Brink of Dawn (A Chosen Novel Book 2)

by Jeff Altabef

  Troy catches me before I hit the pavement.

  Air comes in bursts, and then the pain vanishes. A cold sweat coats my back as I lean against him.

  “Are you okay? What was that?” He holds me gently by the shoulders.

  I want to shout that I’m not okay, that I’ll never be okay again, but he doesn’t deserve that. “They’ve found the Seeker I killed five days ago. They’re in the villa. They’re coming for us.”

  His face twists into a question mark, as his eyebrows squish together and his nose crinkles. “How do you know they’ve found the dark spirit you killed?”

  I step back and stand on my own, but he slips his hand on my hip just in case. “One moment we’re outside the tattoo parlor and the next I’m in the villa where I killed the Seeker. I felt a connection with one of them. I could see what he saw and sensed his rage. I don’t know how else to describe it, but I’m sure they know about me. They’ll start to hunt me.”

  “You saw through the eyes of a dark spirit? That can’t be good.”

  I shrug. “Good or not, it happened. I can’t undo it now.“

  Troy likes to call the Seeker I killed a “dark spirit” because killing dark spirits is a good thing, a noble pursuit, whereas killing an intelligent being, even if it comes from another planet like the Seeker did, is a different situation altogether. It involves a certain moral gray area. Different questions pop to mind: did you have to kill him; was he intelligent; did he have a soul? None of those questions are relevant when talking about dark spirits. Kill as many of those as you like—you get a totally free pass, the more the better.

  “Do they have a way to track you? Some trail or signal they can follow?” His hand tightens around my waist as if he’s trying to chase away the Deltites with his presence.

  He wants me to feel safe, and my blood warms with him so close. I’d like to melt into his courage and let him lead me, but that won’t work. I’m the Chosen, not him.

  I shake myself free from his grasp with a burst of willpower. “I don’t think so, but if I can see visions from their minds, they might be able to do the same from mine. Maybe they can use see something that will help them figure out where we are or where we’re headed.”

  He swings his head from side to side and scans the empty street. Since we left Arizona we’ve been looking for Deltites in the shadows. It’s silly, because they can’t possibly know where we are, but it’s hard not to imagine the worst.

  He takes my hand. “We’d better get back to the room.”

  We march toward the hotel in silence, lost in our thoughts, our steps brisk as if we need to race back to keep ahead of them, which is totally dumb. It’s late and we both could use some rest before moving on.

  We trudge across an empty street, avoid the puddles that slick the concrete, and turn right into the parking lot for Roy’s Red Roof Inn. The hotel is a shadowy place with mildewed walls, cracked windows, and showers that never get hot—the type of establishment that exists on the edge of society, where no one worries about two teenagers who stay the night so long as they pay with cash. Thanks to Sicheii, we have plenty of that.

  We plod our way up the stairs, which creak from our weight. “Do you think the other Spirit Walkers will reach New York before us?”

  “Who knows, and why do you keep calling us that?”

  “Spirit Walkers can shift between the spirit world and our world. Since the Wind Spirit has blessed you, you have a strong connection to the spirit world. That’s why you have these gifts and see these visions. Once you succeed, they’ll probably all fade away and your connection to the spirit world will return to normal.”

  Argh! There’s that word again—normal.

  We move down the hallway and look for room 247. None of the lights are working, so we’re left with only the moonlight to illuminate the brass numbers on the doors. Troy bumps into me on purpose and I hip check him back. We both crack smiles and some of the tension evaporates from us.

  “I was thinking,” he says.

  “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

  “Funny. Now that you have one tattoo, you should get another one on the other shoulder to match. How about my name in a big heart?”

  I punch him on the arm. “Only if you get one that says Juliet in pink.”

  “No way! Those things hurt. Your grandfather wasn’t so deft with the needles.”

  “You’re a big wuss.” We pass 245 and stop outside of 247.

  “Don’t tell anyone. I have a certain image to protect.” We both chuckle as he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

  We shuffle into the dark room and I freeze, the laughter stuck in my throat as Troy bumps into me.

  We’re not alone.

  A shadow sits on the bed and flips on a light switch. Light floods the room and bounces off his short blond hair, wide shoulders, and arctic blue eyes. He’s movie-star-handsome except for a rage that simmers behind his eyes. When the light reflects off them, they almost generate heat.

  “Stay cool or I’ll shoot.” He nudges a gun barrel at Troy and then toward the door. “Be a champ and shut it. We don’t want any unexpected visitors. That’ll only complicate matters.”

  Troy swings the door closed with a thud.

  The hilt of my crystal sword lies next to the burglar on the bed. It’s called the Seeker Slayer, the only weapon that can kill our enemy. Anytime I touch it, a weird connection forms and a blade materializes from the hilt. Now I need it back, and feel stupid for leaving it behind in the room, but it drains me when I carry it around, and we were only going to the tattoo shop.

  He points the gun barrel at Troy. “Drop that satchel.”

  Thump.

  I lock my eyes on the burglar and push into his mind, as if his skull is a curtain I can part. I start to concentrate on his internal thoughts to get a better sense of what we’re up against, but only muddled sounds come through. I try to mold them like clay to focus them into words and images, but they’re fuzzy.

  “I’m guessing that’s the bag with the money. Never let anyone see you grab money from a bag. It makes them curious. They wonder how much you have in there. My cousin called right after you checked in.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “But I’m not interested in the money as much as this jeweled thing. What is it?” He glances down at the hilt.

  I fidget in place. “It’s nothing... just a toy. Something I got at one of those conventions they have for science fiction stuff. You don’t want it.”

  He points the gun at me. “You’re a bad liar.”

  His thoughts coalesce in my mind and images appear—violent images. I’ve touched a hot stove, wince, and retreat immediately. The thoughts and emotions are so violent and so extreme, my stomach churns and I have to force the bile back down my throat.

  Panic creeps into Troy’s voice. “What’re you going to do now?”

  A small drop of sweat trickles down the gunman’s cheek.

  “You can have the money.” Troy kicks the bag toward him. “If you leave, we won’t say anything.”

  The gunman clenches his jaw. “You’ve both seen my face.”

  He doesn’t have to continue.

  The muscles tighten in his hand and he smiles. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

  I ball my hands up into fists. Power surges through me, and the world slows.

  Troy leaps in front of me and trips on the bag on the floor.

  The weapon fires.

  Troy moans as he crashes to the carpet.

  Using telekinesis, I mentally grab a lamp and bash it against the gunman’s head. The light bulb shatters. He wobbles and I smash it against his skull a second time.

  Crack!

  He collapses onto the bed.

  I drop to my knees and cup Troy’s face in my hands, my chest tight.

  He moans, but his eyes open.

  I look for blood, expecting to find puddles, but there’s none. I check again and run my hands over his shirt just in case. Still nothing. I brea
the for the first time. He’s safe; I must have created a force field that blocked the bullet. He’d been close enough to fall within my protection. I’ve never done that before, but then, no one has tried to shoot me either. Sometimes these abilities come to me when I need them.

  My aberrant traits tick up to six. This time I’m grateful.

  Troy’s voice sounds husky. “How bad is it? I see a light.”

  “Well, don’t go toward it,” I chide him. “The bullet missed. You’ll be fine.” I let go of his head and it clunks onto the carpet.

  “Oh.” He brushes himself off and sits up.

  “Stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Trying to save me all the time. I’ve changed. I can handle myself.” My voice starts out hard, but softens like a pillow at the end.

  How can I be angry with him? He just risked his life for me. Again.

  “Old habits and all.”

  He grins, but I barely notice because I’m standing over the prone body of the burglar who’s out cold. I grab the hilt of my sword, and a tingling sensation runs up my arm as the crystal blade appears, sharp and real and lethal, as if it had always been there.

  “What’re you doing?” Troy moves beside me.

  I grip the hilt so hard my hand hurts. “I saw into his mind, Troy. He’s bad. He likes hurting people. Even children.” Tears brim my eyes. “I want to kill him.” I point the edge of the blade at his chest. It won’t take much, just a short thrust to puncture his heart and he won’t be able to hurt anyone again.

  “Hold on a moment, Jules.” He lifts both of his hands palm out. “Cool down. This is just your temper flaring. Let’s give this some thought.”

  I slide the tip of the blade against his shirt. “If I let him live, he’ll hurt more people. Children. Those lives will be on my head.”

  “You can’t know that for certain. You can’t see the future.”

  “I know.” The tip of the sword dips lower and cuts through his shirt as if it isn’t there. “He’s a psychopath. He enjoys hurting others.”

  Troy’s voice drifts soft and gentle as a summer breeze. “This is not what the people do. What would Sicheii do?” By “people” he means American Indians.

  “He’d talk to him for days if that’s how long it took to make him see the error in his ways. He’d try to change him, so he could fit in with the Tribe.”

  “Right,” says Troy. “He did it with my dad, and my dad stopped beating us.”

  My hand tightens on the hilt. “We don’t have that much time, Troy.” I stare at him.

  His eyes are wide. He doesn’t want me to do something I can’t live with, that I can’t walk back.

  A powerful tug of war erupts and threatens to rip me in two. Can I live with myself if I kill him? Can I live with myself if I don’t? Both sides pull at my soul. I look for the light, but everything is gray.

  “Right, but the people do other things too. They warn the rest of the Tribe about the person’s issues, so they can guide him and are wary of him at the same time. If he can’t change they would banish him, send him on his way without any weapons to face the unknown.”

  I know what he’s hinting at. “Calling the police won’t do any good, Troy. We’ve got no proof against him, and we don’t have the time.” Blood seeps from the monster’s chest as the tip of the blade punctures his skin. The blood reminds me of my tattoo. “But maybe there’s another way to make sure children won’t trust him.”

  I press the edge of the blade to his cheek and, with two quick flips of my wrist, carve an X into it. The blade dips in deep enough that the scar will never fully heal. Small frozen crystals form around the edges of the cut, as if the sword were made of dry ice.

  “At least that’ll make him seem scary to children. They won’t trust him anymore.”

  Troy grabs my hand and guides the sword to my side. “Sicheii would be happy.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t kill him?” I shoot him a lopsided grin.

  “You’ve done enough. We’ll call the cops on the way out and find a new place to sleep for the night. With any luck they’ll arrest him for the gun and trace it back to other crimes.”

  “Okay.” Still I’m not totally convinced this is best.

  He doesn’t deserve to live—some people are defective and we’d be better off without them.

  But could I really have killed him?

  I’ll have to murder the Deltite leader. That’s the only way to stop them. It won’t be a moment of passion or self-defense.

  It will be planned out.

  It will be murder.

  The train’s constant rhythmic chugging does little to calm Akari’s frazzled nerves. She looks at the seat next to her, half expecting to see her grandmother, and sighs.

  On all four of her previous train trips, her grandmother sat beside her and spun a story to pass the time. Each tale focused on their destination and the wonderful adventures they were sure to have. None of them came true. Their outings could never compete with her grandmother’s imagination, but they were fun, unique, and safe.

  Now, everything’s changed. Akari is alone and her world has become impossibly large and dangerous. She’s on the run—that she knows. She just doesn’t know whether she’s running from those who wish to destroy her or toward an uncertain destiny the Order has chosen for her. Both are rotten choices, but that’s all she has.

  Usually a strong-minded person, her indecisiveness bothers her like an itch she can’t scratch. Just when she thinks she’s decided on her path, her thoughts storm in another direction and her answer changes. It’s driving her nuts.

  To chase away the storm roiling through her mind she precisely folds a corner of paper, completes a perfectly formed horse, and drops it into the small bag at her feet with the rest of her origami zoo.

  Before the figure lands in the bag, icicles tickle the back of her neck, so she glances up. A new traveler stands by the doors. He’s in his mid to late thirties, wearing an expensive navy suit, white cotton shirt and yellow silk tie.

  She immediately dislikes him and turns her head toward the window, hoping he didn’t notice her looking at him. The last thing she wants is company, and her gut says this guy is trouble. She sneaks a look a second later as he slithers past numerous empty seats to plop down next to her.

  Great.

  Once the train lurches forward again, he shoots her a bold look—an arrogant smile, eyebrows raised, mustache curved slightly at the edges. He’s twenty pounds overweight, has thinning hair and is old enough to be her father, but he has money, and because of that he thinks he’s cool.

  Her stomach turns. She knows he wants to strike up a conversation, but she’d rather eat a bowl of slugs, so she tries to ignore him by turning her back to him and staring out the window. Through the reflection in the glass, she sees him watching her. She focuses on the passing scenery, but her eyes keep returning to the stranger’s reflection, and every time she returns, he’s watching her. Heat warms her cheeks until the awkwardness becomes too much to take, and she turns back toward him.

  “Haven’t I met you before?” he asks. “You look familiar.”

  “Seriously? I’m sure we’ve never met.” She adds an edge to her voice to discourage additional conversation, crosses her legs, and leans farther away from him.

  He opens his mouth to ask what’s sure to be another annoying question, when his phone rings. After a ten-minute debate over the hottest restaurants in town, he disconnects the call and grins at her. “What can I say? Someone always wants me.” He waves his smartphone as proof of his awesomeness. “I can’t believe he thinks Jade Garden is still an in place.”

  “Some people are just clueless.” She smirks, hoping he’ll get the message, but that’s too much to wish for.

  He grins knowingly, as if she’s talking about everyone else on the planet and could not possibly be talking about someone as awesome as himself. “Listen, I’m meeting some friends at a karaoke bar. Why don’t you come with
me?”

  “Really? Thanks for the generous offer but I’m meeting someone.”

  She glances back out the window but he continues talking anyway. “The karaoke bar is only two blocks away from the station and it’s open all night. I do a great Elvis impersonation and we always have plenty of champagne.”

  Akari snorts. The image of this guy doing an Elvis impersonation is too ridiculous not to laugh. “I’m less than half your age and have no interest in hanging out with you and your loser buddies. It’s late, and I’m just trying to get to Tokyo in peace.”

  “You’re from a fishing village up north in the Tohoku region, right? I can tell by your accent.” He leans in close towards her, his eyes intense and calculating.

  Something about the way he says fishing village sounds odd, so she faces the window and refuses to budge.

  Finally, he gets the message, huffs and fiddles with his phone.

  The scenery turns from suburbs to city, and soon the train jolts to a sudden stop.

  “Last station. Tokyo. Everyone off.”

  Thank goodness. Having boarded the train in Hachinohe eight hours earlier, she can’t wait to get off, and the last hour was the worst. She could barely breathe with the creepy guy next to her stealing half her space.

  She glances at him as other passengers rustle around them, but he seems oblivious that this is the last stop, mobile phone still pushed against his ear.

  She sighs loudly and stretches like a cat.

  Still no reaction.

  When she shifts her weight to stand, his arrogant expression turns dangerous. “Sit. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Akari’s face burns. “If you bother me, I’ll stuff that cell phone down your throat.”

  Without warning, he chops the edge of his hand into her stomach. The blow knocks the air from her lungs and topples her back down, gasping. Stars dance before her eyes.

  He leans in close and she smells peppermint. His lips almost brush her cheek. “I know who you are, and what you are. You’re coming with me, Chosen.”

  A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face and drips onto the seat. He pushes the tip of a switchblade against her side to keep her still while the train empties.