Analiese Rising

by Brenda Drake

  I can feel the moths trapped in the car with Ares. Swatted. Slowly dying.

  My legs are unstable. I can barely walk on them, but I manage to cross the distance between Gaea and me. She takes my offered hand, and I help her stand. The Parzalis is heavy when I pick it up. Gaea says something, but I can’t hear her. I can only hear a loud thrumming in my ears.

  What just happened?

  Dalton.

  Ares broke Dalton’s neck. He died. I brought him back.

  I brought him back.

  chapter forty-two

  The compound is a vast structure that’s approximately one hundred thousand square feet. It’s under a chateau in the French countryside. It’s like living in an underground town. It’s equipped with a theater, a medical facility, a gym, a pool and spa, game areas, dining rooms, and coffee bars.

  The people missing on Adam Conte’s list are here in the compound. They were rescued by Inanna and the others before the Lares could find them and terminate them. That’s what it’s called when the Lares kill your parents and your uncle. Terminated.

  They were terminated.

  Just like that.

  Bastet arches her back and rubs against my leg. She can sense my worry.

  I twist the red string Yuè Lâo gave me. The one that connects me to Marek. He’s on his quest to hide the Parzalis with Bjorn. He should be done in a week. We barely had time for a goodbye in Florence. And the one we did have was quick. I miss him. Need him.

  I’m in the medical facility watching my brother through a thick window. Dalton’s in a hospital bed with all kinds of tubes connecting him to machines. The transfusion will slow down his metamorphosis into a beast.

  One day, I’ll have to kill him.

  Shona wraps her arm around mine. “He’s going to be fine, you’ll see. Cain is back to normal.” She’s doing better since learning about her dad. It has to be tough. Her strength impresses me.

  “How long will it keep him normal?” I place my hand on the window as if Dalton can feel my touch. I hope he can sense me. Cain and the doorman had the treatment, and they’re doing well. I actually like the real Cain.

  “It depends on the individual.” Shona glances over her shoulder when someone enters the room. “The earliest change happened in three months. The longest, almost a year. I heard they are going to try a second transfusion on a Risen. See if they can delay the change longer.”

  “How do you live knowing that’s going to happen? That he’ll change one day.” It’s a question more for me than for her.

  “I have hope. They’re working on a cure. Maybe they’ll find it in time.” She tugs on my arm. “Come on. It’s going to be a while before he’s ready.”

  Jane comes to my side and covers my hand with hers. “I’ve been afraid of you ever since—” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “Ever since Eli brought my brother back to life. He turned into one of those things… Eli didn’t stop him. He couldn’t do it. Three men died on a golf course before the police shot my brother.”

  So that’s why she kept her distance. Always on edge when I was around. Making me feel unloved by her. I’m not going to get into it with her here. Not with Dalton in this state.

  “And Lugh?” I ask.

  “It was a mistake.” Her hand withdraws from mine. “Eli and I were separated. We had been fighting a lot. Mostly from the stress of in vitro fertilization. I never lied to Eli. He knew Dalton wasn’t his biological son. Eli loved Dalton as if he were.”

  I didn’t doubt that. Dad showed both Dalton and me his love every day.

  “I’m tired,” I say. “I want to check on Sid before bed.” It’s my way to escape whatever this is. A confession?

  Shona gets my cue and opens the door. “You want a snack first? I have to stop at the food court. If I don’t bring Sid candy when I visit, he gets grumpy.” She ushers me out, and I don’t look back. Jane has what she’s always wanted.

  Me gone.

  chapter forty-three

  So there’s this thing. Gods and goddesses don’t know how to teach. They have to go to school just like us to get a skill. Living as immortals in a mortal world for millennia, you’d think they would have mastered all kinds of them. But our studies bore them.

  To save immortals from having to teach us—us meaning Risers—they send us to an American international boarding school just outside Paris. Except for the few gods and goddesses who do enjoy it. Like Oyá and Lugh. They pose as teachers at the school to keep an eye on us. Make sure we’re safe.

  Along with my new wardrobe and textbooks, I have a new name on my passport.

  Ana Ryan.

  My Vans squeak against the very polished wood floor in the long hallway. The school looks like a castle on the outside. The inside has more of a university vibe, with high ceilings and lavishly furnished classrooms.

  Dalton sidles up beside me, wraps an arm around my shoulder, and leans closer. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Ah, come on,” he whines. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

  Sid comes up on my other side. “She hates surprises, remember? Don’t tease her. Now me, you can tease all you want, honey.”

  Dalton’s smiles are bittersweet to me, but I savor every one of them. I want to hold on to him for as long as I can. Protect him from knowing about his future. Keep that nightmare from haunting him as it does me.

  “It’s a good one,” Dalton taunts.

  I shake my head. “Uh-uh. Your last surprise involved anchovies and pizza.”

  “Okay, then.” His arm falls away from my shoulder. “I’ll just tell him you won’t ditch math to see him.”

  “Him?”

  “Yes.” He gives me that coy smile of his.

  Dalton loves to torture me. I’m an easy target. “Who? Stop teasing me.”

  “If you don’t want him, I’ll keep him.” He winks.

  “Marek? Where is he?”

  “Out front.” He stuffs his hands in pockets, a wide grin stretching his face.

  Oyá’s going to be pissed if I miss her class, but I don’t care. Marek is here.

  I kiss Dalton’s cheek, then Sid’s, and take off down the hall. “Thank you,” I call over my shoulder.

  “Don’t mention it,” he says. “Someone has to get some around here.”

  “Go get him, girl,” Sid calls.

  The hall seems longer as I sprint down it. I reach the door, yank it open, and stop on the porch.

  Marek waits at the bottom of the stairs. His face brightens when he sees me. His hair is a little longer, and it looks like he’s been in the sun. His eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors in the light, are on me. It makes my pulse race, my heart frantic, and I can’t get to him fast enough.

  With each step down, wings take flight in my chest, and he has all of my heart. At the bottom, I jump into his arms, and he catches me. Our mouths connect as if they are magnets finally brought back together. His lips are soft and warm and taste like basil and honey. And I don’t want to stop kissing them.

  I drag my fingers through his wavy hair, clenching fistfuls. It’s soft like the plush blanket Jane got for my bed. He smells fresh like the morning dew clinging to the grasses and plants around us. And I’m not dreaming. Like every night since he left.

  He’s here.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing Analiese’s story has been challenging and theraputic at the same. We both have a panic disorder. Panic attacks are terrifying and can prevent the suffer from doing things that trigger an attack. There is a way to feel better. Everyone affected with the disorder will have different experiences, different triggers that bring them on, and different ways of combating it. Getting help is the key to managing it. If you have reaccuring panic attacks or have an other mental health issue, please reach out to a parent, a fam
ily member, or trusted friend, and visit a medical professional for treatment. For information about mental health and guides for getting the help you need, please go to mentalhealth.gov.

  With that said, I want to extend my gratitude to everyone who has worked on this book or supported me while I was writing it.

  First and foremost, thank you to my publisher and editor, Liz Pelletier, for being excited about this book enough to want to publish and help mold into the story it is today. Thank you Lydia Sharp and Hannah Lindsey, for helping to get this book into the best shape possible with your insightful edits. Thank you to Greta Gunselman and Kelly Elliot for reviewing and helping to make the pages shine. And to the entire Entangled Publishing team, Stacy Abrams, Curtis Svehlak, Heather Riccio, and everyone else who worked on this book from creation to marketing and everything in between, thank you for getting it into readers’ hands. And to Deranged Doctor, thank you for the beautiful book cover.

  An infinity of thank-yous to my agent, Peter Knapp, for always being there to guide me, assure me, and for having my back. I can hardly believe it’s been over five years since getting that exciting email from you about representation. Here’s to many more!

  Thank you to my family and friends for all your love and understanding when I have to pass on things because I have a deadline or some other pressing matter.

  To my special girls that I dedicated this book to, Annika Anderson and Fallon Anderson, thank you for keeping me young at heart. I love you more than the entire universe and beyond.

  And thank you to my husband, Richard Drake, for supporting and encouraging my dreams. I’m lucky to have you accompany me on this life journey, and like Analiese and Marek, I would face the horrors of a haunted catacomb with you any day—you go first!

  Finally, to you, dear reader, thank you for joining Analiese and Marek on their hunt for clues to digging up their families’ secrets. I hope you enjoy reading their journey as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  About the Author

  Brenda Drake grew up the youngest of three children, an Air Force brat, and the continual new kid at school. Her fondest memories growing up are of her eccentric Irish grandmother’s animated tales, which gave her a strong love for storytelling. So it was only fitting that she would choose to write stories with a bend toward the fantastical. When she’s not writing or hanging out with her family, she haunts libraries, bookstores, and coffee shops or reads someplace quiet and not at all exotic (much to her disappointment). Brenda is also the author of the New York Times bestselling Library Jumpers series, as well as Thunderstruck and the Fated series.

  www.brendadrake.com

  Keep reading for an

  excerpt of Brenda Drake’s Thief of Lies...

  Gia Kearns would rather fight with boys than kiss them. That is, until Arik, a leather clad hottie in the Boston Athenaeum, suddenly disappears. When Gia unwittingly speaks the key that sucks her and her friends into a photograph and transports them into a Paris library, Gia must choose between her heart and her head, between Arik’s world and her own, before both are destroyed.

  chapter One

  Only God and the vendors at Haymarket wake early on Saturday mornings. The bloated clouds spattered rain against my faded red umbrella. I strangled the wobbly handle and dodged shoppers along the tiny makeshift aisle of Boston’s famous outdoor produce market. The site, just off the North End, was totally packed and stinky. The fruits and vegetables for sale were rejects from nearby supermarkets—basically, they were cheap and somewhat edible. The briny decay of flesh wafted in the air around the fishmongers.

  Gah! I cupped my hand over my nose, rushing past their stands.

  My sandals slapped puddles on the sidewalk. Rain slobbered on my legs, making them slick and cold, sending shivers across my skin. I skittered around a group of slow-moving tourists, cursing Afton for insisting I get up early and wear a skirt today.

  Finally breaking through the crowd, I charged up the street to the Haymarket entrance to the T.

  Under a black umbrella across the street, a beautiful girl with cocoa skin and dark curls huddled next to a guy with equally dark hair and an olive complexion—my two best friends. Nick held the handle while Afton leaned against him to avoid getting wet. Nick’s full-face smile told me he enjoyed sharing an umbrella with her.

  “Hey, Gia!” Afton yelled over the swooshing of tires across the wet pavement and the insistent honking of aggravated motorists.

  I waited for the traffic to clear, missing several opportunities to cross the street. I swallowed hard and took a step down. You can do this, Gia. No one is going to run you over. Intentionally. A car turned onto the street, and I quickly hopped back onto the curb. I’d never gotten over my old fears. When the street cleared enough for an elderly person to cross in a walker, I wiped my clammy palms on my skirt and sprinted to the center of the street.

  “You have to get over your phobia,” Nick called to me. “You live in Boston! Traffic is everywhere!”

  “It’s okay!” Afton elbowed Nick. “Take your time!”

  I took a deep breath and raced across to them.

  “Nice. I’m impressed. You actually wore a skirt instead of jeans,” Nick said, inspecting my bare legs.

  My face warmed. “Wait. Did you just give me a compliment?”

  “Well, except…” He hesitated. “You walk like a boy.”

  “Never mind him. With legs like that, it doesn’t matter how you walk. Come on.” Afton hooked her arm around mine. “I can’t wait for you to see the Athenæum. It’s so amazing. You’re going to love it.”

  I groaned and let her drag me down the steps after Nick. “I’d probably love it just as much later in the day.”

  As we approached the platform, the train squealed to a stop. We squeezed into its belly with the other passengers and then grasped the nearest bars as the car jolted down the rails. Several minutes later, the train coasted into the Park Street Station. We followed the flow of people up the stairs and to the Boston Common, stopping in Afton’s favorite café for lattes and scones. Lost in gossip and our plans for the summer, nearly two hours went by before we headed for the library.

  When we reached Beacon Street, excitement—or maybe the two cups of coffee I had downed before leaving the café—hit me. We weren’t going to just any library. We were going to the Boston Athenæum, an exclusive library with a pricey annual fee. Afton’s father got her a membership at the start of summer. It’s a good thing her membership allows tagalongs, since my pop would never splurge like that, not when the public library is free. Which I didn’t get, because it wasn’t that expensive and would totally be worth it.

  “We’re here,” Afton said. “Ten and a half Beacon Street. Isn’t it beautiful? The facade is Neoclassical.”

  I glanced up at the building. The library walls, which were more than two hundred years old, held tons of history. Nathaniel Hawthorne swore he saw a ghost here once, which I think he probably made up, since he was such a skilled storyteller. “Yeah, it is. Didn’t you sketch this building?”

  “I did.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “I didn’t think you actually paid attention to my drawings.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Nick pushed open the crimson door to the private realm of the Athenæum, and I chased Afton and Nick up the white marble steps and into the vestibule. Afton showed her membership card at the reception desk. I removed my notebook and pencil from my messenger bag before we dropped it, Afton’s purse, and our umbrellas off at the coat check.

  Pliable brown linoleum floors muffled our footsteps into the exhibit room. A tiny elevator from another era carried us to an upper level of the library, where bookcases brimming with leather-bound books stood against every wall.

  Overhead, more bookcases nested in balconies behind lattice railings. The place dripped with cornices and embellishments. Sweeping ceilings and large windows gave the libr
ary an open feel. Every wall held artwork, and antique treasures rested in each corner. It was a library lover’s dream, rich with history. My dream.

  A memory grabbed my heart. I was about eight and missing my mother, and Nana Kearns took me to a library. She’d said, “Gia, you can never be lonely in the company of books.” I wished Nana were here to experience this with me.

  “Did you know they have George Washington’s personal library here?” Afton’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

  “No. I wonder where they keep it,” I said.

  Nick gaped at a naked sculpture of Venus. “Locked up somewhere, I guess.”

  The clapping of my sandals against my heels echoed in the quiet, and I winced at each smack. Nick snorted while trying to stifle a laugh. I glared at him. “Quit it.”

  “Shhh,” Afton hissed.

  We shuffled into a reading room with forest green walls. Several busts of famous men balancing on white pedestals surrounded the area. A snobby-looking girl with straight blond hair sat at one of the large walnut tables in the middle of the room, tapping a pencil against the surface as she read a book.

  “Prada,” Afton said.

  I gave her a puzzled look. “What?”

  “Her sandals. And the watch on her wrist… Coach.”

  I took her word on that because I wouldn’t know designer stuff if it hit me on the head.

  Nick’s gaze flicked over the girl. “This is cool. I think I’ll stay here.”

  “Whatever.” Afton glared at Nick’s back. “We’re going exploring. When you’re finished gawking, come find us.”

  “Okay,” Nick said, clearly distracted, sneaking looks at the girl.

  I slid my feet across the floor to the elevators, trying to avoid the dreaded clap of rubber. “Are you okay?”