by Jaymin Eve
“Did Jero, Marsil, and Star head home just to give us some privacy?” I asked as I settled myself into a lounger. My body ached a little as I sat, but I kind of enjoyed knowing that love was the reason. It made the pain feel a little different somehow.
Lexen joined me. “No, Father has some update for us, but he said it wasn’t so urgent that they couldn’t tell me when they returned.” The Daelighters had recently been trying to pass all pertinent information in person. They might be tracking Laous through the network, but he could do the same with them.
So far there had been no peep about Laous and what he was up to on Earth. Word from the council indicated that the second secret keeper family was still secret, for now. But they had requested more of my blood to try something new. My necklace would lead him to the second. We all knew it was only a matter of time. From there he would find them one by one, then the treaty would be void.
Our talk turned to things far less serious after that, and when our food was finished we curled up together and watched the movie. Despite the fast-paced storyline and heavy action, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Lexen’s phone went off, startling me awake. He swiped the screen, read the message quickly, and then stood, pulling me with him.
“What’s up?” I asked, yawning, my mouth stretching wide open in what was no doubt a hugely attractive expression.
He pulled me out of the cinema room, toward the front door of his house. “Daniel, Xander, and Chase are here. They have some news.”
I glanced down at my clothes, thankful that Lexen’s shirt fell almost to my knees, covering me pretty well. As he pulled the front door open, three Daelighters filed in, filling the wide, open space and making it seem smaller.
I’d seen all of them at school over the past month, but since they never advertised this friendship between them, we’d done no more than exchange some nods and smiles. It was nice to have them here in a more relaxed environment. Lexen led everyone to his main living area, settling into a double couch, pulling me down with him. I covered a yawn with my hand, trying to wake myself up.
Pretty sure I was in a sex coma, if that was even possible. Duh, it was Lexen Darken – of course it was possible.
As soon as everyone was seated, Lexen leaned forward. “What have you learned?”
Daniel mimicked his pose, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’ve just been updated from the council. They have figured out a rough location of the second secret keeper. They want one of us to head there and pick her up before Laous figures it out.”
I swallowed hard, trying to work down the lump in my throat.
“She’s in New Orleans,” he said.
I was on my feet in a flash; the sense of kinship I felt for this person was second to none. They were just like me. Human, born on Overworld. And they were in danger – their family was in danger. We had to help them.
All eyes turned to me. “We have to get to NOLA now, before he finds her.”
Daniel also stood. “Since the second was born in House of Imperial, this is my responsibility. I’m going to head down there tonight. I have some friends in the area, allies if you will, and I think that one of us going has a better chance of staying under the radar.”
No one argued with him, but I thought it was a terrible idea. These four shouldn’t split up. An idiot could tell that they were stronger together, as a team.
Daniel must have noticed my agitation. “I promise to call as soon as I find them. I won’t try and take Laous on alone.”
Knowing there was no real choice, I nodded.
“Are you heading out right now?” Lexen asked, all of us moving toward the door.
Daniel nodded. “Yes, I’m going to have to fly out. A transporter is too easily traceable.”
“The council is holding off on sending anyone,” Chase added, his braids twinkling in the lights above. “But we don’t have long. They’re dying to take Laous out before humans even know there is a problem.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Daniel added. Then he surprised me with a quick hug before he left. “Glad to see you looking healthy and whole, badass.”
I shrugged. “What can I say, life with Lexen suits me.”
He appraised me for an extended moment, then nodded. “So it does.”
Once he and the others were gone, I leaned heavily against the closed door. Lexen interrupted me before I could make a suggestion: “I think we should pick this up in the morning.” I had been about to propose some research time. Somehow he always knew.
“Bed sounds pretty good, actually.”
I conceded defeat for now, secure in the knowledge that Daniel was on his way to New Orleans and that he would keep us updated. Once we were in the room, I barely managed to crawl my way across the bed before collapsing face-down on it. Lexen pulled the covers over us both.
“I need to brush my teeth,” I mumbled.
There was a rustling and then Lexen was back with a new toothbrush still in the package, toothpaste, and a glass of water. “That’s very thoughtful,” I said, smiling around the brush.
I made quick work brushing and rinsing my mouth out, finally surrendering to the super soft bed. My eyes were closed by the time Lexen rejoined me, once again pulling the covers over us, spooning his body behind me.
“I’m not going another month without you in my arms, in my bed,” he said into my hair. “My draygone was impossible to control. I almost climbed through your window.”
“When?” I asked, twisting around so I could see him. Only the faintest light shone through his nearby window, but it was enough to make out his features.
“Every night.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I let myself relax against him, and as he captured my lips in the most gentle of kisses, I decided that Lexen was right. As usual.
No more time apart. We were a team. We would figure out whatever battle was coming for us and we would not be defeated, because we would fight together. Always.
House of Imperial - Secret Keepers#2
Release June 30th 2018
Chapter One
www.amazon.com/House-Imperial-Secret-Keepers-Book-ebook/dp/B07D1YQLPL/
The French Quarter was a place I wanted to tell my children about. Not that kids or family were an actual possibility in my life, but this city … it was a world worthy to be passed on, to be spoken about in stories and song. There was something special here. I had felt it the first moment we arrived.
As I strolled along the colorful street that led into Jackson Square, I wondered what my life would have been like if I’d been born here. I mean, not right here on this somewhat grimy pavement, but in New Orleans. Maybe I would be reading tarot cards like the woman on my right, set up at her small white table, long dark curls spilling out from under the jeweled headpiece adorning her forehead, purple nails flashing as she placed cards down for an eager tourist.
Or maybe I’d paint.
That always looked like a fun way to tell a story. Street artists were everywhere, some amazing, others average, but all of them expressing their creativity in a way that I couldn't imagine doing. I’d never held a paintbrush, not even as a child. Circumstances from before my birth dictated that my life would never be my own.
Something I’d grown numb to over the years.
As if to prove me wrong, a haunting saxophone tune started up from a jazz musician leaning close to the wall of a café; the low reverberations hit me deep in my soul, in the place that had been cold and dormant for a long time. I basked in that feeling for a moment, closing my eyes and letting the music take me away.
I probably looked like a crazy person, standing in the middle of the Quarter, face lifted to the sky, my shoulder length platinum-blond hair no doubt sticking out in a million directions. Okay, so it was NOLA, I no doubt fit in perfectly, but for someone who had always tried to blend it was making me uneasy being in public like this. But for the first time in a long time I felt alive. I wasn’t sure if letting myself feel things was a go
od idea, but I couldn’t seem to stay away. I kept coming back here, to this center filled with life and vibrancy, watching the other tourists as they took their spooky tours and filled their bags with fancy masks, religious trinkets, and hot sauce. I envied them their laughter, and their ability to afford copious amounts of beignets. Those puffy balls of magic were everything. I'd had one my first day and since then I must have thought about their deliciousness at least seven times a week. I was addicted and was totally okay about it.
Mostly I envied them their happy moments and families. That existence was not for me, but at least being here I got to experience a small sliver of what they had every day. Glancing at my watch, I stifled my groan: 3.50pm. I’d already been gone for two hours, wandering the streets.
It was Wednesday. I was supposed to be at the farmers’ markets on Peters Street. My mom allowed me to make this once a week trip from our tiny condo in the Marginy to gather some groceries. I’d be punished for taking my time today; I always was. We had strict rules in my family – my mom and me – and one of the most important was that I never put us at risk of exposure. We were to always stick to the shadows and live like ghosts. Most days I felt about as substantial as a ghost, so she had achieved one of her goals.
With reluctance, I turned away from the square and started my trek back toward the market area. It was only a few blocks, but in this million-percent humidity it would feel longer. I really wasn’t in any rush to get back to our tiny condo. So even though it felt like I was striding through a sauna I did my best to enjoy the journey. Heat didn’t bother me normally, but I hadn’t quite understood the true scope of “sweating like a pig” until we arrived here.
I let my eyes roam across the streets, waiting for the next new and crazy sight. One literally never knew what was going to happen day by day. We’d only lived in New Orleans for a few months. To the locals I’d always be a tourist, but I was okay with that. I would take that title in exchange for getting to experience this world. I was fascinated with it all. This city was hard to truly describe; a place like no other, and considering I’d moved two to three times a year since I was born, that was really saying something. Its French influences, not only in architecture but food and culture … I loved them all.
I’d started hoping each night, before I went to sleep, that nothing would spook my mom into running again. Two months was usually the shortest time we remained in one place, so we should still have at least another two months here. But I wanted forever.
Far too quickly I arrived at the market, hurrying about to finish my shopping before it closed. The walk back to our condo would take forty minutes, but I’d brought some bags with cold packs for anything that could spoil in this hot weather.
My mom didn’t work – she told me that neither of us could leave a paper trail, which included social security numbers and tax declarations – we lived off a huge settlement payout from my father’s death. He was killed in a hit and run when my mom was pregnant with me. It had been a very big deal, something to do with unsigned roadworks and safety issues. Whatever the cause, I lost a parent, one who might have actually loved me, and in exchange we got enough money to live like nomads.
The money was almost gone now. Eighteen years of being on the run was pretty expensive, even if we did live in rundown-no-names-asked rentals.
A group of kids pushed past me as I left the market, yelling and throwing a football around. School had started up again; they’d probably just gotten out and come straight here with their parents. I’d been homeschooled. Sort of. I wasn’t sure there was an actual name for what my mom did, which was teach me the basics, lecture me incessantly about the dangers in our lives, and fill my young innocent mind with the sort of scary stories that not even adults should hear.
“Callie!”
The shout had me spinning on the spot, heavy bags swinging against my legs. There were only two people in this town who knew my name. One was my mom, the other was a pain in my butt.
Turning away again, I yelled over my shoulder. “Not in the mood, Michaels. I have to get home.”
Jason Michaels was a persistent bastard, I’d give him that, but even after he’d challenged me and I’d kicked his ass in the gym, he still hadn’t given up. What his end game was, I had no idea. He never asked me out, or even hinted that he wanted to go on a date. He just … asked too many questions and was always around. If my mom got any hint of his consistent presence in my life, my one other piece of freedom would be yanked away from me.
Along with New Orleans.
I was not letting this tenacious bastard take this place from me.
“Are you training this afternoon?” he asked, falling into step beside me.
“No,” I replied shortly.
He just laughed. “You always say no, and yet you’re always there.”
Spinning on my heels, I swung back in his direction, startling him enough that he blinked wide eyes at me. Michaels was a good looking guy, tall, broad shouldered, bleach-blond tousled hair, the same as I’d seen from surfers when we lived in California – but in manners and speech he was all Southern.
“What exactly do I need to do to make you go away?”
He just shrugged, flashing me that slow smile. “You like me, I know it.” He turned to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “See you this afternoon, cher.”
I glared at his retreating back, shaking my head and hurrying along again. Part of me wondered if I should try and be nicer to him. In general, I was a bitch to everyone – I didn’t have any friends for a reason. I had to keep myself away from everyone else, because if I didn’t, if the wrong people found out about me … the world could end. Or something to that tune. My mom had gotten systematically crazier over the years, but the gist was always the same – I was important, and if the others got their hands on me…
Did I believe her? Hard to know, I’d seen a few weird occurrences in my life, difficult to explain happenings, but I still wasn’t totally sold on her tales.
In all honesty, I had no idea how to make or keep friends, and it was easier just relying on myself.
I turned back once to make sure Michaels wasn’t following me, because leading him home would be the best way to kick Mom into flight mode. The street was empty of all tall blonds, so I felt safe in continuing – navigating the path to get me home quickest, while also being somewhat safe. We didn’t live in the best neighborhood, but during daylight hours I hadn’t had much issue so far.
When I finally reached the stairs to the condo, I paused and took a deep breath. I had to prepare myself, because my mom was about to lose her shit at me. Some days I was just tired of this life, of my existence.
You’re eighteen now.
The stupid voice in my head had been reminding me of this for the last few months. My birthday had been in June, not that anyone remembered or mentioned it. But I knew, because it marked the moment I no longer had to follow my mom around. I could leave, get a job – paper trail be damned – rent my own shitty apartment and live an actual normal life. But the same part of me that continued to hold people at a distance, the part that believed her stories, wouldn’t let me make the final break. With one more deep breath for courage, I started up the two flights, mentally preparing myself for the fight which was to come.
As I went to put my key in the lock, the door pushed inwards, which didn’t surprise me. Mom was no doubt waiting right on the other side for me. But as the empty living area and kitchenette came into view, I ground to a halt.
What in the…?
Stepping forward again, my senses were firing as I took in my surroundings, cataloguing everything, searching for something out of place to explain what was going on. I left the bags of food near the front door, wanting both hands free. I wished my hair wasn’t hanging loose; I didn’t like to fight with it in my face. I had at least just cut it back to my shoulders, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. As if to prove me wrong, strands of ashy blond fell in front of my face, but a f
lick of my head put them back into place. The ceiling was low in here, and since I was five foot eleven, I had to duck under the arched accents in the hallway. The last thing I needed was to smash my head and alert whomever was inside that I was here.
My Converse were quiet as I crossed the threadbare carpet heading toward the first small bedroom, just off the hall. The bedrooms were across from each other, the bathroom at the back of the condo. That was all there was to this place. Nowhere really to hide.
It was deathly quiet, a bad omen because my mom always played Mozart and Bach in the house. Said it helped ease the turmoil of worry that plagued her mind. I wasn’t sure how I felt about classical. I was starting to think I was a jazz girl at heart, but I sure as hell missed them in this moment.
Because something was wrong.
Using my foot, I nudged my door open to reveal the twin bed, white dresser, open closet – or locker as they called it here – with my few clothes spilling out onto the floor, no sign of anything amiss. Ducking my head inside, I looked around to double-check, but as far as I could tell, the room was empty.
Spinning the other way, I sucked in some fortifying air and crossed the hall to my mom’s room. In normal circumstances I would never enter her domain. She was fiercely private, totally crazy, and prone to smacking me with wooden sticks. But this was no normal day. Her door firmly shut, I twisted the handle, wincing at the telltale creak of the lever lifting. Stepping back, I swung the door wide open, and waited a second for something to jump out at me. When nothing did, I peeked around the edge.
Her bed was twice the size of mine, neatly made with a faded green duvet. Her closet was closed, not a single item out of place, not even a shirt on the floor. I let my eyes run over everything, even dropping down to glance under the bed.
