Brink of Dawn (A Chosen Novel Book 2)

by Jeff Altabef

  For the first time I start to think about what he meant. Really think on it, and maybe even start to understand what he wanted me to know. The past few weeks have been so chaotic, there’s been no time to think things through. It’s difficult to make long-term plans while running from a Seeker, or trying to survive Stuart’s tests, or planning to kill the Prime Elector. Basic survival instincts kick in, which crowds out everything else.

  It’s hard, but I silence the thoughts that race in my head and force visions of Gagarin from my mind. He’s been haunting me since we killed him—the helpless look in his eyes—and I can’t stop wondering whether we really had to kill him. I shove those thoughts from my mind and think about absolutely nothing, and when there’s only silence and darkness, I release my mind and let it roam free.

  The Prime Elector is real and lives in England. I’ve seen him through the tablet. He’s also incredibly talented, strong, and surprisingly young. I couldn’t see all those things, but I felt them and know they’re real.

  He wants to take over the planet, use humans to defeat the Alphians, and conquer the universe. That’s clear. Things would be easier if that were the end of the puzzle. We’d have a path to follow with only one mission. But—there always seems to be a but—the rest is even more dangerous.

  According to the last Fusion I swallowed, Alphians have wired Earth to explode if we don’t defeat the Prime Elector. They’re willing to sacrifice the entire planet as a means to stop the Deltites, which really burns me up. It’s one thing to heap on our shoulders the responsibility to stop the Deltites so they don’t enslave us, but now the Earth and all the creatures that live on it are our responsibility as well.

  My responsibility.

  What if we find the explosives first somehow, disable the bomb, and then worry about the Deltites later? At least we won’t have this sword hanging over the planet. If only the Fusion had offered some hints as to where they hid the bomb or how we might disarm it.

  I let the puzzle twist in my mind. For some reason, I think of Sicheii and get the feeling that he knew something—something important. He’s gone, so how useful is that? Still, thoughts of Sicheii lead me to Stuart, our dead Host.

  I pry open my eyes and sit up; the beginnings of a plan form in my mind as I scan the abandoned pub. Troy sleeps on a futon not far from me. Blake snoozes on top of a table because he’s worried about rats, even though no one’s seen any. He’s also snoring, which sounds like someone sawing wood.

  Akari mutters in her sleep near the bar not far from Blake. She mumbles in Japanese, so I have no idea what she’s saying, but from her tone she’s probably cursing at someone named Kiko. Connor rests on his futon up against the wall by the door.

  I check my phone. It’s 3:30 in the morning, the perfect time to do something stupid and dangerous.

  The only light in the room comes from Blake’s laptop, which he left open with a screen saver that glows in the dark. No one objected when he plugged the computer in and left it on. No one wanted total darkness.

  The auras of the others also brighten the Underground, surrounding them like clouds. I try to turn them off, but only manage to dim them. If I concentrate on the light, they turn brighter and other colors swirl besides the white, but that feels like I’m invading their privacy—learning a little too much information that I don’t really want to know.

  The auras and the laptop are bright enough for me to navigate my way around the room, so I grab my string bag with my sword in it, hoist it over my shoulders, and quietly tread my way to the door. I pause when Troy stirs; his arm flops across his body but his eyes stay closed. He usually sleeps like the dead, so as long as I don’t kick him by mistake he should stay asleep.

  When he settles, I sneak my way across the room, careful not to kick anything or crunch against the wooden floor too much. At the door, I survey the others and smile. They’re an unusual bunch, but they’re my friends and I’d fight to the death to protect them.

  Just as I start to twist the doorknob, a hand grabs my shoulder. I almost jump out of my skin. It takes all my willpower not to screech.

  Connor grins at me. “Going somewhere?”

  Caught mid-sneak, my free hand reflexively starts to twirl my hair. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve always been a light sleeper.” His fingers run down my arm and circle my hand.

  An army of goose bumps assemble in formation where his fingers grazed my skin, and a jolt of electricity rips through me as if I’ve jammed my fingers into a power outlet. The memory of our kiss from just a few days ago burns through me and heat flushes my face. He’s standing close to me. Too close. I pull my hand away from his.

  “What’s wrong?” he says.

  I glance over his shoulder to make sure everyone is still sleeping, and whisper, “I don’t want to wake the others. I thought I’d get some fresh air.”

  “Right, and I’m the King of England.” He grabs his sword from the futon, opens the door, and pulls me through to the other side.

  When he closes the door, he asks, “So what’s really up?”

  I want to go alone, but now that he caught me, I have no choice but to tell him my plan. He’ll never just let me leave. “It would be nice to know where that bomb is planted. I was thinking maybe Stuart had one of those Alphian crystal computers back at the Inn. If so, it could still be there and—”

  “And maybe it has some clues to where this bomb is located?” Connor’s eyes sparkle. “That’s brilliant. I hate having that bomb hanging over our blooming heads.”

  “Right, so I thought--”

  “You’d just walk into the Inn and check it out.”

  “I swear, of you interrupt me one mo—“

  “The Deltites know about the Inn. They could be watching it.” He frowns. “It’ll be dangerous.”

  I twist in place. “It’s worth the risk. I can go alone and come back afterward to let you know what I find.”

  His eyes burn brighter as he crosses his arms against his chest. “You’ve got to bloody stop doing this. You can’t leave me out of these plans. We’re a team. You don’t need to protect me. I can handle myself.”

  He’s right. He deserves better, so I sheepishly hold out my hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  He brushes his shaggy sandy-colored hair from his eyes, throws me a sideways grin, takes my hand in his and lifts it to his lips.

  They feel soft, and sweet, and warm. My legs actually wobble a little, and I’m sure my face blazes.

  What am I going to do about him?

  Getting romantically involved before we defeat the Prime Elector is crazy. I’m not sure I can handle it. Then there’s Troy. Even though we’ve only ever been friends, it feels weird to be with Connor while Troy is so close.

  Connor leans toward me. He’s only inches away and his eyes look so honest.

  I’m not exactly sure what happens, but the next thing I know, our lips are locked and heat sizzles between us. He pulls me against him and I’m lost. Blood pounds in my head. I can’t think of anything but his body and pull him closer still, until we’re practically melded together.

  I start to feel dizzy so I push him back and gasp for breath. My feet are numb and sweat coats my back. I have to cool things down before it’s too late.

  My voice sounds husky and breathless. “Listen, we need to go slow. There’s too much at stake.”

  “Like what? The fate of all humanity, the planet, and the bloody universe? Child’s play!” He smiles. “But I can do slow. Horribly slow. Inchworm slow. Glacial slow. The slowest—”

  “Maybe not that slow.” I swat him on the arm. “But what about the Inn?”

  He glances up the ladder and shrugs. “I’m up for a nocturnal adventure. When we get close to the Inn, you do your thing with the auras. If you sense any Deltites, we scram and tell the others, so we can come up with a proper plan.”

  “Deal,” I say, although I’m not a hundred percent sure that the Deltites ca
n’t cloak their auras from me.

  I can’t shake the sudden feeling that nothing will go as planned.

  Juliet

  We race downtown to the Inn, moving incredibly fast, leaping over traffic, and soaring in the air as if we’re flying. The city is quiet, but there are still some cars, taxis, and people roaming around.

  Running this way is stupid. We shouldn’t attract attention to ourselves, but the wind whistles through my hair and the sensation of power and energy is intoxicating. We move even faster than we had when pressed by Stuart’s test, so fast I’m convinced we’re just shadows to anyone who’s looking with tired, four-in-the-morning eyes.

  When we reach Perry Street, we slow to a stop. The Inn is halfway down the block on our left.

  Connor grabs my arm. “Do you sense any Deltites around?”

  Deltites exude powerful energy fields, different from humans. At least that’s what I noticed at the Boathouse. When I scan the Inn and the rest of the street, none of those auras appear. “Looks like the coast is clear.”

  Connor nods. “Let’s see if anyone’s home then.”

  We jog across the street and toward the Inn’s red door. The hotel’s emblem hangs from a copper bar—the four twisted symbols in a circle separated by swirling teardrop lines—my only clue, just as when Troy and I first arrived in the city.

  I hesitate before opening the door. Only a few days ago, Troy and I pushed through this door not knowing what to expect, before we met Connor or any of the other Chosen—before we met Stuart. Now he’s dead and we’re still no closer to finding the real Prime Elector.

  Connor glances at me, worry scribbling lines around his eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I was just remembering the first time Troy and I opened this door.”

  He grins sheepishly at me. “I’d like to say the same, but if you recall, I was too drunk to remember any of it. All I remember was the football match and a hazy picture of your face. When I woke, I didn’t know if you were real or a dream.”

  I chuckle. “You were drunk.”

  He could barely walk and had passed out in the taxi before we even reached the Inn.

  The wind blows and the hair on the back of my neck turns into porcupine needles. “Let’s go. Waiting out here is stupid.”

  I open the door with a firm push, and the bell jingles. The lobby looks the same as it did that first time: white and black marble tiles, a sweeping cherry staircase, dark wood paneling, and a simple elegant chandelier in the foyer. It feels different, though, almost hazy and ghostlike. My eyes linger on the mahogany desk with the reading lamp and the guest registry on it—this was Stuart’s spot, where he always sat.

  Connor lifts an old romance paperback from the desk and grins. “I don’t know why Stuart used to read this rubbish.” He drops it back on the table. “The place feels empty without him. I almost wrung his neck a time or two, but the wanker turned out to be one of the good guys.”

  “You never truly know about someone until the stakes are high. I thought he knew more than he did, but he was just a pawn, same as us. They never told him the entire story. He died in a war that no one even knows we’re fighting.”

  If we die, will anyone know why?

  Connor touches my shoulder. “He knew what he was doing. Let’s check out his apartment and get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  Stuart’s apartment is off to the right with a brass sign on the door that says, “Innkeeper.”

  Connor points to the wood splintered on the doorframe. “Bollocks. It looks like someone got here before us. Do you sense anyone inside?”

  I concentrate, let my mind seep beyond the door, and scan for auras. “Sydney’s inside. It seems as if she’s standing in the middle of the room.”

  Sydney helped Stuart run the inn, and he left her the small hotel when he died.

  Connor pushes the door open with his foot and calls out Sydney’s name in a tentative voice.

  She doesn’t answer. She’s standing in the middle of the living room. Duct tape covers her mouth and binds her hands behind her. Her blonde hair is matted down with sweat, tears rain down her face, and her eyes look haunted.

  Connor steps toward her, but I grab his shirt and pull him to a stop. “Look at what she’s standing on.”

  “Oh bloody hell. What’s that?”

  “It’s a digital scale, but it seems to be connected to something.” I think back to all my late night NCIS marathons back at home and point to the jumble of wires that come out of the back of the scale and connect to a small brick of gray putty. “Plastic explosives.”

  He shakes his head. “If the movies are right, that’s enough explosives to blow the entire building.” Using telekinesis, he rips the duct tape from Sydney’s face.

  She shifts on her feet, favoring her right ankle. Her wild eyes threaten to burst from her head, and her voice trembles. “Thank God you’re here. They said if I move the bomb will... explode.”

  “Who did this?” I ask, although I’m sure it’s Deltites.

  “Who do you think?” Sydney’s natural smugness fights through her anxiety.

  I inspect the bomb while Connor rips the duct tape from her wrists.

  “Is there anyone else in the building?” I ask.

  “No. Stuart emptied the building when you guys showed up. He told all the guests we had a gas leak.”

  “What did the Deltites want?” I turn in a circle. Nothing seems out of place: piles of paperbacks are neatly stacked, a file cabinet looks locked, and the desk looks clean and undisturbed.

  “Did Stuart hide anything he might have brought with him from Alpha?” Connor asks. “A tablet, perhaps?”

  Sydney clutches her hips and glares at us. “Thanks guys! I’m standing on a bomb and all you care about is some junk Stuart brought from Alpha.”

  “So, he did bring some stuff.” Connor smiles. “If you tell us where he hid it, we’d stop being so distracted and can focus all of our attention on your situation.”

  Sydney huffs and points to the corner of the room. “There’s a loose floorboard under his desk. He hid a bag filled with crap underneath. Hurry up! My ankle hurts.”

  Connor moves toward the corner of the room, and Sydney scowls at me while I sort through the wires connecting the scale to the plastic explosive.

  “Can you disarm it?” She shifts her weight and winces. “I think my ankle’s broken. I can’t stay like this for much longer.”

  I know the basics about bombs and electronics from my recent date with the encyclopedias, but I have no idea what to do with this. “One of these wires probably leads to the battery. If we disconnect the right one the bomb should disarm, but there’s eight possible choices, and I don’t like those odds.”

  “Figures.” Sydney glances toward the door. “Where’s Troy? He’d probably know what to do.”

  Connor moves next to me, the leather satchel he retrieved from Stuart’s hiding spot looped over his shoulder.

  “He’s with the others back at the Underground.”

  Sydney’s face turns ashen.

  My heart starts to beat so fast it hurts. “What happened? What did the Deltites want if they weren’t interested in Stuart’s stuff?”

  Sydney’s voice raises an octave in pitch. “They wanted to know where you were hiding.”

  Connor grumbles. “You didn’t tell them about the Underground, did you?”

  “I had no choice. They were going to kill me.”

  I grab my phone. “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Five minutes.”

  I dial Troy’s number, but it goes directly to voice mail.

  There’s no signal in the Underground.

  ---END OF SNEAK PREVIEW---

  Grab your Kindle version of the full book at this link:

  SCORCHED SOULS at Amazon

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to our awesome beta reads who helped us take random ideas and make them special. We’d list them all here, but we m
ight forget one and feel crummy for weeks. You know who you are.

  Much thanks also to Evolved Publishing and in particular to Lane Diamond, our fabulous senior editor and publisher, and Whitney Smyth, our junior editor.

  Mallory Rock worked her usual magic on the cover and internal elements. Pavarti Tyler does a super job helping the Chosen series get noticed, and a special thanks to Ruby Standing Deer for her technical knowledge of all things Native American and her invaluable wisdom and support.

  And lastly, we need to thank the readers of Wind Catcher for their enthusiastic support and encouragement.

  About the Authors

  Jeff Altabef

  Jeff Altabef lives in New York with his wife, two daughters, and Charlie the dog. He spends time volunteering at the Writing Center in the local community college as a certified writing instructor. After years of being accused of “telling stories,” he thought he would make it official. He writes in both the thriller and young adult genres. As an avid Knicks fan, he is prone to long periods of melancholy during hoops season.

  Jeff has a column on The Examiner focused on writing, designed to encourage writing for those that like telling stories.

  You can find Jeff online at:

  Website at www.Jeffreyaltabef.com

  Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7055582.Jeff_Altabef

  Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jeff-Altabef-Author/479282732198216

  Twitter at https://twitter.com/JeffAltabef

  Via Email at JeffreyAltabef@gmail.com

  Or join his newsletter at FREE GIFT.

  ~~~~~

  Erynn Altabef

  Erynn Altabef is an avid reader, dancer, and community activist. When she’s not in High School, she loves Starbucks, performing in school musicals, baking, and watching movies with her friends.

  Some of her favorite authors are Veronica Roth, Joelle Charbonneau, and her dad! (That would be Jeff Altabef.)