Awaken The Dark Paradise Chronicles 1

by Isadora Brown

  “So, I have to sleep with someone?” Reese asked, feeling her face flush. “What does that accomplish?”

  “Depending on who you give yourself to, your visions reflect the side you have chosen. For example, if you choose to sleep with Gabe, your visions will start to benefit what he wants out of this war. A weakness in the angels’ strategy, the identity of the Black Wing, something that would help them win.”

  “So it’s my choice to sleep with someone then, right?” Reese asked.

  “No one can force you or else it won’t work. But be warned: Gabe has never forced you in the past and I’m certain he won’t do so now or in the future. You have loved him, dearie, and he has loved you too.”

  “Gabe can love?” Reese asked, whipping her head from the window to face him. Her mouth hung open.

  Henry smirked. “There is no such thing as pure evil and no such thing as pure good,” he murmured.

  “What if I don’t sleep with anyone?” she asked.

  "You did that a few times in the past." A flicker of a grin. “More power to you.”

  Reese pressed her lips together and tilted her head to the side. Ollo’s voice suddenly started reciting Henry’s story and her eyes widened. He had been with her since the beginning, watching her grow up, fall in love and die. Was she the mortal he had given up Heaven for? If so, she would definitely need time to think about this. The concept of true love and sacrificing everything for that love was hard for her to comprehend, only because she had never met anyone worth sacrificing so much for. If she was that girl, she didn’t think she could do the same for him. She didn’t know him well enough.

  “Am I—” Wait, how did she want to ask this? She couldn’t just ask him directly because there was a chance it wasn’t her and she didn’t want to seem conceited. But she had to know. “Would you consider me mortal?”

  She watched his lips curl up again and his dark eyes sparkle as though he knew exactly what she meant. “You are more than a mere mortal, Reese,” he answered.

  Before she could ask him to explain, Henry pulled up to the currently closed Bacchus’s Brewery. “Go inside,” he told her. “Ollo is expecting you. I’ll be back in three hours.”

  “Three hours?” she asked. “Isn't that a long time? I thought I was just an oracle who had visions.”

  “Oracles are never just oracles,” he told her with his mysterious smile.

  The minute Reese walked into the bar, she heard some movement coming from the basement. A crash and then a swear word emitted by a familiar drawl. She rolled her eyes as she headed down the staircase in a hurry. Just because he annoyed her didn’t mean she wanted him to get hurt. That much, at least.

  “Goddammit.”

  Reese’s eyes took in the large basement as she stopped on the bottom stair. Besides a few crates of alcohol pushed up against the wall, the floor was completely bare. Targets were hung against the wall and there was a bow and a set of arrows in the center of the room. Her fingers itched to touch the bow.

  A groan caused Reese’s eyes to snap to the ground, where she found a pair of legs sticking out from behind the crates. She clenched her jaw as she made her way over to them and wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find Ollo on his back, a silver flask on the floor next to him, the contents on the tile and, from the looks of it, on his shirt. He was wearing essentially the same thing he wore Friday night except his jacket was nowhere to be found and his shirt—she thought it was technically a tunic—looked like it was made from scratchy wool. The pocket watch hung from his vest but wasn’t anywhere near the alcohol. His brown hair was especially straggly, his blue-brown eyes hooded. He reeked of alcohol and there were dribbles of the liquid dancing among the fuzz on the lower half of his face.

  “Jesus Christ,” Reese said when he finally noticed her presence. “You’re drunk.”

  “Morning, darl,” he slurred.

  “It’s five o’clock in the afternoon,” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be training me, yet here you are, smelling like inebriated death, too drunk to stand up. You realize there’s a war coming, don’t you? And somehow, for some reason, I have particular responsibilities in this war that I’m not even sure about, and the one man who can actually help me is too concerned about getting more booze into his bloodstream. How can you be so selfish?”

  She let out a breath, running shaky fingers through her hair. Where had that come from? Reese didn't even know what she believed yet, but on the off-chance that this was true, just the thought of this... this... unfortunate being concerning himself with alcohol rather than with how she might be able to help infuriated her. Or maybe that was what she told herself because she needed her own outlet and Ollo was the perfect candidate.

  Ollo furrowed his brow, locking eyes with her. He sat up so his weight rested on his forearms. “Darl, I’ve been alive since I don’t know how long,” he mumbled. “I’ve had to live with a lot in my life. Don’t claim I’m selfish when you don’t even know me.”

  “I don’t know you,” she agreed. “Henry told me you avoided me throughout my lives because you refused to train me unless my power was awakened. Now that it is, you can’t even sit up. I take it has something to do with archery, right? Thank God I took archery as an elective sophomore year so I could opt out of PE. I’m sure those classes will do much better than you ever could.”

  Reese spun around and marched to the waiting bow. The desire to grab it overwhelmed her, so she reached for it, taking it in her right hand. Even in her archery classes, she never felt a surge of rightness—like finding a missing piece of her—until this moment. She wondered if it had to do with her new power. Grabbing an arrow with her left hand, she tried to remember the instructions from class: dominant eye, like her hand, was left, which meant she had to draw the arrow back with her left hand. She made sure her feet were shoulder-width apart and her toes, like her right shoulder, were pointed at the target.

  Now that her body was in the proper stance, she pointed the bow toward the cement floor, ready to nock the arrow. She placed the shaft of the arrow on the rest. Her fingers worked from memory—they attached the arrow to the bow. Those nimble fingers curled around the string and gently drew it back as she raised the bow up. Closing her right eye, she focused on the target and released …

  … too far to the left.

  It would be a long three hours.

  Two and a half hours passed much faster than Reese originally thought. She had gotten better at aiming, but still hadn’t managed to hit a target. Her fingers were starting to blister and her left arm was much sorer than her right one. She was on her last arrow before she had to collect them and start all over again, and she wanted to hit the red.

  Just as she got into her stance, a firm but gentle hand pressed down on her right shoulder.

  “Relax your shoulder, darl,” a voice said from behind her. She was surprised she hadn’t jumped at his abrupt arrival; that, as insane as it sounded, she actually felt comfortable with him already. In all honesty, besides glancing back at him every now and then to ensure he hadn’t choked on his own vomit, she hadn’t noticed him much. She could smell his breath as it touched her neck, and while it was still tainted with liquor, there was something else, something minty. It was … nice. “Your grip too.” She felt the tip of his chin graze her shoulder, felt individual locks of his hair dance on her skin, the point of his nose scraping her earlobe. If he pursed his lips, she knew they’d be on her neck.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she relaxed her hold on the string.

  “What’s it look like, darl?” he asked in a low rumble. “Training you.”

  “It’s about time,” she couldn’t help but retort.

  “Breathe in,” he instructed her. He waited until she did before whispering, “And release.”

  Reese knew exactly what he meant. As she exhaled, she released the arrow and watched as it hit the outer red circle. A big smile engulfed her face and she started jumping u
p and down.

  “Did you see that?” she asked Ollo, turning to face him. He had backed up a couple of steps during her impromptu victory dance. “I did it! I hit red!”

  There was an enigmatic smile on his lips as he looked at her through his hair. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you?” he murmured. He sounded like he was talking to himself rather than to her, but Reese didn’t care.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. Couldn’t he let her be happy with her accomplishment for a full minute before he ruined it?

  “Think about what you’re training for, darl,” Ollo said. “A war is coming. God gave you this ability to never miss your mark with a bow and arrow in order to protect you from the dangers that will threaten you because of who you are. With practice, you’ll be the best archer in any battle. Too bad you’d be bringing a knife to a gun fight. Let me give you some advice you’d best listen to if you want to stay alive, darl: keep your head down, your mouth shut, and even when you’re asleep, keep your eyes open.”

  “Sound advice from a trainer who only decides to show up once the session is almost over,” Reese growled. “And not only that, he’s too drunk to care. I know you don’t care about anything except numbing your pain because you can’t handle the world right now, but I have a lot at stake in this war and apparently, you’re the only one who can help me.”

  “That’s not true,” he remarked quietly.

  “If someone else can help me—”

  “I care.” He paused. As she watched, a muscle in his sharp jaw popped. “I promise I’ll be sober during our sessions.”

  Reese bit back a snarky response. He was trying. Instead, she locked eyes with him. “I know there’s a war coming,” she said. “I’ve seen—” she cut herself off, her voice quivering unexpectedly. “Just let me enjoy little moments of happiness while I still can.”

  Ollo said nothing and then, after a moment of thinking, extended his right hand. She looked at the big hand, callused and rough. It was twice the size of hers and could probably break every bone in her hand with just one squeeze. And yet, Reese reached out until her hand slipped in his. She was surprised how warm it was and chose, at that moment, to believe him.

  “Here,” he said after releasing her hand, giving her a wrinkled newspaper. “You’re going to want to get familiar with Onyx’s newest citizen.”

  Reese’s eyes glanced down at the headline: Onyx’s New Rosebud?

  “I don’t get it,” she murmured, looking up at him with questions in her grey eyes.

  “He’s an Excom,” he explained.

  Reese furrowed her brow. “Why is he here then?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ollo said. “That’s the problem.”

  25

  Andie

  By the time Andie woke up the next day, it was just after eleven o’clock in the morning, a new record for her. She must have been more exhausted than she thought. After forcing herself out of bed, she grabbed her purse and checked her cell phone: five missed calls each from both Reese and Carey as well as a slew of text messages from them asking how she was and if she was all right. Nothing from Keirah. Nothing from her mother. She decided to shoot a quick text to both Carey and Reese telling them she was fine and then turned off her phone. She didn’t want to explain anything to anybody at the moment.

  Her stomach insisted on sustenance, and she walked out of the room and down the hall. Though she was tempted to explore the manor, her need for food outweighed her curiosity, so it wasn’t long before she found herself in a kitchen that was three times the size of hers. Beverly was already there, her body wrapped in a white silk robe and her brown hair clipped up. She seemed to be reading and cooking at the same time. When she noticed Andie, she gestured to one of the five stools sitting at a bar that divided the kitchen and dining room.

  “Have a seat,” she said, her eyes returning to the sizzling bacon she was frying on the stove. Andie’s lips twitched and her mouth started salivating as she took a seat. “I’m almost finished with the bacon and have some scrambled eggs waiting. How does that sound?”

  “Delicious,” Andie replied. Her eyes dropped to the white bar and she was surprised to see an ocean of newspapers, tabloids, and magazines. They were all dated today.

  “Jack likes to keep up with everything,” Beverly explained. She set down her own paper in order to grab a porcelain plate from a mahogany cabinet. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very much so,” Andie said, lifting her eyes from a local headline that addressed the Black Wing’s absence last night. “I can’t thank you enough for your generous hospitality.”

  A knowing smile touched the older woman’s face. “It was all Jack,” she said as she handed Andie a plate of food and utensils. “Drink?”

  “Oh.” Andie felt herself blush at being waited on. “Coffee, please.” Her eyes dropped to the paper. “Where is Jack?” She grabbed the Onyx Register with her free hand as she took a bite of her eggs, bypassing the Onyx Times.

  “It would seem he’s still sleeping,” Beverly replied.

  Andie barely heard her, her mind too focused on the paper. The journalist of the article splattered on the front page pointed out that a young woman was stolen by Noir at Jack Phillip’s Halloween party, seemingly right under everyone’s noses, and, once again, the Black Wing hadn’t rescued her yet. An unnamed source said this was because the young woman in question was confirmed to be the same hostage he used while escaping custody earlier this month. Therefore, it was likely the two were in cahoots because, if not, where was the Black Wing?

  Andie hadn’t realized she was making a face until Beverly asked if there was something wrong with the food.

  “Oh no!” she exclaimed, her face turning red. “It’s great! It’s just … this article is ridiculous.” Beverly perked her brow, silently asking her for an explanation. “Well, the woman everyone’s talking about, the one Noir kidnapped? She’s my sister. I guess people are speculating that because the Black Wing didn’t save her, she’s somehow working with Noir, which she’s not. Obviously.”

  “It sounds as though you’re not too fond of the Black Wing,” Beverly commented.

  “It’s not that,” Andie said after swallowing a bite of bacon. “Okay, maybe it is that. I just hate that this guy basically gets to play god to our city. He gets to decide who to save and who not to save, and the people that don’t get saved are instantly spurned by the media as having something wrong with them, which then justifies the Black Wing’s decision not to save them in the first place.”

  “From what we know,” Beverly said, her voice delicate as she turned off the stove, “the Black Wing is still a man. He can’t know every little thing that happens in this city. He does what he thinks is best for the greater good of Onyx.”

  “That’s my problem,” Andie said, running her fingers through her short, messy hair.

  “A good deed never goes unpunished, hmm?” a masculine voice laced with sleep drawled from behind her.

  Andie craned her head to clench her teeth together in order to keep her mouth from dropping open. Jack looked entirely disheveled and nothing short of beautiful. His chestnut brown hair fell into his face and he was wearing striped teal and purple pajama pants and a white muscle shirt that revealed his defined collar bone, his broad shoulders, his muscled torso, and those arms. She was positive that if he flexed, his bicep would be as big as her face. She knew she was staring, but couldn’t stop. Those arms. Immediately they were her new favorite physical trait of his and she wanted nothing more than to squeeze them and—

  “What are you looking at?”

  His question, asked with a smirk on his face, caused Andie to rip her eyes away from his arms and force them to his face.

  “Your pants are ridiculous,” she managed to get out.

  His smirk only deepened, like he knew she was lying. “They’re the colors of my favorite hockey team,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t answ
er my question.”

  “About the good deeds?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “We’ll go with that.”

  Andie clenched her jaw. It was easier to focus on the conversation rather than Jack’s arms when he was being his usual droll self.

  “The Black Wing is obviously doing something good for Onyx, more than the police do,” he went on, taking a seat at the bar next to her.

  “Yeah, but who does this guy think he is, deciding what’s good and what’s not for Onyx?” Andie asked. “He only came around a year ago. And judging by his ridiculous outfit, he’s young. Is he a citizen? Some guy who thinks he’s a superhero? Why does he get to decide what’s good, especially since he’s breaking the law while doing so?”

  “So saving the greatest number of people is wrong?” Jack asked, raising a skeptical brow.

  Andie shook her head. “It’s too simple,” she said. “If you start grouping people together, they lose their individuality. Every single person, bad or good, old or young, has the right to life. Somehow, people look at the Black Wing as a symbol and arbiter of good, which then means that people he doesn’t choose to save are less than the group he does save. Both groups are good, yes, but his choice suggests one is one better than the other, and when you start putting a quantitative value on someone’s life, you’re playing God. I just think that’s wrong. I think it’s too much power for one person. Who is he to think he has the right to make that decision?” It had gotten quiet and Jack was staring at her with such intensity that his eyes shone emerald. “What?”

  Before Andie realized it, Jack raised his hand so his cool fingertips brushed the left side of her face. “You have a bruise,” he stated, his voice low.

  She shivered and closed her eyes, a reaction completely beyond her control. The feel of his surprisingly rough skin and just as surprisingly gentle touch calmed her to the point where she felt safe with him. Once that crossed her mind, she snapped her head away from him and said quickly, “It’s no big deal. My mom—” She stopped when she saw him frown, and he pushed his brow up. “Anyway, I think we should lay down some ground rules.” Jack remained silent but cocked his head to the side, indicating his interest in what she had to say. “Number one, I think you should charge me rent.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking, knowing that he would. “Take it out of my check, if you have to. It would really make me feel better.” When he nodded, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.