Scorched Souls (Chosen Book 3)

by Jeff Altabef

  “I see you recognize your sword.” He grins.

  A holographic image appears next to the table, which looks like a nondescript Deltite: tall, thin, bald. The projection holds a sword at his side.

  “That is your training partner. He will not hurt you, but the sword he is holding will seem real in all respects. You can practice with him, and he will become progressively more difficult to defeat as your skills improve. I have some business to attend to. When you tire, you should go back to the mediation chamber. I will find you later.”

  I nod.

  He starts to leave, but then he stops and turns. “Maybe we can watch a movie later?”

  “Sure, I’d like that.”

  He turns and leaves.

  What am I doing?

  Connor

  I jump off the boat and wobble as my feet hit land. Luckily, Troy catches me before I topple over and face-plant onto the gravel path.

  When I steady myself, I shake off his hands with a violent twist that almost sends me spinning to the ground. “That’s a nasty first step.”

  Blake frowns. “Well, it could be all the Scotch you’ve drunk today.”

  I wave at him. My tongue feels fat and my voice is slushy. “Nah. I’m only getting started. It’s important to be fortified when you go see the devil, aye. You should have drunk some. You’ll see.”

  I’m unsteady on my feet, but it’s not all my fault. Rage fills the hollow cavity in my chest that Juliet has left behind. I’ve been here before, but this time the well seems deeper and darker. It’ll take time for me to climb back out... if I can scale these slick, angry walls.

  Troy’s convinced Juliet is just trying to protect us, that she has a plan to defeat the Prime Elector on her own.

  If he thinks that makes me feel better, he’s wrong.

  We’re supposed to be a team, so why ditch me?

  Does she think that I’m that hopeless, that I’d be of no help against the Prime Elector? That she’d be better off without me?

  Blake’s certain the Deltites screwed around with Juliet’s brain back in New York, so he’s written her off completely.

  Akari mostly shrugs and remains sullen.

  Rain spits at us unevenly. It’s after normal dinner hours, so the streets are quiet in the sleepy town. I lead us along the side roads, careful to avoid the main ones, and stop in front of a well maintained, modest, brick colonial with a white door, neatly trimmed garden, and flowers that line the front of the house.

  My stomach plummets as I nod at the house. “We’re here, guys. Hell itself.”

  “Well, I was expecting something darker and more dangerous looking for the devil. Maybe a little sulfur smell.” Blake grins. “This house looks like something out of Home and Garden Magazine.”

  I grab him by the shirt with both of my hands and pull him close. I’m angry at having to come back here, at Juliet leaving us, at being a stupid Chosen with this impossible task to perform, and it all bubbles out of me.

  “Don’t be an idiot!” I shake him. “That’s what he wants you to think. He’s not going to paint a bloody pentagram on the door.”

  “Take it easy.” Troy grabs my shoulder.

  I shove Blake harder than I intend, and he staggers backward and crashes into the postbox.

  “You’ll see.” The rage builds inside me. “You’ll find out in a minute.”

  Akari narrows her eyes. “You don’t have to be a dobe.” She throws her shoulder into my stomach on her way to the front door.

  I don’t know what dobe means, but she’s right. With Juliet it was easier for me to be a better person. She steadied me and made me stronger, more confident, more hopeful. I need to find that strength without her, but I don’t even know where to look.

  I half smile at Blake. “Sorry, mate. I guess I got carried away, that’s all.”

  He shoots me a frosty glare and stomps after Akari.

  Troy grabs my arm. “Are you sure you can do this? We’re not going to get another chance. We can come back later, after we drown you with some coffee, if you can’t suck it up.”

  I take a deep breath. “No worries. I’m ready.” I push past him and trudge up the walk toward the front door, and taste the acid that’s jumped from my stomach.

  How many times have I been here before, asking for help from the one person in the world who acted like he cared about me? He could have helped me, and he did nothing.

  He could have stopped the pub owner from beating me when I was little. He could have intervened when the pub owner treated me like a slave, but all he gave me were excuses and vague promises to trust in the Lord. Then I find out he was lying to me all along. He knew I was a Chosen and kept his stupid fat lying mouth shut for all those years.

  I kick over a flowerpot and slam my fist against the door.

  Bam! Bam!

  A few seconds later the door swings open and the devil stands before me—short, plump, with only a few gray hairs covering his bald dome of a head, and a neatly trimmed beard. Other people describe him as a miniature Santa Clause, but they don’t know him the way I do. They don’t look deep into his eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and his soul is rotten to the core.

  He smiles that fake grin, and it takes all my willpower not to punch him in the teeth.

  “Connor!” he says. “Come inside, my boy, before anyone sees you.” He opens the door wider to let us in.

  He shuts the door behind us, flashes a wide grin at the rest of the group, and straightens his black shirt and priest’s collar. “Let’s sit in the living room. There’s plenty of room. You can introduce me to your new friends.”

  He heads to a large room on his left that holds one wingback chair, two comfortable couches, an antique desk in the corner, and a large fireplace. “Can I get you some tea, perhaps a few scones?”

  I growl at him. “We’re not here for some bloody tea and cookies.”

  He purses his lips. “There’s no reason to be impolite. Have a seat then.”

  It’s clear we’re not going to get anywhere unless we play his little game, so we all settle on the couches.

  He leans backward in the lone wingback. “You see, Connor? There’s no reason why we can’t be comfortable.”

  He purposefully looks at the others and avoids my glare. “You have to excuse him. His heart is usually in the right place, but he always insists on doing things the hard way. I take full responsibility for his ghastly lack of manners. My name is George Peterson, the local vicar. Welcome to my home.”

  This polite game he insists we play infuriates me so much, I dig my nails deep into my palms. “We need some information, and you’re going to tell us everything.”

  He nods. “I’m here to help, but first you must introduce me to the other Chosen.”

  “You knew there were others, and you didn’t say anything to me about it. I had to learn about it through the Fusion. What sick—”

  He lifts his right hand, palm out. “I didn’t know before. I only know now because an angel told me.”

  My head’s spinning. I’m drunk, but did he just say an angel?

  Troy asks before I can command my sluggish tongue to work. “You’ve been visited by an angel that knows all about the Chosen?”

  George’s face transforms with an otherworldly glow. “He’s been sent to guide you. He knew you would find me.”

  I stand. “What are you prattling on about?”

  “Me.” In the foyer stands a tall, fair-skinned, athletic-looking guy with a buzz cut.

  I sneer at George. “You wanker. He’s one of the bad guys.”

  The shadow in the foyer smiles. “My name is Barrett.”

  Connor

  I’m not going to stand around while some Deltite chops off my head. I figure it’s him or me, so I jump to my feet and topple over the cocktail table in the process.

  He thrusts both of his palms out as if he wants me to stop. “I have been sent here to help you.”

  “Right.” I charge, but my balance is
off and I catch my toe on the throw rug, which sends me staggering forward.

  He sidesteps me and I crash into the wall, shoulder first, and a shooting pain knifes down my arm. When I turn toward him, my face is hot and my vision red.

  He takes a step back, his palms still out. “I’m here to replace your deceased Host.”

  “Rubbish.” I dart at him, trying to lock my arms around his waist so I can throw him to the floor, but he spins, grabs my arm and whips me into the far wall headfirst—hard. Bits of plaster flake from the wall, and stars float in front of my eyes.

  He turns toward the others. “Is he always like this?”

  “You should have seen him when he was younger.” George shrugs. “He’s as stubborn as a mule. There’s no talking to him when he gets like this.”

  Blake shrugs. “He’s usually a bit of an ass.”

  “And he’s drunk,” adds Akari, “which makes him worse.”

  I shake the stars from my head, pull the crystal hilt from a pocket in my cargo pants, and the blade appears. The tingling sensation runs up my arm and fireworks explode in my head, but the pain passes.

  He grabs his own sword. “You really don’t want to do this. We need to work together to defeat the Prime Elector. I can help you.”

  “Right. And I’m the King of England.” I launch myself at him, swinging a heavy barrage of strokes, but the booze slows my arm and my balance is off.

  He has no problem paring my swipes, which only makes me angrier. I try a full spin, which would have been difficult to manage if I were sober, so the outcome is predictable.

  He steps back, dodges my swipe and plants a front kick in my chest, which sends me flying into the mantel over the fireplace.

  George owns a collection of Hummel statutes he’s always bragging about. They’re lined up in a perfect row on the mantel. I’ve hated them my entire life, so I swipe them off the shelf, and they shatter on the floor.

  George plants his hands on his hips and scowls at me. “Did you have to do that?”

  I grin. “Yes.”

  When I turn, Blake, Akari, and Troy stand between Barrett and me.

  I snarl at them. “I could use a little help here.”

  Blake smiles. “We’re on his side.”

  Barrett slips his sword back into his pocket. “If I were a Deltite, I would have come with a half-dozen warriors, and you’d all be dead by now.”

  My head’s swimming, but even in this state I realize he’s making sense, and it’s obvious I’m not going to defeat him, so I put the hilt back in my pocket and fix him with a proper glare. “One false move and we’ll have another go.”

  Akari rolls her eyes and Blake laughs.

  Barrett sighs. “We’d better avoid that. I’m not sure the house could take it.”

  I need to get the last word in, so I say, “Good,” and flop back on the couch.

  Everyone sits, except for Barrett, who nods at George. “Can you give us some space, so we can talk about God’s business in private?”

  To my surprise, George doesn’t put up a fuss. He simply marches out the front door. He’s never done anything I’ve asked him to do, but one word from this tosser and he behaves like a trained dog.

  My mouth must have dropped open because Barrett smirks at me. “I showed him a few telekinesis tricks, so he thinks I’m an angel. He wants to believe his god sent me, so it was easy to persuade him of my angelic nature. It’s best he doesn’t interfere. So, where’s the Alpha—Juliet Wildfire Stone?”

  Akari leans forward. “She’s with the Prime Elector.”

  Barrett lifts an eyebrow. “With him, how? Did she go willingly, or did he take her?”

  “We don’t bloody know.” My voice sounds heavy. “We saw her with him at the palace and she turned her back on us. We had a chance to take him down together, but she wanted no part of it.”

  Blake points at me. “She knocked Connor out.”

  “Get stuffed.” I snarl at him. “Like I almost forgot, you twit.”

  “I’m just saying. He should know the full story.”

  Troy rubs his hands over his face. “The truth is we don’t know for certain exactly what she’s doing. She’s probably trying to defeat the Prime Elector on her own to protect us, but she didn’t tell us her plans.”

  Blake frowns. “Or she’s turned against us.”

  Barrett rubs his chin. “Confronting the Prime Elector on her own is not advisable. As the Alpha, she’s most powerful when you other Chosen are around her. Do you know where we can find them?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “If we knew that, we wouldn’t have come to see this prat. How did you find us?”

  “I traced your life forces to this general area. It only made sense for me to check with the vicar.”

  “Can you trace the Prime Elector, so we’ll know where he is?” asks Akari.

  “No. I don’t know enough about him.”

  Troy nods. “But you know enough about Juliet to track her. We can at least find her.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. I can only come up with a general idea of where she is, not an exact location.” He sits in the chair. “Tell me what happened in New York and everything you know about the Prime Elector.”

  Blake mostly tells him the story, and Troy adds in the bit about the Guernsey consulate, which triggers an idea from Blake. “Guernsey is a small country. Maybe we can find a rich guy from there who owns real estate nearby.”

  Sounds like a long shot to me.

  The others talk about ways to track down the Prime Elector. Barrett is sure Juliet is close, so at least we have that to go on. Blake’s working George’s computer feverishly with Akari’s help. Troy’s filling Barrett in on Juliet’s childhood, so he can get a better read on her location, which sounds like a waste of time. None of us ask him about the bomb we suspect is planted on Earth.

  Even woozy, I have enough of my senses not to talk about that until we know if we can trust this Barrett.

  There’s nothing for me to do here, and I hate feeling useless, so I wander to the door. “I need to see someone. I’ll be back.”

  “Be careful,” warns Troy. “The police are still looking for you.”

  “No problem.” I leave and my stomach sours.

  I need to find Michelle and ask her about the butcher.

  Connor

  The chilly night air and the splashing rain should sober me up a little, but I’ve drunk too much this time and it feels as if I’m being spit upon. I weave my way down the street toward the Swan, my legs staggering awkwardly as they reach for solid ground. Luckily, I find a tree to steady myself when the Swan first comes into view. Actually, three pubs swirl in a circle, and it takes a huge effort to combine them back into one.

  Even in my polluted state, I realize that pressing on like this would be a disaster. I slump against the tree, so I can sober up a bit before seeing Michelle. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. She wanted to come with me, but I refused. How could I take care of a twelve-year-old girl when I had no idea what I was going to do, or how dangerous it was going to be? I promised to return and rescue her when I could. Now I feel more than a little guilty that I’ve been back for a few days and haven’t seen her yet, and to make matters infinitely worse, there’s this butcher mess to contend with.

  My thoughts twist between the booze and anger. Part of me wants to run and leave everything behind: Juliet, Michelle, Barrett, and the other Chosen.

  That’s the weak part that hides just under the skin. I won’t let that side win, not now that Juliet’s shown me a better way.

  I clutch onto the tree as the world spins faster, so as not to flop arse over elbow onto the ground. The few bites of food I’ve eaten revolt, so I lean over and chunder. It’s not a pretty sight, and it only gets worse when I repeat it another three times.

  Once the world steadies, I straighten up and find three police officers standing in front of me, with Todd a few steps behind them.

  The captain waves a ba
ton. I know him; he arrested me once after a bar fight.

  His voice sounds certain. “That’s him. The haircut doesn’t fool me. That’s Connor.”

  Todd beams. “I told you he was around here.”

  “Nice shiner you got there, Todd.” I grin at him. “Trip over your own big feet?”

  His face reddens and he’s so angry he spits on the ground, but he doesn’t make a move toward me. He’s either worried about the cops or me.

  Either way it makes me chuckle, and I start to think a little more clearly.

  I eye the three cops. With my new abilities I can flatten them without even throwing a punch. Then I’ll teach Todd a lesson about being a rat.

  The captain pulls a pair of shiny cuffs from his belt. “So, lad, why did you go off and kill the butcher?”

  “He deserved a good stabbing, but I didn’t do it.” I spit some bile out of my mouth and feel the energy around me.

  Another cop sneers at me. “Aye, that was your knife we found buried in his chest. If you didn’t kill him, how do you explain that?”

  I shrug. If the bobbies weren’t so lazy they’d know I didn’t kill anyone. I had already been through customs at Heathrow when the butcher was murdered, but all these cops see when they look at me is the local orphan troublemaker. They didn’t bother to do their job and check the airports.

  The captain frowns. “We only found two sets of fingerprints on that knife—yours and the girl from the pub. You’re not saying the girl stabbed him, are you?”

  Just like that my alibi explodes, my world shatters, and I have to lean against the tree for balance.

  My innocence means her guilt.

  I can’t tell them the truth and put her at risk. I should have protected her better. I should have killed that butcher myself before I left. This is my burden to carry.

  By the time I look up, the captain has already grabbed my arms behind my back and slapped on the cuffs. “You’ve always been trouble, Connor. Now we’ve got you, and you’ll be going away for a long time.”

  Todd steps forward. “Don’t forget my reward.”

  I can’t help myself, so I reach out with my mind and pull his legs out from under him, and his head smacks against the cobblestones.