Unraveling Emily (Valla Series Book 1)

by Anna Rezes

  I remember the screaming. The jostling around in other’s heads. The confusion—so much confusion. I remember Dad sending Samantha to the neighbor’s and calling my mother’s friend. I remember the secretive woman coming to our house. She helped confine the power inside my body and the pain overwhelmed me like an overfilled balloon ready to explode.

  I remember being in the car on the way to the hospital as the extraordinary woman cupped my head between her hands. Staring into her mesmerizing sapphire eyes, I watched as they faded from bright blue to an eerie milky color. My memories shifted, changed and ultimately disappeared. I remember it all now, except the secretive woman. She’s an outline, a shadow, all except for her spooky blue eyes.

  “Who was she, Dad?”

  “She only let me remember enough to explain it to you when the time was right. She could knock on our door today and I wouldn’t recognize her, but she was the only one your mom trusted. Once she finished with your memories, she worked on my mind, putting in place a sort of protection and alarm system in case an Olvasho found me. I would be alerted—my mind protected—making it nearly impossible for them to compel or get information out of me. Only the woman knew how to unlock my mind.”

  “If she was so trustworthy, why did she erase your memories?”

  “She was cautious. If she had been caught helping your mother, they would’ve killed her too.”

  “What did Mom do? Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  His eyes drift to the coffee table. “Because of her Valla blood,” he whispers, as he taps his finger on the wooden box. “Look in here. It will explain better than I can.”

  I look at the carvings on the box and then back to him. “What’s Valla blood?”

  “Look in the box.”

  He doesn’t stay to explain; instead, he walks into the kitchen. I place the key in the lock and open the lid to find red velvet lining. Papers scatter the interior. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I envisioned it being more climactic.

  I examine a slip of paper with a foreign script. It appears to be written in a language I’ve never seen before. I examine it anyway. The swirling connected letters are intriguing. They twist and whirl around the paper in an alluring cursive. I follow the lines to the very bottom of the page and return to the beginning discovering words and sentences out of the scrolling lines. I don’t know how my mind can process the alien language, but the message is brief and informative. It explains it is written in the Olvasho language and to a normal human, it would look like scribbles on a page.

  I place the scrap of paper to the side, and my interest turns to a pink envelope. I recognize my name scrolled across the front written in the odd language. I retrieve a folded letter from inside. Even though the letters may be in the foreign script, the handwriting is all too familiar. It belonged to my mother and somehow the words become clear.

  My darling Emily,

  I’m sorry I have to leave. I love you so much, more than you can fathom. I hope you will never need to read this letter, but if you are, then I was unsuccessful. First, I want to tell you just how special you are despite what anyone might say. You have abilities others can’t begin to comprehend. You will be the one to stop this feud. It only makes sense it would be you.

  You have the blood of Valla. It is a beautiful gift, a powerful weapon, and a deadly curse. There is a war going on, and they will come for you. You must be prepared, stay focused, and wield your weapon judiciously. If you run, they will follow. Know you don’t have to go it alone. There are those who will fight alongside you. Trust wisely, my strong, beautiful girl. You have a delicate heart, keep it guarded, but not hidden for its beauty will bring unconditional loyalty. Most importantly, don’t let them decide who you are. Only you have the power to choose your actions, and I believe you have an extraordinary destiny ahead of you.

  I love you more than you know,

  Mom

  P.S. Read the leather-bound book and draw strength from the names. You are the last Valla blood.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes as I find the leather book and begin reading, hoping to obtain more answers. It must be a hundred pages, and it starts very similar to the story Patrick told me, only it paints a much darker picture than the fairytale version Patrick described. This story gives the name of the old shaman woman, Reyshen, as well as the names of the three princesses, Isa, Leona, and Valla.

  Valla was the stillborn sister with the strongest powers. The death of their father, the king, was not the extent of their story. The very next paragraph paints a gruesome picture of towns destroyed and a vast pool of death in Valla’s wake. Reluctantly, I read on realizing she must have lost her moral compass along the way. Valla not only learned to control her immense powers with precision, but she also mastered manipulation, mind control, and murder. She was the puppet master, using people. Most of her subjects went insane long before she tossed them aside.

  Valla had a favorite man, Jonathan, she held onto for a long while. She eventually moved on, but because of his importance to her, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy him like she had the others. When Jonathan woke from the trance she had held him under, he remembered every detail from his life with her. He was one of the few who had not lost his mind, but he was traumatized, nonetheless. Jonathan had heard tales of the powers of Valla’s sisters, Isa and Leona, and he believed they were his only hope.

  He searched for years, and when he finally found her sisters, he told them of the devastation Valla left behind and begged them to stop her. It took five long years to find and kill Valla. Her death was gruesome but not nearly as disturbing as what the sisters did next. They murdered Valla’s four healthy, innocent children for fear of what they might become, believing them to be demon spawns. There had been rumors of a fifth child born to Valla, but there was no proof to support the claims. This is where the story ends. I flip through the book finding empty pages bringing me no closure, no answers to my many questions.

  I remind myself this happened a long time ago, yet it’s completely unnerving. I get to the last page and find a tattered note shoved into the binding. I open it carefully, afraid it might crumble. I read the unfamiliar handwriting.

  The note states that the alleged fifth child was not only real but went on to have children and grandchildren of her own, one of which wrote this note. She states she’s one of the last of the Valla blood and goes on to explain her great-grandmother was the fifth child and for generations they’ve been hunted, leaving only the author of this note and her sister alive.

  I am haunted by the long list of names below the small scribbled message. Each name is different, but they all have three things in common; each is female, each is labeled as a descendant of Valla, and each has a little mark to signify their death. The dates are listed beside the names, documenting their birth and death. The first name was dated nearly two hundred years ago. I read down the list and am surprised to find most of them close to my age when they died. They were all running for their lives. They were all hunted by their own kind. There is only one name on the list that is not marked as deceased; Selma Konig, a descendant of Valla, January 27, 1979 -.

  I place my fingers over my mother’s name. I might get sick. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I cannot put the finality of death next to my mother’s name. And I refuse to sign my name on this list of victims. I feel the urge to run. I need to get away from this. I shove the tattered list into the binding and throw the book across the room.

  “I won’t do it!” I shout. “I can’t do it!” I sob, the tears streaming down my face.

  I hear Dad’s footsteps before I see him. He picks up the discarded book and embraces me in a comforting hug.

  “I can’t do it, Dad,” I sob into his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Emily. You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got you, kiddo. I’ve got you.”

  “Dad, they’re all dead,” I say, pulling from his embrace. I grab the book and remove the note from the binding, shoving it into his h
ands.

  “Honey, I can’t read this,” he says, handing it back.

  “It’s a list of death. They’re all dead. Most of them never reached their twenties.” I point to Mom’s name. “Mom did. Mom survived so much longer than most of them, but I can’t . . . I can’t do this. Dad, am I some kind of demon? Is that why they want me dead?”

  “No sweetheart, no.” He pulls me into his chest where I continue to weep.

  When my tears run dry and the trembling stops, I pull away to ask, “Dad, are they after me?”

  “Yes,” he says, with grave concern. The silence between us stretches until he continues, “They’ve been looking for you for years, but your mother and I implemented procedures to assure your safety. Your mother was legally committed to the institute, so if anyone went looking, they would find a woman there by the name of Selma. We changed all of her identification to match the woman posing as your mom. Selma stopped by the institute only when we came to visit. The rest of the time she was out taking them down. The Olvasho she hunted were influential people who had mansions and compounds all over the world.

  While your mother was wiping out their compound in St. Louis, things went awry. She hacked into their security feed and was sending me information. I saw them coming, but my warning came too late. I witnessed the moment they caught her and eh . . .” He clears his throat. “There were protocols put in place at the institute in case of your mother’s death. We made sure nothing could lead them back to us. On her death certificate, her time of death was marked three days prior to the actual date, making it more difficult for anyone to make the connection to grieving families. I’ve worked diligently for our protection, and they haven’t been able to find us. Still, I continue to send out enough false information to keep them off our trail.”

  I fall back onto the couch, thinking about everything he’s telling me. All of his late nights at work were not because he dreaded coming home, but because he was working to keep us safe. He’s spent his life protecting me and I was totally unaware.

  “What about Sam?” I look up at him. “Is she in danger? She must have these abilities. How could she keep this from me?”

  He takes a seat next to me on the couch before he answers, “Anyone close to us could potentially be in danger, but Samantha doesn’t know anything about this. She doesn’t have Olvasho abilities.”

  “But it’s passed along to all Olvasho children. How did it skip Sam?”

  “Samantha was not born from an Olvasho,” he emphasizes the last word and the puzzle pieces begin to click into place. I feel foolish for not realizing it sooner.

  He goes on to explain, “Samantha was a baby when her mother died.”

  “Sam is my half-sister?” The words don’t feel right on my tongue. Nothing about this feels right. Sure, Samantha and I look nothing alike, and we act nothing alike, but I will never think of her as anything less than my sister. “I mean, to be honest, I’m relieved Sam doesn’t share my Valla blood, but why didn’t you ever tell us?”

  “Because of Samantha. I don’t want her to know the truth. I didn’t realize Samantha’s mother was an addict until she was pregnant. She failed to stay clean through the pregnancy. I took full custody of Samantha the second she was born while her mother went to rehab over and over. It never took. She never even wanted to meet our baby girl, and she never got to because she overdosed when Sam was only two-months-old.

  “Selma came into my life when I was a single father trying to raise a three-week-old crack-baby. She helped me with Sam’s doctor appointments and medications. Selma was my angel and kept me sane through the worst of it. Samantha made huge improvements, reaching milestones the doctors told us she never would. I didn’t know about your mother’s abilities back then, but she saved Samantha. She saved us both. We got married within that first year and I never felt the need to explain to your sister that Selma wasn’t her biological mother. I wanted to save her the horrors of her first year.” He fights back the tears.

  “I won’t say anything to her, but when did you find out about Mom?”

  “A couple of years after we married, your mother disappeared in the night. It wasn’t like her, so I filed a police report, but honestly, I was worried she’d left me. She always seemed too good to be true.

  “The next couple of days I began hearing her voice in my head. I thought I was crazy, but I listened to the voices because it was all I had left of her. It didn’t take long to discover something bizarre was happening. I left Samantha with a friend and followed your mother’s voice. It took weeks for her to lead me to Chicago where she was being held captive in a hotel. The Olvasho group holding your mother underestimated her brilliance and our connection to one another. It was the only reason we were able to escape.”

  His gaze becomes unfocused as he reflects in silence. I’m sure he’s telling me the PG version of the story, and I understand why he kept the mysteries of my life hidden, and why he never wanted to talk about these secrets.

  His expression darkens as he continues, “Capturing your mother wasn’t their only objective. Their goal was to obtain a child they could mold and manipulate; someone loyal who they could use as a weapon. They chose your mother because of the strength of her Valla blood and because she was pregnant with you.”

  I stare in horror. “They wanted mom because of me?”

  “You were the only reason they didn’t kill her eighteen years ago,” he says, trying to comfort me. “When she escaped, she twisted their minds into believing the pregnancy failed, so they thought you were dead. We were lucky to get away with you. She always said as long as I kept you safe, they would believe the Valla bloodline died with her.

  “We picked up Samantha from our friend, but we never returned home. We were on the run until we changed our identities and found a permanent home here.”

  My mind is a whirlwind of emotion. I’m running through a revolving door of guilt, grief, fear, and anger. I’m barely paying attention as Dad continues, “They started on her trail when you were five. By the time you were nine, Selma could feel them closing in. That’s when she left. She hated the idea of putting us in danger, so she said I should raise you alone while she hunted them.”

  The revolving door of my brain comes to a screeching halt.

  “Hunted them?” I’m shocked by the thought of my soft-spoken, beautiful mother hunting anyone. “But . . . but we visited her at the facility.”

  “Yeah, she wanted to keep the illusion.”

  “The illusion that she was crazy? Why?”

  “She didn’t want you to think she had abandoned you. This way we could visit her in a neutral location when she came to town, but she spent most of her time tracking them.”

  “That was a terrible plan, Dad! Did she at least find them?” I cry, angry I couldn’t spend more time with her, angry they couldn’t have come up with a better plan, and angry they had to lie in the first place.

  “Yeah, she found some of them.”

  “Did she kill them?” It comes out as a whisper.

  “Do you really want that answer?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to know, but knowing just the same. My parents built me a life filled with fabrications and white lies, and each revealed secret becomes a piece that clicks into this disturbing puzzle of my broken life.

  In a small voice, I say, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

  His eyes crease, and he gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Em.”

  “I ruined Mom’s plan.” I slump back into the couch, letting my head rest against the cushion behind me. “They know about me because they felt my presence when she was dying. They discovered my existence. That’s why she looked so scared. She died, knowing they’d come looking for me.”

  Dad nods in agreement. “It’s been nearly impossible for them to track you without you having your abilities. Now you’ll need to be very careful.”

  “I don’t have to use these abilities, do I? Can’t I turn them off?”

  “
It doesn’t work like that. You can’t flip your gifts on and off with a switch.”

  “We did it when I was twelve.”

  He’s shaking his head even before I finish. “I’m sorry Emily, but it won’t work. I’m surprised it’s taken this long for them to show up again. There is no getting rid of them this time.”

  “Why are my abilities showing up now?”

  “My best guess would be because of Patrick. Having another of your kind near must have brought your abilities to the surface.”

  “Patrick? Do you trust him?”

  “He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him. He hasn’t made any move to compel me or get information. With that said, I would stay cautious, but I trust him enough for now. For all he knows you’re an Olvasho just like him.”

  “But he said I was special and powerful.”

  “Though Valla’s blood is the strongest of the three lines, there are varying levels of strength for all Olvasho. Even with your power, most wouldn’t conclude you are Valla’s descendant. Most Olvasho don’t know the Valla bloodline still exists. I’m not worried about Patrick right now; I did an extensive background check on him.”

  Leaning forward, with my hands on my knees, I ask, “Should we move? I mean, would it help to move around?”

  “If we were to move now, we would become easier targets. I haven’t detected any immediate danger, but I’ve put contingencies in place here just in case.”

  “Contingencies?”

  “Just simple precautions to keep you safe. I’m probably being paranoid.” He stands from his seat and turns to face me. “Anyway, I know it comes at a bad time, but I have to fly to New York tomorrow night for work. And while I’m there, I’ll continue to lead the Olvasho on a wild goose chase.”

  I feel a tightening in my gut. I don’t want him to leave me, and I worry there could be men in black armed and ready to burst through our door at any moment.

  As he moves toward the kitchen, he says, “Your mom could check the intentions of others simply by being near them. I know she had a lot more experience, but it wouldn’t hurt to try reading Patrick.”