Black Fall (The Black Year Series Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

  He told her about the attack: the anger and the impatience he’d felt through the conduit, his father under mental attack, the image of Fangston, and fighting back. He was careful to be vague about the exact layout and configuration of his barriers. It felt awkward, stepping around specifics in the conversation, but his mother didn’t seem to mind and he had the feeling it was something he wasn’t supposed to share with anyone.

  “He’s still here,” she said, distantly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Jonas. Just thinking aloud. Did you say Madoc?” she asked.

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  She nodded and clasped her hands together. She’d finished her blood pack, and her skin, while still translucent, wasn’t dripping blood anymore. “I’ve known Madoc longer than I’ve known your father. More of an ‘it,’ really. He’s a specter, works in special operations for the Agency.”

  “Is that like a demon?”

  “No,” she answered. “A specter is a kind of immaterial undead, like a ghost, who can absorb and transmit large amounts of information. Some are also pre-cogs: they can see a short time into the future, although they explain it as pattern recognition. They can’t touch physical objects, and they aren’t that powerful, which is why he broke off the connection when you fought back.”

  Her last comment stung a little. Up until now, Jonas was thinking he’d finally fought off something stronger than himself. “So why does the Agency use them? And why special operations?”

  “They’re communication experts. Imagine a team of supernaturals working together at the speed of thought. Words, images, procedures… anyway, that’s what specters bring to the table. They’re useful, and generally benign. They often try to warn people of impending disasters, though it’s hard for them to talk to those who aren’t listening.”

  “Okay,” said Jonas, realizing the more she spoke, the more questions he had. But he remained quiet and listened as she finished.

  “Special operations is a branch the Agency doesn’t like to talk about,” Alice continued. “And one you don’t need to know about yet. They deal in things that are too dangerous for the human, and sometimes even the supernatural, population to handle. Some of the things they do aren’t perfectly ethical, either.” She paused, then added, “Anything on the east coast would fall under Marcus.” She spoke in a small voice, her face slightly turned away from Jonas. It was almost like she was talking to herself.

  “He works for Fangston? But why would—”

  “Don’t worry about that right now,” she said, shaking her head. She was almost healed; just a few scrapes and patches of flaking skin remained.

  Jonas yawned, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

  Alice nodded toward his bedroom. “You should get some sleep now. It’ll get easier as you practice and feed, but you’re going to be tired until your body finishes changing.”

  “Changing?” Jonas asked, followed by another yawn.

  “Library. You can’t keep trusting people to give you the answers,” his mother said. “And Jonas?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “First, you were right: don’t tell anyone about your barriers, not even me. If you ever find someone special, like I did with your father, that will be different. But you’re never to speak of your defenses openly. Someone might overhear. Even with those precautions, it’s always a good idea to change things around every few decades.”

  Jonas nodded. “What was the second thing?”

  “Not a word about any of this to Marcus. Not about me, or Madoc… don’t even bring it up.”

  Don’t worry, I wouldn’t even know where to start without making you sound like a mental patient, Jonas thought, then said, “Of course,” and headed to his room.

  ♚

  Jonas spent the rest of the week working harder than he’d ever worked in his life. He didn’t listen to music or watch television. Instead, he studied pre-gunpowder castles and read articles on psychics and ghosts. The book on siege-craft was old, but detailed, and contained a good deal of hilarious political incorrectness from men who were long dead and didn’t know their assumptions were assumptions. The information he found online about supernaturals was hit or miss and often seemed made up or impractical; he stopped searching after the first day.

  By Thursday evening, his barrier had turned into something awe inspiring, at least to him and Sam. His outer barrier was made of two stone walls that were ten feet thick and spaced twenty feet apart. They rose one hundred feet above and extended thirty feet below the “ground,” if you could call it that. He’d filled the space between the walls with packed earth, rubble, loose stone, and other stuff that didn’t take much thought to maintain. The walls, which angled out at the base to prevent someone from undermining or tunneling under them, also had towers at regular intervals. Sam helped him with the details; he remembered everything Jonas had read on the subject. It’s like having my own castle-nerd, Jonas thought.

  Sam huffed, being privy to Jonas’ thoughts, and muttered, “Nothing nerdy about paying attention to things that might save our lives, Sir.”

  Sentries walked along the tops of the walls — the parapet — and garrisoned each of the towers, giving them clear lines of sight along the entire length of wall. Keeping all the details in his head — especially the guards, who weren’t as sophisticated as Sam but still part of his consciousness, gave Jonas a headache. For the first few hours he could barely put one foot in front of the other. But he drank more blood, and spent time breaking down and rebuilding the fortifications piece by piece, until it was as automatic as breathing.

  A pleasant side-effect was that he could feel himself getting smarter. Constantly carrying the mental load of his barrier’s architecture and stability made normal academics seem easy by comparison. He found that if he heard something once and wrote it down at the same time, he could remember it perfectly. He also began to pick up on things around him, like what a teacher found interesting and what bored them, which students went out of their way to sit far apart in class, and about the boy who was either playing contact sports — unlikely, from the size of him — or getting beaten on a regular basis, just not where anyone could see. As an experiment, he pushed the thought at the teacher, Mrs. Simmons. She kept the boy back, after class.

  Later, he talked over what he’d learned about castles with Mr. Edwards - no specifics about his barrier, just the theory. The old teacher seemed to enjoy the sessions, bringing up points Jonas hadn’t considered in ways that made him think Mr. Edwards might have lived them.

  “You’re not spending enough time on doors,” he said.

  “Wouldn’t a door be a weakness?”

  “If you don’t have a door, or doors, how are you going to get out? And you’d want several; remember, part of the defender’s advantage is being able to move freely about the fortification, while the attacker has to overcome the obstacles first.”

  “What if…” Jonas tried to think about a way to describe it without seeming crazy or giving too much away. “What if you could open a passage through the wall at will, without the enemy knowing about it?”

  Mr. Edwards frowned and said, “Like a secret passage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, for one, if you don’t have a door, the enemy is going to assume there’s a hidden way in, and if it’s the only way you can get in or out, he’s going to find it. Secondly, you’ve just breached your own wall. It’s good to have a hidden way out, but it should be used only when necessary because it’s also the weakest point of the defense.”

  Jonas nodded. Fangston had told him the thought of invulnerability was important when it came to his barrier. If he could rip holes in his walls at will, how solid could they be?

  “The other thing you’re forgetting is that the purpose of defense is to regroup and attack. Every defense—”

  “Can be overrun,” Jonas finished for him. It was one of the teacher’s catch-phrases.

  “Correct… given enough time
and resources,” Edwards said, “However, a visible door — an apparent weakness — will draw the attacker in and let you focus your efforts there.”

  After the meeting, Jonas added three entry points to his walls and started using them when he imagined touring his defenses. The walls did seem more solid to him. He also made sure the gatehouses were the toughest most detailed portions of his fortifications, and assigned more fragments of himself to guard them.

  Amelia wasn’t talking to him. He’d tried sending her a few texts but, while she didn’t completely ignore him, the conversation died after a few lines. She didn’t look for him during lunch or walk home with him, even though he waited.

  “She’ll come around, kid,” said Phillip. “Just needs a little time to process things.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Jonas said, disappointed. It felt like his old life was fading away.

  Friday, after classes, he didn’t wait around for her. He went home, ate, and arrived at the Agency thirty minutes early.

  ♚

  He was the first to show up at the training room, so he went to the cafeteria and tried sipping on a blood pack. He managed to control himself for a few seconds, then realized he was holding an empty pouch again, with no idea of how much time had passed. Not quite there yet. He sighed and headed back to the training room. Viviane was waiting for him.

  “You’re feeding?”

  Jonas nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “What have you been learning?”

  He talked about his discussion with Mr. Edwards and, in broad terms, the upgrades to his barriers, discussing the concepts rather than any particular layout.

  “Your teacher is correct. Drawing someone to the place where you want to fight is important.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she said, “I wonder how he knows so much about these things?”

  “He was in the military,” Jonas replied.

  Viviane frowned. It was a tiny movement, just a twitch from the corners of her mouth, but he knew he’d made a mistake. “You asked him this? You’ve seen his records?

  “No, I –,” Jonas started to say.

  “Don’t take anything for granted, Jonas. You should be very wary of anyone with these kinds of skills unless you’re absolutely certain of where they acquired them, and that they won’t use them against you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “You should keep talking to him, though. Scan him next time. Not too deeply, you don’t want to hurt him, but take a poke around his head.”

  “We can do that? I mean, we’re allowed to?”

  Viviane shrugged. “It’s in plain sight, Jonas. I’m not telling you to lift his bank account information, just make sure he’s not dangerous. And by the way, I’m glad I didn’t have to tell you not to discuss your barriers — I assume your mother told you. When designing them, though, keep in mind that you’re not limited to human materials, or even the laws of physics. Your imagination is the only limit.”

  Jonas drew his eyebrows together. “Like, what?”

  “Anything you can think of. Turn off gravity, make new species of guardians.” She shrugged and waved her hand in the air, as if she were conjuring a thousand worlds into existence.

  Jonas noted the terms she used, and thought about how he might modify his “guardians” to make them more effective.

  “Just be sure you’re methodical about it,” she continued, “or you’ll end up with walls that float away into space, or your own consciousness attacking you in your sleep.”

  ♚

  “So what do you do during the week?” Jonas said, pushing Eve’s hand aside and striking back. It was more freeform than before. They were now allowed to move around their area of the training room, as well as punch with either hand.

  “Study, do research for enforcers.”

  “What’s an enforcer?” He knew the answer from his talk with Fangston, but the point of the exercise was to avoid getting hit, mentally or physically, while keeping the conversation going.

  “You and me, if we graduate.” Eve replied, taking a swing at his chin. He leaned back reflexively, but she slipped a foot behind his heel and barged into him with her shoulder, making him stumble back. She didn’t pursue him. Instead, she followed up with a mental thrust that rammed into his outer barrier. It shook him, but his fortifications held. “Nice,” she said.

  “Been reading,” Jonas said, smiling. What else do you do? You know… for fun?”

  She seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “I don’t get out much, Jonas. I can only leave after sundown, and it’s not like I have a lot of—”

  He slipped into her mind. Viviane had taught him the basics, but other than with the teacher in class, he’d never done it until today. At first, he had a hard time conceptualizing what Eve’s barrier really was. It was dark, chaotic, full of reflections and smoke. He willed himself in the direction of least resistance but got turned around, feeling like he was—

  “—human friends.” Eve narrowed her eyes as she completed the sentence. Realizing what he’d done, she came after him, aiming straight, hard punches at his face. Jonas backpedaled, deflecting what he could and taking the rest on his arms, shoulders, and abdomen. How does she hit so hard? She was almost his height, maybe five-foot-eight-inches tall, and didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. She looked like she weighed one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, but she hit like she outweighed him.

  “That will be enough,” Viviane said.

  The two of them stared at each other. Jonas was breathing hard, surprised at how far she’d driven him. Eve wasn’t breathing at all, but had a look in her eyes like she wanted to set him on fire. She’s lonely, Jonas thought, and suddenly saw Eve as a seventeen-year-old girl who spent her days in a basement, surrounded by vampires five-or-more times her age. He suddenly realized that what he’d thought was casual conversation was something deeply personal to her.

  “Kieran will be joining you for the next exercise,” Viviane said, gesturing to a boy who was leaning against the far wall. Eve looked surprised; Jonas felt his throat tighten.

  Kieran was six feet tall and built like a linebacker. His face marked him as being Jonas and Eve’s age, but his body was fully-grown. He pushed off the wall and strode over with a heavy, predatory lumber.

  “He’s a werewolf,” Jonas said, looking at Viviane.

  “Guilty,” Kieran said, grinning and extending his hand. He had friendly brown eyes like Phillip, and Jonas reached out without hesitation. Kieran’s grip was gentle, as if he was afraid of crushing Jonas’ hand and probably could.

  “Kieran is here to learn how to control his wild side. Jonas, you’ll be helping him by trying to project calm and control into his thoughts.”

  Jonas nodded. Thank God I don’t have to—

  “Eve, you’ll be doing the opposite by trying to get Kieran to lash out at Jonas.”

  Jonas’ mouth dropped open, and Eve gave him a malevolent look. It seemed like Kieran was about to protest, but before he could, Viviane said, “Begin.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Jonas had no illusions that Eve was going to take it easy on him. He lunged into Kieran’s mind as quickly as he could.

  ♚

  There were no complicated constructions in Kieran’s mind. The other boy saw himself as he was, though maybe a little smaller, standing in the training room. The young werewolf looked around, confused, and then clutched his head as Eve started pumping raw anger into it.

  Jonas immediately began throwing up walls. It was just like doing it in his own mind, except it took more time and required more effort. Kieran groaned and said, “What are you doing to me?”

  “Trying to protect you,” Jonas answered. “It won’t hurt as much if you don’t fight it.” He paused as Fangston’s words left his mouth, but Kieran nodded and building the walls got easier for Jonas. He’d just managed to block off the entrance to the training room when he realized his mistake. Kieran couldn’t tell the difference between Jonas and Eve, so when he gav
e in to Jonas…

  Kieran roared. Electric-blue-eyed and noticeably larger than he’d been a few seconds before, he plowed through Jonas’ wall and ran out into the hallway. The impact felt like someone had driven a spike between Jonas’ eyes.

  “Kieran, wait!” Jonas said, running after him.

  The geography outside the training room quickly fell apart. Jonas rounded the corner, and he was on the streets of New York, chasing Kieran through traffic and crowded sidewalks. The werewolf was a large, dark blur, smashing cars and knocking people out of his way as he ran. Police officers took shots at him. When they managed to hit him, Kieran roared and sent them flying into passing cars or nearby buildings.

  This is all his own mind, Jonas thought, watching the carnage. Some of the bystanders were on the ground, badly injured, and others ran for their lives, getting in Jonas’ way in the process. Jonas wasn’t sure how badly Kieran could harm himself, mentally, but it couldn’t be good for him. He was killing his own guardians out of rage and fear.

  “Kieran!”

  Jonas rounded a corner and found himself in a dark forest. He looked behind him, but there was no sign of the city. He remembered what Viviane had said, that the landscape of the mind was only limited by imagination. Kieran was angry, under attack. This is where he feels safe, Jonas thought. He walked deeper into the shadows, needing to find the distraught werewolf and calm him down.

  “He’s a hunter, Kieran! He’s coming for you!” Eve shouted, and Jonas felt his pulse pounding in his neck. Her disembodied voice came from every direction, as if carried on the wind that blew through the leafy canopy above. Suddenly, there was a weight in Jonas’ right hand. It was an ornate, silver knife, with a wolf’s head pommel. He heard a deafening roar, and his view was filled with white fur, glowing blue eyes, and teeth.

  “Kieran, no!”

  ♚

  Jonas had just enough time to see the blow coming. He was back in the training room, and Kieran had charged forward, shirt soaked with sweat and eyes gleaming fluorescent blue. Jonas got a sense of the werewolf’s momentum, but couldn’t move out of the way quickly enough. In that fleeting moment before impact, he imagined himself stuck on the tracks before an oncoming train. Then Kieran’s fist drove up and into his body, launching him across the room. He hit the padded wall with a sickening smack and flopped to the ground, unconscious.