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  Praise for Got Luck

  “Got Luck is the private detective Harry Dresden would hire to solve a murder.” HIGHLY RECOMMENDED —Paul Genesse, Bestselling Author of the Iron Dragon Series

  “Got Luck checks off all my ‘must haves’ for a gritty detective story. If I ever ran into a problem the local cops couldn’t solve, I’d be lucky to have Got on my side—and so would you.” —Ali Cross, author of the Desolation series

  “Witty and charming, Got Luck is an enchanting nod to a detective noir.” —Candace Thomas, author of the Vivatera series

  Praise for Got Hope

  “Michael Darling is quickly securing a place among the rising stars of urban fantasy. Got Hope is an unequivocally gripping sequel.” —Kevin L. Nielsen, author of the Sharani Series

  “Every page sparkles with lighthearted energy. Unique, thrilling, and absolutely surprising, Darling’s prose sweeps you into a world of fantastic characters and unexpected twists. This novel has it all: magic, humor, and a delicious mystery that will keep you turning the pages. Don’t miss Got Hope.” —Josi Russell, author of the bestselling Caretaker Chronicles

  “Darling’s surprising and inventive prose, powerful characters, and exemplary attention to Celtic details makes this book as intriguing as it is action packed.” —Mikki Kells, author of the Ace of Hearts series

  Got Hope

  Future House Publishing

  Cover image copyright: Shutterstock.com. Used under license.

  Text © 2017 Lucky Darling LLC

  Interior illustrations © 2017 Future House Publishing

  Cover illustration © 2017 Future House Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-944452-72-8 (paperback)

  Cover illustration by John Diaz and Jeff Harvey

  Interior illustrations by Michael Darling and Jeff Harvey

  Developmental editing by Emma Hoggan

  Copyediting by CreelaBelle Howard

  Proofreading by Brittany Casselman

  Interior design by Hannah M. Earl

  To all who gave me Hope

  And to Larry, whom we remember now and always

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  Future Worlds: A Science Fiction Anthology is now free for a limited time. Get stories from six Bestselling Authors including #1 Bestseller in Cyberpunk Cameron Dayton (Warcraft, Diablo), Award-Winning Author Josi Russell (Caretaker), and more. You'll get stories like:

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  “High Wire” by D.W. Vogel: Scouting crews that leave the safety of the stranded Ark on distant planet Tau Ceti come back too often with fewer men than they started with. The rumors of shadowy monsters in the forest may be all too real.

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  Contents

  Join Our Reader Club!

  Pronunciation Guide

  Chapter One: Bombshell

  Chapter Two: Makeup

  Chapter Three: Teammates

  Chapter Four: The Raven and the Crown

  Chapter Five: Carnivorous Bunnies

  Chapter Six: Indy 500

  Chapter Seven: Swarm

  Chapter Eight: Dubhcridhe

  Chapter Nine: Games

  Chapter Ten: Blond Berserker

  Chapter Eleven: Fiery Temper

  Chapter Twelve: Penny Andy

  Chapter Thirteen: Palazzo Grande

  Chapter Fourteen: Oz, Not Great but Terrible

  Chapter Fifteen: Sarah, and Despair

  Chapter Sixteen: Stuck with the Truth

  Chapter Seventeen: Cutest Linebacker Ever

  Chapter Eighteen: The Fool and the Rose

  Chapter Nineteen: Book of Stains

  Chapter Twenty: Questing Party, Plus One

  Chapter Twenty-One: Riding Lessons

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Mrs. Fergus at Yer Service

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Palisade

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Sleeping Arrangements

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Borderlands in Pink

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Vapor and Glass

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fifty Leagues

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Fuilaseum

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gifts

  Chapter Thirty: Defending the Bug Man

  Chapter Thirty-One: Snake to the Jugular

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Of Fists and Flames

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Judgment

  Chapter Thirty-Four: The Only Way Out is Through

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Brother Mock

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Stock Set to Blow

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Fifteen Million Reasons

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Tao of Boom

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Wishing to Blink Again

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Pronunciation Guide

  Characters and Creatures

  Aoife – EE-fah

  Asaliompair – AH-sul-UM-purr

  Badhbh-badhbh – bahv-bahv

  Béil – bale

  Bromach – BROH-mock

  Brón – brohn

  Caimiléir – cam-ih-LAIR

  Ciaróg – keer-OH’G

  Deamhan – day-VAWN

  Deargadaol – jahr-IG-ah-JEEL

  Dubhcridhe – dohv-CREE-ha

  Fáidh Bean – FAY-ah ban

  Feithid – fah-HEED

  Goethe – GUR-teh

  Laoch – LAY-ock

  Madrasceartán – MAW-drah-skar-TAWN

  Máithrín – mah-HREEN

  Mátrún – mah-TROON

  Nathair – nah-HER

  Rós of Caerwood – ross of CARE-wood

  Seachmall – SHOCK-mall

  Seoid – SHE-owed

  Siorradh Fionnuar – sheer-AH fyown-AR

  Urlabhraí – OOR-lav-REE

  Places and Things

  Áit Choinne – otch QUINN-ah

  An Taobh Thiar Agus Níos Faide – on TAY-iv here OG-us niece FAY-dah

  Bindaetteok – PEEN-day-dah

  Corrchnámhach – kor-kuh-NAW-vock

  Fuilaseum – FOOL-a-soom

  Liagán – leah-GAWN

  Ocypus Olens – oh-SIP-us OH-lens

  Ornáidíocht – or-nah-DEE-ocht

  Ríocht na Bráithre – REE-ockt na brah-HEER

  Súilfirinne – shool-FEER-nyah

  Tairseach-Cosantóir – TAR-sock ko-san-TOR

  Teachtaire – CHOK-tayr

  Tír Dúchais – teer DOO-kush

  Phrases and Commands

  Fuaire – foo-OOR

  Leigheas - lice

  Ní stopfaimid go dtí go mbéarfar orthu – nee STOP-fah-meed guh jee guh mare-FAHR UR-hoo

  Oscailte – OS-kull-cha

  Sciath – SHKEE-uh

  Tine – CHIN-na

  Chapter One: Bombshell

  Few excuses would get me out of piano practice. A girl about to explode into a million bloody bits was o
ne of them.

  Max stepped into the great room and cleared his throat. Notes from Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2, in E Flat Major hung in the air after I paused. It wasn’t a difficult piece but I liked it for warming up. Timing was everything in getting the melody right and timing was everything with Max. Sandretta, my housemaid who was also my piano enforcer, did not complain. We looked at Max expectantly. If Max was interrupting, he had a good reason.

  “There’s a young lady in front of the driveway. She appears to be in some distress.”

  Max had a gift for understatement.

  “You might want to hurry, Prince Luck.”

  Yeah. I’m a prince.

  The woman at the end of the driveway was bawling. She had a pillowcase over her head but I could hear huge, earth-racking sobs that made it hard for her to stay standing. I hurried to her side, in part to keep her from falling over. She turned her head as she felt my hand on her arm.

  “Hey. I’m going to take this pillowcase off, okay?”

  She nodded and managed, “Okay.”

  The pillowcase had been tied in a knot to keep it tight under her chin. Undoing the knot, I lifted the cloth over her head. Her blond hair was disheveled. Her mascara had run so badly her eyes looked like sapphires swimming in crude oil. She wasn’t Stained, which meant she hadn’t been touched by magic. I was the only person in Creation who would have noticed.

  She squinted against the morning light. “Are you—” she interrupted herself with horrible sobs every other word, “—are you Sen-Senator Lima?”

  “No. My name’s Goethe. Call me Got.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They sa-said Senator Lima live-lives here.”

  “He’s a couple of streets over.”

  She had a briefcase handcuffed to her wrist. The cuff had left deep, ugly wounds, as if it had been there for a long time or she’d struggled or both. “You’re hurt,” I said.

  She looked at me, seeing me for the first time. “I’m going to die. And I’m not—not even in front of the right house.”

  My mouth took a vacation in the Sahara as I realized what was going on. A chain had been looped through the other side of the handcuffs and through the handle of the briefcase. The chain was held shut with a padlock. There was also a wire threaded through everything. Red.

  “Do you know what’s in the briefcase?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Explosives. They said it was enough to kill—kill me and flatten the neighborhood.”

  The briefcase was large. I tried to swallow. Didn’t work.

  “Who’s ‘they?’”

  Another round of sobs overcame her. She shook her head.

  I tried to think of a reason somebody would want to blow up a young woman in front of Senator Lima’s house. Lima led the Federal Subcommittee on Immigration and Border Security. His views weren’t without controversy.

  “Can you set the briefcase down?” She was exhausted.

  “N-No. If I set it d-down. It will go off. They t-told me to stand and hold-hold it.”

  Disarming bombs wasn’t in my skill set. I’d encountered explosives before, in Afghanistan, but I’d left the handling to the guys with more brains, or fewer brains, depending on how you look at it. “I’m going to help you however I can.”

  She looked at the ground. Shook her head. A fresh bout of crying came over her. I wanted to put my arms around her. The sound of her sobbing spoke of misery and resignation. The kind of desperate need that begged for comfort.

  “You-you need to leave. The bom-bomb is going to go off. At ten o’clock.”

  Four minutes, according to my watch. That information might have been useful earlier. We could have evacuated people from the surrounding homes. Called the bomb squad.

  I grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

  She didn’t have strength to resist but she protested. “You need to get away!”

  We staggered up the driveway. “What’s your name?”

  She laughed. And cried. “Hope.”

  Any other day, due credit would go to the gods of irony. Today, there wasn’t time. The red wire had me worried. I could get the cuffs off her and cut the chain. I had everything in the garage. But the red wire ran around her wrist several times. I had a feeling that the wire was a circuit to the bomb and if I cut the wire, the bomb would go off.

  In three minutes, it wouldn’t matter.

  Max and Sandretta wore grim expressions.

  “It’s a bomb. If it goes off here, at least it will be contained to the house,” I said.

  They nodded. Hope wouldn’t know there were other forces at work.

  My house belonged to my father, the Alder King. He ruled over the Behindbeyond and all her peoples. Max and Sandretta maintained a magical ward around the house that protected it and kept outsiders from seeing anything but a normal home. If the bomb went off in here, it wouldn’t be visible to the outside world and it wouldn’t spread beyond the ward. Of course, the house would be destroyed. And I’d be dead. Minor details.

  “Get yourselves to safety,” I said.

  Sandretta pressed her lips together, but Max was more practical. He led the way to the front door.

  Hope let herself get towed behind me. Someone, sometime, had written, “The way out is through.” I could only think of one thing to do. And it was desperate.

  The Mortal realm and the Behindbeyond intersect and there was a room with a secret portal between them. If my plan worked, I’d get rid of the bomb and save both Hope and myself. And the house.

  If it worked.

  I prayed that the bomb makers were accurate on time. Two minutes.

  “I’m going to put the pillowcase back over your head, okay? To protect your eyes.”

  Hope accepted my lie. She appeared willing to cooperate, her expression dull. She knew time was running out. I slipped the cloth over her head.

  In the portal room, there was a circle of silver embedded in the floor and several silver patterns against the wall. Each pattern represented a different location in the Behindbeyond. One of my favorite places was a barren peak, high in a range of mountains, far away from people. It was beautiful there, and isolated.

  Dropping the pattern into the circle and kneeling beside it, I released a glowing blue drop of power from my hand and touched the ring. I said, “Oscailte.”

  The circle flashed blue and the pattern faded. A rush of cold air flooded the room with the scent of spruce trees and freshly-fallen snow.

  “Hope. I need you to lie on the floor. I’m going to hold the briefcase but I’m not going to put it down. I’ll keep you as safe as I can.”

  “What’re you doing?” It was a fair question.

  “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

  Hope let me take the briefcase, the handle slick with sweat. I gripped it hard. One slip and we’d be goners. She sat on the floor and laid back. She had to feel the cold air and wonder about the light seeping through the fabric of the pillowcase.

  I didn’t think anymore. Couldn’t. I let my body take over.

  I threw the briefcase into the gate.

  I broke the spell.

  I dropped on top of Hope.

  As I slammed into her, protecting her, the gate closed itself. The light winked out. She grunted under my weight. The briefcase and most of the chain and wire ceased to exist in the mortal realm. I braced myself in case shrapnel erupted through the gate.

  Silence.

  I hadn’t needed to shield her after all.

  Well now it’s just awkward.

  Hope pushed me off and scrabbled to remove the bag. She looked around the room. Held her wrist up and traced the path of chain and wire which now weren’t attached to anything but abruptly terminated instead. Sliced through cleanly as if by a scalpel. A piece of the handcuffs was missing, too.

  Her blue eyes were supersized. And growing.

  With her free hand, she touched the sliced end of chain and wire, fingertips running over the smooth ends. She looked around the room again. I let
her. She got to her knees. Kept looking. I wasn’t sure what kind of explanation I was going to give her.

  Hope saw that the bomb was gone. She locked eyes with me.

  I pointed vaguely in the direction of the floor. “Oh. Sorry about, um, for the—”

  She launched herself at me, knocking me back down. She couldn’t be much more than a hundred pounds and spare change but she landed like a hurricane.

  She kissed me. On the cheeks. On the chin. On the mouth.

  “You wonderful man!” Her eyes were crying again but her lips were smiling. Joy rolled off her like an ocean wave. I tried to ride out the storm for a few seconds longer. Finally, I caught her by the shoulders. Gently pushed.

  “Hope,” I said.

  She blinked. All smiles for a heartbeat. Then she realized she had me pinned.

  “Oh. I don’t even know you.”

  She tried to collect herself as we got up off the floor, brushing non-existent wrinkles out of her pants. I tried to ignore the heat in my face. She looked out the window, hiding a blush. The sky outside was cloudless. The river behind the house sparkled in the sun. 10:01 on a Thursday morning.

  She took a deep breath. “If it seems like I’m emotional, it’s because I’m emotional,” she whispered. She looked back at me. Tears stood in her eyes. She put her hands over her mouth as the tears spilled out. “I’m not dead.”

  This time, her crying wasn’t punctuated by racking sobs. She moved toward me. Put her cheek against mine. She wasn’t seeking comfort but she needed someone to share her relief. I let myself put my arms around her and she folded into me and wept against my chest.

  Chapter Two: Makeup

  Hope’s clothes were ruined. She’d sat in dirt and oil at some point and her blouse had gotten torn when one of her kidnappers had yanked her out of the van. Through the streaks of makeup on her face, she asked, “What am I going to do?”

  “Sandretta can wash your clothes and patch them up. Then I’ll take you to buy something.”

  Hope shook her head. “I can’t be seen in public like this!”