The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

  Stan giggled again. That’s just what happened to Lopez. He had been so very helpful. And Stan the Man was sated now. His mind was at peace, and all was right with the world. And all was going right as well. The address that he had taken from the detective, the Mexican bandito, was just as good as gold. He had made his score, all right.

  The voice came from the trunk again. “You know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here ...” It thrashed in the trunk like a drowning kitten; all screeches and howls, nothing more. The louder she screamed, the better he felt. “I’ll tell everyone; the police, my school, the news, my mom—they’ll be very interested in a middle-aged pervert who kidnapped a high school student.”

  Silence. She was thinking it over. Stan drove on.

  “You think you’re going to get away with this? You’re crazy.”

  Stan was smug, and he smirked. He spoke calmly, soothingly. “Yell all you want, Kim. Where you’re going, no one will ever hear you.” He spoke in a sing-song voice. “Screaming will only get you a slower and much more painful death.”

  That shut her up. Stupid kid.

  CHAPTER VIII

  1250 B.C.—Arabia

  KREIOS WAS LAID OUT where he had landed, eyes closed. He entered deep into the part of his mind where he knew it lay in wait. It might help him—or it could take his soul, leaving him to wander, forever lost. He could still hear the Seer, the guards, other sounds from the outside world. But they were far away, in another time and place.

  Heavy darkness filled his vision. He felt his life wavering. Kreios knew that if he did not do something decisive soon, he would die along with Yamanu. At the far end of the maddening blackness that reached for him, Kreios saw a glimmer flickering in his mind. He moved toward it. As he moved closer to the light, he knew what he would find there before he actually saw it: the frameless door.

  Kreios, like anyone, had seen many doors, had walked through them. He had been faced with them both at journey’s end and at inception. He had been invited through them into warmth and fellowship, had banged on them in the cold of winter, bellowing to be let in. Doors had stood in his path as open gateways to his furtherings, but doors had also stood in opposition to him on the path as well. Some he had never passed through.

  What was beyond this door? Was it good or evil, and why did he feel that whatever lurked behind it might kill him? He didn’t know, and as he circled around it in his mind, he noticed that only one side of the door was pierced with a hand hold—the other side was smooth, unblemished.

  Kreios could feel Yamanu feebly projecting his thoughts toward him. The time was short. He would have to risk his own life in order to save that of his friend—he would have to pass through the door. All of his options had been reduced to this choice.

  The door changed color and shape from the corner of his mind’s eye. Reaching out with a strong hand, Kreios grasped the handle and turned it. It yielded smoothly to his touch, swinging open of its own accord, as if there were a pressure difference. He could feel the gentle rushing of wind passing by him from behind.

  The slight breeze that pulled at his robes made him think of the long autumn weather he loved. Memories of his courtship with his beloved wife flowed over him in cool, refreshing rivulets. The smell of orange-red leaves, of pines dropping needles, filled the air. Kreios stood before the open door, breathing in deeply. A small smile took the right corner of his mouth.

  Beyond, the sun was shining. The beauty of the place called aloud to him. Kreios peered in without stepping over the threshold. There, laying on the grass only a few steps beyond the open door, was a sword. He glanced back and took a tentative breath. He looked in again, knowing already: the sword lying naked on the grass was the Sword of Light. It reflected liquid sunlight off its blade.

  There was no more time for wonder. He leaped forward, dove to the earth, and rolled to his feet with the Sword once again in his hand. His back to the door, he was becoming overwhelmed. His will to return diminished with each breath of pure, sweet, perfect atmosphere. The memory of his sweet Eriel called him back.

  He turned, and in three powerful strides he made it to the threshold. He could hear voices singing to him, and Kreios knew one of them was his departed love. Tears streamed down his face as he felt her presence once again, and before he forsook the balance of the destiny under the sun for which El had created him, he gripped the door’s edge and pulled himself through. As soon as he crossed over, the door was shut.

  He became aware of his limbs again, his heart beating, and he felt the soreness of his face. The sounds of his attackers came from afar, in the distance. He lay motionless, taking care not to betray the change within. He projected to Yamanu his plan, and could feel the life and power from the Sword fill his body once again.

  He did not understand how he could go into his own mind, to a place he surely must have imagined, and then retrieve the Sword of Light. Nevertheless, he had done so, and he was sure that when he opened his eyes, he would be holding it in his hands. He was ready to risk his life, the life of his friend, ultimately the life of his daughter, on that.

  The smell of dirt and sweat filled his nostrils. He kept his eyes closed tightly, waiting for the right moment. He soaked it in, felt peace fill him with power. The strange thing to his mind was how he could feel the Sword at hand— and yet, as he flexed his fingers, it was not there. He wondered how long it could balance in between realities before it was lost completely.

  Yamanu was not far off, because as the Power filled Kreios, he could sense his friend and warrior brother rising up as well. The Shadower’s gift was augmenting and he was storing it, damming up the potential, making ready for a bursting flood. He and Kreios were walking a narrow edge as they coordinated the timing of their one and only opportunity to break with the doom that the Seer desired to visit upon them.

  Kreios opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. He was the embodiment of the Angel of the LORD, that enigmatic identity before whom prophets would fall down and kings would tremble. His body was awash; waves of spiritual power rippled throughout. He did not look to see if the Sword of Light was indeed physically at hand, but he clenched his fist and he could feel its grips, more real than ever. His only hope was that his faith was strong enough to make it real. He swung it high and held it there.

  The tent exploded, ripping asunder and dissolving in light as demons and their pet slaves were thrown like toys. Simultaneously Yamanu arose, swift and terrible, and though Kreios could feel him near enough, he could not locate him precisely. No matter; crippling cold and inky darkness descended upon the enemy camp with such ferocity that even the demons trembled.

  Contrary to conflicting with the gifts of the Shadower, the Sword complemented and increased them, and heavy black fog exploded over and through the enemy camp, throwing the Seer’s horde into wincing grief. Some of the men became mute with it and could not remember why they were there or what they were doing, wandering helplessly.

  Kreios stood at the epicenter of what was left of the traveling residence of the one he hated. He looked for the Seer, vengeance ripping through his veins. The demonic horde army was scurrying every which way. There were screams of incomprehension, vague orders and countermands as the enemy attempted to gather itself together out of confusion. He searched, urgently kicking bodies out of his way, hacking through obstacles, stirring the wreckage, but the Seer was not there. Kreios filled his lungs and reared back, raising his voice to the heavens with a roaring battle cry, calling out the Agent of Darkness.

  “Come out and fight me, Seer.” The cry did not produce the intended result. Kreios and Yamanu, now standing side by side in the wreckage of the Seer’s tents, were faced not with a sporting contest with the disobedient deserter, but with a wave of filthy demonic infantry bearing down upon them.

  Yamanu recovered his stolen sword from the ruined body of one of the guards, and with weapons raised at the ready, their eyes blazed with holy fire.

  They became encircled by enemy fo
rces that rallied against the battle cry Kreios had delivered. The enemy could not perceive beyond the vagueness of the upside-down hope they had where they were going—where they were being driven.

  Kreios and Yamanu waited to spring the trap. The enemy drew nearer still, their pikes deployed horizontally, pointing inwardly at the angels. When they had drawn within a stride or two, Kreios launched himself from his defensive position, smacking aside enemy combatants’ weapons with the flat of the Sword. It flowed under his hand fluidly back around to the attack, slicing with ease through muscle, bone, and marrow.

  Whirling angrily through their midst, Kreios downed enemy after enemy with his Sword, arcing high, then low. He swung upward, slicing a demon from groin to chin, producing a horrible, truncated shriek.

  Yamanu moved independently but kept close by, hacking and slicing at demons and evil men. He waded through them, swinging his weapon like a harvester, growling and screaming maniacally only once: at the onset of battle. From then on, he was silent, concentrating and all the more deadly.

  The angels worked steadily through the advancing enemy army, simply cleaving its members in two, drenching themselves in acrid blood that stank and burned. Sparks of black and red flew from demon mouths.

  Soon the angels had run through the initial wave of attackers. They stood, panting gloriously, drenched in their own sweat comingled with the rank blood of the vanquished. They awaited the second onslaught, and as they did, Kreios closed his eyes and probed the invisible realms for his opponent.

  As he searched, he beheld the tree into which the Sword had been lodged. The Sword was not there, which was perfect. Kreios held his hand high, and there it was, manifest before him, his weapon: the Sword of Light. He clenched his hand around it, felt its heft, spun it deftly, and the blade hummed and buzzed through the air. He had regained his Sword. Now victory was assured to him.

  But it did not take long to assess the outcome of battle: the Seer had fled, had sensed the coming battle when Kreios had been filled with the holy fury that fueled him. The skirmish the angels had just endured was sacrificial, a diversion away from true intent—that the Seer, coward and dog, was rallying elsewhere, gathering more and more thousands to his side.

  Yamanu sensed all of this as well, yet they hedged on the side of caution, standing at the ready in the midst of Yamanu’s icy black fog for quite some time, awaiting some new treachery. But it did not come.

  At last, on toward the dawn, the angels relaxed their vigilance. Setting fire to the remains of the enemy camp, which then burned vigorously, they advanced to the lake to bathe and to clean their weapons and clothing. The Sword of Light was clean already. The acid blood had dripped from it as it was being used—it was like mixing water and oil. Nothing could cling to it.

  When they were clean, they came ashore and sat under a tree in the broadening sunshine of midmorning. Yamanu lit his pipe luxuriously and puffed at it, sending strongly scented smoke curling into wreaths in his lap and spilling onto the ground, dissipating. “So,” he concluded, “that went well.” Kreios could see a grin on his face.

  Kreios never did have much of a sense of humor. All he had on his mind was the mission and how they would complete it. “We must kill the Seer, or all is lost.” He did not give much time to vain things, including the typical victory strut— no matter how small.

  Anxiety moved in on the pair.

  At length, after Yamanu was finished with his pipe, Kreios gave a sigh. The enemy horde would be on guard from now on. Surprise attacks would require more … creativity. Kreios took to the air, hovering at treetop height, waiting for Yamanu to follow him.

  “What now, Chief?” Yamanu asked as he joined him.

  Kreios was stone-faced again. “We make camp. Then we find a way to persuade our brothers in Ke’elei to help us. I believe I know how to finally convince them.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Eagle, Idaho—Present Day

  GIDDY, UNNATURAL, OVERPOWERING, WONDERFUL joy. Only the act of watching someone squirm in their bonds with a look of raw hatred on their face could bring these lovely emotions to bear.

  Stan glowered back at her. He grandly produced a Cuban torpedo from his coat pocket, felt its moist firmness in his fingers, and sniffed it. Snipping the end, he lit it with a match. Smoke billowed up in his face. Stan looked like a ghost in the yellow light of the single lightbulb.

  Stan stood in his own garage this time. It struck him that he didn’t know how long it had been since he had been home. Home? His suit was tattered, his fingernails dirty. He couldn’t remember his last shower. He didn’t care. He had walked out of his old life—and his new one, far more exciting, meant he had to give up certain things to get what he wanted. He licked his cracked lips.

  Kim was bound to a wooden chair with duct tape. She had a strip plastered over her mouth as well. Stan looked at her with mild interest. She didn’t know where her best friend was, he knew that. But he had other plans for her: bait.

  The peace that killing brought to him could only last so long. He needed more; the Bloodstone demanded more.

  Kim was looking at him with big round eyes. No tears. No downcast obedience. Just hatred.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we, Kim?” He stared at her with wild, bloodshot eyes. “Yes … yes, I can see that you agree. Good, good … I knew you, of all people, would understand …” Stan let his words reverberate in the silence. Then, remembering something, he ran from the dimly lit garage into the house.

  He returned with a video camera in his shaking hands. “You wanna be in a movie? I know you do. Every girl your age wants to be a movie star.” His voice pitched higher in excitement as he set up a tripod. After a few tries, he successfully mounted the camera and turned it on.

  “Say ‘hi,’ Kimmy.”

  Kim sat, frozen.

  “Good … very good. Kim, you get to be … helpful. You get to help me find your little friend. Won’t that be nice?”

  Mental gears were grinding in his head, and he slipped into a stupor momentarily while everything got sorted. When he came out of it, he was addressing the audience in the camera. “My old friend,” Stan exclaimed in a joyful voice. “It has been too long. I’ve got a prize for you here, a token of my love, if you will.” He descended into crazy laughter. “I’m—” he hacked out a further giggle, “I’m not asking for a lot. All I want is a little fair trade.” He sang out his next words from behind the camera. “I—just want—to trade. This for that.” He took another long draw on the torpedo as Kim squirmed in the chair.

  “Or I could just kill her.” He laughed again, but then he got serious and began to gesticulate. “If you decide not to give me the girl, I will kill this one and ship her piece by piece to her mother.” He was twitching. “But no more secrets about the plan.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and came close to the camera, still behind it. “You know where to find us, slave. You have twenty-four hours.”

  Stan turned off the camera, picked it up, and walked out of the garage, turning off the single light as he went. Kim was alone in the dark. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she let her guard down and allowed herself to cry. Tears dripped down over the duct-tape gag and collected at the tip of her chin.

  Stan listened, just on the other side of the door. He suppressed a giggle. He could skip down the sidewalk chasing after the ice cream man, he was so ridiculously happy.

  He went to his study and began to scratch out a wretched note:

  Dear fools,

  Play this tape on the news tonight. If you do not, I will kill this poor helpless girl— and you will all be responsible. If you refuse to OBEY, everyone will know you are the ones who killed her.

  Stan’s the Man

  CHAPTER X

  Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho—Present Day

  I WAS SITTING READING in my new room when an overpowering fear stole into me. Something was seriously wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I closed my eyes and tried to think of wha
t to do. Far in the back of my mind, I could hear She whispering, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “Come on, what is it?” I was shaking now, cold and scared. But what was I scared of? Then it all hit me. The feeling, the smells, and the sounds.

  “Kale,” I screamed. A minute later, Kale burst through the door.

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “Kim. She’s in trouble. He has her.” I couldn’t place a name, but his face loomed in my mind. “We have to hurry; he’s going to kill her.”

  A shadow of pain crossed his features. “I believe I know who has her. But how do you know she is in danger—can you feel it?”

  “Yeah. It’s as if I’m right there with her. Please, we have to do something.” I tried not to panic, but the feelings of fear and worry were powerful.

  I gathered myself together a little and asked, “Who is he?”

  “His name is Stanley Alexander. He is the reason I took you; or, as I like to see it, rescued you. He was watching your house, stalking your family. If I had not stepped in to save you, you would be dead now.”

  My heart crashed. An icy wave washed over me and I gulped, trying to keep things in check. I wanted my voice to be small as I said, “Is he Michael’s father?” I knew the answer.

  “Yes. Stanley is part of the Brotherhood.”

  I recalled what I read about them and shuddered.

  “Okay, you have got to tell me what’s going on. No more secrets, no more mysterious ‘you shall know in time’ crap. I need to know who you killed in that theater and what I am, really. Am I one of the Sons—er, Daughters—of El? Am I related to this Kreios? And why is all this happening to me?”

  “I know you’re confused, Airel.”

  “Please, we need to go save Kim. Can’t we leave now?”

  “Airel, you have to know what you’re getting into. There is more that you must understand.” He looked at me with compassion in his eyes. “May I start from the beginning?” Kale inhaled deeply as if to prepare, and I sat back down—I had stood up during my tirade and didn’t remember having done so.