“Thanks. We probably would have died, if you hadn’t shown up,” he spoke up.
“You would have. Request a weapons upgrade.”
“It likely won’t be approved. Thus far, all requests have been shot down.”
Drisy frowned, concerned why Meroq Corp was lacking proper arms for their security guards. “I’ll mention it to my father. Put the request in.”
“Your father?” he asked.
“You’re Drisy Hughes,” the scientist exclaimed, the realization finally dawning on her.
Drisy nodded in confirmation.
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he declared, his cheeks flushing.
“Go report,” she reminded, moving to follow the drones and gurney.
It took several minutes to reach the massive metal door barring the entrance to her destination. She monitored the prisoner’s breathing pattern for his health, but more so to ensure he didn’t ambush her in the event that he awakened prematurely. A smidgen of relief washed over her as she was granted access by the two security officers hovering nearby.
Once inside, Delia stepped forward, checking the prisoner’s vitals via a pulse in his neck.
The entire area was brightly lit and Drisy staggered back in horror as she took in her surroundings.
Massive, multi-story honeycomb structures organized in countless rows filled the hangar. Within each opening, a frail person with pale, blotched skin was strung up. Narrow, red medical tubes were attached to their faces and limbs. There were countless individuals. Guesstimating the size of the hangar--assuming there weren’t more like it--thousands.
Abruptly lightheaded, Drisy fell to her knees, unable to tear her gaze away as bile rose in her throat. They were farming dragon shifters. It was one thing to protect the sectors from their organized attacks and another entirely to string them up like livestock. Maybe that was the real reason behind them attacking. They were only trying to save their kin.
Crouching, her sister grasped her shoulders firmly and forced her to make eye contact. “Drisy, listen to me. Deep breaths.” She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth slowly. “Come on, do it.”
Forcing air into her lungs, Drisy copied the breathing until her heart rate slowed, but the waves of nausea remained.
“That’s it. Now, I want you to follow this drone straight to Mark Lesden’s office. He’ll be able to walk you through this better than I. Can you do that?”
Drisy nodded in response, unable to open her mouth in fear she’d hurl. Her twin assisted her in standing and held her steady for a moment.
“This is a completely normal response,” Delia reassured her, leading her back out of the hangar.
She felt the weight of the guards’ judging stares, but the gaunt faces of the people imprisoned behind the doors remained emblazoned in her mind.
“Hurry and get to his office,” Delia insisted, giving her a gentle nudge.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, Drisy followed the drone back down winding hallways. She couldn’t help but wonder what other horrors might hide behind the sealed doors she passed along the way. She knew Meroq Corp used the blood of dragon shifters to create cures for diseases, but to harvest them in such an inhumane way… Her stomach clenched as she halted and leaned heavily against a wall, taking a few calming breaths. She was a soldier. She refused to throw up in the sterile hallways of her family’s company. Her family had known about the true process the entire time.
Drisy rushed into the nearest room, the lights flickered on automatically. Her eyes zeroed in on a nearby trash can. She barely made it, emptying the contents of her stomach in several lurching heaves. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to catch her breath. Settling back onto her heels, she shut her eyes and focused hard on conjuring up a grassy meadow from memory. Of purple flowers and tall grass caressed by a warm summer breeze. Her breathing gradually slowed, returning to a more natural rhythm as she wiped her face with the back of one gloved hand.
Shakily rising to her feet, she staggered to the hallway and continued following the drone, surprised it had waited for her. She moved aside to allow a pair of people to pass. Looking up, her eyes widened as she met the familiar blue gaze of the man she had crossed paths with at the movie theater. Heart racing, she noticed the red jumpsuit and black cuffs around his wrists.
“Hello,” he said. His warm smile didn’t reach his eyes.
The lanky guard escorting him spun around and clocked him on the jaw before Drisy could react. “Don’t speak!”
The prisoner acted like the hit didn’t even phase him and continued to stare at her.
“Keep moving!”
Despite being prodded in the back with a nightstick, he remained stationary. The guard gave him a warning zap, causing him to suck air in sharply through his mouth.
Drisy’s fists clenched. She didn’t even know his name. Coming to her senses, she relaxed her stance and averted her gaze.
“I’m Liam,” he said. Almost in answer to her unspoken question.
Clutching his radio, the guard spoke into it, and Drisy’s crackled on, catching his attention. “You there. Help me escort this prisoner.”
“Sorry, I am otherwise engaged,” she offered a weak apology.
“Are you refusing to take orders?”
Drisy took a step forward. “I am Major Drisy Hughes. The likes of you don’t give orders to me.” Blood pounded in her ears as she stormed away without looking back.
Unable to keep track of the twists and turns, she followed the drone blindly, red-hot rage coloring her vision, until they arrived at a door bearing Mark’s name, boldly etched across a plaque. Upon knocking, the door opened.
“Major Hughes, come in,” he said softly.
Guiding her through a sitting area furnished with a few leather chairs and a secretary’s counter, he stopped outside of a door and motioned for her to enter.
“Change out of your armor and clean yourself up. A security officer will be here soon to collect it and your weapons, but take your time,” he instructed softly
Nodding, Drisy entered the bathroom and locked the door. Her reflection caught her attention in the mirror over the sink as she turned on the cold water. All the blood had drained from her face, leaving her ghostly pale. She rinsed her mouth out and thoroughly scrubbed her hands.
It took a few minutes to remove her weapons and armor, but rather than making her feel comfortable, the action caused her to feel exposed. Hugging them to her chest as she exited, she reluctantly handed them off to the officer patiently waiting outside, signing the tablet he held out.
Mark guided her into a small room containing a tan couch and recliner. She passed a bookshelf on her way to sit down, finding it stocked with informational psychiatric texts.
“Feel free to lay down, if you’d prefer,” he offered as she perched on the edge of the couch. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Your sister filled me in on what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you. I find it easiest to start from the beginning of the day and walk through the events as they unfold, one at a time.”
Taking a deep breath, Drisy began.
“Your reaction is completely normal,” Mark declared, echoing her sister’s words. “Nearly everyone who has had access to that area has required a visit to my office.”
“What about the few who didn’t?”
“There’s no need to focus on that. But, between you and me, I think they’re a bit crazy,” he smiled.
Drisy scoffed, feeling the corners of her lips tug up. “I guess I just didn’t realize what the process of extracting blood entailed. Thinking about it now, it seems very naive of me.”
“The thing here is not to focus on how you think you needed to react, but on processing and making sense of how you reacted. You’re doing an excellent job.”
She side-eyed him and he chuckled. “I do have a question. Yesterday, I was at the movies with a friend and as we left, we ran into a gentleman. My friend said I was �
��gobsmacked’--which is honestly the best description. It’s hard to explain, but... it was almost like... one of those tall tales of love at first sight. I know, it’s ridiculous.”
Mark’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows. “It’s not unheard of. There are still a lot of ideals about reincarnation, soul mates, etc. Perhaps you had met before somewhere. Maybe during school, training, or work?”
“No, I have a feeling I would have remembered him.”
“I wouldn’t think too hard about it.”
“Well, that’s the problem. I saw him on the way here--to your office.”
“See? You recall him from work,” he declared.
“Mark, he was dressed in a red jumpsuit and being escorted by a guard.”
Eyes widening, he sat in silence for a moment, processing. “This is quite a plot twist,” he finally muttered. “Did you have any physical contact with this man?”
“That was my next question. I know you’re a psychiatrist and not a scientist, but you know more than I do as a soldier. Is it possible for a dragon shifter to infect a human?”
Raising an eyebrow, Mark stood and began pacing behind the recliner. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. A dragon shifter has to be born, not made. Hence the problem with collecting enough blood from specimens for developing cures. Research has shown it isn’t possible. Why? Have you noticed anything unusual?”
“It’s probably nothing. He squeezed my shoulder and it remained sore the rest of the day. I bathed immediately after getting home and must have dozed off in the bath. I had a dream the same arm became scaly and my fingers morphed into black talons,” Drisy explained.
“Definitely had to be a vision, but we can try an exercise to put your mind at ease. Am I correct in assuming you fear this will occur again?”
“Yes. It felt too real.”
Nodding, he approached. “Which arm was it?”
“My left.”
Settling down onto the couch on beside her, he pushed up the sleeves of his suit. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Reaching over, he gently rolled back the sleeve of her blue t-shirt before gently rubbing his hand from her shoulder all the way to her hand. “See? Normal, smooth skin,” he confirmed. “Let’s begin. Lean back and close your eyes. That’s it. Imagine yourself back in the tub, enjoying a soak after a difficult day.”
Head tilted back, Drisy did her best to follow his instructions.
“In your mind, step into the tub and settle into the water. Raise your right hand and swish some bubbles around. Do it with your left hand. Feel the suds soaking into your skin. You’ve been in the bath for quite some time now and don’t want to get wrinkly. Reach out with your left hand and unplug the tub. Watch the water drain away quickly. Time to get up to reach the showerhead to rinse off.”
Drisy envisioned it as instructed. Turning the hot water on, warm heat rapidly engulfed her left arm.
Mark’s weight vanished from her side and something nearby crashed to the floor. Startled, she opened her eyes and noticed the broken table lamp at his feet. Following his wide-eyed gaze, she flinched back, painfully ramming the couch’s armrest into her lower back. Once again, the skin of her left arm morphed into grey scales and her hand ended in talons. She glanced up at his pale face as she felt the blood drain from her own.
“It wasn’t a dream,” was all she could think to say.
“How is this possible?” he said, running a hand through his dark hair. With a derogatory laugh, he muttered, “The daughter of the man imprisoning dragon shifters turns out to be one? This is too perfect.”
“What?” Drisy gasped. “I’m not a shifter! I’ve had the FLEX test. You just said, it isn’t transferrable.”
“I know, but what if shifters have evolved? Their race is almost extinct now. Maybe they’ve naturally evolved in response.”
“In only one generation? You know that isn’t possible.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, looking over at her arm again. “You need to change that back.”
“How?”
“You did a breathing regimen the last time, right? Try that.”
Nodding and closing her eyes, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth several times. The heat slowly receded from her left arm.
“There you go. Back to normal,” Mark declared.
She checked for herself, finding her smooth skin had returned. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Well, if we report this, we both know what will happen to you. It’s going to be extremely difficult actually finding out any information without being able to do research. Unless we can somehow interview a shifter without surveillance. However, I do want to check one thing.” Mark hurried to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room and returned a few moments later with a plastic lancet and a small vial of clear liquid.
“What is that?” Drisy asked.
“This is a rudimentary FLEX test kit. It won’t set off any alarms or alert anyone. We can dispose of it immediately after use.”
“How does it work?”
“Prick your finger with this and put the blood drops in the vial. If it stays mostly clear, it’s not positive. If it turns blue, it’s positive,” Mark explained, handing over the lancet. “Ready?”
Drisy nodded. He removed the rubber cap from the vial. She pricked her finger and they both waited with bated breath as her blood mingled with the clear solution. He placed the cap back on and gently shook it before holding it out in the palm of his hand.
Slightly red-tinged from her blood mingling with it, the liquid remained clear and they both breathed out a sigh of relief. As Mark placed it on the coffee table, the solution began to cloud and darken while they watched intently.
Drisy’s heart almost stopped beating at the sight of the blue liquid inside the vial. She was Tainted.
About the Author
J.E. Feldman is one ancient soul reincarnate mixed with an enormous amount of inspiration, passion, and commitment. Her writing journey began at the age of three and has continued full blast with no sign of slowing down.
In her free time, J.E. enjoys road trips ripe with history, crocheting blankets for the homeless, and reading in cramped bookstores.
Stay tuned at her website to continue Drisy’s story:
www.jefeldman.com
Assassin’s Blade
Melinda R. Cordell
Assassin’s Blade © 2020 Melinda R. Cordell
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Chapter 1
THE END OF THE WORLD
Fia’s target was in sight.
She crouched behind a potted lemon tree in the piazza, a slip of a girl in an olive-green tunic and hose and boots, clutching her bow. Fia crooked her fingers at Neva to summon her over, her dark eyes never leaving the target.
Neva joined her, her blonde hair long and swinging loose around her face. Fia’s dark brown hair was bound up, though not in the style of a married woman. Never that.
Neva rested her chin on Fia’s shoulder, looking toward the target. “You better not do it,” she whispered. “The retaliation will never end. He will send his sultans and guards after you. They’ll pursue you beyond the sunset to the gates
of hell.”
Fia plucked an arrow from her quiver. “I can outrun them. They can’t kill what they can’t catch.”
Her target sat with his friends playing dice, a Persian form of the game from the old country, speaking in Syriac to his fellow countrymen and several Fiorenza friends. The piazza was bustling with many people under the bright morning sun, some shopping, some visiting on their way to the well. The markets ran along the side of the monastery gardens, where breads, fruits and vegetables, and cheese were being sold, and the fragrance of bread and lemons and wood smoke hung over the piazza. Fia’s target was sharing bread with his friends, still warm from the communal stone oven that had cooked it. He tore off a piece and lifted it in his fingers as he talked to his friends. There it stayed, aloft, as he continued talking.
Perfect. Fia drew the bow, her face pressed against the string as she took deadly aim.
“Fia, don’t!” Neva whispered.
The bowstring sang, and the arrow flew to its mark – straight through the piece of bread.
“Aiee!” Her grandfather dropped what was left of his bread and he squinted at Fia. Then he roared with laughter. “Child! That was my breakfast!”
The people he’d been speaking with were not amused. “Are you trying to put somebody’s eye out?” one of his astonished friends said.
“Or get somebody killed?” another added.
Fia stood up from behind the lemon tree. “They’re blunted arrows.” Fia pulled out an arrow to show them. A little piece of leather was tied to the business end of the arrow. “And my aim is good. I wasn’t going to hit any of you.”
“Little girls shouldn’t play with bows and arrows,” one of the Fiorenza friends said sanctimoniously.
“Little?” Fia said scornfully, hands on hips. “We’re twelve years old. We’re not little.”
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