Outcast, page 1
part #1 of The Grey Gates Series
OUTCAST
The Grey Gates - Book 1
Vanessa Nelson
Copyright © 2023 Vanessa Nelson
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
For more information about Vanessa Nelson and her books, click or visit: www.taellaneth.com
For Mum and Dad,
With much love.
Contents
1. CHAPTER ONE
2. CHAPTER TWO
3. CHAPTER THREE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
5. CHAPTER FIVE
6. CHAPTER SIX
7. CHAPTER SEVEN
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
9. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
20. CHAPTER TWENTY
21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THANK YOU
CHARACTER LIST
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter one
Max got out of her pick-up, the cool night air flat and dead against her skin and in her nose and mouth as she started walking across the cracked and worn road surface. In this part of the city, there were no little bits of magic here and there to keep the air fresh and the buildings clean despite traffic passing by. This was the Barrows, where the residents were more concerned with putting food on the table and keeping the lights on than such luxuries as clean windows. The buildings around her were squat and square, made for function with no attempt to also make them beautiful. A few of them had boarded-up doors and windows, suggesting that they were empty.
Districts like this were common working arenas for Max and the rest of the Marshals’ service, and the lack of magic in the air was more reassuring than anything else. It meant that whatever it was she had been called to deal with wasn’t powerful enough that its presence had seeped into the air. She kept going, wondering what had panicked the city police so much they needed to call in a Marshal.
She spared a moment to wish that the police had chosen another night to summon help, as she’d spent most of her day using her limited magic to reset the protective wards around her own home, and now had a mild headache along with the phantom taste of stale beer in her mouth. She didn’t know why overuse of magic should leave her with a hangover that tasted like old beer, but it did. She’d been looking forward to a quiet evening to rest and recover from the magic use, but part of the job was being available to be called in even on her days off, so she had answered the phone and brought herself here to see what was needed. As she had on many other occasions, she reminded herself that she would have hated an office-based job with regular hours. Assuming anyone would have been prepared to hire her. A Marshal’s work was varied, interesting and had a clear purpose, all of which she liked more than she disliked the irregular hours.
The patrol vehicles’ blue and red lights flickering off the surrounding buildings turned the bare spaces of packed earth between the ugly concrete structures into a poor man’s disco. All that was needed was some uncoordinated dancing and a thumping bass beat. At least the first responders on the scene had cut their sirens so she wasn’t having to listen to the two-tone wail as well as see the lights. The flickering was bad enough, causing the foul taste in Max’s mouth to sharpen.
There was a rookie standing between the furthest-away cars, her dark blue uniform so new that Max could smell the dye from several paces away. The shirt and trousers had creases that Max suspected had taken an age to achieve. The rookie had her thumbs tucked into her belt, sleek blonde hair tied in a tight knot at the back of her head. Even in the unflattering, ever-changing light, she looked pale, as if she might be sick.
“Can you turn the lights off?” Max asked as she reached the rookie. “I think everyone knows we’re here now.” The straight, wide length of the street might be deserted, but she would bet good money that there were eyes watching them from the windows of the occupied buildings around them. Police were a reasonably common sight in the poorer quarters of the city, like this one. But on a night like this, when the city’s communication network was still being repaired after the storm that had blasted through the city the day before, watching the police do their work was a cheap form of entertainment.
“Ma’am.” The rookie stuttered over the word, looking Max up and down with wide eyes, clearly trying to work out who she was. Max hid a smile. She was used to the reaction and had chosen to feel amused by it. She was taller than a lot of human men, and dressed head to toe in tough, casual clothing, from her leather jacket to her close-fitting trousers and calf-length boots, with a squat, snub-nosed gun in a thigh holster. Red-toned, mid-brown, jaw-length hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing a trace of scars across one cheek. She had more weapons, and more scars, but not many people got to see them. Even without all her scars on show, she did not look like a government agent.
“Max Ortis,” Max said, lifting the chain at her neck so the badge showed. The rookie’s eyes widened as she saw the seven-pointed star that was only carried by one agency. Max dropped the chain back, hiding the badge again. The shining metal made an excellent target for the things she hunted. “Who’s in charge here?”
“That’s Sergeant Williams, ma’am, er, Marshal. The tall man over there,” the blonde said, turning to point and almost tripping over as she seemed to have forgotten she had her thumbs tucked into her belt. Or perhaps that was the effect that Sergeant Williams had on her. From this distance, Max could tell he was tall and had an athletic build.
“Alright,” Max said, and stepped past the rookie. “Remember to fix the lights, yeah?”
She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement but kept going, heavy leather boots making no sound on the cracked tarmac.
Sergeant Williams turned as she approached. He was a square-jawed man, perhaps a little over thirty, with dark stubble on his jaw and a tousled hairstyle that, unlike Max’s, had probably taken hours to achieve. From a few paces away she could smell the cologne he used. It was marginally preferable to the ghostly fermentation in her mouth, but not by much. The prominent jaw tightened as he looked her up and down. Head to toe. Surprised and displeased.
It didn’t matter what he thought of her. She wasn’t there for him. She lifted the badge again
“Max Ortis. You called?” she asked.
“Sean Williams. Sergeant Sean Williams,” he said, and half-extended a hand, returning it to his side before Max could react. “Yeah. We found something in the building we thought your lot should see.”
“Be more specific,” Max requested.
“What looks like a nest made out of, well, out of torn up sheets. It’s covered in some green goo that smells awful. Not normal.” His lips pressed together. He looked as out of place here as the rookie did, both of them too starched and clean for this area of the city. They’d be far more at home in one of the tidier inner districts. It might be the first time he or his team had come across something unusual enough to warrant a call to the Marshals. Every law enforcement officer across the city carried the Marshals’ contact number. And almost all of them hoped to never have to use it. Calling in the Marshals meant acknowledging that whatever the police were dealing with wasn’t human. And most city residents, the police included, didn’t like to think too much about that.
Max nodded, cataloguing the details he’d provided. It sounded like a Harridan nest. Nasty things. A full-grown Harridan was an all-hands-on-deck crisis, which would need more than one Marshal, but she should be able to deal with a nest on her own. Assuming that’s what it was. Harridans were rare in the city, usually kept at bay by the magic barrier holding back the Wild. But that barrier failed from time to time, most recently about ten days ago, which was more than enough time for a Harridan to make its way into the city and lay some eggs.
“Any movement outside the nest?” she asked, drawing her weapon and checking the clip. Fully loaded. As it should be. Good. She was going to need it. And possibly the spare magazines tucked against her back. And, if she was really unlucky, the small back-up gun she had next to the spare magazines, or the knives she also carried.
“Ah. No. Don’t think so.”
“No, or you didn’t check?” Max asked, looking back at him.
“No. We cleared the room,” he said. “My people know their jobs.” The rookie had killed the red and blue lights, so his face was in sharp shadow with the headlights of the cars lighting one side. He looked annoyed and embarrassed. Max was used to that, too.
“Alright,” she said. Her calm acceptance seemed to surprise him. She took a step past him, heading for the main door of the low, angular building behind him. Even from this distance she could smell the faint trace of Harridan bile. They liked to build their nests in disused buildings, sicking up a sticky substance to hold the layers of the nest together. She had cleared out a half dozen of them since she had joined t
“Ah. Ma’am. Marshal. Are you going in alone?”
Sergeant Williams was hesitant. Not wanting to go back into the building. Not sure he should let her go alone. It was almost funny.
“Yes. Stay here, and shoot anything that comes out that isn’t me,” she told him.
“Shoot?” he repeated.
“That’s what I said. You know how to use that thing?” she asked, pointing to the gun at his hip.
“Ah. Yes, ma’am. I do. And so do my people.”
“Well, then,” she said, and turned back to the building. It was unlikely that any of them would actually hit a Harridan moving at full pace, but they might prove her wrong. And it would give them something to do while they were waiting for her to come back.
Lifting the gun with both hands, its worn surface as familiar as her own skin, she made her way forward to the dark opening of the door. The Sergeant might be surprised she was going in alone, but Max preferred it that way. There was no one next to her who could get hurt.
The door itself was mostly gone, either torn by the law officers or by the Harridan looking for somewhere to nest. The bright lights from the vehicles showed her a mass of some kind on the other side of the room. Bedsheets, as the Sergeant had said, glowing faintly green in the poor light. And moving. A gentle undulation that told her the nest was full. And close to going active.
She thumbed the selector on her gun to rapid fire and took another step forward, crossing the threshold.
And stopped.
There was something else there. Another smell. Sharper, more acidic than the Harridan’s nest and its bile.
She glanced up just as something vivid yellow and with too many legs dropped off the ceiling and landed on her shoulder. An ice-cold pain stabbed into the exposed skin at the open collar of her jacket, digging into the flesh at the join between her neck and shoulder.
She yelled, using her gun to swat the thing away, pain going white hot as the serrated edges of its stinger tore her flesh. It was about the size of a domestic cat. It slammed against the side of the door and hung there for a moment, rows of tiny eyes staring back at her until she shot at it, careful to aim away from the police outside, rapid fire tearing through the door frame as the creature fled.
She heard cries of alarm from outside. A few scattered gun shots. They would be useless. She’d yet to meet someone who could shoot a crow spider running at full pace.
She staggered, numbness spreading from her shoulder, arm hanging useless, gun still in her grip as she scrabbled in a thigh pocket with her other hand. Where was it? Where? There. Her fingers, shaking as the venom coursed through her body, grabbed hold of the cylinder. She barely had enough grip to shove it against her thigh and press the end, feeling another slice of cool pain as needles shot through the tough material and into her skin, sending a jolt of anti-venom into her body.
She sagged against the door surround and focused on her breathing. Better. The wound from the serrated stinger was painful, raw and bleeding. But she was functional. More or less. And with the anti-venom doing its work, she wasn’t going to die from the sting. Not tonight.
At the corner of her eye something moved. The impression of something dark and sinuous curled against the bile-covered sheets.
The nest. The damned thing was hatching. Now, of all times.
Adrenaline surged through her, breath harsh and fast in her ears. She wasn’t ready to deal with the nest. Not yet. But she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t let the larvae loose, not even one of them.
Bracing her back and shoulders against the wall, she managed to get her gun up, needing both hands to hold it steady. She fired, pouring the rest of the magazine into the writhing mass of linen and green spit.
The shrieks reassured her that the bullets had hit home. Most of them, at least.
When the magazine was empty, she fumbled with the release, grabbed another magazine from her back, reloaded, and repeated the process until the mass was completely still and there were no more shrieks.
By that time, the anti-venom had done its work and she was shaking in reaction to it, the various different poisons fighting with each other in her blood. It was like a coffee and sugar rush all run together and did not help her magic hangover in the slightest. She shouldn’t have tried to renew all her protective house wards in the one day, but she hadn’t been sure when she’d get another chance. And she was paying for it now.
Her shoulder hurt like hell. Too sore. Something grated in her flesh when she rolled her shoulder. That creature must have left part of its stinger in her flesh. A pox on it. That meant a doctor’s visit. And she’d almost rather face another Harridan.
The nest was gone, though. That was the main thing.
“What the hell?”
Human. Not a threat.
Her mind registered the basic details, keeping her weapon at her side, away from Sergeant Sean Williams, who was now standing in the doorway, shotgun in his hands, staring open-mouthed at the remains of the nest. Bits and pieces of black creature had spilled out onto the floor. None of the bits were moving. That was good, as far as Max was concerned. Harridans, even the baby ones, were only still when they were dead. None of the Marshals - Max included - liked killing things. Harridans were one of the exceptions.
“Sergeant, next time you and your people clear a room, make sure to check the ceiling,” Max said, and pushed away from the wall. “Some of the division’s cleaners will be along shortly to tidy up. Stay out of here. Don’t touch anything and keep your people back. That stuff is toxic.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but held whatever he had to say in that firm jaw. Max put her gun away and bent down, slowly, to collect her empty magazines, tucking them into her jacket pocket. The division’s armourer got more than a little tetchy when Marshals didn’t return equipment for reuse.
That done, Max left the building and Sergeant Williams, who still looked shaken. She pulled out her phone as she walked, trying and failing to keep walking in a straight line as she headed towards her own vehicle. Her head was heavy, her feet light, her stomach churning with the after-effects of the injector. And the stale beer in her mouth had bloomed into something truly foul.
“It’s Max,” she said when the call was answered. The civilian communication network might still be under repair. The law enforcement one was working. “There’s a Harridan nest that needs cleaning up and someone needs to go looking for a crow spider in the Barrows.”
“We can do the clean-up, but there are no spare Marshals to go after the spider,” the cool voice at the end of the phone said. “You’ll need to get it.”
Max checked in her stride, the wound at her neck stinging, and thought about telling the dispatcher that she was injured. It didn’t take long to decide that the information wouldn’t help. Therese had already called Max in from her day off. That meant that there were no other Marshals to spare. And if Max was walking and talking, she’d be expected to work.
“Oh, alright,” Max said, sounding surly in her own ears. “But that’s it for the day.”
“We expect you back on duty as normal the day after tomorrow,” Therese said, still in that cool voice, and hung up.
Max glared at the blank and unresponsive screen before she put the phone away. She had never met a human with less human warmth than Therese. The dispatcher ran the department with precise and finely calculated efficiency and, as far as Max could tell, the fact that no one really liked her did not bother the woman in the slightest.
A slight whine from ahead of her, coming from the back of her battered pick-up, reminded her of the job she still had to do. And she would have some back-up this time.
Chapter two
The various dents in her pick-up were obvious, even in the poor light. The vehicle worked, though, and would take her most places she needed to go. It was also big enough to hold her, her equipment and the two giant dogs standing in the open back, leaning over the side panel, their eyes fixed on her as she came closer. Her shadow-hounds were little more than blots of darkness against the battered metal pick-up bed, their short, silky coats perfectly adapted for the night. Superb hunters, the natural magic they carried was almost undetectable, but their presence brushed her senses, easing some tension out of her.
