Origin Story Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Origin Story

  (TMI, INC #1)

  By Rowena Rede

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Edited by R.A. Milhoan Book Services

  Cover design and TMI logo by Molly Phipps at We Got You Covered

  Interior Formatting by Gaynor Smith at Indie Books Gone Wild

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Empress House Press

  Text Copyright Rowena Rede 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Dedicated to anyone who has dared to dream big and followed through.

  “This is Apple signing off! Hit Like and Subscribe for new updates and follow me on Instagram!” River Oberon watched in cold silence and hit repeat several more times. His sister had uploaded this video to the internet two days ago and hadn’t been seen since. “This is Apple-“, frustrated, he threw his tablet against the wall. The subsequent sound of shattering that followed wasn’t as satisfying as he had hoped. His sister, Apple, was a daughter of House Oberon, an exalted and prominent family of the Seelie Court. It was bad enough that she spent her days frittering around the internet looking for tabloid fame and attention with her gossip and makeup videos. Humans were pathetic with their fawning over the most simple of concepts. Apple should be moving in a society of their ilk. Other fae, who would treat her like the royal she was. Goddess knows, there was gossip and intrigue to last millennia, she didn’t need to cater to human interests for that trash. Now she was missing without a trace and his unlimited magic and resources had turned up nothing.

  The door to his office opened without warning. Stone, his head of security, barged in as if he were on fire. “Sir, your parents have issued a decree that Apple must be found by month’s end. Since North America is your realm, they’ve ruled that you must find her or they will hold you responsible for her disappearance.”

  River clenched his fists tight, nearly cutting into his flesh. Medieval Fae politics at play. His parents would rather blame him for not providing safe accommodations for his sister than help find her. His family was large and he should be grateful they even remembered they had a daughter fluttering around the continent. He had twelve brothers and eleven sisters, some full and some half. While his parents were married and ruled together firmly, in true fae fashion, they were not monogamous. They bestowed titles upon their discarded children like some sort of consolation prize. On the outside, it sounded wonderful. Riches beyond your wildest dream, the respect of your supernatural peers, but no parental contact with you unless it’s an official royal function.

  River was one of the legitimate ones, therefore he ruled North America’s fae population and had garnered deference and respect among the other supernatural governments as well. No one dared disrespect him. Apple had been born right after him, sired by his father and a courtier. Because they were so close in age, she was given to his court as a ward and they were raised together in his household.

  “Very well Stone. If my parents want no responsibility in finding my sister, I will happily do it,” he wrote down some names on a sticky pad and handed it to his chief security officer. “I’ll need you to locate these humans. One of them saved my life once. I would trust no one else on this task. He works with a partner, who seems just as capable. I also need a witch. Not just any witch though, I want a powerful one, an ELEMENTAL would be preferential.” Stone frowned and opened his mouth to speak then quickly shut it but not before River noticed.

  “Go ahead cousin, you were going to say something?”

  “Why do you wish to task a couple of humans and a witch with finding your sister? Surely her own kin would be better suited? Or at the very least more invested in her safe return?

  “Humans can move more freely than we can. As powerful as we are, we are subject to spells and wards that they aren’t. As for wanting a witch, well, it’s always better to have a witch on your side for anything. I don’t want to take any chances. An Elemental would be best. They have active powers that many of our peers do not.” Stone disagreed with his cousin, but shook his head in compliance and took the information River gave him. He was a loyal servant and member of House Oberon and would do as his liege commanded of him.

  “Cousin, what if these humans don’t wish to work for us?”

  River rolled his eyes in annoyance, “Then make them an offer they can’t refuse.” Stone didn’t bother to ask about procuring a witch. No supe would say no to a Fae Prince, but finding an Elemental would be hard. They were rare and near extinction. Rumored to be children of Gods, these creatures were to be respected and treated well. He would have to reach out to all of his contacts to find one.

  He bowed to his cousin and left, absorbed in his new task.

  Turning on his wall-mounted television and tapping his phone a few times, River replayed Apple’s last video once again. Her large turquoise eyes illuminated the screen, while his own eyes meticulously scanned every frame looking for a clue or hidden message.

  Stone Morgan, of House Oberon, hated obstacles. He also hated dealing with humans, iners hominibus, or Innies, as his peers called them. They were weak and uninteresting. Pets or Playthings for the fae, prey for shifters, witches seemed to have soft spots for them, which he didn’t understand. After doing a quick background search on the humans that River insisted he recruit, Stone wasn’t impressed.

  One was a technology expert, which he admitted, would come in handy. Apple had a large presence on the internet, so maybe he could follow a digital trail if there was one, but the other guy was just another piece of muscle. Stone and his team of experts had muscle in abundance. These humans were also employed with the government.

  High clearance positions within a black ops agency well known to himself and River, Shadownet. Great. He didn’t want Shadownet getting into Fae business. Their world thrived on blending in with the Iners crowd and secrecy was of utmost importance. He needed to create a situation in which these two had to agree to a freelance job. He scrolled through his contacts list until he found just the person he needed.

  He fired off a text and set his plan into motion.

  I need these two burned. ASAP. HRH needs them for a job. Classified/Top Priority

  He immediately received a reply.

  Done

  Working for royalty had its perks in both the Innie and Supernatural worlds. Now it was time to find a witch.

  “Burned. I just can’t believe
they would do that to us.” Park Thatcher took another shot of whiskey. Today was not going as planned. His employment with the clandestine black ops unit known as Shadownet had been terminated. Within hours, the offices had been cleaned out, all tech trails erased. Everything was gone.

  Thatcher, the most enthusiastic and supportive of Shadownet agents was devastated. Since he had been recruited at the tender age of 25, he’d ate, slept, and breathed his missions. He had become the agency’s poster boy and most loyal soldier. His entire identity was wrapped up in being an agent. He’d given his all and believed that the devotion would be reciprocal. The news was a devastating blow, plus, he missed his car! “Why did they have to take Rita from me,” he sobbed as he tipped back another shot.

  Rita, the sleek Challenger decked out with all the bells and whistles and tools of the trade, had just been repaired after his last job and he’d been itching to take her for a joyride. “I mean, they didn’t even give us a reason why. Everything we’ve worked for is gone,” he wailed, the whiskey completely taking effect. Sharkey’s Bar wasn’t a stranger to Thatcher or his preference for top-shelf whiskey. The agent often stopped by for a quick tumbler on the rocks to decompress after a hard day. Today, he’d been at it since noon.

  He was a blubbering mess on the verge of alcohol poisoning. He didn’t care, but Ison probably would. His friend hated to draw attention to himself or cause a scene. Thinking of his best friend, he gave a bleary-eyed chuckle.

  William Ison, his trusty and responsible friend. The quiet and steady one, who never caused a fuss and packed his lunch every day as if they worked a normal 9-5 gig. Fumbling with his suit jacket until he unearthed his phone, he squinted hard at the screen. The numbers were blurred and he couldn’t quite make sense of them. He pushed the Home button and spoke, “Good ‘Ol Will! Hey! SURI call my buddy will ya,” he giggled, “Will ya call Will!” Delighted by his joke, he collapsed into a heap of laughter and tears on the bar. In seconds, he was snoring.

  “Okay, buddy, you’ve had enough, let’s get out of here.” Ison slid the empty tumbler of whiskey towards the barkeep and signaled that they were ready to settle up then placed a firm hand on Thatcher’s shoulder, rousing him from his stupor. Shrugging off Ison’s grip, he rubbed his hands through his messy blond hair. How did Ison get here? Did somebody call him? Ison clearly read his mind and answered without prompt, by holding up his phone and playing a recorded message. It was a slurring and incoherent Thatcher. “Will ya call Will?” Followed by giggles and snoring before the call disconnected. “Thanks for keeping Find My Friend turned on. It made trekking across town to find you a lot easier. Now let’s go.”

  “Get out of here and go where? How? My car is gone, your car is gone. ALL the cars are gone,” he giggled in a drunkenly at his last sentence. Ison remained calm but rolled his eyes. “While you’ve been whining like a baby, I’ve been texting some contacts. Get your act together and straighten up. All we have to do is wait for a call and we’ll be back in the game before you know it. You’re such a drama queen.”

  Thatcher squinted at his friend, trying to comprehend what he’d just said. “No, you’re the ka-weeen,” he slurred. “Yes, well, this queen can still kick your ass when she wants to, so get up and let’s go before you make a scene.” Thatcher wasn’t ready to leave. He was invested in his pity party and Will was taking away his fun. He slammed his fist on the bar top, “I need more, make it a double this time.” The bartender looked at Ison for approval. His sober friend nodded a firm NO at the confused server.

  Thatcher grew agitated. Will didn’t call the shots. He was a grown man. “Come on bud, who’s paying this tab? Him or me? I ordered a double.” He leaned over the counter and grabbed the first item he could reach. Jack Daniels, how lucky was that. “HEY! Put that back, I’ll have to call security,” the bartender tried to yank the bottle from his hand but had no luck. Thatcher tried to pour himself a glass, but failed. “Hold still will ya? I’m tryna drink ya,” he slurred.

  “Enough.” Will put his hands firmly on Thatcher’s shoulders and tried to drag him away from the bar. “Willy boy I love ya like a brother but get your hands off me. I’m having a party and you’re pooping on it. Pooper of Parties, Party Pooper. That’s you!”

  Ison held firm as Thatcher continued to insult him. “So you wanna learn the hard way,” Thatcher turned around, still seated on the high bar stool and hurled his closed fist at Ison’s face. Ison, in full control of his reflexes, easily deflected, using his forearm to block.

  Undeterred, Thatcher tried again, this time losing his balance and falling off his perch. Ison hid his amusement and offered his hand to help his friend up. Spotting his moment, Thatcher grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled hard, causing Ison to land beside him on the floor. Before Will had a chance to get back up, Thatcher, still on his back, jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. Then scrambled to his feet in an attempt to flee. “Owww!” Unfortunately, Thatcher wasn’t in any condition to run in any direction that would have been helpful. Ison grabbed his ankle and brought him back down to the ground.

  “Park Thatcher, you are an asshole,” Ison declared as he landed a solid left hook into the side of Thatcher’s face. For a split second, Thatcher grinned as if he was proud of his friend for delivering such a blow, then everything went dark.

  Two weeks had passed since the Stymphalian bird incident and Maya was still trying to recover. The creatures were safely in the hands of cryptozoologists and heading to a special mythical creature sanctuary in the Himalayans. Maya was back on the job, her wounds healing slowly and the side effects from the monsters were causing her more than physical pain.

  After a long talk with her grandmother, and a consultation with a healer who specialized in ancient Mediterranean magic and curses, Maya had learned some hard truths. The beaks and claws on those birds were quite poisonous. Deadly to most, but in infant form, the most harm they could cause was long term coma for humans or loss of power to a supernatural being. If she’d been a shifter, she would have lost the ability to transform along with enhanced senses and physicality. As a witch, she’d been rendered completely void of all magical ability. Aside from simple folk magic and a few charms she had floating around in various places, she was powerless.

  “This is a good lesson for you Mija, you rely on your power too much. You need to go back to the beginning and reteach yourself the basics. Learn to be proactive instead of reactive.” Her abuela’s words echoed in her thoughts on a continuous loop. She was right. Maya knew she leaned on her ability to call on the Air too much. It was a natural reflex to her, like breathing or blinking. If she was in trouble, the power always tickled in her fingertips as if it was gently reminding her that it was hers to control. It was always so much easier to pull the breath out of an enemy or summon a gust of wind to subdue an assailant. Now that ability was gone. Worse yet, her basic ability to cast spells and brew potions was gone. Right now, she was basically human. “An Iners, might as well be a sitting duck”, she thought wanly. The world of monsters and magic, her world, was no place for the weak and powerless. If you couldn’t defend yourself, you were just a moving target for larger predators.

  “Origin Labs, a subsidiary of Oberon Industries, has rolled out an experimental DNA database that allows users to upload results into a public forum. A special algorithm will then cross-reference markers in your DNA to find relatives. Concerns over privacy rights have stopped the company from going public, though it has started a beta testing program to test the outcomes and viability of such a commodity.” Maya rolled her eyes and turned off her laptop. Oberon Industries, another Fae dynasty with their hands in everything. Must be nice to be billionaire tech industrialists. Pushing the distracting thoughts from her mind, she turned her attention to the books her sister had dropped off earlier. Introduction to Defensive Magic, Wards, and Common Spells. “Goddammit,” she muttered to herself and began to thumb through the pages of the children’s book.

  “That’s certainly an
interesting read for an elemental witch of such an advanced age.” Caught off guard, Maya instinctively flicked her wrist and the weakest gust of wind she’d ever conjured managed to knock a cup of coffee off of her desk. Definitely not her intended action. Stupid bird poison. Trying to save face, she shut the book and stood up. The interrupting voice belonged to a very large and very intimidating physical specimen. She didn’t need any special powers to know that this was a Fae. He carried with him an air of superiority that only an ancient being in possession of nearly omnipotent power could have…or he was a politician, maybe she did need her powers after all. Advanced age? Seriously? Coming from the immortal guy? No thanks. As pissed as she was, she had to play it cool. She had a business to run.

  “Never a bad idea to see what the kids are into these days,” she replied casually. The stranger nodded, only half listening and looking at the cracked and dirty walls of her office. Real estate in LA was impossible to afford, she was lucky the landlord didn’t ask why her dad’s name was still on the lease. Rent control was a beautiful thing and the location also aided in affordability. So what if it also happened to be wedged between a laundromat and a liquor store in a seedy strip mall near Melrose.

  Trying to avoid an awkward lull in the conversation, she snapped out of her thoughts and addressed the stranger like a proper boss lady. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I believe you can. My employer needs assistance in locating a relative. He’s high profile and this is a matter of a delicate nature. You were sought out because of your ability to harness the elemental powers. Air, I believe it is. Am I correct?”

  “I don’t know your employer so how do I know if you’re correct,” she muttered before she could stop herself. To her surprise, the stranger softened and relaxed for a second before returning to sentinel mode. Maybe he had an appreciation for unfiltered sarcasm.

  “Rest assured, I am correct in that matter. I was referring to your being an elemental witch. Such a rare gift. I’ve had my own investigators checking your background.”