Apocalypse the Blossoming (The Power of Twelve Book 2)

by Miranda Martin

Nathaniel

  Following a feeling, I walk the halls of the lower levels of Bunker 3. Something pulls me along. It’s instinctual, but that’s often how my abilities work. A feeling, an idea, never a clear-cut “Do this.” God doesn’t work that way. Even Angels have a semblance of free will.

  There are specials here, somewhere. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to find them, but if I am meant to, I will. Of that I’m certain.

  It gives me something to focus on besides her. Anything is a welcome distraction from the all-consuming nature of my attraction to her. I need this, welcome it. It keeps me from storming the upper levels to find her. Which would be a bad, no, a stupid-bad idea.

  Irritating the Dragon isn’t a good idea. He’s a Horseman, after all. His powers aren’t something I want to go toe-to-toe against.

  Passing by a vent, I catch a hint of magic. Closing my eyes and expanding my senses, I scan for it. It’s gray magic, coming from…

  Somewhere.

  Images flash as I follow the hints of it. There.

  Path firmly set in my thoughts, I follow it. As I get closer I hear voices.

  “It’s high time we act,” a male voice says. “We’ve got enough power.”

  “You think so? You really want to wake the Dragon?” another man asks.

  “No,” a female says. “Don’t be stupid. Keep a low profile, keep working, wait for our time.”

  “I’m tired of waiting,” the first voice says.

  They stop talking when I turn the corner. It’s a small Coven, six of them. I’m not sure what discipline they ascribe to, but I can sense the neutral nature of their magic, meaning they could go to either side. Unusual to find since the Apocalypse. Almost all the witches have been enticed to one side or the other.

  “Can we help you?” the second male voice asks.

  He’s in his twenties, but his face has several scars marring it, and his eyes are hard, making it clear he’s seen a lot. I’d guess he survived outside for some time before arriving here.

  “No,” I say. “Passing through, sorry to interrupt.”

  They stare at me, suspicious, and rightly so. Talk like this wouldn’t be well-received by anyone on the upper levels. I’m not sure why I don’t make myself known, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s not time.

  “Then move along,” the female says.

  She’s older, in her fifties with gray at her temples and heavy crow’s-feet around her eyes. The sadness weighs her down and calls to me. I want to lift that weight for her, but I don’t. Something stops me.

  “Right,” I say. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Their glares burn into my back as I walk away. I need to get back to the others and talk to them about these witches. They might be helpful. I have to make sure everything is in place before I take off. Protecting Aviella is primary in my thoughts, above my duty to the higher calling I serve.

  Once I’m out in the world, I can find the lay of the land and hopefully recruit some fresh allies. A dull ache forms in my chest, and it’s hard to get a deep breath as I think about it. Leaving her behind is the last thing I want, but it’s what I must do. I can’t protect her without knowing what’s happening out there.

  Her face drifts through my thoughts. Those full, lush, raspberry lips. I desperately want to kiss them. I’ve never experienced anything like what she makes me feel. My desire for her is overwhelming, more so at some times than others. I want to kiss her, but I won’t. When I do, it has to be right. Kissing her before leaving when there’s a solid chance I won’t make it back is cruel. Something I could never do to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A day passes by uneventfully. I venture out from my assigned room and explore, getting a feel for the Bunker. It’s not fun at all. The dirty looks I get are constant. I’m not sure what I did to piss everyone off, but they’re all angry at me.

  I continue exploring out of obstinateness, if nothing else. The only people that I don’t get dirty looks from are those in the drab gray uniforms, the ‘worker’ class as they’re known. The ‘upper’ class are very busy doing nothing productive. That alone would drive me nuts, but they take it to extremes that rubs me wrong.

  Parties seem to be their main business. Well that and critiquing each other and the parties someone else has thrown and everything that was wrong with it. What a waste of life. The world is a mess, they have power and resources that they could be using to help others, but instead they’re wasting their time and lives on this.

  Sitting by myself in a corner of the dining hall, I listen to the conversations going on. I’m ignored for the most part, though I can’t help but notice the occasional stink eye thrown my way. No one wants to talk to me, which is fine. I don’t have anything nice to say if they did. First time I came here for dinner, I tried being friendly, reaching out to others. I was rebuffed harder than I’ve ever been before, which is saying something. Since then I’ve kept to myself.

  I’ve got plenty to think about. Silas, for one. Efram, Rafe, and Nathaniel for seconds. Let’s not even start in with Tynan. I haven’t seen Silas since I made a fool of myself in his room. I’m not sure I can face him yet.

  I want to see the rest of the boys. I miss them. Efram would have some wise words for me, Rafe would make me laugh, and Nathaniel would drop some tidbit of wisdom out of nowhere. I know they’re okay, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t want them to just be okay, I want them with me. Here, now.

  Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss the change in the room. The quiet conversations shift, and the feeling in the air is different, pulling me out of my thoughts. When I look up from my food, I spot the problem. Silas is walking towards me, a smile on his face.

  They’re all looking from him to me, then back to him again. Whispers fly between them, and I know they’re gossiping about the two of us. My cheeks warm. I don’t like being the center of attention like this. It brings back too many childhood memories.

  “I’ve been given permission to escort you to the lower level,” he says, by way of greeting.

  “Escort?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. I’ve been asking to see the boys constantly.

  “Yes, an escort is customary for preferred guests,” he says, shrugging as if to say it’s not his rules.

  The whispering becomes a storm. Great, Silas, way to fuel the rumor-mongering. I’m sure that will make my life easier. Ugh.

  “Fine,” I say, glad to have an excuse, any excuse, to get the hell out of here.

  I grab my tray and take it up to the window to turn it in. As I walk through the tables of the well-to-do, their eyes watching me surreptitiously, I can’t resist. Swinging my hips more than I normally would, I link arms with Silas, leaning against him as we walk. When we reach the doorway I stop, turn to him, and press my lips to his.

  It’s not passionate, unlike last time, strictly for show, but he plays into it, picking up on my cue. His hands roam down to my ass, cupping it softly, and in that instant the kiss becomes real. Full of pent-up desire and the need that we’re both feeling. His body responds, digging into my stomach. Breaking the kiss, I hold eye contact with him for a moment before taking his hand and walking away.

  The room is dead silent. Perfect. That will give them something to talk about.

  Silas walks with me in silence, and only after we’ve gone quite a distance does the embarrassment hit me. What did I do?

  “Uh, sorry,” I mutter.

  “For?” he asks.

  “That… display. They’re pissing me off.”

  “Well, if that’s how you deal with being pissed off, then I’d like to see you angry more often.”

  I glance over, trying to get a handle on his mood, but his face is dead serious. He holds that face for a long moment, almost long enough for me to buy it, before a shit-eating grin breaks out.

  “You did give them something. I’m sure that will be the topic of discussion for at least a month,” he laughs.

  I match his grin, nodding.

  “S
crew them,” I say. “I hate this class-ism crap. We’re all people, we should be helping each other.”

  “I agree, in principle. They’re clinging to anything, trying to keep themselves sane. While it doesn’t make it right, and I don’t agree with it, I do understand it,” he says, turning it into a teaching moment.

  Of course he would do that. He’s Silas. It’s a big part of what I love about him.

  We talk this over as we make our way to the lower levels. We’re so deep in the discussion I almost don’t notice Efram walking out of a room. Almost but not quite.

  “Efram!” I exclaim.

  He wheels around, eyes widening, mouth dropping open. He’s dripping with sweat and his hair is plastered to his head, but I don’t care. I run for him and leap when I’m still ten feet away. He catches me in his arms easily, pulling me into a tight embrace against him. Damn he smells good, even if he’s all sweaty. It’s musky and manly. His muscles bulge as he squeezes me. He sets me on my feet and we part, slowly separating, when suddenly I’m swept off my feet and spinning.

  “AVIELLA!” Rafe exclaims, holding me in the air and twirling me.

  “Rafe!” I laugh, getting dizzy.

  We’re attracting attention, a lot of it. Dozens of people in worker-drab gray are staring, mouths agape, at our public display of affection.

  “We should take this inside,” Efram says, tapping Rafe on the shoulder.

  “You’re a party pooper,” Rafe grouses. “Let them look, I’ll give them a show they won’t forget.”

  He pulls me close, and then his lips are on mine. His tongue invades my mouth aggressively as both his hands find my ass. I give myself over to the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him as tight to me as I am to him.

  When we part at last due to the demands of air, he laughs, long and loud.

  “Show off,” Efram says, his voice neutral. “Now let’s go.”

  As I follow them towards their quarters, I look between the three men, reaching out with my energy, trying to sense any jealousy. I don’t pick up any, at all. How can that be? I know Silas wants me, Efram and I have had more than one ‘moment,’ and now Rafe just shoved his tongue in my mouth, and the other two are okay with it?

  My mind spins with possibilities. Stupid girl, get a grip. Sooner or later I’ll have to choose, of that I have no doubt. Until that time there’s no point in worrying.

  The room the guys are sharing is about the size of the bathroom in my room. I’m not surprised, and in truth it’s a nice room. Nicer than what I grew up in, and nicer than what I stayed in way back in Bunker E247.

  Rafe rushes over to what must be his bunk, looks around with a devious grin, then digs under the mattress and pulls out a dark bottle.

  “Voila!” he exclaims, holding it up triumphantly.

  “Only you,” Efram says, shaking his head.

  “I do have a very particular skill set,” Rafe grins.

  Rafe scrounges up glasses and pours drinks. Standing in a circle, our energies flowing in and around each other, a strange sensation comes over me. Contentment. Everything is as it should be, here, in this circle, with these men. We belong together. Odd though it may be, for this one moment I feel like everything is going to be okay. If only it would last, because I know it won’t, but I’ll take it while I’ve got it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The boys tell me about the adventures they’ve been having, infiltrating and learning about the ‘worker’ class. I listen avidly. I need to know, for whatever reason, that the workers are okay. They’re people. Ones without options. I’ve seen how the disenfranchised are treated in Bunker Society. If we’re going to be here awhile, I need to know they’re at least getting a fair shake of it.

  Besides, with all the vanity and backstabbing I’ve picked up on in the upper levels, these people sound like they’re much more my speed. Down to earth, normal. Listening to each of the guys talk is soothing on my nerves too. I love listening to their voices. It’s music to my ears.

  “I came across a Coven,” Nathaniel says, partway through narrating his exploits.

  Something thrums inside of me, and I sit up straighter. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “Aviella?” Rafe asks.

  “A Coven?” I ask.

  When I say the word, I feel a buzz deep inside myself again. There’s something about this.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel says, his eyes unreadable.

  Biting my lower lip, I try to put my finger on what it is. No one says anything, obviously waiting for me. It’s like an annoying mosquito buzzing in my ear.

  “Aviella?” Efram asks.

  “There’s something about this,” I say, vocalizing my thought. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel like we should talk to them.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Silas says. “It doesn’t sound like something Tynan is going to be a fan of, having witches in his lower levels. We do not want to stir the Dragon’s ire.”

  “Surely you can handle him,” Rafe says, poking at the Methuselah.

  “My ability to handle or not handle Tynan is not in question,” Silas says. “My willingness to risk his upset over something when we don’t have to is the question at hand.”

  “I think it’s important,” I say. I don’t have time for the boys to argue.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Efram says.

  I smile, grateful for his support. The others nod their assent. After a brief discussion, we decide to go after we have a meal. The food here is simple, more in line with what I’m used to, but good. Good old Nutrimeal, standby of the Apocalypse.

  The conversation during dinner is muted. I can’t take my thoughts away from this Coven. There’s something important about it. At last we’re ready. Nathaniel leads the way to where he saw the witches. Our ragtag group attracts a lot of attention as we move through the passages. Sidelong glances and people rushing to get out of our way while trying to appear like they aren’t in a hurry. I don’t blame them. If I weren’t part of this group, I’d probably be afraid too. It’s the only sensible response in the Apocalypse.

  “I first sensed them here,” Nathaniel says, gesturing with his hand.

  I close my eyes, and focus my awareness. It’s more than my normal senses, I use my magic, reaching out with my energy. I think it works like the laws of attraction, like calling to like. I don’t actually know, I’m no scholar, but it’s my own working theory. I should discuss this with Silas at some point. I’m sure he has theories of his own.

  When I expand my awareness, there is a tingle to my left. The tingle becomes an itch as I move in that direction, which I take to be a good sign. When I open my eyes and look around, we’ve moved quite a distance.

  “Do you guys feel that?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel answers first.

  The others nod. Good, I’m on the right path. Taking the lead, I head down one hall and then another, following my instincts. When I turn a corner, a young man is standing in the middle of the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his face.

  “What you be wanting?” he asks, his voice heavy with an accent I don’t recognize.

  “We come looking for friends,” I say, smiling.

  “You be coming to the wrong place,” he says, shaking his head negative. “No friends be found here. You not welcome.”

  “Well, how about if I came looking for other people who are special?”

  “People who be special, they be upstairs,” he says, doubt showing in his eyes.

  This isn’t going anywhere fast, so I decide to short-circuit it. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my magic, envisioning a soft, white light. Suddenly the world beyond my closed eyes flashes. I open my eyes and butterflies turn in my stomach, I’m shocked by what I see.

  The young man in front of me is covering his eyes with his hands, tears streaming out from under them. Rafe is laughing loudly, so hard tears are flowing from his eyes also. Efram and Silas are rubbing their eyes a
nd blinking rapidly. Nathaniel looks at me, frowning. I smile, sheepishly, and shrug.

  “Oh, that is classic,” Rafe says. “I’m gonna rank that one just below the making of wine.”

  “You’re a jerk,” I say, halfheartedly punching him in the arm.

  It only makes him laugh harder. Ass.

  “What be wrong with you?” the young man exclaims. “No display, them’s the rules. You be attracting attention.”

  “Sorry,” I say, as he lowers his hands from his eyes, still blinking rapidly. “Sometimes it gets out of control.”

  “You be like us,” he says. “Come with me.”

  He turns and walks away. I follow without hesitation. A couple of turns later and we’re outside a door on which he knocks. A muffled voice says something, and he turns the handle, pushing the door open. He doesn’t enter himself, stepping to one side, motioning for us to go in.

  It’s not really a bunk that we go into, but something that was probably once a meeting space. It’s empty with a concrete floor and corrugated steel walls. A group of men and women stand in a loose circle as if they are waiting for us.

  The break in the circle is at the door we entered, firmly placing us in the center of all of them. I hope this isn’t a trap. If it is, they’re going to regret it. We’re a nuclear option. Looking around the circle, I make a quick count. There are eighteen of them, ten men, eight women. The aura in the room is serious, but not dangerous. They stand with their hands in front of them, fingers curled and touching, forming an upside-down heart before each of them. They all have a glowing mark that looks like it’s tattooed between the thumb and forefinger. The way they are holding their hands makes it a complete rune of a coiled snake.

  “How long have you all been part of the Snake Coven?” Nathaniel asks.

  “We were born into it,” a tall, stately woman answers.

  She has her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She has stormy gray eyes and what would be commonly known as resting bitch face.

  Nathaniel nods as if all of this mean something to him. I can feel the magic. It’s not overly powerful, but it is strong. There’s something more, though. A familiar signature that tugs at my memory. Nathaniel talks with the woman for a few moments, discussing the details of their Coven. While they talk I focus on the energy.