Text © 2012 Frankie Rose
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the Author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
The author recognises all copyright and trademarks within this work.
Cover Design by Chelsea Starling
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One
Blood in the rain
The pounding in his ears had slowed to almost nothing, but the rain exploding off the concrete increased exponentially to make up for it. He could hear nothing else, just this: the thunder of a thousand individual raindrops slamming down to earth with a determined force. The roar of it stole the sounds of the other things he knew he should hear, like the creak of leather boots; the singing of a blade being scraped along the length of another, its exact replica; his own screams.
It had taken them three days to catch up with him. That was surprising in itself. For three whole days he had flitted from one place to another, finding different crowds to hide amongst, and yet they had still known where to find him in the end. As if there was anywhere he could hide. It was almost crueller that they’d left it so long. Because after three whole days of waiting and wondering when it was going to happen, a tiny spark of hope had blossomed in his chest. Maybe they wouldn’t find him after all. Maybe the choice he’d made had been the right one. Maybe they would let him go now.
Such a fool.
They’d found him in a teahouse in New Delhi and dragged him here, to wherever this new hell was. All he knew was that it was someplace wet and cold. And he was fighting for his life. The Interrogator stepped forward in the torrential rain, Pax blades glinting in both hands. This guy knew knives; knew how to use them. He was quick. When he rushed him, Kayden barely had chance to dodge to the side. The Interrogator was lithe, like a snake. There was no reading him at all. He scissored the metal and the cold steel flashed in his eyes. Cold blue eyes. Like ice. Blank.
Kayden had only met one other messenger like this guy before, one other who had chosen his own path. The only way to tell he was different was by the way the Catena, the tattoo chaining his neck, was unmoving. It was beautiful as well, intricate and decorative. Kayden’s own Catena was like most messengers’: harsh, striking and ever-changing.
Normally this would have been the time his Catena flared brilliantly in the darkness. He would have been able to use the vast stores of power within him to defend against this cold, calculating killer. But that was before. Before they’d cast him out. Now, he was facing his opponent alone, entirely without backup. Weaponless.
The Interrogator feinted to the left. Kayden leapt backwards, knowing it was a bluff, but this guy was way too smart. He tucked and rolled through the puddled water collecting on the concrete, tinged pink already with blood. The Interrogator struck upwards as he rose, sweeping the blade’s edge across Kayden’s stomach. The sickening burn spread like acid across his skin. Just another slice. There were already so many, but this one was deep. He could feel the darkness seeping into him as the poison worked its way a little deeper into his blood stream.
How long would it take? The muscles in his arms and legs were already failing. That was where the majority of the cuts had landed and the poison was at its strongest. He wouldn’t be able to stand much longer, and once he was down on the ground…
The Interrogator flashed his stony gaze over Kayden, picking him apart. He anticipated Kayden’s every move before Kayden even knew himself. It was almost pointless trying to get away, and maybe once upon a time he would have given up. Everything had changed now, though. He had reasons to live…wanted to see them through.
When the Interrogator leapt forward like a coiled panther, Kayden managed to dart out of his reach. The guy was unbalanced for a moment, and Kayden saw his opportunity. He struck out and blocked the Interrogator’s right hand, twisting it back and angling the wrist in a lock he knew to be agonizing. The Pax blade clattered to the floor, and he had just enough time to stoop and snatch it up before the Interrogator came at him again.
He had a weapon now, but it still wasn’t a fair fight. The fact that Kayden had managed to momentarily immobilize him seemed to enrage the Interrogator, his fury evident in the dangerous narrowing of his eyes. Kayden crouched and held the knife out ready to defend himself.
The Interrogator came at him like a whirlwind. His arms moved too quickly to pre-empt, and Kayden could feel the cold, sinking pain of each and every cut that slashed across his skin. One on top of another, on top of another, on top of another. Too many to count. He held his ground for a moment, getting a few lucky strikes in, but the Interrogator didn’t even flinch. He just kept coming. Kayden lunged forward in a last ditch attempt to plunge the curved edge of the Pax blade straight into the Interrogator’s stomach. But he was clumsy and slow. The poison flooded his mind, casting everything into a murky darkness. He didn’t feel himself drop to his knees, but he knew it had happened. It was like he was watching everything unfold from outside his body, watching as the Interrogator straightened to wipe his sodden hair from his face. He took his time walking around Kayden’s numb, kneeling body.
This would have been the moment to move. To prevent what was coming. But he couldn’t. Kayden tensed as he waited for the paralyzing pain of the knife thrusting into his lower spine. And yet he didn’t feel a thing, just a mildly uncomfortable pressure that twisted through his body, forcing him forward onto the ground.
A fractured thought entered his mind as he lay with his cheek pressed into the gritty concrete. As he watched the occasional raindrop rebound slightly redder than the rest, he thought perhaps this actually was hell. After all, there were some amongst them who could pull those kinds of strings. Maybe that was the reward for meddling in the plans of those privy to ‘The Bigger Picture’.
But occasionally, when the rain eased for a less than a heartbeat, he caught sight of the moon reflected in the pooling water around him. There probably wasn’t a moon in hell. He didn’t have any real reason to believe that, but something in his gut told him that was the case.
So he was somewhere in the world, and it was raining, and he was dying. There had been no warning. No questions. No admonishments. Just the silent creak of boots. The silent scrape of metal. His silent screams.
He was somewhere in the world and he didn’t know where.
He was somewhere in the world and no one was looking for him.
Two
Hot Pink
The shouts were loud enough to wake the dead, or at least Farley, who usually slept as if she was. A thin knife of silver moonlight sliced through the curtains into the room, cutting away some of the dark. It took a moment to realize why she had woken up. Another to realize where she was.
Home.
A second low shout echoed up through the silent house. In an instant Farley rolled out of bed, somehow landing on her feet, and pulled on her jeans and a shirt. She threaded the buttons into the wrong holes, but that didn’t matter. She was already moving, hammering down the bare hardwood stairs.
He was asleep on the sofa, twitching restlessly, blankets kicked back.
“Daniel, wake up. Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay…” Waking him too sharply was probably risky. She allowed her hand to rest on the smooth skin of his bare shoulder. He was burning up. Another nightmare. Both of them seemed to suffer them on a regular basis; her mother was usually the star of Farley’s- blacken
ed teeth, filthy nails, white eyes and all. Who knew what Daniel dreamed about, though. His body went rigid for a second before he tremored and fell slack, the nightmare apparently falling away. When he opened his eyes, he cringed.
“Hey you,” she whispered.
“Hey…”
“You okay?”
He nodded, his messy black hair, slightly wavy from the crushing humidity of the night, falling into his face. Farley swept it gently out of his eyes.
“What were you dreaming about?”
“I… ” The word cracked, his voice thick and broken from sleep. He cleared his throat.
“You wanna talk about it?”
It was no big surprise when he shook his head. He never wanted to talk about it. There was still so much she didn’t know about him, still so much she couldn’t figure out. Like why, when they had returned to her house in Monterey Hills three weeks ago, he refused to sleep inside. And why, after having finally convinced him to move indoors, he insisted on sleeping on the sofa and not in one of the spare rooms Tess and Oliver hadn’t taken. Or in her half empty, king size bed for that matter.
It was strange that he would rather sleep here, in a room cluttered with the relics of lives that didn’t exist anymore- a stuffed Kermit the Frog she used to love; a broken record player that had only ever played UB40, because it was the only record her mother owned; a fake stuffed moose head that scared the crap out of you by singing Christmas songs you forgot it knew. The room was filled with a whole ton of things that were irrelevant now but remained to bear testimony to a time when everything was normal and everything was other.
“What time is it?” Daniel’s eyes, startlingly green even in the dark, roved over the mausoleum of her past and eventually caught sight of the clock on the mantelpiece. “Nearly five? Ugh…” He dug his knuckles into his eyes, groaning.
“You wanna go back to sleep?” Farley asked, battling the slow realization that he was wearing nothing but his boxers. Suddenly concentrating on anything but that fact seemed impossible. He caught her looking and gave her a tired smile.
“Hey. Where’s your head at?”
“In the clouds,” she replied, dragging her eyes reluctantly up to his face.
“Good. For a moment there I thought it might have been in the gutter.” His small smile spread to a grin and he grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her down so that she fell across him. His lips found hers in the dark. He tasted like sleep, but not in a bad way.
Farley snuggled down into the crook of his arm and lay her head on his warm chest. She listened to the slow draw of his lungs, punctuated by the lazy throb of his heartbeat beneath her temple.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“What for?”
“Waking you.”
She shook her head against him in a silent refusal to accept his apology. She didn’t need it, not when it meant that she got to come and be here with him like this. It was a selfish thought considering he had just woken from a nightmare, but Daniel couldn’t be made to do anything. If he wanted to talk to her about it, he would. She would just have to be patient. In the meantime, she got to be happy here, wrapped up in the warmth and smell of him.
Happiness had been such a foreign emotion lately. She still wasn’t used to the idea that this small part of her life truly existed, and it was only these quiet, stolen moments that made everything else bearable. Her mother’s death. Aldan’s death. Agatha, Beatty and their other friends disappearing. Even being back in this house filled to bursting with memories of her mother was okay so long as he was in it, too. Not that they were staying for long.
“Are you ready for today?” he whispered as he nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing her in.
“What do I smell like?” she asked, ignoring his question.
He gave this some thought before answering, “Purple.”
“Purple?”
“Um-hmm.”
“I didn’t know smells have a color?”
“Well, they do.”
“What’s the smell for orange?”
“Cheese.”
She laughed silently against his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract beneath her fingertips. He collected her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Yeah. I’m ready,” she murmured. Anything louder than a murmur would betray the fact that she was definitely not ready. Today they were headed to Montana to follow up on an Agatha-related lead. Montana itself didn’t sound so bad. It was the people they were going to see in Montana that made Farley nervous. Meeting Daniel’s friends for the first time was a daunting prospect, and she constantly had to remind herself why they were going: Agatha was still missing after their showdown with the Reavers, and they had to find her.
“I can hear them grinding,” Daniel said quietly, as though imparting some great secret into her ear.
“My teeth?”
“The gears in your head. You’re worrying about something. I can tell.”
She sighed. “It’s nothing. I… it’s just scary meeting people you’ve known for so long. And they’re all… like you. Kind of. I’m just ordinary. Boring.”
He twisted so that he lay facing her on the sofa, his arm still pillowing her head. Their bodies pressed together- foreheads, chests, stomachs, knees and legs all tangled so that she wouldn’t fall off the edge.
“Are you serious?”
Farley nodded.
“You don’t need to think like that. Ever. Okay? Being stuck with the same people decade after decade is nowhere near as much fun as you think. Plus you’re anything but ordinary. You’re extra-ordinary in every way.” His eyes burned in the darkness, focusing on her with an intensity she was only just learning how to handle. “You think being prophesied is normal?”
“No.”
“Well, then. I’m sure they’ll all be green with envy about that one.”
“I doubt it. Being prophesied sucks,” Farley moaned, tracing her fingertip along the line of his jaw. It felt rough where he hadn’t shaved in a few days.
“Exactly. So does living for hundreds of years and not being able to have a proper life.” He reached down and tugged on the blanket at his feet, drawing it up to cover them both. It was far too hot for it, but it made the moment more intimate somehow. Farley left it there.
“This sofa’s really small, y’know?” she said.
Daniel smiled an already knowing smile and kissed her nose. “I do know.”
“I can think of a place to continue this conversation that would be much more comfortable.”
“You can?”
“Yep. Why don’t you just come sleep in my bed? There’s only a few hours left before dawn. You’d get a lot more rest if you were comfortable.”
“I am comfortable. This is perfect.” He closed his eyes but his smile spread wider, clearly anticipating the grumpy expression that settled on her face.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m going back to my bed right now in protest. Don’t complain in the morning when you have a stiff neck.”
“Okay,” he whispered. But instead of letting her go he tucked his chin over her head and pulled her closer, so that she had to slot her folded arms in between them, like their bodies were a jigsaw puzzle and that was where she fit.
********
“I think she’s drooling on him.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Shall we poke them now?”
Farley cracked open an eyelid. In the small, abstract snapshot of her vision she could see Daniel’s throat an inch away from her face, and over his shoulder was the stuffed moose head, grinning with perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “No,” she groaned, “no poking allowed.”
The sound of her voice woke Daniel. He winced and buried his face into his pillow.
“They live!” Tess cried. She proceeded to sit on Farley’s hipbone and bounce up and down, making the sofa springs squeal like stuck pigs. “Wow. Nothing interesting could have happened dow
n here last night. We’d definitely have heard about it.”
“Shut. Up. Kennedy,” Farley growled, trying to loosen herself from Daniel’s arms so she could turn around.
“No,” he mumbled. “Don’t look at them. If we acknowledge their presence, they’ll never leave. Play dead.”
“Smell dead, more like it,” Tess jibed.
“Do I smell bad, baby?” Daniel asked into the cushion.
“Like hot pink.”
He broke into laughter, an easy kind happiness that made Farley shiver with the simple pleasure of hearing it. She joined him, only stopping when Tess shoved a finger into her side.
“You two had better get up and in the shower before I count to ten, or I’m getting a bucket of cold water.”
“I wouldn’t doubt her,” Oliver added. “She’s a woman of her word. Plus we have to drive for, like, eighteen hours today.”
That seemed to sober Daniel up. He propped himself up on one arm, narrowing his eyes at everyone, Farley included. “I’ll be driving for, like, eighteen hours today. No one else is touching that car. I’d better go make sure she’s still safe.”
He vaulted over Farley so that her body rolled into the indentation he left behind, laughing when she cried, “Hey!”
“That car means way too much to him. It’s not just me who thinks that, right?” Tess asked.
Oliver raised an eyebrow and said, “No. This level of obsession goes way beyond the normal love any man should have for his car.”
Farley rolled to face them, grimacing when she saw that they were dressed and ready to face the day. Daniel had already disappeared, probably out onto the driveway to make sure no birds had crapped on his new Dodge Viper. She hadn’t even bothered asking how he could afford it. His attachment to the car was surprising, given that only two weeks earlier he was still ‘mourning’ the death of his Charger. He’d had to blow it up as a distraction when he’d broken into the Tower.
Eternal Hope (The Hope Series) Page 1