Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance)

by J. S. Chancellor

  Several hits come at me at once, and I realize then they haven't been sent here to take me or anyone else with them. They are seriously aiming to kill and by the looks of how hard they are trying to get to my location specifically, I think it's safe to assume I am the main target.

  This just makes me mad. I fend off two blows, only to receive four successive punches to the gut. This weakens me momentarily and unfortunately gives them enough of an advantage to throw me into the kitchen table.

  I look up from the gaping wreckage, the table in pieces around me, and groan. I forget how good these guys are. Where the hell is Jacelynd with his freakish powers when I need him? Never mind that, I'll have these guys dead and buried by the time he finishes his shower, so … bring it on.

  I casually cross my legs, like I crashed through the oak table on purpose and motion for them to come closer.

  These guys aren't stupid. They don't rib each other like the kids I freaked out at the motel. They know I mean business and instead of leaning down, they pull out all the stops. Unfortunately for them, this is what I expected.

  The one on the right has kicked up a splintered piece of wood and intends to use it like a stake, while the one on the left and the fellow behind him circle around me. Meanwhile, I gather into my hands two of the kitchen knives that were on the table—behind my back, of course—and it doesn't take long for me to throw them into crucial parts of their brains. Two of them, anyway. The third sees this happen and is completely unfazed.

  Blake, having impressively finished off his share of the action, takes off the guy's head with startling efficiency. Suddenly, all that is left in the air is unsettling silence, followed by crying from beyond the French doors of the kitchen. Blake helps me up from the floor. I finish off the two I disabled and follow him into the other room.

  "No, no, no please! Stay with me, James!" Mrs. Temper is cradling Mr. Temper in her arms. He is bleeding badly and judging by how dark the blood is, his injuries are a death sentence.

  "Can he be turned?" I ask Quinn.

  Tears come to his eyes as he says, "He's too old now. Humans can't withstand the change after about age thirty-five, depending on their health." Quinn kneels down to him and speaks softly to both Mr. and Mrs. Temper.

  "Did Trinity do this?" Liv asks quietly.

  "Who else?" I am furious. Check that, somewhere ten miles south of furious. To hell with the mental connection, he obviously knows where I am. I'm calling him. I grab the cell phone off the end table and dial his number.

  "Trinity," he sounds haggard.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I scream, shocked at my loss of restraint.

  He is silent for a second before he breathes a very forced, "What?"

  "No more games! No more lies! What the hell is going on?"

  "Jess, I don't understand what you're—"

  "Death Dealers, Trinity. You know—those fuckers I spent the last decade of my life fighting, who were supposedly employed by the Rebellion?!"

  "What happened?" For a second, his voice sounds serious, grave even.

  The couple seconds of doubting that he is responsible don't last. "Oh, I'm sorry, world-dominating bastard number one and world-dominating bastard number two are really close together on speed dial. I must have called the wrong fucking one!"

  "Jess, don't ha—"

  I snap the phone closed and throw it hard across the room, feeling only mildly assuaged to hear it smash against the wall.

  That doesn't work when I can still communicate with you like this.

  I hear Jacelynd coming down the stairs. His voice has an edge of panic as he asks what happened and Blake starts to fill him in. I walk outside to cool off. And look for more of our visitors.

  Jessica, tell me what happened.

  I have absolutely nothing to say to him. I lean against the side of the house and notice glass sticking out of my side. I pull a couple shards out and brush the rest off of my clothes. In all truth, it doesn't seem to make sense. Why would he have let me live, just to have me killed by Death Dealers? Still, I can't think of any other plausible explanation. Then again, I don't just have a couple enemies, I have multitudes. Legions, perhaps. Okay, that's a bit egocentric. Still, it's more than your average Covenant.

  I kept my promise to you. I didn't track you last night and you know I could have. In some sick way, Trinity sounds genuine.

  No, you waited until today, you jerk. Same shit, different day. Now, shut up and let me deal with this.

  "Are you all right?" Jacelynd comes outside and looks me over like I haven't just nodded in response to his question. He's clearly shaken.

  "They need you more inside."

  Jace nods once and ducks wordlessly back into the house.

  Jessica, I need to know what's going on. Trinity doesn't take subtle hints.

  You're planning on taking over the world. That's what's going on, or have you changed your mind?

  I can't stop what's already been set into motion. That has little bearing on what pertains to you right now and most certainly has nothing to do with whoever wants you dead. It definitely isn't me. Surely, you know this.

  I don't know what I know anymore. I have a dying human and grieving wife to deal with now, so if you would be so kind as to leave me alone—maybe hold off anyone else you've arranged to take my life for at least a few more hours, I would really appreciate the gesture.

  Jess, I'm not leaving this alone. I didn't send anyone after you.

  When I walk back inside, Jacelynd has knelt down beside Mr. Temper. Liv consoles Mrs. Temper, but it will do little good. "Jacelynd, is there nothing you can do?" I ask cautiously.

  He gives me a reserved look and I can understand why. Doing something means revealing to everyone here his little deal with the devil. He sighs deeply before answering, "I don't know if I can, but … " He hovers over the old man.

  "Jace, he's past the age of acceptance. He won't … " Quinn stops when I grab his shoulder.

  Jacelynd closes his eyes and bites into his wrist. Instead of bringing it to Mr. Temper's mouth, he presses it against the open wound on his abdomen. Everyone holds their breath as Jacelynd whispers unfamiliar words.

  A gradual pressure builds in the room, similar to that what I felt on the field near Callmadus—thick and unnerving energy.

  It had come from Jacelynd.

  Suddenly, a resonating intonation sounds, expanding from the two of them and opening outward until the whole room is filled with sound. Then, just as quickly as it started, absolute silence blankets the room.

  Mr. Temper coughs, his eyes darting from one concerned face to another. "What's everyone got such a sour face for?" he asks innocently, then sees the blood on his clothes. "Oh, dear."

  Liv catches Mrs. Temper as she faints. Quinn and Blake both turn to Jacelynd, equal shock on their faces. Quinn is the first to speak.

  "Jacelynd. What just happened?"

  Blake steps up beside me. "I knew something was wrong back in the woods outside of Callmadus. Jess never falls like that. You did something when she came at you."

  Jace seems at a complete loss for words. He's not sure what to say. He can't fathom how to say it. I know, because I've been there.

  I can at least try to explain while he regroups his thoughts, "Perhaps right now isn't the best time to talk about this."

  Quinn's face falls. "Jacelynd, tell me you haven't done something stupid."

  Blake looks between Quinn and Jacelynd, then back to me. "Jessi?"

  Jacelynd closes his eyes briefly; a flash of pain crosses his face before he opens his eyes again. "I cannot undo the past, not mine or anyone else's. So I will do what I must to harness the damage that has come as a result of my family's decisions."

  Blake, usually the quiet one, is in tears now. "Will do? You've already done something! This involves all of us, why wouldn't you tell us? What have you done?"

  Jacelynd nods respectfully. "My sincere apologies for that, Blake. I had hoped to keep you—all of
you—unaware of my commitments until it became necessary."

  I've never been good at these long, drawn-out, painfully tense scenarios where everyone tries their hardest to not say what needs to be said. "Jacelynd made a deal with the guardians at the gate and traded his immortal soul in exchange for the powers he has now. But, everyone just chill out, this isn't the end of the story."

  No one says anything. In fact, no one seems to comprehend what I've just said. They all stare either at the floor or each other in quiet fear.

  "Hello! Jacelynd just saved Mr. Temper's life, we still have Death Dealers trying to kill us— or me, but whatever—and this is not a sure thing. How many laws in physics are not all that absolute?" I don't ask this question to anyone specifically, but Liv suddenly takes a book off of the shelf and lets it fall with a loud whack to the floor.I know what she intended with this. She meant to show me that gravity is absolute. "Okay, but you can't tell me you're all just giving up? Did you give up on me? No, or obviously I wouldn't be here now. I'm the sarcastic ass, and you guys want me to be the one who keeps the faith?"

  Clearly they do. Blake and Quinn excuse themselves, while Liv quietly begins to pick up the mess. Mr. Temper and a now-conscious Mrs. Temper leave to get changed and most likely to spend a few moments being grateful to be alive. I am left standing awkwardly alone with Jacelynd. He says absolutely nothing in response to my inspiring speech.

  "Okay then," I mutter and turn to walk back into the kitchen. Debris is literally everywhere: broken dishes, eggs in places that won't ever scrape clean and in spite of it all, the coffee pot is still on and untouched on the counter. I sigh as I bend down and sift through the shattered wood and debris. I find that my coffee cup is in a few pieces, but there is enough of it left—so I take it over to the coffee maker and pour myself some coffee. No sense in dirtying another dish.

  The chairs have been obliterated and I don't feel like going anywhere else, so I sit down on the floor where my chair had once been, my legs crossed and take a good long sip. I hear myself moan, out of irritation or coffee-induced ecstasy—who cares which. At least I think the moan is coming from me until I spy one of the goons that I thought I'd already taken care of. He is lying in a discarded heap near my right foot.

  "Resilient little bugger." I lean up and note the table leg protruding from his mid-section. "Wow. That looks painful." I grin and prop my feet up on his shoulders. I take another leisurely sip.

  He groans again and makes a sad attempt to move. I lift my legs, allowing him to get as far as couple of inches before repositioning my feet back on his back.

  "Who sent you?" I ask offhandedly, sloshing the coffee in my sort-of-still-a-coffee cup. He doesn't answer me, and when I look closer I realize his mouth has a rather unfortunate wound. Hence all the moaning.

  "Hmm. Well, why don't we play a little game? I'll say a name and you can indicate whether it's your boss or not. Sound good? Good. Lord Tristan?" He doesn't make any sounds at all, but this doesn't surprise me. My lovely ex-lover has a plethora of titles.

  "Trinity?"

  Nothing.

  "The Seer Cleric?"

  Still nothing.

  "Damn it, work with me here. Big Bird … Your mother … No?" Now, I'm just being pissy. "Fine … Iris?"

  He groans. And my pout fades.

  "Oscar the Grouch?"

  Nothing.

  "Iris?"

  He groans again.

  "Damn it!" There isn't any way she could have known enough to send out Death Dealers prior to Callmadus blowing up, which means only one thing: she survived the blast. And … there is a world-dominating bastard number two. Who knew? And what the hell is she doing in power over forces like these?

  The kitchen door that leads into the garage creaks open and a familiar face waltzes in like he owns the place.

  "How do I always miss all the fun?" he asks. "Who's your new footstool?"

  "Oran?" I have some words for this guy, considering how many conversations over the years I had with him and he said nothing about who I really was.

  "No. My apologies. Oran is my twin. I was impersonating him the last time we spoke. I'm Nicodemus. You and I have actually never met before. I left to join the Rebellion a few years ago. When Jacelynd found out my brother was in Lord Tristan's employ, he contacted me. I've been on standby for a few months."

  I'd wondered. Oran was more faithful than most. "Is Oran dead?"

  Nicodemus shakes his head. "No, no. He might wish he was, but he's being well cared for by a secure faction of the Rebellion. He'll come around. I did."

  "You had a little help, as I recall," Jacelynd says from behind me.

  Nicodemus bows. "My liege. It appears I came too late. Is everything all right?"

  My new buddy groans and I kick him with my heel, smiling at the boys. "Yup, peachy."

  "Has he given up anything?" Nicodemus asks.

  Any prayer of living through this, his dignity and probably whatever he was holding in his bladder. "Sort of," I say.

  Nicodemus bends down and lifts the guy's sleeve to reveal a series of circular markings. "He's pretty high up."

  "Not anymore," I say darkly. This actually does explain why he is still breathing.

  Nicodemus points to the scars. "Each scar is equivalent to an assassin's ranks, or something close. This guy would be the equivalent of a master assassin."

  "Did Oran tell you nothing about me?" I ask. "Or did you see all the pictures at Trinity's estate and figure I was little more than a bloodsucking trophy wife? Death Dealers aren't new to me."

  Jacelynd leans over my shoulder wordlessly, a question forming on his lips.

  "Relax. His love for partying apparently hasn't changed much over the centuries. I was forced to pose for more than a couple candids."

  Nicodemus remarks reservedly, "Oran spoke highly of you, but through his cursing at me I couldn't glean much more than just the basics. I take it you were an assassin, then?"

  I nod.

  "You would have made master eventually, I'm sure," he says sweetly.

  Jacelynd clears his throat before making the correction. "She's Covenant, Nico. Has been for a while now."

  Nico looks around at the kitchen with new eyes. "Ah, so Jace, you weren't responsible for this?"

  Jace pats me on the back. "Nope, didn't even know it was happening." The way he says this leads me to believe he thinks I should have called to him mentally.

  "Sorry. Next time I'm getting my ass handed to me, I'll be sure to call for my naked husband to come running down the stairs to my defense." I smirk. "In all seriousness, there was no need to alarm you. Wet towels are totally useless against Death Dealers."

  Nico laughs, but Jacelynd, for whatever unimaginable reason, doesn't find this at all funny. Could be the whole life-or-death thing. Whatever.

  "He did indicate," I say, "that not everyone we thought died in your fireworks display actually died."

  Jacelynd finds this even less than funny. "Who?"

  "Some nun. No wait. He said my sister Iris, not Sister Iris."

  Jacelynd flies into a rage I couldn't have predicted even if I were Nostradamus himself. He rips my new friend from under my feet with one hand. "Where is she?" he growls.

  I want to tell him that clearly the man can't talk, not with half his mouth missing, but I figure that would seem a stupid thing to say since Jacelynd is staring right at him. But this could go on for a while if I don't do something. "He can't—"

  "Answer me!" Jacelynd is seriously off his game here if he thinks this guy can …

  Kerius, leading the raid. The voice comes from the Death Dealer, but not from him. It's this sickly disembodied sound that makes me want to wretch.

  "Never seen a Death Dealer do that." I try to wipe the disgust from my face. I'm not successful.

  Jacelynd drops the Dealer and though the name Kerius sounds mildly familiar to me, I have no idea what that means in the scope of everything else. Jacelynd looks at Nicodemus. "Give me your cell."
Nico hands it over. Jace frantically dials several numbers before he walks out onto the patio.

  "Where is Kerius?" I ask.

  Nicodemus' eyes are wide in shock or fear or both. "It's a safe haven in the mountains. It's mainly women, children and the elderly. I can't imagine why anyone would want to—"

  "To hurt me, avenge what she believes has been done to her, who the hell knows?" My insides seize with sorrow. Was this was the place Jacelynd took me, where our friends were, where the young girl was who was so excited to see me again?

  "I can't even tell you where it is, not many know the way," Nico says.

  Must be why I was blindfolded. It wasn't all because of Trinity. Jace never even told me the name of where they were taking me. On cue, Jacelynd walks back into the house, grief never more present in his expression.

  "Less than a quarter of them survived. They were hit early this morning," he says.

  "Is that where we were, where you took me before?" I know the answer, but I want to hear it anyway.

  He nods and I feel the world spinning.

  Nico touches Jace gently on the arm. "Are you going to tell the others or shall I?"

  Already Over

  I want to console him. Words have bounced around my head for hours, but none of them is right. It took us a while to leave the house, mainly because of the sheer volume of arrangements that needed to be taken care of concerning Mr. and Mrs. Temper, the decoys that would be left in their place should Iris get wise and send another round of drop-in guests, and the various responsibilities of tending to the safety of segments within the Rebellion. Almost all of this has fallen on Jacelynd alone.

  He's exhausted by the time we board the private jet to Ireland and falls asleep almost the moment we are seated. I lay a blanket over him and make my way to where Liv is looking out the window.

  "You doing all right?" I ask, sitting down beside her. She doesn't answer me right away and for a long while we sit in a comfortable silence, both watching the ocean below.