Jaxon Prayer (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel West

  In the bathroom I pull my hair up into a tight ponytail. I look into the mirror, my eyes are wide with excitement, my cheeks flushed and I know Jaxon is going to kill me once he finds out what we’re doing.

  “Are you ready?” I shout through the door and for a moment I imagine Jaxon and I are heading out for a night on the town. A fancy dinner and a walk through the park. A blush heats my cheek and I push the thought away. It doesn’t matter how familiar Jaxon and I have become. He will always be a Millennial and I will be nothing more than a slum rat.

  “Where are we going?” Jaxon asks

  “I told you, Crescent City,” I reply with a smirk that is my best attempt at one of his.

  Jaxon rolls his eyes, but my excitement must be contagious, because a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “And how do you plan on getting us there?”

  “We’re going to steal an h-board.”

  “Oh,” Jaxon says. I wait for him to argue with me, to tell me it is a foolish plan but he doesn’t. He looks thoughtful as he studies the wall above my head, one finger tapping restlessly against his leg.

  H-boards are impossible to come by. A common item among the younger Millennials who prefer to fly up to Crescent City rather than taking the elevators. Once, years ago, a boy from the Artist’s Quarter was caught with one. The Praetors did not even give him a chance to run, he was executed immediately. I remember his execution playing on every screen in the city for weeks. No one would ever be foolish enough to be caught with one again.

  “Have you heard of Zephyr's?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Jaxon responds, “I had my board detailed there. He’s the only artist in Haven worth his salt.”

  “Great,” I drawl sarcastically, “at least we know what we steal will be one of the best in the city.”

  “You want to break into Zephyr’s? The place is well guarded.”

  “I am not breaking into Zephyr’s. You are.”

  “And if I am caught?”

  “Just wave your hand. Do some Millennial magic. And poof. What are they going to do? Arrest you?” And I try to make my words a joke but there is a bitterness that lingers on my tongue long after I’ve stopped speaking. No, they would never arrest Jaxon. A Millennial can get away with whatever atrocities he chooses and no one will step in to stop them.

  “They could send me back,” Jaxon answers quietly.

  “So,” I shrug, “You leave again. It’s not like Crescent City is a prison. You’ve managed to make your way down here twice so far.”

  Jaxon makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and turns his back on me. I remember the welts on his back the night he came here. The whip marks still haven’t fully healed and will never truly be gone. Maybe it is something of a prison up there; at least for him. I shake my head, it doesn’t matter. I need to rescue Annie and to do that we need to speak with Jaxon’s friend.

  “Come on,”

  “Alright,” Jaxon nods; a short, jerky motion that shows none of his excitement from before.

  ***

  The moon has just begun to rise as Jaxon and I set out. The sky is painted in a palette of colors; the clouds brushed over it like crashing waves. I watch nervously as the wind plays with the edges of Jaxon’s jacket. The hood is pulled up, the edges of cloth just barely covering his tattoos; the slightest breeze would be enough to knock it back. Soon enough it will be dark, and I can trust the shadows to protect us but until then I keep a wary eye on any who look our way.

  The streets are wet from rain showers this afternoon; billboards glare down at us, their violent hues reflecting off the dark pavement with an eerie glow. Zephyr’s is located in the Artist’s Quarter; a neighborhood whose true name is Kalwin’s after the powerful Millennial family that watches over it. Tucked between the slums and the rest of the city the Artists Quarter is one of the few areas I can enter without question. The Praetors who guard the gates wave through any trying to enter; although they carefully scrutinize those leaving with pockets fuller than they should be.

  “How far must we walk?” Jaxon asks.

  “What? Tired already?” I tease. “It’s a couple miles, an hour, maybe more.”

  “We should take an airbus.”

  “No,” I shake my head. Too few enter the slums; and those that do are overflowing with riders. It would be too dangerous, throwing a Millennial into the middle of that. “Not a good idea.”

  I step closer to Jaxon as we pass through the small side alley’s and make our way onto the main road. Apartment buildings loom dozens of stories high. Small balconies are covered in clothes left out to dry; shirts fluttering in the wind like a woman waving goodbye to her lover. Whites have long since faded to grey, the constant rain of smoke and ash from the nearby crematorium laying it’s mark on everything it touches.

  Jaxon glances around alertly; looking around all the right corners; checking all the right doorways for thieves waiting on a chance to attack. Despite the life of comfort he has lead, he knows how to protect himself; that much I can tell.

  The walls that separate the two districts loom ahead. A large gate, five times the height of a man, is thrown open. Late evening traffic flows through in both directions. A half-dozen Praetors stand around lazily waving people by. I’m close enough to Jaxon to feel him stiffen when he spots the Praetors.

  “Evie,” Jaxon says my name with urgency.

  “It’s fine,” I touch his elbow lightly in reassurance. “Just don’t act suspicious.”

  “Sir!” One of the Praetors yells out. Jaxon looks at me in panic and I can tell he is about to bolt and if he does then he really will give us away.

  “Calm down,” I link my elbow through his, drawing him in close and laying my head against his arm. “If they stop us, don’t say anything,” I whisper into his ear. Jaxon holds my wrist in a vice grip with his other hand. I look at the Praetors but it is not us they are watching. An older man is trying to push back through the crowd but the people are too many for him. Panic tightens the man’s features as he clutches a small bundle in his arms.

  “Stop!” One of the Praetors pushes a woman aside and lunges at the man. The elderly man only has a moment to react and he throws the bundle in his hands at the Praetor before shoving past us. I am crushed against Jaxon’s body as the crowd surges forward, blocking the Praetors ahead, but opening a path for the fleeing man behind us. Half a dozen Praetors wade into the group, pulling out the batons and smashing them down against those in their way.

  The crowd scrambles away from the Praetors like rats fleeing rain. A woman screams and another drops to the ground. A small child pulls at the fallen woman's arm while a boy no older than five throws his arms out to protect her from trampling.

  One of the Praetors moves towards Jaxon and I, his baton swinging side to side like the pendulum of a clock.

  “Come on,” I pull Jaxon out of the Praetor’s path but I am not quick enough. The Praetor’s baton swings towards my face. I rip my grip from Jaxon’s and try to block the blow but Jaxon grabs me in an awkward embrace and swings us both sideways. The baton slams against his shoulders and his eyes widen in shock above mine as the blow lands.

  “Shit,” he curses under his breath. He tightens his grip around me and pushes us both forward and out of the Praetor’s reach. “Shit,” he mutters again.

  “Are you okay?

  “Fine.”

  “Hurry,” I pull Jaxon through the gate. The Praetors have lost all control. People shove their way past each other, everyone pushing to get as far away from the Praetros as the can. My breathing comes fast, panicked, as the press of people closes around us. All it will take is for one person to see Jaxon’s tattoos and everything is over.

  As we pass under the gate a shudder passes through me; a tingling of electricity but nothing further happens. I glance up at the sky, sensing something. A dozen Praetors loop above on their h-cycles like vultures circling the dying.

  “This way,” I tug Jaxon into a small alleyway tucked between a restaurant a
nd an apartment building. The smell of rot immediately assaults my nose. A low overhang protects us from any above; and the towering piles of garbage guard us from any who may curiously peek down the alley.

  “Let me see your arm.” I pull at Jaxon’s jacket, trying to remove it so I can see where the Praetor’s baton fell.

  Jaxon snaps his hand up and grabs my wrist, “It is nothing,” he says as he gently pushes me away.

  “You protected me.”

  Jaxon shrugs like it was nothing. He leans back against the brick wall of the restaurant and crosses his arms over his chest. For an instant, a wince tightens his face and then his face stills.

  “Why?”

  “Enough,” Jaxon says coolly, “Let’s keep moving.” He pushes himself up from the wall in one smooth motion, so delicate, like a bird spreading its wings. But I know better, I felt the strength of his arms when he held me. The sound of his heart, steady and calm despite the panic surrounding us.

  I shake my head. I will never understand him. I can’t figure it out. I know he is a Millennial. I know what he is capable of. The pain that his kind causes. But then why would he help me with Annie? Why would he protect me from the Praetors? What does he want from me?

  The rest of the journey to Zephyr’s passes in silence. Jaxon trails a few feet behind me. I can’t stop myself from glancing back every few moment to make sure he is still with me.

  The Artist’s Quarter is cleaner than the slums, neater. The designs of buildings vary; tall apartments are interspersed with small shops and restaurants between them. Couples walk together; wary and watchful, but not frightened. Praetors patrol in greater numbers, every few streets we pass a group of them, but they don’t harass those on the streets.

  “Stop here,” I tell Jaxon when we reach an intersection. “That’s Zephyr’s down there,” I point west down the street. Zephyr’s is a building that stands alone; a rarity in Haven. It is constructed from some kind of reflective material that rises up from the ground like two waves crashing together. Lights reflect off the building’s walls setting the building ablaze in color. A place of warmth and light in a city so full of darkness.

  “How will we do this?” Jaxon asks.

  “Do you know how to pick a lock?” I ask.

  Jaxon stares at me for a moment, like I’ve asked the worlds stupidest question. “No,” he says once he realizes I am actually waiting for an answer.

  “Can you just go in and buy one?” I ask.

  “No.”

  I nod -- Expecting the answer. Jaxon is afraid of whoever is looking for him. I doubted he’d be willing to expose himself so quickly.

  “For now we wait. Watch the building. Make sure it closes and that everyone leaves.”

  “A wait like that could be hours.”

  I shrug and pull my arms tight around myself. Already the chill of the evening is setting in. I lean against a street light, settling in for a long wait. Jaxon rests against the wall next from me. His body blocks some of the wind for me, but still my skin feels like it is icing over. I inch a little closer to him; moving slowly to keep him from noticing. If I could just block the wind…

  “Cold?” Jaxon asks.

  “No.” I take a purposeful step away from him. A blush heats my cheeks when I see the quirk of his lips like he’s laughing at me.

  Hours pass. The cold night air sets into my bones like it will never leave. Finally, when I am close to giving up, the lights at Zephyr’s darken.

  “That’s him, Zephyr,” Jaxon says of the man exiting the building.

  “Alright, let’s go.” Once the shopkeeper is out of sight, Jaxon and I cross the street to the front of the store. I glance in the large display windows and see no movement. Only darkness and quiet. “I think it’s safe.” I lead us around to the back of the building. As I expected, there is a side entrance to the building. I crouch down and pull out a pick. The lock is an easy one and it isn’t long before I hear the click of the pins release.

  “Go!” I push Jaxon through the door. The minute he crosses the threshold something bright flashes. A warning system. “There’s an alarm!” I shout to him, “be quick.” I hear a muffled response from within but cannot make out Jaxon’s reply.

  I move to the edge of the small alley; ready to run the moment I hear the sound of approaching Praetors. I know we don’t have long. Minutes. Already, Jaxon is taking too long.

  I hear him before I see him. His footsteps are loud as he comes running out the building. He looks both ways, searching for me. “I did it,” he holds up the board like a trophy and grins at me in pure delight. “It is a Linden. One of the best engineers on Crescent City. He’s been making boards since –“

  “That’s great,” I cut Jaxon off. “Will it get us there?”

  “This board could get you anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The wind rushes through my hair as we speed through cool night sky. I tighten my grip around Jaxon, burying my face against the break of his shoulder blades. His jacket smells faintly of cinnamon and sweetness and the hint of sweat that tells me maybe he is as nervous as I about coming to Crescent City. He shudders underneath my touch, a slight tremor, hardly noticeable, but I flinch back and loosen my grip as I remember the scars on his back.

  “I’m sorry,” I shout but the wind steals my words away and they are lost behind us.

  Jaxon tilts his head to one side, like he half-heard my apology, then lifts one shoulder into a shrug. The h-board moves underneath me like the crashing waves of the ocean. Jaxon dips the board and with it my stomach drops to the ground. Panic strikes me as the h-board wobbles underneath us but Jaxon quickly gets it under control. Because we stole the board there are none of the safeguards in place that would keep us from falling off. None of the protections that can be linked only to the owner of the h-board. I swallow the taste of acid on my tongue and savor the pounding of my heart.

  I am flying.

  Jaxon tilts the board to one side and we arch out and around a tall apartment building. Soon there is nothing but open air and the Praetor’s Presidios in our path. The wind strips the oxygen from my lungs and I struggle to breathe as we whip through the sky like birds. And even though it’s terrifying and exhilarating it is also magical in a way I have never experienced in my life.

  I close my eyes and lean back, letting the wind prop me up as I truly feel the moment. All too soon Jaxon is slowing and the wind is calming and the steady sway of the h-board gives way to jerky hops and stops as Jaxon maneuvers us into Crescent City.

  I open my eyes to see the floating city looming a head of us. Three swollen zeppelins lazily circle around the city, lit up with bright yellows and oranges, and in the distance I just the hint of music and a single laugh dancing through the night air. Even in the darkness the beauty of Crescent City is undeniable. The architecture is all swoops and swirls, obsidian black paired with bright colors and lit from within.

  Jaxon passes over a small crowd of people. A girl, no older than me looks up and points at us. Fear chokes my heart like a noose. But then I realize up here no one knows who or what I am. I am not some thief from the slums. Not some girl who sold herself for a warm bed and stiff blanket. No, to them I am some girl out with her friend, or brother, or boyfriend. I am a girl with no cares and no worries with nothing better to do than enjoy the cool autumn evening.

  A smile tugs at my lips, but I fight it down because I shouldn’t be enjoying myself. We are not here for pleasure or fun or adventure. We are here to find Darren so he can find my sister. I remind myself that I am surrounded by Millennials. That my hands are tucked into the pockets of one of them. The Millennials have destroyed the city I grew up in, destroyed my family. All they do is take and take and who cares if everything looks beautiful from the outside because I know inside it is all rotten.

  We move slowly now that we are in the city proper. I take in everything around me. The beautiful buildings. The small groups of teenagers out past their bedtime. The scent of the air, cl
ean and crisp with a taste of sweetness to it. And every person I see is smiling. Laughing. Free. Their tattoos vary wildly, from the smallest hint of ink at the corners of their eyes to swooping dark swirls tracing from cheek to chin.

  I close my eyes to it but jealousy churns in my gut like a nightmare. Jaxon swings the h-board up so sharply it feels like my body runs parallel to the ground. Next to us, a tall building flashes by, dark as obsidian and traced in vibrant green.

  “Off,” Jaxon says.

  “What?” I glance to the right and realize Jaxon is holding the h-board perfectly still next to a balcony. A small gap falls between the board and the edge of the stone balcony. I look down, knowing I shouldn’t, and for a moment I am frozen as I imagine tumbling down through the sky to my death.

  “Hurry,” Jaxon breaks into my thoughts.

  I reach out for the balcony with one hand, while holding onto Jaxon’s arm with the other. A cross look paints his face for a moment, but then he holds his arm out for me like a perfect gentleman. I hop across, thankful when my feet land solidly on the balcony, then turn to face Jaxon. I offer a hand to him, but he waves me away and casually jumps from the h-board to the balcony, flipping the board up behind him to catch it just as his feet touch down.

  “Where are we?”

  “Darren’s.”

  “Won’t he be asleep?”

  Jaxon gives me a disdainful look before replying. “We will wake him up.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he might call the Praetors if we break in?”

  “He is practically my brother,” Jaxon drawls, “He would not even consider it.” Not a hint of uncertainty colors his tone when he speaks and I can see that he truly trusts his friend and if I want to find my sister I have to trust them as well.

  “Okay.”

  Jaxon tucks the h-board away into the far corner of the balcony. While he does I walk to the edge of the balcony where I can see the entire city of Haven spread out before me, all the way out to the Westwick slums. And from here the slums don’t look dirty and broken as I know they are. From here they are beautiful. In the distance, far beyond the city, there is a faint shimmer of light speckling the landscape. The closest of the prisons and farms and I wonder if my sister is on one of them. I wonder if at night she looks out her own window and sees the blazing lights of Crescent City. I wonder if she thinks of me.