The Chosen Trilogy Boxset

by David Leadbeater

  Lysette barreled into him. The shotgun discharged, its blast taking concrete chunks out of the far wall. But Giles wasn’t free yet. He was fighting Lysette off and trying to swivel the gun barrel towards her.

  What the hell could I do? Feeling inadequate, desperate and desolate I stared up at Natalie Trevochet, asking a question with my eyes. Could I waste her life to try to save seven others?

  Natalie Trevochet stared down at me with understanding. It was as if she could read my mind. Then she closed her eyes. A signal of acquiescence.

  But her husband was one of the Eight! He was squirming on the floor, screaming now as he saw my dilemma. In a second of indecision I turned back to the other scene.

  Just in time to see Ashka swing her heavy sword. In horror I watched it slice through the helpless vampire, Vipas, taking his arm and then his head.

  Vipas collapsed in a heap. He was gone. Mai would likely be next, though she did not know it.

  It was do-or-die time. Felicia was on her feet, but was merely standing with her head down, as if awaiting the death swing. My heart broke in two. My head spun in horror and terror and despair. The life-loving Lycan had been defeated by empty visions. Ashka now moved towards her, spinning the sword baton style, grinning and snarling and slavering, the true epitome of evil.

  Behind me, Belinda freed herself and fell to the concrete floor, groaning. I made a terrible, impossible choice. I took a deep breath, and then prepared to launch myself at this creature as it geared up to take another life.

  I heard Johnny Trevochet’s tortured voice. “Please! Don’t leave my wife!”

  Belinda crawled up beside me. “Go,”

  I dropped Natalie Trevochet’s legs, felt the rope go taut and then heard Johnny’s scream. I launched myself forward. Natalie’s cut-off shriek drove spears into my heart. I covered half the ground between the Destroyer and me in two seconds.

  Lysette threw her gun into the air as I barreled past.

  I caught it in the perfect firing position.

  I fired. The bullet missed Ashka but smashed into her sword and sent it flickering end over end into the wooden door behind her, where it stuck and quivered. Then, Mai grabbed her legs. Felicia blinked away the visions, then screamed and turned lycan in less than a second. I have never seen so much unleashed fury as she morphed from sweet woman to unrecognizable wolf, teeth and jaws gnashing, eyes like molten lava, as she leapt upon the Destroyer.

  But Ashka moved frighteningly fast, turning her hips to fling the lycan across the floor. I saw Ashka’s eyes darting from side to side now as I lined up a second shot. The evil bitch was looking for a way out.

  At that moment another shadow filled the doorway. I paused, unsure.

  Lysette blinked at the figure, then cried out, “My God, that’s Tanya Jordan. She’s here!”

  This was the Hawaiian woman who had already killed a Destroyer.

  Ashka didn’t waste another second. She fired off a barrage of visions, designed, I imagine, to knock us off balance

  And again, it worked. A second later, when we all shook our heads and looked around, the Destroyer was gone.

  “Laters,” a disembodied voice floated around the silent warehouse.

  I snapped my head around. How could I have left Natalie Trevochet to die like that? How could I have failed yet another person?

  “Oh, God,”

  My eyes found Belinda’s. And my heart went out to her as I saw her standing, bleeding and crying with the effort it took to hold Natalie Trevochet’s frame so that the rope wouldn’t choke her to death.

  Both women were alive.

  But Johnny Trevochet glared at me with undisguised hatred. My gut ached as I realized I had left his wife to die.

  I dropped to my knees, letting the gun fall to the cold, hard floor. Everything I did, even the best-intentioned acts, seemed to leave in their wake some dire consequence. Was it my doom to always gain with one hand and lose with the other?

  Was that my destiny?

  34

  YORK, ENGLAND

  Ken Hamilton couldn’t take it any longer. Sitting around listening to the warbling of Avril Lavigne whilst ‘I no Engleesee’ boy, Kisami, tapped away at his handheld video game was not an image Ken wanted to put out there to the ladies. He’d made himself a strong chick-magnet already by offering to teach Kisami a bit of Good Ole’ American English. Kisami now understood three of the ‘all-time great’ American words.

  Dude- because conversation started with a greeting.

  Budweiser- because everyone needed fluids.

  And Underworld. Because every dude should have a hot vampire chick to stare at whilst he downed his Bud. Especially in the current circumstances.

  Ken nodded to geek-boy and pointed to the door. “Outta here,”

  Geek-boy didn’t even look up. “Bud.”

  “Loser,” Ken ran a hand through his hair and headed into the hallway. It was getting on for midnight. Where the hell had Ryan wandered off to? It seemed like all the chicks had retired for the night, which, in truth, was okay by him. If he was being honest he was fine with beach chicks, a Big Ten with college chicks, and a pure stud with most rock chicks.

  But put him in a room with someone like Lysette Cohen, all sophistication and chic and Dior parties; or a more-worldly, educated woman like Devon Summers and he was out of his depth.

  So, he’d settled on Belinda, or maybe Felicia. Might be cool getting it on with a werewolf. Dangerous. Unfortunately, neither lucky candidate appeared to be home tonight.

  Shit, he thought. You haven’t gotten laid since you left frisky ‘frisco. Guess its ham instead of beaver tonight, man. Again.

  Ken headed for the kitchen. He’d make a quick cheese-mayo and grab a couple of cans. As he entered, he noticed two people were already there. He paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorknob.

  A tall, thin man stood by the fridge, his jet-black eyes narrowing. Before two seconds had passed Ken realized those eyes were wrong. The evil that blasted out of them was palpable.

  “Greetings,” the tall man said. “I am Jondal.”

  Jondal? Ken thought. Where had he heard that name before?

  “We have come to cause mayhem” Jondal said. “And to kill as many of you as we are able.” Jondal executed a perfect bow. The man’s frame was thin to the point of emaciation.

  “Jondal!” Ken shouted as realization struck. This man was a Destroyer, the one who had forced some people in London to detonate a bomb.

  Where the fuck was the panic button?

  Then Ken registered the second person in the kitchen. A shockwave of recognition jolted through him.

  “Dementia!”

  “The demon herself,” Jondal hissed in agreement. “For your dying pleasure.”

  Dementia grinned as she unsheathed the sword Ken had seen once before. He found himself transfixed by her white hair, tied and braided with what looked like tiny animal bones wrapped with slivers of flesh; by the double-row of finger-bones that encircled her neck; by the metal that pierced her nose and the larger piece through her neck. Her eyes were slits of demonic yellow, glowing as if they were windows that looked upon a sulphuric soul.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked needlessly, stupidly. They were here. He should be running.

  Jondal extended an arm as thin as a cane. The Destroyer’s bloodless lips moved soundlessly. Ken screamed and managed to turn away before the voices in his head told him to stop, to kneel, to hang his head and just…wait…

  And the worst part, the abominable part, was that as he obeyed the voices in his head and knelt in submission. He was also aware of Dementia moving towards him, and he knew what she was about to do.

  He just couldn’t help himself.

  Hands on your knees. You know its best. Nothing here for you now. Sit straight. Head up. No more struggle. No need to prove yourself. Just…wait…for the salvation of the sword…

  The tip of the sword pressed against his neck, at the point where his
blonde curls ended.

  “I missed you on the Golden Gate,” Dementia’s voice writhed around him like poisonous snakes. “I don’t miss twice.”

  “Stop!” they were running up the corridor towards him now. The women. Oh, God! He had a momentary thought: Good Lord, I’m already in heaven! Then Eleanor and Myleene and Devon were sweeping past him, followed by Ceriden and little Kisami, and the compulsion inside his head collapsed.

  Ken pitched face first to the floor. All hell broke loose around him. Screams stung the air.

  Jondal’s voice rose in pitch. A woman’s scream rang out. Oh, no. Ken thought. That’s Eleanor!

  “No fucking way, man!” Ken leapt to his feet as rage vanquished his fear. Eleanor was pure. She was an elf, one of the great people. She was the Chosen’s teacher.

  Inside the kitchen Dementia was holding everyone at bay, swinging her sword with precision. The boiling yellow slits of her eyes gleamed as if she was having the time of her life.

  It appeared Eleanor had dragged open a cutlery drawer. Then, she’d jammed one of the paring knives through her wrist. Even now she was trying to twist the knife so that it hurt her more, even as she screamed in agony and Devon tried to stop her.

  Jondal, a tall emaciation of cruelty and vile intent, was leaning against the fridge as if needing its support, and flinging his arms out at people. His power had to be immense, for everyone went down! Ken felt his throat close in horror. The skeletal Destroyer was strong enough to strike everyone at once!

  Then from behind Ken came a sleepy voice that made his heart stop.

  “What’s going on, Ken? Is my dad around?”

  Lucy! Logan’s daughter!

  Ken’s heart froze over as Jondal’s attention flicked towards him. Powerful, incessant words crept into his brain.

  Turn. Smile. Walk up to her. Then throttle her. Watch the life fade from the young one’s eyes, smile as her blackening tongue escapes her lifeless lips. Take the life of the young one, but don’t take your own. Her father will do that for you later.

  Ken’s face went slack with anguish. Terror and denial fought Jondal’s iron will behind Ken’s blue eyes.

  Lucy stepped towards him.

  Please, he prayed. Please someone stop him. Or me. Don’t let me do this.

  Ken lurched forward. Lucy stared at him in confusion, then smiled. “Are you having a laugh?”

  Please…

  Lucy must have seen the massive conflict in his eyes. For at that moment she paused and stepped back. She brought a protective hand up to her throat. “Ken?”

  Ken collapsed to his knees as Jondal’s will left him. He hit the carpeted floor hard, banging his head and seeing stars. Then he sensed someone step past him.

  On his knees, on the carpet, he blew the hair out of his eyes and looked up.

  NOOO!

  Jondal himself now confronted Lucy. Logan’s daughter was gazing up at the Destroyer through vacant eyes.

  Jondal struck her with an open palm. Lucy’s head snapped sideways. Jondal hit her again, and Lucy staggered. But after a second, she regained her balance and went back to staring blankly into the Destroyer’s hell-scorched eyes.

  Jondal grinned with malice and handed Lucy the paring knife. Ken squeezed his fists into the carpet. He willed his limbs to obey. Jondal nodded at Lucy. There was a moment, a still second in time when Ken struggled so hard he felt his heart might burst, when Lucy hesitated to turn the blade on herself, when Jondal backed up in surprise as if he thought she might resist him.

  Then Lucy cut her left arm, deep, so that the blood welled up. Without a sound she switched the knife and cut into her other arm. Jondal’s terrible laughter made Ken want to commit murder, and to cry. He stared helplessly at Lucy, who stood with her arms held at her sides, dripping streams of blood onto the floor.

  Ken strained with every fibre of his being, exerting so much pressure he thought his head would explode. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t move. Tears of despair sprang from his eyes.

  He could not save Dean Logan’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

  Lucy brought the paring knife up towards her throat.

  “No!”

  Someone used Ken as a springboard. Someone athletic and confident leapt onto his back and then launched himself at Jondal. Whoa, man, that’s Ceriden! Ken planted his forearms. This time. Trumpets blared as he gained his feet. Where were the dancing girls? Late, as per fucking usual.

  Ken saw Ceriden strike Jondal with every ounce of his impressive bulk, knocking the Destroyer almost through the wall. The thin man struck hard, his bony frame doing nothing to protect him. Plasterboard cracked amidst plumes of dust. Jondal gasped and stumbled, pointing fingers at Ceriden, but the vampire King grabbed his wrist, jerked it high and leapt three feet off the ground to deliver two rib-cracking kicks to Jondal’s sternum.

  Jondal collapsed, writhing in agony. Ceriden bent down and delivered a palm strike to his neck, rendering him unconscious.

  “Step back, my darling” Ceriden said to Lucy. Lucy backed up slowly, her mouth set in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and shock. Ken thought the pain hadn’t registered yet. Ceriden ripped off his shirt and started to bind her wounds.

  “My dad,” Ken heard her saying. “Where’s my dad, Ceriden? He said he would never leave me again.”

  Ken climbed to one knee and twisted his head around, almost too terrified to look. Dementia stood with her back to the kitchen door, the wicked blade held steady in front of her. Outnumbered, she practically hummed with confidence.

  “It isss sssstaylemaaate,” Ken winced at the sibilant tones that trickled across her crooked lips like venom. “You willll not take me without blood and painnn, little onesssss. You might not take me at allll.”

  No one gave ground. Not an inch.

  “Sssstand back,” Dementia hissed. “Sssstand down. Keep Sssspirit. He is of no con-ssss-equense to meee,” The demon woman shook her white hair defiantly and the finger bones rattled around her neck.

  “Agreed,” Myleene said very quickly.

  Nothing changed. Ken knew everyone in that room wanted to take the demon bitch out.

  Myleene grated her words more forcefully. “Now is not the time.”

  Ken sensed the tensions slacken. In a second Dementia had opened the door; in another second she was gone.

  35

  YORK, ENGLAND

  Do you ever think that you’d give anything, anything at all, for a particular event never to have happened? Picture the event now. Can you see how your entire life might have turned on that one inconsequential or devastating incident?

  Sometimes we never see it. Sometimes we see it only in retrospect and wonder what might have been.

  Me, I knew this was it. When I came home from rescuing Belinda and almost getting Natalie Trevochet killed, I read the utter devastation in my daughter’s eyes. I read the betrayal. I walked into her bedroom, but stopped inside the doorway, stunned.

  Lucy was sitting on the bed, alone and looking so vulnerable and despondent.

  “Lucy. I-”

  “Don’t you say you’re sorry,” she said. “You don’t get to apologise.”

  “But-” I stopped talking. No excuses. She was right. Did it matter that I’d thought she would be safer here than anywhere else in the world, protected by elves and a vampire King and so many capable people?

  Did it matter?

  No. Because I’d sworn I would never leave her again.

  I felt breathless, and I had to sit down on the vanity chair. I watched my daughter, my eyes desolate.

  Lucy held up freshly bandaged arms. “Do you see this?” her voice raised. “Do you?”

  I stared at her, speechless. I don’t think I’d ever felt so hollow and wretched. Even after Raychel vanished.

  “Please leave me alone,” Lucy stared at the door, at the wall, at the floor, anywhere but at me.

  “Please,” she said, and I turned away so she wouldn’t see my anguish. I left her room, and closed the door
.

  That was the moment.

  ***

  A conversation was occurring in the big conference room when I walked in. The whole household was there, save Lucy, Belinda, and the Trevochet’s. I took a seat next to Holly and tried to ignore her sympathetic stare.

  A few moments earlier my mobile had started ringing. The call was from Lucy’s school. Real life was intruding, making everything more complicated. I threw the mobile against the nearest wall, then spent five minutes picking up the pieces and fixing them back together.

  Now, I caught the tail-end of what Myleene was explaining – how Belinda had been hit out of nowhere by a veritable Molotov Cocktail of images. Whilst she struggled to recover, Ashka had injected her with some heady concoction of drugs, and then driven her and the Trevochet’s over to the abandoned Bonding Warehouse.

  “Thank God for Kinkade,” Felicia was studying the bruises that covered her arms, the results of her own bespelled actions.

  “It was Ashka’s chance to hurt us badly,” Myleene said. “So badly that we might never have recovered. If she had killed Belinda, and then the Trevochet’s I can’t imagine what we would have lost.”

  But evil is evil for a reason. And that means a simple killing is out of the question. Ashka had been hoping to draw their deaths out all night.

  “Kinkade saved them. And our efforts.” Myleene smiled.

  Mai, the vampire girl, cleared her throat. “Vipas died out there tonight.”

  I looked down and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  I missed the next ten or fifteen minutes. Despair played havoc with my heart. I realized I was ready to walk away from all this if it meant I could save my relationship with Lucy. I wanted the controlled chaos of our normal life back. Our Victory Wall. The ‘old man-hopeless child’ jesting sessions. Our father-daughter night’s out. I mean, why the hell had I been chosen anyway?

  I drifted back. A disheveled Giles was explaining how Jondal and Dementia had broken into their house. “Call it complacency. Call it lack of foresight. We thought Ashka was our only enemy in York. Gorgoth’s followers are spread so thin, we didn’t think there’d be more here. However,” he paused. “Their finding us raises that terrible issue. Again.”