Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) Read online

  Unseen

  The Heights | Volume 1

  Lauren Stewart

  Copyright © 2014 by Lauren Stewart

  Off the Hook Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9881701-9-3

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Design by Amanda Simpson

  Pixel Mischief Design

  Other Titles by Lauren Stewart

  Hyde, an Urban Fantasy

  Jekyll, Hyde Book II

  Strange Case, Hyde Book III

  The Complete Hyde Series Box Set

  No Experience Required, a Summer Rains Novel

  Second Bite

  [email protected]

  www.ReadLaurenS.com

  Dedication

  For my awesome, crazy, and brilliant supporters: I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but you can bet your sweet asses I’m not giving you back! And yes, I think all of your asses are sweet.

  To those who told me I couldn’t tell this story the way I wanted to tell it: My advice to you? Don’t listen to your own advice.

  And for my mom. Always.

  Table of Contents

  Unseen

  About the Author

  Other Titles

  Acknowledgments

  Key Characters

  “No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they'd die for.”

  Martin Luther King Jr.

  Dear Readers

  The Heights is a big world, so feel free to refer to the key character “legend” at the back of this book for a list of the names and positions of all the main characters, as well as info on the Heights, seers, and the Treaty. You can access the legend from the table of contents in your drop-down menu. However, please make sure you bookmark where you are in the novel before you go to the list, so your e-reader doesn’t lose your place. Thank you!

  One

  Addison was being a bitch and she knew it. But disposing of dead supers is like waxing your legs—do it quick before you have a chance to wimp out. Especially when they look human.

  “He’s not going to sit up and tell you it’ll all be okay, Logan.”

  “I can’t do it,” Logan said, holding the vial over the carcass at his feet.

  “Yes, you can. The first one’s always the hardest. Just turn your hand over and let the powder do the rest.”

  “He looks…human.”

  “Yeah, that’s because he’s dead.” She spoke slowly and calmly, despite the fact that this had to happen quickly, before any humans wandered by. “If he wasn’t, he’d be using his glamour to make it at least look like he was wearing pants. Not that you and I would be lucky enough to see them, of course.” Addison sighed, wondering if he heard a word she said. “He’s dead, I swear.” If Logan wanted to transfer to the disposal department, he had to get over his squeamishness, because it was only going to get worse. “If you can’t do it on your own, HQ will get rid of you so fast you’ll wish you’d stayed in the box.” She’d let him talk her out of making him dispose of the other three bodies they’d found tonight, but she couldn’t sign off on his training if he didn’t do one by himself.

  “I gotta get out of the box, Add.”

  “I know.” No one should have to do that. Seers who were lucky became day-keepers, grocers, maybe even healers for the supers, but those who weren’t so lucky…well, they weren’t so lucky. Fortunately, Addison hadn’t had to work her way up to trash collecting. Unfortunately, Logan did.

  “Just do it. He can’t bite you…anymore.”

  “I’m not afraid, Add. But he looks like us now. It’s—”

  She grabbed his hand and forced it to turn over. The glittery powder sprinkled onto the werewolf, devouring the supernatural flesh like acid. Logan groaned as the human-looking body dissolved into the pavement, leaving only ash behind, like a chalk outline on CSI—but filled in. And black. And real.

  “That wasn’t so bad, I guess,” he said, handing her back the vial of dusting powder.

  It wasn’t so bad because she’d done it for him. How long would he last out here without her? And what would he do the first time he had to call in an unsanctioned human fatality? It was too bad seers couldn’t see the future.

  Just another night in paradise.

  “Okay,” she said, nudging Logan to get him to focus, “because he is—was—a shifter and they have tight family units, we can't treat the ashes like you would a vamp’s.” She handed him a small glass jar. “Scoop some of him into this.”

  Logan looked like he was going to throw up. She yanked the jar out of his hand and bent down to do it herself. He was her closest friend and she really wanted to help him get out of the box, but if seers didn’t follow the rules, they died. And even being a plaything for supers was better than being executed by them.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” And he did, without throwing up once. “How do they know the ashes are really their family members and not something we took out of a fireplace?”

  “Wood ash doesn’t have magic. HQ matches the sample to a super so they can let the family, estate lawyers, population control, and historians know the being is dead.”

  “For everybody, or just the high races?”

  “I’m not sure, but they do it for all races that live in the city, except the seers.” Thankfully, human and seer bodies weren’t her problem. All she had to do was call in any she found. “No one talks about it.”

  “So, everybody with magic?”

  She carefully put the jar into her backpack. “Seers have a little magic, don’t you think? Otherwise how would supers sense us?”

  “They don’t sense magic in us—they sense incredibly bad luck.” Sadly, that was a valid theory. “I don’t feel magical. Do you? All I feel is tired, cranky, and hungry.” He smiled.

  “Then go home, take a nap, and eat something.”

  “No time. Gotta go to my other job.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Seriously? When do they expect you to sleep?”

  “They don’t care. I have more breaks during the day shift, though, and it’s just for another week.” It still totally sucked, and the only person who could possibly hate it more than Addison did was Logan.

  “Eat now, then you can sleep through your lunch,” she said, knowing he didn’t like to talk about the box. “Want the rest of my sandwich?”

  “Was it that bad? How’d I screw up a sandwich?”

  She laughed. “You didn’t. It was really sweet and completely unexpected. But unlike you, I don’t eat like a two-hundred-pound man.”

  “Come on, Add, I haven’t weighed two hundred pounds since high school.” It was odd to hear a seer talk about their life prior to being drafted into the Heights. Almost all of them pretended those days didn’t exist. It was easier that way. “So, what now?”

  “Kick the ash around so it looks like dirt instead of what it actually is.” Not that a human would really notice it, of course. It wasn’t required, but Addison thought it seemed more…clean that way.

  He tentatively stretched out his leg. The guy was big enough to walk through the worst parts of San Francisco without getting harassed—except by prostitutes who’d do him for free—but was undone by ashes. When the ash didn’t attack his foot like he probably imagined it would, he smiled and did a little jig as he kicked it.

  She laughed. “Worst dancer ever.”

  “Babe, you couldn’t handle my real dancing.”

  “You’re probably right.” When she’d first met Logan, the only thing that kept her from sleeping with him was his complete and utter lack of interest in her. It wasn’t something she gave much thought to anymore, mostly because it was depressing to think about. In terms of leagues, they were in the same ballpark. He just didn’t think hav
ing sex with her was worth risking their friendship, which indirectly—when she looked at it with a fair amount of paranoia—meant he didn’t think she’d be good in bed. And that was even more depressing.

  At least their shift was almost done. Unless she got another call from the office, telling her a fight broke out and somebody else got slaughtered. Maybe if she knocked on wood, threw some salt over her shoulder, and didn’t walk under any ladders, they could call it a night.

  “All that’s left to do is write up what we did.” She hefted her bag onto one shoulder, rifled through it for her notepad, and then glanced at Logan. He had his hands in his pockets.

  “Jesus, Logan! Where’s your ID? You never put it in your pocket! Never.”

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered as he pulled it out and started picking at one of its corners.

  “Don’t do that!” She slapped his hand away. “That thing is your golden ticket to staying alive, your get-out-of-death-by-super free card. How else are they going to know you’re off-limits?”

  He looked at her sadly, pulling his shirt away from his neck to expose the scars. “These probably help.” Some were blended into the tattoo that covered one shoulder, tendrils like flames licking up the more damaged side of his neck.

  She winced, regretting her comments. Of course he was marked, or ‘claimed’ as the vamps called it, and they hadn’t been nice about it, either. Claimed by who knew how many of them, who knew how many times. Logan probably did. He probably remembered every single one.

  “Sorry, Loge. I forgot.”

  “No worries. C’est la vie.” A smile crept onto his face. “And almost free.” He laughed. It was a bitter kind of laugh, but one she understood. Seers were slaves, plain and simple. They all did what they had to do to stay alive, but some had it worse than others.

  “Besides,” he said as she pulled out the small notebook, “I forgot you don’t have them. I should’ve had your back.”

  No, she should’ve remembered how good she had it—an ID card instead of scars and nightmares keeping her alive. “So…how many supers did we dispose of tonight?”

  “Three or four?”

  “You were supposed to be keeping track as we found them.”

  “We should have scanners like human grocery stores do.”

  “Yeah, well, we should also be able to send this stuff in by email, but that’s never going to happen. Emails can’t be warded against human sight like paper can.” Not surprisingly, supers had trust issues.

  “Type of supernatural creature—shifter, fae, witch, mage, or vampire—along with where we found the body and at what time,” she said, handing him the notebook and pen. It didn’t take long to work through their night—the were, the witch, and two mages. All legal, reported kills.

  “Now we’re done?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Want me to walk you home?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a babysitter, Addison. Thanks.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she mumbled. It was habit. A habit she’d developed for every human she’d known since being able to see.

  Unfortunately, seers didn’t see the future—they saw the truth. Reality. Through the glamour that supernatural beings projected to hide what they really were from the human world. If seers didn’t do the jobs they did, humans would have to. And eventually some of them would notice their employer’s weird behavior or physiology or eating habits. Rumors would spread, people would get nervous, and things would start getting scary. Hell, the food prep alone would cause mass chaos.

  Fear causes panic. Panic makes people stupid. Stupid enough to think they stand a chance against a vamp, demon, or were. So yeah, by doing what they’re told, seers weren’t just keeping themselves alive.

  “You need another night of training,” she said. “But I’m not going to help you at all. You have to do it alone.” She hesitated. “And we should talk about when to call in the cleanup crew.” Luckily, it didn’t happen often because lawful kills were tracked, but occasionally and unfortunately, a feeding went bad or a werewolf lost control. Thank the powers it was somebody else’s job to alter the wounds, but it was still horrifying to find a body drained of blood, with fang marks in their neck, or ripped apart by claws.

  “I need to check when my next night off is, but I promise to do everything next time and bring you a smaller lunch.” He nodded. “Hey…listen…thanks for this. Even with a recommendation, the transfer wouldn’t have happened without your help.”

  “No problem,” she said into his chest as he drew her into a bear hug. He was over six feet of solid muscle and drop-dead gorgeousness—perfect for a vampire or other super plaything. Great looks and a great body were the worst things for a seer to have. Because once they were designated as toys, it was a tough occupation to break free from.

  Whichever of his clients had gotten him out of the box did him a favor. One ‘regular’ was better than multiple, wasn’t it?

  “I’m going to take off.” He flicked his head. “Gotta be at the box in a few.”

  She nodded, imagining having to work all night at disposal and then all day as a toy. “Just a week though, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling.

  After they said goodbye, she watched him until he turned the corner before heading in the opposite direction.

  “Got any change?” a voice asked from the darkness.

  Before he even finished the sentence, she’d thrown out her hand holding her ID. At night, it never left her grip. A second after, she grabbed the small can of pepper spray off her belt and held that out, too. The spray was for any humans who bothered her, but she’d never had to use it. Probably because, somewhere deep inside, they sensed she was different and left her alone because of it. But it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  A homeless man leaned forward from his spot on the sidewalk. “Any change?” he repeated.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head, trying to loosen her paranoia a bit. “Nope, no change.” Coinage or otherwise. She reached into her bag, pulled out the rest of her lunch, and gave it to the man. He grabbed it greedily without as much as a ‘thank you.’ She didn’t blame him—life on the streets was tough and there wasn’t much to be thankful for, so people got out of the habit.

  “Stay safe,” she muttered, partly to him and partly to herself, and resumed her walk home.

  Seers were necessary in the Heights. Until the wars within each race ended, at least. As if that was ever going to happen. So, job security wasn’t something she was all that concerned with. Death, however? Yeah, death was a major concern.

  The only way to get by was to keep a low profile, do your job, and always—yes, always—avoid any super who was still moving. A lesson not learned by seers who went all vigilante and decided it was their destiny to rid the world of vamps, weres, fae, and the occasional demon. Something Addison figured out early was that those seers die—usually soon and definitely painfully.

  Because how many pairs of leather pants you have matters almost as much as how cute you are or how fast you think of a snappy comeback.

  And one thing those girls never seemed to learn was that fangs trump leather any day of the week.

  Her ID made a ticking sound as it bounced between bricks on the building’s facade. It wasn’t smart to surprise anyone out here. So, she kept her head down and her eyes open, always expecting trouble. Knowing that around every corner she—

  “Oh, shit.”

  Two

  Legs stuck out from between the black garbage bags in front of Addison’s building. Legs that might or might not be attached to a body. Could’ve been another homeless person, but not many of the homeless wore Italian shoes and black slacks with creases still ironed into them. Hopefully, it was just a victim of a drive-by. Not that she liked to see a human killed, but a super this close to her apartment? That wasn’t happy-making. That was paranoia-making. She lived on this end of town for a reason—it was a dump. And supers didn’t hang out in dumps.

  She checke
d her phone to see if she’d missed anything—like a call from HQ letting her know about a body in her area. Nothing—no missed calls or texts. Damn it. That meant Legs was an unofficial kill, and that meant trouble. For her.

  Her steps were light and careful as she approached. Keeping her badge out, she turned in slow circles, looking for signs of a setup or someone else waiting to attack from another angle.

  “Disposal technician,” she called out to the darkness. “I’m a disposal technician.”

  When the legs twitched, she jumped and ran up the steps, knowing the concrete railing would keep a super occupied for about half a second. Damn it. She should call the office and subtly ask if anything had been called in for this neighborhood.

  The creature attached to the legs moaned, a deep, growling, mean-sounding moan. Crap. She peered over the rail, down to a—

  “Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.”

  It was a vamp. Flawless face, slicked-back hair, expensive suit—the complete stereotype. And he was dying, probably because of the wooden stake sticking out of his chest. Whoever shoved it in needed to work on their aim. It must’ve missed his heart by a fraction or the vamp would already be dust.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “What now?” She ran her hands over her face and took a deep breath. If she called the office, there was a definite possibility they would blame her. No official fight meant they would blame whoever was closest. Or lowest. Her other option was to put another stake in the vamp’s chest and sweep him away.

  Shit! She shook off the idea, as if just thinking about it would set off telepathic alarms somewhere.

  Each step down felt a little closer to a fate she did her absolute best to avoid. She hated every part of this life. Brought into it by accident, just like all the other humans who could see.