Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “You’re late,” a voice boomed from the shadows.

  I fell into the door. My heart rate increased, blood rushing into my ears.

  Aunt Kyra stood just inside the dark foyer, her arms crossed, her black robes taking on a sinister cast, judgmental and cruel.

  I righted myself. “I’m sorry.” No excuse would do.

  “Dayton—” Her hands fisted. “How long have you been lying to me?”

  I stared at her, at her shadowed face, her visible eye solemn and angry. I knew then she’d discovered I wasn’t doing community service.

  I sighed. “Two months."

  There was no arguing with my aunt.

  She stood frozen, her blazing eyes raking my figure. “Go to your room, Dayton."

  Scooting by her quickly, I froze when her hand suddenly gripped my arm, her fingers clutching my skin tight enough to leave a bruise.

  “I’ve done all I know to do,” she said, her voice sad. “I’m sorry.”

  My startled eyes met hers. “Ma’am?”

  She didn’t answer, just pointed to the stairwell, her apology turning my blood to ice.

  I was at the top of the stairs when I heard the laughter. It was faint and male, but when I glanced down the stairwell, it was empty. Aunt Kyra was gone.

  Chapter 5

  There are no laws among the Cursed. They live recklessly, indulging in every whim whether murder or lust. Their conscience is clouded by poor judgments. There can be little hope of redemption.

  ~Bezaliel~

  The week didn’t get any better. On Tuesday, Mr. James assigned an essay on Camus, his life and philosophy. My anger over his treatment of me in class and my utter dislike of Camus’ philosophy resulted in a passionate paper. I spent two hours writing it. Mr. James’ face as he graded papers in class Wednesday said the two hours I’d spent was wasted on him. The paper was just the beginning.

  An unspoken protection pact had been made between my friends and it had my nerves frazzled well beyond their already twisted state. Monroe seemed more troubled with each passing day. Conor was flirtatious but quiet. His mood seemed decided by Monroe’s. And Lita and Jacin were shadowing me between classes. I became good at dodging them. James Bond had nothing on me. Letting them bodyguard me around school meant I had to admit I was afraid, and I was determined not to give into the fear. The moment I gave into it, I’d be consumed by it. So I did what I did best. I let moments and images pass me by. The week became a jumbled mess of mental pictures.

  Then there was the Abbey. It was eerily tomb-like. The Sisters avoided me, sometimes pointedly, and Aunt Kyra was absent during meals. While this was a relief, it was also odd and disconcerting. It depressed me. The worst part, my seventeenth birthday was that upcoming Saturday, and I was not looking forward to it.

  By Thursday morning, I’d had enough. “Amber?”

  My sister looked up from clearing the table in the refectory. I avoided her gaze, moving to finish sweeping the part of the floor I’d been working on.

  “Yeah?” she asked.

  Moving a few chairs away from the wooden dining table, I swept under that particular section and pushed the chairs back in flush with the wood before leaning against the back of one of the intricately carved seats.

  I looked Amber directly in the eye. “What do you think of me?”

  She froze. “What?”

  My voice rose. “What do you think of me?”

  Silence stretched.

  “What brought this on?” she asked finally, her chore forgotten. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  I stared at her. “Tell me."

  She played with the rag in her hand, the silence deafening.

  When she finally spoke, it was cautious. “I don’t know, Day. You’re … brash, I guess.”

  My eyes fell to the floor. Brash? “That’s it?”

  Amber blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “What is this, Day?” Her pale cheeks flushed, and I watched her curiously. She was hiding something.

  “Is there a reason for this?” she insisted.

  I moved close and nodded. “I want to know where I fit in here at the Abbey, Amber. What I’m even doing here?”

  This startled her. “What?”

  “Where do I fit in, Amber?” I repeated.

  There was conflict in Amber’s gaze. Guilt filled me, but thoughts had been eating away at me for days. Memories I hadn’t let myself dwell on before swamped me. At eleven, I’d been reprimanded for telling stories to those who came to the Abbey. At thirteen, I’d been punished for drawing pictures on a dry erase board my aunt used for writing lessons. At fifteen, I’d been told my soul was in danger of being corrupted. Punishment, reprimands, corruption … my memories were engulfed with lectures. At sixteen, the punishments stopped. The Sisters quit lecturing, and my aunt retreated into the Abbey’s darkness.

  And then there were the memories of my sister. At eleven, she’d been taught to master the organ. At twelve, she’d been told my stories were damning to the soul because they were full of fantastical creatures that didn’t belong in truth. At fourteen, the sisters engaged her in deep discussions. At seventeen, Amber withdrew into the Abbey’s Order. The most disturbing of all, however, was the silence. It had been separating Amber and me since our move to the Abbey. And it remained. I missed my sister.

  “Something has changed here, Amber. You don’t feel it?” Amber’s cheeks reddened. This encouraged me. “We quit talking about things after Mom and Dad died—”

  Amber jumped up, her eyes frantic. “Dayton, don’t go there!” she warned.

  But I did. I was tired of the space between us. I missed the little girls who used to share stories beneath a thin sheet.

  “What happened to us, Amber? What is this place?”

  Amber leaned over the table. “What are you trying to do, Dayton?”

  I stared at her. “Me? What am I trying to do? Is this really what our life has come down to? An aunt who has hardly any contact with us, surrounded by women we barely know, our lives monitored and lonely? What does that accomplish? We used to be so much more colorful. Now we live our lives in shades of black and gray walking on egg shells. We don’t talk and when we do, we look over our shoulders. Why do we do that?”

  We weren’t normal teenagers. Teenagers gossiped and ragged on their parents. We had a mythical straight jacket around us waiting to be tightened. When in the past seven years had that happened?

  Amber grew panicked, her eyes roaming the hall. “The Abbey has been a good home. Aunt Kyra does care, Dayton. You’ll appreciate it one day.”

  I snarled. “Fuck that crap!” My words echoed off the walls.

  Amber gasped. “Dayton!”

  I didn’t apologize for my language. “Oh, come on, Amber! Ever since our parents died, we’ve been separated from almost everything except what we see or do when we’re outside the Abbey’s walls. I have to sneak away just to go out with my friends!”

  Amber glanced over her shoulder, motioning for me to keep my voice down. That was another thing. We couldn’t be disruptive. I wanted to scream!

  “And you see where that got you,” Amber said, her courage returning.

  I narrowed my eyes. “The point is still the same. What is this place? Look at us! You’ve obviously been accepted. Where does that leave me?”

  She met me across the table. “You chose that, Dayton. You! No one else. You closed yourself off after Mom and Dad passed. You shut everyone out. Now you decide to wake up and realize you were lonely? That’s not fair. I was lonely too! I was scared! And you weren’t there! I’m not like you, Day. I can’t grieve alone. I’m not that strong. Don’t blame everyone else for something that was your fault."

  Amber’s eyes flashed. My heart turned cold. Had I really shut myself off? Worse yet, had I pushed Amber into the Sisters’ arms?

  Reaching across the table, I offered Amber my hand, but she backed away.

  "Amber—"

  Her head shook. "No!"

>   She was withdrawing. It seemed a habit of ours. I’d hurt her. I could see that, but I’d only been ten when our parents passed. I hadn’t pulled away intentionally. It had been a coping mechanism.

  “Why did no one try to get through to me?” I murmured. “They left me to grieve alone.”

  Amber’s gaze softened, her eyes moving to the floor. “Your actions mean more here at the Abbey than you think, Day. You close yourself off, guard yourself. You are spontaneous, indulgent, and outspoken. Even then, even before Mom and Dad, you were the same. They had you chosen years ago.”

  My heart clenched. Chosen? I hadn’t expected that.

  “Chosen for what?”

  Amber’s lips pressed together. Footsteps in the hall made her step away. “You weren’t meant to be brought into the fold, Day,” she whispered.

  Diane came whistling into the room, and Amber wiped the table as if nothing had happened. I wasn’t as quick.

  “Day?” Diane asked.

  My gaze met hers.

  Diane smiled affectionately. “You know how your aunt feels about day dreaming. Might better get moving.”

  Picking up the broom, I moved two more chairs away from the table. Diane exited.

  I glanced at Amber. “Do you love me?”

  She dropped the rag. “What kind of question is that?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t asking again.

  I was pushing the last two chairs in when Amber coughed. I looked up at her.

  “Yes,” Amber answered. “Yes, I do. It’s why this hurts so much.”

  She finished up the table and walked to the door. Stopping at the entrance, she glanced at me, her eyes haunted. “You were never meant to be accepted into the fold."

  This week was turning into a living nightmare.

  My stomach dropped as she turned and walked away, no explanation forthcoming. What the hell did that mean? What fucking fold? Fear consumed me, but I didn’t let it paralyze me. There was nothing to do but move forward. I may not understand what was happening around me, but I was not a coward. Fear didn’t create cowards. It created caution. Shoving my broom away, I left the refectory without a single backward glance.

  ***

  My confrontation with Amber had me drained, worried, and anxious. I went through Thursday’s motions without being fully involved in my surroundings. Monroe was still preoccupied. I didn’t tell her what had happened between Amber and me. She was already worried way more than she should be.

  My day blurred into a group of moving images as they passed me by: classes, hallways, restrooms, people. Was I really like Amber said? There had been so much hurt in her eyes. My heart felt torn.

  It was Conor who pulled me out of my reverie. “Hey Red, you okay?”

  I peered up at him, my head pounding as he led me toward a lower bleacher in the field outside school. A crowd gathered around us, and I watched as Coach Anderson moved to the side of the playing field toward Jacin. They talked briefly as Jacin warmed up. He was suited up.

  Today was the charity football game our school held every year against another school in our county as a way to raise money for the sports department. It always garnered a lot of attention. It was the South. Football was as much a necessity as boiled peanuts and grits.

  Sitting, I waited for Conor to sit next to me, but he stood instead, distracted, his eyes scanning the crowd before waving wildly. Lita and Monroe walked toward us. I hunched forward.

  Monroe was breathless when she reached us. “Hey, Gizmo!” The nickname was an old one, a reference to the old Gremlins movie.

  My smile was forced. “Hey.”

  She frowned as she sat. “You okay?”

  My eyes met hers. “Have you scryed anymore?”

  Monroe glanced around us, her voice lowering. “Why? Something happen?”

  My conversation with Amber consumed my thoughts. While it was an emotional blow to my heart, nothing bad had happened lately at the Abbey. I continued to look at her, the same question in my eyes.

  She sighed. “I’ve scryed some, but it’s still the same images. Over and over again."

  I could see this disturbed her. It was unusual for a scene not to change occasionally, influenced by outside events, by people’s own free will. My aunt’s comment about destiny plagued me. Did I believe in destiny?

  Monroe leaned in. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Something hit me in the back of the head, and I glanced up to see a small piece of ice fall to the bleacher.

  A pimply boy pushed through our group. “Hey, you Lesbos! Scoot, would you!”

  Conor shoved him. “I suggest you run. Now!”

  Conor’s size was intimidating, and the boy held out his hand as he backed into the crowd. “No foul.”

  Lita cupped her mouth. "Prejudiced ass!”

  Lita was bisexual. She had as much interest in women as she did in men, although she was currently as caught up in Jacin as he was in her. They made a good match, even if they weren’t committed. That was what made it work.

  “God, some people,” Lita murmured. She leaned over and waved at Jacin. He smiled. “How’s it going, Day,” she asked me.

  My brows rose. “I’m fine. No murdering marauders or alien invasions here."

  Monroe and Lita glanced at each other.

  “We’re all on Team Dayton, you know. Let’s not beat up your cheerleaders,” Conor said suddenly in my ear. The air against my neck made me shiver.

  Turning too fast, I nearly cracked my skull against his head. “You read minds now?”

  He grinned. “Honey, it’s written all over your face. You’re as open as a book."

  I cringed.

  Conor winked, his arm falling across my shoulders. “Hey, that’s a compliment. Honesty is attractive."

  I was glad he thought so.

  Conor watched me, his playful expression suddenly serious. “C’mon, let’s just watch Jacin get his assed kicked, huh?”

  That made me smile. “Fat chance of that.”

  I glanced toward the field just in time to see Jacin throw the ball to a guy in the end zone. Touchdown!

  Lita cheered, Monroe whooped, and Conor gave a thumbs-up sign. I fell back into the group, my chest tight. I was determined to enjoy the rest of the day, but when I tried to sit up, my chest grew tighter. I clutched at it, my head shaking. Anxiety, maybe?

  Smiling toward Jacin, I tried to wave but my hand fell limp, my chest feeling crushed. Something was wrong with me.

  Conor picked up on it first, his arm tightening on my shoulders. “Dayton?”

  His face blurred.

  I squinted but my vision didn’t clear. If anything, it got worse. Spots swam before my eyes, and my throat began to burn. I couldn’t breathe!

  “Dayton?” Conor asked, his voice an echo. A hand touched me but I barely felt it.

  Monroe screamed. “Oh, my God! Day!”

  I could feel her breath on me, but her voice was miles away. My toes went numb. A cold chill worked its way up through my body.

  “Jesus! Someone help!” a voice shouted, my ability to discern its owner gone now.

  A strong hand clasped my wrist.

  I tried to turn my head. “Con?”

  My throat caught on the word, turning it into a gurgle as it left my mouth. The pressure on my wrist increased.

  “Mine.”

  The sudden male voice filled my mind so completely, my whole head burst with pain. I fought it, thrashing so hard that distant hands had to hold me down.

  “Is it a seizure?” I heard someone ask as I fought my invisible assailant.

  The grip on my wrist was unbearable.

  “Please,” I begged. There was no relief.

  “Mine,” the voice repeated,

  My world went black.

  Chapter 6

  They are, by nature, ruled by blood. Blood isn’t a necessity for life, for they are immortal. It is a thirst, a need for blood. Their curse. There is one who seeks an end to the Hunger. If it can’t come by R
edemption, he will seek war.

  ~Bezaliel~

  Darkness surrounded me, the blackness making me a prisoner.

  I squinted. There was light beyond, but it was dim. My gaze found craggy walls engulfed in gloom. Stone?

  Something fluttered above my head, and I ducked. What was that? My eyes grew wide as they finally began to adjust to the darkness. A cave? I was in a cave?

  My gaze was frantic. Shadows crawled through a cavern, inching along like spider monkeys in the jungle, creeping with each flicker of flame coming off sconces inserted along the wall.

  Then there were the voices.

  Terror filled me. What was this place? What had happened to me?

  Shadows came at me from everywhere. I tried reaching out to grab the cave wall, but I couldn’t see my own hand. I tried again. Nothing. Was this a vision? Was I dead?

  The voices grew louder.

  “You crave too much the power of our forefathers,” one voice mocked, male and frightening.

  Answering male laughter rose up through the darkness. I looked for the men but could only make out shapes.

  “No, brother, I crave redemption,” the second voice uttered.

  “There is no redemption for us. There never can be,” the first voice replied.

  “You’re wrong, Marcas. There is. I’ve seen it.”

  Marcas? I tried harder to see, but the darkness in the cavern was too much, the light too faint.

  “You imagined it,” Marcas argued. I knew his voice now. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.”

  “Oh ho, brother! No, you are the fool! Maybe it is you that seeks power.”

  “I seek only vengeance,” Marcas stated. The shadows crept closer, swirling around the two men as they faced each other defiantly. “We had redemption once. And then it was revoked, leaving the rest of us cursed for eternity,” Marcas pointed out.

  The second man waved his hands. “No, I have found the cure. And I will have it!”

  Marcas circled him. “At what cost, brother? At what cost would you have your redemption?”

  This was a mistake. I didn’t belong here watching this. Both of the men terrified me. I tried to touch something again and failed.