The Watcher
Book Two
Heather Kindt
Copyright © 2020 by Heather Kindt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Hannah Simmons, Ashley Hill, & Aimee Bounds
The Parliament House
www.parliamenthousepress.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Laney Needs Your Help
About the Author
The Parliament House
Chapter 1
Cassandra raised her head intending to get up, but a shot of pain ran through her back. She winced and took a slow, deep breath to clear the fog. How long had she been unconscious? She had left the house late in the evening, not wanting to wake Natalie.
A mother wren ascended to her nest high in the tallest elm, the babies barely audible in her ears. The sun filtered through the thick layers of leaves in the canopy above, its position told her it was about mid-afternoon, but with the impact of the passage, she may as well be measuring her unconscious state in days. She had made it to the Forbidden Woods that now looked slightly less menacing than she envisioned it.
Something rustled the leaves a few feet away. She bolted upright. Her heart, now in her throat, beat rapidly as she scurried to her feet and glanced around for some type of weapon. The creatures that lurked in these woods were all too familiar to her. She created them. Her eyes were glued in the direction of the noise, where they settled on a pair of deep brown eyes.
“Hey.”
The fawn bounded across the meadow followed closely by its mother. Cassandra shook her head and dropped her arms, tossing her weapon to the side. She had to make her way toward Lark, but the village was miles away and darkness would set in long before she reached it.
Using the sun as her guide, she headed north with nothing but the clothes on her back. Her pink hoodie shielded her from the coolness that settled into the heart of the wood. Every noise in the forest made her quicken her pace despite the aches that kept her on the ground minutes before. She glanced at each tree as she hurried past, looking for any signs of the outcasts of Myrth—the worst criminals in the land. To warm her hands, she reached into her front pocket; her cellphone still nestled inside from her run earlier that day. She thumbed through her songs to settle her nerves.
Why had she come here? How in the world could she do this to her daughter? A forty-year-old woman shouldn’t be chasing after a man in the first place. Erik was the one who’d left. He had made it clear that his responsibilities in this world came before her, or even Natalie. But why did she feel like she couldn’t live without him?
Raising her hood over her hair, she lifted one of the buds to her ear. The sound of hooves echoed through the wood. Cassandra froze. A couple of horses approached rapidly from the darkest part of the forest. She didn’t have time to hide, so she dropped her earbud and picked up a large stick lying on the ground by her feet. Two strangers rode into sight ducking beneath the low-hanging branches.
“Halt!” The woman on the first horse grabbed her reins.
A male rider slowed behind her; his eyes on the woman, hand on his hilt. The leader of the two was strikingly beautiful with curly, fire red hair that ran past her shoulders. Her black leather clothing clung to her body and she wore a golden cape down her back. Her violet eyes were wild with electricity that Cassandra wasn’t quite sure she could describe as human. The woman sat perfectly still, taking in Cassandra, gaze stopping for a moment on her earbuds that now dangled down the front of her sweatshirt.
“Cassandra Garcia. We’ve been looking for you.” The woman’s bright pink lips curved into a wicked smile. In one swift movement, she swung her legs to the side and dismounted the horse.
Cassandra backed away. “How do you know my name?”
The woman walked toward her removing her black riding gloves. Her fingernails shone as bright pink as her lips. “I know a lot about you. I know that you left a daughter behind. I know that you’re in love with Erik, the King of this land. I also know…” She raised her hands and spun around, “that you created everything we see around us.”
“Who are you?” Cassandra gripped the stick tighter, the bark cutting into her palms. Her legs shook, so she concentrated on rooting her feet into the ground so she wouldn’t fall over.
“Oh, I’ve been called many things, but you may call me the Wanderer.” The woman stepped even closer to Cassandra as the man dismounted his horse.
He opened one of the side bags and pulled out a large knife. Ice ran through Cassandra’s veins. What would happen to Natalie without a mother or a father?
“What do you want?” Her anger bubbled up inside her with the newfound courage that the thoughts of Natalie gave her.
“To rid the book worlds of filthy Weavers like you.” The woman nodded to the man and turned back to her horse.
The man broke Cassandra’s stick in half across his knee before he grabbed her hair and pulled her to him.
“Natalie,” Cassandra spoke her last word as the Wanderer kicked her heels into the side of her horse and rode beneath the canopy, never looking back.
Laney was never one for a sequel.
When she found a book she loved, the author always ruined it by continuing the story. Whatever happened to fairytales and living happily ever after following twenty-three pages of delightful illustrations? And yet, here she was, pen in hand, trying to find a way to begin her second book. She grasped at some floating idea while her father hosed down the sidewalk in front of their two-story home outside her window.
It was more like a home-slash-business, with their small apartment sitting on top of Holden’s Antiques, her parents’ store. Even at eight in the morning, she had the fan running on full blast trying to minimize the beads of sweat that trickled down her cheek. The entire town of Derry had been locked in a humidity spell over the last week, but her parents refused to break down and invest in a window air conditioner. With the economy in a slump, the antique store wasn’t turning out the profits her dad liked to see, and a half dozen more wrinkles graced his face as a result. Starting the sequel to her book, The Soldier, weighed heavily on her, and working full-time in the store this summer added to the tension.
Twisting the end of her brown ponytail around her finger, she thought about her boyfriend, William. He was the soldier in her book—her soul mate, the man of her dreams, and she had created him… sort of.
Looking at the clock, she shoved the journal back into her desk drawer, slamming it closed. She ran her finger along the dark circles under her eyes as she checked herself out in the mirror. Day after day of unproductive brainstorming was really beginning to wear her down, and with school starting next week, the cycle would get even worse. She pulled a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of her dresser and headed for the shower, ready to wash away the sweaty stickiness of the day.
Hours later, the grandfather clock at the back of the store read quarter-past one when the bell above th
e door rang, alerting Laney to their first customer of the day. Her mother sat at the counter with her curly blonde hair held off her neck by a blue bandana. Fanning herself with the morning newspaper, Shelly punched numbers into a calculator. Laney’s hair was back in its usual ponytail as she dusted the banister, but sweat still covered her neck, making her morning shower a distant memory. She glanced up at the sound of the bell and her stomach clenched into a knot. A woman entered the store. She appeared much older than she had months before.
Shelly walked out from behind the counter. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” She hugged her best friend, held her by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes. The same scene had been replayed over and over the past three months. Her mother’s best friend, Amy Harrison, worked a few doors down at the diner. She stopped into the shop every day during her lunch break. Last year at school, her son committed suicide by drowning himself in a pond.
“Stop worrying about me.” Amy didn’t smile. “I should really start paying you by the hour. Most counselors wouldn’t hold out this long with a tragic case like me.” She forced a smile.
“I’m not your counselor. I’m your friend.” Shelly leaned across the counter and took Amy’s hand. “I’ve been through this before. It’s not the same, but I understand.”
Laney stared at her mother, wondering if the tears that appeared late at night, when she thought no one was looking, would appear now. Shelly and Tim lost Laney’s older brother when he was just an infant from sudden heart failure.
The long banister was the perfect distractor as Laney went back to polishing. A big part of her writer’s block had to do with Amy Harrison. Although the older woman didn’t know it, Laney was the reason for her pain. Suicide wasn’t what killed her son Jason. He was murdered.
“Hi, Laney.” Amy drew her back from her thoughts. She held a plastic bag between her hands in front of her diner apron.
The fact that she wanted to talk made Laney nervous. Since Jason’s death, they kept it to casual hellos.
Amy held out the plastic bag to Laney. “I think Jason would have wanted you to have this.”
“Don’t give me anything.” She kept her hands on her dust rag, refusing to take the bag. She increased her polishing intensity.
“I insist, Laney. I know you and Jason fell out of your friendship, but you used to be inseparable.” She paused. “And he let me know how he felt about you before he died.”
She bit her lip. Did Jason’s mom think the pain of the rejection from her led him to suicide? Not wanting to hurt her further, she reached out and took the bag. The jersey inside was blue, with the number twenty-four—Jason’s lacrosse uniform. She held the shirt in her hands and seeing this woman before her, Laney knew she could never tell her the truth.
The truth about the sapphire necklace encrusted with the golden spider identifying her as a Weaver. The truth that she had the ability to bring the words she wrote to life. The truth that she had lured Jason’s murderer into this world. The thought of putting any words on paper and possibly creating another monster scared Laney more than anything else.
She opened her mouth to say something profound but could only muster a thank you.
That night Laney lay in bed trying to think of some way to start her book in light of the guilt she felt over Jason. Her only way to reach out to William was through the story, and she needed to know that he was living and breathing between the pages. She closed her eyes, first bringing in his words…a connection that goes beyond the constrictions of time and space. William and Laney definitely had that going on. Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on him—his green eyes, the strong line of his jaw, his shoulder-length brown hair tucked neatly behind his ears and the smile that reminded her that she had to keep trying on nights like these. The nights when he seemed so far away.
She stumbled over to her desk despite the late hour. Her new notebook lay unopened next to a stack of books. When she finished The Soldier, her dad had a hand-bound journal made for her. He said it was payment for working in the store. Laney ran her finger along the engraving in the leather—a spider weaving a web. Her father said he decided on the design knowing how much she liked the pendant he gave her as a graduation present from high school. Of course, he didn’t know it would keep her from writing every time she opened its pages.
This time, she gathered the courage to face the world she created. She had to write at least a sentence. The only thing she wrote earlier in the summer on the first page was Chapter 1. She opened the notebook, drew in a deep breath, ready to take on the big empty page, but her breath caught in her throat. The contents sent her heart into overdrive. Instead of a vast field of white laid out before her, a thin script filled the page. If she didn’t know better, she would have wondered who wrote in her journal. The journal followed William’s words and actions like it did last spring when he reached out to her through the book.
The modest cottage flashed in and out of view, veiled in a constant downpour just outside of Lexington. The storm positioned directly overhead, was not the only thing keeping the occupants awake that night. A young man, intent on an unknown quest, gathered the items he needed for his journey.
“Sarah, will you please bring me two candles from the cupboard?” William placed an extra shirt in his canvas bag.
The woman brought the candles to her younger brother. Concern filled her eyes. “Jonathan Miller left a month ago to enlist in the army surrounding Boston. Perhaps, they need more men.”
“Perhaps.” William crossed the room to find a flint. He did not care to engage in this conversation. He stuffed the flint into a side pocket.
Sarah’s brother seemed distracted since his injury in the Battle of Lexington and his disinterest in the war made her uneasy. Instead of leaving him to his distractions, she pushed him further. “My good friend Mary fancies you. Maybe if you have her to come home to it will make the battle more tolerable.”
“I have no interest in Mary.” William kept his eyes on the map he laid out in front of him. He ran his finger along a road that twisted through neighboring towns.
“William. Anne is not coming back.” Sarah emphasized the importance of each of her words. Her brother built a solitary world for himself since the woman he loved left four months prior.
Laney stopped reading, marking her spot with a finger. William told her that Anne’s character was so intrinsically tied to Laney when she created her, that they were the same person. When she finished her first book, The Soldier, Anne must have disappeared because Laney was no longer present in William’s world. He didn’t know where she was, and he was blocking out his family because they didn’t understand.
“Do not say that.” William brought his fist down on the table.
Sarah backed away. She picked up the broom to sweep the kitchen.
After giving him time to pour over his map, Sarah dared to speak. “William, I do not want to anger you. I only want to know if you plan to help your brothers in battle, or to search for a love that will never be.”
William gazed at his sister and his eyes held a longing that touched her heart.
Laney read the page over and over, knowing the meaning in his words and actions. He planned to find the Gate Keeper, the only way he knew to come out of the book and back to her—which meant she had no choice. She had to start her sequel to reach him through Anne.
His longing to find her filled her with the courage to touch her pen to the paper:
In the stillness of the moment between William and Sarah, a knock came on the door.
She waited, her heart pounded, experimenting with their newfound communication device. As she hoped and expected, his actions appeared on the page beneath the words she wrote.
The young man’s gaze turned away from his map. Sarah jumped up, shooting a wary look at her brother. She answered the door.
The young girl stood outside; her brown hair appeared black in its saturated state. Her long dress clung to her body and her arms were crossed trying t
o control the shiver that she felt deep in her bones.
“Anne!” Sarah took hold of the younger girl’s arm and brought her in from the rain. “What are you doing? Only a fool is out in these conditions.”
Laney’s hand shook so much she couldn’t keep the pen between her fingers. Following three attempts, she finally scribbled out the words William needed to hear.
Anne did not answer; her eyes set on the other person in the room.
William did not move, standing still as a statue, and never taking his eyes away from hers.
Only Sarah’s words broke the trance. “Let me get you out of those clothes, or you will catch a sickness.” Sarah grabbed Anne’s arm to take her into one of the bedrooms.
“Wait,” William spoke for the first time, crossing the room. He reached out his hand and touched Anne’s cheek, his eyes never leaving hers.
“William, I am so sorry,” she whispered. She’d caused him pain in her absence.
Anne followed Sarah into the bedroom and removed her wet garments. She dressed in one of Sarah’s nightgowns and let the older girl brush out her hair.
After Anne was dressed, there was a knock on the door of the bedroom. Sarah opened the door for her brother but blocked his entry with her arm. “It hardly seems appropriate…” She glanced at William’s face—desperate to be with the woman he loved. She moved out into the larger room, closing the door behind her.
Anne let her long hair fall over her shoulders. She could not find the words to express the love she felt for the man standing before her.
He moved closer as Anne stood up, taking her face into his hands. Before she could take a breath, his lips melded with hers.
The Watcher Page 1
