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

by W. J. May

  Tristan approached him just as cautiously from the other side. “Jacob…what happened?”

  Lightning flashed behind them in the sky, and a growl of thunder answered. But Jacob just stood there. Unable to talk. Unable to move. Simon wasn’t entirely sure he could even hear them.

  “Come on,” he muttered to Tristan, “let’s get him inside.”

  But as they moved to take him gently by the arms, Jacob pulled away with sudden speed. His head jerked once to the side before his eyes flashed up—as if he had just seen them for the first time. Streams of rainwater poured down his face, mixing with the tears, but he seemed unashamed.

  “It’s my brother.”

  Simon and Tristan shared a quick look before turning back to him.

  “What about your brother?” Simon urged gently. “What happened?”

  Jacob looked up at him before his clairvoyant eyes went suddenly blank.

  “He killed himself.”

  Chapter 12

  The meeting was immediately cancelled.

  The rest of the boys were sent back to Guilder. The only ones who remained were Tristan and Simon, who refused to leave Jacob or take him back to school. Simon wasn’t even sure if Jacob was really aware of what was going on around him. If he even noticed the group of guys leaving in cars or, in fact that it was even raining.

  They stood in the parking lot. Jacob showed absolutely no inclination of wanting to go into the diner. The temperature outside was dropping fast, and he was drenched to the bone, his dark hair trailing down the sides of his neck and his chin dripping a steady stream of water. Simon was getting there quick, Triston as well and, although Jacob was oblivious to the fact that his hands had whitened and begun to shake, Simon was hyper-aware.

  “Jacob?” Tristan ventured quietly. “Do you want to maybe sit down in the diner? We can get you a hot drink and…” he trailed off, completely at a loss as to how to begin to handle this.

  Simon tried instead. “Jake, come on. Let’s get you inside.” He didn’t know where the nickname had come from. It was just impossible not to feel absolutely devastated for the guy. One look at his face would do it, and they’d been staring at it for the last ten minutes straight. Simon hadn’t grown up with any brothers or sisters, and his grasp on familial relations was rather thin. But he tried to imagine how he’d feel if someone like Argyle killed himself. If someone like Tristan, or—heaven forbid—even someone like Beth. He would be beyond consolation.

  So it was with Jacob.

  Although the sudden nickname had roused him from his trance-like state, drawing his eyes up to Simon’s.

  “Ethan used to call me that,” he murmured. His voice was quiet compared to the raging storm, but both Tristan and Simon heard it loud and clear. “He was the only one…”

  A sudden shudder rocketed through his body, and his eyes flickered around the parking lot like he was seeing it for the first time. He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and bought his hands up to his arms with a shiver, as if he had also only then realized it was cold. “Sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  A look of heartbreaking compassion crashed over Tristan’s face, and without a second’s hesitation he took off his own coat and draped it over Jacob’s shoulders. “That’s okay, man. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warmer. You want to go inside?”

  Jacob’s eyes flickered up to the happy, boisterous diner. He shook his head.

  Tristan nodded sympathetically. “What about your car? Which one is it?” He made a cursory glance over the parking lot, but Jacob didn’t move.

  “I walked.”

  Simon and Tristan locked eyes, and for a moment neither one of them knew what to say.

  “You…walked?” Simon eventually repeated. “All the way from Guilder?”

  Jacob said nothing. He just shivered again, seemingly oblivious to the rain.

  Tristan’s hand drifted automatically to his mouth, but he made a conscious effort to pull it together and dropped it back down. The next moment, he slipped his arm around Jacob and guided him gently in the opposite direction. “That’s okay,” he said kindly. “We can use mine.”

  * * *

  None of them knew what to say when they got into the car. Simon least of all. They just sat there, listening to the roaring heater, silently watching as Jacob dripped a pool of muddy rainwater onto Tristan’s newly upholstered seats.

  Anyone who knew Simon would agree that he couldn’t be counted on to display the appropriate human emotions in times such as these, much less offer words of support. But Tristan, the man of perfect words, was having no better luck. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, and several times he closed it again. The tragedy was simply too great. Too overwhelming to begin to approach.

  Finally, when Simon discreetly elbowed him in the ribs for the fifth time, he tried again.

  “I’m assuming you just found out?” he asked quietly.

  Jacob glanced up in surprise, before his eyes dulled and he dropped them back down to the floor. “My mom called me in hysterics. She couldn’t understand what had happened. I guess he waited until she and my dad went into town, then he…he hung himself.”

  A hard knot rose up in Simon’s throat and he struggled to swallow it back down. He remembered the first and only time he’d met Ethan. On Jacob’s first day of school. Ethan was being evicted for not being the one given a supernatural power, and he wasn’t taking it well. As Simon recalled he was crying into Jacob’s shoulder, a pair of suitcases by his feet.

  “Jacob…” Tristan murmured. He looked just as overcome as Simon, and his eyes brightened with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezed one of his shoulders, while Simon reached out to squeeze the other.

  “I’m sorry, too, Jacob,” he echoed, surprised by how faint his voice sounded. “Really, I don’t…I don’t even know what to say.”

  Jacob didn’t register a word. He simply stared straight ahead, his eyes burning a hole in the dashboard.

  For a very long time, they were quiet. Each one lost in thought, listening to the sounds of the raging storm. It sort of seemed appropriate… that they not talk. It seemed wrong to offer words of advice, of fake sayings, or anything. Sometimes, Simon thought, if you’re the one supposed to offer support, it was best to just keep quiet. Simon was probably one of the only people on campus who Jacob even spoke to. He—

  Then suddenly, Jacob spoke, his voice slicing sharp through the air. “She couldn’t understand what had happened,” he said again. The words were strong but he said them slowly, weighing each one carefully before letting it go. “But I do.”

  Simon and Tristan exchanged another quick glance before Tristan asked tentatively, “What do you mean? What do you understand?”

  Jacob’s eyes hardened with an unspeakable rage, the likes of which Simon had never seen. “They did this to him.”

  Tristan’s face clouded in confusion. “…They?”

  But Simon understood. Tristan hadn’t been there in the hall that day. He hadn’t seen what leaving Guilder had done to Ethan, but Simon had. And he’d never forget it as long as he lived.

  “Those people.” Jacob spat out the word ‘people’ like it burned his mouth to say it. “Those people at that fucking school.”

  It was as if the storm itself had the sense to keep quiet. Jacob’s words rang out in the little car, steaming up the windows while chilling the air between them.

  “They did this to him. They threw him out like he was nothing. So he believed he was.”

  Maybe years later, Simon would be able to look back on that moment as one that changed everything. The moment not where he set aside his political agenda to comfort a friend in the wake of an unspeakable tragedy, but the moment where he decided that the death of one brother was worth it…if it meant it got him the other. “You’re right,” he murmured softly.

  Both Jacob and Tristan looked up at the same time. One in fierce camaraderie. The other with fierce disapprov
al.

  Tristan spoke first. “No, you’re not,” he spoke gently to Jacob, but his eyes flashed furious daggers at Simon all the while. “Jacob, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. What happened is too terrible for words. But Ethan did this to himself—”

  “My brother didn’t kill himself,” Jacob fired back fiercely. “They took his life when they told him it wasn’t worth anything. They killed him—he just didn’t realize it yet.”

  Tristan dropped his eyes to the seat, unable to refute someone in such a delicate state, but Simon was waiting with bated breath. Something was coming. Something he’d long waited for.

  “I want to be in your club.”

  There it is.

  Simon kept a straight face, but his eyes gleamed out in the darkness. Tristan, however, was caught completely by surprise. His eyes flickered up to the diner before returning to Jacob.

  “You mean—”

  “You hate them, right?” Jacob demanded, suddenly business-like. “You hate them and you want to force a change?”

  Tristan slowed things down cautiously. “We…We want to make a change—”

  “Yes,” Simon interrupted. Jacob’s eyes met his in the dark, and he said it again. “Yes.” He was well aware of the fact that Tristan was staring at him in total disbelief. He saw it in his periphery. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jacob. Finally, his fledgling little society would get the one thing it needed to change the future. Someone who could actually see it.

  “Fine.”

  Without another word, Jacob rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. Tristan looked on in wonder, but Simon leaned back with a shiver of dread. He hadn’t put two and two together…

  Jacob regarded them both without a hint of emotion.

  “This is what it takes, right? To get in? I have to let you copy my ink?”

  “What—no!” Tristan shook his head, looking appalled. “Simon, tell him!”

  A chilling silence filled the car.

  Finally, after a few seconds of waiting, Tristan turned to look at his best friend. His lips parted uncertainly, and a very strange emotion flitted across his face. “…Simon?”

  A sharp knock on the window made all three of them jump.

  Moving robotically, Tristan rolled down the window to see Joe, the heavyset diner owner standing beside the car.

  “Didn’t know what your plan was, boys, but we’re closing early. ’Cause of the storm.”

  Tristan nodded and rolled up the window as the man hurried back inside. Then, without a word he turned on the engine and started backing out of the darkened lot. “Come on,” he muttered to Jacob, “let’s get you back.”

  Simon tried many times to catch his eye on the hour-long drive back to London, but Tristan didn’t look at him a single time. Not once.

  It had taken the death of a brother, and the cost of a friend maybe, but Simon repeated what he knew. The H.O.C. would get the one person it needed to change the future. The one who could actually see it.

  This was the beginning of something massive.

  * * *

  “Thanks for the ride back,” Jacob murmured as they climbed out of the car an hour later. It still wasn’t quite curfew, but the entire campus was darkened with the same storm clouds that had been chasing them all the way from the city. “So, you guys meet every Tuesday?”

  “Yeah,” Tristan answered quietly. But for the first time, he sounded less than enthused. “I’m sorry again, Jacob.” He clapped him gently on the shoulder, offering a faint smile. “Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything.”

  Jacob’s eyes tightened, and he dropped them quickly to the wet grass. “Thanks. And thanks to you, too, Simon. Thanks for listening.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed off to the dorms. But not before he accidentally brushed up against Simon’s bare wrist.

  The burn was instantaneous, coursing through Simon’s arm with a power the likes of which he had never seen. He felt the new tatù humming away under his skin, and it took everything he had not to gasp in surprise.

  Jacob hadn’t meant to do it. Simon was sure of it. At this point, he doubted if the kid even registered it had happened. More importantly, Tristan hadn’t seen it. The last thing Simon wanted to do was explain why he’d ended up taking the psychic’s ink after all.

  By the looks of things, he was in enough trouble as it was.

  Even in the darkness, there was an explosive anger radiating off of Tristan that was impossible to ignore. Every muscle in his body was tensed to spring, and if Simon didn’t already know his tatù very well, he would have sworn that his blue eyes were lit with actual fire.

  Best strategy: Pre-empt. Attack. Deny.

  “Look,” he raised up his hands defensively before Tristan had a chance to speak, “you can’t be mad at me for this.”

  Tristan froze dead still, raising a dangerous eyebrow. “I can’t be mad at you?”

  A chill ran down Simon’s neck and he took a step back. That’s right. Those sorts of tricks didn’t work on Tristan.

  “Let’s see, Simon.” The words ripped through the air. “Let’s see if I can.”

  Simon tried to calm things down. “Just listen—”

  “You USED them!” Tristan cried. He was breathing so quickly Simon was surprised he didn’t float off the ground. “And you used me to get to them.” The sudden realization seemed to take all the strength out of him. His shoulders fell and his eyes tightened with a look so hurt that Simon found himself reaching blindly towards him.

  “Tris—”

  “Don’t,” he backed suddenly away, “don’t touch me.”

  Simon dropped his hand like he’d been burned. Tristan hadn’t looked at him like that since they’d gotten back from winter break. Before they knew each other, when their fights were real. Just four words of rejection, but it cut him straight to the core.

  “Tristan…”

  But Tristan was gone.

  Vanished into the dark night without a word of goodbye.

  Simon stood there for a long time after he’d gone, staring at the spot between the trees where he’d disappeared. The rains they’d been racing all the way back from the city caught up, and the clouds opened, dumping what felt like all the water in England atop his head.

  I can fix this. This can’t be broken beyond repair.

  His eyes tightened as he ventured into the darkness.

  I can fix this…

  It wasn’t until Simon heard the bell for curfew that he began slowly trudging his way back to Joist Hall. As he climbed the flights of stairs, he found himself wondering absentmindedly if both of his companions had made it in that night. Although the act of redirecting his rage had focused Jacob to a certain degree, Simon couldn’t be sure that he had enough of a handle on things to have gotten himself back inside. They should have walked him to his door. And as for Tristan…

  Simon had stared across the grounds until the bell, shivering in the ever-increasing storm. If Tristan had circled back around to the dorms, Simon hadn’t seen him do it. Then again, there was a good chance that Tristan didn’t want to go anywhere near him.

  He pushed the dark thought from his mind with fierce determination. There was no use fretting about it because he, Simon, would find a way to make it right. He knew Tristan better than probably anyone on campus. He would think of a way to smooth things over.

  In the meantime, he still had his interview with the recruiter to worry about. An unfortunate side-effect of absorbing Jacob’s tatù and being on the outs with Tristan was that he was indeed trapped with a set of passive ink right before his big day. Unless Jason graciously decided to loan him his falcon, he would be totally screwed.

  But he’s my Botcher. Jason’ll do it, right? He was the one who set up the interview to begin with. He can’t be so mad at me that he wants me to fail. Even if I did go back out tonight. Even if there was a chance he knew where I was going.

  A hard lump rose up once more in Simon’s throat
and he struggled to swallow it down.

  I’ll fix it with Jason, too. Just like with Tristan. Nothing can be broken beyond repair. I’ll just figure out what I need to do to…

  He trailed off as he came to a sudden halt in front of his door. There wasn’t a person or a sound coming from the rest of the hall. At a glance, everything appeared to be normal.

  Except for one little detail.

  A piece of tatùed flesh nailed to the center of his door.

  …What the hell?!

  Simon’s mouth fell open as he watched the little drips of blood make a tiny pool on the floor. As stunned as he was to see an actual piece of skin, it was what was on the skin that was even more shocking. His heart raced in his chest and his breathing hitched. He knew that design. He’d recognize that ink anywhere.

  Bullseye.

  Chapter 13

  For one of the first times in his life, Simon Kerrigan didn’t know what to do.

  Blame it on emotional whiplash, blame it on the storm. But standing there in the hall, staring at the piece of bloody dripping flesh nailed to his door, he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do.

  A dozen random thoughts started floating through his head, each more inconsequential as the next. Not the least of which was:

  How the hell am I supposed to take that thing down from there? Do I get some gloves, or…? What’s the proper procedure anyway? Am I supposed to bury it? That’d be a pretty small box. Am I going to get some kind of reprimand from the janitorial staff for having a huge hole pounded through my door?

  It was only then that he noticed it. The tiny piece of paper stuck to the door just below the bullseye, scribbled in a familiar hand:

  I always keep my promises.

  “Jason,” Simon whispered the word aloud with a tiny gasp.

  Despite the gruesome horror of it all, he took a step closer—staring at the tattered flesh in an entirely new light. Wasn’t Bullseye already dead? Could there be two with the same ink? A million thoughts popped into his head, but one thing he didn’t have to question.