Michael pulled the gun from where it’d been hidden in the waist of his pants, under his shirts. He’d found it in a dusty old box in the garage the other day. When he’d checked the chamber, he noticed a bullet remained. The gun must’ve been his fathers. Michael had taken it and tucked it between his mattresses. At the time, he hadn’t been sure why he kept it.
Holding it up, he put a finger on the trigger, turning it back and forth, watching it gleam in the morning rays of the sun. It was a .45; silver, except the handle, which was black. Solid. Heavy. Loaded.
Maybe now he knew.
Maybe he’d found the gun so that he could end his life.
He pressed the business end against the side of his head. And waited. For what, he wasn’t sure. A sign. When he’d seen Venus he’d believed she was his sign . . .
I’m done. It’s over. He pushed the gun harder against his head.
Coward!
The word zinged. Stung him. Punched him in the gut. An unfamiliar voice inside his head.
Then came images of Venus, the softness of her lips, the way she’d felt in his arms. There was something different about her. He tapped the gun against his head, bugged he still thought about the arrogant girl.
Coward!
The word ripped through his mind again.
“I’m not a coward,” he shouted.
Immediately all sounds of the forest stopped. No birds, no rustling of animals in the underbrush. Only the snarling stream and the breeze whistling through the trees interrupted the silence.
Breathing heavily, he stood and turned, sensing a presence.
CHAPTER 9
Dead Man’s Party
Killing humans had become sort of a hobby for Dervinias. It wasn’t that he despised them so much as he detested their weakness. The human condition. Their flimsy bodies and limited minds. The way the creatures were swayed by a television commercial or a beautiful temptation. Every time he slaughtered one, the best part came right before they died. The moment each person realized how much more could’ve existed in their menial lives. It filled him like a drug. And he wanted more.
With billions of humans to choose from, and more born every second, his options were limitless.
In truth, Dervinias had bigger plans for the defective race. After two hundred years of immortality, he’d had plenty of time to make plans, form secret alliances and set up Earth as the planet he would rule. Very shortly, all the pieces would be in place, and then he could begin.
For now, it was enough to demonstrate his power over them. Tonight a man by the name of Thaddeus Holstrom needed to lose his family. He and his irreverent employers had to be taught a lesson. Stalking him and his absurd government group—A.L.T.—proved too easy. Finding his little family and ending their lives—a pleasure.
Thaddeus and his family lived in Westbrook Run, a quiet neighborhood in the city of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Filled with children, evenly trimmed hedges, and two parent families, everybody knew everybody. From the outside, this neighborhood appeared perfect. For the most part, the appearances were true.
Except today. Today Dervinias would change all that.
Innocence had already been murdered. Another death would now begin. If only humans weren’t so naive. So trusting . . .
“It’s time to make you bleed.” Dervinias spoke reverently. The terrified woman, Judy, had been bound to her dining table. She’d been forced onto her back; pale hands tied in front, mouth gagged with a black strip of fabric. Frightened eyes flicked back and forth between Dervinias and the five blue-robed figures. Off to the right sprawled her two dead children, Alice and Henry. Their bleeding bodies face up. Eyes open, mouths frozen in terror. The smell of death and furniture polish saturated the air, almost solid enough to touch.
The five in navy blue stood in a semi-circle behind Dervinias. As leader, he wore white. A large hood covered each of their heads. Long bell sleeves hung together at the wrists, where those in blue had their hands clasped. Their robes were long and made of terrycloth. A ridiculous material, but it served its purpose. The statuesque forms of his followers hummed continuously, heads bowed.
The table Judy had been tied too appeared to be made of oak. It was thick and held stable by two large-columned pedestals. Heavy. Substantial. Dervinias traced a hand along the intricately carved roping which trimmed the edge. It would serve as the perfect altar.
A large, glittering chandelier hung over the table, in the center of the room, basking everything in light. Golden curtains were closed to keep out the daylight and deafen the sounds of mortal destruction happening within. Plush white carpet covered the floor beneath their feet.
Judy whimpered, a sound like a baby kitten crying for milk. Dervinias pushed a stray strand of hair off her tear-stained face. Judy’s mewing egged him on, as did the harmonious humming of his followers—an inspiring melody.
In monotone, he began the first words of his sacrament. “Your blood is weak. Death will bring new life. This sacrifice is to honor those who live forever. Our species. Humans believe they are above all. I take your life and the lives of your children to prove otherwise. As a reminder to those who pursue us. We cannot be destroyed. When the time is right, Earth will be ours. We are The Order of Eternal Fire.”
From beneath his robe, Dervinias retrieved a large knife. It gleamed in the chandelier’s light.
Raising the knife, he drove it into Judy’s chest, the sound of flesh parting around its sharp edges like a shovel forced through wet dirt.
Lowering his head to be even with her face, he admired the way her irises grew large as a polished black plate. The way they filled with knowledge.
“Yes, now you understand the power you possess. Your life was worth more than manicures and massages, more than your next martini. When it’s too late.” Dervinias kept his words soft. Only the dying woman needed to hear the last words he’d chosen to speak to her. She gasped one last time. The movement caused his blond hair, which had fallen over his eyes, to shift. Her breath smelled of tarnished metal. Dervinias breathed in, letting her last bit of life fill him and then released the knife, leaving the black handle protruding from her chest. Within seconds, she died.
The five others came forward and knives emerged from beneath their robes. It was time to carve the mark—the eye of the All Knowing. At the moment, only The Order would understand what it meant. In time, this world would know its meaning, would come to either fear or embrace what the emblem stood for.
They bent before Judy, sliced away her pants and her shirt. Then, Dervinias set a glowing yellow bowl, which had been previously placed on the table, under her left thigh and cut the femoral artery. He needed her blood to complete the ritual.
It took some time, but the bowl filled.
His young followers—two guys and three girls—proceeded to carve the mark of The Order into her body. Six total—one on the forehead, each cheek, her stomach and thighs.
After Kelvin, a huge blue-robed guy, completed his symbol, he walked to a black duffel bag on the floor, near the entrance. Retrieving a meat cleaver from inside, he moved back over to Judy and hacked off half her calves, her ankles and feet.
He continued the process on the children, too. And then Kelvin stacked the gruesome appendages into a pile on the floor, like bloodied firewood.
When the others finished carving, they retreated to the doorway. Dervinias collected the three glowing bowls. Setting two on the table, he held the third. A little at a time, he flung the sacrificial blood around the room, spattering the walls and curtains, the chandelier and chairs. The carpet no longer looked white, but a splotchy red. After the first bowl emptied, he handed it to one of the female followers, and repeated the process with the remaining two bowls. Then he turned to the detached limbs and spoke.
“We claim your souls. May they burn for us in the eternal fire.”
From beneath his robe he pulled out a sphere about the size of an apple. Palm flat, fingers outstretched, the orb began to spin clockwise, slow
ly at first. It contained a piece of the soul of four different stars—blue, red, yellow and orange in color.
As the orb picked up speed, it lifted off his hand, a kaleidoscope of colors. With more speed, it moved until it hovered above the severed body parts. Hungry for the sacrifice, it exploded into thousands of tiny blue, red, yellow and orange colored gems. Instead of falling to the floor, they remained linked, each gem to another, by tiny sunlit threads. A dot-to-dotted dome surrounded the graying appendages. Light emanated from within. Growing brighter and brighter until only a white light could be seen.
A twinkle.
The broken, bloodied legs disappeared and the orb became whole again. In a slow, circular movement, it returned itself to Dervinias’s palm.
He closed his fingers around the fiery sphere. Sizzling smoke radiated from his hand, burning his flesh. But he held on. After a moment, he tucked the now-quiet orb beneath his robe.
“The ritual is finished,” Dervinias said to the others, facing them.
Their humming stopped.
“Rockin’ ceremony, Dervinias,” Kelvin said.
The over-excited human nearly pounded him on the back, but Dervinias glared, and Kelvin put his hand down. He questioned, for the hundredth time, if allowing Kelvin to be part of The Order had been a good choice. Physically, Kelvin made a perfect candidate and he needed humans for his plan to work. Sure, Kelvin was a bit thick, but Dervinias appreciated his willingness to accept him—an alien—as his leader. He’d known the boy for many, many years. Kelvin worshipped the ground he walked on, and would do anything for The Order’s cause.
I won’t kill him, for now.
Once they collected the cleaver and other knives, placing them back in the duffel bag, (except the one in Judy’s chest, a gift for Thaddeus) Dervinias gave the teenagers a nod and said, “Go.”
Each figure removed their robe and departed.
Except Dervinias.
He waited. Watched from the porch as a tumbleweed bounced and rolled down the street. Thaddeus Holstrom, the man who’d been tracking him and trying to kill him for years, would be home soon, and Dervinias wanted the alien hunter to know who’d done the killing.
Only moments later, he heard a car coming down the street. He sensed the driver was Thaddeus. Walking forward, Dervinias stood so he could be seen immediately. He removed his hood and brushed a hand over his thick blond hair. The car stopped in front of the house. Thaddeus threw open his car door and started firing shots at Dervinias. The bullets struck his flesh and bounced off. This planet’s basic technology couldn’t harm him. Thaddeus already knew that. Dervinias smirked, admiring the A.L.T. leader’s willingness to continually try.
“What have you done? If you’ve harmed even a hair—”
Dervinias interrupted with a laugh.
When Thaddeus reached the porch, Dervinias dove over his head, like a giant cat. He briefly touched the concrete sidewalk with his hands, pushed off and flipped, landing on his feet. Crouched low, he swiveled back toward Thaddeus. But he’d gone inside the house already.
Dervinias heard a mournful scream.
CHAPTER 10
Material Girl
Venus heard him shout. Michael. But ignored him. He might be a challenge . . . Nah. He was human after all. It’d still be easy. He only had to fall in love, for cret’s sake. And love was an uncomplicated, silly emotion. Right?
Zaren had moved on ahead of her. She guessed he was frustrated. Venus used the opportunity to admire his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The confident way he walked. Proud, yet calm. Collected. Until he whipped around, apparently done with his momentary skulking, and came back, towards her.
With a grin, he lifted her into his arms.
“Seriously,” she ranted.
He ignored her and ran.
Fast.
But he was more than running. Her people called this method of travelling: Britorent—to bend time. All Zaren or any kelvieri had to do was move and think of the destination. Then, as though time were an accordion, the fabric of space between where they began and where they wanted to go would fold together. The amount of time it took to get from one place to another depended on the planet and the parameters within that planet.
On Earth, Zaren could move four miles in one second.
Venus had experienced the sensation once before. When she was seven, she’d opened a door within the family castle and discovered a child—dead. The first thing she’d noticed was a substance dripping like rain from the ceiling. The room had been dark. When she felt something sticky wet hit her head and then the back of her hand, she’d commanded the lights to turn on. Blood had been everywhere. In the center of the room, she’d seen the girl, curly white hair spread out around her as though she rested on fluffy cotton. Venus ran to the girl and screamed. She’d kept screaming until her father came. He’d lifted her into his arms and used britorent to take her to their shaman . . .
She shook her head, trying to get rid of the memory.
Wind rushed through her hair and pushed against her body. She leaned her head on her Formytian’s shoulder and watched the barrage of colors, like a Monet painting, swirl around her.
When Zaren set Venus down, she had to lean over to catch her breath. Within a few moments, the dizziness evaporated. She stood and peered into the window of a little clothing shop.
The store was called Casual Treasures. It sat near the end of a long strip of stores in between two food businesses. One was a cupcake bakery with the name, SweetCakes, and on the other, a Subway. The sugary aroma and the smell of freshly baked bread hit Venus from both sides. Her stomach growled.
She’d read about different kinds of cupcakes—Bavarian cream, banana, chocolate-chocolate. Each had looked more delicious than the first. Her mouth watered. Maybe I’ll try one of each.
Zaren watched her, his arms crossed. He appeared to be worried. She had a feeling she knew why. Michael. He’d known the boy was there, at the stream.
“You knew. That’s why you didn’t hurry to catch up to me. You knew I’d run into the human.” Venus really wanted to be angry with him for not telling her . . . Her natural reaction, to ream him, but she didn’t.
“Yes, I knew. I’d hoped a friendship would form. Hadn’t planned on him being so vile.” He grasped her hand and pulled her into the store.
She almost didn’t have time to hold her breath.
Zaren stopped immediately inside the shop.
Venus was glad. Her eyes needed to adjust to the change in light. With a quick scan of the area, she slowly released the air in her lungs. Zaren made a noise, like he was choking.
“What?”
“You know that doesn’t help. Whatever awaits you on the other side of the door will be there whether you—”
“Stop!” She looked away, concentrating on a spot on the floor.
He took her hand and said through a smile, “Hey, I’m sorry. Holding your breath might help.”
“Don’t patronize me, Formytian. It’s my prerogative to do as I please.” She knew he wasn’t patronizing her—that he wanted to help—but any mention of her stupid need to hold her breath only embarrassed her.
His eyes turned sad. “Yes, Princess.”
Zaren knew everything about her, including her superstitious quirks. She wished she could stop. But not knowing what might be on the other side? The last time she’d walked into a room, without holding her breath, there’d been a murdered child—her friend.
“Come on. Let’s shop.”
A female clerk stood near what Venus knew to be a cash register. When Zaren put a hand on the counter, the girl looked up.
“Whoa, looks like she could use some clothes, pronto. Sheesh.”
Venus glanced down. Yeah, the unisa and her boots wouldn’t do.
Zaren rescued her. “Sometimes it isn’t good to party so hard. I tried to tell her.” He winked at the girl and let out a laugh.
The beautiful clerk shook her head. Giggled. “Serious?” Dark hair a
nd icy blue eyes danced as she laughed. When she came around the counter, Venus noticed they were the same height, though she had more on top.
“Nice boots.”
“Thank you.” Venus slugged Zaren in the arm and shrugged. “Trust me; I won’t party that hard again.”
The girl looked like a model for the store, with a tight red t-shirt, the number 94 painted in white across the front, high-heeled, black shoes and dark jeans. They were similar to the jeans on the rack. All sorts of sparkling jewels covered the pockets.
“Of course not. What size are you? You look,” she paused to give Venus a thorough once over before continuing, “petite.”
Venus only ever had her clothing made by those at the palace. The seamstresses would measure her. Then make her clothes. Sometimes they used magic or special thread, but never told her a specific size. Would this seem inhuman? A glance in Zaren’s direction revealed he was checking out clothes in the men’s section. “I’m not sure,” Venus finally admitted.
“No problem. I’ll get a couple of different sizes in the same jean and we’ll go from there. Okay?” Before waiting for Venus to reply, the girl pulled two jewel-encrusted pants off a rack. In another section of the store, she removed a long-sleeved white t-shirt. After that, she went to the jackets, grabbed one in black leather, with buckles and more jewels and studded things all over it.
What type of person does she take me for?
Venus moved toward a disorganized rack and began rearranging the pants so they were in order by size, the smallest in the front and the largest in the back. No way will I be leaving the store with that jacket or those jeans. I’ll try them on, at least, to figure out my size. She stepped to the next section and worked.
“Wanna job?” the clerk asked with a light giggle.
Past the Ages: Book Two Page 16