Copyright 2016 Fritzen Media. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artwork – © 2016 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover Model – Mirish – www.mirish.deviantart.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
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Chapter One
When I was seven, my dad took me ice skating on a pond in our old neighborhood. It was early in the winter, but it had been an unseasonably cold autumn, and the water had frozen a few weeks before then. My father laced up my skates for me, an excited grin on his face. He had a permanent limp from a hockey injury he had gotten while playing in college; he now walked with the assistance of a cane. He’d never be able to skate again, but he could experience it vicariously through me.
Carefully, he pulled me up onto my feet, and I staggered over to the edge of the pond, awkward on the skates. I had never done this before—the closest I had ever gotten was the time I had borrowed a friend’s rollerblades for an afternoon. At my old man’s encouragement, I cautiously stepped onto the ice.
Contrary to my expectations, I did not immediately windmill my arms in a futile effort to maintain my balance. Instead, I found myself moving slowly forward, my feet gliding as the blades cut through the ice. My dad, looking on in delight, explained how to do a basic duck walk, shouting advice at me from the shore.
Soon enough—far sooner than I could have possibly hoped—I was scooting across the pond at a reasonable speed, getting more comfortable by the minute. Soccer had been a total letdown for me—I just didn’t have the speed necessary to keep up with the other girls. Softball was a complete bust as well—strikeout after strikeout, and then I got beaned by a line drive while trying to play right field. Maybe ice skating was something that I just had a knack for, something that I could actually learn!
The first warning that something was wrong was a subtle noise, and a strange one. It sounded artificial, like a metal cable pulling taut and vibrating for a second before relaxing and repeating the process, over and over. To me, it was just an odd sound, and I was having too much fun to care too much. To my father, who had practically grown up on skates on ponds and lakes across the northeast, it was a sign of trouble.
I was on the far side of the pond when he called me back. His voice was remarkably calm, but there was a trace of concern in it. I had no clue what was happening; I had only been skating for a half hour, and was a little disappointed. But I listened anyway, and headed over to him. My one (foolish) rebellion was to move slowly, taking my time. If we were going home, after all, I wanted to enjoy myself as much as I could.
Then came another noise, this one much louder, sounding like Velcro being ripped apart, only a thousand times greater in volume. Suddenly, my father was screaming at me to get to the shore, any shore, to move faster, to get off the ice. His voice was panicked, and his eyes were bulging in terror.
I had listened to my dad the first time, and had moved directly to him, across the center of the ice in a straight line. Unfortunately, that was where the ice was thinnest—though I had no idea at the time. My dad’s voice scared me, the expression on his face adding to my fright, and I picked up the pace as best I could, duck walking as fast as possible.
It wasn’t fast enough. One moment I was gliding towards my father, tiny legs pumping wildly, and the next moment a massive hole gaped open at my feet. I caught a glimpse of Dad sprinting towards me, his bad leg slowing him down, and then I was in the water.
It felt like I was punched in the chest, but I barely registered it. The water was cold, cold enough that it immediately sent me into shock. I was only dimly aware of how bad my situation was; my adolescent mind had practically shut down, almost as though I had become a passive observer of my own fate.
I sank like a stone, my heavy winter jacket, mittens, and ice skates dragging me to the bottom of the pond. I knew how to swim—it was one of the few physical activities that my dad’s injury didn’t impede too much—and I tried to make it back up to the surface. But between the shock to my system and the combined weight of everything I was wearing, I was only able to rise a few inches.
Time seemed to slow down for me; it felt like minutes were passing for every second I spent down there. The pond was only a few feet deep; a grown man could wade through it and the water would only reach his chin at its deepest point. But I was only seven, small for my age, and the surface was agonizingly close, yet infinitely too far.
Approximately thirty seconds—I still don’t know how long I was under—after I fell in, my vision began to darken around the edges. Panicking, I vainly struggled against the greedy water, which didn’t seem to want to let me go.
Reflexively, involuntarily, I inhaled a small amount of water.
In the years since this incident, I’ve read books and seen movies that almost seem to romanticize drowning. I’ve heard people say that it’s not a bad way to go, that it’s peaceful, maybe even painless. Maybe they’re trying to cover up the truth of the matter, or trying to convince themselves that when Uncle Pete died in that boating accident, he didn’t suffer, that it was just like going to sleep.
Well, it wasn’t.
It.
Fucking.
Hurt.
It felt like I had swallowed acid, burning its way down my throat, where it promptly began eating away at my lungs. The only thing I am thankful for is that the sensation didn’t last long. My vision darkened further, and I started to lose consciousness.
Just before I passed out completely, I felt myself yanked upwards by something. Then I blacked out.
The next thing I can remember is shivering in my dad’s car as he drove to the hospital. He had snagged the hood of my jacket with his cane, and pulled me out of the icy pond. A few chest compressions were all that was needed to expel the water from my lungs. But it didn’t get rid of the pain; it felt as though I had gargled with broken glass, and every breath was agony.
We got to the hospital, where I was treated for potential hypoxia, which is basically oxygen starvation. Thankfully, there wasn’t any lasting damage, and I was discharged after an evening under an extremely comfortable electric blanket.
I wasn’t afraid of water after that day; I still swam at the beach without any fear.
But I never did go ice skating again.
The memory of the experience resurfaced strongly as I watched the four Water agents on the monitor. They stood at the edge of a high cliff of ice, ocean water a few feet in front of them, yet hundreds of feet below. Behind them lay a massive expanse of ice, frozen ground stretching out for as far as the eye—or, at least, the screen—could see. Ice behind, and water below, just like seven year old me skating across a barely frozen pond.
Slowly, as the Water agents fed more of their will into the endeav
or, I saw the water at the bottom of the cliff begin to freeze. Chunks of ice started to form, clinging to each other as they rose. Agonizingly slowly, great columns of the frozen water ascended from the ocean, dark grey liquid converting to bluish white solid.
After hours of exertion, the ice cap had extended to cover an extra four hundred square meters. To put that in real terms, four human beings used magic to freeze six and a half billion gallons of water. I’d call that a good day’s work.
I heard one of the agents radio back in over the intercom, his voice exhausted.
“All done here.”
The woman next to me, Connie Praeger, the head of the Water faction, answered back.
“Good work, guys. You can come on back home.”
“See you in a bit. Have a latte ready for me.”
Connie chuckled and hung up the receiver. Then she heaved a great sigh, and turned to me.
“Any questions, Nora?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It’s kind of amazing, actually.”
“I just wish it were worth more,” Connie lamented. “The Greenland ice sheet is melting at almost this exact rate every year. We’re literally just fighting for a stalemate, and we just don’t have the resources to do much more than this, not when so many of us have to deal with droughts.”
“Still, you’re doing that much at least.”
“It’s a matter of timing,” Connie told me. “It’s still winter. Accumulation isn’t the problem; it always gets cold enough for the ice sheets to expand over the winter months. The issue is that it melts too much during the summer, and it can’t make up the deficit.”
“So why didn’t you send agents during the summer?”
“We didn’t have any available. There are only eighty-four of us, Nora. When you have millions facing dehydration, starvation, and malnutrition, you’re kind of obligated to help them first. If we could send agents down there a few summers in a row and actually prevent any melting from taking place… well, it might make a serious difference in the long run.”
“That sucks.”
“It does indeed,” she agreed. “I don’t want to push you, but we could really use you in Water. Every other faction has far more active agents than we do.”
“I know, ma’am. I haven’t made a decision yet.”
“When you do, I hope you’ll keep us in mind. You could do a lot of good here.”
“I think you’re right, ma’am,” I agreed. “Have you had any luck with the other initiates?”
Connie scowled. “Two of them joined Air a few days ago. I did manage to convince one of you, a young man named Nicholas, to join Water the day before yesterday. But I haven’t heard from him.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I haven’t seen or heard from him in two days. He was supposed to report for hands-on training yesterday. He isn’t answering his cell phone or his landline.”
My pulse quickened. This might actually be a lead. “Have you sent someone to check things out?”
“Haven’t had the time. I’ll report it to Gabriel when I get the chance. I’m still hoping he’ll turn up with a hell of a hangover and a fistful of excuses.”
“Okay,” I told her, carefully keeping my voice neutral.
“Anything else, Nora?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you can go for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes ma’am. Good night.”
“Night, Nora.”
I turned and walked out of the Water operations room, heading down the hallway as quickly as I could. I needed to get to my car, to talk to Rick, to make plans.
Three weeks ago, Rick, Jason, and I had uncovered some information. This led us to believe that Focus, the organization of wizards I had basically worked for since I was ten years old, had become corrupted. Of the five factions of Focus, members of at least one of them were involved in a plot that would lead to the deaths of thousands, if not millions of people. Jason, the former head of the Fire faction, had been discovered by traitors from Air, who tried to kill him. The three of us managed to kill them before they could kill any of us, but Jason had a big target on his back. Since then, Jason had beaten a “tactical retreat,” as he insisted on calling it, leaving me on my own to uncover more information during my work with Focus.
Over the next three weeks, I had poked around as much as I could get away with, had asked a lot of questions, had tried to make friends, and had even (to Rick’s chagrin and disapproval) attempted to seduce an Air agent—unsuccessfully (to Rick’s amusement and pleasure). I had found nothing—no hint of impropriety, not a single shred of evidence that anyone in Focus was even working against the organization, let alone any details about what they were actually planning.
Until now.
Focus initiates are true believers. We don’t do these jobs for a paycheck (though we do get paid, and quite well, I might add). We do it because we’re called to it. The stated mission of Focus is to make the world a better place. We don’t even take credit for it—nobody outside of the supernatural community even knows we exist as anything except a run-of-the-mill nonprofit. We join Focus because we believe in the goal, and because we want to be a part of something better, something bigger than ourselves.
Basically, if you believe enough to become an initiate, to actually go through with the Bonding and join a faction, you don’t call in sick on your first day.
I knew Nicholas. We had been friends over the years, and he had even made a fumbling attempt to sleep with me when he came out for my twenty-first birthday. We weren’t close, but I would have bet my house that something had happened to him. He was kind of a doofus, but he believed in the work. He wouldn’t just not show up.
A missing person.
A link.
A lead.
Finally.
I grinned in anticipation. It was time to get to work.
Chapter Two
I strode down the hallway with purpose. Once I got back home, Rick and I could speak freely. He needed to hear about Nicholas. Together, we could come up with a strategy to find him, and, if he was still alive, maybe we could get some answers.
The fact that I had to wonder if Nicholas was even still above ground said a lot about the current situation. A month ago, the thought never would have crossed my mind. I would have assumed that he’d gone to Vegas to celebrate his Bonding, and was still nursing a hangover. Now, though… I had learned too much to be that naïve. Something had happened to him, and Rick and I would find out what that something was.
I passed the center of the building, the hub for all of the five branches of Focus, where Gabriel kept his office. The old man was head of the Spirit Faction, and was ostensibly the leader of the entire organization. That was the tradition, anyway—as Spirit agents functioned as the diplomatic wing of our group, it must have seemed appropriate that its head should guide our overall efforts. Mostly, Gabriel approved operations and kept the place running as smoothly as possible.
The man had also practically raised me. After my parents died in an accident, Gabriel made sure I was cared for. He hadn’t taken me in, but rather set me up with a decent foster family, and checked in on me frequently, usually a few times a month. As my magic started growing rapidly, he took an even greater interest, mentoring me on the uses of each element, teaching me how to control myself and my abilities. When I graduated high school, he made sure my college education was fully funded, and eventually approached me about officially joining Focus. Of course, I had known about the organization, but it wasn’t until I nearly finished college that he brought me inside.
That was not the way it normally went. Most of the initiates were recruited as soon as their abilities manifested. The Spirit Faction took care of that, keeping an eye out for any kids with magic. Once they found one, they sent a pair of agents to the house, usually with one of the current initiates in tow. The agents explained to the families what was happening to their child, usually demonst
rated some of the uses of magic—the initiate typically handled that, as they could still use Fire magic, which was easy to see and comprehend, unlike Spirit’s less tangible effects—and offered to teach them.
Nobody was forced to join. The kids who came with the agents were schooled at a carefully monitored private campus Focus maintained. They received a free top-notch education at the Academy, learned how to control their magic, and, once they graduated, were offered a spot in Focus, if their psychological testing results made it seem feasible that they could and would contribute. Their hands-on education began around thirteen, when they were brought into Focus headquarters in small groups. They were counseled by members of each faction, and shown demonstrations of what every type of magic could do.
Most of them joined up right out of high school. It made sense, I suppose—this was literally all they knew. Their entire lives had already been devoted to Focus anyway, so why not make it official? They also usually had a pretty good idea of which Faction they would join—after all, they had been studying for this for years.
Gabriel, though, had kept me separate. I went through normal public education, had gone to a regular college, and had only taken lessons from the man himself. I never set foot inside Focus headquarters until I was twenty, when I met some of the other initiates—including Nicholas. I’m not sure why Gabriel had taken a different approach with me, and I had never asked.
I wasn’t anything special. I mean, sure, I had a lot of control over my magic, especially for someone who hadn’t undergone the Bonding. It was atypical for an initiate like me to be able to do a lot of the things I could do. But I didn’t have a whole lot of power. I could cause a minor earthquake in a small area, turn water into steam, and throw around a few fireballs, but I really couldn’t do a fraction of what full agents could.
I had seen two Air agents cut loose, up close and personal. With barely a glance at me, one of them had casually created a localized vacuum around me and Rick. Another was less inventive, but equally deadly. He had generated dozens of miniature tornadoes, and tried to use them to kill Rick.
Shattered Focus (A Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy Novella) (Focus Series Book 3) Page 1
