Jaxon Prayer (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel West

  “Hungry?” I pull out the large cardboard container that holds ground corn powder. I mix in a little dehydrated milk for flavor and then add water until it expands to fill the entire bowl. Jaxon stands a little behind me. I feel his eyes on me as I mix up breakfast and I keep fumbling the spoon in my hand. His gaze leaves me feeling suddenly uncomfortable in my own home.

  “What is that?” He glares disdainfully at the bowl of mush.

  “Breakfast,” I say shortly, shoving the bowl in his direction. “Don’t like it? Don’t eat it.”

  “Do you at least have coffee?”

  I raise one eyebrow, as if to say “does it look like I have coffee,” and Jaxon seems to get the point because he shuts up and sits quietly at the table. He pokes at his food with a spoon, like he is expecting it to attack him. Ignoring him, I settle down to eat my own meal. I grimace as I shove a bite into my mouth. Normally I add some canned fruit, or at least sugar, and it tastes fine. But I didn’t want to give Jaxon the satisfaction, not after all his complaining.

  “So,” I’m not quite sure what to say to him. After the intensity of last night, sitting around eating breakfast just feels too…mundane. A word I never thought could be used in association with a Millennial. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” Jaxon responds, refusing to meet my eyes. But his voice is full of defiance like he’s daring me to contradict him. He’s itching for a fight. I understand the feeling, sometimes you just need to yell about something, even if it has nothing to do with what you’re upset about. The frustration can build and build in you until it’s like acid in your veins eating you up from the inside. But when you let it out…it’s cathartic – freeing.

  “Okay then,” I won’t probe too deeply. It’s none of my business really. Millennials can go around hurting each other as much as they want. I won’t try to stop them. “How long are you planning to stay?”

  “I thought I’d stay here for a while,” Jaxon says.

  I make an mmhmm noise before asking “and how long is a while?”

  Jaxon shrugs, a gesture that is both arrogant an innocent all in one motion. It’s infuriating because it gets his meaning across so clearly without a single word -- As long as I feel like.

  “You can’t stay here. Have you seen how tiny my place is?” I throw my arm out in a wave that encompasses the entire apartment. “We’ll be killing each other by the end of the day.”

  “I will do whatever you wish. Give you whatever you need.”

  “There is nothing I need from a Millennial,” I sneer.

  “Your sister,” he says, “let me stay here for a while, and I’ll help you with your sister. I’ll help you bring her back.”

  I freeze. For a moment everything stops moving. I don’t breathe. My heart doesn’t beat. If there is anyone in this world who could actually help my sister, it would be a Millennial. Is this why he came back? He knew he had something over me. An offer I couldn’t turn down. “What could you possibly do,” I try to sound disdainful, but hope rings loud in my tone. I sound desperate even to my own ears.

  “I can find out which farm she works on. I can help you get out of the city.”

  “And what? All I have to do is let you sleep on my couch?”

  Jaxon gives the hated couch a sideways glance, “Yes,” he says, “that is all I need.”

  “I can barely afford to feed myself, how am I going to support you too?” I point to the bowl of corn mush that is still full in front of him “That will be breakfast. Every day. You think you can live like that, after the life you’ve had? You’ll never survive here.”

  “I have money,” Jaxon says, digging around in his pocket until he pulls out a wallet. He drops half a dozen money chips onto the table.

  “And what about the Praetors? You don’t think they’ll come looking for you? Your family won’t worry and send out search parties? Your friends? You think everyone is just going to forget you exist and let you live down her--”

  “No one will look for me,” Jaxon cuts me off in a harsh voice. But he can’t meet my eyes as he says it. Someone will be looking for him. Maybe a lot of someone’s. And he knows it. Is it worth it though? So I’ll just have to keep a little under the radar for a while. To save my sister? To have her back in my home, after five endless years. I tap my fingers nervously against the wooden countertop. What is the right answer here? Every part of me rebels against helping a Millennial – but if I’m using him as much as he’s using me…?

  “Fine, whatever,” I say, I’m done arguing. If he can help me save my sister – it’s the only thing that matters. There is no reason to waste my breath fighting when I already know what my answer is. I would give anything to have her back and all he asked was a place to sleep. “You can stay.”

  I think of Red and I almost recant my decision. Red will be pissed. It took him weeks to forgive me letting Jaxon stay only one night. When he finds out the Jaxon is staying here, for who knows how long?

  “You have to stay hidden,” I tell Jaxon, “You can’t just wander the streets or anything stupid like that. If they find you living with me, they’ll take you home. But me? It’s a death sentence.”

  “I know,” his voice is heavy with some unrecognizable emotion “I understand.”

  “Good,” I cross my arms and have nothing else to say.

  “Good,” Jaxon echoes, so quietly I nearly don’t hear him.

  ***

  “Stop pacing,” I snap. “You’re driving me insane.”

  “Sorry,” Jaxon says but he never stops moving. Like a caged animal he paces the length of my apartment. His eyes flick from door to window like he expects someone to burst through at any moment.

  I sigh but don’t argue any further. For the first two days all Jaxon did was sit on my couch and watch me. He followed my every movement with an intensity I’ve never seen from another. Studying me as I made breakfast. Staring as I did my morning stretches. Always watching, like he was trying to memorize every moment of my day.

  Despite the staring and the pacing, Jaxon is less of a burden then I thought he would be. He settles into my apartment like he owns it. Like he’s been here for years, not days. I expected him to get in my way; to be helpless in a world that has none of the luxury he is used to. He appears charmingly confused when he can’t find something he expects - like the evening he tried to dump the leftovers down the sink. And I laughed as I made him dig them all out again as I had no garbage disposal. He frowned at me the entire time, covered in chicken grease and bits of corn but he didn’t argue.

  It’s actually kind of nice, having someone else here with me. It wasn’t until he arrived, that I realized how lonely I’ve been for the past few years.

  I make an effort to visit Red each day, afraid if I don’t, Red will find some reason to come to my apartment. But each time I visit him it feels as if a wall is growing between us. Red knows something is wrong, he keeps trying to ask about it but I dodge his questions and eventually he stops asking. He’s busy with his own life, fighting in the Coliseum and chasing women with looser morals than his own.

  I am walking home from Red’s one night when I hear the click click click of the Praetor’s boots. I dart into an alleyway as they turn the corner just in front of me. Sweat prickles at the nape of my neck and in the lines of my palms. I glance up to the sky, to see one of the giant, floating clocks flashing red. 10:49 - hours past curfew.

  The Praetors are dressed nearly all in black. Dark red lines the edges of their outfits. From the distance you could never tell, but the thin cloth they wear is made from spider-silk. Strong enough to stop knife thrust or a bullet. Only synthblades, with their powerful charges, are enough to burn through it. The large bulky helmet looks out of place next to the thinness of their outfits, giving them the look of some misshapen insect.

  I brush the blade at my waist - one day I will save up enough to have it fixed. Until then, hiding. A ladder to the right catches my eye. Or climbing.

  I grab onto the lad
der, giving it a careful pull to make sure it can hold my weight. I hear the click of the Praetors boots slow like a dying clock. I risk a glance out of the alleyway. One of them, the leader, who is clearly a woman, halts the rest with a raised hand. She pulls out a small, clear panel and sets it down on the ground. She crouches next to it, balanced on one knee and presses her hand down on top of it.

  My heart is pounding as I stay perfectly still. Attempting to climb the ladder would make too much noise. I’m stuck here, until they pass. The light of all the sky-panels shines down, dimmed for the evening, but still bright enough to paint the streets in red and purple.

  The head Praetor holds her hand on the panel for what feels like hours. My muscles grow tense as I wait for them, wishing they would hurry up with whatever they did. A flash of light bursts out from the panels and spreads in every direction. The light flows over the ground like the smoke of a burning building. I jump, unable to stop myself, when I see it.

  I debate for half a heartbeat, before throwing myself onto the ladder, uncaring of any noise it makes. The light is spreading only across the ground, and I don’t want my feet anywhere near it. I cling to the ladder, midway up and wait to see what happens. Despite the danger I am curious. What is this? Some new technology I haven’t seen before, that’s for certain.

  A few moments pass before the Praetor stands. She points to the right, in the opposite direction of me, and all six Praetors begin running in formation. Seconds later I hear a scream. High and loud and full of terror, a child’s scream or a young woman. I grip the ladder tighter, until my skin pinches against the metal and my arms ache with the effort. Every part of my being burns to interfere. But I know there is nothing I could do. Not against six Praetors. I close my eyes when I hear a wet smack. A yelp that sounds like an animal being kicked. And then silence.

  I wait, frozen in place, for at least half an hour. Waiting until I am sure the Praetors have gone to find their next victim. I drop to the ground with a quiet thump, my feet are barely a whisper against the pavement as I run to where the sounds originated from.

  I stop at the entrance to another alleyway. Trash litters the ground and the scent is sickening. Sweet and rotten it makes my nose itch. I move slowly, watching my feet so I don’t stumble over anything that will draw attention down on me.

  I reach the end of the alley and see a larger pile of trash than any of the others. I poke at it with my toe. I hit something soft, that yields slightly before me. I crouch down, clearing away old papers and rotten food.

  A gruesome visage greets my eyes. A scream crawls up my throat, but I clamp my mouth shut. I need to stay silent. Or I will end up as dead as the boy in front of me.

  I pull the body out from under the pile of trash. I cover my hand with my sleeve then use it to wipe away the blood on the boys face.

  Hatred churns in my gut like a whirlwind. God damn the Praetors. I recognize the boy. Limping Liddy. He’s lived down in the Hollows for as long as I’ve known him. What was he doing out on the streets? He’s missing one of his legs, cut off from the knee down, which is how he got his name. But now his other good leg is crushed. Splintered bones push out from the flesh, with bits of trash a refuse stuck to it.

  His stares sightlessly into the night sky. In the darkness I can’t tell the color of his eyes and I struggle to remember.

  How dare they. How dare the Praetors kill this boy and leave him, covered in garbage and filth like he means nothing. Like he is garbage. I crawl away, unable to control the shaking in my limbs. Normally he would have been arrested, taken to the farms outside of the city. But with one missing leg he would have been useless. So they what, just killed him?

  Monsters.

  I want to hunt them down. I want to find the group that did this. I will never forget the face of the woman leading them. I swear to myself, I swear to little Limping Liddy, they will pay. Someday they will all pay and we will be free.

  When I’ve gotten myself under control I pick him up in my arms. He feels nearly weightless in death. His small body is easy for me to carry. I carry him until my arms begin shaking and my legs ache with effort. An hour has passed, maybe more. The entrance to the Hollows is just ahead. To most it appears as a collapsed church. But to those of us who know better it’s a sanctuary.

  I lay his body on the steps. Someone will find him and know what to do. The long grass on the edge of the steps draws my eyes. I pluck it from the ground, weaving a dozen of the longest strands into a small circle. He deserves more. He deserves a wreath of flowers covering his body. But I can’t give him that. I can’t give him anything. So I leave the grass mourning circle resting on his chest and turn to leave without a backward glance.

  “Where have you been?” Jaxon asks when I crawl through the open window. He sits at the kitchen table, hunched over something in his hands. When he speaks he sounds honestly worried, like he could somehow care about me when I know inside he feels nothing. It’s his people who have done this. They’re murderers. Every one of them. Jaxon is no exception.

  “None of your business,” I snap. I slam the window shut behind me and storm into the kitchen. Stretched out on my toes I reach for the bottle of cheap vodka hidden on top of the refrigerator. I hear Jaxon following me. He stops before reaching the kitchen, and leans over the half wall that separates us.

  “What happened?” he asks quietly.

  “Nothing,” I slam the bottle to the counter. I don’t sound angry though, this time I just sound exhausted. “Nothing at all.” I turn to him but all I can see is the tattoos that cover the sides of his face. I look away as tears threaten to fall.

  “Is Red okay?” He says it hesitantly, like there is a barrier he is afraid to cross.

  “What?” for a moment I am confused, then “No. Red is fine.” I dump some of the vodka into a glass and pour it down my throat in one smooth motion. I set the glass down, debate for a moment then pour myself another. “You,” I say to Jaxon, “have been here for three days. When are you going to start helping me find my sister?”

  “About that…”

  “What?” I snap, “Are you going to tell me there is nothing you can do? I should have expected that. Shouldn’t have ever let you into my home.”

  “No,” Jaxon says with irritation, “I was going to say we need to go visit my friend Darren. He is a master with computers. Darren will be able to access the database so we can find where your sister is.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  Jaxon looks at me like I’m insane, “It’s after midnight. Now might not be the best time. Besides, I will have to figure out how to get us both to Crescent City.”

  “Crescent City?”

  “Where else did you think we would go?” Jaxon responds sarcastically and I think my own anger has set him on the defensive.

  “Shut up,” I mutter, an automatic response. Crescent City? Me? There’s no way I could get up there. Not with all the makeup in the world would I make it past the guards that prevent access to any but the Millennials and their concubines. Jaxon could bring me up, but it would draw a whole lot of attention down on himself if he showed up with someone from the slums. And whoever he is trying to hide from would likely find him.

  I slump down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Everything just feels – wrong today, and I want nothing more than the day to be over. I collapse into a chair at my table and grab the item Jaxon was playing with when I entered.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  I examine the item in my hands. It’s an apple; half of it still full and red; but the other half carved down and sculpted. I angle the apple closer to the light to get a better look. An animal – a bird -- some kind I have never seen before has been carved into the apple. The edges have already begun to brown from the air but even still – it is beautiful. “You made this?”

  “My father has frequent banquets. They tend to drag on for hours. As a child I learned to entertain myself.”

  I run my fingers along the edges of t
he bird’s wings. I imagine a table so bloated with food that a bored child can make art from it. All the while, here in their shadow; children like Limping Liddy have to beg on the street to earn enough to buy a single loaf of bread.

  “Stop wasting food.” I throw the apple at him. Hard.

  Jaxon catches the apple before it hits him, juice and pulp burst around his hand in a small explosion. His eyes widen with shock followed by a quick narrowing in anger but he stays silent. There is nothing left to say.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Come on.” I kick the couch where Jaxon rests. He has one arm thrown over his eyes, blocking out the daylight just beginning to fade.

  “What do you want,” Jaxon asks. He lowers his arm and peers up at me through eyes half lidded with displeasure. “I thought you were visiting Red tonight.”

  “No,” I tell him, “We are going to get onto Crescent City.” I bounce up on my toes, the adrenaline of the night leaving me antsy. The other night Jaxon said we needed to get to Crescent City so that’s exactly what we are going to do. I am not going to waste any more time. I’ve allowed my sister to spend five years in prison and I will not leave her there a moment longer than I must.

  “And how, pray tell, do you plan on accomplishing such a feat?” He looks me up and down, taking in my faded black jeans and black hoodie I have on. “I hope you do not intend to wear that.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” I snap, but I can’t help the way my fingers brush nervously at my sleeve.

  Jaxon laughs and I stick my tongue out at him before turning my back. “Wear all black,” I shout over my shoulder before darting into the bathroom.

  Through the closed door I hear him mumble, “Not like I have any other choice.” I laugh to myself thinking of his outfit that is slowly beginning to show wear. Everyone know’s if you’re running away from home you need to bring more than one shirt with you. He’s been wearing the same outfit for days and the wear has begun to show.