The Harbinger

by Candace Wondrak

  The Harbinger

  Candace Wondrak

   All Rights Reserved.

  Cover by the wonderful Victoria Cooper over at Victoria Cooper Art!

  Chapter One

  There was always something in the pit of Faith Blackwell’s stomach when she thought about going out on a hunt. Some would say it’s because she was nervous; others might say that it’s because she had yet to graduate the Academy, and she knew she shouldn’t even be thinking about going out for a mission that was below the I.D.’s radar.

  Faith herself thought it was just because she was hungry. She usually was.

  Hence the reason she chewed on a piece of minty gum as she crept through the second floor of the warehouse on Thirteenth Street. According to her research—which, albeit, wasn’t that good because she was known for jumping the gun on things like this—her target was on the lower floor, in the middle of a wide, great room full of metal boxes containing illegal goods brought over to Earth from an equally illegal portal from the Second.

  Mark Biello. A thirty-something man with no family, no credit history, and now, no future that didn’t involve metal bars. He wasn’t the first smuggler and he wouldn’t be the last. Every time the Division caught one and shut down an unauthorized portal, two others popped up. It was why their work was never done.

  Of course, Faith was only eighteen. Having been in the Academy for the last five years, juggling it with normal high school, she still had two more years to go until she graduated and was able to go on missions—hunts—that were sanctioned.

  Faith didn’t always listen to the rules. In fact, she tended to avoid them.

  Because of her rule-avoiding tendencies, she constantly wore two thick, black bands around her wrists, the leather tied tightly around her skin to avoid showing her grandmother and mother, along with her teachers at the Academy, what she had gotten when she’d turned sixteen.

  Victus. Victi, plural. Living, breathing tattoos. A mixture of Elven magic and Human science. Only graduates could get them, or those in the Academy with fake identification. Regular Humans couldn’t, nor could any Dwarf or Fae. A few Elves had gotten them, but there were consequences in their frozen genetics involving wrinkles and greying hair—two things Elves hated above all others. Luckily, there weren’t many negative side effects on Humans, which was why they were so harshly regulated.

  Faith had her people. She knew who to go to for fake identification cards. Every graduate of the Academy got them, anyway. She didn’t see why waiting until she was twenty mattered.

  Currently, the two leather bracelets sat in her studded jacket pockets. Her fingers flexed, the rings on her thumb sparkling in the dim warehouse light. Her auburn hair fell past her shoulders, its length made of slow waves. She had a stud in her nose, too—her mother had freaked about that, so it made sense to keep her Victi a secret.

  She crouched in the room, surrounded by old filing cabinets and cluttered desks that hadn’t seen a day of use since the late sixties, when the worlds were joined. Ever since, technology and jobs alike had moved and changed faster than people predicted. The Second’s magic aided mankind’s proclivity for science, and science fueled new kinds of magic. From what she’d heard and learned in her classes though, only the Elves were grateful. The rest of the Second’s many races still held resentment toward humanity for the breach between worlds.

  Faith snuck to a large window, thankful that the lights were out. Her eyes spotted a wide, open room below, a courtyard of sorts in the middle of the warehouse, where stone pillars sat. Right now Mark was alone, sitting on a dingy metal box, fiddling with his phone. His Fae sidekick—he needed one, because Humans could not open portals alone—was nowhere in sight.

  Her fingers itched, and she readied herself for a great entrance—jumping through the window, bursting out of the glass, Victi active, landing in a badass crouched position. She’d say something along the lines of “You’ve made your last deal, Mark” or “You won’t last two days in federal prison.” Something cool, something serious, something that’ll make a real good story once it was over.

  Except…that didn’t happen. There was no jumping, no bursting, no badass landing. Not from her, anyway.

  The warehouse shook as a squad of three propelled from the glass roof above Mark. So, there was jumping, there was some bursting of glass, and there certainly was a badass landing…from three other Academy grads. Faith’s spirits sunk immediately when she recognized the hunters and their new apprentice, Finn.

  The seasoned agents let Finn do the wrangling. Before Mark could sprint away, Finn dragged a hand across his own muscular neck, his Victus coming to life in the form of a rope net, coiling around Mark’s legs as the man tried to run for the nearest door. It spun itself around him, until his legs and chest were barely visible beneath it, and Mark collapsed on the ground with an audible oof.

  As the masked woman patted Finn on the back, the other experienced hunter turned to look up toward the second floor, at the large window where Faith was kneeling, peeping like it was her job. Suddenly a Victus was headed her way, crashing through the window, dragging her down, forcing her to her knees in front of the squad.

  Hair in her face, Faith blew dramatically out of her mouth to get some of it away from her bright, emerald eyes. She always thought they were her best feature. Who could gaze into her eyes and say…

  “Pen’s kid,” the hunter whose Victus slithered around her like a snake spoke. Beneath his mask, he glanced back to his squad.

  Pen’s kid. So that’s what she was, huh? That’s so not what she wanted to be.

  Finn walked up beside him, the mask around his eyes and cheekbones not doing anything to hide his deep voice or his blood-colored hair. A side effect of an implant, probably, unless he dyed it like that, and Faith wasn’t so sure he looked like the type of guy who knew anything about hair dye. “Don’t I know you?”

  His question stung a bit, for while he was two years older than her and a fresh Academy graduate, she knew for a fact that he remembered the weird girl who asked him to a dance using a mechanical cat that blew up in his face.

  She’d gotten detention for a week after that. Regular detention, as in, less time spent on Academy stuff. Faith hadn’t gotten over it, even if it happened a few years ago.

  Still, though she wanted to argue with him, she found that she couldn’t. All she did was shrug beneath her leather jacket.

  “She’s the Director’s kid,” the woman spoke next to him.

  They each wore the I.D.’s uniform: skin-tight black suits, mesh strong enough to repel normal bullets, and a mask over their nose, cheeks and eyes, hiding most of their faces. It was a silly outfit, but on Finn, Faith had to admit it looked good. And, of course, both Finn’s partners were so good at what they did, they didn’t even have to touch their Victi to activate them. Finn hadn’t mastered that art, yet. Neither had Faith.

  “You know we have to report this,” the male agent said, staring down at Faith.

  “No, no you don’t,” Mark said from his position near the woman, face on the concrete floor. “You could let us both go.”

  Faith rolled her eyes. As if they’d listen to a smuggler.

  Finn strolled over to Mark, grabbing him by the shoulders, effortlessly tugging him along. “Can’t do that, Mark. If we let you go, it sets a bad precedent. Plus—” He shot me a glare. “—somebody’s got to teach that girl a lesson. Might as well be her mother.” The mask did not hide the smug smirk that grew on his lips.

  Lips that, a few years ago, Faith had often daydreamed about kissing. Now, she wanted to punch him.

  “Mother dearest hasn’t taught me any lessons,” Faith said, bold in spite of her current state. “She’s been busy with the Division.”


  “Your dorm mother, then,” the woman agent spoke.

  Yes, the dorm mother. Because this was like ancient times, when those in the Academy were forced to live with each other for camaraderie or some other crap. But, being a bit special, Faith didn’t live in the dorms. She lived in the city with her grandmother.

  Faith shrugged. “Sure. Call her right now.”

  “Her number, grunt?” The woman’s hand hovered over her ear.

  She rattled off her grandmother’s number, praying that good old grannie would get the hint.

  Faith sat in her chair, toying with the leather bands around her wrists. She supposed she was lucky that she wore a jacket and was able to sneakily wrap her bracelets around her wrists in the back of the van, otherwise she’d be in a lot more trouble. Her Victi ached. How long was it since she last used them? They were living, in a sense. If they were never used, they deteriorated. If they were used constantly, they grew strong.

  All she wanted to be was strong. That, and prove her mother wrong. Prove to her mother that she could do this. She could be an agent, a hunter, and a good one too.

  The walls around her were sterile white, painted cinderblocks that weren’t used in the city, not anymore. The Academy was in the park, central in the massively-sprawling city. A lot of it was underground.

  Well, at least she’d have a story for Cara tomorrow. It might not have been the story she wanted to have, but it was something. Better than nothing.

  She was alone in the correctional area of the Academy. It was after-hours on a weekend. No one was here, except those who had to be, like her. Waiting for her dorm mother, AKA Christine Blackwell, better known as her grandmother, to bail her out of her mess. What a mess it was.

  And, on cue, she heard her grandmother shouting at the guards outside the room: “Now you march your skinny ass to that door and let her out. If anyone’s going to give her a good talking-to, it’s me, not any of you incorrigible ninny muffins!”

  Faith smiled to herself, but she hid the smile as she heard the door click open and a guard, dressed in blue that said Academy on the front, poked his head in and gestured for her to go. She hung her head low and looked sullen, as morose as she could as she met her grandmother. Thin, frail fingers wrapped around her upper arm and she was practically dragged out of the correctional area and soon, out of the Academy. But instead of turning right to the dorms, they turned left to the parking lot, where Christine’s old Ford Mustang sat, parked in two spots crooked.

  After getting in, Faith glanced to her grandmother. “Incorrigible, huh?” She chuckled. “Ninny muffins?”

  Christine, though near seventy with greying hair and a thin figure, was as lively as Faith. Her eyes were like hers: a bright green, lucid and clear. “I thought it was a fine insult.” The engine roared to life and they sped off, heading toward the towering skyscrapers of New York City. “I saw it in a show.”

  “What show?” Faith made a note to buckle her seatbelt; the last time she hadn’t, Christine had nearly crashed the car into a bus.

  “Never mind that. What’s this about you going off on your own, hunting?”

  Faith turned her head to the window. “It doesn’t matter. Someone else got to him, first.”

  “My point, dear, is that you shouldn’t be hunting in the first place. It isn’t safe. You’re not a graduate yet. If something happened, you’d have no legal protections and no medical. Plus, can you imagine the look on your mother’s face?” That got Christine to laugh. “Well, it’d be funny. But that’s beside my point.”

  “And what is your point?”

  “My point is, brat, that you could’ve gotten hurt or worse.”

  Worse meaning stolen, probably. Cases of missing people had skyrocketed ever since the first gateway was opened. Whether they were taken or killed by another Human, or even another race, didn’t matter. There were some conspiracy theorists, like her grandma, who believed they were kidnapped into the Second. Which was ridiculous. If there was a reverse smuggling operation of Human trafficking into the Second, the I.D. would know about it.

  “I’m fine, Grandma. Really. No worse for wear.” Her stomach gurgled. Where did that gum go? She must’ve swallowed it when the agent’s Victus tore her from her perched location. A meal of accidentally-swallowed gum was no meal at all. “Did you make dinner, by any chance?”

  “I did, but I don’t know if you deserve any of it,” Christine remarked as she made a sharp turn into a parking garage, nearly hitting two pedestrians in the process.

  After they got out of the car and onto the elevator, Faith heard her grandmother grumbling, even though there was a small Dwarf in the corner, minding his own business. Couldn’t the old bat wait until they were alone in the apartment?

  “Maybe I should set some rules for you. Maybe you should have a curfew. Oh, and no dating—”

  Faith mumbled under her breath, “You don’t have to worry about that last one.” Guys didn’t seem to like her much, and not for a lack of trying on her part. Maybe it was her grating personality, or the fact that if she liked them back, she always seemed to make a fool of herself…like blowing up a life-size, robotic cat in her crush’s face.

  The elevator dinged on their floor, and she was the first to storm down the hallway, its wooden walls claustrophobic. She couldn’t wait until she was old enough to get her own place, a nice, huge apartment, preferably overlooking Central Park and the Academy. It’d take a lot of money, but good hunters could swing it, definitely.

  Once they were safely in Christine’s apartment, Faith collapsed on the couch. Immediately, three cats came running over, meowing and purring all at once, trying to get her attention. She kicked off her leather boots, tore off her socks and stretched her toes. One cat, Grumpy, as he was so un-aptly named, sniffed her biggest left toe once before licking it a few times, causing her to giggle and shoo him away.

  The apartment itself was a tiny but functional space. The living room and kitchen area were attached. No dining table needed when both she and Christine liked eating on the couch and watching TV. Two tiny bedrooms, barely big enough for the beds and dressers. One shared bathroom that, thankfully, Christine was obsessive about cleaning. A normal apartment, through and through; one her mother did not share with them.

  “Seriously,” Christine went on as she heated up the food in the kitchen. “Dating is the worst. Men are the worst. Stay away from the lot of them. If you can, swing the other way. Women can show their emotions so much better…”

  It wasn’t the first time she heard her grandmother say something along those lines, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It was all because of her grandfather, whoever he was. Faith didn’t know the whole story, because both her mother and grandmother refused to talk about it, but she knew the gist: he got her pregnant and left.

  Men never changed, did they?

  Like mother, like daughter.

  The same thing happened to her mother, too. With Faith’s familial record with the male gender, she knew she should look the other way any time one of them even breathed in her general direction.

  “Plus their hands are always a lot softer—”

  “Grandma!” Faith shouted, not wanting to hear any more.

  Christine laughed as she set a plate in front of her. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She either went all out, or she got them fast food or Chinese takeout. There was no in between. “I’m only saying the truth.” She sat beside Faith, turning on the flat screen TV on the wall across from them. “Those penises always looked like miniature aliens to me.”

  Faith nearly choked on her food. She never wanted to hear her grandmother say the word penis again.

  “You know, since I bailed you out without your mother knowing, I think the least you could do is give women a romantic chance,” Christine said, nudging Faith.

  “Only if she’s taller than me,” Faith said, joking. Not about the taller part—she loved taller guys, which wasn’t hard to do, since she was only five feet and three inch
es tall herself. Guys, the operative word was. She wasn’t like her grandmother. She couldn’t swing both ways, as she said.

  She swung one way, and it’s exactly how her grandmother and mother wound up pregnant and alone.

  Faith wouldn’t make that mistake, though.

  “Our family is destined to have bad luck with men,” Christine remarked, turning it to the news station, where a pretty Fae newscaster glittered as she smiled and told the eastern part of the state their nightly news. Her eyes didn’t look so buggy on the screen. Maybe she had surgery to make herself look more Human. A lot of Fae and Elven who decided to live on Earth did so, to draw less attention to themselves, to blend into society. “Please, child, be wary when it comes to those with penises.”

  Ah, yes. There it was again. The god-awful p-word, made even grosser thanks to her grandma.

  Swallowing the hunk of meatloaf in her mouth, Faith slowly said, “I’ll be very careful.”

  They spent the rest of the evening watching TV until Faith got up and showered. She paid special care to lock the door, for even Christine didn’t know about her Victi. How much trouble would she be in if she found out? She was born to the generation before the Victi were popular, before practically every graduate in the Academy got one. That, and Christine was never in the Academy. Fifty years of her life spent at a bookstore, and she was happy with it. Faith wished she could be that happy, that fulfilled with her job.

  A job she’d never get if she kept messing up.

  After showering and cleansing her body of all her bad juju for the day, Faith wandered to her bedroom and fell onto her bed. Sleep came to her quickly. Her eyes fluttered shut, enveloping her in a world of darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Ever since the fifth grade of normal school, Cara Dung had been Faith’s loyal best friend. They’d spent their weekends together, talked about boys together, even went to dances solo together. It was a little bit of a buzzkill that her last name was Dung, for it had amounted to a lot of name-calling over the years, but Faith had no problems standing up to the bullies, even when it meant getting a mean nickname herself involving her mother and the Infantry Division. She’d shrug them off, knowing almost none of them were going to amount to anything.