by Kiersten Fay
DEMON RETRIBUTION
by
Kiersten Fay
Published by:
Kiersten Fay
Edited by:
Rainy Kaye
Copyright © 2012 by Kiersten Fay
www.kierstenfay.com
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.
License Notes:
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, recommend them to Kiersten Fay’s website above, where they can purchase a copy for themselves.
Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work,
And please enjoy.
Prologue
Kyralyn watched as little Analia played under the massive oringa trees. Her younger sister’s infectious, child-like laughter tingled in the cool morning air. She was chasing a tree knoth—a harmless little thing, with black eyes and long, skinny limbs for climbing. Its skin was a perfect likeness of the rough bark. The game wove through gnarled tree roots that arched over both their heads.
The knoth scurried, as if playing with its stalker, around and around the massive trunk. Analia didn’t mind. She screeched with delight whenever she got the slightest bit close to her prey.
Kyra couldn’t help but to laugh.
The canopy here was so thick with leaves that a delicate green hue covered every surface, and only the tiniest pinpricks of light from the double suns peeked through.
She took a seat on one of the lower roots and contemplated what her father had said the day before. Sure, he was growing older, but he was still, by any standard, in his prime. Seven hundred years was nothing, really. A much better age for ruling than her mere twenty-two, undoubtedly. How would anyone favor her with confidence when she was still so new?
Analia crawled under her makeshift chair and demanded, “Ki-ki, help cash him.”
“My dearest sister, how can you possibly know if it’s a him?”
Jutting her small chin, Analia replied, “I know.”
“Oh, alright then. But I think he is too fast for me.” When her sister’s lip quivered, she quickly added, “Perhaps, if we come back with some treats, he will come to us.”
Analia considered this for a moment. “’Kay.” She turned to the knoth, who was now perched on a low branch, eyeing them. “Stay here. O’kay? I bwing some yummy tweets, and you sit in my hand. O’kay?”
The knoth tilted his head.
Kyra took Analia’s hand, and they made their way over the uneven terrain. They hadn’t taken more than a few steps when they spotted their sister, Nadua, racing toward them.
“What is the matter?” Kyra asked at seeing her expression.
Nadua huffed. “Come quickly!” She lifted Analia into her arms and set off in a hurry.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
“Father had a vision. I overheard him speaking with Mother and the council.”
“And?”
“I don’t know, but…his voice…I’ve never heard Father sound like that. Whatever it is, it’s bad.”
Analia’s eyes widened and then shot to the sky. “I don’t like them,” she whispered.
“What?” Kyra asked.
An unimaginably loud sound cut through the air. The ground rumbled. Seconds later, a harsh wave of hot air knocked them down. Analia began screaming hysterically, clutching Nadua. Kyra’s heart fired so fast she could barely catch enough air.
Pushing to their feet, they sprinted toward the palace.
Inside, chaos reigned. People raced in every direction, terror in their eyes. “Where’s my father?” Kyra demanded of anyone who would stop for more than a few moments. “Where’s the King?”
“I don’t know, Princess,” a terror-stricken maid answered before darting away.
Nadua raised her voice above the noise. “This way, Kyra!”
Analia whimpered, her head buried in Nadua’s shoulder.
As Kyra pushed her way through the crowded hallway, she heard another loud blast. Out the window, pillars of smoke rose from scorched chunks of land. Shadows loomed, scattered and sweeping over the treetops. She couldn’t see what was causing them.
She followed her sisters into the throne room. People were gathered, hollering. Kyra couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Her mother broke through the mass to embrace all three of them. The hug felt wrong, desperate.
“What is it, Mother?”
She whispered in a rush, “We are under attack. Your father thinks there is no hope.”
Kyra’s heart plummeted, and she couldn’t find words. What could one say to that? Her father’s visions were powerful. If he could not see a way to save them, then it did not exist.
She swayed on her feet as a wave of nausea bubbled. People had gathered, shouting all at once.
“We should flee!”
“We should fight!”
“We should take to the mountains!”
“And leave the people without protection?”
“Perhaps these aliens can be reasoned with?”
“If they were reasonable, they would not be attacking now, would they?”
Her father sat slumped, defeated, upon the throne. She had never seen such sorrow in his eyes. Something tickled her cheek. She wiped away the stray tear.
Another distant boom shook the walls.
Weaving through the crowd, Kyra approached him. “Father?” He did not look up. “Father, please.” Her voice shook and his eyes lifted to her.
“I am sorry, my daughter. I have failed…everyone.”
For a moment, words escaped her. “There must be something we can do?”
The King shook his head. “There is not. No path can help us.”
“There must be! Look again.” She lowered her voice. “Please, just look again.”
He lowered his gaze and dropped his head, but then he gave the slightest nod. “I’ll try.” He took in a long breath.
The people in the room were still screaming at each other, demanding they be heard while ignoring the voices of others.
Kyra turned and raised her hands to the room. “Quiet!”
The crowd went silent. All eyes focused on her and the king.
“Kyra dear, give me your hand,” her father said.
She obeyed, placing her palm in his. Her mother came forward quietly and, without being asked, slipped her fingers into his other outstretched palm. Nadua placed Analia on his lap, and she curled into him while Nadua closed the circle between them.
The room grew extraordinarily still. Not a breath sounded. Long moments passed as their father’s eyes moved rapidly behind tight lids. Every-so-often, his head cocked, yet his face revealed nothing.
Kyra tried to remain patient, but the continued booms from beyond the walls were a constant reminder that they were out of time.
When his eyes flashed open, they were no longer his. In their place was a black abyss, with minute bursts of color.
“Parchment!” he ordered.
The throne room came to life as the supplies were passed forward. The King began writing a sequence of numbers.
Eyes still vacantly searching, he tore off a small piece and handed it to Kyra. “Take the smallest shuttle and program those coordinates. They will expect guards to accompany any royals, so you must go alone, or they will target you.”
“But, where will this take me?” She studied the random set of numbers.
“I see a planet, green. You will…survive. There is no time to explain furth
er, you must go now or we are lost.” His dark eyes narrowed, looking as though he were concentrating very hard. The black behind his lids swirled. “You have five minutes. Ethanule!”
Ethanule was suddenly by her side, bowing. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Escort her. She’ll need supplies for a long trip.”
“Long? How long?” she demanded.
“I will see to it, Your Majesty.” Ethanule gestured for her to follow.
The king stood then, and wrapped his arms around her. “Safe journey, my child.”
“But…”
Her mother claimed her next, tears streaming down her face. “I love you,” she breathed.
“But what about you?”
Her father replied, “I have more yet to see, but…it may work.”
Kyra gazed into his eyes, still blank, yet revived with hope. She nodded, trusting him completely.
Nadua’s arms came around her. Then she snuck a peek at the numbers, hopeful to gather some information. By her expression, they meant even less to her than they did to Kyra.
Before she allowed Ethanule to lead her out the door, she kissed Analia on the forehead, promising to return and help her catch the knoth—unaware it would be the last time she saw her family.
Chapter 1
400 years later
It was always mystifying when the park seemed absent of life, while far away sounds of the city clamored, and buildings sprouted, lifelike, above the tree line.
Two contradictory landscapes hammered together. Neither belonged with the other, yet they coexisted nonetheless. It was an odd kind of clash that somehow worked harmoniously in its opposition.
Kyra sat on a cool bench, taking in the early morning sun that gleamed off the infinite high-rise windows. Around her, the soft chirping of creatures, hidden within the lush greenery, mingled with the distant honking.
It was as if this place was unsure of what it was, and had yet to make up its mind. This was a place that moved, defiantly, at its own speed, while chaos wound around it. Where one could be odd and unnatural, and no one would notice, or care.
A place to be alone.
She loved it here.
Occasionally someone would stroll by, or stop for a moment to appreciate the splendor of the pond at her front, and then they would move on. She’d pay them no heed, and they likewise.
Some might think it unfathomable to find a refuge where one could feel alone in a city so populated. But then, being the only one of her kind, it wasn’t a difficult endeavor
She sighed when it was time to leave and slung the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. Zoey would be waiting and wouldn’t appreciate if she were late again. For Kyra, working as a barista was nothing more than a distraction, a means to pass time. But for Zoey, it was a livelihood.
Kyra walked slowly, reluctant to leave her sanctum. But it would be here tomorrow, and the next day.
After a short jaunt, the scent that was distinct to every good coffee shop hit her as she entered Little Jitters. The door chimed. From behind the register, Zoey peeked at her through a curtain of straight black hair.
“Morning,” they said in unison.
Then Zoey did a double take. “Oh, I love those wicked contacts you wear.”
Kyra smiled, knowing that her eyes were a unique mix of color: bright green near the pupil, and fading outward to a deep aqua blue, with faucets of yellow throughout. It was her natural coloring. She often wore contacts to disguise them as a very normal brown, which Zoey had mistaken for her real shade. Today she’d gone au naturale.
Kyra pulled back her hair and slipped on the tacky, black Little Jitters cap shaped like a coffee bean. Then she flipped the sign on the door before joining Zoey behind the counter.
Little Jitters was what some would call a hole in the wall. The waiting area consisted of a row of bar stools on one side of the door, and a single small table on the other. Behind the counter, there was enough room for Kyra and Zoey to work their stations, but that was it. And behind that, a door led to a cramped storage room, with a second exit that opened to a dingy alley, which they shared with other surrounding hole in the wall businesses.
“Did you remember to bring a change of clothes?” Zoey counted the money in the register as she spoke.
Kyra shoved her satchel, harboring a scandalous outfit, makeup, brush, and dangerously high heels, into the small cupboard under the espresso machine. “I did. How about you?”
“Yeah.” Zoey’s low tone made her take notice.
“What’s up? Do you need a pick-me-up? You know we work in a coffee shop, right?”
“Yeah,” she said again. “It’s not that. I broke up with Kevin last night.” She closed the register harder than was necessary.
“Oh.”—Thank god!—“I’m sorry.”
Zoey raised a dubious brow.
“Well, I’m sorry you’re sad.” Kyra said defensively and turned to check the regular and decaf coffee pots. “All the more reason to be excited for a full night of reckless clubbing. We’ll find you a rebound. Hell, we’ll find you two or three rebounds.”
Zoey smiled at that. They each had the day off tomorrow, the plan being to change here and go directly to Element, on the lower east side. Maybe stop in at Mercury Lounge, dance all night, meet some guys, and get crunked. Not necessarily in that order.
“I’ll feel better later, I’m sure.”
However, through the day, Kyra could see signs of her inner turmoil. Kevin had been nice to Zoey, at first, and had even managed to fool Kyra for a time. But the closer Zoey and Kevin got, the more controlling Kevin became. Without much doubt, Kyra had predicted what would follow. She had tried to force herself to butt out. However, even with only two years of working together, Zoey had become a good friend, despite Kyra’s resistance. Probably the closest friend she had ever allowed herself to have.
A few weeks ago, Kevin had started acting paranoid and accused Zoey of cheating on him. He began calling and texting her, demanding to know where she was and whom she was with. He would “surprise” her while she was working and linger in the shop far too long for comfort.
Finally, Kyra had warned Zoey where the relationship was headed. But like most people who fancied themselves in love, she hadn’t listened. There was still a hint of a shadow under Zoey’s left eye. A large bouquet of flowers had appeared the same day the mark had.
“He didn’t hit me again,” Zoey suddenly blurted as she scrubbed down the counter. Kyra looked up from filling the sugar bin. At the moment, the shop was empty of customers.
“So what did happen, Zo?”
Reluctantly, Zoey lifted her sleeve. An unmistakable bruise in the shape of a hand peeked out at Kyra. “I said I needed to run to the store for something, and he yanked me. He accused me of going to go see another guy.”
Kyra listened quietly, cleaning the same spot over and over. It would be easy enough to take Kevin out. Humans were so fragile.
No. Just butt out, she told herself.
“So,” Zoey continued, “I asked him to go to the store for me while I fixed dinner, and as soon as he was out of sight, I packed as much as I could and bolted.”
“Good. Wait, does Kevin know you’re broken up?”
“I left a note.”
“Has he contacted you since?”
“Some texts. Same stuff as last time.”
“I’m sorry,” Kyra repeated, with nothing better to say.
“I know I should have listened to you, but…I liked him so much. And he was helping me pay Mom’s medical bills.”
Zoey’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer last year. In the same month, her father had died—whether it was from natural causes or not, Kyra didn’t know. Zoey wouldn’t speak of it, and she didn’t push. Now Zo struggled to take care of everything by herself.
A young couple entered the shop. Zoey lowered her sleeve, and they both got to work. Kyra prepared the medium sized, double shot espresso and caramel mocha, while Zoey tended the register.
After taking their drinks, the couple claimed a seat at the table, chatting quietly between themselves.
Beyond the front glass entrance, across the street, a man passed by. For some reason, Kyra’s gaze was drawn to him. She thought she’d seen him before, not too long ago—or at least, someone in a similar black tank, stylish jeans, and old-world gangster hat. But then, this was New York. Hundreds of people passed by every day.
The customers left, giving a brief wave of thanks as they went. Zoey delved back into private thought. Kyra wanted to say something comforting, but decided against it.
It was never a good idea for her to get involved in a particular human’s life. History had proven as much.
Before modern technological advances, and the slow disintegration of ancient superstitions, she’d had a hell of a time staying inconspicuous in the world of man.
In the beginning, she’d tried to integrate herself into society, masquerading as one of them. The venture had been next to impossible, at least for any length of time.
For reasons beyond her understanding, people she’d known for years would develop an irrational desire to remain close to her, to the point of unhealthy obsession. Not all of them though. She’d once estimated that it was about one in a hundred. What’s worse, there was never any warning. No sign above their heads that said, “Look out Kyra, I’m about to go mad and try to lock you in my basement.”
When that happened, her magic responded…with a vengeance. It was the only time she let it free, and she was reluctant even then. She was never more vulnerable than just after an episode. As a result, she’d done a lot of running back then, and even more hiding.
Now, in the twenty-first century, it was cake to hide in plain sight. There were no societal expectations to mingle with your neighbors, or make conversation in the street. She could keep to herself and no one would gossip about the odd lonely girl with the strange eyes—a birth defect, she would say.
And if a human got any strange impulses toward her, they were rarely acted upon. If someone saw the rounded points of her ears, they’d just ask when she’d had it done, and if it had hurt. Though, most of the time she kept them hidden by her thick hair to avoid conversations like that. She hated lying. Yet, it was the only way she could live.
