FULL MOON Read online

  FULL MOON

  By Jennifer St. Clair

  Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  http://www.writers-exchange.com

  http://www.readerseden.com

  * * *

  FULL MOON

  Copyright 2008 Jennifer St. Clair

  Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  PO Box 372

  ATHERTON QLD 4883

  AUSTRALIA

  Cover design by: Jennifer St. Clair

  Published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  http://www.writers-exchange.com

  http://www.readerseden.com

  ISBN 9781921314858

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

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  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

  About The Author

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter One

  In the cramped space of the dog crate, human fingers slipped through the bars and lifted the latch. Perhaps at some point they would put a lock on their cages and he would not be able to escape. They would kill him when his time was up, his body disposed of like so much waste.

  Perhaps it would be better that way. Edward pushed that thought away as soon as it appeared. If he let them win--if he just gave up, then what would he have lived for all of these years? He'd survived his curse for over a century; to give up now seemed every bit a terrible defeat.

  He stood, eyeing the dogs around him, but they remained silent, watching and wary, as they had since he'd arrived. For a moment, he thought about freeing them all, just so the keepers of the keys wouldn't search for only one dog. But the scars that crisscrossed his body--from encounters with wild dogs near his sanctuary--reminded him of gnashing teeth and growling fury, so he left them there and retreated into the kitchen.

  He stole a bottle of water to wash away the taste of the food they had fed him, and found someone's forgotten lunch in the fridge when he opened the door. Just the thought of real food made him weak; he had to sit down at the tiny table to open the bag and examine the contents. To a stomach used to the odd bird or rabbit, a chicken sandwich seemed almost too good to be true, especially since a chicken had landed him here in the first place.

  A further search of the kitchen turned up a forgotten coat--not as thick as he would have wished to wear against the weather outside, but good enough--and someone's dirty exercise clothes that would help protect him from the snow. The shoes didn't fit, but a pair of rubber boots they wore to spray out the kennels did, and those would do as well as anything.

  He found forty dollars in a desk drawer, and took that too, knowing that he could stop at a store, perhaps, on the way home, and buy food this time--human food--instead of whatever half-starved game he could catch. This winter had been brutal. And it wasn't over yet.

  But when he stepped up to the glass doors and stared out at the driving snow, he wondered if he had enough strength to get back home. He knew which way his house stood--far to the east--but the trek through the snow would be perilous, indeed. He touched the glass with one hand and shivered at the cold.

  Something whined behind him. Edward tensed, half-expecting teeth to tear into his flesh, but nothing happened, save for the appearance of a dark shadow in the window. When he turned, the black and white dog that had somehow followed him shied away.

  "You don't want to come with me," Edward said, unable to raise his voice above a whisper. When was the last time he had actually spoken to someone? Did a dog count?

  The dog whined again, took a small step forward, then froze, as if waiting for him to reprimand her. But she had done nothing wrong.

  "I can't feed myself," Edward whispered, and turned back towards the door again. "How would I be able to feed you?" He closed his eyes against the wind and pushed open the door, and something brushed past him as he stepped into searing cold and let the door swing shut behind him.

  Hot tears thawed his skin, then froze on his face as the wind brought a scattering of snow across the desolation. The tears blurred the streetlights around him, making them a strange smear of white in a symphony of darkness.

  The dog stopped a few feet away, wagging her tail, obviously waiting for him to make the first move.

  After a moment, knowing he had to move or freeze to death, he shuffled forward, towards home. He had no true idea how long it would take to reach his refuge, but he thought he might make it by dawn.

  If the weather didn't kill him first.

  With the lingering memory of the warmth of the animal shelter in his mind, Edward dug his hands into the pockets of his stolen jacket and set his sights on home.

  The dog followed. He did not have the heart to send her away.

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  "Healers are usually called before the patient dies," Sennet said, and tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Why am I here?"

  "You are an impartial party to the succession," Ceidrin said, and made a face. "Believe me, this was not my decision, or my suggestion. I would have left you in peace."

  The Queen of this particular kingdom in Faerie had died mere weeks before from an illness that sounded suspicious even to Sennet's ears. She'd left no direct heirs and a messy succession--according to Ceidrin, her cousin and her cousin's son were closest to the throne--and one of them had probably hastened her demise. But Sennet had not come to unmask a murderer. Instead, they had asked her to come to watch the proceedings. As if her presence alone would make it well and good.

  "I shouldn't be here," she said again. "This isn't--"

  Ceidrin held up his hand to forestall her protests. "Please. All you have to do is be present. You don't have to speak, you don't have to react to any of the proceedings--although if Meinren is crowned king, I may have to protest."

  "Is his the hand that administered the poison?" Sennet asked, only half-joking.

  Ceidrin's face paled. "I would not say that again," he said, and hurried her through the corridor, past a vast array of paintings and mosaics made with precious stones. He entered a small empty room--there were more empty rooms than full ones in the castle, it seemed--and muttered a spell to check for eavesdroppers. "I've not been back here for a century, at least. I've heard stories about what happened, of course; whispered ones only. No one will come right out and say it, but she did not deserve this death."

  "You weren't here when it happened, then," Sennet said, and wondered if he had asked her to come to prevent any other deaths.

  "No. I was--" He shrugged. "Elsewhere. And I would prefer to be elsewhere now. However, as a cousin to the Queen, I am summoned just like everyone else."

  "And where do you stand in line for the throne?" Sennet asked.

  Ceidrin's mouth twisted. "It depend
s. Since our Queen left no direct heirs, this will be an interesting succession."

  "Hmm." Sennet wandered over to where another painting hung on the wall; this one darkened with age. "Any chance--"

  "No." Ceidrin's tone of voice left no room for speculation. "I would not want it, regardless. Meinren and Oriellen technically have dibs, as it were. There are two others--Elinor and Lucien--who have a better chance than me, and both of them have...issues of their own. The rest of us can only seethe." He joined her at the painting, and pointed to a young girl. "That was our Queen, a long, long time ago. Isabel."

  "And the rest?" Sennet asked. There were six people in the painting, two adults, both crowned, so obviously the king and queen of long ago, and four children, one of them still a toddler. Three girls and one boy.

  "Those were her parents," Ceidrin said, and pointed them out. "Aelfyn and Citrinia. The boy was her brother, who died in a hunting accident when he was young. His name was Jeremin. This--" he pointed to the baby, "Oriellen. Hence the reason why Oriellen and Meinren are the front contenders for the throne."

  "And the third girl?" Sennet asked when he didn't continue.

  "Her name was Nidrea," Ceidrin said shortly. "She–was Isabel's elder sister. If she had stayed, then perhaps none of this would have happened."

  Nidrea had darker hair than the others, or perhaps she stood in shadow, because it was difficult to see her face. She wore a dark gown as well, and held a sword, point down, between her hands, a stiff and awkward pose. The others' props were no less intriguing: a scepter; what looked like an ornate globe; and a silver bow.

  Sennet pointed to the sword. "That looks familiar."

  Ceidrin snorted. "Impossible. That sword vanished with Nidrea and hasn't been seen since."

  "Vanished?"

  In four quick steps, Ceidrin strode to the door, opened it, and glanced out. When he was satisfied that they were well and truly alone, he closed the door, locked it, and cast a ward upon the room.

  "Nidrea ran away with her human lover," he said. "That--that wasn't done two hundred years ago. Especially if the elf in question is the heir to the throne."

  Coming from an elf who had a human lover, his tone of disapproval was a bit surprising. But then again, Nidrea had abandoned her post, for want of a better word.

  "Is she dead?"

  "If she isn't, she will be if they find out she's alive," Ceidrin said. "I wouldn't mention her name outside of this room." He grinned. "Now, if Nidrea had children with her human, those children would have a larger claim to the throne, half-human or no. Now that would be an interesting succession. As it is, I think I'll be leaving again very soon."

  Sennet touched the sword in the painting, half-expecting to feel something other than dirt and grime and long-dried paint under her fingers. "You told me that they requested my presence here," she said softly, not looking at him. "Was that true? Or am I here for your protection?"

  Ceidrin stopped with his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders tense, his head lowered. "You are here...you are here because you are the only person I can trust to not stab me in the back while I am here."

  He stated this so simply that Sennet turned to stare at him in shock. "You're serious?"

  "I won't be eating while I'm here, for that matter," Ceidrin said. "Or drinking. If I--" He clenched one hand into a fist and slammed it against the door. "If I had known this would happen--"

  "Don't blame yourself," Sennet said. "I'm fairly certain I can detect poison, so you needn't starve." She'd known Ceidrin long enough to realize how hard it would be for him to refrain from sampling some of the inevitable feast. It was no accident that his lover was a chef.

  "You'll stay, then?" he asked, and raised his head.

  "I'll stay." Sennet smiled. "Gene would kill me if I didn't." She'd met them both when a much younger Gene had almost cut off three of his fingers.

  Ceidrin nodded. "He might try," he said, and tried to smile. "Thank you. Shall we go?"

  "They don't know I'm here with you?" Sennet asked.

  "No, they don't," Ceidrin replied, a faraway look in his eyes. "And that might be best, really. Would anyone recognize you?"

  "They shouldn't," Sennet said. "I've never actually been here before."

  "And yet you recognized the sword?" Ceidrin frowned. "Strange."

  "I've seen it before, somewhere," Sennet said, but her memory would not supply the place. "If I remember--"

  "If you remember, don't tell anyone but me," Ceidrin said, his voice intense. "Please."

  "Of course," Sennet replied. "You're stalling."

  This time, at least, he was able to smile. "Of course I am."

  "They'll come searching for you if you don't go to them," Sennet said, and held out her hand. "Let's go."

  Ceidrin hesitated, and then tucked her hand under his arm, as if he was about to promenade her into a formal gathering, which, she supposed, was more the case than not.

  "Meinren is the one I'm worried about," he muttered, and opened the door. "Be wary."

  "Even your cousins know the penalty for harming a Healer in the course of duty," Sennet said mildly. "Surely they wouldn't be so stupid."

  "I would hope not," Ceidrin said, and pasted a very fake smile on his face. "But since they don't know you're a Healer--"

  "If I have to save your life, they'll know fairly quickly," Sennet said, and let him lead her down the hall. They passed more paintings, and then, as the drift of voices echoed off the walls, a painting of Nidrea herself, seated in an ornate chair, the sword lying across her legs. She wore a simple silver crown in her honey-colored hair, but even as a painting, her grey eyes seemed troubled.

  "Sennet--" Ceidrin sighed when she stopped in front of the painting. "Nidrea is a myth. She won't magically appear to save us all."

  "But perhaps the succession could be postponed for a bit just in case she's still alive," Sennet said softly, and wondered if she would return if she was.

  "You suggest that to the gathering, then, and see how it is received," Ceidrin grumbled, then stiffened when an elf appeared at the other end of the corridor.

  "Meinren?" Sennet whispered under her breath.

  "None other," Ceidrin muttered, then smiled broadly. "You aren't waiting for me, I hope?"

  "Of course we are," the elf snapped. His eyes narrowed when he saw Sennet. "Who is this?"

  "An uninterested party," Sennet replied before Ceidrin could speak. "Here by invitation."

  "Whose invitation?" the elf asked.

  "Mine," Ceidrin said, and his voice matched the elf's in tone. "And if I have to claim bloodright for her presence, I will."

  The elf sniffed, glared at Ceidrin, then turned on his heel to vanish amid the voices again.

  "Oh, this should be interesting," Sennet said as they approached the doors.

  Ceidrin snorted. "I think I would prefer my own cooking," he said, and led her through the swinging doors.

  Return to Contents

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  Chapter Three

  Elinor had stolen the car, but the blinding snow had forced her to use a spell to make it out of the city. Without the spell--for traction, of course--she would have been at the bottom of the river by now, despite the ice.

  And perhaps, in hindsight, that would have been better. Her Aunt's hunters could have abandoned the search, and she would have been free.

  Dead, but free.

  She drove without spells now, because spells were worse than a paper trail to the ones who hunted her, but the roads were no better far from the city. In fact, they seemed to be a bit worse.

  She thought she missed the streetlights the most; with them, at least, was the thin veneer of civilization, unlike the dark woods and empty fields that lay on either side of her now.

  The countryside seemed both desolate and beautiful; despite the driving snow.

  There was no map unfolding in her head; she had no true destination other than away. Far, far away. Because if they caught her, if Oriellen's hunters
found her before she could find a place to shelter from the dawn, then she would be better off to run the car into a tree, or a telephone pole, or turn around and drive off the edge of that bridge.

  Death would be a blessing if they caught her.

  She refused to think of what would happen if she managed to get away. The crown wasn't even hers--

  When the deer appeared in her headlights--a flash of tawny fur and wide brown eyes--she wrenched the steering wheel to the left, towards the field, not wanting another death to add to her list, even if it was only a deer.

  For a moment, as she wrestled for control against the ice, she wondered if she should just allow the crash to happen. She'd freeze to death before they found her--surely she would--and then--

  In the light of her headlights, silhouetted against the driving snow, standing on the side of the road with one hand up to shade his eyes and the other held close against his body, was a man.

  Elinor screamed. His appearance was so...so sudden, so unexpected, that she released the steering wheel and threw up her hands, automatically sketching a warding sign before she remembered that she was on the run--and any magic would direct her Aunt's hunters to her trail before she could lose them again.

  She heard and felt a thump as the car careened sideways--surely too soft to be the man--and then it slid to a stop, the headlights illuminating the falling snow and nothing more.

  And for a moment, she sat there, gasping for air, feeling the panic of the last few hours beating down every last inch of both courage and strength.

  She'd spent her winters in Faerie since she was young. Her father had lived in the human world, her mother had never left her family home. But this time, when Elinor returned, she found the house destroyed, her mother burned, and the hunters waiting for her. All because of a stupid crown.

  She knew what they were doing. She knew what would happen if she didn't show up at the gathering. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? Her mother was dead.