The Twin Prophecies: Rebirth - Special Edition

by Nina Perez

  The California king-sized bed was gone and in its place was two surgical tables like you’d find in an operating room except they were tilted upwards. There was a man on one of the tables and a woman on the other, and they looked like they were sleeping, but Henry could tell it was deeper than that. They were deathly still, their hands crossed over their chests like they had been laid to rest.

  What in the bloody hell? Henry didn’t like the looks of this one bit. She had the wrong guy if she thought he’d abide this kind of nonsense on his property. At least, not for double the rent. Now, if she wanted to go higher…

  The dark-haired woman on the table suddenly opened her eyes, looking directly at Henry. He stopped the calculating in his head and this time the gasp escaped his lips and drew the attention of the lady on the sofa.

  Hours later, Henry drove his station wagon across the Newton Bridge as happy as a boll weevil in a cotton factory, as his Daddy used to say. He patted the thick brick of cash in his breast pocket and marveled over his good luck for the tenth time since leaving the beach house.

  What a sweet lady, Henry thought. It had been a long time since someone had cooked for him and that pie, goodness, what did she put in that pie? Henry couldn’t understand how anyone would want to harm a person as nice as … now, what was her name again? Oh, right, a person as nice as Mrs. Calae Berg. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what was going on. Her ex-husband was the worst kind: mean and abusive. No wonder she needed a quiet place to hide especially with her dealing with the cancer and all.

  Henry shook his head. Some people were just rotten. It almost didn’t seem fair that one person’s misfortune should turn into his opportunity, but Mrs. Berg had actually convinced him he was doing her a favor so he shouldn’t feel bad about accepting double the rent. Look at it as compensation for having to keep her secret, she’d said.

  Then she showed him around the house, assuring him that she’d keep it up well. He almost didn’t recognize the kitchen. It was so homey, filled with fruit baskets, baked goods, and sweet smells. And the master suite… what was it about the master suite? Henry tried to recall that part of the tour, but he was drawing a blank. He shook his head, clearing away the cobwebs. The long drive was getting to him. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She could fill the house with circus animals for all he cared. She was such a nice lady.

  As Henry entered Little City and pointed his car towards home, he counted his good fortune for the eleventh time, humming softly. Things were finally turning around for Henry Tubbs and all he had to do was keep a secret.

  Bonus Chapter

  Brooklyn, NY – 1985

  The eight-block stretch of Hopkinson Avenue that ran from Broadway to the Rockaway Avenue train station was lined with crowded brick apartment buildings, a laundromat, two liquor stores, one church and several corner bodegas. Mira Locke passed them all without acknowledgment, headed for the subway. A pair of headphones pressed snugly against her ears, filtering Tears for Fears’ Everybody Wants to Rule the World into her consciousness.

  If people only knew, she thought.

  The music was loud; too loud, but Mira wasn’t as on-guard here in her own neighborhood. It wasn’t yet dark and there were others like her nearby. She felt safe. Still, when Mira was just two blocks away from the station and someone grabbed her right hand from behind, she instinctively yanked it away. She shoved her right elbow into the person’s chest and they fell to the ground. As she turned, she reached into the leather messenger bag on her hip; her left hand finding the handle of the silver dagger her father had given her.

  Terrence Davis had landed on his ass. He looked up at Mira in confusion, his hands raised in the air in a “what gives?” gesture. His lips were moving. Mira relaxed her grip on the dagger and felt around inside the bag until she found the stop button on her Walkman. Removing the headphones she asked, “What?”

  “I said, what the hell is your problem?”

  Mira shrugged. “You scared me.” She reached down and took Terrence’s hand, helping him to his feet. They stood like that for a moment, holding hands. Mira had always loved the contrast in their complexions; hers a rich, milk chocolate and his much lighter – what her mother called “redbone.”

  She pulled her hand away and adjusted the flap on the bag so she wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on his face. Mira had loved him since they were thirteen, but now, six years later, they might as well have been strangers. “Where are you going?” Terrence asked cautiously.

  “To the city to see a movie.”

  “Word? Let me just run to the house real quick and I’ll come with…”

  “No.” It came out a lot sharper than Mira had intended. She tried to soften her tone. “You don’t want to see this movie.”

  “Which one?” Terrence placed his hands on his hips. Mira mentally kicked herself for not bothering to check the paper before leaving the house. She couldn’t think of one movie that was playing.

  “Uh huh.” Terrence said, suspiciously.

  “Really, it’s not like that. I’m going to make up my mind when I get there. I just want to be alone.”

  Terrence eyed her from head to toe. Mira guessed he’d decided she wasn’t dressed for a date because his body relaxed. “What in the world are you wearing?” he asked. Her leather combat boots, baggy jeans, flannel shirt and leather motorcycle jacket may not have made sense to him, but they made perfect sense to Mira. The boots were good for kicking, the baggy clothes hid weapons, and it was easier to wipe blood off leather than it was to wash it out of denim, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  “Clothes.” She snapped and turned to go. Terrence grabbed her hand again. “Whoa, okay. Sorry. Why you gotta be like that?”

  “Be like what? I said I wanted to be alone so just let me.”

  Terrance dropped her hand and took a step back. He sucked his teeth and said, “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Mira.”

  She turned and walked away thinking, You never did.

  The A-Train bound for Manhattan rumbled through the tunnels under Brooklyn. Mira sat in the last car, grateful she’d found two empty seats together so she could sit with her feet up, back to the wall and watch every door. She’d stuffed the headphones into her bag so there was nothing distracting her from thinking about how hurt Terrance had been. Hurt, but not surprised. She’d been pushing him away for the past four years.

  Terrence had been there the day – the moment – her life had changed. They’d been sitting at her kitchen table doing homework; the only form of “dating” her parents had allowed, and sneaking kisses and quick caresses whenever her mother left the room. Terrence was the first –and only – boy Mira had ever kissed and back then, when it was all still new and exciting, she’d think about those kisses every night before drifting off to sleep. His lips perfectly covered hers and tasted like peppermint.

  Her mother left the kitchen to answer the doorbell and Terrence took that opportunity to run his hand along Mira’s thigh under the table. She stared into his hazel eyes and felt herself float away; she rose out of her body, through the ceiling, and into space. Mira hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she heard Terrence ask, “What’s that smell?”

  Her eyes snapped open. Something was burning. Her mother entered the kitchen then, looking apprehensive. “What’s going on in here?” Terrence carefully removed his hand from Mira’s lap.

  “Nothing, Ma.” Mira answered, praying she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. Her mother pointed her nose in the air and sniffed. She tossed her long braids over one shoulder and asked, “Do you two smell that? It’s like something’s burning.”

  Mira did smell it. While her mother checked the stove, Mira lifted her right hand, which had been resting on a stack of textbooks on the chair next to her. There was a dark handprint burned into the cover, smoke rising from the shape. She quickly glanced at Terrence, but he wasn’t paying her any attention. Mira slid the textbook to the bottom of the pile and looked at her palm. It was co
mpletely normal.

  Later that night, Mira was in her room getting ready for bed. Her mother came to the doorway, her hands behind her back. “Is there something you want to tell me, Mira?” she asked. Tanya Locke didn’t look or sound mad, but that didn’t mean anything. Mira had been lured into the “if you tell me the truth, you won’t get in trouble” trap before. She wasn’t falling for it this time. If Tanya knew about all the kissing and heavy petting, neither she nor Terrence would have to worry about homework ever again; her father would kill them both.

  “No. Why?”

  “What happened to this?” Tanya pulled the burned textbook from behind her back. Mira’s scorched handprint distorted the cover so that it read AMICAN HITRY. Mira couldn’t lie, so she told the truth.

  “I don’t know.”

  At the High Street station an elderly woman boarded the train and eyed Mira’s boots on the empty seat. Mira sighed and dropped her feet to the floor. The woman pulled a piece of newspaper from her canvas tote and spread it on the seat before sitting. Mira turned her attention to the other people that had entered the train car: a small group of teenagers, two couples, and a guy about her age. They all looked normal, but Mira knew that really didn’t mean anything.

  She was sure she seemed like a regular girl, and no one would guess what she could do. Four years ago, her mother had calmly explained that she was different, they were different. She wanted to know if anything like what had happened with the book had happened to Mira before then.

  “I don’t even know what it was! What are you talking about?” she’d asked, panicked because she’d seen that look on her mother’s face before, and she didn’t like it. It was the look she got before ripping off the Band-Aid, like she was preparing herself for the pain Mira was about to endure. But this time, she pulled back a veil and revealed the lies behind everything Mira had ever known to be real.

  She was a witch, and so was her mother, and there were more people like them in the world – a lot more. There were other things out there, too. Of course, Mira didn’t believe her. She didn’t know what happened to the book, but there had to be an explanation; one more sane than witchcraft. Then her mother held out her hand and there was Mira’s proof: a small ball of fire floating inches above her mother’s palm.

  Mira had stared in amazement, the shadows of the flames dancing across her face. “How did you do that?’ she asked breathlessly. “It’s kind of my thing,” her mother responded. She couldn’t tell Mira what her thing would be since it varied. It wasn’t guaranteed that Mira would be born with powers and they didn’t emerge in people like them until they were about fifteen.

  “Does Daddy know?” Her mother nodded, making a fist and extinguishing the flames. And then she told Mira the rest.

  The train pulled into the West 4th Street station – Mira’s stop – and she walked to the nearest set of doors. The old woman eyed Mira’s clothes and sniffed in disapproval. As the automatic doors hissed open, Mira stepped through them onto the platform.

  If she knew what I’m about to do for her – for everyone – she’d thank me.

  Of course, everything was more complicated than Mira’s mother had explained when she was fifteen. She’d told her what she thought Mira was capable of processing at the time. Since then, she’d learned a lot more. There were other families like theirs in the neighborhood, but unfortunately, Terrence’s wasn’t one of them. This meant she could never tell him the truth about what she was or what she did – it was too dangerous.

  Mira also discovered there were secret facilities all over the country for people like them. Most importantly, she was given the opportunity to study at one such facility in North Carolina. Two years of training at the Gendarme Academy and she’d be able to use her power to protect people, like her father did. She’d also be a Hunter.

  Two blocks from the train station Mira stood in the entrance of an alley behind a Chinese restaurant, watching an apartment building across the street. The sun was setting so she knew she wouldn’t be waiting long. She removed a rubber band from her wrist and used it to tie her hair into a high ponytail. She wanted to cut her hair short, but her father didn’t like the idea. He said a woman’s hair was her crowning glory. Mira thought it got in the way.

  She’d only had one year of training, but all of her instructors agreed she was far more advanced than any of the other students her age. Mira was glad that although the facility was called Gendarme, they no longer referred to the trainees by that name, and hadn’t for centuries. Hunter was a much better fit; it’s what she was doing now – what she did best. Her parents weren’t trying to hear that, though. She was still a year away from being cleared for field work, and if they knew where she was and what she was about to do, they’d have her head. Her mother would especially lose her mind since Mira had gathered information from files Tanya brought home – documents she was privy to only because of the position she held.

  A few minutes after sundown she watched a tall, dark-haired man leave the building she’d been watching. Right on time, she thought. Mira counted to fifty and then crossed the street. She entered the alley next to the apartment building and quickly climbed the fire escape attached to it. She climbed three stories without any of the inhabitants giving her so much as a second glance. He’d chosen the perfect place to live: a run-down building in a neighborhood where people didn’t care what you did as long as it didn’t bother them.

  When she reached the third-story window, Mira used the dagger in her bag to pop the latch from the outside. The window slid open easily although the paint chips and dust that fell on her head as she climbed through suggested it hadn’t been opened in awhile. She closed the window, slid the dagger into her bag, and scanned the room for a suitable place to hide.

  It was a tiny bedroom with a twin bed, nightstand, and bureau with a missing drawer. The door was open and a lamp left on in the living room provided a thin sliver of light to cut through the room. So far, it was turning out a lot easier than Mira had planned.

  “You’d think a vampire would have better security,” she said to the empty room.

  The bedroom door began to close slowly, revealing that the dark-haired man had been standing behind it the whole time.

  “And you’d think a witch would have better sense.”

  Mira’s first instinct was to raise her hand and blast him, but the room was small and vampires were fast. If she missed, she could burn the whole building down. She’d always known it would be an up-close-and-personal fight, but she thought she’d have the element of surprise on her side. For a few precious seconds she thought that she’d made a mistake and that her life would end here, in a dingy bedroom. A montage of random memories flashed through her mind: the ridiculous dress she wore to her junior prom, learning to ride a bike in Highland Park, and peppermint kisses. She shook her head – she would not die like this.

  The brief hesitation cost Mira and within seconds the vampire was in front of her, grabbing her jacket and throwing her across the room. Her back hit the wall and before she could slide to the floor, he was on her again. This time, when he lifted her by the jacket, he held Mira against the wall and pressed his body to hers. He rubbed his cheek along the side of her face. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He lowered his mouth to her neck and inhaled deeply.

  “Did you think I didn’t know you were following me, witch? I’ve been doing this a long time,” he whispered.

  Just shy of two hundred years; he was a young one. Mira knew this from the reports – young, but apparently not stupid. He hadn’t yet bared his fangs, but this meant nothing. They could instantly appear and puncture a vein. It would be all over. He liked to play with his victims; Mira had read this, too. While he licked her neck and kept her pinned to the wall with his weight, Mira squirmed and tried to reach a weapon.

  The vampire wasn’t fooled. He yanked her bag, popped the strap and tossed it over his shoulder. “Bag of tricks?” he asked. His fangs descended; sharp like two ivory daggers, a
nd in the dim light from the hall Mira could see that his eyes changed from green to red. Mira reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved a small water bottle. She popped the cap with her thumb, pointed it in the vampire’s face and squeezed.

  A stream of water caught him right between the eyes. As soon as it came into contact with his skin it sizzled and his face began to blister; large red boils bubbling to the surface. He stumbled backwards, clutching his face and howling like an animal.

  Thank you, Father Timothy, she thought.

  “Pocket of tricks,” Mira said and dived across the room for her bag. She landed on her stomach, and even with her arm outstretched her fingers were a few inches shy of the strap. Searing pain spread across her scalp as she felt her ponytail being pulled.

  This hair is so getting cut.

  He turned her over, onto her back. The vampire’s face was already starting to heal. “I’m done playing with you, witch.” He lowered his mouth towards Mira’s neck. She reached up, placed both palms flat against his chest, and released a charge.

  Electricity was Mira’s thing.

  It wouldn’t kill a vampire, but it would hurt like hell and hopefully distract him long enough for her to reach a proper weapon.

  He jerked for a few moments as the charges ran through his body, but Mira didn’t remove her hands. She wanted to make sure he was nice and juiced. When he stopped shaking she kept one hand pressed against his chest, pushing him back with all of her might, and reached over her head with the other, straining to grab the strap.

  Just as she was able to pull the bag closer to her head, she realized the vampire wasn’t making a move to attack her. He was looking down at his chest, his hand over Mira’s. It took her only a second, but then she got it: his heart was beating. She could feel it under her hand; steady as a galloping horse. They made eye contact. His fangs had retracted, his eyes were normal, and he looked at her in awe.