Chosen (The Chosen Few Trilogy #1)

by Leadbeater, David

  It is your future! Ashka’s visage flew at me out of the dark, making me duck and cover. Natalie Trevochet choked as the rope grew taught. I slammed my body back upright and caught her swinging legs and heaved again. Please, I thought. Don’t fail now. Please God, I can’t fail this poor woman.

  I watched, unable to move, as Ashka flung vision upon vision at my friends. Felicia ran at her, blonde-hair flying, then fell to her knees amidst the rubble and started beating at her own body in horror. I saw Mai take up a splinter of wood and try to pierce her own heart. Her friend Vipas saved her by wrestling her to the ground. Both vampires rolled for a second and then, with stunning speed were suddenly up and streaked to within a metre of Ashka. But the Destroyer flung hell at them again, sending them both to the floor in imagined anguish.

  And then Ashka reached behind the broken warehouse doors and pulled something out of the darkness.

  My God. A broadsword!

  Ashka held the weapon high as she advanced upon the helpless Ubers. I screamed their names, trying to penetrate the miasma that clouded their brains. Then I heard a loud noise and saw Lysette moving away from the Chrysler as Giles slammed the boot shut. In one hand Giles held a small pistol, which he handed to Lysette. With the other he loaded a shotgun by jerking it upwards in a smooth, practiced motion.

  Come on, Giles.

  Behind me I heard a low moan. I turned. Belinda was staring at me, shock and horror etched across her face. If ever we needed the world’s best, it was now.

  “Can you get free?” I cried.

  Belinda wrenched at her bonds. The rope held, but slackened. She would free herself, but maybe too late!

  I turned back to a sight that filled me with horror. Giles was on his knees. He had turned the shotgun on himself. In another second he placed the weapon in his mouth and tightened the trigger.

  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, 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 just standing there, head down, as if waiting for 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, heard the rope go taut, 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. I saw Lysette throw her gun into the air as I barreled past, and caught it.

  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, 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 as the lycan struck and flinging her off 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 her, then cried out, “My God, that’s Tanya Jordan. She’s here!”

  The woman who had already killed a Destroyer.

  Ashka didn’t waste another second. She fired off another 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?

  “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 though.

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

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

  Was that my destiny?

  35

  YORK, ENGLAND

  Ken Hamilton couldn’t take it any longer. Sitting around listening to the issue-filled 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 the little Jap a bit of Good Ole’ American English. Kisami could now understand three of the ‘all-time great’ American words with utter confidence.

  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 considering 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 with himself 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 seemed to be home tonight.

  Christ, he thought. Haven’t gotten laid since I 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.”
<
br />   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 losers in London to detonate a bomb.

  Where the fuck was the panic button?

  Then Ken registered the second person in the kitchen. An 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 hot, 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 there 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, Christ. 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 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 must be immense, for everyone went down! Ken felt his throat close up 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 ones 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 wide blue eyes.

  Lucy stepped towards him.

  Please, he prayed. Please someone stop him. Or me. Don’t let him 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 up 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 much 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 and poured. 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. Jesus, 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 hit 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. “You willll not take me without blood and painnn, little onesssss. You might not take me at allll.”

  No one moved forward, or back. 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 kne
w 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.

  36

  YORK, ENGLAND

  Do you ever think that you’d give anything, anything at all, for that one particular event not 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 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 all of a sudden, 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.