Doria Falls
Page 24
“We all made it,” he said, bounding down the steps.
“I never doubted it for a second,” I said. It was a lie, but sounded like the right thing to say.
“Sure you did.” Logan’s sarcasm was thick. He could read me like Jeremy.
Mr. Gordon came up beside me and hugged me hard. He was my teacher, or had been my teacher—actually, I didn’t know what he was to me anymore. I hugged him back, thankful he had come to our aid, thankful I was still alive, thankful we all made it out alive to continue the fight.
“You’re always there when we need you,” I said. “Especially for me.”
He released me, his eyes glassy behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and said, “I keep trying, but you guys sure don’t make it easy—especially you.” He smirked and squeezed my shoulder.
The first door had vanished, but Nicholae manifested a new door and swung it inward, beckoning us all to enter and leave the cathedral behind once and for all. We filed through. I pushed Logan ahead of me and Mr. Gordon pushed me ahead of him. Nicholae waited for the last person before stepping through and closing the door behind him.
We arrived in a compound much like the one destroyed in Doria Falls. I didn’t know where we’d landed, but it didn’t matter because Desiree instantly came running to greet me with the biggest grin and the brightest emerald eyes. I didn’t know what new fight would present itself tomorrow, but once I had her in my arms, the rest of the world melted away—which I knew would be short-lived. The fight was far from over.
I held her within the eye of the hurricane, dreading the second act of the storm.
Nicholae
Nicholae watched Oliver run back to the others, and a second after Oliver took Helen’s hand, the four of them disappeared. He squeezed the stuffed animal dog—poor innocent Frolics—cursing Oliver for giving it to him. This was just an extra responsibility he didn’t need.
“Where are they?” a voice boomed from behind him, a voice he knew only too well.
“Gone,” Nicholae said as he turned to face Kafka—the man who had made him into what he was today, and the man now intent on taking it all away.
Kafka stood with Alexandria and twenty members of the Lorne Royal Guard. On Kafka’s command, the soldiers encircled him, guns drawn.
Screams rose from the pedestrians on the multiple nearby sidewalks between the two glistening skyscrapers of Provex City. Most of them ran for the perpendicular streets or into the closest buildings for safety, but a few curious onlookers remained.
Nicholae guessed the peacekeepers were already on their way, knew they had an average response time of ninety seconds, and knew this would be over long before then.
“That was your grand scheme?” Kafka asked. “To send them out of your reach?”
“And yours.”
“Nothing’s out of my reach,” he spat, the muscles in his face tight, red flecks swirling in his black eyes. “You should know that by now. I’ve never set foot in that God-forgotten plane, but it’s not out of my reach. They will be found and brought to me.”
“No,” Nicholae said, analyzing each of the men surrounding him. “They’re out of this now. This is between you and me. What do you need all these men for? Surely, you can handle me on your own.”
“Just guarding all exits in case you decide to jump. This isn’t the half of them.”
Nicholae knew he was surrounded here and on the planes above. He had anticipated the risk of going alone. Now there seemed to be only one way out. He regretted not warning Matilda ahead of time.
Nicholae palmed the butt of his pistol.
“Don’t even think about it,” Kafka warned.
Nicholae knew the order was to take him out at the knees, to take him down, but leave him alive for Kafka to relieve him of all his lives.
Kafka stepped into the circle, but Nicholae wasn’t focused on him. He surveyed all of the men aiming at him, looking for the one man not on the same page as his fellow soldiers.
“Hand me the gun,” Kafka demanded as he approached. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Nicholae spotted a soldier with noticeable doubt in his eyes and wasted no time in drawing his weapon.
As anticipated, Kafka wrenched the gun from his hand, pulling it toward him with unmatched force. But Nicholae wasn’t trying to compete with Kafka. The gesture would hopefully elicit the desired response nonetheless.
Even with the gun removed from his hand, Nicholae continued with his arm extended, forefinger out, thumb up, hand like a gun, pointed at the soldier he’d previously identified.
“Bang!” Nicholae yelled and dropped his thumb.
The soldier, with sweat glistening off his brow, fired his weapon—and he wasn’t aiming for the knees.
Nicholae felt a surge of pain rip through his neck. Warm blood spilled down the front of him. It wasn’t a head shot, but it would do. He felt himself falling backwards. Dying was always a surreal experience, and he had experienced it many times before. And like those previous times, he knew he’d be coming back. He had Kafka to thank for that. His life drained with each powerful spurt. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, not even the impact of his body hitting the ground. Kafka wouldn’t even be able to save him now—which had been the point all along.
The last thing Nicholae heard was Kafka taking out all of his rage on the soldier whom had made the most critical mistake of all—killing him.
Epilogue
Kafka Lorne was a patient man. He’d gathered that patience over many lifetimes, not limited by the urgency of one short life in over a millennium. Now he knew he could accomplish anything. Time was no longer a limiting factor.
He saw himself getting here eventually; he just hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. The universe always had been full of surprises. Some surprises, like being bested by a cocky teenager atop his own tower were frustrating to say the least, but others, like this very moment, were as sweet as the gift of life itself. In traveling back to Greater Meric after slaying the fourth Guardian of the Great In-Between, Kafka looked down and was astonished by what he discovered—a whole new world had opened up and revealed itself to him. While the others were busy searching for the guardians on the next level, he’d already reached his goal.
Kafka strolled down Wheeler Place, marveling at the stucco houses, full trees and a plethora of cars lining the street, and children with backpacks or books under their arms on their way home from a stressful day at school. A girl only a few years younger than he currently looked passed by, stepped off the sidewalk and into the grass, and eyed the tattoos filling his arms. He could have her if he so desired, but he was focused on a real woman, not a girl.
Kafka approached the blue house with the steep driveway. A mid-sized sedan sat in the driveway. The grass and bushes were overgrown and flowers lining the courtyard wall wilted from neglect.
“Nothing’s out of my reach,” Kafka said as he climbed the driveway.
Two teenage boys peddled by on bicycles, yelling and laughing, oblivious of how much their world would soon change—very soon. Their obnoxious laughter tempted him to throw both boys to the pavement with one committed thought, but he decided on mercy in the moment. He was a patient man, but he didn’t want to wait any longer—focusing forward and drowning out the surrounding distractions.
The black metal gate to the courtyard swung open as Kafka approached. A few seconds later, the front door obeyed and opened itself to him as well.
“Helen, my dear, it’s time to come home,” he said and stepped inside.
The door slammed shut, softening a scream from inside the house.
###
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About the Author
Michael writes YA speculative fiction. He currently lives in Southern California with his wife, kids, and two blood-thirsty chiweenies.
When he's not at the computer, he enjoys spending quality time with family, practicing yoga, playing guitar behind closed doors, and listening to as many audiobooks as possible.
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Also by Michael Pierce
THE LORNE FAMILY VAULT SERIES
Provex City (Book 1)
SUSY Asylum Book 2)
Doria Falls (Book 3)
Archanum Manor (Book 4)
THE ROYAL REPLICAS SERIES
Royal Replicas (Book 1)
Royal Captives (Book 2)
Royal Threat (Book 3) — Pre-order now!