The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1)

by Aral Bereux

  The hover shot another burst into the wall above her head, sending bricks through the dust, as she bolted past the bikes and along the alleyway. It followed in a temper, its lasers set, then faltered in the sky. She pulled to the side pavement to watch it flounder above the power lines that rarely worked, the triangular eye switching off as it attempted to keep its angry course. The confused bird dropped into the concrete with a metal thud.

  Isis had tracked her again. Isis had saved her again, she thought. She sat on her bike in the main street eyeing the CCTV, the one thing remaining from the old world. Big brother watched and so did Isis. He would follow her movements until she was safe under the guise of Club Star. He’d have her back, keep her safe, and then he’d have her head, when she returned to the safe house.

  The comms – she fumbled inside her jacket pocket, the glass plates still intact; the time on the city monitors reminded her of Club Star.

  She missed her first performance again, and it wouldn’t go well two nights running. Her jacket rubbed against the fresh injury and she cringed at her shoulder through the burnt material. She dared to touch it with her fingertips, pulling away as soon as she did.

  No, being late wasn’t an option, for a reason she kept to herself. Caden Madison’s rumored appearance did more than intrigue her.

  The sun settled into the pink horizon through the grey scattering of clouds. She folded the knife into her jacket pocket, before joining the last of the traffic. The burn on her shoulder eased with the wind pushing against the pain, but she would need healing before her performance, and wondered if she’d find a nearby watcher, friendly enough to help her. The chances were slim; the handful she knew either hunted her, were at the safe house, or dead.

  She looked up at the CCTV and monitors as she rode. Is Isis one? Will I ever meet the man?

  She would thank him again for saving her ass. It was becoming a habit and not one going unnoticed.

  She followed the road to the outskirts of town, toward Club Star, trying to find an excuse for her boss. In her heart, she knew he’d risk losing patrons, rather than fire the closest thing he had to a celebrity. A public outcry would occur, and not just from the watchers, walkers, and norms, but from the Rebellion and the Guild. It was where she found their best recruits and contacts and where she hoped she would find one more, for her own peace of mind.

  Chapter 2

  CLUB STAR, SECTOR #6

  The crowds sat perched for center stage. They whistled, cheered, and leered for more as she wrapped her leg around the gold pole, taking her body with it in a full circle, outstretched, tempting the men before her. Tonight she dressed in black. The eye mask concealed her features, a mystery that Club Star guests loved. Her full lips, which she painted deep red for the occasion, pouted below her tiny nose; a trace of her high cheekbones was visible if they looked close enough. Yet her identity remained a guarded secret. Only the owner and her two support dancers knew her name, and she intended on keeping it that way. The black lace top, which unbuttoned across her generous breasts, hid her shoulder injury. The black hot pants, easily substituted with a twenty-inch piece of material around her ass, showed enough to satisfy the Club Star crowds if she raised her legs right. She never did, she only ever teased. It appeased her boss, who never asked for more from his star performer. That was a job for his backup dancers.

  The crowds were the usual faces: watchers, with their dark brooding eyes; walkers, lurking in the corners, paranoid of everyone else; incubi scanning for their evening’s prey; the norms, trying for a piece of the action. The norms disgusted her most. She’d give anything to experience their life, to move away from the underworld, out of the Rebellion, with the family she still couldn’t find.

  She grieved as she danced.

  She pictured her other family, the family, sitting beside a warm fire, toasting each other with vintage wines and fine whiskeys, discussing and praising their success of the day. The New World Order was of their doing. She recalled her uncle discussing the large business’ he bought, dominating the economic markets with the Senate and Council firmly persuading the international banking level. They showed no mercy during the takeover. Slowly but surely, one after another, Julianna witnessed the smaller powers falling into their hands, so subtle that no one cared to notice until it was too late.

  Until the military coup happened and everything that once was, ceased to exist.

  The very notion infuriated her.

  Thanks very much, Militia and Leader Rosewalt. Thank you very much indeed.

  To have been a part of it disgusted Julianna, though the choice was not hers. She was proud she’d left of her own free will – but not without consequences. The few days spent in camp 4.5.2 were the beginning of her torment. The interrogation revisited her in night terrors, of running through the woods – but alone, and not with Caden Madison beside her keeping her safe.

  Her eyes averted from the crowds who turned her stomach. The music blasted over them, and she danced, watching for new contacts to serve the Rebellion and the old notions of patriotism.

  The report from Isis of Caden Madison flooded back. She watched the steps leading from the street-level entrance, scanning the crowds along the way, and wondered if he’d appear. Isis suggested he would, earlier in the day during the last reprimand for her careless actions.

  Isis had blasted her over the flat-screen monitor hanging in the safe house meeting room. Usually, the room was reserved for Commanders and senior rank, but his request for her presence in private, had allowed him the pleasure of demonstrating a new meaning to the phrase ass tearing. He’d covered her twice, risking the chance of the Militia tracking his location through the CCTV. He yelled and cussed, and if not for the borders on the screen concealing his identity, she thought he might have been pacing with the comms in his hand.

  Tonight he’d done the same thing again, reneging on his promise in the meeting room that she would suffer on her own. He had saved her again, through CCTV again, crashing the drone that had shot her, risking his identity again. All had heard the quick meeting over the comms in her dressing room, behind closed doors.

  Isis was pissed, big time. The crowds of Club Star faded away. The events in the alleyway unfolded, and she imagined Isis threatening her with a trip in-country again, to hide her away for the sake of the Rebellion.

  The dance music pumped, contrary to Article 0005. The celebration of the illegal act happened nightly. The banning of music, along with art, dance and anything else relating to free thought, was ignored. The girls on stage danced for the whistling crowds and money landing at their feet. In the underground clubs, the Militia turned a blind eye, using them instead for a recruiting ground and a means to escape their harsh life for a night.

  The girls skipped behind the black curtains. The time to own the stage for a solo performance arrived. She waited for her introduction, and for the girls to rush past in their high heels and knickers, while she remained barefoot, swaying around the pole, teasing with her leg, and daring not to give away too much.

  The music reminded her of college days spent in lecture halls, studying with music firmly in her ears, miles from Club Star and its rotting crowds. Julianna’s science degree initially provided safety and Militia favor. Taris, and her uncle, provided training in weaponry and combat to complement her science background for a future with the Militia, believing her to hold traditionalist beliefs, someone to support their cause. It didn’t happen that way. Regret overshadowed their trust and conviction when they discovered her loyalty for the Rebellion.

  The numerous family secrets she traded upon had pushed the Militia agenda back twelve months. Some remained hidden for her own benefit, for now, they needed to wait. For now, helping Isis establish the safe house as a stronger power in the Sectors was her goal. The safe house gave her refuge after camp 4.5.2’s escape, and she had empowered it in return. Not a lot – just enough to hurt the Militia – and she suspected Caden Madison might have added his own support too. Is
is spoke highly of his name and success in the command of the country camps, but was always cautious in what information he gave away.

  Caden Madison.

  The name melted in her mouth like soft butter.

  She scanned the crowds again. No sign, but for a man shadowing the back walls. The smoky haze hovered in the crowds. The lights hanging from the rig above the stage illuminated her performance. Most of the faces concealed in shadow, but the dark figure remained moody and withdrawn, watching over her…resembling him.

  Possibly.

  Julianna danced.

  She entertained the men with her much spoken-about performance, keeping the Rebellion in new recruits and contacts, and providing useful leads for her own cause: finding her parents. It paid her bills and she was safe from the initiation her uncle continued to plan. She’d rather submit to a slow, agonizing death at the hands of an incubus than transform into a full-fledged creature of the night.

  Your destiny will be that when you become one of us. You will see your path in time, princess, but for now, stay hidden from the world. Her father’s voice came every now and then, always with the same warning. His last words at the family estate weighed heavily in her heart. She never saw her parents again.

  She swayed to the music.

  Let no one influence you from it when it stretches before you; you have an important role to play, Jillie. You remember that. He had tipped her nose, tucked her into the soft, warm bed, and kissed her goodnight.

  The crowds thickened to see her dance. The man along the back wall was gone. She ran her view across the heads. The lights moved with the steady beat and her body followed, sometimes leaning on the pole, sometimes surrounding it with her body. The things she could do, the way she curved and turned her lithe body, sent the already untamed male hordes wild. Men dug deep into their pockets and reached over, tucking dollar notes into her black garter or throwing NWO coins at the wooden stage. On a good night, she made enough to pay the monthly rent on her downtown apartment. If she couldn’t afford the luxury, she’d crash at the safe house in Sector Three or one of the outlying camps, or with the Guild.

  The crowds all wanted the same thing. Regardless of the breed, they all wanted a piece of fresh norm ass, who they could easily manipulate. The outcry if they discovered who she really was…she considered herself a norm, tried her best to fit in with their living, but every now and then, a feeling lingered, or the touch of something residual reminded her of the Family connection. Initiation or not, she was one of them, and she wondered how long it would take before the truth was thrust upon her and her freedom stolen. She hoped to live her life out the way the Guild had suggested.

  Dance, Julianna, just dance. These thoughts help no one. Just dance, for Christ’s sake, and forget they even exist, but the thoughts, nagged, not entirely leaving.

  The watchers congregated. Their cigarette habits arriving with their presence made it impossible to see the doors to the staircase leading outside. The tapered slits in the eye mask, slipped down on her face, hindering her sight. Julianna pushed her mask onto the bridge of her nose with her pointer finger and squinted across the crowds to scan them again, before drawing down to her naked leg.

  Fingers gently caressed her thigh, slipping along her exposed skin until they reached her garter. The hand tucked a five-dollar bill skillfully under its lace before returning to her soft skin. The man, whose forbidden touch lingered, met her with his dark, brooding eyes and her heart missed its beat. She felt herself blush. Sweat trickled down. She moistened her lips. It was him on the back wall.

  Caden Madison pouted under his thick black hair, and his well-set eyes stared before giving her a wink. His three-day growth from his camp incarceration was gone; now he passed for mid-thirties with a clean shave on his pale skin.

  This isn’t his true face; it isn’t the same image as the portrait hanging beside the General. Next to the General, he had traces of grey hair, something unheard of in a watcher younger than three centuries, so she knew him an ancient – or maybe it was rumor. She liked to refer to that photo as ‘mature.’ Council always boasts the three-century mark. He shape-shifted during our escape, into this younger face.

  ‘He’s old,’ the girls had teased when they had grouped with her around his photo.

  ‘Of course he’s old, he’s a watcher,’ Julianna had defended.

  The corners of her mouth curled upward under his light touch. He caressed her thigh some more, feeling her skin, not wanting to leave her.

  ‘Exactly – he’s a watcher, and he’s ex-Council. Probably an ancient. Why go there?’

  She stopped dancing. His finger lingered. Only when it flicked her knee playfully did she remember the crowds. They stared, intently focused on the stranger who’d successfully caught the attention of the star who ignored everyone.

  He was Council. You ran from them. He’s the forbidden apple from the tree.

  Julianna watched him turn. Had he placed his charm on her, she wondered.

  No. He is the serpent tempting innocence – and how I want his hand to return to me, damn it!

  He checked over his shoulder and smiled, he’d sensed her every thought and every whim. She danced against the pole while he ambled away, hunched in his black shirt with his eyes cast low. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, displaying the scattering of black symbols on his arms, warning anyone who’d dare cross a watcher with such ancient markings to think twice. With his back turned, she felt his charisma melt away.

  He had allured her.

  A hypnotist, too, she thought.

  The crowds watched him sit two rows from her center. A beer that he didn’t order was placed on his table. The younger watchers nodded in his direction, manically whispering back and forth like crazed fans. She wasn’t the only star feature of the night and from the pole between her legs, she witnessed the stir he created among his own kind.

  He ignored it to watch her.

  His dark eyes brooded, soaking in her legs wrapping the pole as she caressed it, and she was sure to keep his eyes on hers the entire time. It took little effort; she had his undivided attention. When she did her signature move and the crowds went wild, he sat in his seat with his beer in his hand and just smiled.

  The hazy atmosphere that hung made his sign of the Rebellion difficult to distinguish. His fist moved subtly across his chest before flipping his shirt pocket open for his cigarettes and she saw the nod he gave her. He smiled again, slipped out a cigarette, and added to the haze above his head.

  The music faded for more introductions; the table girls stepped into the men’s section for their private seductions, away from the stage and away from the gambling. Julianna took the two steps down in her bare feet, searching for splinters on the roughly sanded wood, not seeing the walker with his hand rising for a playful slap to the backs of her thighs.

  A ruddy handprint stretched across her olive complexion, fingerprints forming across one leg with the palm print outstretched on the other. The offender pushed his chair away to tower over her between the cramped tables.

  ‘You’re in my way,’ he folded his arms, broadening his strong shoulders. His deep voice broke easily across the crowds.

  Caden leaned into his chair, watching with the masses. Their whispers of concern reached her.

  Surely she wouldn’t…she’s crazy, he’ll kill her.

  ‘You can’t go touching us like that. You need to leave.’

  ‘So make me move,’ he stretched his arms above his head, exposing his loyalty to the Militia. A thick black circle encompassed the Militia triangle and sun in his wrist tattoo. He raised it higher for everyone to see.

  ‘Your mother know you have that?’

  ‘Okay, darlin’. Have it your way.’ He held his hands in surrender and stepped away. ‘The Commander likes his girls feisty. He might have to hear about you.’

  The security clamped their hands on his large shoulders to escort him to the exit.

  ‘Be sure to give him my regar
ds,’ she snapped.

  The club returned to its normal whims. Incessant chatter, white noise, an insulting bass and drum beat. She fixated on Caden, enjoying his cigarette, sucking the escaping smoke into his mouth before exhaling.

  ‘Thanks for having my back there, C Mads.’ She sat across from his lingering gaze. The bottle rested to his parted lips and he winked again while drinking, keeping his thoughts to himself.

  ‘No, seriously, thanks. Saved your sorry ass and twelve months later, all I get’s a freakin’ wink,’ she snapped.

  His lips parted further into a grin. ‘You just highlighted yourself to the Militia. You want me to congratulate you on your stupidity?’

  ‘Being Militia gave him the right?’ she said. She looked over to the bar. ‘Otis!’ she shouted. ‘Please can I get a drink over here?’

  The bartender nodded under his Einstein hairstyle, swept back into a hair tie. Untamed strands wisped around his full cheeks, white in most parts, but the tips were frosted black; she likened him to a skunk having a bad hair day. He was a preternatural, although what sort she didn’t know. He always remained hidden to everyone, even in a brawl.

  ‘No, it doesn’t give him the right.’ Caden rested his folded arms across the tabletop and leaned in. ‘But you’re a Rebel and Militia like to arrest Rebels, remember? Besides, you had it covered. I saw the knife,’ he beckoned with his fingers. ‘Can I see?’

  Otis shouldered through the tight crowds with a bottle in his hand. Caden nodded, floating it in midair to their table, and Otis grateful, went back to his bar. Without the invocations of a camp, revealing himself as a powerful watcher was effortless.

  She raised the beer silently to him in thanks once it reached her fingers. The crowds were attentive again. Their alpha male impressed them with his achievements, and it wasn’t the parlor tricks they whispered about.