The Elysian Prophecy (Keeper of Ael Book 1)

by Vivien Reis

  “What do you know about her?" Theo asked.

  "Not much. Just the little that Cora has mentioned off-hand. I think we may be on to something, but I wouldn't bet on it yet. I tried to throw a phrase to her and I didn't feel or see any response."

  "Well, if she's not an oracle herself..." There was warning in Theo's voice.

  "She's been near a powerful one," Jesse finished. And he didn't like that. No oracle had that strong an aura without having honed their abilities with an elder. Whoever it was, this powerful oracle was either a member of the King's Army or with the Brotherhood. And there was only one known brethren in Logan's Bluff. "I think we should keep an eye on her."

  "Agreed." Theo went inside and left Jesse staring up toward the stars.

  Uneasiness settled in his stomach, something he had learned long ago never to ignore.

  # SIX

  A guttural noise passed through Abi's mouth that made her choke on her cereal. Her shin throbbed and Ben was grinning at his own bowl from across the table, his usually tame hair standing on end.

  Abi, still coughing, narrowed her eyes at him before returning the kick. "I'm trying to read, you ass."

  She didn't feel the words even as she said them, his pestering not bothering her today. He dodged her kick and laughed, the movement rustling up the nasty body odor coming from his sweaty hockey clothes.

  He didn’t seem to remember his sleep walking the night before and she wasn’t about to bring it up.

  "Language." Their dad rounded the corner and Abi tried to turn her focus back on her book. But she just kept rereading the same paragraph over and over.

  Had her dad looked at her for too long? Was there still a smear of Cora's makeup on her eyes? It had been impossible to remove before bed. She watched her dad, expecting him to turn around at any moment, a knowing look in his eyes. Waking up that morning, she’d felt different, awake, ready for something. But no one else seemed to notice. Maybe that was a good thing.

  She gave her soggy Cheerios another stir.

  Her dad was busy prepping oatmeal for her mom, who was staring at the ceiling from her seat at the end of the table. Powder puffed up as her dad poured the bag into the bowl, the sugary odor wafting its way toward Abi. It was the only thing her mom would eat in the morning.

  "Not hungry?" He set the cooked oatmeal on the counter, letting it cool while he packed himself something for lunch. She opened her mouth to respond and—

  Ding!

  Abi jumped at her phone but it was only Cora, saying she’d be over in five minutes. Her stomach tightened and she looked up to find her dad staring, waiting for her reply.

  "Sorry, Dad. Nah, I'll bring a snack to school. Stomach feels weird."

  He went about his business without a response, eventually taking the oatmeal to the table and attempting to feed her mom.

  But she wouldn't eat. Each time her dad brought the spoon near her mouth, she would jerk away, and her eyes would drift around the room before settling back on the ceiling. Her dad wiped away the oatmeal smeared on the side of her face and then tried again. It was going to be one of those mornings.

  The guilt returned as Abi recalled the previous night’s episode had been her fault. She got up to leave before it got any worse.

  As she climbed the stairs, the third step from the top creaked like it always did. Just last night she had climbed a different set of stairs, but it seemed like a world away from her own.

  She gathered her books and zipped them into her bag, her mind shifting to Jesse. He was obviously too old for her but it didn't hurt to dream, right? Her stomach fluttered. He seemed so...normal, so nice but so exotic and not like any of the boys at her school. Abi had no idea how old he really was, but a couple of years made a huge difference. Maybe college boys weren’t so repulsive and such bumbling idiots.

  While grabbing for her backpack, she spotted her worn leather diary on the nightstand. Exposed.

  And that was never okay. Not when your older brother's superpower was embarrassing the hell out of his little sister. Knowing Ben, he would post all of her entries online for everyone to see, and she would have to hide under a rock for the rest of her life.

  Abi tied the leather straps shut and dropped to her stomach beside her bed. She wiggled underneath, the space just tall enough so she didn’t hit her head on the wooden rails. This was why her hiding spot was so good—Ben could never fit under the bed or get to the spot without pulling her heavy bed away from the wall.

  With most of her body under the bed, she pushed on one end of a floorboard and the other edge popped up. She slid her nails along it until she could pull the whole plank up and away. Enough light filtered under her bed that she could just make out what was inside. A small box was wedged inside, open so a worn photo stared back at her.

  It was of Abi and her mom when she was four years old. She was sitting in her mom's lap on a large swing they had found on the side of the road, hanging under a big oak tree. Or at least, that's how she remembered her Dad telling it. The woman and little girl in the picture shared the same smile, faces pressed together for the photo.

  Abi hadn't told her dad she kept the picture, but it didn't belong in their rotted basement. Her dad had moved all of their family pictures down there years ago, after they had come home to find her mom had smeared paint on most of the pages of their baby albums.

  Now that she was older and closer to her mom's age in the photo, she noticed more of her mom's features in her own. Her hair was the same dark brown, her nose had the same slight ridge in the center, and her eyebrows were just as thick. Even in the picture, though, the eyes were the only noticeable difference between them. Abi had the same honey brown eyes as her dad whereas her mom's were a pale gray. Other than that, she looked like a mini version of her mom.

  She tucked the photo and the journal safely inside the box, the wooden board slipping back into place and blending in with the rest of the floor seamlessly. Abi took off down the stairs and headed for the door.

  "Bye, Dad."

  Ben was still eating his cereal, staring at his cell phone. He was going to be late. As usual.

  "Bye, sweetie. Have a good day!" Her dad threw the words over his shoulder, not taking his attention off her mom.

  Abi closed the door behind her and walked to the edge of the long driveway, taking her time so she wouldn't slip on any ice. The chilly air filled her lungs, waking her up.

  Glancing down the road, she didn’t see Cora's vehicle yet. As she waited, she pulled up the email from the Indie Youth Magazine and reread it. Since they were publishing her piece early next year, she would have a decent shot at getting an internship with the local paper, maybe even at the local college. And she could use that as a stepping-stone to an even better internship once she started college.

  One of the big publishing firms. Somewhere in New York! She looked around, trying to imagine how their quiet suburban town would compare to the hustle and bustle of the big city. Would she miss any of the matching houses or the nosy neighbors? The only time Abi had ever left Logan's Bluff was to go to her mom's doctors’ appointments in nearby towns.

  Once she had even been to Boston but wasn't able to do any exploring. They had been on a strict schedule of doctors’ appointments that lasted most of the day.

  "Oh, good morning, Abi," a rough and quavering voice called.

  She turned, spotting the widowed neighbor walking toward her mailbox. The woman did this multiple times a day and even on Sundays. Abi was sure it was just an excuse to get out of the house and spy on her neighbors.

  "Good morning, Mrs. H," she called back.

  Mrs. Henderson was the embodiment of why Abi wanted to leave Logan's Bluff so much—each and every morning she gave Abi a pitying expression. "That poor child," is what they really thought.

  She was glad when her neighbor hobbled back into her house, a newspaper tucked under her arm. That woman judged her dad at every opportunity, making it obvious she didn't approve of living next doo
r to them.

  It didn't matter in what city Abi landed, she just wanted to leave this nasty part of her family behind. She would miss her dad, and maybe even her mom—at least how she used to be—but she wanted to escape those strange looks she hated so much. The town was small enough that everyone knew about Scary Mary, and if they were ever kind enough to ask after her health, their tone would change and their eyes would turn to mush. Pity. That one look would erupt boiling heat in Abi’s veins. That was what she wanted to get away from. She wanted to go somewhere no one knew about her mom and what she had done to their family.

  A blaring noise erupted behind Abi and she jumped, clutching at her chest.

  She spun around. Cora hung out the driver's side window of her beat-up, baby blue VW bug, laughing at Abi. A loud squealing came from the back end of the beater as Abi walked around to the passenger's side.

  "Cora! Remember my suggestion about not giving people heart attacks?" she asked with a smile while trying a few times at the car door before it creaked open.

  "Hey, Miss La-La Land," her friend managed between laughs. "What were you daydreaming about?" Cora drew out the words like she was trying to hint at something very specific.

  "Nothing like that."

  "Uh-huh. I bet you were thinking about Jesse and those chiseled abs of his." She was waiting for a reaction from Abi, but Abi was more concerned about Cora keeping her eyes on the road.

  "Sounds like you're the one that's been daydreaming about them. And how do you know he has abs?" The bite of jealousy was obvious and she stared out her window, trying her best to feign innocence.

  Cora finally turned her attention back to driving but not before turning the music up louder. "Girl, where's your imagination? Just picture how swoon-worthy he'd be without a shirt on!"

  Abi braced herself as Cora slung the car around a corner, not even bothering to slow down. The roads hadn't been plowed in two days and they fishtailed easily.

  "You swoon anytime anyone takes their shirt off. Including Mr. Regan." An image of their teacher’s round belly popped into her head, remembering when they were in third grade and had seen him at the lake with his family.

  Keeping her eyes half on the road, Cora made a show of gagging and threw in some vomiting noises for good measure. Her petite nose scrunched up as a dramatic shiver took hold of her.

  They were just passing through downtown Logan's Bluff, traffic on the two-lane street slowing to a crawl as they approached the school. Abi bobbed her head at some K-pop band, trying to imagine Jesse without a shirt on but blushing at her own thoughts.

  The car lurched to a stop and they got out, bracing against the biting wind blowing sideways across the parking lot. The school loomed in front of them, gloomy in the gray and hazy sky.

  Something sharp grazed the back of Abi's neck, sending a tingling shiver down her spine. She spun around, heart pounding.

  She was surprised to find there was no one behind her.

  # SEVEN

  An odd chill swept over Ben, and he wiped a thin veil of sweat off his forehead.

  "Hey, Mike." He lowered his voice so no one nearby would hear. "Do you have your history book on you?"

  "What the hell do you want that for?" Half a granola bar almost toppled out of Mike's mouth as he spoke.

  "Come on, don't give me a hard time. I thought you were studying now." Ben's lessons with Mr. Flynn started that afternoon, and he had no idea how tutoring even worked. Would Mr. Flynn drill him with questions, quiz him, or just rehash everything he'd said in class? Whatever happened, Ben was fairly certain he should at least have a textbook.

  "Nah, man. I don't think I ever got one."

  Yeah right. How was it Mike had studied so much for the last test? Maybe Mr. Flynn had lied and was offering his tutoring services to Mike as well.

  Mr. Flynn would understand Ben's excuse, but he wanted to avoid the effort of giving one at all. He had been nearly out the door when his mom had thrown his cereal bowl across the room. It had shattered and the leftover milk had dripped down the wall and onto the ground. He felt bad, he should have put the bowl away, but his dad had waved him out the door. He had left and forgotten his history book on the living room couch, next to where his bag had been.

  Study hall was the second class of the day, and Ben wanted to at least try to study before his tutoring session, but how could he without a book? He certainly hadn’t taken any notes he could study.

  How could he sneak away without telling anyone it was all for his stupid history book?

  "I think I left my gym clothes at the house. I'll see you guys later." Ben's seat was right by the door and he ducked out while the teacher's back was turned. Class was nearly halfway through and Ben would have just enough time to make it there and back without being late for study hall.

  To avoid getting caught, Ben cut through the halls to the back of the building, exiting so he had to trek around half the school to get to his truck.

  He put his hands in his pockets to block the harsh wind burning at his extremities. Was his senior year too late to even be worrying about tutoring? Ben headed toward a narrow trail in the woods, out of sight of any of the office administrators. The overhead trees were thick enough that, even without leaves, they blocked out most of the gray sky. He had to push tiny twigs out of his way as he walked.

  The trees ended abruptly. He made his way around the back end of the gas station, the smell of garbage wafting toward him. His pickup truck was in the spot closest to the trees, farthest out of the way from any potential customers at the gas station. Mike’s muddy truck was parked right next to his, something they had started doing so they wouldn’t get caught skipping class.

  As if that was a concern. O'Ryan's was notorious for being open at the oddest hours and from the looks of the parking lot, this wasn't one of those hours.

  Ben's truck roared loudly before settling into a rhythmic hum. He gripped the thin wheel and turned the air to its hottest setting before shifting the truck into drive.

  Hopefully his mother wouldn't notice him being there. Maybe she was painting or Stacey, her part-time caregiver who Ben never saw, had taken her out for an appointment or something. Ben never kept track of her schedule anymore. She was more like an object in his life than a person. She spent most of her days in a silent trance. Sometimes she would make eye contact, most times she wouldn't.

  He steered his truck onto the main road, one that looped around the entire town. It took him farther away from his house, but he could avoid the possibility of someone seeing him out during school hours. The road was deserted, just as he had expected.

  Ben made the turns on the winding road automatically and his thoughts ventured back to his mom. His hope at her return to normality had diminished as time passed. For years, he imagined her coming back just as suddenly as she had left. That hope was gone. Occasionally, his guilt would build until he would try again with her, try to speak to her, get her to respond. When there was no change, and she didn't even recognize him, the guilt would disappear. It was a never-ending cycle.

  And that was okay.

  As far as Ben cared, the woman that used to be his mother had died the day of the accident. The day she—

  A cloaked man appeared in the road in front of him and he slammed on the brakes. His tires screeched and as the truck lurched to a stop, and the man laid a hand on the hood of his truck.

  Dark fabric billowed impossibly around the man. Ben was panting, his hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel.

  The man's face was hidden beneath a hood, except for his grin.

  Black shreds of cloth exploded in front of his truck and the man was gone.

  Ben leaned forward, trying to calm his breathing and see over his hood. He looked to his left and right but there was only dead trees.

  Don't get out, you idiot. Every horror movie he had ever seen told him not to but his hand reached for the handle anyway.

  He moved around the truck. Nothing. Not so much as a scrap of
cloth.

  What was happening to him? He held his shaking hands out and took a deep breath. That’s when he saw it—a slowly fading handprint on the hood of his truck. He ran a finger across it and moisture came away.

  That was real.

  Every hair on his body stood on end and he scrambled back into his truck, slamming the lock on his door down and lunging for the passenger's side lock.

  This wasn't normal. Something was wrong with him. He was turning into his mom, like a ticking time bomb.

  He drove the rest of the way to his house with his eyes darting to and from the trees, trying to tell himself he wasn't losing his mind.

  The truck squeaked slightly as he turned onto their road. His house was the fourth one on the right, tucked out of sight behind a copse of trees.

  A car was parked in the driveway—his dad's.

  Why was he still home? Ben looked at the dashboard. His dad should have left for work by now. Had his mom not calmed down yet?

  Stepping down from his truck, he took a deep breath and the air was cool, crisp. He listened for a minute. There were no birds singing. Although it was windy on the other side of the mountain, the breeze was non-existent here. The leaves didn't rustle. The sudden lack of noise after his loud vehicle made Ben's ears ring.

  Ben approached the door and slid his key into the deadbolt. It made a soft click as it unlocked. He twisted the knob, and it swung open with no hesitation. Moving with the door, he stepped inside.

  His foot lost traction. Ben fell sideways, losing his grip on the door handle.

  There was a crack as his right knee slammed against the ground and then slicked out from under him. He landed on his side, head inches from striking the wall as he went down.

  All he could see was red.

  He rubbed at his eyes, his head swimming, but his face was wet with something. It was warm.

  No, it wasn't his face.

  It was his hands.

  Dark red tattooed the palms of his shaking hands. The adrenaline from the fall paled and transformed into fear.