The Unseen Trilogy

by Stephanie Erickson

  Looking down at Owen’s face, I stroked his forehead with my thumb. His eyes were closed, but he looked anything but peaceful with the huge tube coming unnaturally out of his mouth, held in place by tape on both sides.

  “The Potestas have a lot of interesting techniques I don’t believe they’re using to their full potential. I’d like to learn more, and perhaps we can perfect their techniques for use against them. Tracy would’ve wanted that.” I swallowed a hitch in my throat.

  Sighing, I let all the questions, doubts, grief, and anger whoosh out of me with one long breath.

  “I promise, from now on, I will be undivided.”

  24

  I wanted to stay by Owen’s side until he woke up, but the nurse shooed me out, saying I needed to eat, sleep, and “for God’s sake, shower.” It gave me a little comfort to think about all the ways I’d be there for him when he woke up—just like he’d been there for me.

  Sleep evaded me, but the piano finally summoned me. I found my way to the baby grand for the first time in weeks. Gaspard flowed from my fingers better than ever, as if I’d never taken a break. Yes, I missed a note here and there, but it felt wonderful to be lost in the music again. I wasn’t the same person I’d been the last time I played, but I’d survived. And I’d come out stronger for it.

  David and Mitchell, apparently night owls themselves, stopped by once or twice and listened for a bit, but I didn’t stop. I needed the music.

  When my fingers finally started to ache, I reluctantly quit, but the music stayed with me.

  A woman’s voice interrupted my peace. “That was lovely.” Her voice was calm and soothing, despite the fact I hadn’t known she was there. Based on the sound, I knew she was in the back corner of the library.

  I stretched over the top of the piano and spotted her sitting under a soft lamp with some sort of knitting and a ball of yarn. She had long, brown hair and beautiful, chocolate-colored eyes.

  “Have we met?” I asked, not sure if the robot had met her, or if she was totally new.

  “No. I’m Rebecca. I will be taking over training at this facility.” There was no arrogance in her tone, but her statement made me bristle a little. I didn’t want to train with anyone else.

  Sensing my discomfort, she set her project down and walked over. “I knew Tracy well. We trained together as new recruits.” Leaning against the piano, she looked into my eyes with kindness. “I’m deeply saddened by the circumstances that brought me here. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited by the opportunity to work with you.” I couldn’t help but return her smile.

  Holding out my hand for her to shake, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca. I’m Mackenzie, Mac for short.”

  “Let’s hear a little more, hm? I’m not quite ready for bed,” she asked.

  So, I cracked my aching fingers and dove in to another round of Gaspard, this time slowing it down, taking care with the notes, measures, and melodies, letting the music fill the room completely.

  We had a lot of work ahead of us, and even more lives would be at stake, but in that moment, I knew down deep that we would prevail. I knew it like I knew how to breathe.

  After all, I was not alone at the piano, and I no longer felt unforgiven.

  Acknowledgments (Unforgiven)

  First, thanks be to God, for His glorious gifts to my family and me. I’ve been afforded the time to write, the money to fund the books, and the ability to craft stories and characters I love. For these things, and so much more, I am grateful.

  Second, thank you so much to my wonderful husband. You are the logic to my emotion, the rock to my ocean, and I can’t wait to see how far we can go together.

  To my team, what can I say? You guys are freaking amazing. Jamie, my constant beta, even when she’s off to Europe in like two days, makes time to read my crap. Where would I be without you? Angela and Cynthia, my editors, your turd polish is something I need to get the recipe for. Because when I hand you a steaming pile of you-know-what, I get back solid gold and I love it! Thank you! And of course, the amazing designers at Damonza, your covers continue to be works of art. Hats off to you!

  My friends, Mary and Dannie, I love you. You curse at my failures and toast my victories, even if I just have pop in my glass. I couldn’t ask for better friends.

  And of course, Christian. You’ve helped me so much with this career change. Despite the fact that you’re technically my boss, you’re one of my biggest cheerleaders, and will spend hours talking book covers and word count with me. I hope you know how much you are loved and appreciated.

  My family, I love you (the mostest). And Shane, you’re a pain but I’ll make a reader out of you yet. Seriously, thank you for reading my stuff, and for your genuine support.

  This time, I have a few special thanks as well. Shannon Mayer, I am so lucky to count you among my colleagues, and more importantly, my friends. Thank you for your continued council and help. I’m forever in your debt.

  And The Literary Connoisseur. Words cannot express how much I heart you. Friends, if you’re looking for an awesome book blog, hers is it. Your passion for the written word is astounding. Thank you so much for your support.

  Lastly, thank you, dear reader. You’ve sacrificed most of all for this book, your time. For that, I am deeply grateful.

  I’ll see you in September.

  —S

  Undivided

  By: Stephanie Erickson

  For Shannon Mayer. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction. May the right “readers” always find you, my friend.

  One

  “The unprecedented attack on London’s British Museum is being called catastrophic. So far, twelve hundred people have died with another thousand unaccounted for. That number could have been much higher, but the day’s low attendance was blamed on poor weather.

  “The chemical has also done an unknown amount of damage to the priceless items on display within the museum. Exhibits from Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Australia have all sustained what authorities are calling ‘significant and irreparable damage.’

  “Authorities refer to the chemical as ‘Zero,’ and say the survival rate is based solely on proximity. Exposure to Zero shuts down the respiratory and endocrine systems, and those unlucky enough to be close to the toxin’s point of release will die within four minutes of direct contact.

  “ISIS is being blamed for the attack. However, the group’s uncharacteristic denial of their involvement is breeding doubt for many politicians looking to point fingers. Normally, the terrorist organization claims responsibility for their attacks almost immediately. But, other politicians, like Department of Defense Secretary Chris Becker, claim there is no normal for terrorist organizations.”

  The brightly dressed, middle-aged anchorwoman faded from the screen. She was replaced with an overweight, balding gentleman dressed in a gray suit with a bright blue tie. He stood in front of a podium, clearly at a press conference, camera bulbs flashing on his face occasionally. “ISIS is a terrorist organization. Why should we take their word for anything? Terrorists can’t be trusted.” He shook a finger at the camera as he said it, driving his point home. Beneath his image, he was identified as Department of Defense Secretary Chris Becker.

  The anchorwoman’s voice rang out over the image. “Others say placing the blame on ISIS is a political stratagem intended to distract the public from the larger issue of whether or not this attack can be linked to the attack on Coda in Florida a few short weeks ago. There are fears that a new serial terrorist group might be at large.

  “Many say the link is irrefutable, since both attacks were made with the same toxin. Others hesitate to make the connection without further evidence.”

  The image switched to a video feed of a man dressed in a full police uniform addressing a crowd from a podium. He was identified at the bottom of the screen as Chief Constable George Lindley. “The Ministry of Defense and I are not ready to jump to any conclusions until all the evidence regarding th
e attack on the London museum is properly analyzed.”

  The shot returned to the anchorwoman. “More as we get it. For now, I’m Lila Fox for NBC News Thirteen.”

  David muted the television, and we all went quiet. The oval-shaped table we sat around was brand new. Everything was new. We’d been relocated in the days following Coda. The Potestas had learned too much about our facility and how to access it, thanks to me. We’d settled into our new home deep in the mountains of Colorado almost three weeks ago, and I loved it. The crisp air and cooler temperatures were both wins in my book. But the Potestas were giving us no time to relax in our new digs.

  “How did the authorities even pick up that term, Zero?” Owen asked via Skype. His voice was almost unrecognizable—an unfortunate side effect of the injuries he’d sustained in Coda. It was deep and raspy, almost like he’d spent sixty years smoking, even though he wasn’t yet thirty. He was still recovering from his other injuries, but luckily for him, our new hospital ward was much nicer than the one at our old facility.

  “Someone must have fed it to them.” The comment just slipped out of my mouth. Zero was a term I’d heard the Potestas use while I was caught in their web. As far as I knew, we were the only other people who knew its name. Someone inside had to have told the right people what it was called. Either that or a member of the Potestas was doubling as a member of the authorities. The thought made my skin crawl, but I knew it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  “It’s a troubling thought,” David said, tapping the table in front of him with his finger.

  “The Ministry of Mind Reading in London issued a brief statement to us. They said they did get a little bit of intel, tipping them off to the attack, but it was too little, too late.” David paused. “They didn’t put the pieces together fast enough.”

  Rebecca, the replacement for Tracy, our fallen instructor, spoke up. “Owen, are you sure there was nothing at Coda marking the chemical? No indication of what it was?”

  “Honestly? No. I never found the release device, let alone any canisters of the chemical. I was more concerned with getting people out. A lot of it is kind of a blur.” Shrugging his bandaged shoulder without thinking, he tried to hide a wince. He was sitting up and talking, which was a vast improvement, but he still had a long way to go. I smiled encouragingly at him, but I was seated next to the computer monitor, so he couldn’t see me anyway.

  Mitchell was sitting on the other side of the computer, keeping quiet. Rebecca was next to him, while Camden and the others were scattered around the large, oval table. David sat directly across from the computer screen, so he had the best view of Owen. Not all the seats at the table were full, but all the remaining members of our team were there, about twenty of us total.

  “From what I learned during my captivity—” I said, choking on the words. I hated to think of the time I’d spent in their power, “—the Potestas are working toward a ‘position of power,’ whatever that means. Knowing how they operate, I’d guess a different member of their ranks is in charge of each attack.” I glanced at the screen behind David, which showed people scrambling in the streets out in front of the museum. “Clearly they’re angling to be a global force. So, what can we do?” I asked.

  “We can get to work,” David said.

  After our meeting, I made my way across our new facility to see Owen. Whereas our Florida home had been vertically aligned, our new home was horizontal. Built right into a mountain, it was perfectly concealed and very scenic. It was originally intended for a much larger division of Unseen members, but they were sent to Washington after the attack on Coda to bolster our efforts at headquarters.

  We were situated deep in the Rocky Mountains, but a subtle tunnel ran from one of the small side roads to the main entrance, allowing us to get in and out as needed. Of course, several layers of security concealed the entrance, and we were located about twenty miles from the nearest town. I preferred to go out another way, through the smaller entrance that opened into the wilderness surrounding the mountain facility. We were inside the tree line, so the forest engulfed us, but it was only a short walk to a beautiful mountain lake that reflected the surrounding range as perfectly as if someone had painted it there.

  It reminded me of the mountain lake in the mind prison Dylan Shields constructed for me, but not in a bad way. It was beautiful. Just as Mitchell still enjoyed eating ice cream sundaes after the Potestas had used them to torture his childhood self, I still appreciated our new home’s beauty.

  The inside of our new building was totally different from our Florida facility. For one thing, there was a lot more metal, including the walkway I was currently using. Our old home had been coated with thickly laid cement, intended to keep out the water and sand. Here, the builders seemed to have used steel beams and rods to hold the mountain up around us. In some places, they’d even left the rock exposed, and I loved to run my hands along its cool surface as I walked by.

  The air was cool and dry inside because of the altitude, and I went through about a gallon of moisturizer a day. But it was a nice feeling, particularly since I was used to the thick humidity of Florida.

  Owen hadn’t warmed to our new home the way I had. Of course, he was still in a chemical coma when we left Florida, so when he woke up, the changes were jarring to say the least. Add his injuries to that insult, and his mood was thoroughly sour. But as I breathed in the cool, refreshing air, I felt confident Owen would come to love it as much as I did. He just needed time to adjust.

  When I arrived at the hospital wing, I rested my hand against a panel on the wall to be scanned, and the door opened inward, allowing me passage. Although the flooring was made of metal grates, and the walls were literally carved out of the mountainside, the equipment was the same as it had been at home, giving the room a familiar feel.

  Staff was sparse down there. Owen was their only patient for the moment, but there were enough beds to treat all of us if something catastrophic happened. I nodded to a nurse who was filling one of the drawers with supplies as I walked toward Owen’s room. I didn’t need to hear what she was thinking to know she was a reader. All employees of the Unseen were.

  I knocked on his door, but I didn’t wait for him to respond before I opened it and walked in. No way was I allowing him to stew alone in his crankiness.

  Despite being several hundred feet inside a mountain, the room was well lit. They’d used natural bulbs instead of fluorescent lights, which gave it a homier feel, and there was even a plant in the corner, along with some chairs, a state-of-the-art smart TV, and a private bathroom with a spa-like tub that his injuries did not allow him to use. If you ignored the equipment and hospital bed, which gave the room an undeniably sterile feel, it was quite nice.

  “Hey,” I said, making my way around to the chair next to his bed. He nodded at me, but he said nothing.

  Bandages still covered both his arms and his left shoulder, but his wounds had stopped oozing, so at least they looked clean. And he was sitting up, facing the TV, so that was another step in the right direction. Currently, it was on mute, which was a promising sign that he’d be willing to talk. His beautiful, black hair was greasy and lackluster from going too long without washing, and his face had taken on a yellow hue, but to me, he was more handsome than ever. After all, he’d loved me in my darkest hour, and looking down at him, I knew it wouldn’t be hard to return the favor.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “We have grossly underestimated them. Once we accept that, we can start to move forward.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I think David is hoping for a more glass-is-half-full outcome.”

  “Then he’s a fool.” Combined with his rough new voice, it came out shockingly cold.

  “Owen,” I said, a bit of scolding in my tone. Owen used to consider my father something of a hero, which I’d always struggled to understand, but this level of disrespect swung too far the other way.

  Finally, he looked into my eyes.
“You know it’s true. They’re attacking, and we’re sitting here doing nothing. Nothing but harboring useless monsters like me and vigilantes like you,” he said.

  “Hey. That’s enough.” His comment stung, even if it was deserved. Yes, I had gone after one of my best friend’s killers on my own, but that seemed like such a long time ago now. So much had changed in a few short weeks. I looked at Owen’s bandaged body, at the evidence of all the hurt we’d both suffered, and hoped we’d make it to the other side of this battle without losing any more of ourselves.

  “It’s not enough until we start to fight back,” he said.

  Where was my positive, patient, and loving man? Damned if I wasn’t going to find him buried under all those bandages. “Well, you know what? I’m starting with you. This attitude stops now. You’ve been nothing but this angry, kinda bratty version of yourself since you woke up, and I’m tired of it. Snap out of it.”

  “Well, how would you feel? I thought I was doing the right thing, Mac. I risked my life to save those people, just like we’re supposed to do, and this was the thanks I got.” He held up his bandaged arms and let them fall heavily back to the bed, wincing as they hit.

  “Your life was the thanks you got.”

  “And was your life any comfort to you when your mind was trapped in the psyche of Dylan Shields?” His tone had a self-righteous note to it that I didn’t like.