Rifts

by Nicole Hamlett

  Rifts

  A Grace Murphy Novel

  By Nicole Hamlett

  For my Dad, Jim Johansen who has always believed that I could do anything I set my mind to. I love you Pops.

  Rifts is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Nicole Hamlett

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1

  Staggering to my car, I wondered if anyone had gotten the license plate of that Mack truck that hit me. Blood seeped from my chest and I had to force myself not to look down at the stiletto sticking out like a proud flagpole. The sounds of the sirens were still fairly distant. If they were coming my way, I'd still have time to head out before they found me. If she hadn't stabbed me through the heart, I would have stayed but how do you explain to a paramedic that you're going to be just fine with steel sticking out of your chest?

  Easing into the driver’s seat was no easy feat. I hunched my chest slightly to make room for the dagger. Bumping it into the steering wheel didn’t seem like the best idea. Breathing hurt, so I tried to keep my breaths shallow. “Don’t think about the pain, Grace.”

  Bad tunes were my next best coping mechanism. Probably not the best idea, considering what a horrible singer I am, but it would have to do. When I got nervous, I’d either talk up a storm or sing really bad songs. Since there wasn’t anyone to talk to…I belted out, ”second verse, same as the first!” and started down the road at a sedate pace, hoping to avoid attraction. Ouch. Okay – so maybe singing wasn’t a great idea either.

  Blood bubbled from between my lips and I wondered if she'd punctured a lung on the way in. Hey, I wasn't a doctor. I didn't know what this shit meant. I just knew that it hurt and I was feeling worse by the second.

  The girl/deer from the middle of the road had beaten the shit out of me without even trying and I'd slammed into her with my car first. I didn't know who she was or what she'd wanted, but I knew that I was way out of my league. Dread filled me as her parting words tripped through the gears of my mind.

  “Well, well. It looks as though Mother didn't care enough to kill the man who destroyed me after all. Oh, I'm going to enjoy this.”

  What did that even mean? Okay, I knew what it meant but I didn't want to. It was a pretty damn good sign that she was related to me. The hows or whys just weren't that clear yet.

  "Dial Drew," I said into my Bluetooth. If I were going to be honest with myself, he probably wouldn't give me the information that I needed, but I could try. He picked up after the second ring.

  "Hey, Dylan said you were 'mudding' whatever in the world that is. Was it fun?"

  "Well if you count kicking a three hundred pound Manticore's ass fun – yeah, it was. But that's not why I'm calling."

  "Manticore, huh? Generally not one of the nasties. I wonder what happened there…"

  "Yeah, I may have made a mistake. We'll get back to that. So, I was on my way to the store when I hit a deer – except it wasn't a deer. She looked like my Mom, Drew."

  I was met with silence. What a surprise. Don't get me wrong. Drew has saved my life in more ways than one. I was grateful. But his way of protecting me seemed to involve keeping me in the dark.

  As a side note for future reference – keeping your heartbeat regulated when your anger is on the rise is seriously tough.

  Rivulets of blood started trickling down my stomach into the waistband of my pants. "Drew, she stabbed me. I'm calling you because I need you to be up front with me damn it. I had a pissed off shifter mention something about my mother and then stab me through the heart. I'm in agony here and the blood running down my stomach into my panties is starting to gross me out. So if you could start talking, that would be super."

  "Right, sorry. I was just surprised. Where are you?"

  "I just passed Rudy's so I'm off of 24. Drew, I'm not feeling so hot. Do you think she poisoned me?" My head was starting to feel fuzzy and the normally picturesque scenery surrounding Old Colorado City was starting to blur.

  "It's unlikely that you've been poisoned, Grace. Getting stabbed through the heart hurts. It's perfectly normal to not feel so good. Pull off onto 21st and I'll be right there."

  "Do you think that's such a good idea? You blinking in out of nowhere?"

  "Pull into that gas station - it will look like I've just come around the building. Don't get out of your car and glamour as much as you can."

  “‘kay, pulling onto 21st now…" My voice faded out.

  "Grace??"

  "Yeah I'm here. This knife really hurts and I'm so tired. I could use a nap. Could you use a nap?"

  "I'll be right there."

  “‘kay…" I trailed off again and my mind started wandering. She really caught me by surprise. Yeah, that's why she got the drop on me. Let’s face it, I'm not above fighting dirty to stay alive. Honor in fighting is something done by people who don't have to worry about taking care of their twelve year old kid.

  My wounded pride wouldn't allow me to admit that she flat out kicked my ass because she was stronger, faster and better. Nope, it must have been because she got the drop on me.

  Her resemblance to Diana was uncanny. Well, the true form of Diana. Behind the matted scarlet hair, dirt and blood-streaked skin were delicate bones, large sea foam green eyes and Diana's ethereal glow. It was no small wonder that I'd mistaken her for my mother at first. With that said, I'd like to think that my mother wouldn't have stabbed me in the fucking chest with a knife.

  Although maybe… I'd be a little pissed off too if I'd been sucked through a Rift trying to save my ass.

  Drew popped into the passenger seat while I was deep in thought. Bad call on his part, because my fist shot out in surprise and caught him squarely in the ear.

  "You get that one for free." He scowled at me and rubbed his ear.

  "You should know better than to surprise a wounded woman," I replied, exasperated.

  "Riiiiight. How about you get into the back and I'll drive you home. You don't seem to be losing too much blood but I want to check it out more closely before I pull it out."

  "You have to stop and get milk first. We're out of milk."

  He raised an eyebrow at me. Both of mine shot up in response.

  He tried to stare me down. Either he didn't know me as well as I'd thought, or he was ignoring an integral facet of my nature. I am the Queen of Stare Downs. Twelve years as a mother hardens you and gives you superpowers of Guilt and Shame.

  "Do you want to tell Dylan that he doesn't get milk in his cereal in the morning? Do you want to tell him that he can't have chocolate milk tonight with his evening snack because you couldn't be bothered to stop at the corner store and get him a gallon of 2% milk… preferably organic?"

  Drew began to fidget and squirm. I smiled. "That's how you play a guilt trip. There's a Farm Crest up the street. You can stop in there."

  "Like I haven't been shopping for this house for the last six months," he groused. "I know what kind of milk to buy."

  "Be happy I'm not making you stop for the new Lego game."

  "Yes, that is indeed something to be pleased about. Stop talking, you're just exacerbating your wound."

  "Right, that's what's doing it." I shut up though and crawled into the back seat.

  It smelled like a dead carcass back here. Detailing wasn't cheap and I wondered if I could write this off on my taxes. I made a comfortable living as a Romance writer – don't judge – but I was also a single mother with a mortgage and a growing twelve year old boy.

  If I wasn't buying new shoes every week because his feet wouldn't stop growing, I was doubling my grocery budget because he
was always hungry. I hadn’t had much time to write lately with the nearly constant training. Something that Marisol – my agent – wasn’t letting me forget, and this Hunter business was getting expensive.

  We rode in silence with a two ton elephant sitting between us. Drew wasn't telling me something big and I was almost afraid to ask. Okay that’s a lie - I was terrified of the answer he would give if I asked the question that had settled on the tip of my tongue.

  He coughed a little under his breath and I barreled into the opening.

  "Did you say something?"

  "No, just clearing my throat. Allergies."

  "Drew, you don't get allergies."

  "Oh," He paused, searching for the right lie. "Must be the dry air."

  "Orrrr," I drew the word out. "You're looking for a way to tell me why I just got my ass kicked by someone who looked like my mother."

  "Or that."

  "Don't you think that talking about it now while I'm relatively calm is a better idea than after you pull this knife out and I’m back in fighting shape?"

  "Nope, I can't say that is a better idea." His mouth quirked up in a grin and I couldn't help the somersaulting of my stomach. God, he was so pretty.

  "That million dollar smile isn't going to dissuade me. It felt like you knew who she was. So spill."

  "I think that she's your sister Hope."

  "Shut the fuck up!" Why the exclamation? Well, a few months ago, my father - who had kidnapped my mother and spent a great deal of effort and power trying to kill me - admitted that he'd killed all of my mother's children. So you can imagine my surprise at finding that one of them escaped.

  "Both Diana and Geb agreed that he'd killed all of her children and that I was the last one. How could this be possible?"

  "Hope was tortured and supposedly thrown through a Rift. It's logical to assume that she was killed. Nobody expected her to survive what Geb did to her." His tone was flat but his fingers were gripping the steering wheel like he was about to plummet down a hundred foot rollercoaster drop.

  "That would explain why she was so pissed off at me. I do unfortunately look like my bastard father."

  "Yeah," he responded quietly.

  Oh crap on a stick. Hating this woman would have been so easy. I mean seriously, she stabbed me in the freakin' heart. But when you've been tortured, you develop a kinship with other victims. I could feel her pain and her fear, so instead of busting her in the face, I now wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

  Growing up, thinking for thirty-some-odd years that you're an orphan, you get used to the idea that family is what you make it. Suddenly, I had a sister and she needed me. She needed my compassion and my loving forgiveness.

  After that, I’d bust her in the face for stabbing me in the heart…

  The ringing from my phone snapped me out of my reflection and I asked Drew to hit the answer button on the steering wheel.

  "What up, chicken butt?"

  "Hey Mom, are you close to home?"

  "Yeah, Drew is with me. We should be home in about 15 minutes. We still need to get that milk. Lego is going to have to wait for another day though."

  "Bummer."

  "Sorry dude, something came up and I can't go into GameStop looking like someone beat the crap out of me."

  "Did something beat the crap out of you?" His voice took on a worried edge and I cringed.

  "Are you kidding me? That thing is totally road kill. I just ripped my shirt and bled a little to make it seem fair. Everything is totally cool."

  His sigh of relief sounded like a wind tunnel and my body relaxed just a fraction. I hated that he worried about me. I hated that he knew that I had to fight the bad guys and that there was a possibility that one day, the bad guys would be tougher than I was.

  "Okay, so… don't forget the milk. I love you."

  "I love you more," I called out as Drew hit the end button.

  Looking down at the knife protruding from my chest, I realized that I couldn't walk in the door like this.

  "Drew, you gotta pull this out before we get home."

  "I'm afraid to pull it out. You haven't had your nanites for long enough Grace. I don't know how this will affect your body. I'm not sure whether it will kill you, or not."

  I looked at his face in the rearview mirror. He looked grim.

  "I can't walk in the door with a fucking knife sticking out of my chest, especially after that conversation. Pull. It. Out. If you need to get me through the door and then to a Healer, that's fine...but he can't see me like this. You know that."

  He sighed, "Yeah, I know."

  "Okay, so after you get the milk, pull it out."

  "Or now," he whipped around, gripped the hilt and yanked it out of my chest so fast that I didn't have time to even screech my surprise.

  The way the knife felt sliding out made my stomach turn. I could feel the steel pulling at my flesh, like someone was tugging on a stray nerve and sucking it through a straw.

  "Or now," I gritted out. The skin was already knitting together. I could tell from the itching.

  "Welp, you didn't die. So that's good."

  "Yeah we're not done yet."

  He laughed and pulled into the FarmCrest. "I'll be right back. Don't kick up your toes while I'm gone."

  "Asshole," I muttered.

  His being an asshole didn't stop me from sighing dreamily as I watched him walk through the swinging door of the convenience store. Actually, every woman in the vicinity stopped to watch him walk through that door.

  He may have been irritating beyond comprehension but he was quite literally the prettiest man on Earth. His Levi’s were particularly snug today and I could see the muscles flex as he walked.

  I sighed again. "Asshole."

  Chapter 2

  It didn't take long for the pain to subside and the nanites to kick in. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the hole had even closed. Dylan stood at the door waiting for us. Lines of anxiety marred his face and my stomach dropped a bit.

  When my mother, Diana (Yes, Goddess of the Hunt Diana) told me that I had a calling, I'd worried about how this would affect Dylan, but it needed to be done, right? It seemed as though I hadn’t had a choice at the time. I still worry whether I made the right decision.

  Worry rolled off of his little body in waves I could almost see as he walked halfway to the car. I struggled out of the back seat, held my arms open and whirled around to show him that I was mostly damage free. That may not have been the best idea. Blood loss and spinning aren't the greatest combination.

  He ran the rest of the way to the car, tucked his head under my arm and propped me up. "Glad you're okay, Mom."

  "You and me both, buddy." I leaned over to kiss the top of his head and paused for just a moment breathing in his scent. He wouldn't allow that for long. I made the most of it and tried to relax so that he could too.

  "Did… did you just sniff me?"

  "Maybe."

  "Uh, okay. Thanks for picking up the milk and it's okay about the videogame. I can deal. Will you tell me about the fight?"

  "Oh that old bag-of-bones Manticore that got its ass kicked?"

  "Is that what beat you up so bad?"

  "Gasp! I can't believe you'd think that I got beat up. Look at me. I'm the picture of health."

  "Mom – You promised that you'd tell me the truth." His voice was low and his arm tightened around me a bit.

  God, I felt like such a jerk. Who puts their kids through this? I looked over Dylan's head at Drew and raised my eyebrows. Sometimes he was a help in situations like this. Most of the time, he was useless. He chose this moment to be useless and shrugged his shoulders at me. That earned him a brief scowl before I wrapped my arms around my son and lead him past the kitchen into the family room.

  "Okay, you got me there. Sit down and I'll tell you the story." I shooed him over to the loveseat and settled gingerly into my favorite chair.

  "The first thing to remember is that Manticores are
screamers. The second thing to remember is that even though they look scary as hell and they whack a pretty big punch, they're generally peaceful. So don't go picking a fight with one."

  "Hold on, I want to write this down."

  "Seriously?" Was this my kid who said that extra reading was actually torture and he'd turn me in to the United Nations?

  "Yeah, this is really cool and I guess it will come in handy when… you know… it's my time."

  Lalalallalaala! I didn't say it out loud but my brain was screaming it. I had the same reaction when he told me that he'd grown pit hair. I'm not a delicate mother. I was the Mom who had the condom talk. I was the Mom who lectured about being fiscally responsible and good. I was also the one who wasn't ready for him to grow up. I just wasn't.

  "Right, go ahead. I'm just going to rest my eyes while you're off."

  He scrambled off the couch and brushed past my legs. I got a warm tingle that let me know that he was okay and we'd be okay. "Everything is fine. It's good. It's fine. It will be great." If I said it enough, it would become true.

  "Are you talking to yourself?" Drew’s breath brushed against my ear and my body shivered in response.

  "Nope, I'm talking to you. What's up?"

  "I sent your kid off on an epic quest. I figured that you and I could have a pretty thorough discussion before he ever gets around to gathering up his laundry." His brow furrowed. "I don't get it. No matter how much I nag him, he still leaves his underwear all over the house."

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing at him and just responded, "He's twelve."

  "I picked up my underwear when I was twelve," he groused.

  "Did you even wear underwear when you were twelve?" My eye had scrunched up as my voice rose in pitch. "Like, ever?"

  "Good point. Anyway, I've been thinking about this. You not knowing things has really left you at a disadvantage."

  "You don't say!"

  "Don't be a smartass. I'm trying to make it all better."

  "How about I give you an A for effort and then go back to being a smartass?"