The Nightwalkers Saga: Books 1 - 7

by Candace Wondrak

  Hall after hall, station after station—there was no one. It was like I was alone in the hospital, which was ridiculous. Hospitals were always full of sick and dying people, and the workers trying to save them—wait a second. Did that mean that I was sick and dying? I couldn’t remember who I was, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like that too much.

  Eventually, somehow, I made it to a large, open space that had to have been a cafeteria. Gift shops decorated its one side, bears and balloons on full display, and its other side held dozens of round, circular tables in front of a wall of windows. So much light from the outside world, it was blinding. At least four chairs were tucked into each table, and there was not a single thing out of place.

  Everything was shiny and new. Everything was clean. I knew this was a hospital, but come on. No place on earth looked like this, even a hospital.

  I had to get out. It was the only way. Maybe once I got out into the real world, I’d be able to find someone who could tell me just what was going on here. I could honestly say that I was not a fan of being kept in the dark.

  Fists clenching, I stormed to the emergency exit in the cafeteria. Heaving a breath, I exited the hospital…

  …and wound right back in the first hallway, like I’d stepped out of my room instead of out of the cafeteria.

  “What the…” I whispered under my breath, not so much a question as it was an exclamation. So I was alone, in a hospital? A hospital that had no exits? A labyrinth hospital? Seemed kind of far-fetched. Something had to be going on here, something I had no clue about.

  A carnival was in town, and the staff took all the patients.

  The next World War happened, and everyone was in their secret underground bunkers.

  Or, maybe…just maybe, this was a dream. Maybe this wasn’t real at all. I could be stuck inside of my own head, like in those movies. What movies, you asked? I didn’t know, but it seemed like a good thing to compare this to.

  I found a unisex bathroom and barged in without a worry that I’d catch someone squatting or aiming. I was completely alone here, so at least I was safe from that. I headed straight for the faucet and turned on the water, leaning over the porcelain as I watched. Believe it or not, no water came out.

  Mouth agape, I glanced up to the mirror, nearly jumping out of my skin when I saw my reflection. Black eyes—and not just the irises. The entire eye, both of them, all black and smoky. My skin: chock full of thin tattoos, even my face and neck. Through my reflection’s open mouth, I saw sharpened teeth. Dark hair.

  I glanced down to my arms, found that they were still free of markings and tattoos. No sharp claws there, either. It was so odd, though, because every move I made, the mirror-me mimicked it perfectly.

  “Nope. Can’t do it,” I said simply, throwing my hands up and walking away, my devilish image doing the same. I pushed out of the bathroom and sat in one of the chairs in the hall, hanging my head down.

  What was going on?

  “Good. You’re finally here,” a voice oozed into the quiet space, shattering the silence.

  I looked up, finding a man leaning against the opposite wall, his black cloak a startling contrast to the white walls and flowery picture near him. My reflection from the bathroom—minus the eerie black eyes and sharp teeth. He did have the tattoos, though.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he added grumpily, sending a frown my way.

  “Uh,” I muttered, straightening in the chair. “Who are you?”

  The man who looked like me rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. I see you’re a bright one. Not sure what that says about me.” His head gestured to the empty cafeteria. “Let’s start this thing and get it over with. I’m sure you’re just as tired of being here as I am.” And with that, the other me—the very rude and insulting one—walked away, leaving me wide-eyed and confused.

  The other me was arrogant, wasn’t he?

  Chapter Fourteen – Kass

  This was such a bad idea.

  Really, it was probably the worst I ever had.

  Who knew what other crap this idea would bring with it?

  Training with Crixis. I needed a slap in the head. The Daywalker was conniving, evil, cruel and ruthless—not to mention the fact that he could invite himself into my dreams whenever he wanted. Kissing Crixis again was not on my bucket list—but beating the living daylights out of him was.

  Needless to say, I didn’t go home after leaving the hospital, after pleading with an unconscious Gabriel to wake his butt up. Sure, the house might sit right across the street, but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t even Crixis’s home. It belonged to a guy named Maurice.

  I hit the doorbell, shifting my weight from one foot to another.

  It wasn’t Crixis’s cruel face that answered; an old man, bone-thin and covered in grey hair and wrinkles, swung the door open with a smile of teeth that couldn’t be natural. He wore a mismatch of colors on his short-sleeved, Hawaiian shirt, and I realized where Crixis got his clothes lately.

  Maurice’s fashion sense wasn’t so good.

  Recognition dawned on Maurice’s face, and he motioned for me to head inside, saying, “Eve. Come in, come in. How was your flight? David tells me you’re really busy with your new job—what did he call it?”

  I followed Maurice inside, immediately surveying my surroundings. Everything in this house felt older than mine. Original woodwork, untouched by paint, decorated the arches from the entry area to the kitchen and living room. The staircase was a winding, curled structure, elegant in a way most houses couldn’t say that they had nowadays. It was a nice house, though a little dusty.

  Maurice carried on, “David’s upstairs.” Before I managed to reach the staircase, I felt a callous hand grip my wrist. As I turned to look back at him, he said, “The boy loves you, even if he doesn’t show it.” There was a pause, and a shadow passed over his gaze, like he remembered something sad from his past. “He takes after his father, for that.” And then the old man gave me a wink as he released my wrist. “Go easy on him.” He wandered to the living room, whistling.

  If I wasn’t already depressed with the Gabriel-coma thing, that encounter would’ve pushed me over the edge. Why did Crixis choose this house? Why not let him be? Why not choose another house in the neighborhood? Just to be cruel, I guessed.

  I stomped up the stairs, tossing glances in each room I passed. Most had their furniture covered in white clothes, as if they weren’t even used. What would an old man need with a house this big?

  I heard the shower going, and as I waited, I wandered into the closest bedroom. I couldn’t tell if this was Maurice’s room or the one Crixis took over. The pictures hanging on the wall held the faces of Maurice, and a couple I chose to assume was David and Eve. David was a regular-looking, middle-aged man—nothing remarkable about him at all. Same with Eve. A blonde, happy, middle-aged woman who’d raised kids and worked every day in her life.

  Jealousy swept over me. I’d never get that old. I’d never have kids, not that I wanted them.

  “I trust Maurice was good to you? Let me guess: he thought you were Evelyn.” A snickering voice came from behind me, and I spun to glare at him. Crixis stood, leaning on the doorframe, toweling his wet hair and wearing nothing but jeans. Jeans whose buttons were undone. The tanned, muscular body of a warrior, a fighter, called my attention.

  Gabriel’s body, nowhere near as tan, looked kind of like that.

  I averted my eyes from his impressive abdomen, glaring at him. “What you are doing to Maurice is cruel.”

  Tossing the towel on the bed, he cocked his head. “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, in case you’ve forgotten, I am a cruel person.” Crixis went to get a shirt from the dresser. This time it was a camouflage, green and brown t-shirt. “So very cruel. A mass-murdering sadist.” His bright green eyes turned to me as he slipped the shirt on. “Tell me, Kass, are you here to train with a mass-murdering sadist? You might not like my methods.” He took a step towards me, eyeing me
up like I was meat.

  I crossed my arms, not liking where his eyes were. “You should choose another house, if you’re really going to stick around here.”

  Crixis let out a harsh sigh. “That again?” He seemed irritated. With a flash, the bedroom door was closed. There might’ve been a point in my life where I would’ve been anxious to be in a room with him. Now, I was past that point. Being alone with Crixis didn’t faze me. I already died, and he had many chances before and after to kill me. Worrying about dying seemed so overrated.

  He moved in front of me. “What if I told you that David died five years ago? What if I told you that a few months ago, his insurance no longer would pay for an aide? What if I told you that I’ve been paying his bills and straightening out his finances so that he can stay in his house of thirty years until he dies?”

  I wasn’t having it. He’d done too much to me to merit acceptance. “I’d tell you that I couldn’t hear you because there was too much bullshit in the room.”

  He smirked. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “You suppose right.”

  “Well, then shall we cut the—” He used my word. “—bullshit and begin?” Crixis sized me up. “You look like you’ve gained some weight in your lethargy after the battle with Serphira.”

  My fists clenched. It hadn’t been that long since then—and I certainly hadn’t gained weight.

  He chuckled. “Come. We’ll train in the attic.”

  I held back as he led me through the hall and to a second set of stairs hidden behind an oddly-placed door. We emerged into a dusty attic, and he flashed to the dangling string, pulling it, shedding a bit of light on us.

  “I don’t know how Raphael trained you, or your training beforehand, but let me say this: all those times you and your boyfriend beat my plots—that was pure luck. I assure you, not once in my life, other than when dealing with you, have my plots never not gone to plan.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  Crixis smiled. “Of course I am. One does not live as long as I am without coming full circle. What’s the saying? You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.” His smile vanished as he said, “With eternal life, I was always destined to become a monster.”

  No. I didn’t believe that. He could’ve helped people throughout his long life. He could’ve traveled the globe, aiding anyone who needed it. He could have been good. He could have not killed Koath and all the other (probably) thousands he’d laid waste to over the centuries. If he had been good, I never would’ve went to the other world and witnessed the other me, the other Gabriel. I’d have a family. My life would’ve been better if he weren’t such a monster.

  I didn’t argue with him, even though I wanted to. I wanted to argue with him all day, remind him that just because he was ageless did not mean he had to become so merciless. I kept quiet, watching as he pointed to a wooden beam that traveled from one side of the attic to the other.

  “I want you to hold onto that beam with your chin above it.”

  I stared at Crixis. “Why?”

  “Were you this mouthy to Raphael when he told you to do something?”

  “First, this isn’t me being mouthy. I can think up a dozen things more mouthy, but I chose not to say them. Second, Raphael never made me do stupid stuff.” I crossed my arms. Holding onto a beam, doing a permanent pull-up, was stupid. What was the point?

  Crixis leveled his stare with me. “You are stronger than the typical human your age, and probably stronger than most adults, too. You’ve been trained ever since you were a child about the various species of Demons and their weaknesses. You’ve learned how to wield weapons for years. Hand-to-hand combat was the first you learned—am I correct in assuming these things?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But you are trained for short fights.” Crixis moved closer, his voice lowering, “Have you ever been in a war, Kass? Have you ever taken a village? No, I don’t suppose you have. Such things take time. They are not an in-and-out sort of thing.”

  “I don’t plan on slaughtering a bunch of innocents any time soon,” I hissed. “That’s your department.”

  He sighed. “All right. Then remember that crypt a few years ago? The first time you saw my handsome face?”

  I rolled my eyes. Someone’s ego was as large as his murder count. But of course I remembered. It was a day I’d never forget—and the beating that put me in a coma. A broken rib, skin so bruised I was mostly purple. That wasn’t too fun. I didn’t like reliving that day.

  “You came up from a nest of—what do you call them? Nightwalkers. You were tired. You carried your boyfriend on your shoulders because he was too weak to walk on his own.”

  “Gabriel is not my boyfriend,” I said pointedly, sick and tired of it. I might have weird feelings for him, but that did not make him my boyfriend.

  “Semantics.”

  “It is not semantics!”

  “Pure semantics.” Crixis wasn’t having any of my argument, for he rose his voice over mine, “Anyway, before your uncouth interruption, I was bringing up perhaps the longest fight you’ve ever had. By the time the Nightwalkers were taken care of, and you started to hobble out, you were tired. So was your boyfriend.”

  I practically foamed at the mouth as I dug my fingernails into my arms to keep from lunging at him.

  “It made you an easy target. I admit, I did have a bit of fun. The face you make when you’re in pain makes me feel all powerful inside.” He grinned. “You did your best, sure, but if it hadn’t been me, if it had been something else up there, I doubt you would’ve defeated it, either. You would’ve died right there, though you might not have stayed dead. After a fight is when you are at your weakest.”

  I could, despite my hatred for the monster, see his point. “What does this have to do with hanging onto a beam?”

  In the yellow attic light, his teeth were shadowed as he smiled yet again. “You’ll find that out soon enough, I think.” Crixis pointed to the same beam. “The sooner we start, the sooner your training can begin.”

  Cracking my knuckles, I positioned myself beneath the beam and leapt for it. The attic was a full-sized attic; it would’ve made for a good extra room, if it was finished. The beam sat eight feet off the attic floor. My fingers gripped the top of the wood, and as I tightened my muscles and started lifting my chin above it, I saw Crixis shake his head.

  “No. Your arms on the outside.”

  Grumbling, I repositioned my arms so that they were not on the same side of the beam as my body, my wrists facing me. I lifted my chin atop the beam.

  “I want at least an inch between your chin and the wood.” Crixis watched until I was in the perfect position. Once he was satisfied, he flashed away, returning with a magazine. He plopped himself near me and started flipping through it.

  I waited a minute, glaring at him, before I muttered, “How long do I have to do this?”

  He didn’t even look at me. He was glued to the magazine with a photoshopped model on the front. “Until I say so.”

  And so I hung there.

  And then I hung there some more.

  And then even more.

  It was after ten minutes that I realized I probably should’ve peed beforehand. Who knew how long this was going to take.

  I lost track of time. Crixis was somewhere in the middle of the magazine when my hands started to hurt. My hands were rough; they didn’t hurt easily, but the pressure between them and the wooden beam, thanks to gravity, made them start to ache. I shifted my weight on my hands, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the moment I moved, I saw Crixis’s bright green eyes rise to me.

  “I don’t want that chin touching the wood,” he reminded me, as if I were trying to cheat.

  I returned to my first position, holding in a wince. My hands would have calluses after this, I was certain. Big, ugly, white calluses. Not that my hands were pretty. They weren’t. Hands that did as much as mine weren’t soft and feminine.


  After a while, I came to grasp the fact that my hands were the least of my worries. My arm muscles started to strain. They hurt, tingling up and down from my wrists to my shoulders. I didn’t think I’d ever held a position this long.

  Crixis neared the end of the magazine. Maybe that was his time limit. I had to be almost done, right?

  Wrong. Because when he turned the final page, he glanced to me, sighed, and then set the magazine on the wood floor. He laid down, stretching out his legs and folding his arms over his chest. He looked so much more comfortable than I felt. And he didn’t say to get down.

  I wanted to sock him in his smug face. I wanted to kick his butt. I wanted to let this stupid beam go.

  My muscles stopped hurting eventually—only because they grew to be numb. I could hardly tell I still held onto the beam. Was my chin an inch above the wood? Crixis’s eyes were closed, as if he were napping, and I couldn’t feel anything.

  This was torture. This was stupid. Ridiculous. How was this training? I thought I’d get to hit him.

  But, darn it, I was stubborn. I wanted to hold on until Crixis said I was done. He probably didn’t think I could hold on for long. He was testing me, right? That’s what this was. A dumb test.

  My will hardened. I was going to hold on. I was going to hold on until the end of the world, if it came to it.

  But, of course, it didn’t happen exactly like that, because soon enough my numb arms started to tremble. My muscles were at their breaking point. I didn’t know how long I’d held on, but I knew my time was up, whether Crixis wanted me down or not. It was my body’s reaction; I had no control over it.

  My fingers slipped, my arms gave out. I fell to the floor, my arms too tired to catch myself. My knees caught me, and before I could stand, I saw that Crixis quietly stood as well, grinning like a madman.

  “You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he remarked.

  I shot him a death glare. “Were you ever going to tell me to stop?” God, my arms. My poor arms.

  His grin told me all I needed to know.