“It makes sense now, I realize.” Mason doesn’t change posture. He will shoot if Pholos moves either way. The determination is there for me to see. “You gave the order and expected the delivery within a day. When I failed to come back with Daya’s soul within that timeframe, you didn’t question me about it, but gave me more errands to run for you.”
Pholos throws his shoulders back, his gaze intently assessing Mason as if trying to figure out what’s on his mind. “Do you know what her soul means to you?”
“What is freedom if I don’t know what I’m really giving up?” Mason tosses back.
A soft, unamused chortle escapes Pholo’s full lips. “Soul Broker, you should not worry about anything but gaining your freedom.”
“I saw it,” Mason quickly interrupts. “What is she to me?”
Dropping his arms to the sides, Pholos takes a moment to glance in my direction. “Are you giving up freedom for her?”
“Answer me,” Mason shouts, his hold on the bow and arrow never wavering.
“Worry about the now.” Pointing to Mason with one long, thin finger he adds, “Worry about your present. You have betrayed your master and therefore you should pay with your life. We can remedy this show of defiance, of course.” A fleeting glance at me and I know what he’s about to ask of Mason. “Give her to me and I’ll let you live.”
My heart races. Mason came here for answers and now he faces death. Or worse. If he runs with luck Pholos will spare him. Being a Soul Broker might be overwhelming, but at least he will continue to exist. This is Mason’s last chance to do what’s right for him, because I know the proposal is not one Pholos will offer him a second time.
“Fuck you! I have never nor would I ever consider you my master.”
The gentle hue of Pholo’s eyes darken as he glares at his pupil. “So be it.” The winged beast takes a step forward before I block his path.
“No. You want me and here I am. Mason completed his job.” I toss the katana to the ground. “Take me.” I may not get the answers I came here to seek but at least one of us will be spared tonight.
This curious creature does nothing at my request. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word, but merely stares as if he can’t make sense of what I have just said.
It’s funny. Now all I can think of is how unafraid I am of dying. I always thought that when the time came for me to exit this world I’d be more upset, but a refreshing calmness takes over. I’m completely neutral, not really caring one way or another. Why is that? Is there something wrong with me?
Have I faced this fate before? For some reason it seems as if I have. It’s trying to tear through the haze that’s scrambled all my memories. But try as I might, I can’t single out the image that would have proven whether or not I’ve been in this same position before.
“You would rather be tossed in the pit with the lions than have him face my wrath?” Pholos lips curve up slightly. It’s astounding how attractive he is, though he more resembles a gargoyle than a demon. I’ve never seen a winged demon before and I’m beginning to think that maybe he’s something else. “How interesting. After all these years you both still put each other’s needs before duty.”
I’m confused. What does he mean by after all these years?
“Let her go, Pholos,” Mason commands, his aim still focused.
“What good will that do? The Underworld is in chaos because of this girl. Many others will come to collect what you have refused. If I let her go, she will never know a moment’s peace. Don’t you think I should spare her the suffering?”
“You touch her and you’re dead.” Mason makes it clear he means business.
“And he will rebel against the hand that granted him immortality, for the love of his beloved angel. How true have those words rung tonight. The prophecy has merit after all.”
I can’t help but gaze at Mason. His expression is a mask of confusion. Neither of us understand why, but after our shared memory something has changed. We have a past together. A past we can’t remember and somewhere, someone knows what it is. Someone knows what happened. Someone erased it from our memories, probably hoping we’d never regain it.
“You speak in riddles,” Mason accuses.
“Then let’s come to an accord, shall we?”
“I’m not making any deals with you. You’re a demon. A trickster by nature.”
“Ah, but this one is of convenience for you both.”
“Forget it.” Mason sneers.
Pholos locks his hands behind his back as he steps away from us, his eyes on the ground as he walks in the opposite direction. “I will give you both a week to figure out what has led you to be in this predicament. On Friday next, if you have not uncovered the secrets behind the prophecy, I will come to collect both your souls.”
I don’t trust him. Neither does Mason, but we have common ground now. We both want to find out who erased our memories and why.
“What do you have to gain from all of this?”
“In one week’s time, you will both know.” Pholos stops and turns his gaze to the black sky above. “Waste not a second, for ten minutes to midnight on Friday eve, I will collect my dues...whether you overcome your past or not.”
“This sounds like a bad end of a raw deal if you ask me,” I blurt, annoyed.
The winged creature doesn’t even bother looking at me when he says, “No, my dear. The raw end of a bad deal is what you have been forced to believe time after time again.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but he’s up in the air before I can even speak the first word in my question. He flies up high in the sky, disappearing within seconds, leaving me frustrated and angrier than ever. I shout at him to come back and explain, but I can no longer see his form so I doubt he has any intention of granting my wish.
“This cowardly bastard! How can he just leave like that?” I rant, unable to hold back the rage boiling up inside of me.
I’m brought back to reality when Mason touches my forearm. “He’s gone, Daya.”
I’m exhausted. It has been a long night and something tells me this is only the beginning. “Do you think he meant it?”
“Demon or not, he will keep his word.”
Experience tells me if Pholos is willing to keep his end of the bargain, then he has something big to gain. Demons don’t make deals unless they get something out of it, too. But then, considering there are other creatures hunting us, lasting a week might be a bit of stretch.
“I’m going home.” I bend over to pick up the katana, then offer it to him.
“Keep it,” he says, refusing the sword by presenting me with his back. “You’re going to need it.”
I shrug, not really ready to admit how this weapon will help me feel protected. It’s more powerful than anything I carry with me or have at home that’s for sure.
“What now?”
“Now?” He glances up to the sky as if he could see Pholos gliding above us. “Now we find out what Pholos meant about the prophecy, our past, and how it all ties in together.”
“We have no idea where to start,” I protest.
“We have one clue.” He turns his blue eyes on me.
“What clue?”
“Your guardian.”
“Guardian? What...?”
“The man that has taken care of you for the past five years. Or should I say the black winged angel?”
I toss an incredulous look his way. Fergus? An angel? “You’re insane.”
“Ah, that’s right. You can’t see his wings, but I can.”
“Are you seriously suggesting Fergus is a Fallen?”
“I’m not suggesting. He is a Fallen.
Why am I so ready to dismiss Mason’s claim after everything that’s happened tonight? So Fergus is a Fallen, what else is new?
“Fine. Let’s just say I’m curiously open-minded right now. As troubled as I am over all this, I need to get some shut eye. I can’t think straight while I’m exhausted.”
“Let�
�s go to my place.” He doesn’t suggest. He just orders.
“I’d like to crash in my own apartment, but thanks for the offer.”
He reaches for me, stopping my retreat by holding on to my forearm. “My tiny apartment might not be much to look at, but it’s protected against evil. You are better off resting there. Plus, I think we should stick together. You know, the whole safety in numbers thing. Together we are better than apart.”
I’m too tired to argue so I just give in. “Whatever you say. Let’s just get out of here.”
Prologue
A long time ago...
I stand on a hillside dressed in a white gown that covers me from the neck down to my bare toes. Hair pulled back in a long braid, the tip of which reaches my backside. My eyes are focused on the buzzing village below though I am aware of the older man standing to my left.
“Daya, the task ahead will not be easy. As King, he has the tendency to endanger his life more often than not, but it is our will that he lives long enough to free his people from the evil that has taken hold of their innocents.”
“I am young and inexperienced, why would you entrust me with such an important task? Would it not be wiser to entrust someone more capable?” My eyes move away from the scene playing out below, a group of children with swords made of wood, pretending to hunt a bear, and focus on the familiar face of the man I now know as Fergus. Or a younger version of him, at least. Though he is by no means a young man, his short hair retains some of its original black color, instead of the white I have grown accustomed to during the past five years.
I’m aware that this is a dream, therefore what I see is either conjured up by my imagination or one of the many memories I seem to have forgotten. I’m still very intrigued by the fact that Fergus and I knew each other back then. And impressed by the pair of white wings I see attached to his back. Not black like Mason had claimed, but feathery and as colorless as the gown I’m wearing.
“You have proven your worth. You are ready.” He points to the village below. “Now go find the man who goes by the name of Mason McNeill. He shouldn’t be hard to miss since he is the ruler of this town and the land surrounding it.” Producing a red cloak, Fergus offers it to me. “Take this and don it. Blend in and do not call attention to yourself. He knows you’re coming, so once you announce yourself inside the castle, they should take you directly to him.”
Apprehensive, but under direct command to follow through with my orders, I am proud to show my worth as a protector. Should I pass this test, I may be promoted to participate in harder tasks, and may one day sit next to our Creator with honor.
Taking the cloak, I quickly wrap it around my shoulders, using the hood to cover my long hair and face from view.
“I will not put you to shame, Fergus. I will do well.”
Acknowledging my statement with a nod, Fergus turns and takes off, flying out of sight within moments.
Making my way to the castle's gates is no easy feat. I find myself under the scrutiny of the curious bystanders, who gawk and stare unabashedly as I stroll by. No doubt suspicious of my presence, but nevertheless no one cares enough to stop my progress. Once at the entrance to the castle, I announce myself, and two guards guide me through a series of dark halls to a door at the end of the right hand side.
The guard to my left opens the door and ushers me into what seems like a throne room. The dimensions are impressive to say the least. Cathedral ceilings, large windows that let in plenty of sunlight, a portrait of the royal family, I assume, painted on the wall behind the single wooden chair. I avert my gaze to the floor. The expansive room was designed to impress every single person who steps inside, myself included.
I continue onward, keeping my eyes to the cobbled rocks as I go along. There’s but a single being inside the room, aside from me, and nervousness has begun to set in. Will the King agree to have me guard his back? Even if it is only for a short while? Will he think me incompetent because I’m of the opposite sex?
“Remove your hood so that I can memorize your face.” That voice, so commanding yet gentle. So authoritative yet soft. He’s used to getting his way. He’s in charge and wastes no opportunity to show it. I can already read this much about him. He will be no easy charge, of this I am sure.
Being that I’m here under higher orders, I do as he asks, removing my hood so that he can see that I’m a woman. Taking things a step further still, I lift my gaze to meet his. Except, I’m not expecting to look upon the most handsome face I have ever seen. He sits a few feet in front of me, perfectly still and with his back straight, his blue eyes gazing back at me with undisguised interest.
There is no scar marring his face and his hair is once again long, down to his shoulders. This Mason is different from the one I have come to know recently, but the fire in his blue eyes is still the same.
“No one told me I was being sent an angel in disguise.” He means it as a compliment, perhaps one he’s offered many times before to the harem of females he has at his disposal, but my heart begins to flutter just the same. And this, I know now, was the beginning of our end. It was this moment in time which marked our destinies.
“Daya? Daya, wake up.”
I wake up to the present, with a scarred, short haired version of the Mason in my dream, gaping at me. I rub the haze out of my eyes and sit up in his bed. He takes a step back, looking a bit unsure.
No. I was wrong. This Mason is not the same. Not exactly. Time and a hard existence has changed him. Maybe even hardened him, which makes me wonder what we did that was so horrible we were separated, our memories wiped clean. At some point, we loved each other. I know that much, but what rules did we break? Did we put love over duty? Is that why we were punished?
I don’t know that for sure. Neither does he, but I vow to find out even if it’s the last thing I do. And today is just the beginning...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kristy Centeno is an author of paranormal romance, young adult, new adult, horror, and contemporary romance.
She has always had a passion for books and after years of being an avid reader, she decided to transform her desire to write into a reality and thus, her first novel was born. In her journey to create memorable reads, she has delved into several genres, creating fictional characters meant to entice readers and captivate the mind.
She is currently working on finishing off the Keeper Witches series among other projects, which include sequels to several of her published works. When she’s not busy taking care of her five children or holding down the fort, she finds time to sit and do what she loves the most: writing.
Website: http://booksbycenteno.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KristyCenteno
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/KrissyGirl122
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/KristyCenteno
Blog: http://therightbook4u.blogspot.com
Linked In: www.linkedin.com/in/kristycenteno/
Skillpages: http://www.skillpages.com/kristy.centeno
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/krissygirl122
Other Books by Kristy Centeno
THE BOY IN THE TREES
Stephanie Keyes
Other Books by Stephanie Keyes
The Star Child Series:
The Star Child
After Faerie
The Fallen Stars
The Star Catcher
The Last Protector
Book Bundles
Into Faerie: The Star Child Novellas (coming soon)
Magic and Moonbeams
The Boy in the Trees
Copyright © 2015 Stephanie Keyes
All rights reserved.
Dedication
For Dave, Ellen, Melissa—you know why.
For Aaron—my real-life crush.
CHAPTER ONE
Coffee Shop Social Tragedy
Scrunching up my face, I puff my cheeks out to the side. I'm sure I resemble a blowfish. I let the air out slowly. "Old Crab Queen looked somethin
g like that." A piece of popcorn hits me square on the nose.
"Okay, yeah. You're right. She did look pretty pissed." Shaz, my best friend, shoots another popped kernel at me, but I duck this time and it sails over my head. "Jemma, I can't believe you drew a clothed model—in the nude. That wasn't even the assignment." She examines the drawing on the table between us, a big, fat red ‘F’ decorates its upper right corner. "Have you actually seen his parts?" She wiggles her eyebrows. "What aren't you telling me?"
"No. I used my imagination, obviously." I brush the kernels off of my flowered messenger bag. "I wish I had a little more of the money for the class at the Art Institute. I bet those guys wouldn't try and censor me." I sip the rest of my pumpkin latté and rub my hands together. With only three weeks until Thanksgiving, Chicago is already freezing. Winter hasn't even begun.
"I don't think she's censoring you." Shaz reaches into her purse, which is adorned with a Union Jack so large it covers the entire bag. She has a fascination with everything British. We even had to stop calling her Sharon last year and switch to Shaz—which she informed us is a trend in the UK. Pulling out a tube of pink gloss, she applies it, avoiding the piercings in her lips. "No, I think it's more that it was a high school assignment."
"So?" I drain my cup, flipping my long bangs, dark brown with a single blue stripe, out of my face.
"So what will all of the parents, including yours, have to say when they show up for open house and see this? It looks totally anatomically correct, by the way." She winks.
"Thanks. About the parents though...it's art. They should at least be cultured enough to know that." I move to drink more of my latte, but make a face when I remember it's empty.
"Really? So you think Milford Schefflebein's parents are going to act cultured when they spot a likeness of his junk hanging on the gymnasium wall at open house? I mean, would you want your kid's, uh, package, on display?"
I roll my eyes. "Point taken."
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