by D.J. Bodden
EPILOGUE
Jonas woke to the glare of fluorescent tube lights, the bare feeling of a hospital gown, and the itchiness of an institutional blanket. A plastic tube snaked up from his left arm to a half-full bag of blood hanging from an IV pole.
Some of his father’s belongings — the old Bible, two sheathed daggers, and a few of the coins — were laid out on his nightstand, and the leather jacket hung from a hook on the wall. His mother watched him from a chair in the far corner of the room. She had an amused smile on her face, and wore her usual black dress and rose pin, as if she spent every day in mourning.
“We won, then,” he managed to say, his throat dry and sore.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” she answered, staring at him with her inky black eyes.
“How long was I out?”
“You’ve been in a coma for five days, while your brain repaired itself.”
Jonas nodded. He’d never expected to emerge from the fight with Fangston unscathed.
“Did you find Dad?”
There was the faintest pause, then she answered, “No.”
“Eve?” he asked.
“Busy reorganizing your life. She’s quite the young woman,” Alice said, smiling.
“Phillip?”
“Dead, along with several of his kin, some hunters, and a few civilians. But you killed or captured all the members of the Order that were in the base at the time of the attack.”
Jonas felt a lump in his throat. People were dead because of him — people he hadn’t meant to get killed. He forced himself to sit up and thought over what his mother said, remembering Fangston’s comment on the subtlety of old vampires. “Doris escaped, but we got Fangston,” he said. “Is he alive?”
Alice nodded. “Kieran spared him, on your orders. He may never forgive you for that.”
“Where is he?”
“Guarding the door. I’m one of the few people he lets in here.”
Jonas sighed. He felt physically exhausted, but at least he’d woken with his barrier in place. Part of him wanted to shout at his mother for leaving him, to cry for the friends he’d lost, and mourn the abrupt end of normality, but he smothered it under Alice Black’s unblinking gaze.
She broke the silence. “By the time I was your age, my mother and father had been murdered for their lands. I was bartered as a bride to a forty-year-old man in exchange for political goodwill, refused him, was sent to a convent, escaped, joined a pair of mercenaries to pay for my meals, and killed one of them when he found out I was a girl. I’ve buried good friends and seen countless people die. If you survive long enough, so will you.”
“Is that an apology?” Jonas said.
“No. An acknowledgment. You did well.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“We’d both be dead.”
A shiver ran through his body. He took a deep breath, not because he needed to breathe, but because it calmed him. “Dad’s alive.”
“Yes, but Marcus doesn’t know where he is.”
“Fangston’s conscious?”
“No. I’ve been digging through what’s left of his mind. You did an incredible amount of damage, considering how old Marcus is. Care to tell me how you managed that?”
Jonas stayed silent.
“You’re growing up, Jonas.”
He shrugged, feeling pleased by the comment, but not wanting her to know. “What happens now?”
Alice sighed. She stood and walked over to his bedside, brushing her fingertips against the leather cover of his father’s Bible. “We clean up the mess. There was damage done to the city, civilians killed, a lich set free… you’ve created a real nightmare for the new Director.”
“Who’s that?” Jonas asked.
“Me,” she said, smiling wryly, “and one of the first things I did was make you, Eve, and Kieran provisional enforcers.”
Jonas blinked in surprise. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means the Agency can’t afford to have a trainee saving the New York branch. It means you’re a clan leader and I needed to give you a title the council will respect, now that Phillip’s gone. It means people will follow you, and die for you, and you’ll have to train harder than ever to be worthy of them. And, unfortunately, it means your childhood is over. But you’ll see and do things no human would dream of, so I’m excited for you in that respect.” She tousled his hair the way she always did.
“And if I choose not to stay with the Agency?”
Alice gave him a sad smile. “I tried that. It only lasted sixteen years, and it cost me your father.”
Jonas nodded. There was no escaping it. In a way, it had been his choice. He could have run, or turned the journal over to the Order. Now, he had Eve, Kieran, the Macreadys, and others to think of.
“Before I go, Madoc wanted me to give you this,” Alice said. She handed him a thin, metallic tube on a silver chain. It felt warm, and Jonas could see a thin tracery of light woven around it.
“What is it?”
“Madoc’s phylactery. I suggest you never take it off, and don’t tell anyone what it is. He’s trusting you with his life.”
Jonas put the chain around his neck and tucked the phylactery under his hospital gown.
“Good. Now get some rest.” She leaned over, kissed his forehead, and then walked out.
After she’d gone, Kieran poked his head in. The look on his face was one of mixed relief and sadness. Jonas waved weakly, and Kieran nodded, his mournful brown eyes flat and lifeless. He lingered for moment, and then was gone again, the door closing softly behind him. I did this to him… to all the Macreadys, Jonas thought. He wondered how many people were also mourning Eugene, Jared, and all the others who’d died in the past week.
Feeling shaky, Jonas laid back and pulled the covers up to his chin, before rolling over and curling up on his side.
Are you alright, Jonas? Madoc asked. Jonas felt warmth emanating from the phylactery as the specter spoke.
Yeah, I’m just feeling a little trapped in here, Jonas replied. He was hurt, exhausted, and wanted to go home.
Maybe I can help, Madoc sent.
Jonas felt the phylactery pulse, and his view lifted clear of his body. As he passed through the wall of the hospital room, Kieran’s head turned in his direction, and the werewolf’s eyes gleamed bright blue. Then Jonas was sailing through the hallways, past groups of trainees, enforcers, and Eve, as she walked toward the room where he’d left his body. Then he shot up the elevator shaft, through the roof, and into the night sky. Aside from Kieran, no one seemed to have noticed him.
The police barriers were gone, and the sidewalks were deserted. As he rose higher, soaking in the weightless freedom, he suddenly realized it was snowing.
It’s winter, Jonas thought.
He’d been so focused on staying alive, that the end of a season had snuck up on him. Expecting to see red leaves on black branches, it was somewhat of a shock to see that the trees had shaken free of their baggage, which now lay buried under a thin blanket of immaculate white. Edwards was his ally, Bert was dead, the demon was banished and, somewhere, his father was alive. Eve would be waiting for him when he woke up. It was over. Months of tension fell away, and a deep, engulfing fatigue took their place.
He felt Madoc release him as he drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of black blood on white snow, and the gleaming eyes of wolves stalking him in the light of a blood red moon.
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The Black Year series will be four books long, unless I have to split one in two due to length. I won’t drag it on for decades, resurrect dead characters, or spawn alternate time lines. I also have other books planned in the Black Year universe, and will work on the next series or your favorite characters’ origin stories based on your feedback.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The following people contributed to the publication of this book:
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 Talk Sense Media
Cover design by Thomas McGee, Writely Designed™
Developmental Editor: Paula Stiles
Line Editor: Carol Thompson
Beta readers: Bruno, Courtney, Eileen, Linnane, Liz, Ricky, Sandi, Thomas, Toria
Copyright © 2015 by Darby M. Bodden Jr.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
