The Book of Broken Creatures: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 1)

by A L Hart

  Warm liquid dripped from my nose. When it reached my lips, my tongue, I knew it was my own blood. I didn’t care.

  I thought harder, willed the dark energy to abide by the request, imagining us in the safe grassy plain, surrounded by the night and chirps of crickets, the mission having been successful, Jera having forgiven me even when I didn’t—

  “Peter, talk.”

  Jera’s bark snapped my eyes open, her face right in front of mine.

  And behind her head . . . the sky?

  Beneath me, I felt the ground.

  Did I just . . .

  “Peter, don’t close—no, Peter, you have to stay—”

  The blackness swallowed me without warning, a soundless predator in which I gladly surrendered.

  Ch. 34

  When I opened my eyes next, familiar needles pricked behind the sockets. Then deeper, sharper. I had to squeeze my eyes shut, hands burrowing into them. Beside me, something wet was licking my cheek repeatedly, and no sooner, I smelled dog breath.

  I bolted upright, colors dancing behind my lids.

  I was in my room. I knew by the smell, the temperature, the form of the mattress. How had I gotten here? Where were the twins?

  Memory of the grenade surfaced, and with it the splitting migraine.

  “Here.”

  Danny’s voice.

  Creeping one eye open, I eyed the boy through a bleary vision, ignoring the painful stabs of light. “Hey, kid.”

  The boy pushed the plastic cup of water my way again.

  This time I took it, downing it in nearly one gulp. The cold flushed throughout my body, swimming around in my chest for a moment before reaching my temples where an iota of relief was found. “Thank you.”

  The mop dog was instantly lifted into his arms, his eyes on me. As well as the dog’s blue and green eyes.

  “You were sleep for a while, boss.”

  “What’s a while?”

  “Three days.”

  Had I been drinking the water, I’d have spit it up. “Three days?! Where’s Jera? Ophelia?” I guess it was a small blessing I still knew all their names. What’d happened after I passed out? Niv was adamant about receiving her payment, having instructed her security to ensure she followed through with it.

  “They’re downstairs with the others. Do you want more water? Hungry?” His voice was noticeably dead, lacking the warmth I’d grown to expect.

  But then his words hit me. “The others? What others?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know who they were, so I stayed up here with you.”

  Three days. I’d been asleep three days.

  Wasted three days.

  The mere thought had me pushing up to my feet, my wings thankfully tucked away, my body lighter, even if I swayed from the sudden shift of axis. “I’m going to go see about them, alright? Then I’ll be right back up.”

  As if he hadn’t heard me, he simply dropped the shaggy dog on the bed and followed in my shadow.

  When I opened the door, the smell of food crashed into me, my stomach clenching so hard on itself, I was forced to recall my last meal. Days, maybe even a week ago.

  Why did I smell food?

  I trailed the scent down the stairs, hunger making me identify the aroma of mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey and ham, string beans and casserole, macaroni and cheese, yams, collard greens, dressing, something vanilla, sweet potato pie and—was that cheesecake?

  I all but skipped the last five steps, then swerved on the balls of my feet, turning back to the staircase.

  My stairs!

  They were finished!

  How? When?

  They were immaculate, the dark polished oak heavy duty and durable, a nice contrast to the muted orange walling of the lounge area.

  The lounge area where a bunch of faces were rising and crossing over to me.

  “There the young man is.” Vincent.

  “Here I’d been sure you were a goner, dyin’ before me.” Walsh.

  “Mommy made your favorite!” Kyda, holding up the blueberry cheesecake.

  “Yes, I may have tipped them off. There was no chance of me cooking it. Just a heads up, potato salad is definitely store bought.” Natalie.

  “I may have cooked too much.” Elise.

  “I made you a cake, but Jera ate it all.” Ophelia—Ophelia!

  I snapped out of the disconcerting emotions, gaze landing on Ophelia who beamed up at me as bright as she always did, her eyes clear, smile mesmerizing. There wasn’t a trace of a scar on her. My lips parted, but when her smile tightened the barest and she give one shake of her head, I dropped it.

  Another time. We would have to discuss it all another time, in private.

  I scanned the room for Jera, but already knew where I would find her.

  She was seated at the end of the bar, near the sweet potato pie, the rest of the food having been lined up from one side to the other. She didn’t look over at me and I wondered how upset she was at my having disobeyed her orders during the retrieval.

  Reluctantly, I swept it back and instead smiled for those before me. Those who’d came all this way just to see me. Make sure I was okay.

  The only problem was, I didn’t know what to do beyond smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever smiled so big and felt it. The last time I actually wanted to hug those in front of me—if ever.

  Was that really it?

  With all said and done with erasing ourselves from HB’s database, was this the reward?

  I never wanted to lose it.

  This feeling inside, a white light shedding over all of the black times, how did I preserve it?

  “Hope you don’t mind that we called them up,” Natalie said, nudging Ophelia with her elbow, her partner in crime. “Though, just so you know, it was all the princess’s idea with the food and stuff. I mean, it is Thanksgiving.”

  The princess?

  Natalie then nudged Elise.

  Wait, Thanksgiving?

  I truly had lost track of time these past three weeks—four weeks?

  “We’ll try not to bother you too much, Mister Peter,” Vincent assured. “But we were waiting in hopes we’d all have the meal together.”

  “I . . .” I glanced around at all of their faces, those that’d made up the patchwork of me. Those that’d somehow managed to fill the void that was within me. Only then was it that I found a strange sort of peace in what my future held.

  The loss of all of my memories, I realized, I didn’t mind. Not at all.

  Because as far as I was concerned, these last three weeks had been the best of my life. These people around me, their lives in which I’d become intimately acquainted with, they’d left something good and bad, but overall, wholesome.

  Niv could have the memories, because with friends like these, it wouldn’t take long for us to make new ones.

  “Let’s eat,” I agreed.

  *****

  Hours later, while the others talked at the booths amongst themselves, I finally sat down with Jera, who was slowly going to work on my cheesecake, forking it half-heartedly, chin propped on her palm.

  I retrieved a fork of my own. “Mind if I have some?”

  She slid the pan out of my reach, her face shadowed and somber, as was her voice. “Yes.”

  Inside, I released a sigh. Though this was much deserved . . . “Jera, I know I shouldn’t have done what I did at the compound. I know I should have followed through with the plan instead of risking all of our lives, but I don’t want to spend our last days upset about it.”

  Now she stabbed into the cake, scoring a blueberry through its core before shoveling it in her mouth. Only when it was down did she stab the fork in my direction. “You are hopelessly, eternally foolish if you think that’s what this is about.”

  “Can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

  “I’ve already told you.”

  “The memories?”

  “Don’t say it like it’s nothing.”

  I shrugge
d, which only seemed to infuriate her more. “I don’t mind my losing them, Jera, because I don’t care how it is I’m rebuilt, so long as I’m here, with you, with them, I’m sure you’ll find me.”

  She glared at me in that extensive way of hers, analyzing every surface of my words and intentions, before abruptly, she jacked to her feet, black curls jouncing, black skirt swaying. “You will return to me, human.”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t dare do otherwise.”

  Another long, scathing glower and then she was turning (stealing the cheesecake, of course) and joining her sister at the booth.

  The moment she sat down was the moment the shop’s bell rung.

  Disbelieving, I turned to our newcomer, considering getting automatic locks since no one else seemed to get the concept of locking a business establishment’s door when closed.

  But no sooner, the thought vanished, replaced by a cold splash of reality as none other than the faery Niv strode into the shop.

  For a moment, I was thrown by her size. She was at least a head shorter, nearly my height exactly as she passed the stiff-as-a-rock Jera and stood before me. Thumbs hooked on the belt loops of black jeans, stunning green eyes looking me over once, she dropped into the stool across from me. Jera’s seat.

  I tried not to stiffen, to reveal the extent of my displeasure, but I was already talking in the next heartbeat. “Please not now,” I said. “Just give me tonight if nothing else.”

  Neither of us had discussed a date, but no doubt the both of us knew it would be soon.

  I just never thought it would be this soon.

  Those black lips on pale skin curved upward, her nails rapping against the surface of the bar. “And what is tonight to you? That riddled day of thanks where you eat until you roll out of the chair?”

  My lips thinned grimly. “Just a little more time with them and then you can have me. Whatever you want. All of the memories you can handle. ”

  That blank look returned to her face. “And what will you do with this time?”

  “Watch them. I just want to watch them.”

  “This is most unfortunate.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “It is, but I’m alright with it.”

  “With what?”

  “With your taking my memories. I’m okay with it. I just need one last moment.”

  “Then this is truly most unfortunate.”

  With a world of reluctance, I dared to ask, “How so?” Could I not have one last chance to look out at the men and women I’d come to know and savor their existence?

  Those leafy greens peered deeper into me. “Because it is not your memories I am most interested in, as it would seem.”

  At that, I blinked, unsure I’d heard her right. “T-they’re not? . . .Then what do you want?” I asked with caution.

  It was then the faery gazed around the lounge to those oblivious to our conversation, then above herself at the string of mugs Ophelia had hung up on Walsh’s birthday, each belonging to those seated and chattering now. Gently, she reached up, fingers moving to play at the loose thread. “I’m here, Peter . . . because I’d like that cup of coffee you offered.”

  Speechlessness addled me. Slayed me.

  Mouth hung open for but a moment, pieces fitting together, I fought back a surge of undiluted relief and a much understated ‘thank you.’

  Instead, with the sound of those around me going about themselves joyously, the heater staving off the November chill as its winds knocked at the door, and most of all, peace of mind blanketing each and every last one of us, I said, “Coming right up.”

  Want more?

  Click here to

  Like or Follow the Facebook

  page and receive

  Book 2 (The Book of Dreams Forgotten)

  free.