The Beast of Callaire Read online

THE LEGEND MIRROR

  • book one •

  The Beast of Callaire

  Saruuh Kelsey

  For James.

  Because I knew you I have been changed for good.

  Copyright © Saruuh Kelsey 2014

  The right of Saruuh Kelsey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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

  Cover photo © istock

  Cover and book design by Saruuh Kelsey

  https://saruuhkelsey.weebly.com/

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  About The Beast of Callaire (The Legend Mirror, book 1)

  Welcome to Callaire, a town of shifters, magic, and secrets.

  Yasmin is the daughter of a goddess and a mythical creature. As a Legendary, she has telepathic power and the ability to change forms every full moon. In her opinion, that's more curse than gift.

  When a voice cries out to Yasmin in her head, and she’s drawn into dreams that aren’t her own, she's led to Fray - a girl who once saved Yasmin from hunters. In Fray’s dreams she has power no human should ever have. Legendary power.

  When Fray’s magic catches the attention of a violent and invincible creature, both Yasmin’s mythical world and Fray’s human one will be changed forever. A Gods' war is brewing, and Yasmin and Fray are at the heart of it.

  READ THE ENTIRE LEGEND MIRROR SERIES:

  Book 1: The Beast of Callaire

  Book 2: The Dryad of Callaire

  Book 3: The Powers of Callaire

  Book 4: Coming 2017!

  Book 5: Coming soon!

  Book 6: Coming soon!

  Book 7: Coming soon!

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty one

  Twenty two

  Twenty three

  Twenty four

  Twenty five

  Twenty six

  Twenty seven

  Twenty eight

  Twenty nine

  Thirty

  Thirty one

  Thirty two

  Thirty three

  Thirty four

  Thirty five

  Thirty six

  Thirty seven

  Thirty eight

  Thirty nine

  Acknowledgements

  +

  …

  Beware the chaos with two faces

  …

  +

  ONE

  THE LOVERS

  The floor of Almery Wood is unforgiving beneath my feet. I trudge through the thick covering of snow, crushing dense ground with my boots. The snowfall has turned every smell to pure, scentless nothing. I have to rely on my sight and hearing to identify other people and creatures.

  No one comes to this edge of the wood, since it borders a few houses. But I like it because it’s lonely. I don’t want to run into anyone—friend or threat. I prefer the comfort of being on my own, unlike the others who stick together at the Crea moon.

  My fingers are already itching when I drop the backpack of usual supplies—spare clothes, energy bars, a bottle of isotonic orange, and heat packs for when the cold has settled into my bones—into the hollow of a tree.

  I wrestle my boots off and stuff them into the tree for safe keeping, standing on a tiny square blanket to keep my toes from freezing off. It doesn’t help much. In summer I can stand on the ground barefoot and let the Majick of the Earth into my skin. If I stand barefoot on the floor now, the only thing I’ll soak in is hypothermia.

  I wait for the last tendrils of the setting sun to dip below the horizon.

  I zone out, allowing my mind to go where it wants—to The Red and to Minnie. She’s doing a reading as she always does on the evening of the Crea Moon, before we violently change form. Those of The Red who don’t Change are gathered in the dining room, sat at the scuffed oval table from my childhood.

  I never go to the readings, though Minnie always reads for me. I haven’t been to The Academy of The Red in two years, maybe more. I still keep an eye on them, though, using the Telepathic Majick I have because of my mother.

  Minnie’s voice rings out in my head, as clearly as it would if she stood beside me. If I didn’t know what to listen for I wouldn’t be able to tell, with my eyes closed, if she was here or thirty miles away. It’s the slight ringing on the end of each word that gives it away, though. Telepathic voices ring.

  “Do we have to do this every month?” I hear Fearne complain via my link with Minnie. I’m careful not to communicate back, so she won’t realise I’m listening. Numina knows what would happen if she knew.

  Min’s temper has seven potential visions of Fearne’s death flashing before her eyes. “Yes,” she says coldly. She’s in one of her moods.

  She splits the deck of cards and does a reading for Harriet, a twelve year old Faun Crea, and then for Vic, a Selkie I was close friends with when I lived at The Academy. They won’t know what she sees for them, since Harriet is somewhere in these woods and Vic is on a beach further north. They’re not telepathic like me, so they have no way of hearing Minnie. But despite it making no sense, despite them never knowing what she predicts, Minnie insists on reading the pathways of the Changing creatures. She says it’s right and accepts no arguments.

  She reads for me. I lean my head against the cold bark of the tree and focus on the link tethering me to her mind.

  Min shuffles a pack of cards that are hand-painted and passed down the descendants of Apollo, the Roman God of truth and prophecy. Minnie’s a Divine—someone who can see people’s pathways and actual glimpses of futures. She also has an overwhelming enthusiasm for tarot cards, runes, and choking everyone on incense fumes.

  There are less stifling ways to look into someone’s pathways—I have a friend who sees flashes of visions by looking into a still bowl of water. It’s less theatrical than Minnie’s technique.

  With a flourish of her wrist, Min halves the deck and whips the top card face-down onto the table.

  “Get on with it,” Fearne whines. I gnash my teeth. “I want to know mine.”

  “You don’t even Change.” An edge of repulsion creeps into Minnie’s mind, and I imagine it tinged black and green.

  “I want to know my future as much as anyone else.”

  “For vanity’s, not necessity’s, sake.” Minnie aggressively flips the card over.

  The Lovers.

  Minnie murmurs to herself, so obscure even I can’t hear, and puts another card on the table.

  The Ace of Swords, reversed.

  She inhales sharply, drawn into a vision, as everyone else erupts into laughter. I’m dragged along with her, glimpsing a series of images I don’t have the Majick to interpret—someone’s dark hair on a pale green pillow—the snarl of a hungry mouth—two hazy figures locked in an embrace—blood pooled carelessly on a laminate floor.

  Ignorant to the violent pictures, Rowan—a despicable, hateful friend of Fearne’s—says between staccato bursts of laugh
ter, “Man, that’s ridiculous. The Lovers? Maybe if she wasn’t a fucking hermit.”

  “And a weirdo,” Fearne adds thoughtfully, chewing a fingernail.

  I bristle. The beast in my system, so very close to the surface, goads me into bloodlust, persuading me with the seductive colour of gore as my claws tear into Rowan’s neck. It would be so easy. Effortless.

  I wrench myself forcefully out of the clutch of the beast and blink at Almery Wood. I’ve lost my connection to Minnie but it’s better than losing my last precious moments of control because of the beast’s hallucinations. Within an hour—maybe even minutes—I’ll be forced to relinquish control of my limbs, my thoughts, my everything. The beast in me will take over my body with glee.

  But for now, I’m myself.

  Breathing deeply and sure of my tenuous control, I reach out to Minnie’s mind again. I find The Lovers card still a hot topic of debate.

  “She does seem worryingly anti-social for a card like this.” Amity’s voice, soft as always, breaks Minnie’s deep concentration. “Do you think we should invite her to The Academy this weekend? It would be nice to have her around again. And she shouldn’t be out there alone, not with what’s happening. She’s only seventeen.”

  Guy is impassive. “Don’t be too hasty, Am. She wouldn’t come anyway.”

  He’s right. I wouldn’t. That he knows me well enough to recognise that is disquieting.

  Amity’s brow puckers. “I suppose you’re right. I wonder if she gets lonely, though. Don’t you?”

  Rowan snorts. Guy glares him into silence.

  “Enough.” Minnie’s voice sends a burst of pain behind my temple. “There’s someone in her future. A romantic partner, I think. But I can’t see through the darkness.”

  “Darkness?” Am sounds worried.

  “She’s going to die, I think,” Minnie says ever-so-quietly. She draws her cardigan around herself, pushing the vision from her mind and blocking me from it as a consequence. I won’t go looking through her thoughts. Using someone as a conduit to listen is one thing but total invasion of privacy … I won’t do that.

  Silence greets Minnie’s whispered omen.

  Every single one of Minnie’s readings has come true. Every single one.

  “Yasmin’s going to die?” Amity whispers. Even Rowan and Fearne are uncharacteristically without laughter or derision.

  Minnie looks up from the table, staring at the pattern of the wallpaper above Guy’s chair. “Yasmin or her partner. They’re so closely intertwined, so strongly connected, that I can’t separate one from the other. I can’t see who’s going to pass.”

  Amity pats her hand. “Are you alright?”

  “Their love … it’s so …” She fumbles for words, her tone a dreamy contrast to the darkness of her thoughts. “It’s so powerful. It’s going to hurt so much.”

  I jolt out of it, out of the telepathy, out of the fear that’s enveloping me. My heart is running too fast and my breathing is doing its best to outrace it. What did that mean? A romantic partner? One of us is going to die?

  I’m not sure whether I’m more scared to die or fall in love.

  A spasm rips me from head to toe, and I’m gone in an eruption of pain and breaking bones.

  I no longer have to question why I’m scared to lose someone I’ve never met, never will meet.

  I’m no longer a girl.

   

  TWO

  THE GIRL IN THE WOODS

  The wood is beautiful to these eyes, but I wish I could choose what they looked at. The edges of the leaves are crisp; the flat colours my human eyes would see are brought into bright relief. But I only see what the beast wants to see, so I can’t focus on each brilliant new thing because I’m too wary of what the beast will be drawn to next. A squirrel—a rabbit—a stray human wandering along the trail.

  I could kill someone and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. My jaws would rip flesh from bone and I’d be paralysed in my mind, watching the horror as it happens. I know because it has happened. Six times. Thankfully, three of those people got away with only claw welts or bite marks. But three of them are dead because of me.

  One was a girl no older than nine. I killed her when I was fourteen, before I’d settled into the Change. The second was a teenage boy who saw the beast and thought it was a good idea to take a photo on his phone instead of running for his life.

  The third was a middle aged man last year. He had a gun pointed at my friend Willa as she lounged in Almery pool. I’m not sure whether he meant to kill her for spoils or just for the hell of it, but I don’t regret killing him. It still haunts my nightmares, though: his glazed green eyes and slack, wrinkled face.

  I don’t know why the beast killed to save my friend. Maybe there’s the smallest connection between the two of us, between girl and monster.

  But as leaves, dirt, and moss are shredded beneath ruthless golden paws I’m not so sure. The Manticore is a creature of bloodlust and vicious intentions. I doubt there’s any part of it that cares about anyone other than itself.

  The Manticore steps into a clearing lit by moonlight and shakes out its fur, the feathers of its wings tickling my ears—its ears. I move my head instinctively to get rid of the irritation but the beast’s head stays still. It doesn’t care what aggravates me. I doubt it even knows what aggravates me. I might have thoughts but this creature is mindless.

  The beast pivots suddenly and regards the trees. My ears strain for a noise—I’m not sure what startled the beast but it won’t be good.

  A low, guttural growl comes from the depths of the Manticore’s stomach and I finally see what it heard. A man inches out from behind a wide trunked service tree, vibrant leaves contrasting against the intentionally dark brown of his jacket. He meant to blend in, whoever this man is. Futilely, I urge the beast to turn and run but it will never back down.

  I know by the rumble coming from its mouth and the way its claws are uprooting earth that it’s going to attack. I’m going to kill another person. The terror and dread wants to churn my stomach but my body is no longer mine. It poisons my mind instead, fills me with visions of bloody limbs and skin torn open.

  By the time the man has produced a weapon, it’s too late for the beast to react to the real threat—a gun.

  A sharp noise tears the silence in two, scattering birds and animals in all directions. The Manticore flinches at the sound before absolute, blinding agony shocks through me, uniting Yasmin and the Manticore for one second in merciless pain.

  But then the beast is lumbering to its feet, paws gripping for purchase, and I’m reminded that I don’t decide what happens with my body. It’s a detached, lonely feeling, and at the same time the worst terror imaginable. For something else to decide where you go, what you do, what you see …

  The Manticore races out of the clearing and around tree trunks, its usual speed affected by the wound in its shoulder. The pain seems to pulse louder in my head, becoming something dark and large and demanding. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.

  I’m sure, suddenly, that I’m going to die. And in this moment, as my legs give way, dying as the beast is the worst thing I can think of.

  The Manticore’s ears prick to the sound of footsteps but by now it can’t move at all. All it can do is pull downy wings around itself as a flimsy, useless shield, and watch as the owner of the footsteps nears us.

  Wide green eyes fill my vision, bushy eyebrows drawn low and accompanied by a frown. A girl. A girl in the woods. Thank you, I think at this stranger but I have no Majick in this form. She doesn’t hear my gratitude. This is an angel come to deliver me a swift death, to save me from this excruciation.

  I relinquish my grip on consciousness.

  THREE

  THE MORNING AFTER

  My brain doesn’t work like it’s supposed to. I can’t recall anything of yesterday. I don’t remember Changing back to human form or getting my clothes from the tree hollow. I don’t remember walking home either,
but I must have because I’m laid on a hard floor.

  For a second the ache in my back is the only thing I feel, but then searing pain spikes across my shoulder. It’s enough to shock my eyes open.

  When I don’t find the stone ceiling of my loft, the bare wooden boards of my floor, or the mismatched disorder of my bedroom I begin to panic. There’s blinding white everywhere, and light so intense I have to cover my eyes.

  It’s strange that all I have are human senses. Usually so soon after the Crea Moon, the beast is hard to control and always in power.

  Slowly, letting my eyes adjust, I take in my surroundings. I’m not in my flat, that’s for sure. Glass sliding doors, clean tiled floor, shining white cupboards, marble worktops. A kitchen, but not my kitchen.

  Scuffling draws my attention to the open doorway and the girl stood inside it. “Who are you?” she whispers. She intentionally averts her eyes and that’s when I realise I’m naked.

  Of course.

  The Change.

  The girl in the woods.

  I breathe a curse as my heart kicks into overdrive. I remember I was shot but what am I doing here? Surely the beast wouldn’t have been so disorientated by the injury to wander into someone’s home. Would it?

  Girl In The Woods stares at a patch of wall above me. The hard light coming through the glass door catches in her eyes. They’re an unusually dark shade of green, with flashes of gold around the pupil. Dark shadows beneath them match the bloodshot veins.

  “I asked you a question,” she says more forcefully. “Who are you?”

  “Yasmin,” I rasp.

  “That’s informative,” she retorts. Then, “I’m Fray.”

  I hunt for something to cover my body with. All I see is a towel drying on a radiator. I’d have preferred clothes but I’m desperate. When I’m almost-decent, I stand. And then I have no idea what to do, so I fold my arms around myself and look at her from the corner of my eye. Girl In The Woods. Fray.

  “Weird name,” I supply to the uncomfortable silence.

  “Weird parents.” She scratches her arm a bit too vigorously. “I don’t mean to be funny but … who are you? And what are you doing in my kitchen?”