Jules Read online

  To everyone who was there for me,

  you helped more than you know.

  To my dad

  Other Books By This Author:

  Olyvia

  Rod (Coming April 1st!)

  Story Blog:

  Writings And Pretty Things

  (https://kstevensthewriter.blogspot.com/)

  Jules

  Prequel to

  The Earth Trilogy

  By

  K. Stevens

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

  businesses, places, events and incidents are either

  the products of the author's imagination or used in

  a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual

  persons, living or dead, or actual events is

  purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017

  Kaelia Stevens

  Cover Illustration thanks to Ryan Bayron

  Editing thanks to mrproofreader via Fiverr

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Printing, 2015

  [email protected]

  Second Edition

  To The Reader:

  You may have noticed, if you looked up this book on Amazon or remembered it from its virtual tours, there are references to this being the second book and/or it was under the title "the 2nd Adventure". The reason behind this being that Jules was indeed the second book I wrote, and it did have some innate connection with my first book, Olyvia.

  When I wrote Olyvia, I wasn't thinking along the lines of a 'series.' I was one-and-done-ing it. Even after I made the decision to write Jules, I wasn't writing for a full-blown series; I was honestly playing around with a few ideas and a new system to see if I could write faster (see the back of the book for said system).

  With the looming launch of my third book, I was forced to acknowledge the inevitable truth…I am writing a series. And, while I may have written Jules second, it really is a better "first-glimpse" into the world I'm creating.

  So, with that in mind, I did a little work and labeled Jules as the prequel instead of the sequel. However, keeping to my original idea of how I wanted my writings to go (one story, multiple books, which is in fact a series but I was unwilling to admit to at the time), there is no specific reason for you to read this book before any of the others. The labeling — Prequel, Book One, Book Two and so on and so forth — is more of a guideline than an actual reading order.

  So with all of that said, I hope you enjoy this book.

  Contents:

  One - My Fair Lady

  Two - The Smithy

  Three - Fox Burrow

  Four - The Smithy

  Five - My Fair Lady

  Six - The Smithy

  Seven - The Lab

  Eight - My Fair Lady

  Nine - The Sanctuary

  Ten - The Hospital

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  My Fair Lady

  The moonlight shone down silver on a small, sleepy town on the outskirts of Colorado. I arrived just as the humans of the town were settling down, which meant that night-walkers, creatures like me, were out and about.

  Almost six foot of pure, sexy half-elf form, my slick boots and lithe figure slipped through the little town unnoticed. My blood-red skirt swayed with the motion, the fabric making a faint swishing sound as it slid across my legs. The crystalline claymore across my back tapped lightly against the chain mail wrapped around my torso.

  I passed by a sprite-like figure, flicking black hair out of my eyes as we watched each other pass. The sprite flinched and flitted past me. I wasn't surprised. When you encounter a biped with eyes as dark as her soul, you quickly and quietly move on.

  A ghostly figure appeared next to me for just a moment; tall, like me. Long, black hair falling in waves away from a bird-like face. Hollow eyes. Pale skin. Leather outfit from neck to toe. Dual kodachi by her side and a billowing jacket behind her. She just loved the dramatics, even as a ghost of my psyche.

  Raven.

  Julia, she thought, I hope you know what you're doing.

  Oh relax, Mother, I thought back. I know exactly what I'm doing.

  A small establishment innocently sat on the side of a back-street, a dirty alleyway tracking behind it. Trash bins squatted on the sidewalk, dirty and uninviting.

  The brick on the outside of the building was stained with various liquids. I'd say it was various forms of blood, if only by the smell. Alien blood. Faerie blood. The black ook of various lunar skin-walkers.

  It was painted on the bricks as a sort of 'human-repellant'. The sign on the front had a faded sign indicating it was some sort of hardware store, but it was just a farce so that the humans wouldn't investigate too thoroughly.

  I walked through the solid glass doors painted black with a thick, tar-like substance and walked into Sting's store. The concrete floor was littered with old, wooden shelves lined with rusting tools. A counter sat on the wall to the left, and to the right the shelves opened up to a back room.

  On a support beam over the back room, a neon sigh blinked and hummed, reading out the name of the nightclub behind the door: "My Fair Lady."

  I walked through the backdoor and was greeted with Sting's second layer of deception.

  Wooden support beams from the exposed roofing overhead gave the appearance of gross incompetence from the builders, and thick, wooden beams came down to give the small room a square appearance. The floorboards creaked in the places that weren't punched through with holes, and the entire area smelled of puke and cheap booze.

  I walked up to the rotting counter where a bored-looking pirate skeptically glared at me with his one good eye.

  "Whaddya want, la—" He stopped, his one eye narrowing as he squinted at me. I smiled, letting him get a good look at my fair complexion and my sloped-to-a-point ears. He glanced at the slightly angular features of my fine-boned face, the odd nature of my eyes.

  With a grunt, he motioned to the door at the end of the counter. I smiled my thanks and sauntered away.

  To humans, this back door led out to the alleyway. But humans wouldn't be able to activate the runes etched all around the doorframe and on the inside of the handle.

  The nightclub—the actual nightclub—was crisp and clean. Old-fashioned. 1970s. Sting kept up a respectable establishment for a half-human.

  Blue lights glowed overhead, a long bar covered the entire left side of the wall with a massive shrine to various drinks. A bartender stood at either end of the bar, which was lined with high, stool-like chairs. The middle was comprised of a smattering of round and straight tables made of decent but not fancy wood, cleaned as best as could be with only a rag and a little magic.

  The tables were parted to either side of the room, the long space of floor filled with various creatures milling around and dancing together.

  A strong beat thrummed out from a stage, a number of long planks hammered into the far end of the club. It was raised just enough for the band and singer to be off the floor and out of the range of moving, kicking feet.

  A band was up on the stage, sassy jazz music flooding the room. A full set of drums was being pounded on by a fancy-looking pixie. An upright bass was being plucked by a willowy elf. A saxophone was being handled nicely by a shirtless vampire, and the piano's beat was pumped out by a half-elf. His feet were up on the bench, knees bent comically, and his motions sporadic as he played. He was practically hopping around up there as he rammed his fingers against the keys.

  The last beats were fired out
from the band, the piano player bringing the music to a crest before they crashed down on the final note together. I made my way to the front as everyone cheered, talons and claws and fingers crashing together as the crowd showed their appreciation. I moved to the front as everyone disbanded, moving back to the tables and the bar. I watched the piano player talk enthusiastically to the band members and waited for him to notice me.

  He caught my eye soon enough and flashed a wild smile, sweat dripping off his nose and down his face. He pulled the collar of his black jacket forward as he strode towards the microphone at the front of the stage.

  He thanked everyone for being there, told the band to take a break, and assured the crowd that they'd be back shortly with more jazz. Until then, someone named 'Dixie' would play an interlude piano piece that she had been dying to play. Some of the crowd clapped, while others just nodded and turned back to their drinks. The player hopped off the stage.

  "While I live and breathe!" he exclaimed. "Jules! The dark queen of chaos herself." He dipped his head in a mock-bow.

  I smiled. "Good evening, Sting."

  "What can I do ya for?" he asked, bouncing back into an upright position.

  "A private back room and a cold couple of drinks. I've got some questions that only you can answer."

  "Serious stuff, huh?" he asked, his smile barely dented. "Well, we mustn't keep the lady waiting. Head to the back and find a spot while I get our drinks. Your usual?"

  "Of course."

  While Sting flitted through the crowd towards the bar, I moved in the other direction towards a curtain along the stage wall. I brushed past it, revealing a set of stagehand rooms, dressing rooms, and a long hallway leading to a short staircase.

  Following the short drop into the underground, the hall opened up into a fashionably dainty ballroom. Five tables were scattered around the middle, and curved booths with leather seats were set into the walls on either side with red velvet curtains hanging from shining curtain rods. Every inch of the place shone, the floor waxed and polished. A sign hung on the walls and the inside of the doorway, warning that any misuse of weapons or abilities was strictly prohibited.

  The Keepers, lawmen in our world, knew of this place of course. But Sting had pulled enough strings with the right people to keep the Law out of this room. Sting's word was the law down here.

  There were certain rules about violence in an establishment like Sting's. Like all good Underground circuits, there were rules about the shows of force on these premises. They didn't stop one party from killing another, but Sting reserved the right to deal with troublemakers however he saw fit. He was ultimately the judge and jury when it came to his establishment, and being a half-elf with superhuman strength and a bloodline known to all magical creatures as ruthless and cold, most creatures played by his rules.

  No one was around at the moment, save a small, humanoid figure in the shadows. I saw a bone-white head and gleaming amber eyes. It was enough to tell me that a Laynex, an alien in the human sense of the word, was Sting's watchdog down here. She acted like a sort of bouncer and surveillance system in one; her angular, cat-like eyes were able to take in several things at once, and her helmet-like head was renowned for breaking things as hard as diamonds.

  She eyed me as soon as I walked in, and her eyes were still on me when Sting descended the stairs, drinks in his hands. He motioned to a nearby table, and we sat together.

  He placed a long glass of sparkling pink pixie wine in front of me, settling a mug of cold, hard beer down in front of him. I took a sip of my wine and took a moment to delight in the flavor. There was nothing so sweet as grapes grown and picked by pixies. The extra pixie magic during the creation of the drink gave it a good kick.

  Sting took a long pull from his beer, wiped a bit of foam off the corner of his mouth and asked, "So, what's the trouble?"

  "I need information, dear," I said.

  "Yes, you mentioned," he mused. "What sort of information are we talking about? Afanasiy's latest plan to steal you back into the fold?"

  "Charming." I sighed, taking a sip of my wine. "You know mother freed me from that psychopath's clutches."

  "Of course I know," he said with a disapproving look. "I know everything. Well—" he paused and glanced away for a moment "—everything on this plane of existence." He was unsubtly referring to my father. "How're the parents, by the way?"

  "Still on the haunting prowl," I answered, ignoring the sudden ghost of my mother staring at me. "Raven doubts my sensibilities in coming here and dealing with the likes of you, and Cronoth has given me free rein to do what I need to in order to find our wayward escaped cousin. Even if it means talking to you."

  "Your confidence in me is overwhelming." He sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. "How are we related, again?"

  I gave a slow shoulder-shrug. "You can't begrudge my parents for not trusting you. Not after you abandoned your role in the bloodline in order to create this place."

  His eyes glinted angrily. "Elven blood is only half my blood, you know."

  I smiled a slow, teasing smile as I answered. "I know. I just enjoy seeing you mad. It's refreshing to know that you have emotions."

  He frowned, his eyes narrowing into a near-glare. He shook it off, took another pull from his mug and said, "Tell me what you came here for so we can trade and you can leave."

  Placing my wineglass gently on the table, I made my voice soft and dangerous. "I've told you what I want. Tell me your price before I'm forced to find my information elsewhere and spread the word that your ears aren't good for anything anymore."

  He sat back in his chair with a frown. "Right. Our escapee." He mulled over his answer, spinning his finger around the rim of the near-empty cup. "I can't give you a full description of what I know," he finally said. "I've already made a deal with Wolf about the security of his information."

  Wolf was my little cousin's guardian. Care-giver. Nanny. Whatever you wanted to call him. He hadn't done a very good job as of late, what with his charge having run from him and all. But Sting always stuck to his word. If Wolf locked away the information about what happened or where he believed her to be headed, Sting wasn't going to sing without violent encouragement.

  Which was, of course, against the rules.

  He was smiling. I must have been making a face. His canines glittered, giving them a sharp look. "I suppose I can give you a hint, though."

  "How much?"

  "How much are you willing to offer?"

  I thought it over. "I can give you insights into the Fox den."

  He waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone knows what Afanasiy is doing. Brainwashing humans isn't new territory. Offworlders do it all the time."

  I smiled at him. "I can give you specifications of things that he's been doing behind that earthen curtain of his."

  His ears twitched. "What kind of specifications?"

  "Projects. Manipulations. A location, if you really want it."

  It was old news for me. I used to be a part of a cultish version of a skulk of almost-werefoxes called marwolaeths. There were several of us, and the reason we were 'almost-werefoxes' was because the clans and packs and skulks all originated from a different world, a place named Koanni. The original bringers of this plaugish, non-human nightmare haven't been seen in a very long time, and most are considered dead.

  I didn't have the programming anymore from Afanasiy's cultish regime, but I remembered everything from my time among the Skulk. I saw things that many in our world did not know about, as our cult leader, Afanasiy, was paranoid and wouldn't let anyone near him if they weren't controlled by him.

  At the proposal of this information, Sting leaned forward on the table. He was clearly eager, but trying to hold himself back. Trying to look like it wasn't important to him. "Why should I want such information?" he asked. "I already know where half of his dens are. What's one more?"

  I leaned in so close that my breath brushed the fringes of his bl
ack hair. "Because this one is used as a training ground. An indoctrination site, if you will. And I'm sure that the Keepers, among other groups dissatisfied with Afanasiy's latest tactics, would love to stunt his ability to round up more troops."

  He laughed softly. "So your time under his control wasn't completely wasted. Your fused personalities are a bit impressive, Jules."

  I smiled. "I know."

  We leaned back at the same time, his face looking a little less impish. "Alright, I think that's a fair trade. You've got a deal. You first."

  I tipped my head slightly in respectfulness, and then told him what I knew. I told him about the experiments Afanasiy had performed, trying to merge the features and abilities of the different marwolaeths. I shared his techniques for judging magical ability. I talked about his genetic manipulation experiments, and, finally, I told Sting the location of Afanasiy's training burrow.

  He sat and listened intently as I spoke, his black eyes gleaming but his mouth a straight line. He took in everything that I said without flinching, almost without blinking. He waited until I finished, letting silence settle between us as he digested the information.

  "Well," he finally said, leaning back in his chair. "That's a little more than I expected." He laughed a little, disbelieving. "Guess I've got to match your price."

  The table creaked as Sting leaned his elbows against the wood. "Word around town is the Keepers are in pursuit of an Elven child that pulled a sword on a couple of people when they wouldn't answer her wild ravings. If rumor is to be believed, they cornered her in a hotel somewhere in Tennessee. She escaped thanks to the help of a certain Wolf leader."

  My eyes narrowed. "Which one?"

  He gave me his animal grin and waited.

  "Olyvia. You're talking about Olyvia."

  Olyvia was the mate of the real marwolaeth Wolf alpha. Since his supposed death, the Wolf packs began to look for her to lead them, but she had vanished. No one could find her. Too many Wolves stepped up to be the new alpha, and the packs fell into a chaos that was never resolved.