The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol II

by T. G. Ayer

  I was too late.

  Still, it didn’t change my intention; all Kai would have received was another jolt—even if it did knock her out again. Whoever these men worked for, they wanted Kai alive.

  I swooped forward, intent on grabbing a hold of Joey and jumping him away. I’d entertained a hope of perhaps interrogating him and then freeing Kai, but I hadn’t accounted for my gut.

  My instinct that something about these men was off had been spot on after all.

  I had hit the Shadowman hard, intending to knock him over. But nothing happened.

  Instead, my body surged right through his form, as though he—like Kai moments ago—wasn’t made of solid particles.

  As I changed directions, attempting to roll over as I flew, I became aware that I was no longer solid either. Frowning, I stared at my hands, seeing the molecules again, the particles of my own body vibrating so fast that they seemed to no longer be connected.

  I swallowed a gasp and whirled around, terrified now that either or both of these men possessed some power to access, or interfere with, the Veil and the astral plane.

  But when I faced them, I let out a sigh of relief.

  Neither of them had registered my presence—which they would have had they been connected to the astral plane in any way. And then I was standing between them as they discussed their next move, unable to do a thing with my non-solid form as Seth scooped Kai up and tossed her over his shoulder then headed over to a black panel van.

  “Joey,” he called as he hurried off.

  “Coming,” Joey replied as he stared at the minivan. Then he took a breath and followed. “I hope you didn’t kill the cop,” he muttered as he reached his partner.

  Taking the opportunity, with their backs turned to me, I ran at Joey as he followed his partner. But just as I reached him, the air around me began to sizzle with power.

  My body vibrated with energy then overflowed, filling my lungs and sending sharp stabs of lightning into my brain. I let out a soft cry, only partially aware that Joey spun on his heel, eyes wide as he stared at empty air.

  But even though I was confused and curious, I didn’t get the chance to figure out what was happening, didn’t get the chance to save Kai.

  The energy around me rippled, vibrating faster and faster until it ripped me away, deep into the black nothing.

  Chapter 6

  I probably would have been happier had I awakened on the bed in the Elite HQ room. Instead, when I blinked and forced open lids that seemed weighed down by fatigue, I found myself staring at Saleem.

  My mind froze as the reality of where I was struck me like a kick in the gut. And then, with my stomach twisted into an endless loop of knots—and before I could attempt to understand how I’d ended up in Mithras—I searched frantically for any sign of Kai’s life-thread.

  Or at least I tried to search.

  But I hadn’t even been able to start that search. Reaching out to sense Kai’s life thread was like being submerged in choppy seas, blind and deaf and weighed down by an inexplicable sense of exhaustion.

  My mind undulated in the void—woolly, numb, lost—as though the force that had thrown me toward Saleem had also managed to turn my brain into a puddle of mush. Every time I tried to reach beyond the portion of the astral dimension that encircled Mithras, I failed miserably.

  Another desperate flailing attempt, and this time I latched onto my own tether, a little startled as I’d thought of reaching Kai first before thinking about my own link.

  Now, spurred by this small success, I attempted to follow my thread back to my physical body back at HQ.

  But again, I hit a solidly frustrating wall. And no matter how many times I tried to follow it, I got nothing. Just dead, dark, empty nothingness.

  Helplessness filled me, overwhelmed me as I stilled my desperate searching. I was locked here in the astral plane of Mithras, just as much as Saleem was held captive here, and there was not a goddamn thing I could do about it.

  I blinked away the tears that singed my eyes, then shook my head—probably a little too violently, but it wasn’t as though it mattered much, what with just being a bundle of energy floating around in an ethereal dimension.

  Great, Mel. Trust you to be a smartass at a time like this.

  For what it was worth, I let out a long, astral sigh. This just was not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. There had to be some reason why I—

  My train of thought came to a skidding halt. Perhaps I just needed to give myself some time. The bolt of energy that had ripped into me, that tremendously strong and vicious electrocution, must have done some damage. The voltage had to have rendered me unconscious, maybe even injured me. Perhaps I merely needed a little time to recuperate, to regenerate.

  A little voice in my head whispered the worst possible thing: What if your brain is toast, for good? Or better yet, what if you need help and that stupid bell can’t do a thing to help you because you’re in a lightning-induced coma.

  I shoved the thoughts away, anger filling me at even the slightest possibility that I’d be stuck in the ether, unable to fulfill my responsibility to Kai.

  No. I won’t have it.

  If my brain was going to be fried, it was definitely not going to be when the people I cared for the most needed me, not when their lives depended on me.

  I centered myself and took a few moments to calm my breathing and heart rate. When I tested the feedback again, this time the faintest flutterings of energy from my own tether brushed against me, a subtle throb that confirmed my suspicions; I needed time to recover first before I searched. I just needed a little patience.

  So, for now, I redirected my focus back to the djinn. The tether should have sent me back to my own life-force, but for some reason, I’d been sent to Saleem instead.

  But right now, I wasn’t about to question it.

  I’d longed to see him, had spent so much time worrying about him, terrified that he would lose his grip on his goal, terrified that I would end up losing him within the maelstrom of espionage that we had yet to unravel.

  For so long, Saleem had been afraid for his younger brother, worried about his mother, determined to save his home realm, that I’d forgotten one important fact—in the end he was just a guy who loved his family. A guy who could be vulnerable and sad and lonely.

  And what I was now looking at, was the very epitome of vulnerable, sad, and lonely.

  Saleem sat on the edge of a high-backed overstuffed armchair, his spine stiff, his shoulders square. His eyes gleamed with emotion but he didn’t say a word as he listened to his visitor speak, the man’s monotonous tone droning on and on.

  It took me a few seconds to center myself, given that I was still a little discombobulated from being thrown from the Earth-World to Mithras and with having to deal with the devastating failure of my inability to save Kai. Not to mention, having to handle my utter confusion as to how it was possible that I could have been sent into the astral plane without having had any goddamned say about it.

  But I forced myself to focus on the words that appeared to be crushing Saleem’s spirit one syllable at a time.

  “It only goes to show that brute force has nothing on the strength of a person’s mind, dear brother,” said the man as he swung his leather-shod foot back and forth.

  The owner of the monotonous tone turned out to be the younger brother Rizwan. The subject of months—if not years—of Saleem’s worries now sat opposite his brother, lounging on a matching armchair, one leg crossed over the other. The thick silk of his trousers shimmered with what at first glance appeared to be microscopic flames, but when I blinked, the vision was gone.

  Hallucinating now, are we?

  Between his long slim fingers, Rizwan held a long thin silver pipe, similar to a straw in length and thickness. Only this particular straw emitted a fine stream of vile-smelling smoke the color of mud.

  Had we been in the Earth-World, I’d have assumed he was engaging in a more technologically advanced
form of vaping—if I ignored the fact that the color of the cloud now curling about his head was nothing at all like the vivid aquas and teals and ultramarines of the vaping crowd.

  No, Rizwan was smoking an eerily strange substance out of an equally unusual device, and Saleem scowled, making clear his intense dislike of either the habit itself, or perhaps the odor of the noxious fumes. Maybe even both.

  The younger djinn prince puffed out another stream of gray and brown smoke, then smiled from behind the curtain of fumes which would have obscured the patterns on his hand-embroidered collarless coat, had the intricate details not been fashioned with golden thread.

  A garment fit for a king. No surprise there.

  “You know,” Rizwan said, then took a long, dramatic sigh, “for so long I lived in your shadow, always second best, always not as talented as my big brother. Yes, I had the brains, but mother and father…well, they preferred the brawn, didn’t they? And where are they now pray tell? Both parents who worshipped strength and power in the end cowed into submission by smart thinking.” His teeth gleamed as he smiled, lifting his free hand to tap his forefinger against his temple.

  Saleem didn’t reply, from the swirling darkness of his aura, I had to wonder when Rizwan would push him too far.

  The younger djinn leaned forward, peering into Saleem’s face. “Oh, and don’t worry, I can hear just what you’re thinking. Father was a thinker. Yes, he was. But in the end, what kind of thinking man would end his own life because he saw no other way out of a situation that he brought upon himself,” Rizwan’s voice rose, his pitch increasing a fraction with each word he uttered, “because of naïveté, because of gullibility.”

  He spat the last two words out, and I wouldn’t have been surprised had they landed on the round coffee table between the two men and gouged a pair of deep indentations into the landscape painted beneath its lacquered surface.

  I shook my head at the images in my mind and focused on Rizwan who truly seemed to like the sound of his voice. And on Saleem who either didn’t care to reply, or wasn’t being given the opportunity. I’d have bet good money on the latter.

  Rizwan chuckled, though the sound hung, hollow and emotionless between the brothers. “Poor Father. In his infinite wisdom, he missed the invaluable opportunity offered to him. Had he been smart, he would have been the one now wielding the power of Mithras. But look where he is now…. Dead. Gone. Nowhere.”

  “At least he had principles,” Saleem replied softly, his tone even, unaffected. Dangerous. “At least he believed in something more than money, brother.” And as he fell silent, his low baritone quivered with disappointment.

  “Oh really?” Rizwan replied, his voice rising in indignation. “Pray tell what it was that he found so much more important than money that he had to commit the ultimate crime against himself? Against his family? His people? For what? Tell me for what good reason our father killed himself, Saleem!”

  I was so shocked at the revelation that I had to stifle a gasp a microsecond before it slipped out, as even I, as an outsider, as an observer, felt a stab of grief.

  Saleem’s father had committed the ultimate sin. He’d died by his own hand.

  Chapter 7

  I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched Saleem. Even though he was faced with his brother’s anger, Saleem merely sighed and shook his head. “Father refused to put the yoke on his people. He refused to be the hand of the oppressor who would enslave his people for what is possibly an eternity. He refused to sentence his entire kingdom to a living death.”

  Rizwan snorted. “I’m not sure who you’ve been listening to, but that is not the agreement Mithras has with our…benefactors.”

  Lips curling in a smirk, Saleem replied, “You’re actually afraid to mention their name to me? Or is it that deep down you know what you’re doing is wrong? That saying their name out loud will cement their control in a reality that in the depth of your soul you do not wish to accept?”

  Rizwan let out a loud laugh and applauded, taking care to keep his pipe from being jolted. “Dear brother, you almost sounded intelligent just then. But perhaps it’s best that you keep your smarts to the arena of military and intelligence. We’re going to need it eventually.”

  The words appeared to anger Saleem; his face darkened, his brow knit together. “You must not be as intelligent as you claim to be if you think I’ll agree to help you or your…benefactors…to continue to enslave our people and rape our realm of its wealth for centuries to come.”

  The passion in Saleem’s words drew a surge of emotion from deep within me. He spoke with the intense, unadulterated devotion of a ruler who loved his people first, even before he looked to himself or his family. He was nothing at all like his brother, something Rizwan was likely to have seen from an early age.

  And something Omega was quite readily using to their advantage.

  Rizwan had gone completely and utterly over to the dark side, and something told me that for him, there was possibly no going back. He was Omega’s bitch now, and he may never be able to live that down, especially since he appeared to believe they were right.

  He’d drunk the Kool-Aid.

  Rizwan sucked the end of his pipe again, the popping sound scraping on my last nerve. Then he blew the thin line of smoke straight at Saleem, as though daring him to respond.

  Still an immature child at heart it seemed.

  Saleem merely responded with another sad smile. “I wish you could see what they’ve turned you into.”

  “And what is that?” Rizwan arched an eyebrow, his eyes glittering.

  “A puppet, a figurehead made to believe he is in charge when the truth is everything he spouts is purely the rhetoric shoved down his throat, everything he does is directed in such a subtle manner that he truly believes he is the master of his own destiny. He functions on a daily basis, ignorant to the fact that even his thoughts are not truly his own, to begin with. I hope that one day, when we take back Mithras, you will be able to look at yourself and see what you’ve become.”

  Rizwan laughed coldly, the sound of fear mixed with power. The sound of danger. “You’re talking nonsense, Saleem. They warned me you’d try to confuse me with your rebel subtext. But I won’t fall for it. Just like I didn’t fall for that emotional upheaval in the wake of father’s passing. Were we—as a people—truly mourning a man who willingly and knowingly sliced through the holy thread of life? A man who committed the most heinous of crimes, the most terrible of insults to the gods who created him from the very embers of the universe?”

  I blinked at Rizwan’s words, frowning at the sentiment, my emotions swirling at the pure pain in his voice. Even his aura bore the evidence of grief and loss. And I had to consider that I was looking at a son still grieving, still unable to reconcile the reality of his father having taken his own life.

  Just then, Saleem snorted, bringing me back to the brothers’ conversation. “If you really believe that Father killed himself, then I have to say again that for all your apparent intelligence, you’re inherently stupid.”

  Rizwan stiffened, his glamor slipping to reveal bronzed skin swirling with smoky tendrils. He surged to his feet, glowering at his brother. “Don’t you dare make excuses for him.” Rizwan stabbed a finger at Saleem, pipe forgotten as it dangled from now-limp fingers, dark green liquid dripping to the carpet.

  “It isn’t an excuse,” Saleem replied with infinite calm. “If your head weren’t so far up your benefactors’ asses you’d be able to see the signs. You’d be capable of identifying how easily all the pieces have fit together. But you’re blinded to it because they’ve given you a glory that all your life you were told you’d never have.”

  Rizwan laughed, the shrill sound slicing through the tension in the air. “Now who is the one sounding like they’ve eaten a bunch of sour grapes. Of course, you’d say that since I’m sitting on your throne.” He smirked, and my fingers curled into fists, making me aware that I’d gained back a fraction of my strength. A t
iny bit, but it was a good sign.

  “You’re welcome to the throne,” replied Saleem, tipping his head in a shallow bow. “I refuse to sit on it when I have to be a puppet. I prefer to pull my own strings, thank you very much.”

  Rizwan scoffed. “Don’t you mean you prefer that Mother pull your strings? You were always the favorite son, weren’t you?”

  I was so startled by that statement that I almost responded. I’d heard Aisha talk about her younger son with such a deep affection, with such admiration for his keen mind, that I found it hard to understand how he hadn’t seen it, how he’d seen something so totally other than the truth.

  Saleem let out a dry, dark laugh. “No sane person would exchange the strings of a mother’s love with the chains of an oppressor.” He stared Rizwan down as the words swirled around them, in much the same way as the markings on the skins of the brothers. Even Saleem’s glamor had fallen, with him locked within the passion of his monologue.

  Whatever Saleem had hoped to achieve, it appeared he’d failed; Rizwan merely waved a dismissive hand across the small table. “This conversation has grown tiresome. You may leave now. We can talk again tomorrow.” Though his voice resonated with confidence, imperious and dismissive now, I caught a hint of hesitation. A fraction of doubt that implied that he did know that he was a pretender after all.

  Saleem smiled and waved his own hand, equally imperious as he glanced over at the door. “This is my room, brother,” he said, a gleam of satisfaction in his obsidian eyes.

  Rizwan stared at his brother for a long moment, and I had to restrain the urge to laugh as the muscles in his cheeks twitched as though he really wanted to blow his top but was also embarrassed that his brother was effectively now dismissing him from the room.

  Then he let out an angry huff, turned on his heel and marched to the double doors. Rizwan flung the doors open so hard that they opened all the way, the carved metal handles slamming into the walls. His violent exit startled the helmeted guard who’d been standing in the hall, his back to the room. For his jumpiness, the poor man was rewarded with a sharp slap on the back of his head, Rizwan apparently uncaring that his blow had connected with metal rather than the guard’s head.