The Sun Child (The Sun Child Saga Book 1)

by Mihalitsianos, Monique

  I’ll have to snap her neck in one swift motion in order to get this done, or slit her throat, which means I need to get close enough to attack her before she attacks me. The adrenaline in my system is helping clear my head. My field of vision sharpens, and I feel more inside my body than ever before, like I do every time I’m in a fight.

  “…our kind has been there to stop you.” I hear her say, when I focus my attention back on her little speech. She stops and stands a few feet away from me. “It doesn’t matter if you kill one of us, or if you kill hundreds. There will always be more. That is true immortality. We’re immune to your powers, little Sun-Child. Your kind is at a disadvantage. In the end, we will win.”

  She regards me with cool, steady eyes.

  “Are you done with your delightful monologue?” I say. “Seriously, lady. You could put a child with ADHD on a sugar rush to sleep.”

  The side of her mouth twitches up for a second, and a flicker of curiosity breaks through her steely gaze. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “And your friend up there?” She asks.

  “Same.” I answer. “Though I don’t really know why you care.”

  She shakes her head slowly and looks at me, the sides of her mouth turning down.

  “Are you having second thoughts about killing me because I’m young?”

  “Of course not.” She snaps.

  “Okay, good to know.” I say. “Because that would have been out of character, considering you people don’t have any souls.”

  She takes a deep breath and her expression steels over. That’s how I know she’s going for the kill. I could have played on her pity—begged her not to kill us, tell her we’re in love, remind her we have years and years of life ahead of us—but there’s no guarantee that would work, and more importantly, it would take much more time than fighting. Kismet needs to feed. Now.

  The Immortal walks towards me, raising her fists to her face. I place one foot in front of the other, bend my knees, and raise my fists. “We could have settled this in a much less bloody way, you know.” I say.

  “No, we couldn’t.” She says.

  “Suit yourself, lady.” I say, grinning. “I’d choose a fight to the death over boring-ass speeches anyday.”

  I get ready to lunge for her neck, but then from the corner of my eye, I see a miraculously revived Kismet pick up the knife from the street and run toward the Immortal as fast as I’d ever seen her run. She jumps on the woman’s back.

  “What the—” the Immortal says, caught off guard. She tries to turn her head around to face Kismet, but it’s too late for her. Kismet presses the knife against her neck. I see the same look on her face that she wears every time she’s ready for a kill—eyes lazily half-closed, lips pursed, neck relaxed. She’s about to slit her throat when the Immortal screams.

  “Stop!” she says, her voice panicked. “Just knock me out…or…or something.” Her wide eyes meet mine, pleading, begging me to spare her as her lips tremble and tears well up at the sides of her eyes.

  I look at her—really look at her—for the first time. She’s blonde and stocky, but in a muscular, masculine kind of way. She doesn’t seem that old, except for the crinkles at the corner of her eyes and the fine lines on her forehead. Couldn’t be more than forty or forty-five.

  “Please don’t kill me.” She whispers, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “You’re right, we can settle this differently. I have a son. He’s the same age as you.” Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence, tears spilling out of her eyes.

  Kismet presses the blade down a fraction of an inch on the Immortal’s throat, drawing a small line of blood across her neck.

  “Whoever paid for your acting classes seriously wasted their money on you.” I say. “Because I don’t believe you, not for a second.”

  The woman stops crying and looks up at both of us, hard. “Then do it now, you filth.”

  Kismet cuts her throat before I even finish the sentence, and the woman makes an awful gurgling sound, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Rivers of dark-red blood gush out of the woman’s throat as her lifeless body falls forward, Kismet toppling on top of her. The blood stains the water crimson. Her glassy eyes stare up at me, her mouth permanently shaped into a grimace.

  I sigh and sit down on the wet rocks, putting my face in my hands. Everything around me spins. I may have acted all tough with her, but watching her die was not easy. “I’m not used to death being so messy.” I say, the sight of so much blood making me want to vomit. Kismet says nothing, she just sits down next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder as I pull myself together.

  This is not the way we should kill. This is not the way to do it. The Immortals are immune to our powers, so I don’t get to experience the pleasure of destroying them from the inside out. And they’re not criminals, they just hate our guts. Without either of those factors, taking a life just feels…off. Strange. Sobering.

  But we don’t have a choice. If we hadn’t killed her tonight, we would only have one more enemy to worry about tomorrow.

  “I wonder if she really has a son.” I say.

  Kismet takes a deep, tired breath. “Come on, Daniel,” She says. “I don’t think I have much time.”

  I stand up and carry the Immortal’s body into the sea until I’m waist-deep in water. I don’t even feel the cold anymore. I drop her into the water with a splash and shove the body as far out into the ocean as I can. Then I walk back to the shore, every step I take heavy, like the sand and the rocks want to drag me down and claim me as well.

  I turn around and see her body floating away with the tide. Another kill that will go unsolved. My kind is untraceable. Our people’s fingerprints are burnt off with lye the moment we are taken into the tribe, and all of us appear as either dead or missing in all the official records.

  “I’ll have my knife back now.” I murmur as we walk up the hill. Kismet wipes the blood off the knife with her wet T-shirt before handing it back to me without a word. I dislodge my other knife from the tree trunk and put it back in my sheath, looking around to make sure we haven’t awoken any humans. It seems like all these rich people are heavy sleepers.

  If only they knew how closed their eyes were to the world.

  “Ready to go?” I ask Kismet, my heart rate speeding up as I remember how much of a danger she’ll be in if she doesn’t feed soon.

  “Yes.” She says, her voice faltering, the killer golden glow growing stronger in her eyes.

  Kismet’s Kill

  We make our way through the dark Seattle streets as fast as we can, dodging people and jumping over cars. I catch the strange look on people’s faces as they try to see what went by, but their eyes are too slow to make us out.

  I hear Kismet groan from behind me and turn around to see her sprawled on her hands and knees on the sidewalk. I run back to her and hold her face. She grabs my hands but her fingers have barely any strength left.

  Please don’t faint; please don’t faint; please don’t faint…

  “I can’t run any more. I’m too weak…” She whispers. Her face is pale, and cold sweat gleams off her skin. The golden glow in her eyes is on full display now. I curse under my breath and then help her up. “Jump on my back, Kis.” I say urgently, crouching down with my back to her. She wraps her arm around my collarbone, and I grab her under her legs.

  I start running again, faster this time. I’m out of breath and my lungs feel like they’re about to explode, but I don’t care. The constriction in my lungs will go away, but if Kismet faints, she may not ever recover.

  “Close your eyes, babe.” I say between breaths. The last thing we want right now is for her to accidentally take out an innocent while we’re on the run. “We’re almost there.” Kismet moans and covers her eyes with her hands. Panting and sweating, my mind keeps repeating the same words over and over again as I run…

  Please don’t faint; please don’t faint; please don’t faint…
>
  I finally reach the manhole that leads to our home. It’s in the middle of a dark street between two battered-down buildings in the Industrial District of Seattle, where nobody would care to look.

  I bend down and pull the manhole cover up, then climb down the stairs with Kismet latched onto my back. I cover the entrance and then jump down, hitting the floor hard. It’s pitch-black, but I know the way by memory. My pace is quick and steady, I walk through the narrow tunnels for about fifteen minutes, turning right and left and right again until I reach the iron door, barely pausing to take a breath.

  “Are we there yet?” Kismet says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “We just got here.” I say with the little breath I have left.

  “I need some life quick.” She murmurs.

  I knock on the iron door three times fast and then two times slowly, trying to remember if this was the correct passcode for the week. A second later the doors open a fraction of an inch, letting out dim rays of light. I squint and see two brown eyes staring back at my own.

  “It’s Daniel Maze and Kismet Newland. We were on a Mission.” I wait until the guard checks his list and then nods, opening the door to let us in. He’s wearing the customary white uniform.

  “Thanks.” I mutter, walking past him.

  “That one’s not in very good shape, is she?” He points at Kismet. I shake my head.

  “Better get her to the dungeons quick.” He yawns and sits back down on the floor, looking bored.

  I carry her downwards into the heart of the subterranean city that is our home, named Agartha.

  Agartha is a labyrinth of caves, tunnels, and grottoes that span miles. It was built under Seattle, over generations, by the Sun-Children of the past. And they did a pretty crappy job at it, too. You’d think we’d at least have electricity, but no. It’s basically a medieval-looking shit-hole with kerosene lamps hanging on the clay walls and tepid-smelling air.

  I reach the large Common Hall within ten minutes. Groups of people are gathered there, eating, drinking, and talking to each other in loud, inebriated voices, sitting on wooden chairs and tables. I turn left, toward a spiraling staircase that leads down into the dungeons.

  “Daniel, wait!” I hear someone yell over the sound of drunken laughter and clanking copper glasses. I turn and see a tall, skinny boy running toward us.

  “Can’t talk, Henrick.” I say without pausing. “I’ve got to get Kismet to the dungeons.” I head downwards, taking one of the many kerosene lamps that hang on the walls and holding it in front of me.

  Kismet moans as I walk down the stairs, her clench on my neck softening.

  “Hold on, Kis.” I say, my heart racing. “We’ll be right there.”

  “I can go with you!” Henrick yells, following me.

  “Don’t you have anywhere else to be at?” I ask him, trying to keep my cool.

  “Not really.” He says. “How did it go?”

  “We got the job done.”

  “You have a huge gash on your head.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Looks like you hit it on a rock or something.”

  “Thank you, Sherlock.” I snap, the effort of carrying Kismet for over half-an-hour and dealing with an obnoxious kid finally taking its toll on me.

  That shut him up for the time being.

  We reach the dungeons. I put the lamp down before gently dropping Kismet to her feet. She kneels and sits on her heels, taking deep breaths, eyes closed. I bring the back of my hand across her cheek. She’s clammy cold. “We don’t have much time.” I say.

  “What you got for us, Dicky?” Henrick asks the dungeon guard with a disturbingly expectant tone of voice. He rubs his hands together and licks his lips, and again I feel like throwing up for a moment. I understand what he feels…but showing it so blatantly is downright tacky. “We have a lady in dire need of refreshment.”

  Dicky just stares at him with a bored expression in his eyes.

  “We got a rapist, a thief, and a murderer.” He says. “The usual types.”

  Kismet moans again.

  “Please!” A guy in a torn and dirty suit yells from inside the cell. “You’ve got the wrong guy! I didn’t rape anybody. It’s all a lie!” His cries bounce off the dungeon walls.

  “Are you sure he’s not innocent, Dicky?” I ask, wincing uncomfortably every time the man sobs.

  “He was caught in the deed, or so Bob said.” Dicky shrugs. “Although Bob hasn’t been his usual self since that Immortal cut out his right eye. Too bad our powers don’t work on any of our kind and we can’t heal him. He went a little bonkers after that incident, Bob did.”

  “Are we in the dungeons?” Kismet whispers.

  “Open your eyes, Kismet.” Henrick says. “There’s a man here who’s just dying to meet you.”

  I want to punch him in the face. Repeatedly.

  “No, no, please!” The man yells again, scurrying to the back of the cell, where the other two prisoners lie on the floor, their eyes lost to the world. How long have they been here? I put my hand over Kismet’s eyes.

  “If he says he’s innocent, I don’t want anything to do with this.” I say, my voice hard.

  “Who the fuck are you to make that decision?” Dicky snaps. “If I say he’s guilty, then that is what he is.”

  I glare at him. “You’re right.” I say. “It is too bad our powers don’t work on any of our kind.”

  “Watch it, kid.” He says, eyes narrowing. “I like you, but if you keep asking for trouble, I’ll be more than happy to give it to you.”

  I sigh. “Look, Dicky…” I say, softening my voice and changing my approach. “I know this isn’t the first time a prisoner has pleaded for his life. Normally I wouldn’t give it any thought, but fucking one-eyed Bob captured this guy. Can we really trust him?”

  His face turns hard. “I won’t let this man out, Daniel. Not if it will jeopardize the location of our city. Innocent or not, he’s staying. And my word as Dungeon Master is law.”

  I groan in frustration.

  “I won’t tell anyone about this… this…city, I swear!” The man yells, crawling to the front of the cell to face me. He grabs the bars, knuckles turning white. “I’m begging you. I haven’t done anything wrong. I have a wife and children. They’re waiting for me back home.” Tears run down his dirty face, his lips tremble as he speaks.

  “He says he’s innocent, Dicky.” I say, voice hard. “You know the rules.”

  Dicky looks at me for a long moment. “Do you really believe what he says?”

  I stare into the captive’s watering eyes as he focuses his own on me, silently pleading. I feel my heart drop. I turn toward Dicky. “You’re not letting him out, are you?”

  “No can do, boy.”

  “What about the others? Why can’t she kill one of those other two?” I point to the other men locked inside the cell.

  Dicky sighs. “Does it really matter?”

  My chest constricts. “No, it doesn’t. They’re all going to die eventually.”

  I uncover Kismet’s eyes.

  “What the…” The prisoner says, mouth agape as he looks at Kismet’s glowing eyes.

  She stumbles toward the cell and grabs the man by the collar. He doesn’t resist, all of a sudden entranced by the light shining into his own eyes and across his face. Kismet pulls him up against the bars and locks on his gaze, immobilizing him. I want to look away; I’ve seen this show so many times already. But I can’t.

  The man’s own dark eyes reflect Kismet’s fiery irises. The light pierces his pupils, sucking the man’s life from the inside out, draining him dry.

  I can hear Henrick chuckling beside me.

  I want to say I don’t look away because I owe it to the man. But that’s not the reason. The reason is I can’t stop staring at Kismet basking in the ecstasy, plunging head-first into the frenzy. Despite everything, it’s hard not to feel the slightest bit jealous of her right now. Look at Henrick and Dicky, even mor
e transfixed upon the scene than I am.

  We’re called The Children of the Sun for a reason. The golden bright star that nourishes everything in this world can also as easily take life when it burns too bright, which is exactly what Kismet is doing right now.

  She’s burning, burning, burning until everything wastes away.

  The prisoner’s pupils dilate, and he croaks, as if gasping for breath. His face is twisted in a mask of dread. A second later he’s gone, and Kismet slowly releases her fingers from the man’s stiff, lifeless body. He hits the ground with a soft thud, his face forever frozen in that terrible expression.

  Kismet closes her eyes and cranes her neck backward, sucking in air sharply through gritted teeth, and then relaxes. She gets up to her feet and turns toward me, her eyes back to their normal, amber shade. “Took you long enough.”

  I respond with a contrite smile, thinking how bittersweet it is that humans are both vulnerable to the good part of our powers, and the bad.

  The other two prisoners wake up from their stupor and look at their dead inmate before turning their heads away and closing their eyes in fear. One of them starts praying in a foreign language I don’t understand.

  And then it hits me. The criminal we were sent out to capture, the one Benedict had taken from us halfway back to Agartha, is not in the dungeon cell.

  “Well, I guess that settles the matter.” Henrick laughs. “Innocent or not, he’s dead now.”

  I take a deep breath, crack my knuckles, and then punch him in the face.

  It feels glorious.

  Agartha

  Henrick’s head springs back on impact. “What the hell?” He yells, clutching his bleeding nose. He brings one hand away from his face and looks at the blood. His face pales.

  “That’s for being an asshole, asshole.” I say.

  He snarls and throws a punch at me, which I easily dodge. “That’s all you got?” I say, fired up. I want to take all this confusion and anger and shit out on somebody. Henrick will do.

  “I’m not even trying.” He says through clenched teeth, and then throws another punch, which I block. I shove him and he stumbles backwards, hitting the wall.