The Fourth Channel (Kari Hunter Series Book 1)

by Jen Kirchner

  “Eliana, stop. You’re twisting the—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. Ruairí clawed under the bracelet and broke open its fastener. He ripped it free of my arm, sending it flying into the open shaft. Dad’s spell was cut off, unable to finish.

  I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the door. I made it down the first four stairs before a sharp pain exploded in my head and I was jerked backward. I cried out as Ruairí dragged me back to the top of the stairs by my hair.

  I heard Mikelis in the stairwell below, shouting my name. I called back for him, a pained sob choking in my throat.

  Ruairí threw me down on the metal platform and knelt over me, pinning my hands under his knees. I thrashed wildly, trying to get out from under him, but it was futile.

  “Do not go far, Mikelis!” Ruairí shouted. “I will have her powers soon, and then you will be easy prey.”

  He pulled an onyx knife, pulsing with black smoke, from a sheath on his ankle. Ruairí’s other hand started to cast a necromancer spell, his hands twisting and gesturing clumsily, as if he suffered from arthritis.

  Hello, Necromancer. I know I am incorrect for your sacrifice. This fool will be disappointed in a moment.

  Ruairí continued to gesture with his hand, oblivious to the knife’s mental speech. He was faster and stronger now, with an arsenal of necromancer and voodoo spells at his behest, yet no matter what he did, he’d never be a full necromancer. There was only one place I had a fighting chance: The Floor. If Ruairí wasn’t considered a necromancer, he would be fastened to the ground like all other souls, unable to walk freely. I could pull him to the white tree, near the point of no return, and leave him to drift into the afterlife. It was my only chance. I wiggled violently, trying to get my fingers free.

  Ruairí raised the knife high over his head. His spell was almost finished. I pulled harder, mashing flesh against metal to slip out the very tips of my index and middle fingers. I flicked them.

  A shroud of gray matter enveloped Ruairí. I didn’t wait for his golden soul cord to connect; I went after him and landed alone on The Floor.

  I whirled around, trying to catch my bearings. I was standing near the Styx, where Mikelis had tried to disconnect Ruairí’s voodoo spell. Ruairí was just a few feet away, staring wide-eyed at the scenery. When he saw me, he tried to say something, but his words were sucked away in the silence.

  I looked toward the white tree in the distance and gestured. I arrived at the outskirts of the tree’s roots, where the gnarled white appendages were thin and sparse. The shimmering wall towered overhead, not far from where I stood.

  I ran around the outside of the roots, jumping over them when needed, toward the wall. As I neared, I felt its pull. My feet carried me a little more easily and my hair whipped around my face, the ends all pointing forward.

  I stopped a couple of feet back from the wall, turned, and gestured with one hand at Ruairí’s soul cord. The energy looped through my fingers and around my palm. I pulled him toward me. He materialized at once, looking disoriented. I turned and ran into the safety of the thick, twisted roots, out of reach. All I had to do now was wait as Ruairí drifted, against his will, into the afterlife. He looked at me with his brows knit together in confusion. I waved. Bye bye, Ruairí.

  He turned and faced me. I stiffened, my waving hand frozen in midair. Ruairí’s foot lifted and took a large step toward me. Then another.

  My gamble had worked against me. The Floor considered Ruairí enough of a necromancer that he could move freely on this side of the Styx. I started to gesture the command to return to my body, but before I could finish, Ruairí sprinted forward and tackled me. We hit the ground hard and broke apart. I could sense physical pain happening in my body elsewhere.

  I climbed to my hands and knees and crawled into the maze of roots. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shimmery wall. It was my landmark; I put my back to it. If I could get out of the roots and gain a clear view of the Styx, I could teleport away from Ruairí. As far as I was concerned, he could stay down here until his physical body rotted. Was that possible in his shrouded state? I had no idea, but I would be happy to find out.

  I climbed to the top of a narrow root and stood, tottering as I tried to balance. From my perch, I could barely see the Styx, but it was enough. I brought up my hands.

  Before I could gesture, my legs flew out from under me. I tumbled off my perch and sprawled onto the cracked stone. Ruairí jumped on top of me. He wasn’t nearly as heavy here as he was in his physical form. He leaned down so our noses were almost touching and mouthed, “You’re mine.”

  I felt my hands clench into fists. I thought of my uncle lying on his kitchen linoleum. I thought of the unauthorized communities whose deaths came unseen. I thought of Mikelis’s family and Luucas’s, and how the world would be a much better place if Ruairí wasn’t in it. And then I thought to myself that I am the master of The Floor. No one messes with me here—especially not some psychotic, wannabe necromancer.

  I swung my arms wildly, smacking him on his head and chest. He seemed more annoyed than surprised and rolled off. We both jumped to our feet. He looked unsure of what to do next, but I was led by rage. I bent at the waist and charged, barreling right into his stomach. We went down hard and rolled together, bumping over roots and uneven ground. As we went round and round, flashes of the shimmery wall filled my vision. We were nearing the point of no return. I could feel its pull, rolling us faster toward it.

  I let go of Ruairí and grabbed the nearest root. My momentum swung me around in an arc. As I slid, I kicked Ruairí toward the wall. I caught the flash of a smile on his face as he grabbed my leg. The weight of his soul pulled us even wider and his foot slid into the wall. We stopped sliding immediately and a massive tug jerked us down. Ruairí slid down my leg toward the wall. I was elated—my plan was working!

  Then Ruairí dug his fingers into me, clawing deep for a better hold. I felt pain distantly in my body. Now I was the flimsy tether that held him in place; his weight and the pull of the wall were transferred to me. I hooked my arms around the root, straining to retain my grip.

  Ruairí’s leg wouldn’t come loose from the wall. He panicked and pulled on me, trying to climb up my leg. His struggle made it even harder for me to hold on. One of my arms slipped from the root and we were jerked farther down. Ruairí was plunged in up to his waist. The pull of the wall intensified, nearly twisting my arm free of the root. I grabbed my wrist to lock my arms.

  Now I could feel the wall brushing against my bare toes. Wisps of cool energy, like snake skin, slithered up the arch of my foot.

  The pull became violent. It wanted us both. I looked down and saw Ruairí’s face contorted in fear and panic, mouth agape, eyes wide. His red hair was swept back as if it, too, was caught in the pull. He reached for my waist and grabbed a handful of my tattered dress. He yanked again. My hand started to slip off my wrist. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold us both.

  I kicked out at Ruairí with my free leg, slamming the ball of my foot into his nose. His head snapped back and his grip slackened. I did it again, and rocked my body from side to side, twisting and wriggling to shake him off. One of his hands slipped and he slid down to my knee. The wall swelled. My foot was halfway through now. I kicked again. He slid to my calf, submerging himself up to his chest.

  A whirlpool formed in the shimmering wall around Ruairí’s soul. It sucked on Ruairí and my foot so hard we were lifted in the air.

  I rammed my foot into Ruairí’s head again. He looked up at me and mouthed something—a frightened scream. I didn’t need to hear the words. I knew he was begging for his miserable life. I twisted in midair, brought my knee up to my chest, and drove it against his face with all my might.

  His hands were ripped free. Ruairí’s soul was sucked into the wall. I caught a glimpse of him for a second on the other side of the wall, spinning away until he was out of sight.

  The wall lurched again, tugging on my foot. Pull
ing myself back down to the ground was a little easier without Ruairí tugging on me, but not by much. My arms tingled and I was moving stiffly, which meant my physical body was suffering from the strain. I brought my free foot down and jammed my toes into a crevice. Slowly, my foot slid out of the wall’s hard suction. My knee snapped back up to my chest, and I was free. Relieved, I scrambled between the network of roots to the trunk of the tree and released myself from The Floor.

  I opened my eyes to the dim elevator shaft. Ruairí’s lifeless body had been pulled off of me and discarded onto the platform. The knife lay silently nearby, watching us. I could feel its curiosity.

  Mikelis hovered over me. He pulled me up and held me against his chest. I honestly thought he was going to cry, but that was okay. I already was.

  Between tears, I asked, “You’re okay?”

  “Yes. Are you?”

  I nodded shakily. “What happened? I thought Ruairí was downstairs with you.”

  “When I realized he was in the building, I was scared that you were up there alone. So I ran up the stairs.”

  “Luucas called me before I got into the elevator. Somehow he knew, and warned me, so I had put my bracelet back on.”

  His fingers stroked my hair. “I’m glad. I was scared, Kari.”

  I looked up at him. “For me?”

  He nodded. “And for me. I didn’t know what to expect. Ruairí had become so powerful that I didn’t really know what I was facing.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He fell down the elevator shaft but managed to catch the ladder. I heard him prying the elevator doors open, so I waited in the stairwell for him to pass. The lights were off and a bunch of dirt and debris had flown into the hall. I couldn’t see a thing; I did everything with my necromancer senses. I had to be extra careful.”

  “But Ruairí was up here with me. How could he also be downstairs?”

  “He wasn’t. I think Ruairí knew I was on my way up. He transferred his signal to the immortal he was with, so I thought I was fighting Ruairí.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I was being very careful. I was more defensive than offensive. When I killed him with a few simple spells, I realized he wasn’t Ruairí at all—Ruairí had gone up to you.”

  He hugged me a little tighter. “I can’t believe I fell for that. My mistake could have killed you.”

  “You didn’t know,” I said, “and everyone’s okay now. Except Ruairí, who I promise is really dead this time.”

  “Where did he even come from?” Mikelis asked.

  “An apartment here in the building. I’ll show you.” I thought back to when I was standing in the elevator, moments before seeing Ruairí. “I heard him say something about Veronica’s key...” My voice trailed off. I leaned back so Mikelis and I could look at each other. “You don’t think Veronica and Ruairí... I mean, she loved money and he apparently had lots of it...”

  I saw turmoil in Mikelis’s eyes. “We’re not going to tell Luucas,” he said. “He’d be devastated.”

  He stood and scooped me up in his arms, then carried me through the door.

  “Wait,” I said, “what about Ruairí?”

  I shouldn’t have asked. The corpse of voodoo master Ruairí O’Bryne stood up of its own accord, with a creepy, blank stare, and jogged toward us.

  Then it ran into a wall.

  Mikelis looked at me, stone-faced. “Oops?”

  “He deserved that.”

  The corpse of Ruairí then trotted past us and fell down two flights of stairs.

  “How long are you going to abuse it?”

  “Until Luucas makes me turn it over for state evidence.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I celebrated victory at my favorite coffee shop, the Cacao Café, with a slice of their chocolate raspberry torte. Normally, Pasha calls in a list of forbidden items that they aren’t allowed to sell to me, but she let me off the hook for a few days. I had also ordered a sandwich and coffee, but I started my meal with dessert. Tacky though it was, I ate it at the register while I waited for my latte. The shop was empty anyway, and I was only stopping through for a quick dinner before my first date with Mikelis. He was taking me to the movies because, as he put it, it’s what couples do when they aren’t being chased around by a “psychopathic voodoo jerk.”

  While I scarfed torte, I listened to the two baristas chatter on about my brush with death at Cody’s apartment building. As it turned out, Mikelis had wrapped the edifice in dense smoke, causing citywide panic. Anyone who tried running through it never reached the other side—they just found themselves out on the street again. Local authorities didn’t know what to make of the smoke. They said it was a fluke, the result of an aging elevator crashing down, and that I was lucky to have survived.

  When the smoke had died down, Mikelis emerged from the towering, black cloud with me in his arms. The crowd went wild. News crews tried pushing through the line of police for a statement. Someone even started up a chant of “He-RO! He-RO!” That’s when Cody thought he had to redeem himself for not looking as manly, and had tried to punch Mikelis.

  He landed on his ass before hundreds of spectators and press.

  “You’re so lucky,” one of the baristas gushed.

  I wasn’t sure if she was referring to my brush with death or Cody. “I’m just glad to have gotten out of a burning building alive.”

  Both girls paused and looked at me. The blonde fixing my latte said, “And back to Cody Springer?”

  I almost gagged on my torte, but I managed to say, “Yep.”

  “That’s so sweet!”

  The brunette making my sandwich paused and turned toward us. Her brows lifted. “And did you hear a new necromancer’s been discovered? Someone named Eliana Rendon.”

  The blonde gasped in fright.

  “Sounds scary,” I said. “I bet she kicks puppies, too.”

  I took another bite and heard the front bell jingle. The girls looked up at whoever had entered and chimed, “Welcome!”

  A familiar male voice replied, “Thank you.”

  I pressed my napkin over my mouth and turned. Luucas nodded to me as he crossed the store to the counter. He looked tired but presentable in another batch of Pasha’s fashion choices: designer jeans, a t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. I didn’t remember a leather jacket in the first batch of clothes she had brought; it must have been a recent addition. His hair had been cut short and he looked clean-shaven. It was a complete transformation for the downtrodden hobo Brad and I rescued from a back alley.

  “Hey,” I said, “finally done with your investigation?”

  He leaned against the counter. “Not even close. There are still some loose ends.” That sounded complicated, but he didn’t explain. He pointed at my torte. “Celebrating?”

  “I’ve earned it. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. You’ve earned it.”

  “I can pay for my own. Because we uncovered Ruairí’s bribing scheme, conservators are finally getting a raise.” He grinned. “A big one.”

  “My pain is your gain.”

  “True. Maybe I should pay for yours.”

  We both laughed. Luucas ordered a large Americano, no room for cream, with a half-packet of raw sugar.

  “Raw sugar?” I said. “You’re living dangerously.”

  He grinned. “If it were a full packet of sugar, my stomach couldn’t take it. Coffee and a little sugar are the only human foods I can actually digest.”

  I set my fork down and closed the lid on my chocolate torte. Sadly, it would have to wait. “Are you headed to work?”

  He nodded. “I have quite a few new conservator recruits to start training—including Rick Kasen.”

  “Uncle Rick? Really? He’ll make a great conservator.”

  “I saw the scorch marks from his fight with Henri. If he can do that as a human, I can only imagine what he’ll do as an immortal with proper training. And he’s not the only one that signed up. People are outraged after hearing about Henri and Thaon, and th
ey want to do their civic duty.”

  Our paper cups were set before us. I picked up my latte and said, “I’ll drink to that!”

  He lifted his cup and we “clinked” them together.

  “Thanks, but I didn’t come here to celebrate. I came to tell you that the Fathers have released us from our living arrangement.”

  I had forgotten about that. I felt my smile falter. In the past few days, I had kind of gotten used to Luucas. In fact, he was fun to have around the house. Nadia even liked him. “Oh.”

  Luucas set his coffee cup back down and fidgeted with the lid. “Marcus said I could live in one of his apartments—one of the big ones in the back.”

  “He rents to all the local conservators. Do you really want to live next door to your employees?”

  “No, but he’s offering it to me dirt cheap while I get back on my feet financially.”

  “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

  He looked up. “Tell me what?”

  I set my cup down. “Mikelis and I didn’t leave the apartment building immediately. We went to an apartment—“

  Before I could finish, I heard the front bell jingle again, and I was interrupted by a woman’s high-pitched shriek.

  “You bitch!”

  The barista’s heads snapped up. Luucas turned around. He was blocking my view of the door, so I took a step back. I didn’t immediately recognize the woman at the door. She wore faded, torn jeans and a beat-up University of Rochester sweatshirt three sizes too large. Her severely cropped hair was now too short to lie flat, making her look like she had stuck her finger in an electric socket.

  I smiled. “Hi Veronica. Nice hairdo.”

  Her cheeks flushed a deep red and her eyes glittered like tiny black marbles beneath her shaggy bangs. “Where’s my money?”

  “I’m so glad you asked. I was just about to tell Luucas a funny story about that.”

  Veronica’s attention switched to Luucas and her face blanked, as if noticing him for the first time. Her gaze swept over him, probably adding up the price tags on everything he wore.