Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Show Must Go On
Chapter 2: Reincarnation
Chapter 3: Everything Is Going To Be Okay
Chapter 4: House of Locked Doors
Chapter 5: Enough Air
Chapter 6: Pieces of Home
Chapter 7: Zero Hour
Chapter 8: To Hell and Back
Chapter 9: A Near Miss
Chapter 10: Dream Sweet
Chapter 11: What You Remember
Chapter 12: Better Than Expected
Chapter 13: Without A Burn
Chapter 14: A Disappearing Act
Chapter 15: Things The Fire Told Me
Chapter 16: Before I Change My Mind
Chapter 17: The Fall of the House of Turret
Chapter 18: Take My Hand
Chapter 19: Through The Fire
Chapter 20: You Know What They Say About An Eclipse
Chapter 21: Open Air And Endless Sky
Epilogue
Un-Dead: A Chameleon Moon Short Story
Acknowledgments
Cover Art by Laya Rose
Chameleon Moon: Second Edition Edited by Claudie Arseneault
Un-Dead Edited by Jules Robin Kelley
Additional Editing by Cherise Hawkins
Formatting and Digital Design by Lyssa Chiavari
Thank you for making this book possible.
CHAMELEON MOON: Second Edition.
Copyright © 2016 by RoAnna Sylver.
Cover art by Laya Rose.
Chapter headers by RoAnna Sylver and Lyssa Chiavari.
Formatting by Lyssa Chiavari.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.
I still hope you're proud. I hope the words came out right.
You’re what I remember. Dream sweet.
“It’s finally happened, babies. Parole is burning. They say we started out in a blaze of glory, and now we’re all going down in flames.”
Sidewalks split apart into huge cracks, and giant craters devoured cars and buildings and people like hungry jaws. Black smoke and tongues of flame licked up from the crevices as the asphalt crumbled, and everywhere screams cut through the terrible noise of the collapsing city. And a sunny girl’s voice issued from every radio, every frequency, every speaker. She talked quickly, desperately, a rapid-fire barrage of comfort and direction, and every single person in the city shut up and listened.
“But it’s gonna be okay, I promise, because I’m going to talk you through this. The center of the city is gone, so you have to get to the edges of Parole lickety-quick. Get away from the crater but do NOT try to break through the fences.”
Not everybody listened. Hordes of desperate, hopeful souls tried to escape—but they were locked in. They flung themselves against electric fences and barbed wire and stormed the wall of masked men with guns and riot shields. Gunshots joined the awful roar, and bodies fell into the incinerator below. There weren’t enough safe places left, and the fire found them.
“I repeat, do not try to break through the gates! They are all over the city exits, and they will kill you if you try to break out. This is what they’ve been waiting for! If you ever thought the law was on your side, let this open your eyes. We’re on our own now.”
There was no escape as the streets sank into the lake of fire. The gates stayed shut, and the quarantine held strong.
“If you can fight, get to the Emerald Bar. If you can’t, if you need shelter, get to the library—if it’s even still standing! My friends are there, they’ll help you. Somehow we’re gonna make it through this together.”
The men in the gas masks stood firm and unmoving beside the closed gates and fences and the impenetrable barrier arching overhead, not letting a single soul pass. Helicopters hovered above, blades spinning in a deafening roar. Their searchlights traveled over the devastation, white columns of light cutting through the carbon monoxide smoke.
“And whatever you do, sweeties, stay out of the light! They’re shooting anyone they see in the spotlight, so get down and stay down. Just try not to fall into the fire, okay?”
The Eye in the Sky saw it all, and even as the skyscrapers and bridges collapsed and crushed the life out of the smoke-drowned Parole, they never blinked.
“I know it’s scary, but I’ll be right here with you. Just listen to my voice. I’m your Radio Angel and we’re gonna make it through this, I promise this will all be okay, do you hear me? Just get to the library, or to the Emerald—”
An explosion shook the ground. The broadcast erupted into static snow, and her voice cut off. The radio fell silent, and collapsing buildings, helicopter blades, gunshots and screams replaced the comforting voice.
Nobody knew what had started the catastrophe, why tonight of all nights they were falling into the lake of fire. Nobody knew that it began in a dingy underground pub on a smoke-filled night like any other. And nobody knew that it all started with a song.
Regan kept his back to the wall, and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He kept his scaly head down, tucked in his chin, and clenched his teeth. Despite the dense crowd in the dim bar, the hard, narrow stare he shot out from underneath his lowered gaze kept everyone at arms’ length. This way nobody could hear the chatter in his pointed teeth, or see him curl his hands into fists to hide the shaking. He pressed his back more firmly against the wall and breathed. Steadied his nerves, focused on conserving precious body heat. Even in the heat of the small, packed house, even in this city where the smoke never cleared and the fire never went out, he needed all the warmth he could get.
No one saw his yellow eyes with their thin, vertical, snakelike pupils darting around the room, never still. And never together; they zipped in entirely different directions, flicking over every face, every figure independently.
“Welcome back to the Emerald Bar, angel-face! Excited for the show?”
Regan looked up at the chubby, pretty girl—no waitress or hostess uniform, but friendly enough to be one—smiling at him, all freckle-faced perkiness and bubblegum-pink hair. Her chair hovered around three feet off the ground, silently floating up and down. For a moment he was tempted to smile back, pretend this was a normal night and that everything wasn’t about to change forever.
“Wouldn’t know. Never seen one.” He turned away from her, letting his eyes slide back out over the full room. The people seated around tables and standing along the walls like him were happily noisy, with an aura of jovial anticipation hovering around them, instead of the smoke that never went away. Not in Parole.
“Well, you’re really in for a treat,” the girl in the chair continued. She had a nice voice; he couldn’t help thinking he’d heard it before somewhere. Maybe she did some kind of show here too. “Evelyn’s trying out some new material—it rocks. I mean, I’m biased, she breathes and I think it rocks, but this is really something great.”
“Uh-huh. The owner of this place—guy named Garrett Cole. Any idea where I could find him?”
“Yeah, he’s… the emcee tonight,” she said, giving him a curious look, as if he’d said something strange. “He’ll come out and announce Miss Ev, he opens and closes the show. Sometimes he talks and sings with the audience… you sure you’ve never been here before? I could s
wear I’ve seen you around.”
He scratched at his neck, adjusting the loose-hanging folds of scaly skin he hid under his collar. “No. First time.”
“Okay.” She floated away, shooting him a smile and wave. “If you need anything, ask for Kari, that’s me! Enjoy the show!”
Once she was gone, he turned back around and scanned the entire room again, but not with his eyes this time. The tip of a forked tongue flicked out of his mouth as subtly as he could while still testing currents of air. He’d never find what he was searching for here just by looking, or listening, or asking. Even smelling was a pale imitation. Nothing compared to tasting. Even in small rooms where a thousand different scents mingled and muddied together. Trying to pick one out was like tuning into radio stations, searching for one very elusive signal amid a sea of static.
Still, the one he wanted was here somewhere. All he had to do was wait and eventually the show would—
Silence hit the room like a bomb. Every mouth snapped shut, a hundred heads turned as one, like an ensemble of marionettes, to stare at the curtain.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary beings, good evening. And it is a very good evening indeed. Welcome to the Emerald Bar.” The voice came from everywhere, deep and resonant, echoing from the hidden speakers all around the room. Regan jumped—the sound made his bones reverberate and his chair vibrate. For an intimidating minute, he felt the familiar tinge of fight-or-flight—then he saw where it came from. The small, thin man with dark skin, center stage in the bright spotlight. He sat on the edge of the stage, sequins in the arrow collar of his ringmaster’s suit and band of his top hat casting thousands of tiny sparkles around the room.
The reason Regan was here.
“You’re here to have your frontal lobes injected with glamour, your eyeballs serenaded by liquid beauty, and your ears tickled and teased until you scream.” The small emcee’s stature didn’t match his enormous, spreading voice at all. Still, every eye in the place focused on the small, unassuming-looking man with the voice of a movie-preview announcer.
“I’m Master of Ceremonies Garrett Cole and tonight I’ll be your pilot, flying you so close to the sun you can smell the wax melt and your wings burn just before we reach Heaven. So open up your minds, and let her step inside. I give you your shining high priestess of the microphone, the celestial siren of rock n’roll, golden goddess of the electric lullaby, our lady of audio ecstasy—raise your hands to Heaven and make a joyful noise for Miss! Evelyn! Calliope!”
Regan covered his pointed ears until the screaming stopped, and the intro music started. A single electric guitar chord in a minor key, synthesized strings weaving around it.
“Some people say that hope’s a delusion.” A new voice said from behind the curtain. “They say Parole is doomed. We’re already burning and we just don’t know it. They say we’re lost, alone, nobody cares, we don’t have a chance.” The laugh that escaped her was filled with a barely-contained energy. She wouldn’t have to hold it in much longer. “Well, I beg to differ. But it’s easy to forget… so I’m here to help you remember! One, two, three, four!”
A drumbeat followed her tempo. Rhythm guitars exploded through the club as strobe lights began to flash and blue and purple lasers cut through the smoke-swirled air. The crowd rose again in screams and waving hands as deep-voiced house drums reverberated through the floor. The bass pounded in Regan’s chest, but he wasn’t there to enjoy the show. In the dark, he slowly rose to his feet.
“Ashes, ashes, we’re all gonna learn to fly…”
Nobody saw him. Evelyn Calliope’s captivating voice joined the rock anthem, and the spell was cast. And even though Regan had a mission, he couldn’t help looking up as her ruby-sequined heels clicked onto the stage.
He’d never seen anyone quite like the punk-rock super heroine who took the stage. At least that was his first thought, taking in the ruffles and spikes, ribbons and studs. The corset-like top and tiered skirt with the bow on the back, all made of metallic fabrics and black mesh. Her coordinated eyeshadow and lip gloss, the light brown skin that gleamed blue-violet under the rosy stage lights, and pink-purple, swirling hair like a cotton candy cloud. The deep purple cape that hung from her shoulders was the final touch. In this city of the powerless, somebody was taking some power back.
“‘Cause we’re all catching fire, by the light of the moon…”
The audience hung on her every word, every movement and glance; and drank in her expression and inflection and domination of the stage. They didn’t notice as Regan slowly leaned closer—not to her, but toward a small, private table by the stage. There sat emcee Garrett Cole, relaxing with his top hat on the table in front of him, sipping his martini in blissful unawareness. If Regan could get just a little closer, he could wait for the right moment if it took all night. Catch his scent and follow until he was alone.
“And we’ll all keep on fighting to the last ember!”
Evelyn stood with her spiked heels far apart in a power stance, grabbing the microphone stand and pulling it closer as one glittering foot stomped out the rhythm. Regan’s tongue flickered in and out, tasting the air that changed as she swept by; when she passed even the oxygen seemed electrically charged.
“You’re not what you were, but you can be…”
But when Regan’s heartbeat sped up, it wasn’t for the same reason as the rest of the audience. It was the impulse to move. Every eye was on her now; he wouldn't get a better chance than this. Regan started moving around the room’s edge, slipping closer to the man in the ringleader’s suit.
“What you remember!”
The last high note hung in the air. The audience erupted into applause. And now the tunnel vision set in. Nothing existed except Garrett Cole.
“I hope that helped clear some things up.” Evelyn smiled as the stark spotlight dimmed to cast a cozy, homey atmosphere over the club. Glitter sparkled in her hair and on her cheeks, and the lighting effects switched to something like a disco ball, casting a million soft points of starlight around the room. “Never forget that you’re never alone. That’s how we’re gonna get out of this alive. Now, no more sad faces! Tell me how you feel!”
She laughed as the crowd whistled and cheered. “That’s what I like to hear! People who can still smile and laugh and—ahhh, I’m just so glad you’re all here tonight! There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
Evelyn shifted from blazing power to gentle warmth, settling down and giving the audience a soft gaze that made every member feel included and welcome. She tapped her foot on the stage again, and the drums sped up to match it, rhythm guitar coming in lightly to deliver an energetic beat.
Regan moved.
Suddenly, everything went white. Regan gasped and clapped his hands over his eyes against a blinding column of light that stabbed into his eyes. Hissing, he shrank away from the painful brightness and staggered into a table.
“Looks like we have our first volunteer!” Evelyn purred, smiling at the silhouette in the spotlight.
“Wh-what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie, I thought you knew. First person to stand up during this song gets to sing with me! Duets are my favorite. Feel like joining me on stage? No press—”
“No!” Regan hissed, fighting for his balance. He couldn’t see, his light-sensitive eyes stung at the amber-green afterimage blur. He stumbled back to escape the spotlight and slammed into another table—then he tripped and went down hard, flat on his back.
The man in the top hat saw it all. His eyes fixed on Regan, and from the moment the spotlight had lit up the gleaming edges of his scales, Garrett Cole saw from point A to point B, and formulated a plan. He reached up, slid his hand along the wall, and pulled the fire alarm.
The audience screamed as the sharp keening of the emergency bell sliced through the smoky air. Regan scrambled to get up amongst the chaos, elbows and knees jabbing his ribs as people fought to escape. He rolled under one table and flew out the other side—but didn’t quite re
appear. Instead, he faded into thin air.
Regan seemed to melt against shadows, blending into shades of burgundy and bar-light neon. It wasn’t perfect invisibility; strange ripples were just visible where he sprinted, as the air distorted around him like warped glass. But it was close enough to let him slip through the room untouched, blindingly fast. Tearing for his life through the panicking nightclub, he pulled out every one of his tricks, moved and bent in impossible ways, vanished where he should have stuck out like a sore thumb spray-painted fluorescent orange, did things human beings shouldn’t have been able to do. And he was gone.
Evelyn slipped behind the curtain, unnoticed for once. Garrett did the same out the side stage door. In a heartbeat, all three were gone.
❈
Evelyn’s stiletto heels clicked against the concrete backstage floor, and her hands balled into fists. She gnawed her bottom lip, trying to get her pounding heart back under control, and forced herself to take deep breaths. Stay cool under pressure, don’t panic. She’d get through this alive just like she had every other terrifying crisis that this nightmare city threw at her. She reached a door and snatched at the knob, which rattled in its socket. Without missing a beat, she pounded on the door. “Garrett!”
A muffled voice came from inside, then the sound of a deadbolt sliding back. The door opened a crack, and one dark eye appeared. It glared out at first, then softened. “What are you still doing here?”
“Same thing you are,” she said, a level counterpoint to the tension in his voice. “When the going gets tough…”
“You get going.” The strain in his tone made her pause. She hadn’t heard that note of rising desperation in his usually-smooth, sonorous voice in a long, long time. Maybe never.
“Are you okay?” Evelyn softened. She leaned forward, tried to see better, but he just pulled the door closer. “Garrett? What’s going on?”
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