Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  Something about this smelled foul—and it wasn’t just the stink coming out of the boy’s locker room. I shut the door and made a run for the parking lot.

  I wasn’t sure whether I was going to tell Trace about what I’d just witnessed in the changing rooms. According to him, he wasn’t even with Nikki anymore, so did he still have the right to know about her after-school extracurricular activities with Caleb? And if so, was it my place to say something?

  Confused, and kind of grossed out, I headed across the student parking lot to meet up with Trace. I found him leaning against the side of his car, talking with Ben. Both were still wearing their school uniforms—minus their ties and blazers. I was actually relieved to see Ben there, for about a second, because at least I could postpone the Nikki thing.

  “Nice of you to show up,” said Ben with a Cheshire grin plastered across his face.

  “Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you,” I shot back, adjusting my schoolbag. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Yeah, neither did I.” His grin deepened as if he had a secret. “Believe me, Jem, chaperoning the two of you isn’t my idea of a good time either.”

  “Chaperoning us?” I looked over at Trace who was now glaring murderously at Ben.

  Was this his idea of a joke?

  As much as I liked Ben, there was no way we would be able to talk openly if he was tagging along with us the entire time. Had Trace even considered that in his idiotic rush to make sure we weren’t alone—which is so obviously what he was trying to do.

  “At first I was like, nope, ain’t gonna happen,” continued Ben, shaking his head. “But when he told me you knew, that he already spoke to you, there was no way I was missing my chance.”

  “Your chance to what?” If this was about ragging on me about Trace or those two guys from Easton, or the chemistry book thing from this morning, I was turning around and walking home.

  “To hear the truth,” he answered simply. “Straight from the source.”

  “The truth?” What the heck was he talking about?

  “You should hear some of the stuff they’ve been saying about you. It’s hard to tell the truth from the rumors.”

  “Rumors? What rumors? There’s rumors about me?”

  “Crazy rumors. You riding shotgun or what?” he asked as he threw his schoolbag into the backseat and stood in front of the open passenger door, waiting.

  There was no point in sitting next to Trace now. Besides, I was almost positive I wouldn’t have been able to resist smacking him in the head at that close range.

  “Go ahead.” I pulled the front seat forward and climbed into the back feeling frustrated and confused.

  Trace slid into the driver’s seat without saying anything and adjusted his rear-view mirror until our eyes met. I rolled my eyes at him and then sunk back in my seat, ignoring the prickling sparks I was feeling all over my body.

  I was really starting to hate those sparks.

  23. RIDING IN CARS WITH BOYS

  “So these rumors,” I asked Ben as we pulled out of the parking lot. “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about? Because if this is about Nikki, I’d rather not know.”

  Ben turned to Trace, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were asking him a silent question.

  “She doesn’t know about you,” said Trace.

  “What do you mean she doesn’t know?” Ben seemed shocked by this revelation. “But you said—”

  “I said she knew who she was. I didn’t say she knew anything about you or the others.”

  The others?

  “So what then? They’re just giving her bits and pieces?”

  “How should I know?” snapped Trace. “I’m not her Keeper.”

  “What are you two talking about?” I cut in, my nerves bordering on the edge of panic. “What don’t I know about you?”

  Ben swiveled around in his seat to face me, a comical grin spreading across his face. “That I’m Anakim too—a Shifter.”

  “You’re…Oh.” My eyes widened as I took in this new piece of information. Ben was a Shifter. My heart rate picked up. Ben was a Shifter—the same faction as Dominic.

  His smile faded. “Do you even know what that is?”

  As if I could forget. “Yeah, a Guardian Descendant who can shape-shift,” I said and then shook my head. “I’m just a little surprised. I thought you were, you know, regular.”

  Trace and Ben burst out in laughter.

  “What exactly is regular?” asked Ben. His back was leaning against the front dashboard—which was both illegal and incredibly dangerous.

  “I don’t know, like not Anakim,” I said dimly. “Can you not sit like that?”

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is human.”

  “Right.” Ben wasn’t human. No big deal.

  I flinched at the sudden realization that if he wasn’t human then neither was I. I didn’t fit into that category anymore either. I was something else now...something that wasn’t altogether sitting too well.

  “Are you okay?” asked Trace through the mirror.

  I nodded, pushing the uncomfortable feelings down. “I guess it just feels strange to think of it that way.”

  “It’s because you grew up human,” explained Ben. “I’d probably be tripping too if someone showed up tomorrow and told me I wasn’t Anakim, that I was like a Martian or something.”

  “A Martian? Seriously?” Trace shook his head.

  “At least it’s an upgrade,” continued Ben, ignoring Trace’s scorn. “Just think of how much worse you would have felt if they told you you’re the offspring of a demon, or worse, a Revenant.”

  “And to think, all this time I’ve been feeling like my entire life has been a lie, and really, what I should have been thinking was, well at least I’m not a demon. Thanks for putting it into perspective for me.”

  “Hey, no problem, that’s what I’m here for,” grinned Ben. “I’m like a walking silver lining.”

  “More like a walking punch line,” said Trace, jabbing him in the arm. He was noticeably more at ease—both of them were actually—almost as though they could finally relax a little now that their guards were down. It was nice.

  “So why am I only finding out about you now?” I asked, sharing looks between the two. “Why have you been keeping yourselves a secret from me?” It would have been nice to know that I wasn’t the only freak in town.

  “We weren’t the secret,” said Ben. “You were.”

  “How was I the secret? Everyone and their grandmother knows who I am and what happened to me.”

  At least that’s how it seemed.

  “We knew you were Cloaked and had no idea you were Anakim, but they didn’t tell us anything after that. Only that we should treat you like any other mortal,” he shrugged like it was a run-of-the-mill situation. “And when you never showed up at Temple, we just assumed they were keeping you that way. Some people said it was because you weren’t really a Slayer—that you didn’t have the Mark—but I’m not the kind of guy that listens to rumors.” He winked. “Well, most of the time anyway.”

  “What Mark?”

  “The Mark of the Anakim,” he said, flexing his hand. “It’s the white rune at the center of your palm. It sort of works like a fingerprint, except that it identifies your bloodline.”

  I looked at my palm. There were several curved lines, none of which seemed out of the ordinary. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Here, let me see.” He moved closer to me, grabbing the headrest for support as he took my hand into his free one. “Mmmm, soft skin,” he remarked as he examined my open palm.

  “Thank you, because this isn’t awkward enough.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “That’s weird,” he said, turning to Trace. “She doesn’t have the Mark.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, pulling my hand back protectively and then re-examining it myself.

  At this point, I was fairly certain about my lineage. Between what my unc
le had told me and what I learned through Dominic’s taste test, I was pretty sure I was a Slayer. So where the heck was my Mark?

  “I don’t know,” said Trace, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “It probably has something to do with the spell. I’m guessing it’ll appear once they remove the Cloak.”

  “They haven’t done that yet?” asked Ben, surprised. “Is that why I’ve never seen you at Temple? Training and whatnot?”

  “I train.” My tone was unnecessarily defensive. “I train in the evenings with Gabriel. I just started.”

  “Why are you training at night?”

  “She has to,” said Trace before I could answer. His eyes met mine in the mirror again, his gaze intense. “Because of her schedule with school and work.”

  That was weird. Why did Trace just hide the fact that I had to train at night because Gabriel was a Revenant? Was that supposed to be a secret?

  “That’s cool, makes sense,” said Ben, and then straightened. “So do the others know? Don’t tell me I’m the last one to know because I swear, I’m gonna be so—”

  “Nobody knows, just Morgan.”

  “You expect me to believe Morgan knows and didn’t tell Nikki?” Ben laughed. “Man, you know nothing about girls.”

  “Wait a freaking minute!” It was my turn to hug the headrest. “What do you mean Morgan knows? Is she Anakim too?”

  “Yup. Both of ‘em are,” answered Ben. A devilish grin appearing on his lips. “Nikki’s a bitch, I mean witch—”

  “Caster,” corrected Trace.

  “And Morgan’s a Seer.”

  “A Seer?” I balked. “A Seer of what?”

  “Of the future, of Souls, stuff like that.”

  “Like a psychic medium?”

  “Basically. If you want to use human lingo,” he said, twisting his face in disapproval. “Seers are Descendants of Messenger Angels so they’re all about their premonitions and connecting with the Spirit Realm. She’s good too. Scary good.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. For sure it was freaky, though at this point, everything I learned about the Anakim was freaky so that didn’t really leave me anywhere new.

  A thought occurred to me. “What about Taylor? Is she Anakim too?” Words couldn’t describe how much I wanted this to be.

  “Nope, she’s a mortal,” answered Ben. There was a vacant undertone in his voice, a subtle masking of what I could only imagine was his inner discontent. “Hannah is too, but Caleb and Carly are Casters like Nikki. They’re just not as powerful as her.”

  Oh, good. So in other words, Nikki—who despises me with every fiber of her being—was not only a witch, but she also happened to be a powerful one. That was precisely the thing I wanted to hear.

  My head was still spinning when we pulled into the parking lot of Starry Beach, the lakeside park that was playing host to the upcoming Spring Carnival. The overcast draped over the grounds like a bad omen, diluting all the would-be vibrant colors and replacing it with soulless shades of gray.

  I peered up at the sky, worried it might rain on us at any moment as we made our way over to a picnic bench away from the crowd of workers setting up the fair rides. Ben hopped up onto the table and patted the seat next to him.

  “Are you okay?” asked Trace, his eyes raking me over as he sat down on a picnic bench across from us.

  “Not really, but I will be.” As soon as I stop free-falling through the rabbit hole and figure out which way is up again. “Do Taylor and Hannah know?” I wondered, examining my palm again.

  “No.” Ben and Trace answered in unison.

  “Humans don’t know about us,” said Ben. “No exceptions.”

  “Why not? I mean, we’re not evil, right? We do good. If it were me, I think I’d feel safer knowing there were people out there protecting us from all the bad shit in the world.”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But no, that’s not the way it is. Humans are a skittish people, Jem, and fear can make them do crazy things especially when it comes to their fear of the unknown. Just look at their history books.”

  Witch hunts and vampire hysteria came to mind.

  “Can you just imagine the chaos,” he challenged, “If people knew what was out there? No one would want to leave their house. Forget about work, and lattes, and paying your taxes. It would be a stockpiling-supplies, shoot-your-neighbor-cause-he’s-walking-funny, every-man-for-himself kind of world. Trust me, you don’t want to live in that world.”

  He had a point. Humans didn’t exactly have a great track record when it came to dealing with the supernatural. “But you guys hang out with Taylor and Hannah every day. You obviously don’t mind taking some risk.”

  “We normally keep a safe distance,” explained Trace. “You know, together but separate.”

  “So what changed that?”

  “Carly happened,” said Ben.

  I vaguely remembered Taylor mentioning how she and Hannah used to be a lot closer last year before Carly moved here and started hanging out with them.

  “So Carly brought them into the group. Why isn’t she concerned about getting close with humans?”

  “Because she’s way too consumed by her human-envy to see anything clearly ninety percent of the time.”

  “What do you mean human envy?”

  “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot,” answered Trace. “She doesn’t have human envy. She just wants a normal life.”

  I couldn’t tell if it was understanding or pity in his tone.

  “I keep telling her it's overrated, but you know how girls are,” said Ben, leaning back on his elbows now.

  I shot him a surly look. “No. Why don't you enlighten me?”

  He put his hands up defensively, declining the invitation.

  “So Carly, Caleb and Nikki are Casters. Morgan’s a Seer and Ben’s a Shifter.” I turned back to Trace. “That leaves you.”

  He blinked languidly.

  “Trace is what we call a Reaper,” said Ben.

  “A Reaper?” I kept my eyes on Trace. “What is that?”

  “It's pretty sick,” answered Ben, walking over to where Trace was sitting. “Reapers are Descendants of Transport Angels, you know the Angels responsible for collecting the Fallen and shuttling Souls between Realms.”

  No, not really, but okay. I glanced back at Trace who was watching me carefully as if to measure my reaction.

  “Demibloods like Trace have a pretty good grasp on moving between time and space, I’ll give him that much,” said Ben, taking a jab at him. “But Purebloods take it to a whole other level. They move back and forth on the Timeline the way we walk in and out of rooms. Needless to say, they're kept under lock and key by the Council and rarely ever mingle with us common folk.” His tone let me know he was annoyed by the segregation.

  My mind snagged on the part about Trace being able to move between time and space. “Is that what you did on my balcony last night? Move between time and space?”

  “Just space,” replied Trace. “It's called teleporting.”

  “Freaky shit, right?” Ben hopped up beside Trace so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. “First time I saw him port, I nearly pissed myself.”

  That makes two of us.

  “And the moving between time part? We’re talking about time travelling, right?” The intimate conversation we had in my bedroom about changing the past immediately came back to me, but I didn’t want to bring up the details in front of Ben.

  Trace confirmed it with a nod.

  I needed time to process the ramifications of what this time travelling thing meant. It was just too much—too big of a deal—to digest in one hazy afternoon.

  My curiosity about him, however, begged for me to find out what else he could do. I wondered if he responsible for the warm current I felt every time he touched me? Or if he had some sort of hypnotizing gift? Or mind reading ability? Too embarrassed to ask him outright, I went with the safer question:

  “Do you have any other
abilities?”

  “He can read your thoughts,” answered Ben.

  “Only if I’m touching you.”

  My eyes swelled. “That day in the restaurant—you heard me.” And in my bedroom.

  He nodded again.

  I felt the crushing blow of panic set in as a dozen questions filtered in all at once. What else had he heard? How many times had we touched? Could he hear me now? Hello? I immediately started cursing at him in my mind.

  “You're freaking out, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I lied, swallowing hard. “I’m just taking it all in.”

  And I was, though I suspected it would be a while before I would be square again.

  I spent the rest of the week shuffling between school, work, and training with Gabriel, and as a result, the week had flown right by. By Friday night, I was exhausted, and admittedly a little green in the eyes since everyone I knew was out having a great time, doing normal teenage stuff—partying, unwinding, hanging out—and getting ready for the Carnival this week-end.

  Everyone, that is, except me.

  I was stuck in the secret underground training facilities of some ancient building having to learn self-defense tactics and kill strikes like my life depended on it—because it actually did. It wasn’t really the stuff dreams were made of, and would have been a total nightmare if it wasn’t for my skilled, easy on the eyes instructor who made it slightly more bearable for me.

  “Now drop your chin as far as you can,” ordered Gabriel. His arm was coiled around my neck and his other hand was on my waist, confining me against him. “You want to take the pressure off your neck and shift it to your chin. Good, just like that.”

  As soon as I had the brunt of his arm off my windpipe and could breathe again, I maneuvered us into what I liked to call the stop, drop and roll back, which basically consisted of, well, dropping to the ground and rolling back.

  And for the first time since I started training with him, I actually executed the move flawlessly, having dropped us to the ground and then rolled myself back over my would-be assailant to gain the upper position over him. I even fake-staked him with my fist for good measure.