Splitsville (Rise of the Discordant Book 2)

by Christina McMullen

  Splitsville

  Rise of the Discordant

  Book #2

  A novel by

  Christina McMullen

  Splitsville

  Copyright © 2015, Christina McMullen

  All rights reserved.

  Unauthorized distribution or reproduction is strictly prohibited.

  The following is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and brands are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living, dead, or the living dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art, layout, & design by

  Christina McMullen

  Other books by Christina McMullen

  Kind of Like Life

  Going Green

  The Eyes of The Sun Series:

  The Eyes of The Sun

  Bluebeard’s Children

  Mother of Darkness

  Dissonant

  Rise of the Discordant Series:

  Past Life Strife

  Splitsville

  You Wish (coming Summer 2015)

  Chapter 1 A Splitting Headache

  Chapter 2 No One Hates Blueberry Pancakes

  Chapter 3 Plumbing & Poltergeists

  Chapter 4 Land of the Lost

  Chapter 5 Demons, Diners, & Detention

  Chapter 6 Spiritual Squatter

  Chapter 7 Mistakes

  Chapter 8 Anger Management

  Chapter 9 The Great & Powerful Nai

  Chapter 10 The Philosopher’s Tomb

  Chapter 11 An Old Family Recipe

  Chapter 12 The Living Vessel

  Chapter 13 Forgiveness

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  A Splitting Headache

  Without the clever imaginations of its creations, the Creator would be nothing more than a formless concept, floating aimlessly through the void. Humanity had given it many names and many shapes, defining it as everything from vengeful to benevolent and both at once. Throughout the history of humankind, battles have been waged based solely on these differing concepts of exactly who or what the Creator is. Often, the Creator could accurately predict what form it would take based only on the geographic location where the cycled soul had lived. Though personal bias always changed minor details, most areas with widely held religious views produced similar projections.

  Every so often, the Creator would come across a soul who would manage to surprise it with an unexpected projection. Some souls, especially those who had just spent a cycle as a larger-than-life celebrity, saw the Creator as a mirror image of themselves. Some saw the Creator as a beloved friend, family member, or even a cherished animal companion who had passed before them. Increasingly, as its creations began to advance technologically, the Creator would find itself appearing as a popular cultural depiction of a deity.

  Of course, the Creator loved all of its creations unconditionally, but even a perfect being is entitled to its opinions and would voice them frequently. It bemused the Creator greatly that many Christian souls believed the Creator to be God, yet for much of the later twentieth century, gave it the form of Charlton Heston’s portrayal of Moses.

  Agents of Order were the exception. Outside of the Cycle, agents were gifted with the paradoxical knowledge that the Creator was both everything and nothing at once. Because of this, their thoughts and emotional states were typically what gave the Creator form during their meetings and varied wildly. There were, of course, some exceptions, like Pete, the hiring and processing administrator for North American operations.

  “Have you updated your video library, Pete?” the Creator asked in a rich, velvety voice.

  For a man who had spent his last living Cycle as a writer of plot-twisting pulp, Pete was unerringly predictable. From the moment he was hired, the Creator could count on appearing as George Burns’ crabby and bespectacled portrayal of God whenever it met with Pete. Expecting the usual, the Creator was taken aback to see that its cinematic embodiment had a twenty-first century update.

  “It’s the kids,” Pete explained. “It was this or that spaghetti monstrosity. I figured you’d prefer a respected actor.”

  “To be frank, Pete, I do not believe I will ever tire of speaking with such a voice as this,” the Creator admitted. “I was merely surprised that you were swayed. I take it our newest Guardians are a commanding force?”

  “That’s a nice way of saying it,” Pete muttered. “Look, it’s not my place to question your authority, but I have to tell you that I’ve got some serious reservations about these two.”

  “Yet you question it anyway,” the Creator noted. “Pete, I have heard your concerns and your reservations are valid, however, the situation in the town of Blackbird is becoming dire. As we speak, there is an eighty percent chance that we will lose the Observer’s soul to oblivion. Without a Guardian, we may lose the entire territory to Chaos.”

  “And right now, I’ve got chaos sitting in my office,” Pete countered. “Unleashing a force as unstable as a split soul into a place that’s already overrun by the Discordant could prove to be very dangerous. What is to stop one or both of them from switching sides once they get there?”

  “Have faith, Pete,” the Creator said in a calm, smooth voice. “I understand that you have not previously encountered a split soul. They are rare, but they are usually the best candidates for the role of Guardian.”

  “They’re just kids though!”

  “They will grow. I have every confidence that both Seth and Desmond will guide them in the right direction.” The Creator paused, its eyes unfocused as it saw beyond the void and into the time stream. “It may be too late to save him,” it said with sadness. “Pete, I must bring Seth in for judgment. Please, get them processed, the sooner the better, and pray that fate is in our favor this night.”

  Without so much as a goodbye, the Creator disappeared. Pete did not like the implications of the abrupt departure and returned swiftly to his office, where two teenagers, a boy and a girl, still shouted at each other.

  * * *

  With only thirty-five years of service to the Order, I knew I was still pretty green. Hattie, the afterlife placement tech who shared a cubicle wall with me, had been at this for more than three hundred years. Still, after thirty-five years, one expects that they’ve mostly seen it all and surprises aren’t pleasant. Especially surprises that come in the form of argumentative teenagers who won’t stop their bickering.

  Their names told me everything I needed to know.

  “Jem,” I said, looking over the young man with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a face that was too trusting, “and Nai.” I moved my glance to the young lady who was in every way the mirror image of her brother, but while he grinned like an idiot, she scowled, eyeing me with distrust. “Jem and Nai,” I said again. “Really?” I bet their parents thought they were quite clever. Last names are never logged as a security measure, but for their sakes, I hoped it wasn’t anything as puntastically awful as their first names.

  “Yeah, because we’re twins, get it?” Jem needlessly explained, smiling as if the knowledge was part of a great secret joke. Meanwhile his sister rolled her eyes and glared daggers at her brother.

  “Our father is a brilliant historian with a rubbish sense of humor,” she explained in an affected voice usually reserved for snooty caricatures in movies, adding under her breath, “Apparently, he isn’t the only one.”

  I’d heard about split souls, but I’d never seen one before. As far as I knew, they were extremely rare and only happened when we started losing too many souls to the Discordant. Accordi
ng to the database, there was a spike in splits right after World War II due to the high number of souls we lost at that time. See, the number of souls is finite. When we start losing too many, Order becomes unbalanced and that’s when the splits happen.

  When a soul is split, it’s divided in half, right down the moral center. The first Cycle is always the worst. The light half of the soul becomes the nicest person you’ll ever meet, meaning that they are also the most gullible and most annoying person you’ll ever meet. The dark half has no moral compass and tends to spend their first Cycle being the worst type of nonproductive member of society. The more times the split souls return through the Cycle, the more balanced they become, until they are no longer distinguishable from the rest.

  But therein lies my problem. The two in front of me were a brand new split. Had they been called into Hattie’s office, they would have been assigned an afterlife where they would grow and get a sense of balance. Instead, they were sent to me, meaning, these two were being sent to fill the shoes of the recently departed Guardian of Blackbird. The Creator claimed that split souls made great Guardians, but as I sat and listened to these two verbally abuse each other, I could not imagine either of them successfully navigating a lost soul back to a clear path.

  “Nai, dude, I really don’t think that guy was lying to us.” That guy Jem was referring to was Sven, the soul sorter who also has the unenviable job of telling people they are dead. Denial is typical, but usually by the time a soul gets to me, they’ve had enough time to process what happened. “Check out his nameplate.” Jem nudged his sister and pointed at the brass placard on the edge of my desk.

  “Pete,” she read, giving me an unnecessary nasty glare. “Just because your parents didn’t saddle you with something ridiculous, I’m supposed to believe I’m dead?”

  “To be honest, I’m not following Jem’s logic either,” I admitted.

  “Oh whatever, Pete. Like that’s totally not short for… hmm.” He struck a sarcastically thoughtful pose before finishing with, “Saint Peter, perhaps?”

  “Now that one I’ve never heard before,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Sven’s technically the gatekeeper around here, so he’s usually the one Christians mistake for St. Peter. It probably doesn’t help that he’s a ginormous Swede with long blonde hair that he likes to flaunt in front of those of us who are follically challenged. “But I assure you, I am no saint. However, you two are very much dead and have been hand selected for a very important role. None of this is up for debate, so if you’d both please listen for a moment, I’ll explain why you’ve been sent to me.”

  “Prove it,” Nai spat.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Prove we are dead.”

  “Trust me, you do not want me to do that,” I said, more for Jem’s sake than hers.

  “Why, because you can’t?” Nai taunted.

  “Personally? No, I can’t, but my colleague can and it won’t be pleasant.”

  “Excuses aren’t going to win my trust.”

  “Listen, kid…” I started, but she just steamrollered over me with a singsong:

  “Proooo-ve it!”

  “If you insist, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I conceded with a shrug. I had to remind myself that she was a teenager and the dark half of a split soul. No amount of reasoning was going to do any good, so I might as well go for the full sideshow. “Hey Hattie, you busy?” I shouted over the divider wall. I heard her chair roll back and the clickity clack of Hattie’s heels on the floorboard as she made her way around the divider.

  “Not at all. What’s shakin’ bacon?” Hattie had an obsession with twentieth century American slang and style, which might have been unusual for a woman who had once been a prim British governess, but I wasn’t about to complain. Especially not when she dressed like a dame straight out of the pulp novels I used to write in my last life.

  “My latest candidates are having trouble accepting that they have shuffled off their mortal coils,” I explained. “Would you kindly show this young lady what fate would have awaited had she not been hand selected by the Creator to fill the position of Guardian?”

  “Gladly,” Hattie said with a wicked wink, knowing as I did what was in store for the pompous little teen. After three hundred years, Hattie had seen it all when it came to afterlife punishments and no longer felt any regret when it came to where the naughty souls went. I felt the air shimmer slightly and I watched as the kids’ eyes went momentarily blank.

  “Impossible,” Nai said with a noticeable tremor in her voice. “I’m an atheist. Hell doesn’t exist anymore than God does.”

  “No, you’re a scared little Christian hiding behind a mask of atheism because you know deep in your heart that you are not a good person,” Hattie replied, mimicking the teen’s smug tone. “And yes, Hell exists, as does Heaven and all other manner of afterlife for those who believe. True atheists are cycled without a stopover. Man, I really appreciate those,” she added as an aside to me.

  “Just keep an eye on those numbers,” I warned her lightly. Atheists might have made her job easier, but too many souls skipping right back into the Cycle meant population booms the earth wasn’t capable of handling. Any time we had too many souls out at once, the Creator would have to schedule a catastrophe and I noticed far too many of them happening lately.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured me. “There are still plenty of doomsday cults. Their raptures keep us balanced. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Nah,” I waved her away. “Thanks for all your help.” I turned back to the kids. “Satisfied?”

  Jem just stared at me with a confused look on his face, but Nai scowled.

  “All that proves is that you’ve got some sort of elaborate special effects set up.”

  “You think so? Okay Miss Smarty Pants, why don’t you ask your brother what just happened?”

  “Well?” She turned her glare on her brother.

  “It was so awesome!” Jem said with a dazed look. “Heaven is like, the coolest place ever. Grandma and grandpa were there and so was Rufus. Remember Rufus, my dog? He was running and jumping just like he was a puppy again. Dad said he and mom haven’t been this happy in…” Jem looked up at me and the color drained from his face “…years. They’re… Pete, why were my parents in Heaven?”

  “I’m sorry Jem, you too, Nai,” I said quietly. I knew this would happen and yet I let myself be goaded by a surly teenager. One of the main reasons these two were cleared for service to the Order was because they had no familial ties that would draw them back. Order magic is strong enough to keep agents from revisiting the place where they had last lived, but family bonds could override that magic. “Your parents died in the same boating accident that took your lives.”

  I allowed them each a moment to let reality sink in and threw up a few shields, especially around Nai. Just in time too, as her anger began to manifest into uncontrolled magical energy. I had my hand on the button to call security if need be, but the shields held. I couldn’t blame them. Everyone grieves in their own way and teenagers with new abilities that they weren’t even aware of yet were bound to try to destroy everything around them.

  “All right, that’s enough,” I said sharply. Nai happened to notice the energy fluctuations and lost all pretense of grieving when she realized they were coming from her. “Now that you know you have super powers, are you ready to listen to me?”

  “We have what?” Jem’s eyes went as wide as silver dollars as he raised his hands in front of his face, probably expecting to see lightning bolts or something similarly cliché.

  “Powers,” I said with a sigh. “That’s why you are both sitting here in my office rather than languishing in the afterlife of your creation. You two have been hand selected for a very important role as agents of Order.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jem.

  “Order is the realm in which we exist,” I explained. “All of life, every soul, and all the things around us, both in the Cycle and outside o
f it are part of Order.”

  “So like, the universe?” Jem asked.

  “It’s more than that, but that’s a good start. The universe, plus the afterlife and all of us here in administration make up the Order,” I said, realizing that trying to explain the higher concept of Order to teenagers with literal minds might be a bit tougher than I thought. “Everything happens for a reason,” I went on. “Bad or good, it’s all part of the balance of Order. Bad and good are opposites, but they are both orderly and follow a prescribed pattern. Are you with me so far?”

  “I think so,” said Jem, nodding his head enthusiastically, but the frown of concentration wasn’t convincing me.

  “Where does chaos fit into this?” asked Nai, frowning for a completely different reason. Mainly because the energy she had built up earlier had dissipated.

  “Funny you should ask,” I went on. “Chaos is the opposite of Order and is a realm that exists side by side with ours. The existence of Chaos balances Order, but occasionally, there are breaches. Agents of Chaos are called the Discordant. These are creatures that you would likely recognize from folklore, such as vampires, fairies, demons, and angels.”

  “Wait, hold up. Did you just say angels?”

  Another sigh escaped my lips. This was going to take longer than I likely had patience for.

  “Forget everything you were taught to believe in Sunday school, kid. Order consists of people. Humans only and the natural animals that inhabit the earth. Anything that exists in folklore, be it portrayed as good or evil, is likely based on a creature of Chaos,” I explained. “The Discordant have one purpose and that is to bring down Order by stealing our souls and enslaving them in their realm. This causes an imbalance and if the balance tips too far in Chaos’ favor, all that is Order will be destroyed. This is where you come in.”

  “You want us to fight the Discordant?” asked Jem. His blue eyes blazed with a renewed enthusiasm that I nearly felt bad about dashing.

  “No, that is the Warriors’ job,” I said. “Aside from everything we do here in administration and facilities, there are three roles that function within the Cycle. You two will be Guardians.”