by Jana Janeway
Mengliad: Book One of The Mengliad Series
© 2009 Jana Janeway
First Published: December 19, 2009
Published by JanaOnWheels, Ink
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Visit janaonwheels.com
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Book 2 also available
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my family and friends, for encouraging me to dream big. Without their love and support, this book would not be in print.
Special thanks to Oliver: Your editing assistance during the final stages was invaluable! I learned so much!
****
Dedicated to my mom, whom I miss greatly.
****
Cover design by: Sela Lyons & Jessie Jasen
All rights reserved.
****
Chapter One
It’s survival of the species, and that’s all it knows. Needing a blood meal, the protein necessary to its offspring, it searches the streets of New York for a victim, unremorseful.
Spotting potential prey, it swoops in for the kill. Biting into warm flesh, it takes what it needs without regard to the owner, but danger presents itself, and it can’t obtain all it requires. Another source is vital. From its vantage point, it doesn’t take long to find.
Soft flesh, warm blood, it starts to feast, the task nearly complete.
Darkness.
“Stupid mosquito.” She slapped the insect hard, killing it, and then flicked it off her arm before continuing towards her destination.
****
The restaurant was near dark, the only lights on being for the benefit of the crew as they got ready to open. It wasn’t a dream job by any stretch, but at least it was the start of where she eventually wanted to be. Never one to shy away from paying her dues, it didn’t concern her at all that being an assistant cook at a small European style pub and grill was just the first of many stepping stones she would have to tread.
A trusted employee, she keyed into the establishment with her own key, given to her by the owner. She was immediately acknowledged by one of the waitresses upon entering.
“Hey, Jessica.” It was a cordial greeting and nothing more.
“Morning, Lilith.”
She was a nice enough person, Jessica supposed, but a complete ditz. Not at all capable of waitressing, she guessed the only reason the overly thin, raven-haired woman even had the job was because she was sleeping with the owner.
The glasses Lilith wore gave the false impression of intelligence, even though her dark brown eyes twinkled vacantly.
“Nasty scratch,” Lilith muttered disinterestedly, as she poured salt into saltshakers. Every time she spilled some, which was often, she would toss a pinch over her shoulder.
Confused, Jessica asked, “What scratch?” It wasn’t the first time Lilith had said something completely irrelevant to the conversation or situation at hand.
“On your arm,” she answered, pointing. “Looks infected.”
Scowling, Jessica looked down at her arm, spotting the angry red mark immediately. “It’s not a scratch,” she mumbled. “It’s a mosquito bite.”
“Doesn’t look like a mosquito bite. Maybe a dog bit you. Maybe you have rabies!” she added, almost excitedly.
Jessica glared in return. “It’s not a dog bite! I would remember getting bit by a dog! It’s a mosquito bite,” she repeated.
“What is?”
Jessica just rolled her eyes. The woman had the attention span of a gnat. “I’ll just go get the first aid kit and put something on it.” She twisted her skin to get a better look at the blotch. “And put a band-aid over it.”
“Oh, that reminds me, the lunch special today is tuna melt.”
Scowling, Jessica looked up and over at her. “Why would that remind you?”
An oblivious smirk, the kind she was known for, inched across Lilith’s face. “Okay.”
Exasperated, Jessica scoffed and walked away.
****
It wasn’t like her to get sick. The few times she had become ill, she was usually able to work in spite of it. This time, she couldn’t. Nauseous and dizzy, sweat poured off her one minute, only for her to be shivering the next. As the day dragged on, her condition worsened, and it didn’t go unnoticed by her coworkers.
“You need to go home, Jessica! You’re sick!”
In denial, Jessica shook her head at her friend. “I don’t get sick, Marcy.”
Though in actuality, ‘friend’ was too strong a word. Really, Marcy was just the only person at work that Jessica got along with.
She seemed to be about the same age as Jessica, but her wisdom and appearance implied she was much older. With her dark hair tightly permed and the disco-style attire she wore, Jessica would have guessed she was a teen in the 1970s. Even her glasses implied she was older, though the wire-rimmed frames were more popular in the 1960s.
“Well, you are today,” Marcy said firmly. “Go to the doctor! Or at least go home! Get some rest or something! You can’t work like this.”
“Sure I can!” she insisted, but then she swayed as if she was about to faint. Moving quickly, Marcy caught her before she hit the floor.
“Okay, I’m getting Lilith to call you an ambulance.” Marcy then turned towards the swinging door. “Lilly! Get in here!”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Jessica complained, though her words were cut off by Lilith’s entrance into the kitchen.
“What?” Lilith asked, unconcerned.
“Call 9-1-1.” Marcy looked sharply to Jessica in explanation for why the paramedics were needed.
“Okay,” Lilith replied, still obliviously calm, “what’s the number?”
Annoyed, Jessica sighed deeply. “Never mind. I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she insisted. “I’m just gonna go home, okay? It’s probably just one of those twenty four hour flu bugs or something.”
“You sure you’re okay to walk?” Marcy asked.
“I’m sure. I’m fine! Stop worrying! I’ll be in tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Marcy conceded, “but will you call me when you get home, so I know you got there safely?”
Jessica fought to smile. “Okay, okay. I will. Oh,” she suddenly remembered, “table four wants their steak ultra-rare.”
“We can deal, Jess. Go home.”
Nodding, she then padded over to the employee room to get her coat and purse. “Little tea and some rest, and I’ll be good as new,” she mumbled, trying to convince herself. “I don’t get sick.”
****
Confused and
disoriented, she sat up, looking around as people passed her by without so much as a second glance. She was in Central Park, she knew that much, but she couldn’t remember how she got there. She remembered leaving the restaurant, because she didn’t feel well, but nothing after that. Why was she on the ground?
“You okay?”
The voice startling her, her attention snapped over to the dark-haired man who had asked the simple question. Noticing his thin form and pale complexion, she determined through hazy reasoning that he was not a threat to her.
Tossing her red hair out of her face, her green eyes met blue ones through the slightly tinted glasses he wore.
“I think so,” she answered, though she wasn’t exactly sure.
“Where are your glasses?”
Glasses, she thought to herself? I don’t wear glasses. It was then that she realized. . .
“I’ve been mugged!” She felt around in the fallen leaves for her purse, but to no avail.
“Oh, man!” the guy exclaimed, sounding sympathetic. “Good thing it’s sundown, eh?”
What difference did it make what time of day it was, she wondered? Getting mugged is upsetting any time of day.
“I suppose your spare pair was in your purse, huh?”
Puzzled by the question, and by the man himself, she scowled up at him. “What are you talking about?”
He stared back for a moment, seemingly just as confused as she was, before a kind smile spread his lips. “Oh, yeah, it can leave you disoriented sometimes.”
Deciding to move past it, she picked herself up off the ground, allowing him to help her. “I don’t even remember how I got here,” she muttered, to herself as much as to the stranger beside her.
“Well, retrace your steps,” he suggested. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I left Judy’s, where I work, ‘cause I felt sick. Dizzy, nauseous, hot and cold sweats. . . you might not want to stand too close, or you’ll catch it. Anyway,” she continued, “I left the restaurant early, to go home and get some rest, and I remember leaving. . . but I can’t remember anything after that.”
“Wait a minute. . .” His scowl grew, now mirroring hers. “You felt sick?”
“Yes.”
“You felt sick?” he repeated. “How can that be?”
Why did he keep fixating on that? “What do you mean, how can that be? I just was! Am. A flu bug, I think. A nasty one, too! It’s probably going around.”
She looked to the ground again, hoping against hope that her belongings would be there. “I guess I could’ve passed out, and gotten mugged while I was unconscious. Assholes,” she said to herself, referring to whoever had committed the crime, and then her attention went back to the odd man who continued to stare at her. “What?”
“I don’t understand. . . how can you be sick?” He leaned in, his voice quiet as if sharing a secret. “I mean, you’re Mengliad, right?”
She cocked her head at the foreign word.
“How can you not be Mengliad? You reek of it!”
“Excuse me?” she asked indignantly. “I reek of what, exactly?”
His brow furrowed. “Enyoh.”
Though he seemed harmless, he had ‘fruitloop’ written all over him. She didn’t feel an urgent need to flee, but did think it was best to politely excuse herself.
“Look, thanks for trying to help and all, but I think I’m just gonna go to the police station and report my mugging, then head home and take a nice long bath.”
“You want me to walk with you? To the police station? You seem a little. . . out of it.”
“No,” she said quickly, holding her hands up, palms out. “I’m fine, thanks.” Testing to see what his reaction would be, she took a step back and away. When he made no move to follow her, she smiled, then offered a little wave and backed another step. “Bye.”
After smiling in return, he headed off in the opposite direction.
****
Walking through the door, Craddock was immediately greeted by his roommate’s ass, which was sticking out of the fridge.
“Hey, Joe.” He laughed, giving the freezer door above his head a gentle knock with his knuckle.
Josiah remained on task as he rummaged. “Hey, Doc. Hungry? We got Mealies!” he announced excitedly, as he produced two beer bottles from the fridge and offered one over.
“Where from? That place on Fifth Street? ‘Cause I swear, they don’t check the suppliers.”
Josiah shook his head. “The place on Bleeker.”
“Okay, good! They’re a little pricier, but they farm ‘em themselves.”
“Said the guy with money to spare,” Josiah teased, then added, almost as if it was an afterthought, “Bibi is coming by in a few.”
“‘Kay.” The one syllable sound was the only acknowledgement Craddock offered as he headed for his room to change out of his work clothes.
“Oh, and Doc?” Josiah suddenly remembered, “That idiot from the committee called again.”
Craddock scoffed. “You’d think I was the only one left!” He nodded in receipt of the message before disappearing into his room. “Weird thing happened today,” he called out after a minute.
“Yeah?” Josiah called back.
“Yeah.” Reentering the living room and heading for the kitchen, he began sharing his story. “There was this gal at the park today—”
“Was she hot?” Josiah asked, interrupting him.
Even though he was annoyed by the childish question, Craddock answered truthfully. “Yeah, she was hot. Natural redhead, and the most amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen! Anyway,” he continued, “she was on the ground, and she was all confused and disoriented. And she wasn’t wearing her glasses.”
Just the mention of it caused Josiah to shudder. “Why not?”
“She said she got mugged. She seemed pretty shaken up. She was talking about being sick.”
“And she was. . .?” The question trailed off as he pulled a tall plastic storage container from the pantry shelf.
Craddock nodded. “Definitely.”
“She had the scent?”
“She reeked of it! It was as strong as I’ve ever smelled!”
“What’s as strong as you’ve ever smelled?” Bibi asked, involving herself in the conversation as soon as she walked through the door.
“Mealies?” Josiah asked, holding the container up for her to see.
“Sure,” she agreed easily. “Where are they from?”
“Henderson’s on Bleeker.”
“That’ll work,” she said with an approving nod. “So, what were you talking about?”
“This woman I ran into at the park. She was really disoriented, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She said she’d been mugged, so I figured they made off with her glasses, and her spare was in her purse, so they got those, too. But she kept talking about being sick with the flu! And she seemed more confused than would be considered normal.”
“You’re sure she was Mengliad?” she asked, accepting the bowl of food from Josiah.
“Positive. She reeked of it!”
Bibi startled. “It was especially strong?”
Trying to follow the sudden change in her demeanor, he both answered and asked, “Yeah?”
“Like in a newborn?” Her tone was as intense as her expression.
His eyes grew wide, indicating he had caught on. “A convert? I’ve never met one before!”
“That you know of. They wouldn’t exactly go around telling people, would they?”
“Good point,” he said, conceding.
“It is odd, though, that she would be so confused.” She shook her bowl to get her food to calm down. “I mean, there are rituals,” she added, voicing her thoughts. “She had to know what was happening. And why was she out and about, when she should’ve been in bed?”
“All good points,” Craddock agreed, grabbing the escapees from his bowl and popping them in his mouth.
“Unless!” The suddenness of her exclamatio
n caused her two friends to startle. “Unless she didn’t know it was happening!”
Josiah and Craddock both just looked at her, their furrowed brows showing they weren’t quite sure what she was talking about.
“It’s rare,” she explained. “Really rare. Like, only nine proven reported cases ever, but it’s possible—possible—that she was converted without knowledge or consent.”
Josiah shook his head, not because he was disagreeing with her, but because he didn’t understand. “How could something like that happen?”
“She obviously has Mengliad DNA, but sometimes the ritual isn’t performed at birth. All it would take is a drop of blood from a pure-born Mengliad. If she had an open wound, and a Mengliad’s blood got into that wound somehow. . .”
“I thought most Humans with Mengliad DNA die within a few months of being born, without the ritual.”
“That’s a misconception. Something they teach now, as a way of scaring people into doing the ritual. Sure, odds are a Human baby with Mengliad DNA will die, but it’s not a hard and fast rule. Some live. And then they grow up and reproduce. Then that offspring grows up and reproduces. There’s actually a whole bunch of Humans with Mengliad DNA out there, who have no idea what they are, or that we even exist.”
“So, this gal Doc ran into is a Human with Mengliad DNA, who was converted without knowing it, and now she’s just running around out there with no idea what’s going on?”
Bibi nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, yeah.”
“We should go find her,” Craddock suggested, “before a Purist sees her first!”
“And before dawn hits,” she added. “She doesn’t own glasses, and she doesn’t know she needs them.”
“How do we find her?” Josiah asked.
“She said where she works,” Craddock remembered suddenly. “She said she works at Judy’s!”
“Oh God,” Bibi muttered, and the guys looked at her with questioning eyes. “Lilith works there.”
“Your sister?” Josiah asked, getting a nod in return. “But she’s a Purist, isn’t she?”
Again, Bibi nodded.
Panicking, Craddock bolted for the door. “We have to get to her, before she goes into work!”