Leads & Lynxes Read online

  Leads & Lynxes

  Terra Haven Chronicles Book 1

  Rebecca Chastain

  Contents

  About Leads & Lynxes

  Copyrights

  Note to Readers

  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

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Also by Rebecca Chastain

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt: Headlines & Hydras

  About the Author

  Now Available

  About Leads & Lynxes

  Be careful what you ask for...

  * * *

  Kylie got into journalism to write important stories. Ones about gargoyles and dryads, elemental warriors, and thwarted magical attacks on her city. The bigger the story, the better. So when she lands the opportunity to ask an enchanted everlasting tree for the answer to any question she desires, she doesn’t have to think about it. She wants the story of a lifetime.

  So does her nemesis, Nathan. If anyone is going to write a high-profile story, the senior journalist believes it should be him—and Nathan’s not above playing dirty to get his way. Kylie must work fast or risk losing control of her story.

  But with every new lead forcing Kylie and her gargoyle companion Quinn deeper into a deadly maze of murder, warped magic, and monstrous beasts, rushing could prove fatal. Kylie is determined to write her dream story, but even she is beginning to wonder: Is the story of a lifetime the last story she’ll ever write?

  * * *

  Find out now…

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

  * * *

  Copyright © 2020 by Rebecca Chastain

  Excerpt from Headlines & Hydras copyright © by Rebecca Chastain

  Cover design by Yocla Designs

  Author photograph by Cody Watson

  * * *

  www.rebeccachastain.com

  * * *

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  * * *

  Mind Your Muse Books

  PO Box 374

  Rocklin, CA 95677

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-0-9992385-9-2

  For my sister, Sara,

  who taught me to identify my dreams,

  then go for them with everything I’ve got.

  Note to Readers

  This novel exists because I was asked to write a short story featuring elemental magic for a fantasy collection. That short story turned into Deadlines & Dryads, a (much longer) novella set in the world of the Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles, only this time the story focused on Mika’s best friend, Kylie, and her gargoyle companion, Quinn. By the time I wrapped up Deadlines & Dryads, I knew one adventure wasn’t enough. Kylie and Quinn deserved a trilogy. Which is how that standalone story became the prequel for the novel you have in your hands.

  You do not need to read Deadlines & Dryads to understand the events of this book. However, if you’re a reading-order purist or simply want more time with these characters, you can pick up your copy of Deadlines & Dryads: A Terra Haven Chronicles Prequel HERE.

  1

  I craned to see the everlasting tree through the press of people, a familiar excitement humming through my veins. Any day now, the tree would release its seeds, and I would be one of the thousands of people to receive one. I still couldn’t believe my luck. My entire life could be changed by this one event, and anticipation made me jittery. If I could have, I would have jogged, but the crowds confined me to a sedate crawl.

  “Coming through,” a man bellowed, shoving a floating cart of manure ahead of him.

  I shuffled to the edge of the dirt road with the rest of the foot traffic, squeezing past an ox-drawn cart loaded down with what appeared to be half a village’s belongings. When an opening appeared between a packhorse and a woman carrying baskets of hooded cockatrices, I darted into it, veering down a narrow alley. Audrey followed close on my heels, one hand latched on to my shirt so we didn’t become separated. A fellow journalist with decades of experience, Audrey served as my temporary boss while we were on assignment at the everlasting tree, but she had taken to using me as a guide in the mornings.

  “I swear this road didn’t exist yesterday,” she grumbled. “You would tell me if you were lost, right, Kylie?”

  “I know where we are.” I envied Audrey’s ability to scan any crowd and pluck out the one person with an interesting story, but she had no sense of direction. Or maybe it was Seed Town that made her roam in circles.

  Rumors of the everlasting tree’s imminent bloom had sparked a migration, and the temporary town had sprung up overnight in the valley below the tree. Every day, the town grew as people flooded in from across the continent for this rare, once-in-a-lifetime experience. If Audrey and I hadn’t been here almost two weeks while the town built up around us, I might have found the haphazard dirt roads zigzagging between tents difficult to navigate, too.

  “We are headed straight for the marketplace,” I assured Audrey. “Or as straight as anything is around here. See, there’s Baker Lang’s pavilion, and at the next junction will be the blacksmith you drool over, even if he is young enough to be your—”

  “Fine. You know where we are. No need to rub it in.” She gave me a reproachful glare that would have been more effective if her gaze hadn’t drifted up the street. Patting wayward strands of her gray-streaked hair back into its tight braid, she pinned them in place with pinches of air.

  I grinned, prepared to tease her more just to watch her blush, but a gaggle of kids thundered past, raising a cloud of dust. I held my breath and settled for poking Audrey in the ribs when her steps lagged in front of the blacksmith’s tent.

  The delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread hung in the still air, and my mouth watered even though we had already eaten. I considered stopping to purchase a snack from Lang, but the line stretched eleven people deep, and I didn’t want to delay. The mayor had been spotted at the marketplace this morning, and if I didn’t hustle, she would disappear before I got my chance to interview her.

  “Do you think the tree will bloom today?” Audrey asked.

  We took turns posing this question to each other every day, and I gave Audrey the same answer she had given me yesterday. “If not today, then tomorrow.”

  Everlasting trees didn’t release seeds yearly. Decades, sometimes centuries, could pass between one everlasting tree’s bloom and the next, but some rules of nature could not be denied. The sun chased spring into summer, baking
the landscape and drying all the tree’s seedpods. Eventually, the heat would burst the seeds open, and everyone gathered would finally get their answers.

  I checked the everlasting tree again. Perched atop a slight rise, it dominated the northern horizon of the valley, and its massive canopy could be viewed from anywhere in the town. No other tree in the vicinity—no other tree on this half of the continent—rivaled the everlasting tree in size. Its huge trunk would require fifteen people to circle it, and the top of its highest branches could be seen for miles. Shaped like a cross between an oak tree and a cottonwood, the everlasting tree’s branches started over thirty feet in the air and twisted and curled as far outward as they did up. Glossy emerald leaves decorated its limbs, and at the tip of every twig rested a seed—enough for everyone in the town to receive one; enough for everyone on the continent, most likely. My mind boggled at the thought.

  “Are you sticking with your question?” Audrey asked. “There’s still time to think of something more . . . meaningful.”

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to have this conversation again. Fortunately, we had reached the hub of the town’s commerce, and I could pretend the cacophony of the crowd had drowned out her words.

  The marketplace sprawled along the northern boundary of Seed Town, over five hundred feet from the base of the everlasting tree. Even from this distance, the radiant magic of the enormous tree permeated the air, heightening the elements. I collected a modest dose of air, earth, water, wood, and fire and rolled them through my senses for the sheer pleasure of it. In one of my first articles for the Chronicle, I had likened being in the tree’s presence to being submerged in an aura of purity, every particle of the elements undiluted and invigorating. The description still held true.

  I wasn’t the only person to savor the clarified elements. Everyone who arrived made the trek to the base of the tree, drawn to its magic, and most people found one reason or another to linger close by—Audrey and myself included. With so many people loitering in the vicinity, it was inevitable that the marketplace would have formed here.

  “Didn’t you say you were looking for Mayor Valeria Clee?” Audrey asked. “I think that’s her holding court at Tess’s.” She pointed toward a popular tea shop set beneath a temporary awning. A plump woman sat facing the marketplace traffic, her keen eyes taking in the bustle even as she talked with two men standing beside her chair. The knitting needles in her hands never faltered.

  “Good eye,” I said.

  “I’ll meet you back at our tent after lunch. We need to get the latest batch of articles off before nightfall.”

  I nodded, already angling for Tess’s. Audrey slipped into the crowd in the opposite direction and disappeared. As the only two representatives from the Terra Haven Chronicle, we had been running nonstop since we got here, tracking down story after story for the special editions being published back home. Our mission was to make those who couldn’t undertake the pilgrimage feel as if they were part of the experience, too. Among articles about the jovial, expectant atmosphere of the town and various events and happenings, we collected tales from the myriad people who had gathered, hunting for anecdotal, poignant, humorous, or exciting stories to encapsulate the experience. At one point or another, I had talked to everyone in town, or so it seemed. Only one person in a hundred had anything interesting to say, but I was getting better at picking out who those people might be, and my story senses told me a chat with the self-appointed mayor of this pop-up town would make for an excellent article.

  I wove through the thickening foot traffic, then paused at the edge of the tea shop’s awning, waiting a polite distance from the mayor and the men talking with her, though I openly eavesdropped.

  “A burn like you’ve described needs Faramond,” Valeria said, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically. “He’s got a special touch with fire wounds.”

  “Where can we find him?” the shorter man asked.

  I thought I recognized his voice and shifted to get a better view of his face. Searching my memory brought up his name: Ian. I had interviewed him my second day here and remembered him because I had included one of his stories in an article. His question for the tree had been about finding his sister, who he had been separated from when they were toddlers. I had been pleased to use the Chronicle to expand others’ awareness of his search for his sibling, and I hoped having the details of his story printed in the paper along with whatever clue his seed gave him would speed his reunion.

  “Faramond is on the west side of town, between the pegasi saddle maker who uses a feathered horseshoe insignia and the Rothfuss clan—there’s about twenty of them, and they’re all blond, so you can’t miss them,” Valeria said. “Oh, and stop by Sharri’s on your way.”

  “Who is—” Ian started to ask, but Valeria continued to speak over him.

  “Sharri’s tent has green and white tassels all over it. Faramond could use some of the milk from her goats. That should help offset the cost of his healing.”

  I marveled at her memory. I may have spoken with the majority of Seed Town’s residents, but I couldn’t keep track of everyone’s professions, locations, and needs. Valeria made it appear effortless.

  “Thank you, Mayor.” Ian tipped his hat in respect. When he turned to leave, he caught sight of me and tossed a quick greeting in my direction before hustling off with his friend.

  “What can I help you with, child?” Valeria asked, turning her perceptive gaze on me. Up close, she looked vaguely grandmotherly, with her steely gray hair tucked into a loose bun, but few wrinkles marred her mahogany skin, and the eye-popping teal and yellow hues of her floral dress lent her the aura of a younger woman. It was only her eyes, weighted with a lifetime’s wisdom, that betrayed her age.

  I held up my press badge, which shimmered with the seal of the Terra Haven Chronicle. It was one of my most treasured possessions.

  “My name is Kylie Grayson. I was hoping to interview you, if you have a moment.”

  Valeria studied the badge, then my face, her fingers never slowing on her knitting. Finally, she gestured for me to take a seat, even as she said, “I’m sure you can find more interesting people than me to talk to.”

  “More interesting than the mayor of Seed Town? I doubt it.” I formed a recording sphere, weaving the elements together to hold the words of the interview for later reference. Then I pulled up a chair and tugged my notebook from my bag.

  “I’m no mayor. No one elected me.” Valeria gestured to our surroundings with her knitting needles. “And this is no town. It’s a camp.”

  “Are you sure?” I made a show of looking around. This “camp” was larger than the five nearest towns put together, and its population continued to swell every day. “No matter what term you use for it, it’s a lot of people. Any gathering this size needs structure, and you’ve done a lot to provide it. Everyone here knows that if they need something, you’ll know who has it. How did you—”

  A child darted through the market to Valeria’s side and whispered in her ear. Sweat plastered his black hair to his scalp, and he bounced on his toes while he spoke.

  “Some shepherd brought his whole flock?” Valeria asked, leaning back in exaggerated shock. “Those poor sheep must be skin and bones to have walked this far. Put them on the southeast side, but grab Michael and Johanna to take with you. Oh, and let Butcher Theo know.”

  The boy spun to run off, but Valeria clutched his shirt, holding him in place. “Whoa there. Take a moment to breathe, Will. And drink this.” She handed the boy her cup of cooled tea, and he downed it in three gulps. Valeria rooted through a pouch at her waist, then pressed a coin into Will’s hand. “Don’t forget to eat today.”

  “Yes, Nana Clee.” He scampered off with a grin.

  Valeria watched him go with a fond smile before resuming her knitting. “Will hasn’t stopped moving since he came out of the womb. If he could run in his sleep, he would.”

  Tess brought over a fresh pitcher of sun-warmed hyson tea
and refilled Valeria’s glass before pouring mine. We both thanked her before she bustled off.

  “Do you decide where every new person should set up camp?” I asked, sipping the earthy beverage.

  “Oh my, no. That would be a full-time job around here. But some folks need to be prodded into the right place to keep the whole camp organized. Wouldn’t it be dreadful to have your tent overrun with sheep? Better to keep them out on the edges where the beasties can mill around without bothering anyone.”

  “So you’re facilitating town planning—excuse me, camp planning. You’re the person everyone comes to with their problems, and everyone calls you Mayor Valeria, but you still insist you’re not the mayor?”

  Valeria shrugged. “I’ve got a lot of common sense, and I know how to run a ranch. This is little different. That doesn’t make me mayor, but when you’re as bossy as I am—and when you’re fortunate enough to have people who let you boss them around—they like to give you a title. It makes everyone feel like they’re taking orders from someone important. If they want to call me mayor, who am I to stop them?” Her easy chuckle invited me to join in. I added radiates charisma to my notebook.