The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3)

by Kristie Cook

  As soon as we were all under the water, a light emerged from the depths. The Gate! It recognized us as Guardians! I could have squealed with joy. But Darkness pressed down from above. The Dark souls were funneling into the water, and their physical counterparts were right behind us.

  “Hurry!” I yelled at the others, although I didn’t know if they could hear me through the helmets.

  Right before the light reached us, everything around me changed. We fell into more painful memories, reliving them as if we were there, in the past again. Except not mine. Bex’s, Hayden’s, and Brock’s memories enveloped me. Their heartbreak engulfed me. I didn’t know how much real time passed, but Brock and I relived several weeks, from the moment he met Asia and through the rocky beginnings of their relationship. Although we both knew that wasn’t the end of their story, the emotional agony Brock felt and poured into me meant that wasn’t the worst of it.

  As the bright light of the Gate returned, and we entered into it, I was able to pull one full, lucid thought through the pain:

  Enyxa was near. She was going to follow us through the Gate, along with all of her minions.

  We could not bring them to Earth.

  Chapter 6

  I awoke with a gasp, my fists gripping the sheet and my head still in the dream I’d been having. Except whatever I’d been dreaming about had ended with a memory—a very clear, very real one. One I preferred not to relive again, but there it was. Still playing in my mind even as I came fully awake.

  I lay on my stomach, my face buried in the pillow. I pressed my hands into the mattress and pushed myself up to roll over. Only when I blinked and my lashes stuck together did I realize I’d been crying.

  The dream—the memory—had been too real.

  And like that day, when Brock had said I couldn’t be in his life, I was again completely alone. My heart and soul ached, I couldn’t help but wonder if it ached for him or … for something else.

  With a shake of my head—I didn’t need to be thinking those thoughts—I swiped my hands over my face, and then reached over and tugged the chain for the bedside lamp. There was no point in trying to sleep after that. My mind wouldn’t clear those images so easily, and even if I could fall back to sleep, I was afraid I’d be right back in that memory again. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me I shouldn’t be in bed anyway. The blackout curtains hid the daylight, but it was surely another beautiful fall day in Tampa, Florida. Another day I didn’t want to face. Not alone.

  Only the thought of the Book of Phoenix was able to drag me out of bed. After a quick stop in the bathroom, I padded over to the in-wall air conditioning unit under the window and picked up the Book. I’d set it on end over the vents before going to bed, hoping the air would blow up through the pages and dry them out. Jeric had left it with me to try to discover any clues, but it had been too wet last night, and I was afraid I’d ruin the pages by trying to peel them apart from each other. My fingers gripped the leather cover, which was now dry. I picked up the Book and carried it over to the bed, snuggled under the covers again, and opened the lock. As I flipped through the pages, my heart sank.

  Everything had been washed away.

  Jacey’s story, Jeric’s drawings, Nathayden’s messages … all were gone.

  At least, until I held the Book directly under the lamp. I could barely see the handwriting, only a shade darker than the paper itself. And the harder I squinted at it, the more I realized that not only did Jacey’s neat cursive fill the page, but there appeared to be other words, too. Ghosts of other stories?

  As I stared, my face only inches from the paper to see better, new words began scrolling across the page in black ink. With a gasp, I jerked back. A lump formed in my throat. I recognized that handwriting.

  “Brock?” I squeaked. “Is that you?”

  My heart stopped as I waited for an answer. More words continued filling the page, and then the next one.

  “When the doorbell rang, Mom called out to me to answer it while she was undoubtedly still organizing what she needed for the interview. She’d talked about canceling it because of my sudden appearance on my parents’ doorstep a few days before, but that was the last thing she needed to do, so I convinced her to keep it. I loved her, but the woman’s life was out of control, which was exactly why she needed to have this meeting. My own hands were full, of course, and I wasn’t even dressed completely, but I went and answered the door anyway. When I did, my heart did this weird seesaw thing at the sight in front of me …”

  My hand had gone to my throat as a smile crept across my face from the memory, but a beep from my phone nearly had me jumping out of my skin. A text message from Jeric: “Coming to your room.”

  Good news maybe? I sprang out of bed again and threw on a pair of pajama pants, just in time, too. My fingers fumbled with the drawstring when there was a knock at the door. I yanked the door open and lasered my focus onto Jeric’s face. Crap. No, not good news. Not if his piercing blue eyes or the downward pull of his mouth were any indication. His hand was fisted at his temple, and he rubbed his thumb over the ring in his eyebrow as he stared back at me.

  “What’s up?” I asked, not knowing whether I should invite him into my room or if this would be quick. It would feel weird to have another guy in here when Brock wasn’t.

  He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his thick, tatted up arms over his chest. “There was more activity in the Gate early this morning.”

  My eyebrows leapt, and my heart stuttered with the tiniest bit of hope. “And …?”

  Of course, if Brock and Leni had returned, I would have known. I surely would have felt it in my soul the instant Brock was back. And judging by the look on Jeric’s face, he wasn’t about to tell me anything I really wanted to hear. My hands came together in front of me, twisting and turning. What if they had come back … but were dead?

  “Nobody came through,” he said quickly. He must have seen the fear on my face and knew I’d been thinking of the monstrous beast that had come through the Gate the other day. “But the Lakari on this side had grown pretty excited, I guess. I wasn’t there, but that’s what Mat and Kel told me. They said the Gate lit up and a hole began to open as if someone was trying to come to our world. There was a lot of movement and noise from the other side, and I guess it didn’t sound good, but the hole tightened up before any Dark souls came through.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Well, that’s good. Right?”

  Jeric sighed and pushed himself to stand up straight. “Yeah, for now. I guess. But Asia?”

  He paused, and I felt his gaze piercing into me. I looked up into his face.

  His eyes traveled over mine as he pressed his lips together. “I feel like I need to tell you this, just so we’re clear.”

  My throat tightened. I wrung my hands tighter in front of me. His tone scared the shit out of me. “What?”

  He broke his gaze from my face and looked down the hall for a long moment before returning his eyes to me. “If things get really bad, I won’t have a choice but to order the Gates to be collapsed. As much as they’re willing to fight, I can’t allow Guardians to die for us.”

  I forced my throat to swallow and then nodded. “I know, Jeric.”

  I’d tried to sound strong, but my voice betrayed me, cracking on the words.

  He blew out a breath and nodded. “I just wanted to be sure …”

  He trailed off, realizing I didn’t expect him to explain. I didn’t need him to. We both knew what he’d have to do if it came down to it, and I couldn’t argue with him. We had a responsibility much bigger than ourselves, as much as it sucked.

  Apparently with nothing more to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets, turned and walked away, down the corridor toward his room. I shut the door and leaned against it. My whole body trembled. I slid down the door until my bu
tt hit the floor and then pulled my knees into my chest and curled myself over them. I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick. Too Dark.

  A deep sadness settled over me, and I began to wonder what it would feel like when the Darkness took over completely. Would it be painful? I couldn’t imagine any worse emotional pain than I was already in—a pain so deep and thorough, it felt physical. Worse than the utter misery of major depression.

  I remembered too easily my bout of depression and the feeling it brought that nothing in the world could ever be right again. All I could see then were days and months and years ahead of me of living at the bottom of a black pit that I could never climb my way out of. Where every day consisted of the exact same desolation because nothing would ever change. I didn’t deserve anything different anyway, I’d thought then. I was too weak and ignorant and ugly and skinny and selfish and vain and irresponsible and bitchy … and just plain stupid to deserve happiness. I belonged at the bottom of that pit, far away from the intelligent, beautiful, happy people of the world who shouldn’t be subjected to the damage my presence would do to them. I didn’t deserve their love or any kind of joy of my own.

  I walked the rim of that pit every day, always fearful of falling back in, and I felt now that same weight of negativity and despair tugging me downward again, heavier than ever. The Darkness had already begun to seep in, coloring my soul. How much longer before I succumbed to it? Maybe it would be easier for both Brock and me if I just gave in now. Maybe if I freed him from this Bond …

  “No,” I said aloud. “I can’t think like that.”

  I’d let my mind go down that path for the second time since waking up only fifteen minutes ago. I knew it was the Darkness taking me there. And I knew I had to fight it.

  I forced myself to my feet, shuffled back to bed, and returned to my position under the covers with the Book of Phoenix. More of Brock’s handwriting filled another page with his memories of when we’d first met, but no more than that. Had he cut off the memory? Or had the magic of the Book failed again? I went back to the first page and read the beginning of our story as my Twin Flame told it. The Darkness lifted some. I could breathe again, and my chest didn’t feel like a two-ton weight sat on it. Or that there was a giant hole in me that a car could pass through. My heart and soul felt lighter, in more ways than one, as my own mind recalled the memories Brock shared, wanting to pick up where he left off. Of course, my perspective was different from his, but reading about it from his point of view was nice. It made me feel closer to him than I’d felt since the night they disappeared.

  I wondered if that meant they were closer to us. Maybe they’d been the ones in the Gate, trying to get through this morning. Maybe the Gate had been sealed too tightly for them to find this world. Which meant they could be stuck in the Space Between, or worse, somewhere else, like where that monstrous beast had come from.

  Panic rose. Breathing came harder again. The weight returned. Thinking of these increasingly horrible possibilities brought the Darkness back.

  “Focus on the Light,” I murmured to myself, but my soul was already sinking again. Tears made my vision blurry. Memories. Remembering when we’d first met had been good. Much better than wallowing in my sorrow. And obviously better than letting the Darkness take hold, even when I knew the memories themselves would quickly turn bad. I sucked in a jagged breath and nodded to myself. “The past is better than the present, at least.”

  I wasn’t really so sure about that, but I was trying hard to convince myself because I needed a good place to go to. And being with Brock, if only in my head, was much better than being here alone. So damn alone.

  I lifted the Book, but was unable to see his words through the tears, so I pressed it against my chest as I sunk down into the pillows. And I allowed myself to be carried off by my own version of our story.

  For me, our story started before it did for Brock, back several months in fact. I couldn’t believe it had been over a year ago. More than fifteen months since what had been the worst day of my life at the time. Maybe still was. No, that wasn’t a good memory, and thinking about what could have been if that day had never happened didn’t help my psyche, either. I fast-forwarded a few months, to a year ago almost to the day, to the first time I met Brock.

  Chapter 7

  1 Year Ago

  I leaned over and looked out the passenger side window at the large, cream-colored, two-story home, then back at my phone to double-check the address. Another glance at the house number confirmed this was the place. I turned right into the driveway, shaded by two enormous palm trees, stopped in front of the iron gate that blocked the rest of the driveway and presumably the backyard from visitors, and slid the gearshift into park. Then I smoothed my hands over my blond hair that finally reached my shoulders again, took a few cleansing breaths, and forced myself out of the car and into the heat of fall in Florida.

  I seriously needed this job. The drive from Boston to here and living in hotels proved to be expensive, and my savings was draining away quickly. I wouldn’t be able to survive much longer, and I wasn’t about to call home for money. Not only did this position pay a weekly salary, but it also provided private living quarters. Nice ones, by the looks of the place.

  With lush, green grass, plenty of tropical bushes and flowers, and a variety of palm trees, the grounds were certainly beautiful, and so was the Spanish-style house with its elegant arches and orange, ceramic-tiled roof. Although huge, the size paled in comparison to my parents’ home, but considering it was near the water on Florida’s famous Gold Coast, it may have been worth nearly as much. I’d left home and school to escape this nauseating lifestyle, but a job was a job and beggars can’t be choosers. If I didn’t find work fast, I would certainly be a bona fide beggar on the streets.

  My legs wobbled on my high heels as I walked up to the front door. I’d already become used to my Doc Martens, and I now felt vulnerable and naked without them. Not too long ago, I’d been a typical rich girl fashionista who could walk five malls in a day and still go clubbing in shoes like these. But life happened, my priorities shifted, and then my whole world was basically flushed down the toilet in a massive mess that had left me hollow inside. My ass-kicker boots were one of many ways I’d found to protect myself from ever going through such hell again. Now wearing one of only two outfits I’d kept from that previous life, I felt completely out of sorts and wanted to jump back in my car, drive back to the motel, and hide under the covers.

  Instead, I jabbed the doorbell with my finger. And wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt as I waited. And forced myself to breathe normally.

  When the door opened, I completely forgot how to do that last part.

  I expected the woman I’d spoken to on the phone to answer the door. Instead, a hunk of a guy about my own age stood there in jeans and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes, no socks. Bare chested and bare footed. Holy mother-effin cow, what a view he provided. Broad shoulders, bulky and well-defined arm and chest muscles, washboard abs, and a narrow waist with that V shape that made smart women stupid. Like I was being right now as my thoughts ran away with what it would be like to lick all those muscles. Heat flushing my cheeks, I forced my eyes up to his face. He looked down at me with a raised brow—a dark brow over dark but playful eyes that matched his disheveled dark hair.

  And in one perfectly sculpted arm, he held a baby.

  As my brain caught up to the view, my eyes immediately went to the tiny human, cradled between the thick forearm and bare chest. The world froze, and my gaze became stuck on its little head with a shock of dark hair and an angelic, sleeping face. My heart wobbled. My stomach clenched. A newborn, I thought. Barely a month old, I guessed. Wearing a onesie, with soft, pink arms and legs curled into itself as it slept comfortably. For a moment, breathing became even harder than it had already been.

  “You’re here to see my mom?” the guy asked, an
d my nerves jolted as if they’d been given an electric shock.

  I tore my eyes from the infant’s peaceful little face and cleared my throat as I looked back up. “Um, yes. I’m Asia?”

  Why did it sound like a question? He smiled. Shit. I had to remind myself where I was and who he was. Not that I knew him, but I didn’t have to. He was rich and hot and that’s exactly what I needed to stay away from. But damn, what a smile.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked. The baby squirmed and opened its mouth in a big yawn. I didn’t know which unnerved me more—the teasing tone in his voice or the little one in the crook of his arm.

  “Brock?” a female voice called from somewhere in the house behind him. I recognized it as the one I’d heard on the phone. “Is it my twelve o’clock?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “She thinks she’s Asia. Does that sound right to you?”

  A woman appeared behind him, looking around his arm. She may have been middle-aged, but she’d arrived there gracefully. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back in an up-do, and she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her gorgeous dark eyes, which her son obviously inherited from her.

  “Oh, stop giving her a hard time,” she said before smiling at me. “Ignore him, dear. He always likes to tease the pretty ones.”

  I pressed my lips together. Brock rolled his eyes.

  “Are you going to let her in, son, or stand there and gawk?” she asked as she turned and already began walking away.

  The smile I’d been fighting slid away when my gaze returned to his face. She didn’t mean gawking at me. He was staring past me, at the driveway.

  “Your car?” he asked before turning and stepping to the side to finally let me in.

  I looked over my shoulder at my yellow Camaro, the only thing my mom and stepfather had given me that I’d kept. “That’s my baby.”