Search (SEEK Book 1)

by Candie Leigh Campbell

  Jonathan glances at the wine list. “We’ll try a bottle of the Shropshire Corner Oak, please.”

  The waiter nods to Jonathan. “Right away, sire. All right m’ lady?” he asks, turning to me.

  “Sounds great, thanks.” I smile, enjoying the atmosphere despite myself. Creepy organ music drones a tune of doom. Wind gently blows the sheer curtains framing the hundred-year-old windows. It’s romantic, but not in a syrupy sweet way. It’s comfortable. But I won’t tell Jonathan that.

  “If you think you’re going to scare me with ghost stories so I’ll jump into your arms, you’re wrong.” I grin.

  I peek to my left and the giggle dies in my throat. Amid the crowd of tourists, a face I’ve see once before lurks against the rough pine walls. A guy I never thought I’d see again. And of all the places in the world to run into him, Shrewsbury is not a place we could both be by coincidence.

  “We have to get off the boat. Now!” I leap to my feet, whirling my back to the guy in a black leather jacket and grab Jonathan’s arm. The waiter returns with our wine in a bucket of ice. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.”

  I hurry through the crowded deck, pulling a confused Jonathan along with me. He clambers down the stairs dutifully behind me. I lead him out of the hall and past a group of people waving from the railing, only to reach the exit ramp too late. The crew has just finished wheeling the gangplank back to the dock. “It’s closed!” I hiss, hanging my head over the railing. Three men on the dock are untying ropes the size of telephone poles and the ship slips free.

  “You saw someone you know, someone from SEEK?” Jonathan asks, peering over the railing next to me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I chance a glance over my shoulder, expecting the guy in the leather jacket to be standing there. “I saw someone who tried to join SEEK.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Upstairs, there’s a guy who failed the hunter’s exams, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t find other employment within Kistall or Episteme, right?” I ask, watching helplessly as the ship backs away from its mooring slip.

  Jonathan thinks for a minute and shakes his head. “I know how to find out. If you remember his name I can look him up, see who he’s working for.”

  “Curt Nelson.”

  Jonathan slides his mini tablet out of his coat, glancing over his shoulder and glides his thumbs over the screen too fast to see what he’s typing. “Got it. Curtis James Nelson. Nineteen years old. Scored eight-fifty on his S.A.T.’s., applied for college but didn’t make it and is currently unemployed and traveling Europe on daddy’s money. Looks like he’s clean,” Jonathan answers with a shrug.

  That’s it? He’s not SEEK? I exhale.

  The boat horn blares. The floor rolls as the ship pulls forward, smashing me into Jonathan’s arm. He smells of raspberry port.

  “That’s it! I’ve got it!” I blurt out.

  “You figured out who he is?” Jonathan looks curiously up from his tablet.

  “No not him, but maybe a campaign platform that will get the Fifth Column the votes of every college student in America.” I gush proudly.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Underage drinking is a huge deal in the states, right?” I ask giddily.

  “How did you get from Curt Nelson to teen drinking?” Jonathan asks, scrunching his nose.

  “Never mind how,” I say, embarrassed. “Let’s go back to our table and see if you think my idea could work.”

  Jonathan saunters back up the stairs and into the dining room, waving our waiter over.

  “Feeling better, Miss?” the waiter asks politely, but I can see he’s annoyed as he hustles off to retrieve our wine.

  “Let’s hear your idea,” Jonathan says, cheerfully optimistic.

  I gather my thoughts. The sight of Jonathan peering at me from across a candlelit table rattles my nerves. “Back home, you and I can’t legally drink alcohol until we’re twenty one, right? But, it wasn’t always like that. The age limit used to be eighteen, until 1986. Since then, college and high school drinking has risen out of control. In 2008, some college students started the Amethyst Initiative, begging voters to reconsider Reagan’s bill to have the age limit raised in the first place. Multiple surveys have shown what a bad social policy it is. We have the second highest drinking age in the world! Think about it. At eighteen we’re considered adults. We can vote, die for our country, smoke cigarettes, buy pornography and we’re bound by legal contracts. We have bills, we pay taxes, but we can’t drink? We’re adults and we’ve put up with it for long enough!” I say too loudly, clapping a hand over my mouth and shrink down in my chair.

  Jonathan leans over the table, laying a hand alongside his mouth. “So you’re suggesting that we get the new adults on board by proposing a new alcohol law? Make them feel like they have the power to change something they don’t like? It’s not world peace, but I think it’s brilliant!”

  I open my mouth to agree, but Jonathan rocks back in his chair and gives an earsplitting clap.

  I peer around. “Shhh.”

  And suddenly Jonathan’s over the table and grabbing my face. He comes at me in a blur. His lips rest against my cheek. Time disappears. I turn into his neck, drunk on his scent of peppermint and port. I don’t know if it’s the wine, the candles, or the gentle rocking of the river, but in that split fraction of time, I kiss Jonathan’s throat. He freezes in place, his pulse racing beneath my lips.

  For a moment neither of us moves—my lips still pressed against the warmth of his skin—as if he too has been sucked into this no-time continuum.

  “Thank you,” he says at last, breaking the spell as he slides slowly back into his chair.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s all this candlelight and wine. And wipe that goofy smile off your face.”

  “Maybe now’s a good time to talk about you staying with the Fifth Column—”

  A woman’s screams cut Jonathan’s words short and launch me to my feet.

  “Oh, I think I see it!” the woman squeals giddily.

  I lower to my seat, staring as the other passengers rush starboard. “What the hell is that all about?”

  “You’ll want to see this. Remember other people don’t see what we see.” Jonathan takes my hand, leading me out into the brisk damp air.

  I pull my sweater together as Jonathan and I stare out into twilight, waiting for ghosts to appear. It’s unsettling how invincible I feel with his hand in mine, like there is nothing the two of us couldn’t tackle together. A partner I could believe in, a partner I could confide in.

  “He’s the one you’re meant for,” the voice says.

  A shiver of electricity tingles from Jonathan’s fingers and up my arm. Rows of passengers huddle together, peering out over the river as though they’re whale watching.

  I’m questioning my sanity for the third time tonight.

  I point at the crowd questioningly, but Jonathan only smiles, nodding toward the expanding river. I follow his gaze. The water, silver under the full moon, shows no signs that it holds any untold secrets. Like any other river, it just gently waves along as a river should. But then the light changes and I see the phenomena. It’s not ghosts the passengers are looking for, it’s Khayal. Dozens of brightly colored Khayal flying in circles and dipping gracefully down to touch the water, leaving only ripples in their wake, though the passengers wouldn’t see them as I do. They’d only see mere shadows of shadows. They might think they see something from the corner of their eye, only to find it isn’t there when they try to focus on it.

  I take a step forward, stretching up to my tiptoes.

  A chartreuse bubble bursts and a magnificent yellow-green Khayal swoops low along the river’s surface. She’s so fast I almost miss her using her hands to take a drink. I blink, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing. The Khayal are flying low and drinking from the river and to me it looks like a neon, glow-in-the-dark, water ballet.

  “There must be three or four dozen of them,” I gasp, comp
letely forgetting about the other passengers.

  “Do you like it?” Jonathan murmurs, stepping behind me and resting his chin on my shoulder. He winds his arms around my collarbone.

  I shake my head, unable to articulate any words.

  “No, you don’t like it?” Jonathan whispers.

  I shake my head again. “It’s amazing. I love it.” I love you.

  “I wanted you to see this because I know you haven’t had as much time with Irkalla as I’ve had with Mayet, but this is what the Fifth Column is all about. It’s about saving these mythical creatures that are centuries old and on the verge of becoming extinct. Me, Paul and all of the Fifth Column—we believe that the Khayal are meant for the whole world, that they have a purpose much greater than just healing us of our mortal wounds. We believe they’re here to heal humanity. Save us from ourselves.”

  I mull Jonathan’s words over while watching a Khayal change from pink to orange, wondering what those colors mean. “I could see that.”

  A few people are snapping pictures on their phones, trying to catch a shot of a ghost. To our right, a couple asks technical questions into a digital recorder. They must be paranormal investigators or something.

  “I don’t see anything,” a woman on our left gripes.

  “I agree the Khayal probably do have some larger purpose and I know they need help, but I’m not the one who can save them,” I whisper.

  A few feet away a tall head in a blue ball cap snaps up as though he’s heard me. It’s the same man I’ve seen twice already tonight.

  I elbow Jonathan. “Jonathan, it’s the man in the blue ball cap. He was at our restaurant. I saw him talking to our waiter and again in the stein shop. Now he’s here and I swear he heard me say Khayal,” I whisper.

  “You’re sure?” Jonathan whispers back, the warmth of his breath tickling my neck.

  I nod. Together we back toward the double doors leading to the dining room. We barely make it three steps when the blue hat turns and the man wearing it looks directly at me. Goosebumps spread the length of my body. His eyes aren’t normal. They’re so pale they’re almost transparent. He’s looking at me as if he knows me. His gaze pans to Jonathan.

  “What do we do?” I ask, pulse quickening.

  “Follow my lead,” Jonathan says, squeezing my hand. “Where? I don’t see it!”

  At first I have no clue what Jonathan’s trying to do, but then I notice a few people around us trying to see what Jonathan is seeing. He’s making a scene.

  “Look right there! No, up there—you’re not looking high enough,” I say loudly, catching on.

  Like puppets, the crowd gazes up, raising their cameras, phones and recorders high in the air and shield us from the man.

  “Run!” Jonathan has me by the hand and we’re through the door before he even finishes the word.

  “We’re on a ship. Where can we go?” We fly through the dining room and down a narrow corridor.

  “Try the doors!” Jonathan shouts.

  “Locked, try the next one.” I jump back out into the hallway, twisting an ankle in these stupid shoes. I kick them off and leave them in the next locked doorway. “We’re running out of ship!”

  “Head to the lounge. Maybe we can hide in the crowd,” Jonathan suggests, his voice wavering.

  “I can’t believe I don’t have a weapon,” I growl.

  “Right, like drawing a gun would fix this,” Jonathan mutters as we burst through the double doors at the end of the hall and into a dark, smoky room. In one swift motion Jonathan grabs my chin and peers deep into my eyes. “I think they’re together.”

  “They who?” I blink.

  “Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that there’s a guy you know to be affiliated with SEEK on board at the exact same time some guy’s been tailing us? They have to be together,” Jonathan says, his eyes searching mine.

  “Of course they do.” I gasp, kicking myself for missing the connection. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to get my head around what’s happening. And right now there are other passengers, busy with their beverages, and unaware that anything is about to go down. I, on the other hand, am more worried about their safety than my own. No one else needs to get hurt because of me. I scan the room for escape routes, weapons, and potential hazards.

  “Look!” I say, pointing at a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’

  Jonathan draws in a hollow breath and nods. We start that way when my blood turns to ice. The guy in the blue ball cap is sauntering around the corner, surveying the room like a bounty hunter looking for his fugitive.

  “Too late!” I jerk my head.

  The guy’s eyes are like yellow animal-eyes as they meet mine. I don’t even have time to blink before Curt Nelson storms in right behind him. Then Curt Nelson locks eyes on me too, as though I’m wearing a homing beacon. His eyes are every bit as strange and eerie as the other guys. A predator’s eyes, more cunning than a human’s, like they could see me even if it were pitch black in here. And right now, they’re ready to put an end to me.

  I have to protect not only myself, but Jonathan and the crowd as well. There’s only one thing to do.

  “Time for a swim!” I shout, jumping to my right and smacking the edge of a waiter’s tray teetering on the bar. Everything on it flips into the air. I catch the empty wine bottle seconds before it crashes to the floor.

  “Bloody hell! What did you do that for?” The bartender asks indignantly.

  I motion for Jonathan to climb over the railing, but he just stands there, clueless and the two men are charging right at me like angry rhinos. Jonathan does nothing, a deer in the headlights.

  “I guess we fight.” I shove the tray at Jonathan, smashing the empty bottle against the bar and pointing the jagged edge in our attacker’s direction.

  “I hope they’re not armed. Isn’t anyone else opposed to violence anymore?” Jonathan flips the tray up like a shield, peeking over the top.

  “Jokes? Now?” I groan, backing him toward the railing as shattered glass crunches underfoot.

  The two hulking goons shove their way through the crowd. My head isn’t ready for an attack. Every nerve in my body fails me simultaneously.

  But my heart says survive.

  “What’s going on?” By some magical stroke of luck the ship’s Captain shows up, scuttles through the crowd that’s beginning to form and knocks right into Curt Nelson and his blue hat friend.

  “Jump!” I scream, shoving Jonathan up and over the rungs. I scuttle up behind him, but before I can even get a leg over the rail a hand yanks the back of my sweater.

  “Aarg!” Jonathan hollers, falling two stories and smashing through to the shimmering waves below.

  “Jonathan!” I cry, slashing the broken bottle blindly behind me.

  The second the bottle makes contact with my attacker the tension on my sweater releases. My handbag swings around my neck, the weight of the stein pulls me forward and I fall face-first over the railing. I try to right myself, go into the water feet first, but there’s not enough time and I hit the wintry cold river in a fetal position.

  My right kidney explodes with pain as a million tiny ice sickles stab me. I scream underwater, but only bubbles burst from my mouth. I twist and writhe, fighting against the undertow, until at last I reach the surface and catch a breath.

  A booming deep voice calls from the ship. “Keira, we just want to talk to you!”

  I don’t even have to look to know it’s one those men. The voice vibrates in my ears like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Waves crash over my face as I’m tossed aside in the ship’s wake. I slip beneath the frigid waters thinking of SEEK and the way they hunt the Khayal. Thinking of Episteme and the way they exploit Khayal. Then I think of Jonathan insisting that we can’t rule out the possibility of other creatures existing.

  I wonder what Kistall has gotten their hands on now.

  My sense of direction fails with the undercurrent yanking me in circles
, my lungs threatening to implode. But then I forget about myself as a new panic consumes me. Jonathan! What’s happening to Jonathan?

  I jerk and thrust until my sweater and purse slip free and sink. I burst through the surface, not thinking about my own safety, spinning left and right, searching for Jonathan. Minutes of nothing but cold pain stretch on. The ship motors away, taking the light with it. Dread curls in my stomach faster than the cold seizing my muscles.

  Just as the tears blur my vision I catch a faint glimpse of a silhouette downriver. Jonathan is climbing ashore a woodsy riverbank. I push under the waves, aimed in his direction, the cold making me sluggish in the relentless current. He’s too far away. I’m not going to make it.

  “Don’t you give up. You’re a fighter. You fight now. Fight, Keira, fight!”

  My face slips beneath the surface.

  Magenta

  Lindy was an amazing swimmer. To see her in the water, you just knew you were witnessing a champion. I was never good in the water, even growing up in Destin, with the miles of pristine crystal sands rolling under the Peruvian blue waves. Water as warm as a Turkish bath, and salty enough to float without effort. I was always the sister who had command over the land not the sea. I could run circles around anyone in the white dunes. Sure, I ran track in school, but my heart wasn’t in the competition like Lindy’s was with her swimming. Running just came naturally to me, like archery, but even that isn’t what made me the SEEK agent I was. It was my ability to hone in on individual Khayal. Most agents felt an uneasiness about a general area, that’s why most people choose to hunt Khayal with a gun, but I felt the vibrations within the uneasiness. A Khayal frequency. Come to think of it, I never really felt that uneasiness. In fact, I was only ever creeped out by the Khayal because SEEK said I should be.

  If it hadn’t been for all those parasitic Khayal stories I might’ve noticed that the vibrations—the ones that raised the hair on the back of my neck—weren’t scary or bad, they were exciting. Like when I Bonded with Irkalla.