After his father spoke with The Ancient Witch, she revealed Venus as that warrior. And since his father believed he should be the only ruler of Kelari, he’d ordered Venus’ death. He’d sent his secret assassins, the Volshayers, out several times over the past sixteen years to kill her. They’d never succeeded.
It’d been thought they’d accomplished the task once, when Venus was seven, but the child had been the princess’s playmate.
In truth, he didn’t care one way or the other about the girl. She seemed like a valiant, cool kel. But killing Venus would allow him to continue his research without the interference of his father.
His cell rang.
Letting out a freezing breath, he pulled the phone from his front pants pocket and flipped it open. “This better be important.” He stood and sauntered away from the prying eyes and curious ears of the woman.
“Where the heck are you?”
“Calm down, Chev. I’m on my way back. No worries.”
“Hurry. Michael and the others are asking questions.” She hung up.
Dervinias closed the phone and placed it back in his pocket. The moon overhead twinkled, and though it wasn’t fully dark, with his immortal eyes, he could see millions of stars. Inhaling he searched for Kelari, knowing he wouldn’t find it. Still, he could see other colonized planets. Like Mars.
Humans believed the red planet was uninhabitable. If they only knew. The creatures were very exceptional at the art of deception. Other species only saw what Rhlanges wanted them to see. A whole world of intelligent beings existed if one knew how to see them. They’d even visited Earth. At one time, thousands of years ago, they’d wanted to assert the planet as their own. But the humans reminded them too much of cockroaches—annoying and hard to get rid of. So they decided against claiming the blue planet.
“Ah, well,” he sighed, glancing over at the heavy-set woman. Then he turned toward the street, where several black cars whipped by. A.L.T. had arrived. Right on time.
A large bus rumbled down the street and screeched to a stop. The lady hefted herself up, and onto the steps. She paused and looked back.
He smiled, frightening.
She dashed out of sight.
The bus driver yelled out, “You comin’ kid?”
“I’ll catch the next one.”
The doors closed. Dervinias watched the bus pull away.
With his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the street. Michael distracted him—amused him—the idea that he could be a new species.
In a few hours the kid would come home and find his mother. He wanted to know what Frank would say to his son. He hoped Michael would put the wrong one and one together and conclude Venus had killed his mother. If Michael killed Venus, well that would be poetic.
Checking his watch, the hands verified what Chev had called about . . . he’d been away from The Hartford Ranch, Venus, Zaren and Michael, for too long. He’d have to make excuses, which he detested.
Thinking of the place he left his horse, he used Britorent to return. As he rode to the halfway point one thought raced through his mind.
Michael, what are you really?
32. Eye Of The Tiger
When Venus left The Hartford Ranch with Dervinias and Zaren, darkness blanketed the night.
Dervinias had torn into view around seven, right after the moon appeared. Like a dragon dropping from the sky, he’d emerged from the shadows, large wisps of smoke from his and his horse’s breaths coming into view before he did. He’d appeared haggard. Acting scared, he said he’d gone on ahead and become lost.
Venus knew he lied because kelvieri couldn’t lose their way.
She’d exchanged a knowing look with Zaren. Neither of them called him on his fabrication. Confronting him in front of Cheverly and Michael would’ve raised too many questions. Perhaps caused them to wonder about their relationship, or remind Michael of other strange oddities Venus possessed—like the color of her blood. It took a lot of effort to ignore the concern biting its way through her stomach. Still, she’d resisted and waited to say anything until they drove away in Dervinias’s truck.
“Where’d you go?” Venus asked. Her stomach clenched with dread.
“I got bored waiting around. You guys were taking too long. Not to mention the obvious fact that I’d have been a third wheel. The trip wasted my time. I deserve the chance to have some fun.” His eyes shone with a renewed excitement.
Venus’s inclination to panic settled. Clearly, there was no reason to be worried. His excuse made sense. She wouldn’t have enjoyed being the odd person out either.
Zaren seemed rigid. He kept his face straight ahead when he said, “Michael thought it was odd. Cheverly said you’ve done that before—taken off. Why come if you’re going to turn around and leave?”
“Why not? When there’s a big group, I usually hook up with a girl. If I don’t, I leave.” He shrugged like it wasn’t any big deal.
“Michael suggested sending out a search party. He didn’t care if you died or not, but worried Chev might get into trouble for losing you. She didn’t seem too concerned, though, so Michael blew it off. I think he knows you’re different. You should be more careful.” Zaren crossed his arms.
Venus studied Zaren, trying to get his attention. He had to know she wanted to be included on whatever was going on in his head, but he didn’t respond. Venus huffed, wishing she could read his mind.
Dervinias glanced over. “Chev’s cool. No worries buddy.” He pounded Zaren on the shoulder.
Venus stopped caring, momentarily too tired to do anything but breathe. Plus, the truck cab was stuffy, her shoulders touching Dervinias on one side and Zaren on the other. Venus tried to empty her mind. That was impossible, so she worked to think of safe subjects.
She’d no doubt Dervinias would be listening in. She wished she knew of a way to block his intrusive behavior. Zaren probably listened in as well. So she thought of home, of her family.
The chorus of a song from her childhood, Alayeahian Sea, kept repeating in her head. Her mother, Queen Karrina, used to sing it to her when she was little, after tucking her into bed at night. The one time each day she spent alone with her mother—the two of them. She’d stroke Venus’s hair, her fingers soft as she sang.
Her mother’s voice reminded Venus of the Eding bird. Turquoise, bright pink, buttery yellow and salmon feathers covered its compact little body. The birds were tiny, but their song rang loud and strong, exploding from their black, pencil-tip-sized beaks. Such beautiful music, it made people burst into tears at its loveliness.
When her mother sang, she possessed the same beauty. Her father, King Quinlin, bragged she could sing better than anyone in all of Kelari. Venus agreed.
If Venus tried, she could’ve remembered the whole song. But it was easier to keep the chorus on repeat in her head.
Friends. Lovers.
We had the chance to be,
Together forever under the Alayeahian Sea.
As if to prove there was no avoiding an invasion of her mind, Dervinias started humming the chorus along with her thoughts. Ugh. He deserved a thorough beating. But her whole body hurt. She rested her head against the seat and listened.
His sang in a deep baritone. After a few times through, he said, “It’s been so long since I’ve heard that song. Thanks, Venus.”
He made it difficult for Venus to stay mad.
Zaren reached over and grabbed her hand. Grateful for his comfort, she squeezed; pleased he knew exactly what she needed. “You’re welcome, Dervinias.”
They continued home in silence.
Venus said her goodnights to Zaren and Dervinias on the way in the house. She wanted to be alone. It took every effort not to drop into bed and sleep, grubby clothes and everything, but the idea of dirtying the pretty white comforter drove her into the shower.
Before she went to sleep, she stretched her mind to reach Cheverly, placing loving ideas about Michael into her head. Cheverly had quite the dreams, too. It made Ve
nus’s job all the easier. After Chev, she entered Michael’s mind—well tried. There wasn’t anything to enter. Clearly, he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Venus waited for a while, but fell asleep.
When she realized she was on the fringes of his mind, she searched through his dreams as well as his memories. The visions she encountered terrified her while simultaneously breaking her heart.
No!
33. Human Nature
Around ten, Michael and Cheverly decided to call it a night. They’d already returned their horses to the barn and Venus, Zaren and Dervinias had gone. It made it easier for Michael to focus on Chev. She walked him to Red, his hand in hers.
“Can you forgive me, Michael?” she asked tenderly.
He loved her upturned nose. The way her glistening lips called to him in the moonlight. Her dancing eyes surrounded by curly lashes. She looked incredible. It wasn’t even hard to bend and brush his lips against hers. They tasted of toasted marshmallow and hot chocolate.
She smiled into his lips. “Is that a yes?”
In response, Michael kissed her harder, clutching her shoulders. He made every effort to block out images of Venus. Their almost kiss, the feel of her body against his. The strange, scary, weird pictures that’d entered his mind when their lips touched. He resisted a shudder at the memory of Venus on the ground heaving blood this afternoon.
What’s the matter with her? Who is she?
Shaking off the questions, he worked harder to focus on Chev. She’d reached her hands under his shirt, and her hands wandered. The girl knew how to arouse him. Despite that, he gently pushed her away and searched her face for answers she wouldn’t possess.
“Oh, Michael, I love you.” She touched his face. Brushed away some hair that’d fallen into his eyes.
Michael watched the words leave her mouth, heard the lilt of longing. Her eyes sought assurance, and her body language begged a response.
Why not?
“I love you, too, Chev.” His voice hadn’t cracked. The words didn’t come out weird. He’d sounded sincere. Michael did . . . love her, care for her. She was kind and gorgeous, a perfect combination.
Tears filled her eyes. One ran down a cheek.
He caught it, wiped it away. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Very okay.” She hugged him, pressing her face into his chest. Michael hugged her back, knowing he should feel happier. Feel more. Instead, he felt anxiety, like he’d swallowed a large rock.
Michael didn’t think it had anything to do with Chev. He kissed the top of her head. The smell of her shampoo—jasmine—filled his nose. No, he didn’t think so. Wherever their relationship led them, Michael believed she loved him.
Is that what you want?
“Michael?”
“I should go. Do you want to get together tomorrow?” He opened the door, climbed in.
“Yeah?”
A question hung on her lips, but the boulder in his stomach seemed to be growing. He had to go. Now.
“I’ll call you. Promise.” Michael started the car, closed the door and left. The closer he got to home, the larger the stone became. Something was wrong.
34. Sharp Dressed Man
When he turned off Red and closed the garage, he noticed the clock on the wall next to the door. 12:06 A.M. The door from the garage to the kitchen gaped, ajar. When he pushed it open further, a pungent smell assaulted him.
Sharp. Combined with the citrus scent of their cleaning supplies, he couldn’t place it. From the street, it’d looked like every light in the house was on, which was maybe why he glanced at the clock. Mother preferred to keep the house dark. It had to do with her depression and her constant belief that life wasn’t fair.
Those were reasons she’d given him before. But, he’d always figured it made the evil she flung at him seem less real. So his coming home and seeing the complete opposite gave him pause, made Michael worry. He didn’t know what to expect: A drunken rampage or worse.
One way to find out.
“Mother?”
Typically, when she stayed up late, she either watched TV in the den or her bedroom. Michael checked the den first. The television blared some late-night talk show. A couple of the cushions on the couch were scrunched, like they’d been used, but she wasn’t there. With the remote, he switched off the TV. Then he went into her bedroom. An empty glass sat on the nightstand. Next to that, a bottle of wine, opened and half full. Normal. At least twenty squished cigarette butts lay in a glass ashtray. The burgundy comforter and sheets on her bed were pulled back.
“Mother,” he called again. No answer. He switched off the bathroom light after checking it. His letterman’s jacket, with the hole in the shoulder, had been moved. Where’d she put it? In his closet? He had no idea with her. It could’ve been thrown in the trash. As he moved toward the living room, the rock in his stomach nearly sent him to his knees. The stench became stronger. He had to check it before heading upstairs.
When he entered, it was as if his mind went on pause. He forgot how to think, how to do anything but stand there, frozen. For how long, he had no clue. He knew the images that flooded his mind would haunt him forever.
Blood. Death.
Everywhere.
The odor burned. A physical assault from every angle beat his senses. Large blotches of blood stained the walls, with streaks running toward the floor, like they were racing to see who got down first. Blood had been flung all over the furniture, the closed curtains, and the carpet. It covered the lampshades, too, giving the room an eerie red glow.
“Mom,” he yelled. She lay on the floor in front of their wood coffee table, hands tied at the wrists. Michael ran and fell to his knees at her side.
Disgusted. Horrified. Terrified.
Bile rose into his throat. He stood, ran to a corner and puked. When he finished, Michael realized he’d touched a wall to hold himself steady. More blood. His mom’s blood, covered his hand.
“No. No. No,” he cried, wiping it on his pants and rushing back to her.
She’d been laid on her back, eyes wide open. Terror plastered on her face. Her lips were cracked, dry blood crusted over them. Her skin looked odd in color, a grayish-black, but that may have been because of the light shining through the bloodied lampshades. Each cheek and her forehead had strange cuts in them. Her sweatshirt had been sliced opened and her stomach had a large carving in it too. It reminded him of a weird shaped eye. Blood had pooled into the center of the carving, creating a red pupil. As though whoever had done this tried to cut art into her body. A huge black-handled knife protruded above her left breast.
Her sweatpants had been sliced away as well and there were carvings in her thighs. The murderer had hacked off her legs below the knee. Rage as he’d never known coursed through his veins, filling him. Michael searched the room, but couldn’t find the missing limbs.
“Who would do this?” he yelled, his body shaking. 9-1-1. He needed to call the police. An ambulance. He stood, looking around for the phone. It wasn’t in its cradle. There was another in the kitchen. He left the room and rounded the corner.
Someone grabbed Michael around the neck with one arm and placed a hand over his mouth. They were wearing black gloves. The smell of oiled leather seared his nose. He tried to wrestle free. Being a big guy, a football player, he figured he’d be strong enough, but whoever it was knew what they were doing.
“Michael. It’s me, your father. Stop. We need to talk.”
Michael hadn’t heard from his father since he was seven. He’d been glad to see him go. Hadn’t cared if he ever saw Frank again. His mother had trashed every picture of his dad. Good riddance. He’d kill Frank if he’d done this to her. She hadn’t been Michael’s favorite person, but she was all he had.
The voice at his ear sounded familiar. Michael figured it probably was his dad, but he needed to see his face. And he needed answers. That meant he needed to hear the jerk out. Michael stopped struggling.
“Okay.” It came out a mumble.
&n
bsp; “Are you going to stay calm?”
He grunted a yes.
The hand came off his mouth and the arm around his neck disappeared. Michael spun around, determined to see what sort of man his father had become.
Frank wore a charcoal gray suit, a white shirt and a black tie. His hair had been clipped short. His skin tan, excessively tan. He recalled streaks of gray in his father’s hair. Now, there wasn’t a single gray strand.
Probably dyed. Lame. Michael couldn’t help snorting.
“What?” Frank asked.
His father’s clear brown eyes didn’t seem a bit surprised by Michael’s appearance. Even though he’d grown probably three feet since he’d left.
“Nothin,” Michael said. His body still shook. From shock, he guessed. His mother’s frightened eyes and those marks all over her body kept flipping like photographs through his mind. His stomach churned, bile rose into his throat again.
Frank waited, the picture of patience.
Jerk.
“What happened to Mom? Who did that to her? Why are you here?” Michael placed his hands on the kitchen counter. He needed to steady himself. The lights suddenly seemed too bright. His head throbbed. “We should call the cops.” He heard the words leave his mouth, but they didn’t sound like they were his. Grabbing a barstool, he pulled it out and sat, resting his head in his hands.
“Michael—son, it’s okay. I am the cops, the good guys . . .”
“What? No you aren’t. Mom told me what you did. A computer analyst. Besides where’s your uniform?” The last question had come out sounding childish, he knew, but it took everything he had not to run from the kitchen and cry uncontrollably.
“I had to keep it a secret. Your mom never knew the truth.” He patted Michael’s back.
Michael wanted to punch him.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Michael spat, furious.
“Look, Michael. I get that you have many reasons to be upset with me. I’m sure I deserve it, too. In fact I know I do. But now’s not the time.”
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