Rebirth (Cross Book 1)

by Hildred Billings

  His only recourse was to fly through alleys and hope he lost Syrfila. Adrenaline gradually gave way to sore muscles and a beating heart likely to shoot out of his mouth with a flood of bile. Was he safe yet?

  Shit. A dead end alley.

  Devon assured himself all was clear as he braced his hands against his knees and heaved for breath. Surely, there was an unlocked door somewhere he could use to travel to another dimension for a short while. Marlow would know what to do. Shit, maybe he could stay with Evan for a while, on whatever planet he inhabited! Devon had no job, no classes, and sure as hell no girlfriend now. Now was as good a time as any to start learning about other cultures around the galaxy!

  “You goddamned track star!” Syrfila shouted behind him. “Could you sit still for one fucking second? One shot, you’re dead! Boom! Let’s get this over with!”

  Of course she had managed to catch up with him. Not only was Devon out of shape, but Syrfila wasn’t the second most wanted criminal in the universe because she was lazy. Those cops and security guards were turning a building upside down looking for a shooter who wasn’t there anymore.

  No, instead, she had trapped Devon in the alleyway. Theoretically, this would have been easier than shooting a fish in a barrel. Devon wasn’t even as slippery as a fish.

  “Really not in the mood to die right now, thanks,” he said. “Think I could get a raincheck?

  “Really?” Scoffing, Syrfila removed her ski mask and smashed it beneath her boot. “I’m about to kill you, and you make a stupid joke? Damn. Now I almost don’t want to kill you. Such a lack of fun on this planet.”

  What would Sonall do? Besides smash her ugly face into the ground.

  “The first rule,” the voice said in the back of his mind, “is to use your opponent’s weakness against them. You only have a split second to figure it out and make your move. Be observant. You’re already stronger, faster, and more quick-witted than you give yourself credit for right now.”

  Anger surged with that memory. Anger, and teenage-hormone-riddled lust. Because that voice had belonged to Sulim, one of the first trainers he had when the mercenaries murdered his parents and dragged his ass to the stink hole planet Cerilyn to train him to become one of them.

  He couldn’t beat them, so he had to join them.

  Yet because he did that, he could now beat Syrfila, even in this weaker body. Besides, she had already admitted that she severely underestimated him because of who he was now, instead of who he used to be.

  That was the problem with Nerilis hiring someone new to take care of his dirty business, wasn’t it? This woman had no idea who she was dealing with.

  In that second Devon had to spot that weakness, he had already given himself over to the instincts flooding his heart and mind. Even if he died, at least he’d go down embracing who he once was.

  But he didn’t die. Not when Syrfila’s underestimation was so great that she never saw his fist coming for her face and the other slamming into her gut. First Danielle knocked her out, and now Devon. Syrfila would have a lot to answer for once she regathered her bearings and found the gun she had dropped.

  Like answering how Devon had slipped through her fingers and ran through the first unlocked door he could find. It was a good thing Nerilis had left the planet. Otherwise, he might have killed her himself.

  ***

  Within an hour, both mercenaries stood in Marlow’s office, the old man having summoned Danielle from a well-deserved nap. She stumbled into the dark chambers, still half-asleep, only to see Marlow sitting solemnly in his chair while Devon lay almost passed out on the couch.

  “What’s going on?” Danielle woke up the moment she saw Devon huddled on the sofa. “Did you get hurt?”

  “Have a seat.” Marlow motioned to another empty chair.

  She obeyed, eyes flitting between the pained stance of her partner to the somber expression permeating the old man’s face. “Answer, please?”

  “Devon was attacked today.” Marlow continued, before Danielle could ask more questions, “He managed to escape, but he’s pretty shaken up.”

  At the sound of Marlow’s voice, Devon sat up. His dark eyes were surrounded by red rings, and his cheeks were ashen. Devon wasn’t going to cry, even as his adrenaline faded away, but he would damn well be sick with shock.

  “Where were you attacked?”

  Devon shook his head. “At the DMV. That crazy woman came after me in public.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran.” Devon scratched his neck. “I also beat her up just enough to get away.”

  “What? You’re kidding.” Danielle let out a low whistle. “Maybe you could survive Basic Training after all.” When nobody else would share her nervous chuckle, she continued, “Anyway, you’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

  “That’s not all that happened,” Devon muttered. “I think I regressed a little.”

  “Regressed?”

  “Yeah.” Devon hung his head. “I started thinking in a really strange language. Remembering stuff I learned in a life that definitely wasn’t this one. That’s how I was able to kick a little ass and get away.”

  “Probably Old Basic.” Marlow said. “It was the lingua franca in the Federation a thousand years ago. It’s what you spoke in your original lives.”

  “In other words…”

  “Devon’s memories made him speak Old Basic.”

  Devon shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t feel different at all.”

  “Can you remember the words you said?” Marlow continued. “Not the meaning, but what came out of your mouth.”

  “No idea. I knew it wasn’t English, but I could only say what it was in English now.”

  Marlow glanced at Danielle. “Don’t suppose you’ve had similar experiences?”

  “What? No.” Danielle furrowed her brows. “Whatever. Point is, Devon was attacked and barely escaped with his life. What are we going to do about this crazy woman?”

  “It’s not just her we have to worry about. Somehow, they found out that Devon was the reincarnation of Sonall. What we need to do first is find out how. I know that Syrfila is moonlighting on this planet under a pseudonym and working for the US military, but how in the world does she know Devon?”

  “He was there when I was attacked this weekend. Maybe they figured out it was him because he was guilty by association.”

  “Quite possible. But then why weren’t the other two attacked?”

  “Maybe they got lucky on their first hunch.”

  “Lucky indeed,” Devon spoke up. “Imagine if it were Clyde or your friend… neither of them could’ve transported like me. They’d be dead.” Especially Clyde, who had no training whatsoever. Troy at least had a chance.

  “Either way, you’re both in serious danger now. Nerilis knows both of your identities and will no doubt try to kill you again. If you were out of the way, he’d be free to decimate this planet. By the way, have you determined whether or not that statue is a Relic?”

  Devon’s eyes widened. Danielle’s narrowed.

  “What?” she asked. “What statue? What Relic?”

  Both Marlow and Danielle turned their attention to Devon. “You haven’t told her yet?” the old sorcerer snapped.

  “I, uh… was going to?”

  “You idiot.” Danielle stood with a start. “I don’t care if you got away from that woman by the scrape of your teeth today. Start talking, otherwise you’re damned useless!”

  Marlow had to hand it to her. Every life, Sulim made a fantastic interrogator, even if she refused to regress.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’re breaking about seven different laws.”

  Danielle was the first to put distance between herself and her car – and what good luck it was that her black car melded perfectly into the dark night. Devon, on the other hand, knew where to go. Neither had much of a connection with St. Lucia, no, but Devon was the one who had
done most of the research before promptly forgetting to tell Danielle about it.

  Now they stood at the end of the block, gazing down the moonlit street in the hopes that nobody would see them.

  They had to act quickly. Not only did they have huge targets on their backs, it was also entirely possible that Syrfila had followed them here in the hopes of picking up St. Lucia.

  Danielle’s phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got you on my scanner,” Evan’s sleepy voice said. Every word was peppered with the crunch of highly caffeinated beans between his teeth. Someone was willing to pull an all-nighter if it meant his favorite planet lived to see another millennium. “Master Marlow is ready whenever you are.”

  Danielle hung up. “Our friends supposedly have our backs, but I’ve got a feeling we’re stuck doing this ourselves.”

  Indeed! Federation Forces weren’t going to bail them out if shit went sour. The best they could hope for was getting in and out like this was some special ops Danielle did during her training games.

  This was nothing like that, of course. This carried real consequences. Not only were they out to possibly steal the spiritual symbol of an entire community, but if they were caught? Their heads were dead.

  “You’re shorter and have dark hair,” Danielle pointed out as they bickered over who should go check it out first.

  “You’re quicker and probably sneakier.”

  “Probably?”

  Devon gripped the offerings in his hand: a small bouquet of wildflowers gathered from a park on their way there, and a small packet of sour candy since one of them had heard it was a common gift for St. Lucia. As they slowly approached the fabled alleyway that was helpfully marked with handmade signs, the faint scent of incense wafted on the warm spring night. Their only saving grace was that it was late enough for most of the house lights to be off. Helped that most of the people living in the apartments above the storefronts were either too old to stay up late or had to open those same storefronts at an early hour.

  “You’ve got the gun. You should stand watch while I check it out.”

  “All right. I’ll keep watch on the sidewalk while you do your thing. You’ve got the offerings, anyway.” Not that they had any intention of using St. Lucia for its intended purpose. The offerings were to give them a cover in case anyone accosted them about what they were doing in the courtyard so late at night.

  St. Lucia’s Courtyard was nestled between a Mexican café and a cleaners that had existed since the Japan Town days – although under a revolving door of new management when the Matsuokas were summoned to an internment camp sixty years before. Currently, the humble Gonzalez family owned and operated Bright & Ready Cleaners, although they didn’t live in the small one-bedroom apartment that overlooked St. Lucia’s courtyard. No, that honor went to the owner’s mother, who took it upon herself to keep a judicious eye over the jizo statue so many people called their only source of hope.

  During the day, Mrs. Gonzalez enjoyed the sun that dripped through the window. Sometimes she read. Sometimes she knitted. Sometimes she entertained friends from St. Michael’s two blocks away. But she always, always had one eye on the courtyard, because one never knew when a tourist would become embroiled in the social faux pas of the year or some young hooligans would get drunk enough to find it funny to piss on the jizo’s head.

  It wasn’t unusual for late night parishioners to silently creep into the courtyard and leave their offerings and say their prayers. People wanted to be alone. They enjoyed the silence of the night in a relatively safe neighborhood. They worked during the day and only had time to drop by during the midnight hour. The early morning joggers who thought themselves clever to take a shortcut through the courtyard were a greater nuisance.

  So a young man like Devon, dressed in all black and carrying a small bouquet of flowers and a packet of candy, didn’t immediate set off any alarms.

  Neither did him setting the offerings down at the base of the statue, far beyond where most people left their offerings in the grassy radius. As soon as the sun began to rise, Mrs. Gonzalez would go down and pick up dead flowers and muddy pieces of paper. Someone had to do it, after all, and since the statue wasn’t officially affiliated with any local religion (let alone a place of worship) it was up to gracious volunteers to keep the grass cut and the statue clean. Sometimes the street cleaners would cut through the courtyard to pick up trash, but that depended on their general disposition and how superstitious they were. If they grew up around there, then it didn’t matter how religious they were. They picked up the trash, lest bad karma smack them in the back of the head.

  Mrs. Gonzalez was likely to nod off to sleep before Devon reached out to touch the top of the statue’s head and disturb the daisy-chain crown. Too bad he made his move one second too soon.

  Touching the statue was allowed, but few dared to do it. What if St. Lucia didn’t like being touched? Why intrude on its personal space when there were four lovely benches to sit upon? If one person touched the statue, then everyone else would want to, and that was too much for a tiny statue to bear. It hadn’t survived for a hundred years with little wear and tear because people touched it all the time.

  Perhaps if Devon were not the reincarnated soul of a man imbued with the power to detect massive amounts of spiritual energy within objects, Mrs. Gonzalez still would not have noticed. But when Devon touched his wrist to the statue, everyone within a one-mile radius sat up with a start, panic boiling in their veins and the images of a crumbling Earth flashing before their eyes.

  Those who were asleep wrote it off as a nightmare before rolling over with a sigh of relief. Those who were awake, like Mrs. Gonzalez, ran to their windows and looked for fire in the sky.

  “Hey!” She swung her window open and grunted at Devon. “Que haces!”

  He jerked back from the statue as if a firecracker exploded beneath his feet. The fact he wore a black beanie over his head this late in the year made Mrs. Gonzalez fear the worst.

  “You!” Her command of the English language was perfectly fine, honestly, but when Mrs. Gonzalez became an indignant bee buzzing around the neighborhood, the only English words that came to her mouth were made of short, snappy sentences and simple vocabulary. “What you do? Stop that! Police! I call police!” If Mrs. Gonzalez threatened to call the police, she meant serious business. The police, after all, were good for nothing more than raiding the restaurants – after sitting down for a meal first, of course.

  Devon was too startled to think up a plan. Luckily for him, Danielle had heard the commotion a few yards away and sauntered up as if she knew exactly what to do.

  “Lo siento,” she said with a stilted accent. “My brother, ma’am.” She clasped her hand on Devon’s shoulder and gave it a hearty shake.

  “Your brother touched St. Lucia.” Mrs. Gonzalez made an X with her fingers as she leaned dangerously over the windowsill. “No. Don’t.”

  “Didn’t see a sign,” Devon mumbled.

  “We’re sorry for disturbing the neighborhood so late at night, ma’am. My brother was just praying for his girlfriend’s health. She’s having a difficult pregnancy.”

  Devon choked on his exasperated thoughts. Because he immediately thought of Alicia… and the thought of her being pregnant was unfathomable. She was so meticulous with her birth control that sometimes she wouldn’t let Devon come near her when she was ovulating.

  “Oh, so sad to hear, but he shouldn’t touch St. Lucia. Just pray and make an offering.” She scoffed. “And maybe marry that girl, too. God will work with you if you are honest under His eyes.”

  “I’ve been saying that this whole time, ma’am.” Danielle leaned in toward Devon’s ear. “Play along, would you? I’m saving your ass over here.” She wouldn’t comment on her phone going crazy in her back pocket.

  “Oh, yes… I really should ask her to marry me. It’s the right thing to do.” Devon turned toward the statue. “I only wanted to…”

  His tongue swelled
in the back of his throat. Devon clasped his hand over his mouth before searching for Danielle’s arm and giving her a hefty shake.

  She saw it too.

  Mrs. Gonzalez, on the other hand, couldn’t see anything beyond two young people making asses of themselves in the middle of the night. She wasn’t “blessed” with the ability to sense spiritual energy, even at that magnitude. Such a sad thing to think of the woman who had been watching over St. Lucia for the past fifteen years. If anyone else could possibly sense the amount of power emanating from a small stone statue made by a junior craftsman in some shop in Kanagawa, it was Mrs. Gonzalez.

  Yet while she was incapable of seeing the flash of golden light blinding half the neighborhood, she could see the one luminescent butterfly landing on her windowsill.

  Nobody could tell her that it was the soul of her youngest daughter who had died of cancer over a decade ago, finally allowed to burst forth from the Void the moment that energy presented itself around St. Lucia. Souls couldn’t go wherever they pleased, least of all normal souls whose only goal was to pass from the Void to the mortal realm. Somewhere in the world, a person was about to be conceived, and it needed a soul. This soul? Meant for that womb somewhere on the other side of the planet.

  But it was here now. Come to say a final goodbye to the woman who had raised her first.

  This soul would not remember Mrs. Gonzalez once it was reborn. Although reincarnated and not sifted through the sieve of the Void, most reincarnated souls were never meant to retain their memories. Indeed, being placed into a new body would guarantee that those memories had washed away.

  For now, however, she remembered her mother.

  And her mother was convinced it was a sign from God. Everyone she later told would be convinced it was finally time to hire a nurse for Mrs. Gonzalez, but this would be one of the final pure thoughts of a woman who had kept silent watch over St. Lucia.