan, King of Alexandrite
Edmond: King of Jet
Eileen: I-lean, Queen of Copper
Elaria: Eh-lar-ee-ah, Spellsinger
Finbar: Fin-bar, Duke of Sapphire
Galen: Gay-lin, King of Sapphire
Gerard: Jare-rod, Knight of Onyx
Hugh: Hew, Knight of Onyx
Isandra: I-san-dra, Queen of Diamond
Jack Armstrong: Loup
Jameson: Jay-meh-son, Knight of Fluorite
Jarlath: Jar-leth, King of Diamond
Jonah Malone: Human gangster
Kean: Key-in, Knight of Howlite
Lorcan: Lore-can, King of Copper
Moirin: Moy-rin, Queen of Tiger's Eye
Mrs Chadwick: Adam MacLaine's housekeeper
Niall, Nigh-all, King of Citrine
Odran: O-drawn, King of Howlite
Oonagh: Oooh-nah, Queen of Snowflake Obsidian
Parthalon: Par-tha-lawn, King of Jade
Quinlan: Kwin-lahn, Alchemist
Riona: Ree-oh-nah, Queen of Malachite
Sara: Sare-rah, Pink tourmaline fey.
Sean: Shah-n, King of Turquoise
Teagan: Tee-gan, Queen of Jet
Tír na nÓg: Tier-nah-n'awhg, Realm of the Fairies, the Land of Youth
Torin: Tore-in, King of Onyx
The Last Lullaby references several songs. If you'd like to listen to them, in order of their appearance in the book, please check out The Last Lullaby playlist on Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/user/ashstarte/playlist/53JpzskA89bFtkSApbTvWu
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sneak Peak: A Symphony of Sirens
About the Author
Chapter One
I hunched my shoulders in an attempt to lift my coat collar a little higher around my ears. The weather in Seattle was dismal in December. Hell, in my opinion it was dismal during most times of the year. I longed for the kinder climate of my home, where even the rain was warm. But I couldn't go back to Hawaii yet, I still hadn't met with my client, and the payday for this job promised to be worth a little discomfort.
I finally made it to the top of the ridiculously long driveway, my eyes scanning the area surreptitiously from within the cashmere confines of my coat. I'd had the taxi drop me off a little ways down the street so I could do a bit of surveillance on my approach. Even in the gray, grim weather, there were at least eight guards spaced around the front of the house. One of them moved to intercept me, and I acted as if I hadn't seen him.
“Hold on, Miss. This is private property.” The overly muscled man in combat pants held a gloved palm out to me in the traditional “stop” gesture. I saw the gun on his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. That was mistake number one. I was in the driveway already, which made me a threat.
Bad guard, no biscuit.
“I'm expected.” I could have announced myself right then, but I wanted to test Adam MacLaine's security team.
That was my client, MacLaine- or he would be soon. If this guy was an accurate representation of MacLaine's security, it was a wonder the man wasn't dead already.
“Do we have a guest arriving today?” Mr. Combat Pants asked a little microphone clipped to his shirt.
He had to open his leather jacket to access the mic, giving me a flash of the knife he had secured to an inner pocket. Damn this guy was dumb. He even turned away from me to talk into his comm. Like he couldn't conceive of a woman being a threat. I could have killed him three times already. I suppose I should have berated him for his bad habits, but I hated doing other people's jobs. And it was definitely someone else's job to whip this guy into shape. The mere thought exhausted me. I do not suffer fools.
“Name?”
“What?” I asked, completely distracted by his ineptitude.
And the spaghetti stain on his shirt. It was nearly invisible from a distance, but now that I was up close and personal, I could clearly see the crusty red mark on the black fabric. So, a fool and a slob. Definitely not the type of man I'd have chosen to protect me.
“What's your name, Miss?” the slob asked.
“Tanager,” I said, whispering to see if he would make the mistake of coming in closer to hear me.
“What was that?” He sure did. He leaned in close enough for me to stab him in the throat.
Of course I would never deign to dirty my hands in such a manner. My mother raised me better than that. I killed like a lady.
“The name is Tanager,” I said more clearly. “And I'm cold.”
Whoever was on the other side of the microphone heard me, and must have barked something into the muscle-head's ear. He flinched, then straightened.
“Sorry, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered and gestured to the looming house. “My team wasn't notified. Go on in. Someone will meet you at the door.”
“Thank you, Mr. . . ?” I drew it out into a question.
“Uh, you can call me Jake, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered.
“Thank you, Jake.” I walked off, striding quickly to the beckoning warmth of the open front door.
A woman stood within the golden light of the doorway, her features as stern as her severe bun, and her eyes razor sharp. She nodded to me, and shut the door behind me after I entered.
“May I take your coat, Ms Tanager?”
“Yes, thank you.” I slid out of it and sighed.
I had worn my usual getup to greet clients- pencil skirt and modest blouse. But instead of heels, I'd chosen knee-high boots. It was just too cold outside to go without something covering my calves. The woman looked over my prim outfit, and nodded in approval. With my long, dark curls pinned up, I looked very professional.
“I am Mrs. Chadwick,” the woman introduced herself as she hung up my coat. “Mr. MacLaine is waiting for you in his office. I'll take you there now.”
I followed Mrs. Chadwick down a corridor much too wide to be called a hallway. It was lined with expensive artwork, and the sounds of our footsteps were muffled by a silk carpet runner that looked as if it had taken years to weave. It was nice, but I'd seen all of this before. Done better, to tell the truth. My clients were the wealthiest people in the world. They had to be in order to afford me.
“Mr. MacLaine, she's here,” Mrs. Chadwick said as she walked through an open door.
“Thank God,” a man's voice groaned.
It was a pleasant voice, and it matched the office I entered. Not nearly as pretentious as the rest of the house, this room was more personal. It held framed family photos, an old chair that must have come from a time when MacLaine wasn't so wealthy, a wide desk made for function instead of form, and several sitting areas; one before the desk, one before a picture window to the right of the desk, and one in front of a modest fireplace. That's where MacLaine had been, at the fireplace enjoying its comfort instead of working at his desk. In the crowd I normally contracted with, that said a lot.
Adam MacLaine was around forty, with a trim build that suggested he didn't spend all of his time making money. His oak-brown hair was lightly sprinkled with white at the temples, and his skin had a healthy tan, but not the sunbed tan so prevalent in Seattle. His skin had seen real sun. Blue eyes crinkled as he smiled in relief, and came to meet me halfway across the room, hand extended.
“Thank you for coming, Ms Tanager.” He shook my hand firmly. “Could you close the door on your way out, Mrs. Chadwick?”
“Of course, sir.” She smiled a little, showing a hint of affection for her employer. That said a lot too.
“Would you like something to drink?” MacLaine offered as his hand swept to a sideboard where several bottles waited. Not decanters, mind you, he had straight up liquor bottles out on display. The social elite would be shocked.
“No, thank you.”
“All right then.” He looked unnerved by my refusal. “Would you care to have a seat?”
“Yes.” I slid into the chair across from his, and he relaxed a little, coming over to join me.
“I don't know how--” he started to stammer, but I held up a hand.
“Mr. MacLaine, who wants you dead?” I cut through the pussyfooting.
“I believe it's a man named Jonah Malone.” He sighed, and sank back into his chair. “His company was failing, and I bought it at a . . . well, for a song, really.”
“Uh-huh.” I chuckled at the song reference.
With the exception of his ironic wording, my clients's stories were always so similar. Someone got the better end of a business deal. Or they were cheating on their spouse. Or cheating on their mistress. Or cheating on their taxes. No, that last one doesn't require my intervention. Not usually. But the issue was often about someone screwing someone else in some form or another.
“I assume you've compiled a dossier on him?”
“Oh, yes,” MacLaine fumbled with something on the floor beside him, and then handed me a manila folder.
“What exactly do you want me to do to Mr. Malone?” This was the line I asked all of my clients. I needed to be very clear with them. A lot of them assumed I was purely an assassin, but that wasn't the case. I thought of myself more as a fixer. I could kill when necessary, but death was the most extreme result I offered.
“I . . .” He gaped at me. “What are my options?”
Just as I'd thought. Cer hadn't told him. My old friend was having a laugh at my expense right about now. MacLaine had doubtless been referred to me by one of his friends, but he'd had to go through my friend, Cerberus Skylos, before he could arrange a meeting with me. Cerberus made sure the client was someone I'd want to work with before he passed on the info. And he usually did me the courtesy of explaining who I was, or at least, what I could do, to my potential customers.
“Do you know what I am, Mr. MacLaine?” I asked gently.
“An assassin,” he whispered, as if he might be overheard.
“No,” I shook my head. “I have killed people, but that's not who I am. Or what I am.”
“Uh.” He started to look confused. “Are you a vampire?”
“Good guess,” I chuckled, “but no.”
The mere fact that I was sitting there, facing him, meant that Adam MacLaine knew about the supernatural world that existed in the shadows of the human one. “The Beneath.”- or just plain “Beneath.” is what we, the denizens of said community, called it. So, MacLaine knew of it, but it was very doubtful that he knew the scope of the situation. He hadn't even known the correct term for a vampire--blooder. The wrong titles give away ignorance in a heartbeat.
Humans who were aware of the Beneath usually knew about the forerunners of paranormal society, the obvious races; loups (don't call them werewolves, they hate that), other shapeshifters, and blooders. Sometimes they knew about fairies, but the Shining Ones were really good at covering their tracks, so that was rare. What was even more rare was when humans were acquainted with the other races; gods, witches, demons, dragons, angels, and so forth. Things that went bump in the night, and did a fair amount of rabble rousing during the day as well. We just knew how to hide our supernatural gifts better than the shifters and blooders.
“A friend of mine told me
about you. He said you were the best. That you never failed,” MacLaine's face started to fall into the sharp lines that always preceded my revelation of the Beneath. It was like they could sense I was about to tell them something that would change their entire life. Or at least their ability to sleep through the night.
“That's true,” I agreed. “So you know about vampires. What else do you know?”
“What else?” He scowled. “The shapeshifters, of course.”
“And that's it?”
“There's more?” MacLaine's eyes widened.
“Oh yes,” I smirked. “There's quite a bit more. But that's not for me to reveal. I only have the right to tell you about my own kind. Now, do you know what a siren is, Mr. MacLaine?”
“Like in the Odyssey?”
“Yes, exactly,” I smiled, relieved that I wouldn't have to explain everything. “My mother's people are considered to be a class of god. They were minor deities, more like an entourage to the more powerful gods, but still considered a divine race.”
“Are you seriously telling me you're descended from gods?” He started to stand.
I quickly sang the lyrics from Hollow Point Heroes' “Sit Down Shut Up.”
I had a whole arsenal of quick-draw lyrics just like this one, ready to be shot out like a bullet when necessary. I didn't even need the song to say exactly what I wanted to accomplish. All that I needed was one word to work with-- sit, dance, die. You know, the usual. And then I could visualize, and direct the magic from there. This particular lyric just happened to work really well. And you'd be surprised how often I employed it.
MacLaine froze, his eyes going wide with horror as his body disobeyed him, and plopped back into the chair. He leaned forward onto his forearms, and regarded me intently. Giving me his full attention, just as I'd commanded.
“Good.” I pushed down the power that rose whenever I began to sing. “Now, don't look at me like that. You're perfectly safe. I simply needed to demonstrate what I could do before you wrote me off as insane. I put no permanence into the spell so the effects will wear off momentarily.”
“What did you just do to me?” Adam strained to push his words past the weakening magic.