The Cyrun
Janilise S. Lloyd
The Cyrun
Copyright 2019 by Janilise Lloyd
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
This book is a work of fiction and the content is entirely of the author’s own creation. Any relation to persons, real or fictional, is coincidental.
For more information or to contact the author, please visit www.janilisewrites.weebly.com
ISBN 9781794183223
For Ryan, whose enthusiasm and encouragement gave me the desire to keep writing.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Prologue
Though she was terrified, the woman who sat on the last row of the light rail couldn’t help but feel some relief. It wasn’t often she was able to go somewhere with absolute freedom, though it can’t truly be considered absolute when on a deadline, she realized. She sighed, staring out the window into the dark night as rain scuttled down the glass in frantic lines that raced each other to the bottom of the pane.
She had relaxed some, knowing that if she’d been followed, she likely would have been confronted by now. There was still the possibility, however, that the person sent to tail her was biding his time, waiting to see what she was doing so far from her usual home.
The other passengers on the train kept shooting concerned glances at the woman, checking to see if the baby bundled in her arms was okay. There was something different about the way she clung to it, like a husband holds the hand of his dying wife—with desperation, panic, and immeasurable love. As far as anyone could tell, the baby seemed fine. She didn’t cry or make any noise besides a happy giggle as her mother nuzzled her face into the child’s tummy.
The light rail slowed. “Next stop: Cheshire Street, Route 109 North,” a cool, female voice called over the speakers.
The woman held the baby more tightly to her chest. “Only three more stops, darling,” she cooed, as she stroked the baby’s wisps of auburn hair. The color matched the mother’s exactly. She fought back the tears that had threatened to spill over every day since the baby was born six months previously.
With every passing stop, the woman grew noticeably more anxious. She glanced from her baby, to the window, to the crowd of passengers, then back to her baby, repeating the cycle compulsively.
The light rail slowed once more. “Next stop: 204 North Church Street,” the voice announced. The woman tensed, hardly able to breathe. Mechanically, she stood, holding her baby more tightly. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she stumbled toward the door.
A hand shot out into the aisle, grabbing the woman’s forearm. She let out a small scream, her eyes darting to the face of the gentleman who had touched her. She didn’t recognize him. He had dark skin and a soft expression. “Are you okay, Miss?” the stranger asked, concern etched on his face.
“I’m fine,” the woman mumbled as she continued toward the door, feeling foolish at her reaction to the kind stranger.
The train came to a stop and the doors opened. The woman filed out along with a small group of passengers, the rain pelting her exposed face. She tucked the blanket up around the child’s head, protecting her from the cold.
She thought she’d feel more comfortable once she was out of the bright glare of the train lights, but she had been wrong—the inky blackness of the stormy night had her jumping at any small disturbance as she walked briskly toward her destination.
Finally, she saw it—a small, deserted park ahead, empty of children due to the hour and weather. She ducked underneath the large, twisting slide, waiting for the man she’d come to meet. She fervently hoped he’d understood her cryptic message. She bounced the small child on her hip, trying to keep her calm despite the cold storm that swirled around them.
“Rose?” a voice called out from the darkness. “Is that you?”
The woman took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and stepped out from the cover of the slide. “Yes, it’s me,” she replied, drinking in the face before her. She could hardly believe she was seeing him again. His golden hair, tan skin, and brown eyes hadn’t changed since she saw him last. She choked back the flood of emotion that threatened to escape. “Thank you for coming.”
The man stood before Rose, stunned at the sight of the woman and child. “You knew I would,” he finally stammered.
Rose smiled. “I didn’t, actually. But I hoped.”
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Is this the girl?” he asked, clearly changing the subject. He took a step closer to Rose, then briefly pushed the blanket back from the child’s face to take a look.
“Yes, this is Avalon,” Rose replied. The tears she’d been holding back finally came to the surface as she took in the man’s kind expression toward the child. “I don’t have much time. They could be on their way right now. Please tell me, Mike. Will you do it? Will you take her?”
Mike looked at the baby and then at the woman’s tearful green eyes. “I don’t know the first thing about kids, you know,” he hesitated. “But yes, of course. Anything for you.” He gave the woman a half smile. She sobbed in response.
“Come here, Rose.” Mike grabbed the woman into a tight hug, the baby pushed between their chests. “You can stay here with me. You don’t have to go back.” He paused. “Please don’t go back.” His voice broke at the end.
“You know as well as I do that isn’t an option,” Rose said darkly. She stepped back. “Please, just promise me that you’ll take care of her.”
“I promise,” Mike said quietly.
“And promise you won’t tell her where she comes from. She can’t know—for her own safety.”
“I know. I promise.”
Rose took one last look at her child. “I love you, Ava. Forever and always,” she breathed. She kissed the baby on the head before handing her over to Mike. He took the girl awkwardly.
“Thank you, Mike. This means everything to me. I don’t deserve it, I know. But thank you.” Rose stood on her tippy toes and pecked him on the cheek.
“Please, not again, Rose. I can’t take it,” Mike choked, grabbing her arm.
“I’m so sorry,” Rose cried. “Goodbye.”
She ripped her arm away from Mike and ran into the night. Mike stood there in the pouring rain, looking after her, his mouth open in shock.
The baby in his arms began to cry, bringing him to his senses. He looked down at the tiny child, then ran off in the opposite direction of Rose.
Chapter 1
Trapped
Vigilante justice is not all it’s cracked up to be.
I’ve spent the last four evenings in the dumpsters of La Sefoya Seafood attempting to scope out the bank across the street. Seafood is bad enough when it’s fresh—eight plus hours later and it’s definitely puke-worthy. At this point, I was certain the smell would be permanently ingrained in my nose.
A noise down the alley caught my attention—footsteps. Yikes!
I ducked
down, my back sinking into a poorly closed garbage sack. I could feel unidentified juices soaking through to my elbow, spreading down my forearm. I fought the urge to simultaneously scream and vomit, forcing myself to stay quiet.
The footsteps drew closer; there were two sets of them. I held my breath, waiting for them to pass.
“Hey, Lani!” a male voice called out. “Close up those garbages before you take off tonight, will ya? Someone’s been leaving ‘em open the past few nights. We don’t need some bum rummaging through our trash.”
This was not good. This was really, really not good. I tried to think of a way out, but the footsteps drew closer, approaching the edge of the large dumpster where I hid. There was no time.
An arm reached up, swinging the wide metal lid up and around the top. I was plunged into darkness. I heard a rustling of chains and the click of a lock. The footsteps continued on, growing faint as the man left the alley.
I slowly stood into a crouch, tentatively pushing the metal lid covering me. It moved up a little, then stopped abruptly. I poked my eyes up over the edge. Just as I thought, a chain looped through a hook on the lid and a hook on the bin. A simple padlock held it in place. The lid would only lift as far as the small chain would allow. It wasn’t even enough space to poke my arm through.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Bad idea—the smell made me gag.
This was fine. I’d been in tighter spots. In fact, this garbage can should be no problem for me. I’d moved right through solid walls before. A little metal tin like this? Piece of cake.
I tried to clear my head—using my abilities unfortunately required a lot of focus. I pushed out the disgusting smells, the panic, the claustrophobia, focusing on making myself feel the music. That was the best way I could describe using my powers—it was like directing a song that only I could hear.
After a few moments of intense focus, I pushed my hand against the dumpster’s walls.
Nothing. No response, no give.
I remained calm, returning my focus to the music.
I tried again, pressing my hand forcefully against the metal sides, willing it to push through. Still nothing. It was as solid as ever.
“Useless powers,” I breathed, shaking my head.
I took in another long breath and exhaled, forcing myself to focus even harder on the music as it ran up and down my skin; I was practically tingling with it. This was the time. It was going to work. I shoved my shoulder forcefully into the side of the bin.
All I got was a sore shoulder.
“You idiotic piece of junk!” I growled, kicking the side of the bin. Ouch!
Nice, Ava, I thought wryly. Add a sore toe to the list.
I sunk back down into the pile of rotting food, feeling defeated. I shouldn’t be all that surprised. The ability to move through solid objects was my most recently discovered power, and my abilities were always temperamental, especially when they were new.
I’d discovered the talent completely by accident about three weeks ago. It was stupid, really. I was in a rush to get to school and was grabbing breakfast hurriedly. Without thinking, I went to grab the milk without actually opening the fridge door. I looked down to find my arm reaching through the door, holding the handle of the milk on the other side.
It’s a weird feeling, seeing your arm half gone, sunken into what should be a solid object. I’ve been surrounded by weird things most of my life—the kinds of things that would only be seen in a movie as a result of special effects—but that one definitely threw me for a loop.
It was hard being stuck in this very non-magical human realm. I’d get into human mode—go to school, hang out with friends, blend in—and then come home to a dad who could control animal life and was telekinetic. Not exactly a smooth transition.
Idly, my mind wandered to my dad. He would not be happy if he knew where I was and what I was doing. We tried to keep a low profile. We’d been doing a pretty good job lately. We hadn’t had to move in over four years. But I couldn’t just sit by when I knew something bad was going to happen here, so I’d been sneaking out every night after he went to sleep to watch the bank.
That was another ability I had—precognition—though the useless thing was almost as faulty as my ability to move through objects. I’d get feelings about certain things, places, or people, but not know any details about what was going to happen. It was all very vague. I’d feel like something good was going to happen to someone and then they’d get engaged the next day. Or I’d feel like something bad was going to happen at a certain place and someone would end up dying there. It was actually really terrible. If there was any ability I wish I didn’t have, it was this one.
A few days ago, I came into town with Dad and we passed 25th Street Bank. That was when it happened—I knew something awful was going to happen here, at the bank across the street. That’s why I’d been watching it. But it had been four days since then and nothing had happened yet. Usually my heightened intuition was a little more accurate on the timeline.
Really, the issue was that I was in the wrong realm. I didn’t belong here and neither did my powers, which is why they didn’t work well. There wasn’t supposed to be magic in the human world—only in Cyrus. Of my four abilities—speed, telekinesis, precognition, and moving through objects—only my speed was consistently reliable. Even still, I was fairly certain I’d be even faster if I lived in Cyrus. Only problem was Cyrus didn’t exist anymore. It had been destroyed. Dad and I were lucky enough to escape to this realm. Most Cyruns had died in the destruction.
Three gunshots rang out through the night in quick succession, bringing me swiftly to my feet. I smacked my head on the dumpster’s lid in my hurry to get up. Ow!
This had to be it—the terrible thing that was going to happen at the bank—and I was stuck in this hunk of metal, surrounded by rotting fish. Some hero I was.
I slammed against the side of the bin again and again, but nothing gave. Stupid, erratic powers.
Then, without warning, the lid of the bin suddenly lifted. I straightened up, glancing around. The figure of a boy was running around the corner of the alley, away from the trash can. I caught the slightest glimpse of the side of his face. He was young, probably about 18 years old, tall, with a medium build. I don’t know why he didn’t want to stick around after rescuing me, but I was grateful for his help. Perhaps the gunfire scared him off.
I scrambled awkwardly out of the dumpster and crept to the edge of the alley, peeking around the corner to the street. This road was typically full of bustling people, but considering the late hour, there were only a few out and about. Those who were there stood staring at the large white building across the street that was the massive bank. Many had their phones out, presumably calling 911.
More shots rang out through the air. This time, I saw the sparks from inside the bank. They were coming from the second floor.
My mind ran through its options. As far as I could figure, I could do one of two things: wait for law enforcement to arrive or use my speed to get over to the building and check things out for myself. The sensible thing to do was wait for law enforcement, obviously. But I wasn’t exactly known for being sensible.
The traffic light to the north changed to green, sending a slew of traffic through the road directly between myself and the bank. The opportunity was perfect. I could weave in and out of the traffic using it as cover. Any bystanders shouldn’t be able to spot me. I was fast and all, but not so fast I became a blur—at least not in this realm.
I left the cover of the alleyway, pushing my legs as fast as they could go. I darted in front of and behind cars, nearly getting hit about six different times. A few horns blared, but nobody seemed to be able to get a clear look at what exactly had run in front of them.
In a matter of seconds, I reached the back side of the bank. Every set of doors was protected by bars that had likely lowered as alarms were tripped inside. The windows, too, were barred.
“Okay, powers. Don’t flake
out on me now,” I breathed as I inched along the side of the wall toward the back entrance. I took a deep breath, prayed, and then walked directly into the bars that protected the glass.
I hit my head for the second time tonight. Hard.
Seriously? What good was it to be able to move through objects if all it ever allowed me to do is grab the milk in the fridge without opening the door?
I stepped back and took another breath, trying to refocus. More gunshots—not helpful when I’m trying to be calm.
I walked confidently toward the barred doors, focusing on the music that was my abilities coursing through me. This time, my body passed effortlessly through the bars and glass doors as if they were nothing but smoke. I grinned. Then I almost got shot.
“Hey! How’d you get in here?” I turned to see a large man, dressed in black, with a mask over his face running toward me, gun in hand. As soon as we made eye contact, he started firing.
“Oh shoot!” I screamed, running down a hall away from the man and his bullets. No wait, don’t shoot! I thought wryly. That was just an expression!
With my speed as an advantage, I lost the man with ease, ducking behind a large potted plant a ways up the carpeted hall that surrounded the main lobby. I watched as he turned the corner at full speed, surprised when I wasn’t a few yards ahead of him as he expected. He slowed down, checking any potential hiding spots where I may have ducked.
It wouldn’t take him long to get to me. Better get moving.
I could see a staircase at the end of the hall that would lead up to the second floor where I’d seen shots fired earlier. I needed to get up there to see if anyone was hurt.
A glance down the hall told me the guy was busying himself checking out a janitorial closet. This was my chance. I straightened up out of my crouch, sprinting toward the staircase at the end of the hall. I reached the stairs without incident and cautiously climbed them to the next level.
The second level of the bank was entirely comprised of office space that branched off a large balcony which circled the full perimeter of the main lobby below. An ornate marble banister allowed a clear view of what was happening on the main floor. Four men dressed identically to the man who’d chased me stood with large rifles in their hands. At their feet sat five security guards who had been bound and gagged.
The Cyrun Page 1
