Scorched Souls (Chosen Book 3)

by Jeff Altabef

  Tears brim my eyes, but I won’t let them fall in front of Aaric. I glance out the window and see Troy running toward the car. He won’t catch us. I look at the others gathered around Connor and see the look on their faces. I know that look. They hate me.

  The windows turn opaque and a divider rises between the back seat and the front seats. We’re traveling in a cocoon.

  I miss Sicheii. He started me on this path, and now I’m stuck traveling without light. Only darkness and uncertainty lie ahead. My original two options still hang over my head, dangling by a thread—kill the Prime Elector, or find the bomb. The wrong decision might destroy us all, but I’m no closer to figuring out what to do, and now my friends think I’m a traitor.

  I sneak a glance at Aaric, who’s sitting next to me, and feel like a turncoat. I should despise him, but when my eyes sweep across his blond hair, sharp jaw line, deep-set eyes, and full lips, I feel something totally different. My face starts to heat, so I pull my gaze away.

  He’s supposed to be the enemy.

  He brushes his silken hair with his fingers.

  How can he be bad?

  He looks like a god. Still, he can change his appearance merely by projecting a different one. If he could change so easily, perhaps he’s doing that now and his true self appears completely different from the one that’s sitting next to me. Besides, Sicheii taught me appearances aren’t important; it’s the soul that counts. Yet his aura is almost all white, and that has to mean something.

  Can he change his aura?

  Seems unlikely, but who knows? My head drowns in possibilities.

  He brushes his hand against my knee, and just like that I snap back into the present.

  His voice sounds sweet and honest. “I am sure you have many questions. We have some time before we reach the compound. Ask what you wish, and I shall answer.”

  The memory of Gagarin and our battle at the Boathouse still burns in my mind “If you want to free us, why did Gagarin develop a drug to brainwash us? He would have killed millions of people if he’d used it.”

  He sighs. “I should have known you would ask something that delves into the heart of my troubles.”

  “Your troubles?”

  “Yes, my troubles and, by extension, our troubles. Gagarin developed that drug without my consent. It was a foolish idea. I have destroyed all evidence of it. Thankfully, it will never be used.”

  I search his eyes and find no dishonesty, but I’m not sure what to look for. He could probably fool me easily enough. “I thought he worked for you?”

  “So did I. There’s a rift among my people. We are generally split between two different primary types—those who are governed more by their emotions, and those who rely upon logic. Neither one is better than the other. Each offers advantages and disadvantages. Since our exile from Alpha, those who favor emotion have ruled. Not initially. Adam, our founder, was a Logician, but his predecessor and all of our other leaders since have been Emotionalists.

  “It’s simple, really. We needed emotion more than logic to survive. Anger and a desire for revenge fueled our salvation. It drove us to persevere and even flourish. That time has passed. The current Leader of all the Deltites is a Logician. He’s brought our beliefs back in line with our true purpose—Adam’s vision for the universe. I am also a Logician and he sent me here to displace the old Prime Elector six months ago.”

  “So what happened to the old Prime Elector?”

  He frowns and a shadow drifts across his eyes. It’s hard to tell if it’s anger or regret. “He should have stepped down or challenged me. Those were his only two legitimate choices. He must have known the outcome to a challenge, so instead of stepping down, he’s in hiding. I have no idea where he is.”

  “Great. So that means there are two Prime Electors on Earth?” My situation appears to be getting worse by the second. I can’t wait for the next revelation.

  “No, there can only be one. I am the Prime Elector, but Gagarin still held an allegiance to the old one. He was secretly working for him, and he’s not alone. You’ve revealed a faction on Earth that does not recognize my authority—a group that reaches beyond Earth and cuts through all Deltite society. The Emotionalists oppose our rule. They have not accepted the transfer of power as they should.”

  He leans close and whispers, as if sharing a secret with me. “We will have to be careful.”

  I have a hard time wrapping my mind around these new facts. Deltite society is torn and threatened by a civil war—Emotionalists versus Logicians? It’s all so foreign to me, yet I sense it’s important.

  I stare into his eyes and realize I’m looking for truth hidden among shadows. All I see is clear, penetrating, blue ice with violet flecks that seem to pulse with my rapid heart rate.

  Why did he say ‘we’?

  The car decelerates and turns onto a cobblestone path. He breaks eye contact with me, and a minute later the car stops and the door is opened.

  He steps out and I follow. We stand in front of a massive stone building that looks like an old country house, one that must have belonged to royalty. We pass through heavy wooden doors, which were probably built to keep out a hoard of angry peasants. The inside, however, doesn’t match the rustic exterior. The walls, ceilings, and furniture are all contemporary in design and painted different shades of white. Light-colored area rugs cover most of the old dark wood floors.

  He smiles. “It’s a bit much, but it satisfies our needs. Come, I have a special chamber for you where you can rest.” He leads me to a side room, opens a hidden door in the wall, and heads down a long flight of stairs. When we reach the bottom, he turns left.

  The air is cool, the walls beige. Only yellowish light from wall sconces brightens our way. Once we reach an arched doorway, he pauses, and sweeps his arm for me to enter.

  The chamber forms a perfect circle. It’s modest in size with tall ceilings and black walls. A simple fixture hangs from the center of the room and casts off enough light to illuminate the space. The only furniture is a flat wooden platform with a mattress on top of it.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “It’s a meditation chamber. When was the last time you slept?”

  I shrug.

  He frowns and a look of concern washes over him. “You are no good to me or yourself in this condition. You need rest. This chamber is specifically designed to isolate you. It will help you relax.”

  “How?” My body feels like it’s draped in a wet blanket. Fatigue soaks into my skin, muscle, and bones. I don’t remember the last time I slept.

  “All life emits a certain energy. The Alphian DNA has made you susceptible to that energy. It feeds you. You’ve been living off of it, but unless you recharge your own body it can become dangerous. This room is designed to block the life force from finding you. Without the added stimulus you will sleep.”

  I shuffle my feet to the mattress, flop down, and fight to keep my eyes open. “Tell me how you’re going to free us.”

  “Now is not a good time.”

  He turns to leave, and I grab his arm. “Tell me anyway.”

  “Earth flounders because it has no leadership. Humans fight amongst themselves because they lack a larger, grander purpose.”

  I understand what he’s saying. As a species we’re in a constant state of war—strong overpower the weak, rich take advantage of the poor. Small differences separate us, and have been used for centuries to cultivate hatred.

  He continues. “We will reveal the truths about the universe. We will provide order, and then humans can embrace a common purpose. Together we will civilize the rest of the worlds.”

  I’m so tired, I can’t hold on to his arm any longer, and my hand falls to the mattress. The words barely slip from my lips. “By enslaving us?”

  “No.” He smiles kindly and shakes his head. “Humans and Deltites are extraordinarily similar. Almost all our DNA is the same. We will become partners. After all, it is the only logical thing to do. With your nu
mbers and our advanced technology, we will remake the universe. From chaos, we will forge order.”

  “And the Alphians?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “If they stand in our way, they will be destroyed for the greater good.” He nods toward the bed and my head falls to the mattress. “I will return in a few hours. We can continue our discussion then. For now, you must rest.”

  I summon all my willpower and keep my eyes open, if just until he leaves.

  He looks over his shoulder on his way out of the room. Strange, but it looks like tears moisten his eyes.

  When he leaves, a heavy steel door slides down from the top of the archway and seals me inside the chamber. I don’t know how I missed the door when we entered the room.

  One thought floats on the surface of my thoughts, like a tree branch on a river, before I slip beneath the current.

  Am I a prisoner?

  Connor

  Real happiness is almost impossible to find. I know a handful of truly content people: one waitress at the pub who just got hitched, a professor at a nearby college who lives to teach, a barber who won’t stop talking about his family. You can see the joy in their faces and in their posture, and hear it in their voices. Everyone else fails. They hate their jobs, their school, spouses, friends, or where they live. It doesn’t seem to matter what or whom. Perhaps they need to hate because they’ve let their one chance at happiness slip away, just like me.

  I’ve never been happy. Honestly, before Juliet I never even considered it an option. Happiness is for other people, those who have homes or families or people who love them. Juliet was my chance, my only chance, and now she’s gone. My heart has been ripped out of my chest, tossed on the ground, and stomped into a messy pulp. There’s no way to repair that type of damage.

  Bloody hell, I probably deserve it. It was stupid of me to think I could find happiness—a mirage in a cesspool filled with turds. I refill my glass with three fingers of Scotch. My throat burns, my buzz starts to deepen, and my mood turns surly.

  Akari is playing with the orb we found in Stuart’s apartment. She’s using her mind to float it in front of her face and rotate it slowly. She’s trying to access a section of it to see a glimpse of Alpha—a ridiculous planet with our stupid enemies. Whether Alphians or Deltites, they’re all our enemies and we can never forget it.

  My voice sounds raw from the booze. “Give it up, Akari. Who cares what Alpha looks like anyway? We’ll never go there. It can go to bloody hell for all I care.”

  “Maybe we’ll learn something important about them.” She pinches her eyes together in concentration, and sweat dots her brow.

  Blake pushes his computer away and stares at the orb. “It’s a good idea. They know everything about us. We might as well learn a few things about them.”

  “Of course, you’d side with her.” I wave my hand at him. “You’d try to French kiss the queen if she told you to do so.”

  Akari gasps and a holographic image fills the small galley—an arctic landscape, snow swirling in circles, giant shapes that shift in a blizzard of white.

  I take a healthy gulp from my glass. “Great, now we know it snows on Alpha. I’ll make sure to pack a coat when we visit.”

  They ignore me, and Troy points at the shapes in the snow. “What are those things?”

  Akari furrows her eyebrows and the shapes expand. They’re more than shapes. They look like giant wooly mammoths, except their fur is made from thick strands that look like twisted rope, and a single horn sticks out from their heads like unicorns. They swish their trunks in a wide arc as they move, and small birds flock around them, taking turns landing on their backs.

  “Do you think this is happening right now, like a live video feed?” asks Akari.

  “Unless they have a show on that’ll tell us how to stab them in the heart with a sword, it’ll do us no good. It’s a waste of time.” I clunk my glass on the table.

  The image disappears and Akari glares at me. “You’re obnoxious when you drink.”

  She doesn’t know the half of it. “Get used to it.”

  “Well, what’s our next move, Connor?” Blake says. “Who do we have to meet?”

  I swish the rest of the Scotch in the glass, drain it in one noisy swallow, and feel it burn down my gullet, straight through the void in my chest where my heart used to be and all the way to my gut. The burn feels good. “He’s not Coyote that Troy likes to talk about. This one is the Devil. A no-good-blood-sucking demon.”

  “He can’t be that bad.” Troy moves beside me.

  “Oh, he’s a lot worse than that.” I reach again for the bottle of Scotch.

  Troy blocks me. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  I push him out of my way. “Not even close.”

  After I refill my glass, I turn back to face them. They deserve a better version of me, but right now this is all I have to give. “We’ll have to wait until night. He only comes out at night.”

  Blake chuckles a nervous laugh. “You make him sound like a vampire.”

  I scowl at no one in particular and swish the booze in my glass in a tight circle. “We need to meet with the Vicar. That wanker knows more than he told me, and I’m going to rip it out of him—no matter what it takes.”

  Juliet

  I stroll through a meadow. Small mounds dot the field before me. A golden butterfly with red circles on its wings flutters past my face and swirls off into the distance. A few blades of emerald grass reach my fingertips. Brushing against them tickles my skin. The air smells sweet, and an eerie quietness hangs just over the grass like dew at dawn.

  Where is Sicheii?

  He should be here with me, but I’m alone.

  I stop at the foot of one of the small humps and survey the field. Dozens of little knolls stretch in neat lines far into the distance. A wooden plaque is partially buried in the ground, so I dust off the dirt, and find a name painted in blood—Charles Roundtree.

  I stagger back and almost topple onto another small hill. It has it’s own plaque—Troy Buckhorn. I start to run and see names for everyone I love—Connor, Blake, Akari, my mother, my father... the list goes on and on. Everyone has a grave but me.

  Where’s mine?

  It should be here.

  How could everyone else die but me? It’s not fair.

  I gasp and bolt upright.

  The steel door opens, and a silhouette is framed in the archway. Aaric switches the overhead light on. He’s holding a small silver tray with two shot glasses on it.

  I steady my breathing and rub the sleep from my eyes, way too conscious about the unruly state of my hair. He’s not even human, so why should I care about my appearance so much? Still, I bat down some runaway strands as he places the tray on the bed.

  He stands perfectly still, his back straight, his eyes searching mine. His gaze is so intense, heat flushes my cheeks, so I look down at the two small glasses on the tray. Green sludge fills them both.

  “Feeling better?” he asks.

  I stretch my arms and neck. I do feel better, like I’ve rested for the first time in forever. “Better. How long was I out?”

  “Two hours. It is amazing how the body can recuperate in such a short time under the proper conditions.”

  My eyes turn back to the two glasses. It can’t be a coincidence that he brought two of them—they seem important. My voice sounds an octave higher than usual when I say, “So what’s with the drinks? Are we celebrating something?”

  He smiles with only the tips of his lips, but the expression is genuine and it makes me like him, which is the absolutely the last thing I want to do right now. He sits on the bed and places the tray and the glasses between us.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a celebration.” His eyebrows furrow. “You are not what I expected.”

  My hand instinctively returns to its failed attempt to straighten my hair, a totally stupid response, but years of training are hard to ignore. The air between us feels heavy. “Different how?�
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  “You are more powerful than I thought possible. It worries me.”

  I can see concern written across his face.

  “I want to help.”

  Why should being powerful be a problem?

  Then I remember what Gagarin called me before he died, and a chill washes over my skin. “Gagarin said I was an abomination. He made it sound bad.”

  He purses his lips and sighs. “Yes, it is my fear. We are all vessels for the energy that flows around us. Even normal humans have this capacity. It is why they feel energized when they are in groups. But our ability is much stronger than the average human. We are more receptive to life forces, but with this receptivity comes many risks. We must control that energy or it will harm us.”

  “So, we’re like electrical wires. If too much electricity flows through us, we’ll burn out.”

  He leans forward. “Not exactly, but close enough. Usually our bodies have governors built in that prevent us from being hurt.”

  “Usually, but you’re worried I can’t shut down this ability.”

  When he doesn’t respond, I think back to the headaches and the blackouts I’ve experienced over the past few weeks. None of the other Chosen suffer from them. Perhaps they are early warning signs I’m overheating.

  Why do I have to be so different from everyone else—always the outcast, always alone?

  He hands me a glass and takes one for himself. “It is a possibility. As you grow into your abilities and they strengthen, you might not be able to control them. They might overwhelm you.”

  I grip the glass tighter. “By overwhelm you mean kill, right. I mean that’s what we’re talking about.”

  He nods.

  Death doesn’t scare me. Of course, I don’t want to die, but there are worse fates. Knowing you could have protected those you love and yet did nothing would be worse. I couldn’t live with myself then. Every waking moment would be torture. “So what happens to abominations where you’re from?”