Shattered Secrets

by Krystal Wade

  Hinges squeaked.

  One: I turned the handle.

  Two: I took another deep breath, pulled open the door, and ran into a space without any light.

  Three: I tossed the potion. White-hot sparks exploded from the ground and showered down throughout the small room, revealing a wide-eyed Aedan and Melos dragging Abby.

  Dragging her.

  Blood covered her face, and her eyes were wide open but empty of life, empty of the vibrant girl I loved.

  “What did you do to her?” Shit. I took a breath; the smell of sweet honey filled the air. My chest already burned.

  Aedan and Melos dropped Abby, and her head bounced off the slate floor.

  I wanted to kill them. I wanted to rip out their throats and shove my knife through their hearts. How could they do this? Boredas and Ruckus put her through enough trauma already. Abby didn’t deserve to be dragged to her death. No one did.

  Lifting the bottom of my t-shirt over my face, I took another breath, squeezed the knife in my hand, and rushed the two men. My muscles burned, and my teeth ground as I forced myself not to breathe again.

  “Did Old Alexander help you get up here?” Melos asked, his face blanching. “Oh, the sweet smell of Intruder potion.”

  My feet tingled. A lot. I felt as if no floor existed below me and had to stop just short of Aedan, my vision swirling. I flipped the knife to my other hand and punched him as hard as I could, which felt strangely light.

  “You hit an Elder,” Melos said, stumbling toward me with his arms outstretched.

  “You’ve sentenced us all to our deaths.” Aedan dropped to the floor, Melos two seconds behind him, and I reached for Abby’s hand but fell, too.

  I rolled onto my back and saw the outline of a man standing over me, tall and thin as though food was a scarcity, black eyes dull and lifeless, a cruel sneer disfiguring his sunken face.

  Running was impossible. Death seconds away. All I could do was stare.

  “And they say we’re the bad ones. You lot kill yourselves. I must say that makes our job much easier.” The man knelt beside me and placed his bony hand on my arm; my blood vibrated everywhere he touched. “But you know what? I’ll help you out of here if you’ll do one thing for me.”

  “W-wh—?” Words caught in my swollen throat, and my eyes rolled back in my head.

  “Return the Book of Red to Boredas of Copper Rocks, and only him.” He tsked. “I’ll even stay here as a prisoner. A sign of good faith.”

  Could I trust him? Would putting that book into the hands of our enemy make things worse or better? The only thing I knew was that the good guys were trying to kill us and so far the bad guys helped us the most—or at least two of them had. The book belonged to the Fávlosi. Maybe the time for giving it back was now. And returning it would save Abby’s life. “O-k-k—”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, but know this: if you don’t fulfill your promise, the world will die, and I’ll be the first to make the end of your life miserable.” He lifted my arm and yanked. “I assume you want the girl, too, right?”

  I nodded—or hoped I nodded.

  “Such a shame. When they offered her to me, I really thought things were changing around here. Oh, and you’ll need to send up someone to renew the spell trapping me here as soon as Elder Mordha dies; otherwise, I’ll be free to roam about the temple.” The spirit laughed and pulled us to the open doorway. “You’re going to have to take it from here, buddy.”

  He placed Abby’s hand in mine, and the warmth of it released tension from my chest. She was alive. Before this moment, I didn’t know that for sure. I rolled to my side, every muscle shaking, nausea tormenting my stomach, then slowly got to my knees and crawled backward, not letting go of her.

  Once we were through the door, the spirit slammed it closed. I fell next to Abby, and the world around me faded to black as deep, blood-curdling screams flooded my ears.

  Melos was dead.

  So was Aedan.

  I did this.

  Abigail

  y back hurt, cramping in places I’d never cramped before. I stretched my arms, then bolted upright.

  Thunk.

  “I’m alive.” I looked down to see what made the noise. Derick lay next to me, drool oozing from the corner of his mouth. I poked him. “Derick?”

  He moaned but didn’t move an inch.

  What happened? I remembered Aedan and Melos drugging me. I remembered them pulling me down a dark hall. But nothing else. Did we go into the room Katherine told me about? Did the spirit kill the Elder and his idiotic right-hand man?

  Oh my God. I scooted away from the thing on the floor posing as Derick until I hit a wall.

  My knife.

  I reached through my dress and pulled out the weapon my aunt gave me earlier.

  The spirit curled into a ball and then slowly sat up, rubbing its eyes. “Abby?”

  He patted the floor, then his muscles went rigid and he glanced around. When his gaze landed on me, I froze. I wanted to run to him and wrap my arms around him, to kiss him, to take him with me to search for Will and Megan—and his parents—and then find our way home, but this wasn’t Derick.

  The imposter got to his feet, stumbling, then sat beside me. “How many times will I have to rescue you?”

  I slid away from him, shaking like a cornered animal.

  “Abby?” He leaned his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

  “How are you doing this? How do you make yourself look just like him?” This spirit killed my father. Maybe he played tricks on him, too. He looked so much like Derick.

  “What are you talking about?” The thing scooted closer and cupped my cheek in his warm hand. “It’s me. I’m Derick. Who do you think I am?”

  “I know you’re the spirit of rage. My aunt warned me about you, said you’re a master in the art of disguises. So cut the crap. I know you’re not Derick.” Gasping for breath, tears raced down my face. I’d already lost so much. Derick’s name couldn’t be added to that list. Couldn’t. Just the thought of it crushed my chest, sent fear coursing through my blood. No, he couldn’t be dead. “Did you kill him?”

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed my hand, pulling me up with him. The spirit stared at me with those beautiful baby blue eyes, licking his full lips, and pressed against me. “I’ve known you since we were two stupid little kids. Look at me. Touch me. Kiss me, Abigail Nichols.”

  The way he said my name, the warmth and love it held—no imposter could replicate that. No one could possibly make my stupid heart swell as much as Derick did. I met his gaze, willing every ounce of magical energy inside me to see through an illusion, but all I saw was the boy I’d had a crush on forever. I didn’t care about my emotional tie to Affection, or his Romancing ability. I cared that we’d found each other again.

  “Are you going to make me beg?”

  I dropped the knife and threw my arms around him. “Only if you want to.”

  “I don’t.” He crushed his lips against mine, and I knew without a doubt this was my Derick. He pressed me against the wall and brushed his fingers through my hair, gentle, smooth, wanting but slow, and then before I could get enough of him, he pulled away, picked up our weapons, and placed one in my hand. “We have to go. Alexander is waiting for us downstairs.”

  “Alexander?” I asked, slipping the knife through my dress.

  Derick’s gaze slid down the length of my outfit and then back up, lingering on my ungraceful attempt to return the knife back to its holster. “I have to admit, I like seeing you dressed like this. Beats the jeans and fuzzy sweaters any day.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Can we play dress up when this is all over?”

  I punched him.

  “What?” He grinned. “Don’t say you don’t feel pretty in that.”

  “Didn’t you say we had someone to meet?” I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

  Derick’s smile faded. “I have to tell you something.”r />
  “You met someone while working as a servant and are madly in love with her?” I’d almost have preferred that over anything else… at this point. Not that he’d had time for that.

  “No. But I let Aedan and Melos die in that room.”

  “They were going to kill me, enslave you, Will, and Megan, and imprison your parents—all to keep Aedan’s place of power—”

  “I know, but they are still dead because I knocked them out with some potion. They were defenseless. There’s something else, too.”

  “Something else?”

  “I made a deal with that spirit to save our lives.” Derick looked at his feet as we hurried down the stairs that wrapped around and around light stone walls, his face void of the slight elation running through my veins that replaced the fears. We survived. We survived and we were together. “We have to return the Book of Red to Boredas.”

  My shoulders relaxed; this I could deal with, his grief would be more difficult. “That’s it?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m fine with returning the Book of Red. It belongs to them; they should have it. Look what it’s done, Derick.” We stepped off the last stair where an old, ragged looking man stood, and I grabbed Derick’s hand and turned him to face me. “The Originals stole the Fávlosi’s religion from them. Everything that’s happened since has been payback. Revenge. We’ll find Boredas together.”

  “You must be Abigail Doran.” Alexander knelt before me, head down and hand over his heart. “You are every bit as honorable as your father was.”

  “Nichols, sir. Abigail Nichols. And don’t do that,” I said, reaching for his arms to help him up. No telling if he’d be able to do it on his own.

  “He didn’t kneel for me.”

  “Nonsense, Abigail Nichols. You’ve given me great peace. You deserve the honor.” The man waved me off and then marched down the hall; Derick and I followed. “You see, this is the third time I’ve been reborn. My first life I was a terrible human, achieved many great things but through harsh means. I conquered many lands, and won every battle, but at too high a cost. My second life I was the very first Guardian, and still too proud to lead a people properly. The Maker blessed me with nothing special in this life, and that’s what has made me special—”

  “Do you remember your previous life?” Derick asked, holding tightly to my hand as we climbed another set of stairs.

  I didn’t mind. I didn’t want him to let me go.

  Alexander nodded. “Very well, in fact.”

  Derick and I stared at each other, mouths hanging open.

  Alexander smiled; a slight twinkle lit his eyes. “I know a great many things about this world and the people in it—even those of us who’ve died a few times. How do you think that spirit knew to ask you for the book, Derick Crawford? It knew because I told it, because I knew that book would be the only way he’d allow you to live.” He stopped and placed his hand on a door, ready to push it open. “By the way, I’m glad to see some of my descendants are deserving of the abilities they’ve been graced with. I believe when I pass from this life, I will not come back again. And I should ask that you keep this between yourselves. If word got out… well, I’m not positive what would take place.”

  Derick and I nodded, then Alexander opened the door. We walked into the dining hall on the opposite end than where I’d come in earlier. A few people still mingled with each other, but many of them had passed out on the tables, glasses still in hand. The room reeked of alcohol.

  “Wake up,” Alexander yelled, stomping his sandaled foot on the marble. “Elder Mordha attempted to murder these two youths, and our only remaining Guardian. Look at her face, the swelling—Aedan did this to her right outside this hall while you drank your wine and had your fill. I followed them while they dragged her limp body to the only Fávlosi prisoner we have, where they planned to feed her to that spirit, to fuel his insanity. This man, Derick Crawford, was with me and saved her. Someone needs to hurry to the prison cells and reset the spell. We could not save Aedan or Melos, and for that I am deeply saddened. But this old man is weak, too weak to drag them out before the spirit attacked.”

  I glanced at Derick as a few men ran from the room. He bowed his head, and I knew Alexander had made up part of this story. Lying wasn’t Derick’s strong suit, which is why he hid from me when he found out what he was. If he saw me, he knew he’d have to tell the truth and figured I wouldn’t believe him. And even though I experienced all this, believing any of it truly happened still made me think I should call Dr. Pavarti and have myself committed.

  “Abby! Derick!” Megan raced through the dining hall, Will and the Crawfords behind her, and slid to a stop right in front of me. “I never thought I’d see you again. Again. Really, you have to stop doing this to me.”

  I squeezed her for a few long minutes while mumbling about a million apologies for wrecking her life, then moved to Will, then Derick’s mom and dad; seeing them was like seeing home, and I realized wherever they were is where I needed to be. Probably forever. “Megan? How did you guys get here?”

  “This really hot guy ran into the kitchen and said he needed our help. So we followed—anything’s better than dishes, right? Well, he led us into the prison cells and told the guards he brought us to clean one for the newcomers.”

  “You should have seen the look on Megan’s face.” Will half-smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  She growled. “Come on. Don’t tell me the thought of cleaning cells sounded good to you.”

  “Fair point.”

  “Anyway, the guards unlocked the door, the guy sneak-attacked them from the back and knocked them out.”

  “And we traded places with the guards, poor fellows.” Mr. Crawford rocked forward on his toes.

  “So where is this really hot guy now?”

  Megan looked all around and then waved as Creiton entered the room. “There.”

  “Him. He tried to kill me!”

  Derick stepped between me and Creiton, arms crossed over his chest. “Not another step.”

  “I didn’t try to kill you. I told you not to eat the desserts!” The would-be model fell on his knees and looked up at Alexander, eyes wide and gaze intense. “Father, I swear to it. I warned her like you told me.”

  “Father?” Derick dropped his arms to his sides.

  “Did he tell you not to eat the desserts, Abigail Nichols?”

  I nodded. “But figs, nuts, and pomegranates are what made me sick.”

  Mrs. Crawford helped Creiton to his feet. “You will have to learn her customs, Creiton—all of their customs—if you plan to live amongst them. Desserts in Abigail’s world consist of chocolate and cheesecakes. Sweet things that do nothing more than add weight to your hips.”

  Maybe I needed to learn their customs.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Not as sorry as me. “It’s okay.”

  Creiton led us all to my family’s quarters while Alexander went over his story with more and more men who filtered into the dining hall. This night didn’t end in a celebration, but I couldn’t help but feel some bit of excitement for our minor victory. The human world still needed our help, and always would. Derick and I had to return the Book of Red to Boredas. Mark was a murderer, on a different plane of existence, and all alone. But Megan and Will were safe and away from the parents who barely cared that they existed, if their parents were even alive. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford weren’t locked up for a punishment they didn’t deserve.

  And I was tucked safely in a bed, wrapped in my boyfriend’s arms, celebrating my birthday with the one person who mattered most.

  I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.

  And I didn’t have to… at least for one night.

  First, and absolutely most important, I must thank my daughter. Without the real life Abigail Nicole, I wouldn’t have been able to form this stubborn girl from Virginia. We all love our children, but I have never met a more wonderful person so willing to plea
se, so willing to help her parents, to offer themsupport, encouraging words, and to know exactly what to do in stressful situations. Sometimes I think she is more grown up than her father and me. I love you, Abby, more than you will ever know. Don’t ever change. Ever.

  I also need to thank my beta readers, Susie Levine and Danielle Cornwell, because you read the early versions of my work, the middle versions, the I-swear-this-is-it versions, and the no-really-it’s-finished versions. And you never complain—to my face. You offer support even when you know my writer-ego is at its lowest, when I’m still raw and vulnerable from writing the novel.

  I have to thank Jessa Russo for editing her editor without fear, for telling me what you really think, for chatting with me about plots, characters. You convinced me to submit my work to contests and agents, to push myself harder than I ever would myself. You don’t let me back off. You don’t let me give up.

  And Kay Froebel. Poor, poor Kay. You edit, critique, beta, and then listen to me whine through official edits and proofreads. You really deserve a medal, maybe a cookie, for all the crap I’ve put you through. I’m always afraid you will one day tell me to get a life—please don’t! Keep telling me what you really think, even if I throw fits and cringe when you’re not looking.

  I can’t go without mentioning Marisa Cleveland for giving me a chance, pushing me to join clubs, travel to different events. And, of course, thank you to the great folks over at Curiosity Quills who’ve allowed me to learn and grow right alongside them. Michelle Johnson, you are the best cover artist on the planet.

  And we all have to thank my family. They give me the time and space I need to write, take up the laundry when I slack off, and don’t yell at me when I forget to vacuum a couple weeks in a row—hey, that character will scream at me if I walk away!

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