Transfer
An Urban Fantasy Romance
Jordan C. Robinson
Copyright © 2017 by Jordan C. Robinson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Will
2. Kristen
3. Will
4. Will
5. Kristen
6. Will
7. Will
8. Will
9. Kristen
10. Will
11. Will
12. Kristen
13. Will
14. Kristen
15. Kristen
16. Will
17. Will
18. Kristen
19. Will
20. Will
21. Will
22. Will
23. Kristen
24. Will
25. Will
26. Will
27. Will
28. Kristen
29. Will
30. Kristen
31. Will
32. Will
Chapter 33
34. Kristen
35. Will
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Jordan C. Robinson
One
Will
The week started as the worst one of my life. I entered it with a seemingly terminal illness that doctors couldn’t diagnose and somehow left it . . . well, completely healthy, but with some major baggage. Baggage that meant I couldn’t look anyone in the eye and say I wasn’t completely sure magic wasn’t involved.
I arrived in Portland, Oregon, on May 18, 2017. When I stepped off the plane, I fully believed I had a year left to live. I had been suffering from crazy symptoms that stumped every doctor on the east coast. Believe me when I say I got quite tired of describing my symptoms over and over again. Watery eyes in harsh sunlight, constantly ringing ears, pain that turned on and off like a light switch (depending on my mental state), daily nausea, lack of motor skills, and more. That’s without me even mentioning the more “positive” symptoms. On certain days I became stronger and sometimes my injuries or wounds would heal way faster than they should have. With the symptoms appearing and disappearing without warning, I didn’t blame the doctors for having no idea. Which is why I ended up in Portland, heading to be studied at the Portland Institute for Special Persons.
PISP was my last hope. If they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, I wouldn’t make it through the week. No—my illness wasn’t going to off me, rather, I anticipated ending it myself. About ten years with this illness had been long enough.
The last year of my life had officially begun when I walked out the airport doors. I stood on the curb of the pickup zone waiting for my ride, Daichi, to pick me up in our yet-to-be-named food truck. I spotted Daichi through a sea of taxis, leaning against what I assumed would be our truck. Weaving through businessmen and vacationers, I pulled my one measly suitcase behind me. To be honest, the truck looked as if it would fall apart at any second. I felt its pain as I wobbled slightly on my way to the truck. I had gotten used to being unable to walk in a straight line; so on a primal-ice cream truck level—yeah—I could understand the feeling of being on one’s last leg.
“I’m not spending eight hours a day in that hunk of junk,” I teased as I closed within hearing distance.
Daichi looked up and beamed, walking over to embrace me in a bear hug.
“Welcome to Portland, the best place to spend the last year of your life!” He finally let go, allowing me to breathe again.
“Thanks for picking me up.” I opened the passenger side door and threw my suitcase on the floor. No extra strength on the throw. Maybe I was getting better at moderating my random strength boosts.
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after being so behind schedule on the truck.”
I hopped into the vehicle and shut the door behind me. I couldn’t tell if the rattling of the door was me pulling too hard or the truck being held together by tape and prayers. Sitting down, I discovered a thick tome in my seat. I pulled it from under me and settled into the seat.
“Daichi, what in the world are you reading?” Black leather and gold lettering covered the front cover. “The Lesser Key of Solomon?”
“Oh, that,” he said, grabbing it from my hands with a grin. He tossed it in the backseat. “You never know when you’ll need a book to pass the time.”
“But a book of evil spirits?” Not that I knew what the Lesser Key of Solomon was, but that was literally the subtitle.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve read.”
I brought my thoughts back to the truck. I had left Daichi to do most of the planning while I was getting my move to Portland together. There was no use in wasting my last months by bemoaning a lack of planning. “Are you saying now I have to do more than just provide the credit card scanner app?” Despite the potential added work, it was good to be with him.
“Yeah, man. We still need a permit and a name. Do you even have the app? Also, the paint—”
“Let me stop you there. Do you have something so I can write this down?”
“Yep.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m not even worried—we’ll just start a week late.” I shrugged with a smile.
“That’s the attitude,” Daichi said as he merged into airport traffic. The silence was short-lived as he told me about his weekend. “So, have you ever had a goose honk at you? ‘Cause they are terrifying.”
I turned and looked to him. “Daichi . . . Were you sober?”
My best friend placed one hand over his heart. “Well, I would never . . . William Patterson. How could you think such a thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you haven’t been sober one weekend since you met Erin.”
“True enough.” He nodded as his smile turned to an exaggerated frown. “True enough.”
I could always rely on Daichi for a good story. It was part of the reason I had chosen to spend Operation One Year Left here in Portland, Oregon. I glanced at him as he navigated through traffic. Whether I’d be partaking in his less-than-legal shenanigans, I doubted it. But hey, maybe I’d get a miracle and leave PISP as a cured man, leaving me free to party with Daichi.
“Did you ever talk to your roommate?” he asked, snapping me out of my daydream.
“I haven’t. I just agreed with the landlord for the place this morning. On the tarmac, actually.” My last-minute stunt earned a side-eye from him. I knew I had pushed the risk factor too far when Daichi, the king of risk, gave me weird looks.
He pulled the truck into a parking lot and brought us to a stop. “We’re here.”
I looked out the window and saw a rundown storefront with a sign barely hanging—if it even was a storefront. The sign was unreadable and the inside looked empty. I couldn’t even imagine what we’d be picking up from this place.
“Where is ‘here’?” I asked, skeptical we’d want anything to do with supplies from a place like this.
He lowered his head. “Erin wanted me to pick something up . . .”
“Oh, go ahead.” I waved him off.
He returned shortly, stuffing something into his jean jacket as he jumped into the driver’s seat.
The next stop for equipment wasn’t far off. Although I had no idea what the miscellaneous cooking machine we
hauled into the truck did. Daichi was the chef. My cooking skills only extended to Easy Mac and Pop-Tarts. My responsibility was the payment app, and I already had that.
“So besides this lovely truck, what do you have planned for the next twelve months?”
“Like, four doctor appointments,” I said after brief contemplation.
He stared at me. “Is that it?”
It was. Beyond that, I had nothing planned. Maybe a dentist appointment and a few dates, but beyond that, I was stumped. I changed the subject.
“What do you have planned?” I asked.
He shrugged as much as he could while struggling to place the machine inside the truck. “I don’t know, but I’ve got, like, twenty-three whole years to figure it out.”
“Twenty-three?”
“Yep. I know Erin will get me into something I won’t make it out of. So I’ll probably only make it to fifty.”
It was my turn to stare. Our conversations were certainly bleak lately. What did I have to look forward to? I had to create an opportunity so I didn’t waste this last year. I wouldn’t spend my last months the way I had the previous ones in Maryland. What could I fit into the next few months?
Not quite getting the proper lift, we banged the machine into the back of the truck. I needed to stop thinking to myself and focus on getting it into the truck. I sighed. Whenever I focused, my muscles always overdid it.
“Okay,” I said, “on three. One, two, three!”
Daichi grunted as his end barely cleared the lip of the truck. My end of the machine, however, jerked in my hands as I lifted it easily into the air, nearly tipping the weight of the machine onto him. I recovered quickly and managed to push my end way up and over the lip, pushing it much farther into the back of the truck than his side. My eyes went a bit wide at the show of strength. I wasn’t surprised, but I was worried Daichi would say something.
“Well,” he brought his finger to his lips, “that was weird.” He shrugged and turned before walking back to the driver’s seat. I exhaled. I wasn’t sure why I was hiding this from him. He was my best friend after all.
With the machinery in the truck, we called it a day. We then went to his place to hang out. We played Mario Tennis, watched random TV, and just generally messed around until my introversion wanted me home.
Daichi drove in relative silence on the way to dropping me off at my new beginning. I hated beginnings. Whether it was being unable to say hi to Jessica in the halls of high school or just being a dense and sometimes awkward male, I didn’t have great luck with first impressions.
Two
Kristen
Twelve words. Albeit twelve beautifully crafted words, but twelve nonetheless. I stared at my government and politics assignment. Meanwhile, in a different window, I had almost a hundred thousand words written of the adventure novel I’d been meticulously creating for the better part of two years.
“Hey, Kristen. What’s for dinner?” Cooper called from the bed.
“I don’t know, Cooper.” I bemoaned his interruption. “I’ve really got to finish this.” The assignment was due soon, but I wasn’t even working on it.
“Should I order a pizza, then?”
Damn it, Cooper. No other options? “I’ll cook.” I took a deep breath and closed my laptop a little too strongly.
“Thanks, babe,” he said, eyes still glued to the TV.
I didn’t bother to respond. He wouldn’t hear me anyway. I took my time getting down the stairs and leaned against the counter once in the kitchen, rubbing my thumb and forefingers against my forehead.
Was I overreacting? No, of course not. I felt my fists involuntarily clench. I had no idea why I had even begun to consider that I was in the wrong. He couldn’t respect my body or my wishes. Why did he act like he was incapable of doing so? I thought as my mind strayed. I guess this wasn’t about pizza.
I pushed off the counter and turned to open the cabinet. I had almost forgotten that I came down here to cook after my anger-fueled daydreaming.
“Whatcha gonna make?” I jumped as Cooper rounded the corner. How did I not hear him come down? Another angry daydream side effect.
Time to activate the deep belly breathing I learned in yoga. I made a concerted effort to unclench my jaw, at least until I finished cooking for this big baby. “What do you want?” I swung around to face him, hands on my hips.
“Jesus, I don’t know. You’re my little chef.”
Not tonight, I’m not. “Why don’t you order that pizza, after all? I’m going to take a bath.” I could relax in the tub before my new roommate showed up. I couldn’t allow myself to take out my frustrations on them.
Five minutes later, I was climbing into the bath hoping Cooper would be gone when I got out. I would talk to him tomorrow. I leaned my head back on the edge of the tub, willing the bubbles to drown my frustrations. Instead, I found myself thinking more about Cooper and our relationship. He used to be nice. When was the turning point?
Jeez, Kristen. Don’t ruin the bath. I let the bathwater and the scent of lavender wash over me. Good. Time to plan the next chapter in my novel.
“Hey, babe. I think I’m gonna take off, all right?”
I turned up my music.
“Babe?”
How loud do I have to make it?
The floorboards creaked as he finally retreated down the stairs. I lowered the volume and heard the door shut in the distance.
Half the nights with Cooper ended with me jumping out of the bath to get wine after I starved him out of the house. The sudden lack of tension in my muscles was sign enough that we were through.
I met Cooper on OkCupid. He had messaged me first, saying something dumb but catchy. I thought he was cute, so I responded. We messaged back and forth, and eventually began texting. He invited me to a few parties, but me being the person that I am, I declined. I’ve always preferred meeting somewhere I could actually hear them. After turning down the first few offers, Cooper seemed to get impatient with my lack of interest in heading out to meet him at some mysterious party. I could feel myself losing his attention. End of story, right? Nope. I decided one day to just go for it.
That night, I got in my Mazda and drove the forty-five minutes to the party. I arrived, parked, and walked into the house. It was gigantic. The host pointed me and my slackened jaw downstairs to where the guests partied, though partied might have been a bit generous. There were two or three other girls there and one guy besides Cooper. Needless to say, it was a bit awkward. What was I thinking?
Long story short, after a couple of hours of doing who knows what, Cooper began making out with one of the other girls. He had invited me there and then made out with someone else. Cue that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
I left within the minute. On the way out I received a sad puppy look from his friend and an obligatory, “Sorry.” I began the drive home with some unnamed R&B in the background. The usual forty-five minute drive took a little longer when I had to pull over and cry.
Yet somehow, I ended up with that clown. Maybe because sadly, he’d been the best of the bunch so far.
My first boyfriend was Stephen. The only legacy he left behind was that I learned to stand up for myself. Oh, and he also left me with a lovely stomach scar. If not for him, I’d probably be running out of the bath after Cooper instead of the wine.
I spent the summer after leaving him and the first semester of college isolating myself, especially from romantic pursuits. I was forced out of my apartment eventually though. I had my best friend, Chris, to thank for that. She dragged me out to a party one night, and I did my usual thing—sitting in the crowd but not really approaching anyone. I did meet a girl there that I ended up dating briefly, no more than a few weeks. Now that I think about it, she didn’t leave me with any emotional scars. Maybe if my incoming roommate was attractive, we could develop something. I don’t know why I continually ended up with the more brutish gender.
Chris was so happy with her ma
tchmaking success that she took me to another party shortly after I became available again. This is where I met Bobby. He was fairly off-putting at first, but he grew on me, somehow. I still had a deep-rooted fear that he would turn out to be a total ass, but he was pretty patient with me. We started dating, and after six long months, I decided to have sex with him. Fast forward three and a half years and we were still dating. We had even moved in together. I had been working as a barista at the local coffee place and taking courses online. Things were solid.
That was until one night I heard a phone ringing in the living room. I went to answer it, figuring it was his sister’s, as she had been over the night before. However, it absolutely was not his sister’s phone. The girl on the other line gasped as we learned of each other’s existence. After a wonderful conversation with her, I learned many new things about Bobby’s apparent second life. I immediately packed my belongings and was gone before he got home from work.
I began a cursory search for a new place and ended up finding my current place. I moved in on short notice and began trying to adjust to my newly single life. I was living with a stranger, distraught from the breakup, and overwhelmed in a new city.
This is where I made yet another mistake. In an attempt to cure my loneliness, I decided to try my hand at dating once again. Shortly after, a montage of blind dates set up by coworkers and new friends began.
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