Cheating Death

by April White

  Cheating Death

  Book Five

  The Immortal Descendants

  April White

  The Immortal Descendants Series

  Marking Time

  Tempting Fate

  Changing Nature

  Waging War

  Cheating Death

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cheating Death. Copyright 2017 by April White

  All rights reserved. Published by Corazon Entertainment

  Palos Verdes Peninsula, CA

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Edited by Angela Houle

  Cover Design by Penny Reid

  Cover images by Shutterstock

  Quote in Acknowledgements used by permission of Neil Gaiman

  ISBN 978-1-946161-01-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016921068

  Smashwords edition, January, 2017

  “Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

  -Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  Table of Contents

  Cast of Characters

  Nightmare

  Tom – Present Day

  Saira – Alternate Present

  Death, of Course

  The Bear

  Information

  Council

  Rebellion

  Rachel

  Shiny Things

  The Gem Dealer

  The Deal

  The Debate

  Oscar Wilde

  The Plan

  Archer – Present Day

  Saira – The Train, 1842

  Flight

  The Knowing

  Archer – Present Day

  Saira – Traveling South, 1842

  Mary’s Friend

  A Portrait

  Vatican Night

  The Bishop

  Archer – Present Day

  Sarcophagus

  Battle Fatigue

  A Choice

  Saira – 1889

  Archer – Present Day

  Saira – Ghost Station, 1944

  Saira – Present Day

  The Situation

  A Mixed Gathering

  Mongers

  The Knight

  Grayson Manor – 1554

  Raven

  The Pieces

  The Woods

  Fate

  Ready

  The Ring

  War

  The Aftermath

  The Immortals’ Council

  Grayson Manor – 1554

  Epilogue

  The True History

  Thank you

  Cast of Characters

  The Immortal Time – Jera

  The Immortal Fate – Aislin

  The Immortal Nature – Goran

  The Immortal War – Duncan

  The Immortal Death – Aeron

  Descendants of Time – The Clockers

  Saira Elian Devereux – Clocker/Shifter mix. Can Clock to any time and place. Can Shift into a Cougar with the help of the Shifter bone. Native time: Modern.

  Claire Elian – Saira’s mother, born in 1850. Clocked forward from 1871 to give birth to Saira. Native time: Victorian.

  Millicent Elian – Saira’s “Grandmonster.” Great grand-niece to Claire. Native time: Modern.

  Charlotte “Charlie” Kelly – Otherworld Seer, and a Clocker conduit who makes time travel easy for the Clocker she’s with. Native time: Victorian.

  Valerie Grayson – Took Charlie to 1554 as her ward. Native time: Tudor.

  Descendants of Fate – The Seers

  Ms. Simpson – Headmistress of St. Brigid’s School.

  Ava Arman – Twin to Adam and next in line for Seer Head.

  Adam Arman – Twin to Ava, boyfriend of Alexandra “Alex” Rowen.

  Camille Arman – The twins’ mother and current Seer Head.

  Tom Landers – Seer/Monger mix, cousin of Ava and Adam.

  Archer Devereux – Seer on his mother’s side, turned to Vampire by Bishop Wilder in 1888. Native time: Victorian.

  Tamerlane “Tam” Roth – Seer/Monger mix. One of the mixed-blood captives rescued from the ghost station.

  Descendants of Nature – The Shifters

  Will Shaw – Saira’s father. Lion.

  Mr. Shaw – Medical doctor and science teacher at St. Brigid’s, descended from Saira’s uncle. Bear.

  Connor Edwards – Nephew to Mr. Shaw. Wolf.

  Logan Edwards – Connor’s younger brother. Able to Shift into any animal.

  Liz Edwards – Mr. Shaw’s sister and the boys’ mother.

  Descendants of War – The Mongers

  Bishop Wilder – Bishop responsible for infecting Archer with Vampirism and killing Saira’s father in 1888. Native time: Edwardian.

  Spencer Rothchild – Monger Head in 1871 responsible for the Council massacre that imprisoned Will Shaw and sent Saira’s pregnant mother forward in time. Native time: Victorian.

  George Walters – Grandfather to Seth Walters. Died in the Underground explosion that split time in 1944. Native time: WWII era.

  Seth Walters – Monger enforcer and Saira’s nemesis. Currently in possession of the Monger ring with the power to compel.

  Tom Landers – Seer/Monger mix. Biological son of Seth Walters.

  Raven Rothchild Walters – Seth’s niece, Saira’s former roommate.

  Descendants of Death – The Suckers

  Archer Devereux – Seer, turned by Bishop Wilder in 1888. Native time: Victorian.

  Tom Landers – Seer/Monger mix, turned by Bishop Wilder in 1428. Native time: Modern.

  Sebastien “Bas” Tousi – Shifter Eagle. Moor. Native time: 12th Century.

  Bishop Wilder – Monger. Native time: Edwardian.

  Mixed-blood Descendants

  Saira Elian Devereux – Clocker/Shifter.

  Tom Landers – Seer/Monger.

  Cole Moore – Raven’s boyfriend.

  Melanie Moore – Cole’s sister.

  Tamerlane “Tam” Roth – Seer/Monger, Cole and Melanie’s friend, one of the mixed-blood captives.

  Other Important People

  Ringo – Victorian thief Saira brought forward from 1888.

  Bishop Cleary – Bishop at Guy’s Chapel, understands the world of the Immortal Descendants.

  Rachel – Jewish mechanic who survived the WWII massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane.

  Nightmare

  My feet pounded the cobblestones of Covent Garden. Moonlight, and the certainty I would find him this time were my only guides as I ran.

  Archer’s life depended on my speed and my determination. Panic had replaced the bone-deep sadness that had taken root deep inside me, and I was almost glad for something different to feel.

  The London streets were empty and unnaturally silent, and the silver light threw the scene into the high contrast glare of a video game. The shadows were endlessly black and full of menace. I knew I wasn’t alone. In fact, everything about this place was a gamer’s nightmare. Every wrong move stopped me in my tracks or worse, until I finally learned to navigate each fresh horror and move on to the next.

  I kept going though, pushing harder and faster. I knew in my soul that if I could just find Archer this time, I’d beat the game and wake up with him next to me.

  I rounded the corner as The Ripper stepped from the shadows. Moonlight glinted on his raised blade. Jack the Ripper, dead by Ringo’s knife a lifetime ago, smiled, a horrible grin full of rotten teeth.<
br />
  “Ah, Pet, ye can’t stay away, can ye?” he snarled.

  I put on a burst of speed, but he was in front of me again. “Ye’ll not escape me this time.” He lunged, but I leapt to the side before his knife could slash down and bury itself in my back. No amount of anticipation could erase the fear that coursed through me at the sight of The Ripper. I had died at that corner the first time I saw him there, and woken up with the echo of a searing pain between my shoulder blades.

  His snarl lingered behind me as I sprinted down the next street, away from his lethal menace. The pounding of my feet began to match the rhythm of a distant hum. I knew the sound and I hated it, but still I flew toward it like a shard of iron to a magnet.

  There, down the next street and tucked into an alcove, was the Seer bodyguard who had murdered young Henry Grayson in medieval France. He had threatened me with rape and death then, and now his knife hung loosely in his hand as if I was no danger to him at all. “Ye came back fer more, did ye, lass?” His voice was oily, and the stench of him hadn’t improved in death.

  A dozen snarky comebacks flashed through my brain, mostly having to do with the crushed nutsack I’d inflicted on him when he threatened to cut my windpipe. But cleverness was wasted in nightmares, and my fear of him had long-since turned to anger.

  So I charged at him.

  I ducked down, put my shoulder into it, and rammed him up against the wall. He tried to get the knife up, but like most cowards who attack women, he didn’t anticipate that I would be the aggressor. I smacked his knife hand against the bricks and thrust my elbow so hard into his solar plexus that a cloud of hot, stinky air rushed from his lungs. He doubled over with a sucking gasp.

  I bolted.

  Now the landscape had the eerie quiet of a ghost town, and there was no joy in hurdling broken guardrails or scaling crumbling walls. It was the silence that drove panic into my throat. Silence curled its fist around my heart where memories of Archer lived.

  I sensed someone with Monger blood waiting in the wings like a deadly Greek chorus, ready to step out and flay the flesh from my bones. He stayed hidden as long as I continued down the cobblestone road that ended at an alley between a pub and an old theater. I entered the black passageway, and dread wound its way around my lungs.

  This was Wilder’s place, and no matter which way I ran, I had to enter his rooms at the end of the passage. The door was always open, the table was always set for two, and the sharp scent of my own fear filled my nose as I stepped across the threshold.

  “You came,” he said in a deep bass voice that still had the power to freeze my blood. He stood and held out the chair for me. My heart slammed in my chest from the running, and from pure, raw terror. I had tried to escape Wilder’s invitation, but the door had always locked behind me or the windows wouldn’t break, and every object I weaponized against him slipped from my hands.

  So I sat at Wilder’s table and he pushed in my chair. He bent his head and whispered into my ear, inhaling the scent of my skin as he did. “You belong to me now.”

  I had tried to break a glass in his face the first time he said that to me. Now I just waited until he finally stood straight and returned to his seat.

  Wilder indicated my plate, which had filled with food. “You will eat.”

  On the plate was a slab of fresh meat sitting in a pool of congealed blood. Wilder had the only knife, so even if I’d wanted to eat the barely-cooked flesh, which I emphatically did not, I’d have had to pick it up in my bare hands to do so. The metallic smell of blood made my stomach roil in disgust, and when I began to retch, I pushed back from the table.

  I was still gripping the table when Wilder stabbed my hand to it.

  Stabbed. A knife. Embedded in the table through the back of my hand.

  White-hot, the pain was like the shot of adrenaline I’d been waiting for. I yanked the knife out of my hand and lunged. The forward momentum carried me into him and buried the knife in his chest. It also knocked him to the floor and revealed a trap door under his chair.

  Wilder’s roar of rage filled the room as he struggled to right himself. I used my good hand to haul the trap door open, and I dropped down into the blackness below. The trap slammed shut above me. The bellowing sounds of rage went instantly, eerily quiet.

  The tunnel had a dirt floor, brick walls, and dank air that coated my skin like wet wool. My left hand burned with pain, but I ignored it and used my right hand to fumble with the Maglite in my pocket. Even here I knew I wasn’t alone. With just enough light to see the dangers ahead of me, I took off at a dead sprint.

  Rats skittered away from the light, but not before I caught sight of their eyes glittering at me from the edges of the tunnel. A brick wall sent me down a branch to the left, and I braced myself.

  Slick stepped out of the shadows, hatred naked in his face. The Monger ring glinted ominously on his finger. I steeled my will against the impulse to hide.

  “The Sucker is already dead. You will fail.” The first time I had heard those words, my will had crumbled and I had broken down in tears. Now though, I had finally faced this scene enough times that I could stand my ground against the despair his words induced.

  I squared my shoulders. “Out of my way, Slick.”

  A gun appeared in his hand, and his finger twitched on the trigger. His smile said he looked forward to shooting me. “The power is already mine.”

  The first few times, it was the gun that held all my attention. Getting shot in a dream felt like getting punched in the chest. All the air whooshed out of me and I woke up gasping. But when I ignored the gun and listened to his voice, the words made me bold. I was determined to prove him wrong – the power wasn’t his, and I could change this. But, like any bully, he wasn’t alone. Slick’s goons had surrounded me – two behind and one more with Slick blocking my way forward.

  I lunged at Slick. He shot reflexively, but I anticipated and spun into a tucked roll at the last minute. The shot hit one of the goons behind me, and I heard the wet smack of a bullet entering flesh. Momentum carried me right into Slick’s kneecaps. I had rolled so tightly that his body sailed over mine, and he hit the ground knees-first.

  I sprang to my feet just beyond Slick and the goons and bolted forward without a backward glance.

  I turned right at the next fork in the tunnel, and found an opening in the wall. Holborn Underground station yawned in front of me, and I hurdled the track to sprint down the center line toward the British Museum ghost station where I’d last seen Archer – in 1944, before a bomb exploded and time split.

  I was getting close to the end of the game, and adrenaline fueled the burst of power I sent to my legs. The deep, throbbing hum in my ears grew louder the closer I got to Archer. Just around the bend was the spur to the ghost station, and beyond that was a wall of rubble. I’d long since stopped crying at the sight of that wall. Tearing away at it with my bare hands didn’t work – I’d tried it and ended up with nothing more than torn nails and bleeding fingers. When Wilder stabbed my hand, moving rocks became impossible.

  So I did the only thing I could do – I picked up a piece of chalky rock and began to draw a spiral. It was the source of the humming sound that had pervaded my dream, so I surrendered to it and let my mind choose the way in this time.

  Other times I’d tried to imagine the platform where I’d left Archer. I’d pictured it as it had been, and I’d pictured it collapsed and covered in rubble. But the explosion had changed the landscape of the ghost station so drastically that no amount of imagination could open the portal to find him. I had never gone beyond this impenetrable wall of rocks.

  This time, I tried something different. I pictured Archer’s face. I filled my mind with the planes of his cheekbones, his jaw, the black of his hair, the length of his eyelashes. I had drawn that face on paper so many times, now I drew it in my mind.

  And for the first time since the nightmares had begun, I could see him as clearly as if I’d been standing in front of him. The ima
ge of Archer, skin as pale and waxy as death, propped brokenly and utterly unmoving against the passage wall filled my brain.

  I closed my eyes and drew the final spiral on the tunnel wall. I felt the stretching and falling and humming take me to him, and then I saw Archer’s eyes. They weren’t closed in pain or healing, his eyelashes didn’t flutter against his cheek, and his pulse didn’t beat in his throat. His eyes were open and unseeing – as empty as the glass eyes of a porcelain doll.

  The eyes of a dead man.

  And then I screamed.

  Tom – Present Day

  Screaming sirens filled the air and I set my teeth against them as I climbed the stairs out of the Underground. The power was out in the station, so the only lights on the street came from the handheld torches of shocked onlookers.

  I was coated in a thick layer of brick dust, but I’d forgotten about the blood until someone shone a torch into my face and screamed, “He’s hurt!”

  “I’m fine,” I croaked through the dust in my voice. Another Good Samaritan joined the first and tried to hand me water. I pushed it away as I became increasingly aware that the lights I saw were coming from mobile phones being used as torches.

  Mobile phones.

  I was no longer in 1944.

  I shoved through the gathering would-be rescuers and bolted for a dark alley. The whole city block had lost its power, and the wailing sirens and flashing lights of rescue vehicles surrounded the blast site. Something had exploded in the Underground.

  I’d been down there when it happened, pushed through a spiral in the ghost station under the British Museum – sent by Saira away from the great-grandfather I’d gone to kill.

  Once I hit the ground, I had tried to find the spiral I’d Clocked through, tried to go back to 1944 to finish off George Walters before he could spawn the lineage that made me, but I was blind in the tunnel and stumbled down nothing but empty track.