Forlorn: A Young Adult Dark Urban Fantasy (Mythic Blood Series Book 1)

by JJ Krzemien

As I tried to deny what I’d seen, a sinking feeling swallowed my stomach. Why was the gunman trying to kill me? I had no answer that fit that question. But Oscar’s answer, as wild as it sounded, made perfect sense. Because the gunman was sent to kill half mythic people. And I wasn’t fully human.

  No, no, no. There had to be another explanation. I was just missing it.

  Off of highway 30, which in another sixty miles dead ended at the Oregon coast, I scrambled up someone’s driveway then into the underbrush of Forest Park, heading due west until the ferns and blackberry thickets gave way to a wide trail. Narrower trails branched off and I chose at each crossroads to keep going uphill.

  Night had fallen at least an hour ago, but my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. At first I thought it was a new found power, an angel power. Then I realized that a full moon hung in the sky.

  Being alone in the woods made me feel safer. Venturing off-trail, I found a huge fallen tree. That was the place to spend the night. I settled down with my back to the log and ate strawberry Pop Tarts, caned fruit cocktail, and jerky.

  Snow started drifting down to cover the damp, mostly rotted leaves. I opened my mouth to catch the little flakes of ice, as I’d done every time it snowed my whole life. Although this was a first. Out in the wilderness, alone, on the eve of my sixteenth birthday. No family and no friends.

  Sarah. I missed her so much. We should be together tonight like we’d planned. It was set up weeks ago: Birthday sleep over, breakfast in downtown Portland, then shopping at Macy’s and Nordstrom. Sweet sixteen was the year that family heirlooms began to be passed down from mother to daughter. I’d always wanted my great-great-grandma’s black pearls.

  A trip to the DMV would follow shortly for my driver’s license. I was pretty sure my dad had already picked out a car. Knowing him it would either be a VW Bug or a Mini Cooper. When school resumed in January, Sarah would ride in with me. She didn’t turn sixteen until February.

  I shook my head slowly from side to side, watching my breath escape into the chilly air. Bringing my knees to my chest I buried my face in them.

  The forest was quiet except for the soft patter of snow building up in layers. Without a fire, it should feel cold, freezing even. Instead the snow melted around me. Soon the warmth became unbearable and I shed my coat then unzipped the hoodie.

  Minutes later, a deep cold penetrated my bones. I covered up in every layer I had with me—only to shed it all again a few minutes later. For what seemed like hours my body fluctuated between chilled and sweltering.

  Then the pain returned in my shoulders. A pain so intense it made last night’s episode feel like a paper cut. I screamed in moments of clarity. Moaned when the haze of the fever detached me from reality. My back had to be ripping in half one centimeter of flesh at a time. I was being flayed by either magic, a genetic mutation, or medical experimentation. And I really didn’t care which, I just wanted it to either stop or kill me soon.

  Through the fever came hallucinations of Oscar the gargoyle. Blue eyes set deep in a grey stone-like face. He petted my head with a clawed hand and murmured in his too deep voice. Both felt like ice to me, melting away the awful internal heat. When I shivered, he placed something thick and heavy over me. Sometime in the early morning hours the fever broke, and I finally fell asleep.

  A noontime sun in the clear sky woke me. The pain had gone, replaced by an ache so deep I didn’t want to move. Lying there, face planted in pine needles and moss, I spit the dirt out of my mouth. With effort my eyes opened to a green forest with patches of disappearing snow. Birds shrilled as they flew from tree to tree. I wanted them to drop dead.

  I eased to a seated position on my coat. The blankets slid to the ground. Blankets? Oscar. He had really been here last night. I looked around for signs of a demon-headed old man on this bright sunny day. He’d gone. With that realization, came a sense of disappointment—not the feeling of relief I’d been excepting. My fear of him didn’t seem to be with me anymore.

  After packing up, I hiked back down the hill in search of a restroom. This time taking forks in the path that would hopefully lead me back to downtown. Beyond that I didn’t really have a plan.

  Should I try to find Oscar or not? Was I putting him in danger by being around him, too? I’d love to see the look on the gunman’s face when Oscar snarled at him with a gargoyle’s head.

  It was all so impossible. A gunman after me. A gargoyle friend—yes, I could tentatively call him a friend after last night. And whatever was happening to me. Impossible. And yet, it was all happening. What was I going to do?

  Step one: Go to the bathroom.

  The small concrete building stood to the side of the trail. Roof covered in moss and graffiti all over the walls—inside and out. Dingy restroom lights flickered as I stared into the film-covered mirror. The itching between my shoulder blades was making me crazy, but at least the pain had gone. The more I scratched, the more it itched. Reaching behind me, under the grimy T-shirt, I rubbed the irritated skin. My hand came away with blood and tiny white feathers—like I was losing my stuffing. Losing my mind, more like.

  There in my hand was the proof that I was not fully human. Rubbing my fingers together, I let the blood covered dove-soft feathers float to the floor. If only this was a dream.

  With my back to the mirror, I lifted my shirt to see the gashes. If they were bleeding a lot I’d need to bandage them. They didn’t seem too bad and my shirt only had a little bit of blood on it.

  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Gargoyles and angels. What next?

  We are the same. The words sent a chill through me. We were not the same. I was nothing like Oscar. Angels didn’t look like that. Gargoyles did, and if gargoyles existed then so must angels. Right? And vampires, werewolves, and demons, who knew what else—if Oscar was to be believed. At this point, how could I not believe him. That explained who killed those thugs and how I ended up in the tent of a wheelchair-bound man who certainly couldn’t have carried me himself. And why he had no friends. Maybe Edgar was a gargoyle, too?

  The smell of stale urine permeated the enclosure. Nose wrinkled, I let my shirt down and washed my hands in the dribbling faucet. The hazy reflection gazing back at me had lank, dirty blond hair and sad eyes. Didn’t look like me at all. Great, no paper towels. I dried my hands on the inside of my hoodie.

  Today was my birthday and I was not going to spend it in filthy clothes. The hotels might not take my money, but I bet the clothes stores would. Step two: A shower.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Everything in this city required an ID, even athletic clubs. I gave up after the second one and decided to suck it up and go to the women’s shelter. As long as they didn’t ask too many questions, it would be fine. All I wanted was a hot shower.

  It did occur to me that the gunman might assume I’d go to the shelter eventually. For a chance at getting clean I was willing to risk it. After the past couple of days, getting shot and killed seemed like the least of my worries. Things like, what exactly was I supposed to do when these cute little feathers turned into wings, weighed a little heavier on my mind.

  The women’s shelter was in a nondescript building on 2nd and Burnside. White, bland, grimy windows with bars, just as I’d imagined it. A few minutes in the waiting room to fill in a questionnaire and that was it. Of course they wanted to know if I was using drugs or being abused by another person. I checked no on nearly everything except the homeless part.

  Inside the building was all white walls and fluorescent lights, but clean enough. I headed straight to the showers. In a private stall I peeled off my mud caked clothes and let them pile on the floor. The water instantly turned hot and cascaded down my back and through my hair. First the dirt and blood washed away, then the sweat from last night’s fever, then the ache in my muscles. After washing my hair, I brushed my teeth with the supplied toiletries.

  Out of the shower, I toweled off the mirror and checked out my back again. The two openings were an ang
ry red, but the edges seemed to be healing. I stared in wonder at the white feathers poking out of the gashes that followed the curve of my shoulder blades. No bandages needed.

  I changed into my set of spare clothes. Clean underwear and socks, jeans, and a white T-shirt. I hadn’t thought to bring a hoodie or any other layers. I could find a laundromat and wash the sweatshirt, or buy a new one. Nordstrom was only a few blocks away. I put the old clothes in the trash bin.

  Pulling the boots back on and shoving my arms into the winter coat, I grabbed my backpack, stuffed with the leftover miniature toiletries, and left the shelter.

  The corner of 2nd and Burnside was noisy with cars and buses; they splashed puddle-water on the sidewalk as they zoomed past. I turned down 2nd street, in the general direction of central downtown. As I passed the Irish pub, Kells, the old wooden door opened. The smell of burgers and fries made my stomach growl. Food first. New hoodie second.

  Pizza, that’s what I was really craving. If I kept walking, I’d find a pizzeria soon enough. My stomach growled again.

  Mingling with the holiday shoppers, kids on winter break, and working professionals on the sidewalks, I almost felt normal again. Almost.

  A beggar on the street corner stared at me as I walked by him. His cardboard sign read: God’s greatest glory is mankind.

  “Monster,” he hissed at me as I passed.

  Was it because I hadn’t given him spare change? Not that I had any to give. It might not be too long before I ended up standing on a street corner begging.

  Then, incongruous with his broke and homeless appearance, he pulled an iPhone from his pocket and took pictures of me as I walked away.

  “Demon spawn! Retribution is coming for you,” he yelled into the crowd.

  Somehow it seemed his words were meant for me. And it reminded me of that other crazy lady from a couple of nights ago; the one who had called me beast. How did these people recognize me? And what was wrong with them? They couldn’t possibly know what was happening to me.

  I covered my wet hair with the hood, kept my head down, and walked faster. At the next corner I risked a glance around. There was a pizza place one more block down.

  Through the glass doors, I checked to see how crowded the place was. A group about my age sat in a big corner booth. I squinted. Did I know any of them? No familiar faces, but their carefree laughter made me long for my school friends.

  Besides them, a few couples occupied smaller tables. I opened the door and stepped into the warm, humid pizzeria. The smell of baked bread nearly made me forget about the weird beggar.

  Best to keep moving and not linger. I ordered two slices of pepperoni and a large Coke—to go. Waiting by the pickup counter, I tore at my nails and glanced repeatedly out the windows.

  The beggar shuffled past the first window and the door. I ducked my head, willing myself to stand still. Had he seen me?

  I waited a second then glanced up. He’d stopped by the second window. Right at the edge where the window ended and the brick wall between the two shops began. Then he slid down the glass to sit on the sidewalk.

  My order number was called; the loud static voice over the microphone startling me. I took my pizza and drink from the counter. Now what? Who knew how long he’d be there. Leaving with him out there didn’t seem like a good idea.

  I grabbed a seat away from the front windows, but where I could still keep an eye on him. As I ate, part of me in awe at how hungry I was even when my stomach was twisted in knots, I considered my options. Maybe there was a back exit? I could ask the server, but that might come across as strange.

  Licking the last bit of parmesan and pepperoni oil from my fingers, the solution finally dawned on me. I walked up to the counter and waited for the server.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Ah yeah, there’s a homeless guy outside looking for spare change. I saw him before and he harassed me—”

  “No problem, we’ll get him to leave.” The server turned and called to someone in the kitchen.

  An older, thick-necked, tattooed guy came around the counter and stepped outside. Through the glass I could hear him telling the beggar to move along. From the tone of their interaction this kind of thing seemed to happen all the time. The beggar moved on and the pizza guy came back inside.

  “Thanks,” I said to him, heading toward the door.

  Outside, I walked in the opposite direction from the homeless man, sprinted the last few steps to the corner, and turned up the side street.

  I shivered. That beggar guy had really creeped me out. If his actions and words hadn’t been so similar to that business woman the other day, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it all. Who were they? And what did they want?

  The gunman was hunting me, that’s who Oscar had to be referring to. But these people with their phone pictures and monster and beast, they sent a different kind of chill down my neck. I couldn’t quite place what it was about them, but somehow they seemed more threatening than the guy who had already shot me.

  Getting away from people in general was probably the safest choice. I would go back to Forest Park and stay there as long as possible. Until I came up with a plan. Get a new hoodie, some real food, water, a tent, and I should be good for a while. I nodded to myself, then headed toward Pioneer Square in the center of downtown.

  I turned toward Nordstrom and stopped so abruptly that someone bumped into me. They pushed past with a mumbled curse.

  Sarah sat on a bench a few feet from me, waiting for the MAX train. Her long dark hair hung over one shoulder as she swiped through her phone.

  My initial reaction was to call out to her. I missed her so much. Part of me wondered if it was really her, or just someone who looked like her. Then she pursed her lips and tilted her head. Definitely Sarah.

  I willed my feet to move, to back away. They remained firmly planted on the concrete. My gaze fixed on her face.

  Her home had been broken into the night I disappeared from the hospital. What if the gunman still followed Sarah? I could not get her involved. I had to ignore her and walk away—right now. So, why wasn’t I leaving?

  As if sensing my presence, my best friend looked up, and our eyes locked.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As recognition dawned in Sarah’s brown eyes, I stood frozen in place. Her expression changed from disbelief to shock to joy. She jumped up and hustled toward the street corner where my feet felt glued in place.

  No. This couldn’t be happening. That thought warred with a deep longing for connection and normalcy. I wanted her help; to be rescued from this nightmare. I should have ran and lost her in the crowded streets. Now it was too late.

  She slowed as she came near. “Lilianna?” Her voice held both doubt and hope.

  I nodded. My eyes stung. I swallowed the thickness in my throat.

  Sarah hugged me and pulled us closer to the wall that marked the perimeter of Pioneer Square. I couldn’t hold back anymore, the hot tears streamed down my cheeks. My hands shook, so I clenched Sarah’s coat. She held me tighter.

  Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how completely alone in the world I’d felt. Oscar had been helpful, but he was no substitute for my parents or my best friend. I sobbed and wiped the tears away.

  Sarah pulled away to look at me, her eyes shone with moisture. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you. Mom, Dad, and me. I’ll tell them I found you.” She let go of me to send the text.

  My heart pounded. I grabbed the phone from her hands. “No. Someone’s trying to kill me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know, I saw on the news about the nurse at the hospital. So awful. Then someone got into our house, but didn’t take anything. We have to help you. Give me my phone.” She held out her hand, waiting.

  I gave it back. Sarah typed in the message with her thumb and sent the text. “Now we just need to hang out for a while and you can tell me what the hell is going on.” She hugged me again. “Ah! I’m so happy you’re here.�
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  She took my hand and started toward the Starbucks across the plaza. A building made of glass was not exactly my idea of a place to hide. Although it was so packed with people they were as good as walls. We stood in line for ten minutes to order our drinks, then waited another ten minutes to get them.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, then back again. From the recesses of my hood, I glanced at the other customers. No one noticed us especially. To them we were just two teenagers on winter break.

  Sarah’s phone chirped several times with the incoming texts from her parents. She held the phone to my face so I could read them, while her other hand came up to lower my hood.

  “No,” I whispered, tugging the hood back in place. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  She gave me a wide-eyed look. “Oh, you’re so smart. Of course.” Sarah flipped her own hood up. “Do you think this is better, or do we look suspicious now?”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. Leave it up.”

  I filled her in on what had happened to me in the past four days, initially leaving out the part about gargoyles and angels. I’d rather explain that part on its own when I could show her my back. When we weren’t in public. Somehow talking about it all made it seem more real.

  Summed up, without all of the supernatural stuff, the story sounded almost believable. Teenager whose parents die in freak accident—though it’s not really an accident. A killer trying to get the teen that miraculously lived, only to be thwarted when she escapes to live on the streets.

  Yeah, no, that sounded like something out of a movie.

  Sarah squeezed my hand and smiled. “If you weren’t telling me this in person, I totally wouldn’t believe you. But you look like you’ve been through all of that.”

  “Oh, thanks. You’re telling me I look like crap. You try spending days on the streets.”

  “Good point.” Her smile vanished. “Seriously though, I’m so glad you’re okay. But why is this guy after you? Do you…do you think he killed your parents?”

  I sipped the mocha. How many times had I thought about all of this already? Yet, now I was pretty sure he was after me because of the whole angel thing.