Chaos Conspiracy Read online

  Contents

  Chaos Conspiracy

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Chaos Conspiracy

  (Sacrificial Magic 1)

  By

  Holly Evans

  Copyright Holly Evans (2018) ©. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are purely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is fictionalised and coincidental.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Cover art by Lou Harper.

  ONE

  The sun cut through the thick grey clouds, highlighting the angels adorning the old building before me. The cream stone was gently worn, speaking of centuries of stories waiting to be told. Thankfully, the tourists hadn’t found this quiet little corner of Prague. They were most likely bustling around the castle. I double-checked there were no witnesses before I pulled out my pair of daggers. Prague allowed open carry on blades, which made my life much easier. That being said, I wouldn’t have minded having a gun as I saw the redcap I’d been hunting come around the corner.

  He was brutish, his face twisted into a malicious grin, and his lips were stained red from whichever poor bastard he last drained of blood. Then there was the cap that gave his kind the name. It had been pure white when he put it on that morning. Now it was dripping with fresh blood that trickled down through his short greasy hair. His yellow eyes met mine, and his grin widened, revealing dark yellow sharp teeth. I shifted my weight and waited. I’d set up an alchemical trap that would stop him from running away. It also hid us from any innocent eyes, should a non-magical person stumble into the area.

  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I called over to the redcap.

  He laughed and licked his thin lips as he looked me up and down. I couldn’t hold back the shudder of revulsion. If I lost this fight, he’d eat me alive. Finally, he stepped over the thin black line that marked the edge of the alchemical trap. A soft silver glow filled the air before a crack of bright blue shot around the circle. The redcap didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t be able to leave, but neither would I. Not until one of us was dead. The trap was the best I could afford. It formed a tight mesh of magic around us that would hold against anything as long as we were both alive within its confines. It had seemed like a great idea when I’d purchased it.

  As the redcap flexed his thick fingers with the long brown nails that could cut through the denim of my jeans, I began to regret my decision-making process. He was easily a foot taller than me and not far off a foot wider than me. I reminded myself that I’d taken on far worse foes and won.

  A look somewhere between mild boredom and impending happiness filled his face. I took a slow breath and readied myself for the incoming blow. He swiped at my stomach, and I stepped back as I assessed his movements. I had roughly two feet behind me before I hit the alchemical trap. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give me a little room. His arms hung lazily by his sides, but his steps were small and precise while he eyed me with those cold, almost black eyes.

  I could feel his blood singing to me, one of the pleasures of being a blood witch. Everyone has their own unique song, but the type of pull and song can usually be categorised by type of being. Redcaps were usually a deep thudding feeling that reverberated in my feet. He, however, was a bright addictive song that called me closer. I hadn’t met anything that felt and sounded like his blood did, which meant he’d been screwing around with some new and interesting magic. Redcaps weren’t often drawn to magic, but they usually had some shaman-type magic user within their group. The one before me wasn’t one of those. They were smaller and twisted by the dark magic they dabbled in. No, this guy was a classic brute. He shouldn’t have had anything special in his blood.

  Suddenly, he rushed me, and I really regretted being stuck in that small circle with him. He closed the space between us in two long strides. I ducked under his outstretched arms and sliced his inner thighs before I shot sideways. There wasn’t much room. It felt like the circle of the trap was shrinking around us. He took a quick shuffling step towards me, and it put him back within arm’s reach again. His claws raked over my shoulder, but thankfully slid off my leather jacket. His blood spilled down his filthy pants, but he didn’t even slow down. He should have been stumbling from the loss of blood. I’d hit the femoral artery perfectly. Fuck.

  Things were not going to plan. Redcaps were dumb. I was supposed to open his arteries, he’d bleed out, and we were done. Nice and easy. Instead, we circled around each other again, and I wasn’t finding a hint of weakness in his movements. Given my lack of size, I depended on my speed and wiles. I wouldn’t do well in a long, sustained fight. A redcap would normally be slower, almost lumbering, but he was as nimble as a sidhe or a feline shifter. Something was very wrong there. Had I been set up? He rushed me again, and I slashed at his throat, but he pulled away and my blade slipped through thin air. He wasn’t giving me any room to dance away, not that time. He had his arms out and a manic grin on his face. I tried to duck under his arms, but he grabbed onto the back of my jacket.

  I tried to stab him in the groin, but his arms were longer than mine. He leaned in, and his teeth grazed my throat. I tried to slash at his wrist to free myself of his grip. He dropped me, only to dive forwards and pin me against my own alchemical barrier. I should have known that was a stupid idea!

  He licked my cheek, and I fought to free my arms so I could cut off that awful grey tongue. His rancid breath filled my nose and threatened to make me vomit.

  “Ever heard of breath mints?” I asked.

  He held my arms firm as he inched in closer, his teeth aiming for my neck. A quick glance around showed that we were still alone. Non-magical people wouldn’t be able to see inside of the alchemical circle, but supernals would be able to. I couldn’t afford the trap that made us entirely invisible, and really it would be good for business if supernals saw me kicking ass. I mentally reached inside the redcap and wrapped my consciousness around his blood. It felt so damn good to use my magic. If the Council knew I had it at all, they’d kill me. Blood magicians were outlawed for being too dangerous a century before I was born. As I held his blood in my mind
’s eye and made it boil within him, I wondered if, perhaps, they had a point.

  The redcap screamed and flailed as he clawed at himself, tearing great chunks of flesh out of his arms and stomach. Then he went poof. The black gunk that formed when a fae died rained down and coated me. It smelled like rotting meat and fresh blood. It was going to take forever to get that smell out of my hair. Thankfully, the gunk would dissolve soon enough, but that damn smell was going to linger on my skin and hair.

  I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get some of the gunk out. At least I’d earnt enough to pay rent. Ok, so it was three days late, but better late than never, right? The bone-deep tiredness that came with using my blood magic started to slip in just as the alchemical trap dissolved around me. A hot guy chose that moment to walk around the corner and see me coated in black gunk and looking frazzled from chasing that damn redcap for three days. I gave him a big friendly smile and a little wave before I realised I still had my blood-coated dagger in my hand. His eyes went big and he swallowed hard before he turned on his heel and walked very quickly the other direction. I had to give him points for not running, I supposed.

  TWO

  I got plenty of dirty looks as I walked down the street to the ATM. I didn’t dare look at my reflection in any of the shop windows. It was better that I didn’t know. My landlord texted me while I waited my turn for the ATM. He was threatening eviction again; I ignored it and sidled up to the ATM while hoping that the god who’d hired me had been paying attention. One of the nice things about working for the gods is that they drop the money straight into my account; I have to file paperwork when I work for the Council or the Order. The downside to working for the gods is sometimes they get a bit scatterbrained and take a week to deposit said money, and it’s not as though I can go and bang on their front door.

  I chewed on my bottom lip as I waited for the screen to show my balance. It showed enough for rent and some food! I may have done a little happy dance as the ATM did it’s whirring thing while it pulls the money out. Someone whispered something to their friends near me. I raised an eyebrow at them.

  “It’s rude to talk behind people’s backs,” I said.

  “You are a mess; you should not be in public,” the woman said back.

  Now that really was rude. I bit my tongue, took my cash, and walked away.

  My landlord tried to charge me a late fee on the rent. I told him he was welcome to try, but my lawyer would hear about it. Of course, I couldn’t afford a lawyer, but he didn’t know that. It was enough to make him back down and let me continue living in my tiny apartment for another month.

  I stopped in the Vietnamese restaurant a few doors down from my building to pick up takeaway. I had a little spare money, and I deserved to eat something hot and delicious for a change. Then, I was finally home and free to unwind for the evening.

  Home was a tiny fourth-floor apartment with scratched and battered wooden floors, a kitchenette that I rarely had enough food in to use, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The wardrobe in the bedroom didn’t have any doors on it - the previous tenant had taken those with them. They’d also taken all of the lightbulbs, leaving me to buy my own when I moved in. Oh, and there was no sofa. My landlord had advertised it as fully furnished, but to his mind that meant it had a bed and a fridge. The bed creaked as I sat down on it to pull off my boots. I bet the neighbours were glad I didn’t have a love life.

  My one luxury was Netflix on my cheap laptop. I grabbed a shower and changed into my pale blue pyjama bottoms with little frogs on them and a simple strap top before I got my Vietnamese. I found it still wonderfully warm as I sank down into my beanbag with my laptop in front of me. My favourite murder-mystery series had a new episode hot off the presses, perfect.

  Life wasn’t great, but I could enjoy the little things. For an hour, I wasn’t a blood witch desperately hiding what she was while barely scraping by, I was a great detective solving intricate mysteries and saving lives.

  Once the show was over, I was rudely returned to the real world by the workmen half a block away beginning their night’s work. I understood why they worked such unsocial hours, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed hearing a jackhammer for half of the night.

  I threw away the carton from the Vietnamese food and glanced at the jar with a sticker reading ‘new boots fund’ on it. My boots were getting very thin in the sole, and I didn’t know how much longer they’d last, but the jar was pitifully empty. That was the problem with having to hide what I was. If I could put ‘blood witch’ on my resume, I’d be able to bring in far more work. Well, for twelve or so hours before the Council found out that I was a blood witch and executed me. It’d be a nice twelve hours, though. As it was, I had to pretend I was a low-level hunter with no magic. That meant the Council and Order had no interest in hiring me; why would they, when they could hire talented lycans and such? And the gods, well, they knew what I was, and they had priestesses and Guardians to work through. Only the smaller gods with tiny meaningless jobs hired me.

  With my mood thoroughly ruined and images of the Council finding out what I am filling my mind, I took my laptop to bed and put a nice, familiar, happy movie on to fall asleep to. That is, if I could drown out the sound of the jackhammer long enough to relax.

  THREE

  I gave up on sleep about an hour before sunrise. A quick check of my phone and emails told me I didn’t have another job waiting for me yet. That was the worst part of this freelance mercenary thing, the waiting around for someone to hire me. I didn’t have some association or guild I worked through, it was all done on word of mouth. I’d moved to Prague because I’d heard it was a supernal hotspot and, well, it’s cheaper to live there.

  Sitting around the flat was only going to make me miserable, and I needed to keep myself fit and active to be able to do my job. I’d thought about getting a nice normal retail job or something, but I couldn’t bear it. I needed to be out there, doing what little I could to make the world a better place. My parents had been hunters, working to keep the supernal community hidden and in line. I’d grown up helping them. It had never occurred to me to seriously pursue another career, if you could call what I did a career. It was more of a vocation, or that’s what I kept telling myself when I was down to one pack of ramen and no more money in sight.

  I pulled on my boots because the only other footwear I owned was a cute pair of ballet flats, and they’re really not good for running in. A run around Kinsky Gardens would do me a lot of good, and who knew? Maybe there would be a rogue nymph that someone would pay me to dispose of.

  The night tram was empty. There was an odd peace to riding the trams at night, a solitude as I watched the city go by. It was the quiet hour in the city, too late for people to be stumbling around enjoying a social life and too early to be heading into work. I’d never understood why there were so many commuters at 6am; nothing opened before 9am, and the city wasn’t that big.

  The driver threw the tram around the corners, and I had to cling onto the railings a few times. The ride up the hill could be a rollercoaster, if you had the right driver. It was quite the thrill ride if you had that going back down the steep hills. I stepped out into the grey light of pre-dawn and smiled at the expanse of trees that made up most of Kinsky Gardens. I stretched quickly before I set off down the closest path and settled into a comfortable pace as I allowed the sound of the city waking up wash over me. The birds were chirping, and even up in the park I could hear the trams dinging below. If I allowed myself to listen, I could hear the gentle trilling sound of the nymphs’ blood. They were hidden deep in the trees far off the paths, but they were watching me. I could feel their eyes on my back as I made my way along the twisting path.

  A tree to my right shivered with the weight of something larger than a housecat jumping from one bough to the next. I allowed myself a small smile. If the puka thought I was an easy meal, they were going to have a very rude awakening. Yes, I’m a small woman, but I started helping my parents ke
ep the local supernal community in line when I was six. I was handling feral lycans by myself by age thirteen. The puka dropped down in the shadows of the trees a couple of feet away. I ignored him. He was in his human form, complete with black cat tail and ears.

  If he was seen by a non-supernal in that state, then enforcers would be sent for him. He likely knew that and didn’t give a fuck; puka were a type of fae, and all fae tended to be arrogant assholes. There were very strict laws against allowing the non-supernal community to see any trace of magic, and while he could argue that the tail and ears were just a costume, he’d likely still get a firm slap on the wrist.

  The puka remained where he was and left me in peace, which was the best decision he could have made. I continued running down the increasingly steep path and looked between the trees to try and get my bearings. I’d been running around Kinsky Gardens for eighteen months, and I still routinely got lost there. There was something about it that meant I couldn’t mentally map out the paths. I didn’t worry about it. It wasn’t like I had to be anywhere anyway.

  After an hour or more, I emerged out of the trees at a long, gently sloping cream stairway that headed into New Town. The soft buzz of endorphins left me smiling as I slowed to a walk and enjoyed strolling down the steps back into the city. I couldn’t help but have a good feeling about the day.

  It was right after I said, “Today’s going to be a good day,” out loud that the part-bred fae jumped down from the high stone wall in front of me.

  He gripped his cheap knife like his life depended on it, his eyes tinged with red.

  “Hand over your money.”

  I looked him up and down before I held my arms out.

  “Do I look like I’m carrying money?” I asked.

  He bared his sharp teeth at me and slashed at the air in front of my stomach. I unsheathed my rather more expensive and far sharper dagger and went into a fighting stance. Confusion flitted through his eyes before he lunged at me. His movements were verging on sluggish for someone with fae blood in their veins. The song of his blood had been muddied by some potent drugs that were slowly killing him, which explained the sluggishness.