The Twelfth Keeper Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Belle Malory

  General Vickard sniffed, ruffling his thick mustache, and opened a cabinet drawer. He pulled out a file and set it on his empty desk.

  Traces of Deacon were in the general’s face and demeanor. Subtle, but there, in the straight slope of his nose and the shape of his eyes. They both looked like politicians. Elegant, but nothing very noteworthy, nothing that stood out.

  “Kennedy Mitchell.” The general pronounced every syllable of her name clearly. “Good, strong name. I like it.”

  And there was Deacon’s charisma. He favored his father in more than one way.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Life as you know it has changed drastically over the last few days.”

  There seemed to be a question in there somewhere. “Yes, it has.”

  He leaned back in his seat as he studied her. “How has your training been going? Have you been adequately accommodated?”

  Kennedy seriously doubted he gave two craps about any of that. Unless, of course, he planned on sending her into battle any time soon, and if that was the case, he really ought to rethink his strategy. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

  “What about Elemental Training? How has that been going?”

  Kennedy pursed her lips, holding her breath. Didn’t seem like they’d get on her case this soon about the pool, but then again, they spent a lot of money and time finding her. She was their investment, and they clearly wanted to capitalize. She should’ve known they wouldn’t hesitate on even the smallest of things.

  She briefly considered telling the general her skillset was better put to use at more feminine activities—fashion, painting, yoga—but he would think she was being a smartass.

  “It’s been,” she chose her next words carefully, “educational.”

  General Vickard gave her another courteous smile. “From what I hear, you’re afraid of the pool. Is this true?”

  As uncomfortable as it made her, she told the truth. “I don’t really like water.”

  “Strange that the water would frighten you,” he said. “When it’s so much a part of what you are.”

  Only the buzzing of the air conditioner sounded as an uncomfortable silence filled the room. General Vickard was waiting for her to say something, she could feel it, but she had no idea what to tell him.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why does it make you so afraid?”

  She did mind him asking, actually. “I just am.”

  He seemed disappointed she wouldn’t let him in on the privacy of her inner psyche. She almost rolled her eyes at his arrogance. He didn’t come across as a bad guy, but this was far from a therapy session, and he was far from the consoling type. She wasn’t sure what made him think she was eager to confide in him, but that definitely wasn’t happening.

  “Regardless, you’ll have to work past this fear. Both Alanna and Colton have set incredible records at holding their breath underwater. Unimaginable records. You truly have nothing to fear.”

  Except that I’m not like Alanna and Colton.

  “Tomorrow, Kennedy Mitchell, you’ll attempt the pool. It’s a small one, not even five feet deep. I have every faith in your ability to get in it.”

  His tone was dismissive; that was that, and she was going to follow orders. Kennedy didn’t care if he was general on Olympus. No way was she getting in that pool, and she didn’t care what he thought about it.

  She leaned forward in her seat, about to leave, then changed her mind. “General Vickard, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “How are you so sure I’m the twelfth?”

  “That’s easy,” he said, smiling. He tapped the folder on his desk. “It’s all right here in my file.”

  Her eyes fell on the manila folder, wondering what was in there that was so all convincing. “May I see it?”

  He chuckled. “I’m afraid this is for my eyes only. Sort of like hospital records, I’m not allowed to give them out. If I did for one, I’d have to do the same for all. You understand, right?”

  Kennedy inwardly sighed. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted to see the contents of the folder until he told her no.

  General Vickard stood up and walked around his desk. He gently patted her back. “Try harder tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure.” In your dreams, buddy.

  “You better,” he said, joking. “Or I’ll have to sick the dogs on you.” Tiny wrinkles creased around General Vickard’s eyes as he chuckled.

  Kennedy couldn’t bring herself to laugh with him. The first genuine note of emotion he’d shown her gushed from those words, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any sort of truth to that statement.

  What would they do if she continued to be uncooperative? Probably wouldn’t be something she’d have to worry about for long. She’d find soon enough.

  Twenty-Seven

  “What are those?”

  Kennedy’s stomach did a happy dance seeing the colorful array of food spread along the countertop. She took a seat at the bar, in front of a plate piled high with some type of crisped pastries filled with gooey strawberry filling, and covered with whipped cream and almond shavings.

  “Crepes,” Matilda answered. “The recipe is from a famous Parisian bakery.”

  “They look amazing.”

  “I know. I’ve outdone myself.”

  Kennedy dug into her food, momentarily thankful for all the intensive training she’d endured over the last two weeks. Despite the platefuls of heart attacks Matilda served, she managed to lose weight. She wouldn’t have believed it herself, if the proof wasn’t staring her in the face. Down seven pounds according to her brace. The rigorous exercise was paying off.

  Every time Kennedy looked in the mirror, a slightly different person stared back. It had only been two weeks, but she still saw it. Every day her body became firmer, stronger. Her face looked different too, less round and delicate, more distinct and fierce. At this rate she might end up looking like one of the prizefighters she trained with on a daily basis.

  “So do they taste as good as they look?” Matilda asked.

  Kennedy swallowed her mouthful. “Oh my God, yes. Heavenly. I wish you had taste buds so you could experience this for yourself.”

  She gulped her orange juice, then turned on the daily waves. This part of the day, breakfast and waves, was her favorite. First because of Matilda’s food, and second, because she hadn’t gone into the Neon City herself. She liked hearing about the current events, seeing what was happening where everyone else lived.

  She planned to visit the Neon City last Sunday since it was her only day off, and was even looking forward to it. Instead, she ended up sleeping the whole day from exhaustion. Training pushed her body to its limits. It took twice the amount of sleep for her to feel rested.

  The broadcast began with a piece about the election for mayor, then there was a chain of robberies, followed by the discovery of a new galaxy. Kennedy was splitting her attention between the waves and the delicious food when a piercing noise blared from the speakers.

  It screeched so loudly; the noise knocked Kennedy from her chair. She fell onto the tiled floor, scrambling to cover her ears, but it did nothing to quiet the sound.

  Part screeching, part warbled gurgling, it was a million times worse than nails on a chalkboard. Little knives dug into her ears, working their way inside her brain, stabbing and cutting every nerve in her body. The pain was so excruciating, she thought it might actually kill her. Tears streamed from her eyes and she clawed at her ears, wishing she could detach them from her body.

  Matilda, unaffected by the noise, rushed to turn off the waves. “Monitor off!” she yelled, but the screeching drowned out her voice. “Volume down! Mute!” she tried again, and when that didn’t work, she began searching through the kitchen drawers for the handheld remote.

  Kennedy kicked and tossed her body on the floor in agony, trying everything she could to block out the sound. She had to get out of the apartment, but the screeching pinne
d her to the floor, stabbing her over and over. Every earsplitting slash took all the strength she had.

  Then suddenly it stopped.

  Kennedy stilled, the noise still ringing in her ears. She hesitated to open her eyes. Blinking, her surroundings slowly formed into shapes and colors.

  Kennedy prayed the noise was over for good, that it wouldn’t come back to torture her. She was afraid to move, her body still frozen. The pulsing in her ears hollowed out, becoming a deafening silence.

  Matilda asked her something, extending a metal arm, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She couldn’t hear…anything. Not even the sound of her own breath.

  Kennedy clasped the cold, steely arm, and let it lift her off the floor. When she swayed, Matilda steadied her, and guided her back onto the stool.

  Feeling dizzy, Kennedy lifted a hand to the side of her head, feeling a warm and sticky rivulet of blood trickle down her cheek.

  Matilda’s voice was coming in and out now, but sounded miles away. Kennedy heard the words calling and medic, and nodded, realizing the robot was sending for help.

  She stared at the bright red blood on fingers, stared at the wave monitor, and stared at the now silent apartment.

  What the hell just happened?

  ~ ~

  Kennedy was still in a daze when medics and technicians filed into her apartment. A nurse swabbed her ears while DOE technicians sifted through the audio files, trying to figure out what happened. Her sense of hearing, for the most part, was working again, but her ears still hurt like hell. The nurse was nice and all, but Kennedy really missed her mom just then, and wished she could be there instead.

  “Found it!” a lanky, twenty-something said. His nametag read Zack. “The noise is still in your history, but I switched off the sound.”

  Thank God for small favors.

  “Looks like a message.”

  “What?” It was the first word she had spoken clearly.

  Zack pushed back his scraggly blonde hair, his eyes focused on his computer. “A message,” he repeated.

  Impossible. If that noise was any kind of message, it must have come straight from the demons in hell.

  Zack commanded his computer to decode the screeching. He glanced up at one of the other IT workers, signaling them to come take a look. “The dialect is Sae-yer. It translates to Submit or you shall meet your death, young undine.”

  Kennedy’s breath caught in her chest.

  Zack puzzled over the last word. “What is an undine?” He commanded the computer to define the word, and she was sure DOE officials would have simultaneous heart attacks if they knew Zack the techie was about to unlock classified keeper secrets.

  “Weird,” Zack said, then shrugged. “Some type of mythological being. Betcha it’s a prank.”

  “Harsh prank,” Kennedy muttered.

  Zack smiled sympathetically. “I’ll get this removed and debugged for ya.”

  “Thanks, but hey, are you sure this is a prank? I mean, is it even possible for it not to be?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, no way. Slayers can’t infiltrate our system. And if they did, our main computers would spot the foreign entity. They’re programmed to detect that kind of thing immediately.”

  It didn’t reassure her. Zack hadn’t heard the noise for himself. That screeching, whatever it was, was pure evil.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Zack’s scrawny chest puffed out, her hero, there to save the day. “My team and I will analyze it to bits, and try to figure out where it came from. We’ll also hardwire your apartment to make sure no other loud noises get through.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  He winked at her before walking away. It didn’t take them long to finish up and the crowd in her apartment thinned. When the nurse was done with her ears, she left some medicine for the pain. Kennedy hoped it was the strong stuff.

  When the last of them filed out the door, Kennedy was once again alone. She looked around the apartment, seeing everything differently, more clearly now. The walls, the windows, they were made of steel and metal and thick, bulletproof glass. They didn’t look as stable as they had before. A fragility grew in everything, in all of her surroundings.

  She swallowed, then winced, feeling soreness in her ears.

  This kind of stuff came part and parcel with celebritydom. Pranks, tapping into her wave communicator, that kind of stuff happened.

  It had to, because in her realm of thinking, the alternative wasn’t even plausible. It wasn’t allowed to be plausible.

  Twenty-Eight

  The next few days passed by in a blur of training. That seemed to be the whole of her life. Training, eating, sleeping. Repeat. Training, eating, sleeping. Repeat. To say it was monotonous was a huge understatement. Not that it was easy. No, no one could ever say it was easy.

  Saturday was the day she was holding out for though. It was her motivation, and the thought that kept her going. Saturday she would get to use the telephone.

  That word sounded magical to Kennedy.

  Telephone.

  The thing that would at long last let her speak to her family.

  She might’ve gotten to call sooner, but Professor Mason up and caught a cold right after he’d promised to let her use it. Saturday, though, was the day he was due back, and healthy.

  It was nice to look forward to, especially after the disappointing news she’d received that morning. Zack the techie had emailed her the analysis from their investigation. Turned out, the wave that sent her the noise from hell had no originating address. The perp had wiped it clean, and DOE technicians assured her again that it had to be a prank, possibly from someone on the inside who had been recently fired. There was a list of people they were investigating.

  Kennedy had hoped they would find harder evidence, more incriminating information. Whatever psychopath thought that sort of prank was funny should be locked up.

  Despite everything, she was determined not to let the news ruin her good mood. Only a few more days to get through, and then she could speak to her family.

  That afternoon, however, as she walked into the Elemental Training room, Kennedy’s positive attitude shifted. Yuri was always there waiting for her. Today he was nowhere to be found.

  Something didn’t feel right; she could sense it.

  Two trainers in jumpsuits walked into the room, and she knew she’d been right. Looked like General Vickard wasn’t lying when he said he planned to sick the dogs on her. So these were the dogs then.

  Kennedy eyed them as they approached. Male, late twenties, both wearing matching ridiculous black jumpsuits. Give them sunglasses and earpieces and they’d look like Level 3’s own brand of secret service agents.

  Oh, and look. Dr. Sigly strode into the room behind the guard dogs.

  How nice.

  As always, she wore skin-tight clothing, today’s being an immaculately pressed red pantsuit. Her hair was pulled into a bun on the crown of her head, as severe as a ballerina’s.

  Dr. Sigly’s red lips stood out against her startlingly white teeth in a tight smile. “Nice to see you, Miss Mitchell.”

  Kennedy noticed other keepers on the other side of the mirrored hallway. They flocked together, all of them staring straight into her room and whispering.

  This couldn’t be good. It looked like they were lining up to watch the newbie get in trouble.

  Now she was beginning to regret her stubbornness. Maybe lazing the hour and half away by ignoring Yuri’s garbled English, sitting in the corner, and refusing to cooperate was a bit too much diva. She should have done something, stuck a foot in the pool, touch a palm to the surface. Any little act on her part might have made them think she was trying.

  Humor them, Matilda told her. How had she so easily forgotten such an important piece of advice?

  Dr. Sigly scanned the tablet she was carrying, then set it on the nearest table. “Okay,” she said, clasping her hands together like she was ready to begin her work. “Today I will be your tra
iner.”

  Kennedy suppressed her urge to groan out loud.

  “And my utmost goal is to rid you of your fear of the water. Today, Kennedy, you will get into that pool, you can count on it.”

  Sounds like a real blast, lady.

  “Dank, Thompson, take hold of Kennedy from either side. We’re going to help her overcome this.”

  Dank and Thompson did exactly as they were instructed.

  Really? At this rate they might as well strap floaties to her arms and buckle her into a life vest. And since half the keepers were already watching, why not call them in here. Intensify her mortification, by all means.

  The jump suits led her to the pool, and Kennedy ground her teeth together with each step. It took everything she had not to give Dr. Sigly a piece of her mind.

  Chilly water soaked her feet as she took a step, and then two more down the small stairs of the pool.

  She sucked in her breath as the water covered her legs, and then leveled up to her waist. By the time she was down the steps, the water hit just below her breasts, and that was as deep as the small pool got.

  It took tremendous effort not to shake uncontrollably. This was the most water she’d been in since…well, since before.

  Dr. Sigly stood tall above Kennedy in her high heels, wearing a smirk of satisfaction. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Kennedy wanted to say, “Are you happy now?” She didn’t. Amazingly.

  She kept quiet, hoping this would all be over soon. Nothing supernatural was happening, after all. And maybe this would be the moment they finally realized she wasn’t the twelfth. The thought gave her an extra burst of stamina. She could endure this. Especially if it meant going home sooner.

  “Kennedy,” Dr. Sigly said. “Fears are a nasty thing. Always holding you back. Always getting in the way. I, myself, used to be deathly afraid of spiders.” She began to walk along the edge of the pool, staring at the ground as she spoke.