Fighting Midnight: Ankarrah Chronicles Book Two: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy

by J. D. Dexter

  “Your room numbers are on the key envelopes. Please let us know if you need anything. Enjoy your stay with us,” Jasmine says.

  “Thanks. Which way are we going?”

  She chuckles quietly, and sweeps her hand towards a hallway. “That way to the elevators.”

  Hunter reaches down and gets my bag for me. We all tromp over to the elevators and wait for the car to drop to the Lobby floor. While not as grand and historic as our hotel in Chicago, this hotel is very well done. Bright pops of colors keep it from being staid, while the wash of bright light fills the lobby and lounge areas.

  The elevator dings, causing all of us to look up. We scoot down two doors and all pile on to the same elevator. Just as cramped as the Chicago hotel; we’re definitely crossing some social convention lines standing this close to each other.

  I glance down at the cache of cards in my hands. “Good news, gang. We’re all on the same floor.” Grunts and words of praise fill the car. “I think we all got the same size of rooms, so just take a card and pass it down.”

  So saying, I take a card and pass the group on to Kez. “We’re in seven-nineteen,” I call out.

  “Seven-fourteen,” Kez says.

  “Seven-twenty-four,” Brock calls.

  “Seven-eleven,” Brent finishes.

  “I’m dying guys,” I say.

  Groans and grouses sound as the elevator doors open on the seventh floor.

  “Sorry, bad choice of words. But I’ve got to get a scalding shower, a muscle relaxer, and at least a couple hours down. This migraine makes me feel like my right eye is about to pop out of socket,” I say as we make our way down the corridor.

  “I’m all for room service tonight. We need to plan for tomorrow. Your hearing starts on Tuesday at eight in the morning,” Brent says.

  “Let Socks get into the shower, you guys all go put your crap down in your rooms and then come to ours. She can take her muscle relaxer with dinner and we can all chat while she stretches out,” Hunter says as we stop in front of our door.

  Everyone walks off, finding their own rooms. Hunter slips the key into the slot and waits for the light to turn green. We walk into the room. A king bed dressed in crisp white linens rules the space. Two armchairs, a desk and rolling chair fill out the remainder of the room.

  “It’ll be interesting to see how we all get in here.” I throw my bag onto the bed. Digging through it quickly, I find the stuff I need for a shower and start stripping off my outer layers and shoes as I walk back towards the bathroom.

  “See you in a bit,” Hunter calls.

  I turn the water on as hot as it will go and close the sliding door as I finish stripping. Once the small room is full of steam, I step into the raining fire.

  Turning my face into the stream, I scrub over my face, trying to brush the day away. Letting the spray cascade over my tense and tight shoulders, I lean against the opposite wall.

  I let everything I’ve bottled up fill my mind. The biggest concern: my mother tried to kill me today. Well, through a misguided sister who just wanted someone to love her. A sob backs up in my chest. The woman who carried me with her until my adira sparked has decided that I’m better off being absorbed into her power stream than living.

  It would never have dawned on my adopted mom and dad to kill me just to serve their own selfish purposes. They went into debt to get me. Dad had to take out a huge loan to secure my adoption from a private agency.

  The paperwork we found about me said that I had been placed with the Sunshine Kids agency in Kansas a couple months after my fourth birthday—or what they assumed was my birthday since they had no records for me at all.

  The scalding water sluices down my back, leaving heat and tingling in its wake. Tears rush down my face, almost cold in comparison. My mother, the woman who is supposed to love me unconditionally, wants me for nothing but the power I can bring her.

  “Socks, everyone is here. What do you want me to get you from room service?” Hunter calls through the door.

  “Cheeseburger, fries, and a Dr. Pepper. I’ll be out soon.” I grab the travel size shampoo and get to scrubbing my long brown hair. I’ve got other things to worry about than a mother who doesn’t love me.

  ***

  “Finally,” Brian says as I walk out the bathroom door on a wave of steam.

  “Did they make you wait for me?” I ask him, blotting my hair dry with an extra towel.

  He steps past me and opens the entry door.

  Ah, the food appears to have arrived. I quickly get out of the tiny hallway and move over to sit on the bed next to Hunter. Sarah is the shortest of us at five-eight, so we take up a lot of room. Especially in a room designed for two people.

  Sarah and Brent are sitting on the floor cross-legged, their backs up against the free space on the wall that separates the bathroom from the sleeping area. Kez is in one of the armchairs, with Brockten taking the desk chair.

  Brian leads the room service delivery train into the room. The chaos of delivering seven different meals off one ticket ensues. We give the delivery guys a healthy tip and dig into our food once we say Grace.

  “So, tomorrow is technically a free day since we don’t have to spend it driving. But I think we should get out tomorrow and do some sight-seeing. I’m not sure how much time we’ll get once the hearing gets under way,” Brent says.

  “The hearing starts on Tuesday, but you’ll have to be present for the whole thing in case they have more questions for you. We’ll be with you in the chamber. Your testimony is scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. That time can be moved around to suit the schedules of the Senators, but hopefully we won’t have a lot of issues,” Sarah jumps in.

  “I’d like to see how long of a walk it will be from the hotel to Dirksen. When I was looking online at hotels, I thought it was only about a block, block and a half, away. If it’s any longer than that, we’ll need to see about getting a cab or an Uber. Either way, I’d like to find that out tomorrow if we can,” I say between bites of a truly delicious cheeseburger.

  Everyone nods their agreement, mouths too full for a lot of talking.

  Getting up, I get my muscle relaxers out of my toiletry kit. Swallowing them down with some Advil, I get comfy under the duvet and sheets, bunching up the pillows behind my back.

  Eventually the conversation turns to the things people want to go see. I think Sarah is the only one familiar with D.C., and she’s willing to act as our tour guide. She’ll even get us a tour of the DHS building—the public areas at least.

  “Doing okay?” Hunter asks me on our mental connection.

  “I’ve been better. How’re you doing?”

  “Oh, you know. The love of my life almost died in my arms once again. So, Tuesday.” Even though I’m not looking at him, I can see his smile.

  “Yeah, it is getting to be a pretty regular occurrence. I’ll have to keep assassination attempts to only once a month, otherwise it just gets boring. We need to keep things spicy.”

  His shoulders jump. “Right, practically bored out of my mind.”

  “So, turns out that Lazara is my ‘sister,’ and Anixia told her that I was essentially powerless. Anixia promised Lazara my adira; she would get to rule by Anixia’s side. Lazara’s known about me since my adira ignition.”

  “What?!?” Hunter says out loud.

  The entire room goes quiet.

  I heave a sigh. I give everyone the rundown on what happened while I was stuck in the Psy-Matrix. Questions, grunts, groans, and expletives fill the air.

  “Anixia had no idea you’re a Creative?” Brock asks.

  “She seemed surprised by it,” I answer.

  “And Lazara gave you a life debt?” Kez asks.

  “If the bright flashing light in the Matrix is any indication, then yeah. I’m guessing that’s part of the ceremony?” I look at them both.

  They both nod. “The bright white flash is the signal that the life debt was recorded in the Psy-Matrix itself.”

  �
�Does that mean the Matrix is sentient?” I ask.

  “Not in terms of language acquisition or free will, but it is a living entity. It self-prunes areas that have gone dark, and increases areas that are used more frequently,” Brock explains.

  “Since Anixia had no idea that Finley-babe is a Creative, but now she does, can we assume that Anixia will be even more aggressive in sucking her dry?” Brian asks.

  “Yes, we should definitely assume that. We need to be more vigilant in our own protections as well. Anixia is not above using friends and loved ones to get her victim to do as she wishes.” Kez grips Brian’s hand. He wraps his big fingers around her smaller ones, gives them a squeeze.

  A woozy, light-headed feeling infiltrates my body, pulling me down into the comfortable place of medicated painlessness. I scooch down a little deeper into the covers, curling my body around the side of Hunter.

  He plays his fingers through my damp hair, rubbing my scalp with his fingertips. The rhythmic and soothing sensation finishes the job of the medication and pulls me all the way under.

  26

  “Thank you for your testimony, Ms. Tindol,” Senator Robert Johnson says. The distinguished gentleman from Massachusetts has been almost paternal in his behavior today. None of the ranting and raving I’ve seen on television lately with various confirmation hearings and other political nonsense.

  I nod.

  “Any questions for the witness?” he asks his fellow panel members.

  Head shakes and a multitude of “No.”

  I push my chair back, careful not to hit the table with microphone on it.

  Everyone in my group, almost half of the room’s occupants, stand and walk with me to the doors.

  I heave a giant sigh of relief at having this done. Hunter’s testimony didn’t feel like it took nearly as long as my own. He wraps his arm around my shoulders once we put our coats back on to head outside.

  “Well, that was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” Sarah says as we push through the doors to the frigid temperatures of mid-February in D.C.

  “Ditto. I’m almost afraid to think this might be over,” I say.

  “Don’t jinx us, Finley-babe. That’s something we don’t need to happen,” Brian scolds me.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath of freezing cold air has my head feeling a little light and my lungs burning slightly. But I’ll take it, especially if it means I don’t have to sit in front of a panel of people I’ve never met judging me for my actions to stay alive.

  A screech of tires has me looking at the corner. Two huge SUVs almost slide into each other from perpendicular corners. We all back up and stop, waiting to see what’s going to happen as someone gets out of one of the trucks.

  A man, average in every single way, hops out of the SUV closest to us, his arms raised in outrage as he punches the air and fills it with obscenities. He slams his fists down on the hood of the other SUV.

  “Let’s keep moving, and leave these guys to themselves.” Brockten ushers us along, a wary eye on the chaos in front of us.

  Almost in a single file, we hug the building and make our way around the corner. The second SUV owner just looks amused as the enraged man keeps screeching and making an idiot of himself. He catches my eye and gives me a wink.

  I shake my head at him, a slight smile on my face.

  Suddenly, the back door of the second SUV pops open and a woman with blonde hair and a petite curvy body steps out, directly into our path.

  “Well, well, well, what do have we here?” she asks.

  “A really bad cliché, Sister Stephanie,” I reply drolly.

  Her eyes pop wide before squinting at me in derision.

  “You finally figured it out, huh? About freaking time. What she sees in you, I have no idea.” She pulls a gun from under her jacket. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. You won’t be here for long.”

  She pulls the trigger.

  27

  I tip my head back and laugh as the bullet bounces off the shield I put up. Yeah, no bullet is going to get through this thing. I’ve had the best teachers, and bullets were subjects of many training days.

  Sure, I had to do some heavy-duty healing on those days until I got it right. But get it right I did.

  She fires again. The thpt, thpt, thpt, of silenced bullets barely noticeable over the sound of Angry Guy still screaming at Stephanie’s partner.

  “Oh, gosh. It looks like your little gun isn’t quite up to the task of killing me today.” I pout and bat my eyes at her. “Whatever shall we do?”

  Kezi and Brock scoot up to stand on either side of me, putting the more fragile members of our group behind us.

  A maniacal gleam fills her eyes as she keeps firing at our group. “I just need to distract you long enough for that to happen.”

  A cloud of pulsing green descends over us. Immediately, we’re all coughing. Sounding like a symphony of cats hocking up hairballs, we’re bent double as a group.

  “Oh, gosh,” Stephanie mocks, “it seems like you’re dying anyway.” A harsh chortle sounds right next to my ear. “Enjoy hell, little sister.”

  A sharp prick on my neck has me slapping sluggishly at the spot.

  “Let them go, and I do anything you want,” I beg her. My voice is already ragged from the few minutes of coughing. My head feels like it’s going to explode, and my lungs are turning to ice in the frigid temperature as I try to get some clean air into my lungs.

  “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

  I struggle to stand upright, tears streaming down my face. Turning to the side, I see my family and loved ones straining to breathe. What I can see of their neck muscles are distended, their cheeks red and mottled from the cold, and wet with tears.

  “No,” Hunter manages to gasp. His lips turning the palest shade of blue.

  Turning my back on him, I face Stephanie. Her gloating and smug smile make my hands itch to slap it off her mouth.

  “Ask me nicely,” she says with a sneer.

  “Please, Stephanie. I’ll do anything you want if you just spare them. Please.” The last word is drowned in another coughing fit. I lift a hand to cover my cough.

  A splash of red coats my hand, the warmth almost a blaze of fire before cooling in the freezing air. As I watch, the blood coating my palm freezes, turning to scarlet icicles.

  The sound of retching brings my gaze back to my family and friends. Pools of red and black paint the pavement around them. Sarah, now lying on the icy ground, has fluid and tissue pouring from her open mouth before staining the sidewalk crimson.

  “Please, Stephanie!” I yell at her, my eyes still focused on my loved ones.

  Another round of coughing has me crashing to my knees, spasms spearing through my stomach as I heave my own blood and tissue onto the ground. Spots dance behind my eyelids, bursts of white and red flash like fireworks against the night sky.

  Two pairs of hands grasp me under my arms, pulling me up. My legs give out, threatening to pull all of us back to the cold pavement.

  “Bloody hell,” a masculine voice growls near my ear, his accent faintly British.

  “Grab her legs. I’ve got her arms,” another male voice answers.

  Being manhandled has my uneasy stomach pitching and heaving once again. Another wrench of my stomach and I’m spewing more crimson and darker, thicker things onto my torso.

  The man holding my legs, a stocky, dark-haired man, glares at me as some of the bloody contents splash on his coat-covered arms. “You’ll pay for that,” he mouths.

  Closing my eyes, I finally manage to breathe easier the farther away from the others we get. Just as I’m tossed into the back of the SUV, I see Hunter, Brian, and Brock stumble to their feet and try to run towards me.

  “Run!” I yell at them. The door slams shut, the reverberation of my shout echoes off the steel doors back at me.

  Another sharp pinch in my neck and the world falls away.

  28

  I really hope
all of the unconsciousness I’ve been experiencing in the last year doesn’t have serious, negative long-term effects. That would suck in a number of unpleasant ways.

  I open my eyes and am not really surprised to see that I’m in the Psy-Matrix once again. While I can’t say I’m glad to be back here, I can say I’m happy that I, at least, recognize where I am. Floating in the onyx waves of the Matrix reminds me of the research I did on the minor gemstone during my training.

  One of the mystical properties of onyx is that it’s a purifier, energy-wise. I thought that was particularly apropos since this is where my body ends up every time something goes wrong. Focusing inward, I push everything from my mind.

  I begin the deep, meditative breathing Kezi helped me perfect during training. Pulling in the healing energy with every inhale. Pushing out the pain and toxins with every exhale. Over and over again.

  Soon I’m feeling back to one hundred percent. I take a quick peek at my body and realize I’ve shed the physical form I see in the mirror every day. Tugging my physical form back over my energyscape is as easy as the breathing exercise I just completed.

  Thinking myself into a standing position, I reach out with my mind for any familiar presence.

  Discrete probes and nudges push against the barriers of my mental shield. I don’t recognize any of them, so I keep going, not bothering to answer them.

  One particular nudge pushes harder against my barrier. It feels masculine, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot on the Psy-Matrix. I thin the edge of the barrier where the nudge is coming from.

  “What?” I ask.

  “There is no reason for you to be rude, Finley.” The haughty voice slides through the seams of my barrier.

  “Lando!!”

  “Of course. Brockten was able to send me a warning. I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Psy-Matrix.”

  I snort. “Yeah, figured that one out already. Where’s my body?”