“Tanya, I have a headache. I’ll call you later.”
Sofia hung up, frustrated. She emptied her pockets and tossed her lunch in the fridge. When she retreated to the bathroom, she flipped on the light, cringed, but forced herself to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She was going to die. She just knew it. Whatever her disease, it had eluded the doctors for months. By the time they found out what it was, she’d probably be near dead, like stage four cancer. She stared at her reflection, caught by something else that didn’t seem right. She leaned forward, staring at her irises. Her favorite feature, her eyes, had always been a pretty shade of turquoise. But instead of a rim of darker blue surrounding her irises, they were rimmed by a thick band of iridescent silver.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. As she stared, the silver seemed to flare into a deep glow and swirl around her irises like cars around a racetrack. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The silver was still there. “Hallucinations!”
She ran to her desk and pulled out a journal, jotting down her latest symptom.
Sensitivity to light, enhanced hearing so I can’t sleep without noise cancellation headphones, aversion to fish, crave meat and broccoli, nails growing faster, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, stuffy nose, addiction to peanut butter, weight loss, general weakness …
The strange symptoms went on for three pages. She read the list until panic stirred in her breast. Claustrophobic in the dark cave that had become her home, she grabbed her coat and purse and set out into the cold, brisk evening. She didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing the sun again like Brad Pitt in Interview with the Vampire.
She joined crowds of people milling through downtown Crystal City to see the Christmas displays and shop. The sight of such normalcy calmed her, until someone brushed against her.
A man’s face, a woman in the hospital on her death bed, their children surrounding them.
“I’m so sorry!” someone said, steadying her as she staggered under the impact of the sudden image. Her vision cleared, and she looked into the face of the man from her vision, though he was much younger standing before her.
“I’m okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
He continued on his way, holding out his hand to the woman awaiting him. The same woman who would die in twenty-three years from ovarian cancer.
More hallucinations. Nothing more, she told herself. Sofia shrugged the sense of foreboding away and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brushed the folded paper Jake had given her. She pulled it free, once again compelled to stare at the name written there. She made her way to a coffee shop and sat at a table in the darker end of the shop, hot cocoa in hand. Someone careened into her as she pried her cell from her pocket.
“Cody, watch where you’re going!” a mother scolded the little boy sprawled on the floor.
Sofia reached for him, helping him to his feet.
Cody, sprawled in the middle of the street after being hit by a car, blood trickling from his skull into a nearby storm drain. His dark eyes open and staring.
“Sorry about that,” the young mother said, flashing a smile.
“No problem.” Sofia blinked out of her stupor. Yet another symptom of her illness: insanity! She looked again at the name on the paper and dialed.
“This is Sondra. How may I direct your call?” a pleasant voice answered.
“Um, hi, I, uh, found this number on Dr. Bylun’s blog. I’m not sure he can help me, but I would really like to speak to him.”
“We have a Mr. Bylun, but he doesn’t have a blog. Perhaps you have the wrong number?”
“Okay, I admit someone else said they found this on his blog and said I should call,” Sofia said. There was a moment of silence, and she could almost see Sondra assessing what to do.
“Why don’t you leave me your name, and if Mr. Bylun believes it in his best interest, he’ll return your call.” The cryptic response made her hesitate. Sofia sighed and raked a hand through her hair.
“Why not. I don’t have anything to lose. My name is Sofia Fast from Crystal City, Virginia.”
“And what is your call regarding?” Sondra asked.
“I’m sick. I have some sort of disease no one can diagnose, and one of my coworkers gave me this number to try.”
“Who referred you?”
“Jake Hampton.” She heard the secretary typing.
“I’m afraid he’s not in my system,” Sondra said. “I’ll deliver your message. Please don’t be surprised if Mr. Bylun opts not to return your call.”
Sofia hung up and stared at the number on the paper, wondering if Jake had lied to her or if he flat out screwed up the number. He really wasn’t a man of detail, which was why she was so surprised to see him working as a financial planner. She’d definitely never trust her money to him. Her cell rang, and she recognized her doctor’s number.
“Ms. Fast, this is Linda from Dr. Mallard’s office,” an older woman’s voice said.
“Hi Linda.”
“Dr. Mallard wanted me to give you a call and schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“Oh, God, what’s wrong now?” Sofia exclaimed and balled up her free hand into a fist until her nails bit into flesh.
“The specialist he flew in from Zurich arrives tonight. He’s apparently really interested in meeting you.”
“Really? I’d love to come in. What time do you open?”
“Seven. I’ll schedule you for seven-fifteen so Dr. Mallard can get his first cup of coffee,” Linda said.
“That’s awesome, Linda. Thank you so much for calling!”
“No problem. We’ll see you tomorrow at seven-fifteen.”
Hopeful, Sofia crumpled up the paper with Dr. Bylun’s information. If Dr. Mallard’s international guest was that anxious to see her, he must know what was going on! She sipped her cocoa, cheered by the thought of soon knowing what was wrong with her.
The sound of screeching tires and a scream drew the patrons from the coffee shop to the window. Sofia stuffed Dr. Bylun’s paper into her empty cup, tossed it, and joined the onlookers lining the street. Somewhere a few blocks away, an ambulance wailed. A drunk man staggered from a dark blue BMW. She walked up the street to a better vantage point, curious to see what he hit.
She froze at the sight straight out of her vision—the little boy, Cody, spread-eagled in the street near the storm drain. His mother was hysterical, screaming at once at the driver and her dead son. Coldness seeped through her as she watched the familiar scene before her. In the distance, she heard her cell phone ring. It ceased and began to ring again. As if in a dream, she pulled it free and answered.
“Ms. Fast?” The deep baritone voice pierced her thoughts. “This is Damian Bylun. You left a message with my receptionist?”
Her world was beginning to spin as she realized her vision had come true. Her legs felt weak, and she sat heavily on the curb, struggling to control her breathing so she didn’t pass out.
God, what’s wrong with me? I saw him die …
“Pardon?”
Realizing she clenched the phone in her hand, she locked the screen and sat staring at the asphalt. Someone touched her, and visions flared across her mind. A pretty brunette, mugged in a back alley, raped and killed.
“Hey, are you all right?” someone else asked. As the man took her arm to help her stand, his haggard face appeared in yet another vision. An older man with dementia left to rot and finally die in an old folks’ home.
“Get away from me!” she cried, tearing her arm away. She fled, staggering as she bumped into more people and more visions flashed. She ran until the cold air burned her lungs and the people were far behind her. She retreated to her apartment, breathing raggedly, with cold tears stiffening her cheeks.
She closed and locked the door behind her. She froze when she saw the disaster that was her apartment. Everything was overturned or shredd
ed, from the furniture to the bookshelves to the TV lying on its face. The windows were open and the apartment cold.
Her headache was now a migraine, and she shielded her eyes against the light from the street that filtered past her honeycomb blinds. She all but staggered into her bathroom. She wrenched open the medicine cabinet for the most powerful of the drugs Dr. Mallard prescribed for her and slammed the cabinet shut.
Her eyes were fully silver, swirling and glowing in the dark bathroom.
“What is wrong with me?” she screamed, slamming her fists against the mirror.
Her blood spattered on the wall, and buzzing filled her ears. She sank to the floor. Her phone began to ring again as she slid into a dead faint.
Chapter 2
Sonoran Desert, Arizona
The White God’s Headquarters
Damian Bylun stared at the phone. It was a cold day in hell when someone dared hang up on the White God, the Defender of Mankind, the Tamer of Evil. Or, in the words of his closest friends, the BS Master of the Universe.
His phone rang, and he answered, expecting the woman to return his call with a few dozen apologies.
“Damian, I’m one of your … employees. My name is Jake H, employee number 0092841.”
Damian opened his PDA to do a quick search on the number. He didn’t know the names of everyone in the latest generation of his Guardians yet, especially not those working in the field.
Jake H. Organization year: 2000. Only his undercover agents contained such little information in his database. Jake was risking getting caught to call him.
“Where are you?” Damian asked.
“NOVA Sector HQ.”
“Stay there.” Damian hung up and looked at his executive officer and sparring partner. “Han, I’m going away for a few to the Northern Virginia Sector. Don’t hold up dinner on my account.” Han nodded, and Damian trotted into the 20,000-square-foot mansion in the middle of the Arizona desert he called home.
“Say hi to Laney!” Han called.
Damian waved to show he’d heard and then took the stairs two at a time to his room. He changed into all black and strapped a sword to his back before closing his eyes and envisioning the interior of NOVA Sector. In a blink, he’d Traveled there. One foot was immediately soaked. He looked down as two of his Guardians hopped up from their positions.
“Who the hell put a pool here?” he demanded, pulling his right foot out of the shallow end of an in-ground pool. The two Guardians looked at each other, neither certain how to respond.
“It was a brutal summer,” an amused voice said. Han’s brother Laney, one of Damian’s oldest Guardians and the station chief for NOVA sector, leaned in the doorway to the main house with a smile.
Damian walked over to him. “Laney, good to see you,” he said warmly, clapping him on the arm. “One of your boys called me.”
“Yeah, he’s been pacing like a madman for a couple of hours. He’s a newbie. Be gentle.”
“It’s freaking cold here,” he complained as he walked into the two-story house in suburban Washington, DC.
He saw the man who had called him pacing as Laney had indicated. Jake turned and stared at him, dropped an awkward bow, and straightened, his mouth lax. Damian sat down on the arm of a leather couch, accustomed to the reaction, and pulled off his boot to drain the water.
“You gonna talk or stare?” he challenged. Jake looked at Laney, then at him.
“I found someone,” Jake said.
“A Natural?” Laney prodded.
“I don’t know what she is. I was embedded at this company we know is operating as a cover for Czerno’s operations. I ran into someone I knew from college,” Jake said and began to pace again, half-lost in his thoughts as he spoke. “She’s something. I don’t know what.”
“Can you expand a little on that statement?” Laney asked.
“She’s started having symptoms that the doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong. She turned twenty-four two months ago and started having all these issues, like she’s a vamp. She can’t go out in sunlight …” Jake trailed off, deep in thought. “You’re going to think I’m crazy—”
“Already do,” Damian said. “You wanna tell me why I’m here? Where are you even working? Your file was locked.”
“I’m a plant at a front company we know one of Czerno’s most trusted lieutenants uses to launder money,” Jake said. “I recently gained access to this database that the company’s owner uses. I was looking for Czerno’s bank accounts, but I found this bizarro file on her instead. Her phone and computer are monitored. They have records of her vitals—like her body temperature and shit like that—and copies of her medical records. I found an email the owner sent to an email address we know Czerno uses. It says they want to force the transformation.”
“She’s a Natural,” Laney said, frowning at him. “Treat her like any other. We’ll assign her a Guardian and bring her in.”
“No,” Jake objected. “The email said she’d be ready soon for the procedure Czerno wants her to undergo. A medical procedure where he’s going to drain all her blood and replace it with his.”
Damian held up his hand. He’d begun to think their recruitment standards were slipping until Jake mentioned the operation. Surprise trickled through him. He recognized the procedure but hadn’t heard of it being used since before his brother, Darian, had died thousands of years ago.
“What else did the file say?” he pressed.
“Nothing really. Just said he wanted it done soon because he wasn’t taking any risks, even if she hadn’t started transforming yet. I gave her your number, but I doubt she called.”
Only an Oracle’s blood was drained to force her to bind with her master. The measure was taken to give him unfettered access to her visions. Century-long wars had been fought in Damian’s father’s time over who claimed a discovered Oracle, no matter how competent the Oracle turned out. He met Laney’s gaze.
“It’s virtually impossible.” Laney voiced his same thought.
“There haven’t been any in tens of thousands of years,” Damian said slowly. “What else, Jake?”
“That’s it. I just have this feeling…” Jake said, his face troubled.
“You have a Traveler assigned to station, Laney?” Damian asked. Most stations had one of the Guardians—or Naturals—capable of Traveling great distances the way he did, by using magic to slip through space and time and end up elsewhere. Laney lifted his chin toward Jake, who nodded. “Watch her. If anything funny happens, bring her in, straight to my headquarters outside of Tucson. Don’t take any chances with this one. Got it?”
Jake nodded again.
“Laney, tell Dustin what’s going on. He gets pissy when you all call me directly without letting him know,” Damian said.
“Will do.”
Damian closed his eyes and opened them, materializing in his suite in Tucson. He stood before the low-burning fire, golden eyes swirling as he thought quickly.
A few Naturals were found every year, and he didn’t bother to remember their names in an organization his size, leaving that level of detail to his most trusted men, the two regional commanders, and dozens of sector commanders worldwide. An Oracle … now that was worthy of his attention. There had been none since Claire, whose powers had been so weak, she couldn’t even be blood bound. The last blood-bound Oracle was Damian’s mother, who went mad soon after his birth.
He who binds the Oracle, binds the future, his brother had once told him. His phone dinged and drew him from his thoughts. A text popped up.
Bro, ur supposed 2 tell me when u visit.
Damian grunted, expecting Dusty’s message. His regional commanders were the only two people in the world who would challenge him: the cold master assassin in charge of the western hemisphere and the warm master negotiator in charge of the eastern hemisphere. As different as night and day, they were his adopted brothers—and the only men in the universe he trusted with his life. Of the two, Dusty was more likely to cal
l him to the floor when he crossed into his business. As their king, Damian owed them nothing. As his adopted brothers in the war against evil, the two of them were his equals.
He typed a response. Next time, boss.
He left his room for his office. The quarterly conference held four times a century with the highest ranking station commanders was coming up soon, and he had more pressing issues to resolve before it launched. He entered his office and froze, sensing the presence of the otherworldly being.
“Y’all need to learn to ask before setting foot in my house,” he warned.
The middle-aged man with bright green eyes standing in his study looked harmless. His frame was slight, his hair silvered, his smile fatherly. Damian knew better than to trust the deceptive appearance of this type of creature. They were some of the most ancient beings in the universe, those whose first war drove immortals out of their world and created the mortal world.
Their second war almost destroyed the mortal world and ended in the Schism, the divorcing of the divine world from the physical one. They stranded the White and Black Gods on earth, preordained to be at each other’s throats for all eternity. The Watchers then relegated themselves to the role of a benevolent audience in the bloody basketball game that was Damian’s war.
“Forgive me, ikir,” the Watcher said with a bow of his head.
“You’re here to screw up my life, aren’t you?” Damian challenged. He crossed his arms to display roped forearms and sat on the edge of his desk.
“I’ve always enjoyed this era of the White God,” the Watcher said and smiled, genuine mirth in his unblinking gaze. “You have a spark your forefathers didn’t.”
“I’m glad I entertain you,” Damian said flatly.
“No disrespect meant, ikir.” The Watcher’s eyes went around his study, as if this was his first visit in a great while. Damian didn’t trust the beings that saw all, knew all, and yet spoke in riddles—if they chose to speak at all.
“You here just to visit?” he prodded at the Watcher’s silence.
“No, ikir. I will be in your territory for some time.”
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 10
