Descendant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 1)

by A. L. Knorr

  "We're not insinuating anything," the inspector said, his voice mild. "But it is not Jordan's blood that we took from your couch and your carpet and your lawn and your kitchen floor." He stopped there, his eyes dropped to the ground, frown lines deepening.

  "What else?" Allan prompted. "Is there something else? Don't spare me just because she's my daughter. What else did you find?"

  Cranston's mouth opened and then closed. "Nothing," he shook his head. "I'll be sure to call you immediately, as soon as the case unfolds. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that can help, even if it seems unimportant, you know how to reach me."

  Allan nodded. He watched the inspector return to the car parked in the driveway.

  Inspector Cranston's partner, Stevenson sat in the passenger side with a cell phone glued to his ear. Cranston opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. Stevenson said goodbye and hung up.

  "How did he take it?" Stevenson asked.

  Cranston turned on the car, shifted it into drive and steered it around the rotunda, nodding to Allan through the glass as they pulled away. "I didn't tell him", Cranston said.

  Stevenson stared at his partner. "Why not?"

  "Because, it makes us look incompetent. I still think it's a mistake." He gripped the wheel until his knuckles whitened. "Peters made a mistake."

  Stevenson dropped his chin and shot Cranston a hard look. "Peters never makes mistakes. Forty-four years in the lab makes him the best we've got. He’s certainly not going to mess up blood-type–that's kindergarten stuff."

  "I know, but…" Cranston clenched his jaw. "What am I supposed to say?"

  "You have to tell him. Withholding it from him will only hurt us. He might know something about one of Jordan's friends." Stevenson waited for Cranston to slow the car. He didn't. "Phil," he prompted.

  With a heavy sigh, Phil Cranston hit the brakes.

  Stevenson's cell phone rang again and he put it to his ear.

  ***

  Allan heard the car slow at the end of the long driveway. Crowds of journalists and parked vehicles were waiting on the other side of the closed gate. Allan had hired private security to keep the press off his property. He couldn't stop the helicopters and drones that passed overhead, but they'd become less frequent now that the activity on the Kacy Estate had died down. He'd passed through the worst of the media storm. He hoped.

  Allan watched the brake lights of the inspector's car flash. The vehicle turned around in the road and made its way back to the house.

  Leaving the car to idle and his partner to chatter on his cell, Inspector Cranston got out and approached the front porch where Allan was still sitting.

  Cranston pulled out a kerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow.

  "Forget something?" Allan said, getting to his feet.

  "There's something else you should know," Cranston said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "About the blood."

  "Okay." Allan waited, the knuckles of his right hand coming up to rest on his hip.

  "It's chimera blood."

  "Chimera—" Allan blinked and shook his head. He dropped his hand from his hip. "What?" What rose to mind were the illustrations of mixed up animal species from fantasy books that Allan had enjoyed as a kid. A lion's head, an eagle's wings, a man's face.

  Cranston put out a hand. "Not like the chimera from mythology. It's a medical term—genetic chimerism. It just means a single organism composed of cells from different zygotes. In this case, it’s resulted in two different blood types within one body."

  Allan raked a hand through his hair and his brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

  Too late to turn back now. Cranston took a breath and plunged forward. "Whoever was here with your daughter may have some distinguishing features that would identify them as chimeric. It's not often that chimerism is easy to spot; people can go their whole lives not knowing that they have it. Normally, chimerism is subtle, or even undetectable, like a set of twins carrying each other’s blood. But in this case, the two blood types are so vastly different that we think whoever—or whatever—bled on your floor, may have some kind of obvious non-human feature. But, frankly—" Cranston spread his hands wide. "We're shocked that this chimera is even alive."

  "Why? What were the two blood types?"

  Cranston blinked rapidly but didn't hesitate. "Human and avian."

  "Excuse me?" Allan laughed suddenly. "I thought you said ‘avian’."

  "I did."

  Allan stopped laughing. Goosebumps swept his forearms and the back of his neck. "So, what, that means we're looking for a guy with a beak or something?" This is nuts, I don’t believe it. They made a mistake at the lab. A stupid mistake. Allan wondered if he should bring in a private investigator on the side. His confidence in the police had just taken a tumble.

  "We don't know," said Cranston. "There may be nothing visibly different about him at all. We've never seen this before. Our lab techs would have said this kind of chimera was impossible, but, well, here we are. Chimera blood is not the same thing as hybrid blood. Hybrids are the result of crossbreeding." Cranston shuddered. "That's not the case here. Thank God."

  Allan sat back down. "This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

  Cranston nodded. "Does it bring anything to mind for you? Any of Jordan's friends that maybe seem—"

  He found himself unable to go on.

  Allan cocked an eyebrow. "What? Bird-like?" He barked a laugh. "That's ridiculous."

  "I know." Cranston agreed with him. It was ridiculous. For the third time in as many hours, Cranston questioned their lab tech's results. But they'd been triple-checked. "We just thought you should know." He dismissed himself again and this time, the car disappeared down the driveway, through the gate and down the road.

  Around the time Cranston and Stevenson returned to the precinct was when Allan started drinking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hand still gripping the empty brandy bottle perched on his knee, Allan swung morosely to and fro on the oak's swinging chair. His unseeing eyes were locked in a frozen stare. Chimera blood. Allan had read as much as he could about genetic chimerism and had even gone so far as to call a few of Jordan's friends to ask them about their blood. The conversations hadn't gone well. It probably hadn't helped that Allan was slurring his words.

  The flashing of little green lights in his periphery made Allan look up into the oak's branches. He squinted, thinking that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But, no, the flashing lights continued. Just like fireflies, only with longer and brighter flashes. The twinkling was not in his imagination. The flashes blurred together and became a green neon line; the line spelled out words, which burned brightly and then slowly began to fade. Allan jerked to his feet, his neck creaking as he tilted his head.

  Minyma 6422 Allan Declin Kacy archi.

  Allan blinked and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. The message was still there, but then faded to nothing. But there was something in the tree still. At the corners of each letter were little round balls. The balls began to glow and move again, making another neon line of words.

  Are you Allan Declin Kacy Born 1965?

  Allan gasped and a hand flew to his mouth. His heart pounded in his ears. Allan snatched his spectacles from his pocket and put them on his face. The neon message held steady. Allan's mouth opened, but only a choked sound came out. The message began to flash urgently.

  Are you Allan Declin Kacy Born October 11 1965?

  "Yes, yes, that's me," Allan cried out.

  I've gone crazy, he thought. I've finally cracked. It's all been too much.

  The flashing neon sign seemed to hear him and began to fade away, satisfied. The little balls began to move again. There were probably two dozen of them and they dropped toward Allan, moving as one. They hung in the air under the branches of the oak, just above Allan's head. They began to move individually again, spelling out a new message without any punctuation.

 
; Dad its me Jordan

  Allan cried out and staggered backward, tripping and falling to his tailbone just the way his daughter had done only a mere week before. He scrambled to his feet, every hair standing upright.

  "Jordan!" He yelled. "Jordan, can you hear me?!"

  The words began to fade and Allan's heart beat even faster as the bugs spelled out the next words.

  Im okay

  "Oh, thank God," Allan closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Where are you?" He had no idea whether his daughter could hear him, but it was worth a shot. "Tell me where you are, Jordy!"

  The last message faded and the balls spelled out a new one.

  Dont be afraid

  "Ha!" Allan loosed. "Too late for that." Allan staggered closer to the balls. Looking up at them, he realized they were so close he could almost reach out and grab one. He began to notice something else that was strange. Behind the glowing words was a backdrop that didn't make sense. Hazy clouds, moving across the limbs of the oak? Allan's eyes narrowed, trying to focus. The bugs began to move again, driving like little cars on rails. The words lit up between the balls.

  I fell through a portal

  Allan's face changed and he shook his head. "This is not possible," he whispered. But the words were there and the little balls spelling out the words were there. And that strange hazy background behind the words that looked nothing like the oak was there. And the balls were spelling more words.

  I know it sounds crazy

  Allan nodded, unconsciously agreeing with the message. But he found himself saying, "Jordy, sweetheart, are you trapped?"

  The last message faded and the balls spelled the next line. No punctuation, no response to his question.

  Ill come back soon

  Allan's eyebrows shot up. She'll come back soon. So she could come back. So why isn’t she coming back right now?

  "When?" he asked the balls. The last message faded slowly. The balls moved again.

  Minyma 6422 Allan Kacy télos

  The blood drained from Allan's face. "No," he whispered and stepped closer to the balls, looking directly up at them. "When, Jordy? Whose blood is it, darling? Come back now!"

  But there was no other message and the last one began to fade.

  "No!" cried Allan.

  Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed one of the balls, snatching it out of the air. His fist closed around something cool and hard and the size of a jumbo marble. He dropped it into his empty brandy bottle and jammed his thumb over the mouth.

  These balls are my only connection to my only daughter.

  Allan grabbed another and another. The lines of light between the balls disappeared abruptly as he snatched them out of the air and deposited them in his brandy bottle. Clink. Clink. Clink. One after the other. They were the only evidence that he wasn't as mad as the hatter. He wasn't able to get them all before the rest of the balls disappeared, swallowed up as though disappearing underwater. The last message was gone and the hazy scene dissipated like fog.

  Allan stood there with his thumb jammed over the mouth of the bottle, his chest heaving. "Jordan?" he cried out, hoping for something more. Anything. He called her name several more times, but there was nothing. He yelled at the bottle full of balls. He held it up and peered through the glass. Pushing his specs up his nose and squinting at them, he was surprised to see how insectile they looked up close.

  Most of the balls still looked like clear marbles with two small green lights inside. The little lights reminded him of eyes, since they were close together and positioned on one side. But it was the little ball that sprouted six clear little legs and began to climb up the inside of the bottle that made Allan take off running.

  He raced inside the house with his thumb clamped over the bottle, to the sideboard where he'd left the cork. All the while, the little ball climbed towards Allan's thumb. He assumed it wouldn't bite, since he'd already touched them and they'd done nothing, but better safe than sorry. Plus he'd never really been a fan of insects–even if they were clear ones from an alternate universe.

  Jamming the cork in place, Allan set the bottle on the sideboard and stepped back. He stood there for some time, watching as the other insects sprouted legs and began to crawl up the glass and on top of one another, looking for a way out.

  FINIS

  Author Notes - A.L. Knorr

  Written September 3, 2017

  Consuming stories is something I have loved since I was old enough to follow one, and telling stories has been my dream since about that same time. I used to stuff a towel in the crack under my bedroom door so my parents wouldn’t tell me to close my book, turn off the light and go to bed. Books were my escape, my secret joy.

  What I love about art is that the longer we do it for the better we get at it, but perfection is unattainable and that’s a good thing. Because within the flaws lies the heart of what it means to be human. My goal as a storyteller is to connect with the reader in that heart, to give them a moment of insight that makes them nod their heads and say, “Yeah, and isn’t that just how it is.”

  When I met Martha Carr, it took less than ten minutes to recognize that I’d found a kindred friend. I didn’t know at the time the fortuitous relationship that would blossom from it, I just knew that hers was the kind of vibrant, enthusiastic, kind, relatable, and salt-of-the-earth spirit I wanted more of in my life.

  When Martha called several months later to ask if I’d be interested in writing in an urban fantasy universe that she was developing with Michael Anderle (a man I have immense respect for), I didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

  I knew it would be work, I knew that starting another series before I was finished the one I was writing would be challenging. I knew that crossing over from elemental magic into stories with elves and trolls would stretch me as an artist. I knew that collaborative creation was unexplored terrain that could hold many potential obstacles. These are some of the reasons I said yes. How will I know what I can do if I don’t stretch myself? It was a moment where I just held onto my proverbial hat and jumped in feet-first, hoping for the best.

  We’ve barely gotten started building Oriceran and I am already so happy I said yes. From the moment we began to work together, a magic web has been weaving itself, knitting together and connecting the authors, the readers, and the publishing team. Isn’t it amazing what can spring from visiting a world that only exists in our imagination? Is the joy, the laughter, the love, the triumph any less real than what we experience in our daily lives? I propose that it’s better in some ways… but I’m biased.

  I love a quote from Roy Williams of Wizard Academy, and I paraphrase:

  “You have 100,000 times more synapses in your brain than sensory receptors in your body. Therefore, you are roughly 100,000 times better equipped to experience a world that does not exist than a world that does.”

  May lightning strike me the day that I forget that the reason I can do what I love is because of you, the reader. A hearty, authentic and joyful thank you to you for choosing to spend some of your reading time in our fantastical world. No, but for real, yo’. Thank you!

  Thank you to the ‘Just-in-time’ team of proofreaders, and thank you to the publishing team at LMBPN. Thank you to my beta readers, my street team, my parents and brothers, and to my endlessly supportive circle of friends. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  Author Notes - Martha Carr

  Written September 3, 2017

  As a rule, I do my best to listen to that inner voice when it says to go and do something. It has always paid off in ways that have made people stand back and say, “How did you know?” I didn’t know. I just felt it and went. I find out why, later.

  One of those moments was when I noticed a post by Abby-Lynn Knorr in an author forum on Facebook. She was open, direct and full of useful information. (She had a kickass marketing spreadsheet and was willing to share) That started it all.

  But it didn’t take long before I noticed other things. Generosity, ki
ndness and an optimism in life, in general. That inner voice said, ‘she’s going places that will be fun and full of magic. Make a note.’

  Then, I watched her brand-new, first series ever that happened to be in urban fantasy – The Elemental Origins Series – take off. I wasn’t surprised at all. I was happy and amazed. So cool when something unfolds and builds and brings so much fun to everyone involved. That voice said, ‘See, I told you. But she’s just beginning. This is only the seed of her literary wonderment.’

  So, when Michael Anderle asked me to co-create an entire universe with him and that we would eventually add more authors, Abby-Lynn, who we call ‘Abs’, was at the top of my list. But Michael and I had also said that we would for sure, no doubt, we promise, not invite anyone else in till July. Give us a chance to figure things out first.

  That lasted a few days. Michael called saying he had already told another author about what we were doing and could we start now? I said, sure but I have someone too.

  Keep in mind, Abs (along with three other authors) agreed to go on this journey with us while it was still forming. We would get a question and then Michael and I would have to go have a chat to figure out the answer. Abs was on board with all of it. Not surprised. It was that optimistic, everything-will-be-full-of-wonder attitude that I noticed right away.

  Here’s the last thing I’ve noticed about everyone involved in this process – including Abby-Lynn Knorr. She never asked, ‘what if’ questions. You know, the ones where you picture the future (usually what you don’t want) and ask, what do we do if that happens? I call those magical questions before there’s no real answer to them. I can give you a positive answer as easily as a negative but the truth is, they’re imaginary questions with imaginary answers. The past often doesn’t even predict the future. The only honest answer possible is, I don’t know. For a lot of people that’s not enough and that’s where you part ways.