The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen Book 0)

by N. M. Santoski

  "It was an accident! Your uncle should never have—Alan!"

  Alan was no longer listening. Fear was clawing at the back of his throat as he took the stairs three at a time, Manas keeping a pace behind. He heard the crowd of guards before he saw them. They stepped aside as he approached, bowing their heads.

  He cleared the door steeled for the worst, but the sight almost undid him all the same. His uncle’s body was an amorphous blob, grossly distorted and quivering in the darkness. Michael Warrington was standing just inside the door, his eyes locked on the corpse of one of his oldest friends.

  “What happened, Manas?” he said quietly, sensing the man still behind him as he stepped toward the table. The Warrington men followed him.

  “He took the hit meant for Nolan. I never saw him coming. I--” Alan heard Manas take a shaky breath at his back. “I would have had a hard time killing him. He was a good man.”

  “The best,” Michael added. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye over your grandfather, Alan, but Robert and I were friends for many years. I will miss him.”

  “So will I,” Alan whispered, reaching out with a finger to touch what was left of Robert Jenkins’ cheek. At his touch, the tension keeping the water somewhat contained was disturbed, and a wave of fluid burst from around the bones and over the feet of the three men standing there.

  Manas and his father jumped back with expressions of disgust, but Alan never flinched. He waded through it to view the fragile skeleton that remained.

  “I want my uncle’s bones remanded to my custody.”

  “Technically, your mother is his next of kin.”

  Only years of practice stopped Michael from stepping back when Alan looked up, eyes burning with unshed tears. “That may be, Lord Artifex, but I am claiming him.”

  “I cannot grant your request yet. There must be an official Council sanctioned investigation—there will be an inquest, and we will need the… evidence. I will release your uncle’s remains to you once it is complete.”

  Alan’s face hardened, but he nodded after exchanging a glance with Manas. “Very well. The moment you are finished.”

  “That very day.” Michael offered his hand, and Alan shook it.

  ***

  "Hold still!" Gia snapped as she knelt next to him in the backseat of the car and attempted to wipe away the worst of the blood. Nolan jerked his head back out of instinct, wincing.

  “Stop!”

  "Nolan!" She swung her leg over his, pinning him down with an arm across his chest. She glared at him. "Stop. Moving."

  "If Pyrrhus would stop hitting every pothole in existence... ow!" Nolan tried to slap her hand away, but she slapped his right back.

  "It's a getaway, not a Sunday drive!” Pyrrhus shouted from the driver’s seat. “Gia, knock him out, will you?"

  "Don't you dare," he snarled at her as she actually seemed to consider it.

  "Then stop being such a baby and shut up!" She fished around in the messy backseat, finally recovering an unopened bottle of water lost in the depths of the car. She took a handful of her skirt in each hand and ripped a hunk of cloth free, liberally dosing it with the water. She braced herself and began working around his eye.

  "Where are we going?" Pyrrhus called back. "I can only speed for so long without getting pulled over. It's a holiday—they'll be looking for drunks or people acting unusual."

  "Back to the house in the Village for now," Gia said. "I need more light to look at this."

  Nolan conjured a tiny spark of plasma and held it up near his face. "Better?"

  "Yes. Can you see me through that eye?" she asked Nolan.

  He slid his other arm around her waist to help her keep her balance without falling into his Fulmen and pulled her closer. "Yes—the blade didn't hit my eye, see?"

  She examined the edges of the cut closely. "You're going to have a scar or two, you know. One across your eyebrow, one on the top of your cheek."

  "Scars are sexy, remember?" Pyrrhus said.

  "Shut up," he muttered.

  "I missed something," Gia said with a frown.

  "Oh, right, that was with Leiani."

  "Pyrrhus!" Nolan hissed, mortified.

  "Stop causing trouble—and stop moving!"

  "Oh, shit."

  There was no need to ask him what was wrong. The rear of the car was flooded with flashing blue and red light, and Pyrrhus pulled the car over for the police officer following them.

  "Kiss," Pyrrhus said brusquely as he grabbed Nolan’s hat from the side seat. “Give me that water bottle.”

  There was no time to argue, and Gia immediately realized what Pyrrhus had in mind. She re-buckled her seat beat with rapid movements and twisted her upper body, grabbing Nolan's face in her hands and kissing him deeply. Pyrrhus doused his hair liberally with the water, darkening the bright red to something approaching a natural color. He shook his head to dispel the excess and plastered it all under the hat just as the police officer approached the driver’s side window.

  "Good evening, Officer," Pyrrhus said as calmly as possible. "Happy New Year."

  "License and registration, please."

  Pyrrhus handed them over, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  “What’s with the lovebirds?”

  “Hey! Knock it off back there!” Pyrrhus turned to the officer with an apologetic glance. “I’m the designated driver and the third wheel tonight, sir.”

  “Got word of some teens driving around and causing trouble—seems a man's home was broken into down in Greenwich and some things were stolen. What have you three been up to tonight?” The officer peered in, attempting to get a good look at Pyrrhus.

  “We went out to dinner at Rebecca's to celebrate the New Year, and my friends got a little drunk, as you can see. We’re driving back to Boston now.”

  “A bit far away to go for dinner, isn't it?”

  Pyrrhus forced himself to shrug. “It’s Jenny’s favorite place to eat—I certainly didn’t want to drive all the way out here on a holiday.”

  "So you admit to being in Greenwich tonight."

  "As I said."

  "Rebecca's is a little upscale for a few teenagers."

  "Officer, I don't appreciate the insinuation. My father is one of the foremost Crude Oil Options brokers in the country, and we lived in Stamford for years before moving to Boston. Rebecca's is an old favorite of my cousin's—and mine, though I'm not nearly fond enough of it to make a special trip."

  "Then you won't mind telling me what you ate."

  "Not at all!" He smiled. "I started with the Kumamoto oysters on the half shell—said to be an aphrodisiac, though I didn't feel much of anything. Jenny's not much of a seafood fan, so she had the endive salad with walnuts, and Nick had the corn blini. They shared a bottle of champagne to toast the New Year, and then we ordered entrees. I had the lamb, which was slightly heavy on the rosemary, but still superb. Jenny--"

  “Well, Mr. Phillips, it seems like everything is in order,” the officer interrupted, clearly annoyed. He handed the documents back through the window. “Don’t let those two distract you while you’re driving.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  The officer began to walk back to his cruiser when he paused next to the back window. Gia felt Nolan tense against her and quickly grabbed his hands, clamping them down before he could do something stupid.

  “Oh, Mr. Phillips?”

  “Yes, officer?”

  “Happy New Year to you, as well.”

  Pyrrhus smiled. “Thank you, sir. Be safe out there.”

  The officer nodded and disappeared into the night, leaving the three in the car to relax almost simultaneously.

  Gia let Nolan’s wrists go as Pyrrhus merged back onto the highway. “You okay?” she asked him softly.

  He nodded. “That was quick thinking, Pyrrhus—but you lied.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be lying to cover our asses a lot over the next few months. You owe me—dinner at Rebecca's, at lea
st.”

  “You have a fake ID?”

  “We all do,” Gia said. “Well, you may not…usually, children of Council members have false identities when they go out in the human world.” She glared at the back of Pyrrhus’s head. “Mine is Jennifer Davis, though Pyrrhus insists on called me Jenny when we have to use it.”

  "Most of the Nine do," Pyrrhus corrected. "We have both fake and real IDs. They need to be traceable, obviously, so that we have a paper footprint in their world. Wouldn't do much good if we ended up in jail and they ran a report to find literally nothing on us—but it also wouldn't help if we had records on our real names."

  "Do you think he believed you?" Nolan asked as they sped north.

  "Yes. There was nothing there to make him hesitate. If he had even the smallest thing, we would be on our way back to Greenwich right now in the back of his squad car."

  "Why aren't they following us?" Gia finally asked, having curled up against Nolan's side.

  "They don't need to—they know we'll be back to try again," Nolan responded darkly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "He killed Uncle Robert. It's war now."

  Gia said something, but Nolan’s ribs muffled it.

  "What?"

  She huffed and sat up. "I said, I meant what I said yesterday. I pledged our help to you in the yard, and I meant it."

  Nolan hesitated before answering, "People are dying now."

  "And they will continue to unless we get you to your rightful place. You have to do this, and we have to help you. End of discussion."

  "No good fighting with us," Pyrrhus advised from the front seat. "Now, sit back and relax until I can get you two home.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Elliot stalked around the corner and almost ran directly into Claire Connor. He refused to call her Professor or Miss—he was three months older than she was, for the gods' sake! Not to mention he was still hung over from the New Year’s celebrations the night before. He muttered, "Excuse me," and continued to move down the hall.

  Claire stared after him, too tired to even bother. She supposed that as a teacher she should correct him, but Elliot was irritable on the best of days, and she didn't feel like dodging fireballs. She was weary to her bones—a night consoling a weeping eighteen year old girl whose heart was breaking would do that.

  "Happy New Year," Matthew said from his doorway, a steaming mug in hand. She gave him a grateful smile and sank into her chair.

  He let her get through about half the mug before asking, "How is she?"

  "Devastated. She is not Nine and neither is he, so her mother will not welcome this."

  "Do you think he can be coaxed into marriage?"

  Claire snorted before she caught herself.

  "What?"

  "This isn't the 1600s! The last thing on Winnie's mind is marrying him! He dumped her when she told him she was pregnant—she never wants to see him again."

  "How will she...?"

  Claire's mouth dropped open. "I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying."

  He looked away, and she pounced. "Matthew! It is her choice. If she wants to keep the baby, she will. If she wants to put it up for adoption, she will. If she wants to have an abortion, she will!"

  "Claire..." he looked uncomfortable. "I'm not saying she should be forced into anything. I'm not. You should know me better than that!"

  "I'm sorry. I do."

  "But we are in the minority. No matter what she chooses, she will have problems. That's part of living in our world."

  "It shouldn't be!" Exhaustion and anger peaked at the same time and sent Claire over the edge. "So she had sex with a guy! She should be a pariah forever, then? Her life should be ruined? She won't be able to compete in her Rite of Passage this year, but the gods forbid that they make an exception and let her fight without repeating her teach year!"

  He was reaching for her, but she didn't want comfort—not yet.

  "Nolan wouldn't let Castillo do that if he were here," she snarled.

  Matthew slammed his fist down on the table between them. "Damn it, Claire! He's not a god!"

  Silence descended over the room as she froze, taken aback by his sudden fury. She dimly realized that they were each on their feet, glaring at each other. He broke the stand off first.

  "Damn it, Claire," he repeated under his breath, running his hand through his hair and sitting back down. "Nolan isn't a cure for all the ills of the world. I know you know that."

  "I know, I know. He would help, though." She sighed. "I'm going to go check on Winnie."

  "I suppose I'll talk to Derek, then. It's only right that someone does it."

  She gave him a tremulous half smile and kissed him. "Good idea."

  Matthew held the door and followed Claire across the front foyer and down the room hall. She let the corner of her mouth quirk up for an instant before knocking swiftly on the door that was hers only six months before and letting herself in.

  The first thing that caught her attention was the colorful swirl of clothing covering every available surface. Shoes were thrown haphazardly around the room, nowhere near their mates, and a lone purse was upended against the far wall. Clara Disanza was in the center of it all, sitting on the floor next to the wardrobe. Clara quickly lifted her finger to her lips, shushing anything Claire could think of to say before she even thought to say it.

  “Winnie?” Clara said quietly, eyes still locked with Claire’s. “Miss Connor is back. Would you like to come out now?”

  “No.” The muffled voice came from the wardrobe.

  “I am going to step out and speak with her for a moment—will you be okay until I come back?”

  An even more muffled, “Yes.”

  Clara got to her feet in a single fluid motion and opened the door for Claire—not to the hall, but to the bathroom.

  Biting back her questions, Claire followed her into the harshly lit space and watched her close the door firmly enough that Winnie would easily hear it.

  “Winnie is very, very upset.” One look at Clara’s face showed that she didn’t understand it. The Nine Families took a surprisingly forward stance on children born out of wedlock, especially to women of the Nine. If the bloodline was proven, the marital status of a baby’s parents wasn’t exactly priority back in the days of high infant mortality. For those a rung lower on the ladder, however…

  “Winifred’s mother is very… conservative. She had hoped to pair Winnie with a Nine and will probably view this as a… setback.”

  “But why? She’s proven she can get pregnant—I would think some of the families would jump at the chance to have her!”

  The explanation would take more energy than Claire had at the moment. It took her five years to break Gia of her aristocratic habits, and Gia was much younger than eighteen when they started. She decided to switch gears instead.

  “Clara, I’m very proud of you for helping your roommate through what is a very difficult time in her life. I hope you will continue to do so.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m going to go see if she will come out and talk to me. Perhaps you should take a walk?”

  “I think I will stay unless Winnie asks me to go.”

  The steely look in her eyes was depressingly familiar—Claire wasn’t going to win this one. She motioned the girl out and approached the closed door of the wardrobe.

  “Winnie? It’s Miss Connor.”

  “Hello, Miss Connor.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  A sniffle from inside. “Sick.”

  “What kind of sick, sweetheart?” she said, pushing down a kernel of panic.

  “Nauseous…”

  Morning sickness, then. Relieved, she turned to Clara and gave her instructions in a whisper.

  “What are you whispering about?” Winnie demanded, a little louder. “Tell me!”

  “Clara is going to go get you some weak tea with some ginger in it. Is that okay?”

  “Will it help?”

 
; “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Once Clara disappeared from the room, Claire sat for a few moments in silence before the door to the wardrobe clicked open and a frightened eye peeked out.

  “Winnie, we will do our best for you. You can remain here if you like and continue your theory classes. I will not send you back home to your mother. I swear. How far along are you?”

  “Four and a half months.”

  Claire swallowed her surprise. The girl was carrying it on her frame well, then… she would have guessed three months at the absolute most.

  “You’re sure.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. We… it was only the once, in August. I’m sure.”

  “Okay then. Have you gone to the Medica?”

  “Only to make sure before I told Derek.” Winnie choked on a sob.

  A knock on the door revealed Clara with the promised tea. “Clara is back, Winnie. I will leave you two here… come and find me when you’re ready and we will sort this out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good girl.”

  Matthew was having a very different conversation with Derek.

  “I doubt it’s even mine… if there even is one,” he sneered, refusing to look up from his book.

  “Derek…”

  “We only had sex once! She was a frigid bitch about it, too. She’s probably making the whole thing up to keep me—I broke it off last night, and that was the first I’d heard about it.”

  Matthew had heard enough. Keeping a tight rein on his temper was proving difficult, and flipping the bed through the window with Derek still on it was a terrible idea. Still, the fleeting thought calmed him enough to let him continue with a measure of grace. “Derek, enough. I’m not asking you to stay with Winifred. I am asking you to take responsibility for your actions like a man.”

  Before Derek could respond, someone screamed. Matthew spun on the spot and bolted from the room, almost running headlong into Claire as she burst into the hallway.

  Dr. Castillo was standing in the main hall, still screaming. Her haunting keening sent shivers down everyone’s spine as the youngest pair of teachers reached her.

  “Dr. Castillo! Dr. Castillo? Avis!” Matthew tried, but she continued to scream. Claire reached down and plucked a cell phone from the Proctor’s nerveless fingers. She glanced over the still glowing screen and choked back a scream of her own. Green eyes wide in her suddenly white face, she turned the phone around so that Matthew could read the words that would change everything.