by Zile Elliven
Stillbringer
The Dreamwalker Chronicles: Book One
By Zile Elliven
To my Danny-bear, who supported me even when I didn't.
Copyright © 2018 by Zile Elliven
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means without proof in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by Damonza.com
Contact Zile at [email protected]
Vist her on the web at https://zileelliven.wordpress.com/author/zileelliven/
Or on Twitter @ZileElliven.
Chapter One
The Girl
If it got any colder, her bloody feet were going to start sticking to the pavement. On a good day, touching her bare feet to the urine-scented floor of the alley behind her efficiency apartment would have been unthinkable. But today wasn’t a good day—it was a running day. The Girl couldn’t believe she had been so careless as to forget her shoes, but it had been worth it. If her choices were capture or cold, sore feet, she would always choose the latter.
They were getting better at finding her and figuring out how to lure her in. She thought blending in with the norms would keep her safe, but that had only worked for so long. Her family wouldn’t be at the top of the food chain if they weren’t adaptable, and as of tonight, it was obvious to her they were now as adept at navigating nonmagical society as she was.
She wondered how they had figured out the finer points of norm society. It was doubtful it had been the way she had done it. For longer than she wanted to contemplate, she’d had nothing but norm books to keep her company. Mother had said teaching her about witchcraft would be a waste, so she could make do with the garbage norms read.
Fortunately for her, the books and magazines, so carelessly shoved at her by the servants, were to be her salvation. From spy novels to Shakespeare, from gossip rags to cooking magazines, any and all readable discards from the world of normal humans had kept her from going insane. As long as it didn’t teach her about the society that was her birthright, she was allowed to read it. It was from these books that she learned how to pick a lock, how to sneak past a guarded perimeter, and how to assimilate into a crowd.
She didn’t blame her family for locking her away. How could she fault them for wanting to protect the rest of the world from her unfortunate disability? She often questioned the gods in their decision on making her. Why on earth make someone whose sole power was to enrage others?
There were a few exceptions—some of the servants managed to remain almost normal around her—but since she turned seven no one in her family could stand to be around her for more than a few minutes without growing infuriated.
It was a good night for sneaking around, if one didn’t mind the cold. The cloudy sky kept the moon and stars from exposing her position. Creeping around the edge of a building, she did her best to stay out of the lamplight. It wasn’t too difficult, since the residents of the neighborhood had broken out most of the bulbs in the alley. Apparently, The Girl wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be seen.
She’d had to abandon most of her things this time—most notably her shoes, a battered paperback copy of Much Ado About Nothing, and an iPod she’d found on the sidewalk. It had a broken screen, but it worked even around her magical interference, which was rare since technology and magic didn’t combine well. There had only been enough warning to push open the window of her efficiency apartment and climb down the fire escape before they blew in her door. If she was lucky, they would think she wasn’t home. If she was unlucky, they would be fanning out to find her.
Not that she’d had much to leave behind. Today she had spent the last bit of money she managed to get from selling the necklace she had brought with her. It was the last thing she had gotten before her magic had manifested. Her books may have taught her how to escape and how to cook, but finding a job that wasn’t terrifying hadn’t made it into the rotation. Cooking skills didn’t mean much without food to cook.
She pulled her thin hoodie around herself, glad she had chosen dark clothing to wear that day. It would make getting away from her family’s goons easier. If you could call sneaking past an unknown number of people who had been taught battle-magic from an early age easy. They had all the magic her powerful and influential family could muster, while she had a black hoodie and no shoes. She was going to need a miracle.
“You hear that, gods? If you did make me for any reason other than a joke, I could use some help right about now.” She kept her voice low, but the hopelessness was clear. “Footwear would be a good place to start if you’re interested in suggestions.”
Hearing a shout behind her, she had no choice but to run blindly, hoping she could find enough darkness to cover her retreat. The sound of gunfire coming from her only avenue of escape let her know, without a doubt, the gods were assholes.
Chapter Two
Fourteen
Agent Fourteen was having a night. He no longer had good nights or bad nights. They all blended in together at this point. Anything and everything that happened to him rolled off his mind like it was made of a hard, rubbery substance. He could still feel, but what he felt no longer mattered to him, as if it were happening to another person.
Nothing was wrong with his mind, though. No matter what they had done to him, his mind was as agile as ever. It was what made him such an asset to the Company. No morals and a quick mind—how many times had he heard that? Usually right before a mission they’d have to make him forget.
He rubbed the scar on his left hand absently. One day he’d woken up, and it was just there without any explanation.
There had been something inside of him once. He didn’t know what, but there was a hole that had been empty for so long he didn’t notice it anymore. Thinking about it made his stomach roll, so he had stopped that train of thought long ago.
What Agent Fourteen was thinking right now, was that his handlers were idiots.
Only they would think of scheduling an assassination with the intended target. They claimed to have wanted a meeting beforehand to get intel, but Fourteen knew the truth. They had wanted to gloat. Unfortunately for them, it turned out the target wasn’t as stupid as Steve and Frank had hoped and had brought snipers of his own.
Fourteen had managed to eliminate the target because he knew how to do his fucking job, unlike the two rapidly cooling meat-suits who used to be his handlers. There was the small matter of being currently pinned down by gunfire behind a trash bin, but it was manageable. He was nothing if not creative.
As he was weighing his options, a small body came barreling toward him, nearly landing in his lap. His knife was at the person’s throat before he even considered the action.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this hiding spot was taken.” The soft voice was at odds with the situation. Paying no attention to the knife, the person looked around, possibly searching for a less-populated part of the alley.
“Are you with the smugglers?” He asked slowly, not relaxing his grip on the knife.
“The only thing I’m smuggling right now is me.” There was just enough light for him to see the figure crane its neck, surveying their surroundings. Fourteen was used to being ignored. It was something he usually cultivated, but at the moment he found it irritating.
He was fairly certain the tiny hooded figure crouched next to him was not part of the mission, just a random a child in the wrong place. In his line of
work fairly certain wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t hold weapons on children. He tucked the knife back into his jacket. “Well, smuggle yourself someplace else. This is no place for a kid.” He gestured with his gun hand to the dead bodies littering the alley.
The moon came out from behind a cloud, throwing the bloodstained corpses in sharp relief.
He could tell when the child’s eyes landed on the heap of bodies two yards in front of them because it let out a squeak, then hastily scooted backward until it hit the wall next to him. The movement knocked the child’s hood free of its head, allowing a shower of long, baby-white hair to cascade past a feminine face. “You’re right, I should probably go.” The probably-a-girl pulled the hood back up, stuffed her hair inside and made to stand up, but he knocked her legs out from under her with the butt of his rifle just in time to keep her head from getting blown off by a flurry of renewed gunfire.
“For God’s sake! Stay low,” he barked out and returned fire with more gusto than he usually did—children didn’t belong on the battlefield regardless of what the Company thought.
“Sorry! Sorry.” Sprawled out on the asphalt, she struggled to pull herself back to a crouching position.
“This isn’t part of the mission. This isn’t what I do.” He was muttering to himself, but she didn’t know that.
“What isn’t your job?”
“Keeping people alive.” Fourteen’s hand gripped his rifle tightly, and he wondered why he had even bothered to knock the girl out of harm’s way. If he had done nothing, the girl would be dead, and he would be free to complete protocol and present himself for debriefing.
“Oh, well then. That’s okay, I wasn’t asking you to.” She made as if to creep off in the opposite direction she had come from.
Again he stopped her with the butt of his rifle. “Not that way, idiot. That’s where the bullets are coming from.”
“True,” she conceded. “But it’s also where my pursuers aren’t coming from. So I’m going that way.” In the patchy darkness he could see that her shoulders were shaking, but from her tone of voice, she could have been telling him directions to the post office. She was an odd little thing.
He looked her over, squinting at her bare, most likely battered feet, and felt something flutter against the icy prison around his soul. He didn’t know why he was even considering this. He should just leave her here. On the other hand, she was nearly small enough to fit in his equipment bag. If he took out the rest of the C4, it was possible he wouldn’t notice the difference.
“Do you mind?” She poked the gun blocking her way. “I really don’t want to involve you in this. It would be better for you if they didn’t notice you.” She’d had to raise her voice to be heard over the increased gunfire peppering the trash bin in front of them. The members of the cartel were getting impatient, and if he didn’t do something soon, they would come to him.
Fourteen threw a grenade in the direction of the gunfire. He waited for the screams to die before he said, “You’re worried about me.” It was a statement, not a question.
That was a first for him—a person actually worrying over his welfare. The fluttering grew stronger, but he continued to push it back. Sentiment was useless baggage in a fight, and he’d had it beaten out of him long ago. Every now and then, a whisper of his former self piped up, but he would crush it as soon as it showed. He had neither the time nor the desire to feel. But that didn’t explain why he was planning to go off-book to rescue a helpless civilian.
“Here.” He threw his equipment bag at the girl, and it knocked her against the wall.
She struggled under the weight of the bag as it threatened to put her on her ass. Enormous eyes peeked over the bag in hurt surprise. “What was that for?”
“You carry that, so I can keep my hands free. When I say run, you run back the way you came. I’ll cover us.” He hefted his rifle.
“I already told you—”
“Run!” He rose, grabbed a handful of her jacket and yanked her to her feet. When she didn’t respond, he planted a hand between her shoulder blades, pushed her roughly back down the alley, and then pressed the detonator in his pocket.
The abandoned warehouse exploded, showering everything in flaming bricks and debris. It should be all the distraction he would need to retrieve what he needed to and shepherd the girl to safety. Then he would ditch her at the nearest bus station.
He darted out to the bodies of his handlers and rifled through Steve’s pockets until he found what he was looking for. When he turned and saw the girl standing where he left her, he growled, “Move!”
She took off like a frightened, if overburdened, bunny in the proper direction, but he had to keep shoving at the bag she had slung over her shoulder keep her moving. At one point he considered hoisting her and the bag over his shoulder, but when they turned onto the next street, she found a renewed interest in running. Still she was going too slow for his liking.
Fourteen pulled the bag out of her arms, so it wouldn’t weigh her down, and they ran down the sidewalk side by side, her pace matching his, all hesitance gone. He thought he might have to help her, considering the state of her feet, but she kept up with him.
He was glad he didn’t have to carry her. He hated touching people. Random touches always felt like such a violation to him, and it was his one small rebellion against the Company. They controlled all aspects of his life, but he chose when and how he was touched. It was common knowledge in Storage that the last person to clap him on the back had had an arm broken in three places.
He waited until the girl began to stagger and gasp before he searched for a suitable hiding spot to allow her to catch her breath. When he spotted a partially burned-out building tucked in between the shadows of two larger buildings, he said, “This way.”
After making a quick circuit of the old two-story house, he chose to set up their rest stop inside the boarded-up porch. He chose it because it had enough broken boards in it for him to see out of, but was too dark for anyone to see into. The whole place was so shabby that if anyone tried to sneak in through the back, he was sure to hear them long before they got close—that is, if the house didn’t fall in on them all first.
He pried a board away from the screen door, dislodging a tattered sign that announced the building was scheduled for demolition and ushered the girl inside. After one final look around to make sure they weren’t being tailed, he followed her into the dim interior of the porch.
A squatter must have called the porch home at some point—it was filled with old garbage and the occasional skittering creature. He noticed the girl didn’t complain about their accommodations, nor did she look around for a comfortable, or even less disgusting, place to sit. Instead, she collapsed to the floor, shaking with exhaustion.
How long had she been running before she found him? Together, they had run a fair distance, but she was acting like she had just finished a marathon. He couldn’t make out much of her in the scant light, but what he’d seen of her so far made him think she was underfed.
She was probably just a runaway. The sooner he got her back to her family the better.
“Listen, kid. I’m sorry you got caught up in that mess back there, but I think the worst of it is behind us. I’ll let you rest for a few more minutes, and then I’ll get you to a bus stop. Get you a ticket back to your folks so they can take care of you.” It didn’t sound right as he said it, but there was nothing more for him to do here. He was way out of his element, and he wasn’t a nanny.
She let out a harsh laugh that was completely at odds with her small body. “Sure, they’ll take care of me. They’ll take care of me so well that no one will ever hear from me again.” She shifted in the garbage and pulled a tin can out from under her backside, trying to get more comfortable. “I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but we should part ways here. You need to get out of here before they find us.”
“You don’t need to worry about the cartel. Most of them were killed in the explosion.
The rest of them are probably more interested in getting out of there before the police show up than they are in finding us.” Fourteen was starting to feel like he didn’t have all the intel on this situation. He realized he hadn’t really been listening to her up to now because he had been so fixated on getting them to safety. What had she had been running from?
“I’m not worried about your enemies. Whoever they are, they have nothing on my family.” She propped her elbows on her knees and cradled her head by fisting handfuls of hair on either side of her head. “Listen, you really need to get out of here, mister. So do I, for that matter, but we need to go in opposite directions. It won’t take them long to find me, though your explosion was a really good distraction. Thanks for that, by the way.”
The fluttering he felt earlier was getting stronger. Before it had been like a butterfly. Now it was more like a large bird beating it wings against a cage, but instead of trying to get out, it was trying to get in. “Kid—” he began.
“I’m not a kid,” she interrupted.
“Sure. Whoever is after you hasn’t seen the likes of me. I’m not exactly off the clock right now, but I can give you a hand for long enough to get you somewhere safe. Where do you want to go?” He had no idea where this was coming from. Fourteen never took on side projects. He just worked the job and got paid. Unless he had wounds that needed time to heal, he would move on to the next mission. He liked to keep busy, anything to keep him out of Storage. This was new to him, and he didn’t like new. It shouldn’t be difficult though—there wasn’t much chance a child could be in enough trouble to tax his skills.
The real challenge was going to be going dark on the Company for a few hours. They were going to want to debrief him soon. A jagged, broken space in his mind flared to life, reminding him exactly what it felt like to have the Company unhappy with him. Rather than heed the warning, he allowed the desensitization training he’d received to force the space to vanish. He could take whatever they came up with. Whatever they did wouldn’t actually damage him. The services he rendered to the Company were valuable enough that they wouldn’t want to keep him off active duty. No, the worse thing they would do to him would be to send him in for retraining. Fourteen managed to contain the shudder that tried to ripple through him at the thought.