The Chronicles of Kerrigan Prequel Series Books #1-3: Paranormal Fantasy Romance

by W. J. May

  …Simon owed him.

  That was the long and short of it. And however uncomfortable it might make Simon feel to be living in someone else’s debt, he couldn’t deny the fact that if it weren’t for the inexplicably selfless actions of Jacob Decker, a complete stranger, he wouldn’t be alive.

  A normal person might have responded to this by making it a point to not drag his savior into whatever troublesome brew they were cooking up at the diner. A normal person might even go so far as to respect Jacob’s clear wishes to be left alone.

  But Simon had never claimed to be normal. Quite the contrary.

  As the bell for curfew sounded, he slipped out of his dorm without a second thought. He hadn’t planned to go to Jacob’s. The idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. But there he was, flying down the hallway just the same.

  The psychic must not have been paying attention, otherwise Simon would never have gotten inside. Sure enough, one of Jacob’s hands pulled open the door while the other held up a book that had claimed his entire focus. By the time he lifted his head to look outside, Simon had already blurred in and was sitting at his desk—curtesy of a certain fennec fox.

  “What the—?” Jacob’s head whipped back and forth in amazement before he finally focused on Simon and shut the door with a glare. “I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to ask you to leave.”

  Simon smiled graciously. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Leave, Simon.”

  The smile remained. “Jacob…at first I tried to ignore it. Hell, I even made a million excuses to give you the benefit of the doubt. But after all this time, I can’t really just explain it away.” Simon got slowly to his feet. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  Although they both knew that was exactly what was going on, Jacob still flushed and dropped his eyes when it was said so directly. His hand tightened upon his book, and with the softest of sighs he set it down on the desk. “Yeah, so?”

  This time, it was Simon’s turn to blush. “I just wanted to talk to you…after everything that happened in the Oratory,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to—”

  “And I don’t want to talk about it,” Jacob snapped back, finally incensed to action. “Is that really such a wonder, Simon? That I wouldn’t want to rehash every single detail?”

  In a practiced way that was becoming almost habitual, Simon ignored everything the guy was saying and focused instead on his own wants. “Why did you do it?” The air seemed to supercharge between them as the obvious question was finally given its time. “Why didn’t you just run?”

  But as many times as Simon had imagined Jacob’s answer, as many different things he’d imagined the psychic might say…he could never have predicted what happened next.

  “That’s what you’ve been wanting to ask me?” Jacob said in surprise. His defensive posture relaxed as his forehead furrowed with a little frown. “Why I tried to help you?”

  He stared at Simon like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and for the first time Simon found himself on uncertain footing.

  “Simon…I didn’t want to see you get killed.”

  It hit Simon like a slap to the face. Sometimes, when you consider every possible angle, it’s the most obvious lines of truth that escape you. “But you…” He stood up shakily, completely thrown off course. “But you could have been killed, too. You had a chance, with your ink, to get out of there. You don’t even know me; why would you…”

  Jacob continued to look at him in wonder. For a minute, nothing was said. He seemed to be turning it over in his mind before his eyes finally softened with something close to pity. “Is it really that hard to imagine that someone would try to save your life?”

  It was the pity that did it. All of a sudden something in Simon simply snapped.

  Yes—yes, it was that hard to imagine. Yes, although he hadn’t realized it at the time, it was precisely that hard to imagine. Because he hadn’t yet done anything to impress, intimidate, or try to control Jacob. By Simon’s estimation, that was the only currency that mattered. So by Simon’s estimation…the guy had no other reason to save his life.

  The thing is…it hadn’t struck him as at all unusual or sad until Jacob said it out loud.

  The walls seemed to close in around him, and he shook his head at the floor, breathing hard through his nose as he pulled himself together. “I’ve…I’ve gotta go.”

  He made his way over to the door, but in an ironic chance of circumstances Jacob stepped swiftly in his path. “No, Simon. You’ve been trying to track me down for days. I’ve filled up two notebooks just trying to dodge you. We’re here now; say what you want to say.”

  “Get out of my way,” Simon growled through his teeth.

  Jacob leaned back, surprised at the sudden change of tone, but didn’t move an inch. Instead, he looked Simon over speculatively, fingers twitching against his leg like they were trying to draw a future he would never see. “You wanted to know why I didn’t run? Why I tried to get you out?” he repeated, in a soft deliberate voice. “It’s because the man was going to kill you.”

  “Get out of my way, Jacob.”

  Simon tried to shove past, but the guy stopped him. He was surprisingly strong, considering his ink didn’t extend past the mind, and he continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

  “I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if there was a thing I could do to stop it. But I knew I had to try. Anyone would have tried.”

  Another shove. Another deflection.

  Then suddenly, Jacob’s dark eyes locked onto Simon’s.

  “You would have tried for me, right?”

  For a second, neither of them moved.

  Jacob’s face went very pale as Simon slowly dropped his eyes to the floor.

  “…Right, Simon?”

  The clock on the wall ticked loudly between them, and for a moment neither of them had the slightest clue as to what to do. Every second that passed dug them in a little deeper, and as the deafening silence echoed back a distinct chill swept through the room.

  Then, with supreme effort Simon buried his fractured feelings in the furthest recesses of his mind, and looked up with a calm smile. “Yes, of course.” The lies came easily again; his momentary freak-out had passed. “It’s just, in the heat of the moment you never really know what someone’s going to do.”

  Jacob’s dark eyes lingered on his face a second longer than was usual, and for one of the first times in his life, Simon wasn’t sure if his story had gone over as smoothly as he’d hoped. “No…I guess you don’t.”

  Think, Simon. You came here today for a reason. Get him on board.

  “Jacob, a group of us guys met in the city today. Had a little talk about some of the problems we’ve been seeing going on at the school. It was nothing really formal. Just a casual talk about some discrepancies. The attack in the Oratory kind of set the whole thing off—”

  “No thanks,” Jacob said abruptly. He didn’t need a pencil and paper to know that an invitation was the next thing coming. “And you should probably get out of here, Simon. They’re going to be doing room checks in a minute.”

  “Look,” Simon lowered his voice compellingly, “don’t you want to know how a guy like that even got into the school? Don’t you want to know why—”

  “You know what I want to do?” Jacob said suddenly. “I want to serve out the rest of my time in this place, and then get the hell out come graduation and never look back.” There was a note of deep-seeded resentment buried beneath the words, and an anger he did nothing to hide. “I didn’t ask for this to happen to me. I never asked to come here.”

  Simon shook his head in disbelief. “But your ink…it’s the very thing that defines you. You can’t just—”

  “I’d like to think I’m defined by a lot more than a scribble of ink on my arm, thanks.” The psychic’s eyes flashed as he made a conscious effort to rein in his temper. “I know that you’re probably like the rest of them. You were raised with this inflated idea of what
you were, and what you were destined to become. You can’t see how utterly limited it is from the outside.”

  Limited?

  “But it’s exactly the opposite.” Simon shook his head incredulously. “Having abilities opens doors that the rest of the world could never dream of.”

  “So you’ll spend the rest of your life opening doors,” Jacob countered, “instead of figuring out what you like, who you are, and what you want to do with your life.”

  “That’s petty,” Simon replied stiffly. “It’s just selfish.”

  “Selfish?” Jacob laughed humorlessly. “That’s a bit of a stretch coming from you—”

  “I’m serious, Jacob. You’ve been given the opportunity to do something bigger with your life. Something greater than anyone else out there will ever be a part of. To resist it is just—”

  “It’s my life, Simon! When can I be selfish, if not when determining my own life?! Not having someone else determine it for me.”

  Simon shook his head in exasperation, pointing to Jacob’s arm. “But this IS your life.”

  “If you prize your ink above everything else, I don’t. If you let your tatù determine what the rest of your life is going to be, I don’t.” Jacob ran his hands back through his hair, looking suddenly tired. “So, no disrespect, Simon, but I think you can understand why joining your little clubhouse holds absolutely no interest for me.”

  The conversation came to a sudden close. There had been absolutely no ground gained on either side, although Simon had to admit that he had learned a hell of a lot about the boy who lived at the end of the hall. There was anger there. A wealth of anger that simply needed to be directed to the right place. He already resented the school’s attempts to choose a path for him. Wasn’t that exactly what Simon had been lamenting to Beth? Yes, that anger was the key. Now he just needed to find the right incentive to give Jacob that extra little push…

  “I want you to think about it,” Simon said firmly, using that same authoritarian voice he’d started developing back at the diner.

  “And I want you to get out of my room.”

  The words cut sharply in the air between them, and Jacob countered them with a sweet smile. Simon found himself chuckling under his breath as he pulled open the door and slipped back out into the hall. “Just…mull it over. We’re going to be at Jake’s Grill every Tuesday after class.”

  “Goodnight, Simon.”

  Simon backed away with a grin. There was a kind of strength and defiance in Jacob that he greatly admired. Even if they didn’t share the same set of values. Even if Jacob would sooner rip the all-seeing eye right off his skin than use it to further someone else’s agenda, there was still something about him that demanded respect. “You can stop kicking me out, you know. I’m already in the hall.”

  Jacob flipped up the lock on his door. “And you can stop stalking me.”

  Chapter 11

  The next weeks passed in a kind of blur.

  In a lot of ways, everything remained exactly the same. Classes grew increasingly work-heavy and tedious as they neared the end of the year. Adolescent nerves soared to new heights as guys scrambled to procure dates to the big spring dance whilst studying for exams. Jacob continued to resolutely ignore any of Simon’s attempts to coax him into his twisted little web. The fine people of Guilder had made absolutely no headway in locating the man who’d tried to take Simon’s life, and his training sessions with Jason remained predictably brutal.

  But in a lot of ways, things had never been more different.

  The H.O.C. was thriving. No, thriving was too mild a word for it. Flourishing might be a better way to describe what was going on at Jake’s Grill every Tuesday afternoon.

  To start, membership had swelled from their original eleven people to something closer to twenty. It was becoming a problem to keep the damn thing secret. Not that anyone was taking that precaution as seriously as Simon would like. Each of the boys had started speaking in an increasingly brazen code, not even bothering to lower their voices as they walked past the teachers each day into their morning classes. Just the other week, a nervous-looking boy Simon had never talked to before had come up to him in the hall.

  “Hey, are you…are you Simon Kerrigan?”

  Simon looked down with something close to a sneer. The kid was a first-year, hardly worth his time. “Yeah, so?”

  The boy’s eyes darted up and down the bustling hallway before he lowered his voice. “I was talking to a friend the other day, a guy named Jake.” This was part of the code. “He thought that maybe you and I could meet up some time. I heard you host a study group.”

  Simon looked him up and down before grabbing some books out of his locker. “I might, I might not. But either way, admittance is highly exclusive.” His gaze glittered coldly as he fastened it onto the trembling kid. “What do you have to offer?”

  The boy’s eyes widened anxiously, and he took a step back. “…here?”

  Simon’s lips twisted up in a smile.

  “Yes, here.”

  This pre-screening process was something he had wisely chosen to keep to himself, not involve some of the more benevolent members of the gang. But it was something he’d stuck to religiously for the last three weeks. Everyone had to prove themselves. And if the ink wasn’t sufficiently impressive, the guy could hit the road. There were standards to be met.

  Looking as if he might faint right there on the spot, the boy slowly lifted his hand and reached into Simon’s locker. And then…through his locker.

  Simon looked on in wonder as the metal backing melted clean away before his eyes. As did the paneling in the wall just behind. But then, just as all Simon’s things were beginning to fall through, the boy swished his fingers and the metal reappeared—as if it had never even left.

  He lifted his eyes nervously to Simon, who fought to maintain a carefully neutral face. After letting him sweat it out for a moment, he clapped him suddenly on the shoulder.

  “We meet on Tuesdays.”

  The boy’s face lit up, and he bit down on his lip to keep from grinning. “Cool…see you then.” He spun around on his heel, elated with his entry into the exclusive club, but just as he was about to walk away Simon cleared his throat sharply from behind.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  The boy’s shoulders flinched as he turned slowly back around. Perhaps he thought Simon had merely forgotten, or was in a hurry to get to class. But no such luck. Under his new leader’s watchful eyes, he lifted a visibly trembling arm.

  With another chilling smile, Simon pulled up his sleeve and wrapped his fingers greedily around his wrist. The burn hit them both immediately, eliciting a soft gasp from the kid and a look of deep satisfaction from Simon.

  Yes, admittance came at a high price. But most everyone involved had reluctantly decided it was a price worth paying.

  This was something else Simon had chosen to keep to himself. He didn’t like to imagine what Argyle or the original members would say if they knew. Even more importantly, he didn’t like to imagine what would happen if news was to get back to Tristan.

  It was a two-pronged hesitation. One that sprung from the fact that, over the last few weeks, the two boys had spent almost every second of their time together.

  After Simon had been caught sneaking back from Rockwood, Jason had been noticeably distant. He still trained him, of course. And as far as Simon knew, he was still investigating into who had attacked him. But it wasn’t the same. A trust had shattered between them. Simon had shattered it when he ignored Jason’s efforts to keep him safe by sneaking off of campus. Then Jason had left it broken each day that he failed to uncover the identity of the man behind the assassin.

  Thus, it came as no real surprise to anyone involved when Jason made Simon and Tristan sparring partners, putting their time together even more.

  Simon mourned the loss of his relationship with Jason, of course. It had meant more to him than he could have ever realized at the time, and th
e man was truly irreplaceable.

  But he couldn’t resent the addition of Tristan.

  Over the course of the last few weeks, and Simon still couldn’t believe that he was saying it, the two of them had become genuine friends. To a point that surpassed all odds. To a point where, in some ways, it was a friendship even closer than the one he had with Argyle.

  In battling each other every day on the training room floor, and by leaning on each other in times of flat-out danger, they’d pushed through the usual personal boundaries that stopped most friendships from growing past a certain point.

  There was no stone too small to have gone unturned. No story too trivial to have escaped their attention. From turbulent time spent trying to navigate a normal public school before Guilder, to childhood antics, to secret hopes and fears about the future. Favorite foods. Hated movies. Places their minds wandered when they were given a free second alone.

  At first it was an excess amount of time that got the two of them talking. But before long it was a genuine interest in hearing what the other one would say. Then, a genuine need for the support and camaraderie the other provided.

  Perhaps never before had two such different people found themselves such fast friends, but it was a bond that couldn’t be ignored. One that Simon had never expected, but found that he cherished deeply nonetheless.

  So in other words…no.

  Simon didn’t want to imagine the look on Tristan’s face if he were to tell him about the admission requirements he’d established to join the H.O.C. Short of what the guy would do, and Simon knew firsthand that the sky was the limit in terms of what Tristan was capable of, it would break his heart to see the look of disappointment that would follow. The look of betrayal.

  What the guy didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him.

  It was a rationalization that worked every time. For if there was one thing that had sprung up as hard and fast as the bond between them, it was the fact that Simon had grown as instinctively protective of Tristan as Tristan was of him. He would do nothing to hurt him. Not now, not ever.