Shattered (the Spellbound Series Book 2)

by Rene Lanausse

  He still trusts me, miraculously, but the two of them have been at odds ever since they met face to face. And Alyssa hasn’t brought up her feelings towards me since. In fact, she’s even been somewhat cold to me in the past few months.

  They have an unspoken agreement not to fight over me, but I highly doubt they’ll ever actually enjoy each other’s company.

  We climb the steps inside to the third floor, and then wait while Alyssa fumbles with the lock on her door. She lets out a frustrated sigh, unlocks the door with a spell, and pushes it open. There appears to be nothing but a black void beyond the threshold, until Alyssa turns on the lights, and the people hidden inside yell as one, “Surprise!”

  Arranged in Alyssa’s loft are almost all the people we care about the most; my mother; one of my best friends and my current favorite werewolf, Rachel; Nick’s werewolf roommate and famous artist, Landon; Nick’s other roommate and my mentor, Krystal; several of our mutual friends within the Caelestia clan; Alyssa’s roommates, Holly and Joseph; and finally, one girl that I don’t recognize at all. Nick squeezes my hand as Alyssa and I step into the loft amid various voices telling us, “Happy Birthday.”

  I look around at the loft with mock surprise plastered on my face. There are green and purple streamers hung up all over the living room, attached to everything from the ceiling, to the exposed brick walls, to a bedroom door. Someone, probably Landon, crafted a banner with our likenesses painted on it, which hangs over the chocolate cake on the table. Plastic plates, forks, and cups can be found everywhere, including in the hands of partygoers that couldn’t wait for us to lay into the refreshments. The sight brings a smile to my lips; they obviously went to a lot of effort.

  Not long after our arrival, my mom pulls me aside, and asks, “What do you think?”

  Alyssa and I realized what was going on when everyone kept urging us to keep our schedules for May 19th clear, so I’m nonplussed by the “surprise” portion of the party. But I know how much this means to my mom, so I grin, and say, “This is amazing! Thank you!”

  Rachel throws a green feather boa around my neck as someone across the loft turns on a stereo. I turn to face her, and ask, “Where’s Jenna?,” the third member of our trio.

  “She had to work,” Rachel half shouts over the music.

  I respond with a halfhearted, “Oh.” I’m disappointed by Jenna’s absence, but I can’t exactly say I’m surprised. She’s been slowly drifting from us even before Rachel and I started college. Now, she seems to spend her time doing nothing but working.

  Rachel notices the shift in my mood, and says, “It’s alright, she might swing by later if she gets off early enough. Her present’s on the pile next to mine.”

  I look over in the corner of the living room at the small stack of presents from all the partygoers. Next to the stack are Alyssa and the one girl I didn’t recognize, their arms wrapped around each other. They seem to be deep in conversation one moment, and then they’re suddenly kissing in the next. As I watch, I become aware of the heat flooding my cheeks, the pressure behind my temples. Alyssa has been acting noticeably distant lately, and I think I’m finally seeing why.

  Maybe her feelings towards me aren’t quite as one-sided as we both assume. I try to shake off the slight twinge of jealousy by focusing on any other part of the party I can.

  Everyone else seems to be having fun; what little conversation is going on is happening as far from the speakers as possible. There are some people playing Uno at the kitchen table, a few amusing themselves by shooting green and purple sparks into the air to match the streamers, and a brave few individuals dancing in the middle of the living room. I can’t see any activity that I’m particularly interested in, but I’m content just wandering around the loft, watching what’s going on. As long as I can put some distance between myself and Alyssa.

  I pass by Nick on my rounds through the party, and pause to watch him devour handfuls of M&M’s. It seems like he wasn’t kidding about being hungry. I’m not in the mood to shout over the music so we can talk, so I move on before he can notice me.

  After a while, I start to feel a headache coming on, so I climb out onto the fire escape for a little peace and quiet. I’d been hoping for solitude, but the first thing I notice after squeezing through the window is Landon, leaning against the iron railing and staring out at the city’s skyline. He turns to face me, and asks, “What’s up, birthday girl? Why aren’t you inside?”

  “I needed some air. You?”

  “Joseph’s been hitting on me for the past hour...”

  “What’s wrong with that? He’s cute.”

  “Yeah, but I have no time for guys.”

  “Why not?”

  Landon stares out at the skyline again as he speaks. “There’s just too much I need to do. People to see, projects to finish, ideas to bring to life. And in the midst of all that, I need time for myself as well. I’m sure it sounds pretty selfish to you because you’re still young, but I realized a long time ago that I come first in my own life. And right now, I’m not in a place where I can make my life about someone else.”

  I lean against the railing as well, and say, “Yeah, I get what you mean.” And I do. Aside from training, classes, and occasionally seeing my friends, my time is pretty much consumed by girlfriend duties. “My life pretty much revolves around Nick.”

  “That’s only because you don’t have anything else to make it about.” I look over at Landon, who quickly adds, “Don’t get me wrong, I think you and Nick are a good match. But, do you still know who you are without him? Because you were a full person with hopes and dreams before you met, and you will continue to be one if you guys become strangers, God forbid.”

  Landon’s words send my mind into overdrive, trying to see if I can figure myself out, but I come up short. My mom once told me that who we are is defined by what we do, but that advice isn’t any help to me. I like writing, but I’d never call myself an author. I’m good at defending myself and others, but I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a warrior, or a hero. At the end of the day, I only really know what I am, not who, and what I am is just a stubborn, nerdy freak of nature with a somehow-not-a-vampire-anymore boyfriend.

  “I’m heading back inside,” Landon announces. “Happy birthday, kid.” He then steps back into the loft through the open window, leaving me to ponder our conversation alone.

  ***

  Once all the cake has been eaten, and the presents have been opened, there isn’t much left to do, so the party starts winding down. Alyssa and I wait downstairs as most of the partygoers start trickling out. Nick stops on his way down the steps and asks if I want to sleep over, but I decline. I’d much rather just head home for some me time. Nick shrugs, and kisses me on the forehead before leaving with Landon and Krystal.

  My mother is the last one to leave, and she pulls me into a huge hug before saying, “See you in the morning.”

  “Morning?”

  “I had to swap shifts with Maddie so I could come to the party, meaning I’ll be getting home around 8. I’ll meet you for breakfast, and then it’s bedtime for me, alright?”

  “Alright. See you then.” My mom smiles at me, and turns down the block towards the nearest subway station.

  Now it’s just Alyssa and I, standing on the steps of the building. I go to ask her about what I saw at the party, but the roar of an engine nearby cuts me off. A sleek black motorcycle slows to a stop right in front of us, being ridden by the girl I was just going to ask about. Now that I can see her up close, I have to admit she has a certain allure. The left side of her head is partially shaved, revealing an ear lined with piercings to match the silver hoop dangling from her septum. The rest of her jet black hair flows down her back, only partially covering the tattoo on the back of her neck. Hints of her copper skin can be seen through the tears in her jeans, and is otherwise covered by a white t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and matching leather boots.

  “So, you’re Heather,” the girl half-shouts over
her engine. Her bow shaped lips are drawn up into a smile as she looks me over, and I suddenly feel self conscious about my own boring jeans/t-shirt/Converse combination. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Lily.”

  I’ve never heard of this girl before, but I respond, “Same here. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s cool, you don’t have to lie. Come on, Allie, let’s get out of here.”

  “Where are you guys going?,” I ask. There’s a little more venom in my tone than I’d intended, but I can’t help it. Lily using my nickname for Alyssa struck a nerve.

  Alyssa shrugs, and says, “The after party,” as she climbs onto the back of Lily’s motorcycle. She puts the one helmet over her own head before saying, “See you around, Santos.” Alyssa wraps her arms around Lily’s middle, and they take off down the street.

  As the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine fades, I take a deep breath, and try to put Alyssa out of my mind. I have a boyfriend, why should I care what she does? I shouldn’t. I don’t. I readjust the messenger bag over my shoulder, now laden with cards and presents, and focus on the mental image of my apartment. I blink once, and the streets of the West Village have been replaced by the familiar light blue walls of the same room I’ve lived in for nineteen years. I dump by bag onto my bed, and walk out to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  On my way back to my room, I freeze just before passing the living room. It looks empty at first glance, but upon closer inspection, I can make out a figure silhouetted by the light pouring in through the window. The only two people that live here are me and my mom, and my mom is at work, so whoever this person is doesn’t belong here. I don’t even think; I fire a concentrated burst of energy at the intruder, and hope it’s enough to knock them out.

  My spell stops short a few inches from its intended target, and vanishes entirely. “Impressive, Heather,” mutters a masculine voice. “But unnecessary. I’m not here to fight.”

  I start to panic a tiny bit, and ask, “Who are you?”

  The man turns around, and the lights flicker on as our eyes meet. “My name is Michael. And I’m your father.”

  3

  “What?” I take a few steps back from the stranger in my living room. That was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “You’re lying,” I mutter, for my own sake as much as for his. “My father died in a car crash.”

  Michael walks past me, towards a shelf stocked with pictures of my mom and I through the years. He pauses to carefully inspect one of my baby pictures, and asks, “Is that what Regina told you?”

  “It’s the truth…”

  “Have you ever seen photos of the funeral? Or news reports of the accident? Or even a grave?” I stare at Michael silently, my eyes widening as I realize that I’ve never encountered any of the things he’s mentioned. “It’s a fallacy,” he continues. “I expect your mother either couldn’t bring herself to tell you the truth, or doesn’t comprehend it well enough to explain.”

  I’ve seen and done so many strange things in the year and a half since discovering my powers, and while this is hardly the strangest, I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea of my father being alive. Not after thinking he’s been “dead” all my life. All the same, I can’t deny the plausibility of Michael’s claim. When he turns to face me, I notice for the first time that his eyes are the same shade of green as mine. I fold my arms over my chest, and ask, “Can you prove that you’re really my father?”

  In response, Michael asks, “Do you still have the necklace I left to you?”

  I nod, and ask, “What do you want with it?”

  “Bring it to me, and I’ll show you.”

  I walk back to my room, and grab my necklace from the headboard of my bed. When I return, Michael reaches into his shirt and pulls out a necklace identical to mine; a pendant shaped like a single feathered wing, studded with emeralds along the top from the rounded end to the tip, swinging from a sterling silver chain. “These are the only two necklaces of their kind,” he says, “I made them for us the moment I knew you were coming into this world.” Michael yanks the chain from his neck, and says, “Close your eyes,” before clamping our hands together, the pendants pressed between our palms.

  Almost instantly, a blinding white light emanates from where the necklaces touch, and I close my eyes as quickly as I can. The light shines through my eyelids briefly, and then is replaced by fleeting visions from my past. One moment I’m reliving my first kiss with Nick, right on the water by FDR Drive. The next, I’m nine years old again, and Rachel’s mom is driving me to the hospital after I broke my leg jumping off a swing. The memories keep rolling like rapid fire; my high school graduation, my first loose tooth, my first and only struggle with chickenpox, my mom singing me to sleep as a toddler, the first time I used my powers. Finally, I see Michael kissing my sleeping mother on her forehead, and whispering, “I love you both,” before vanishing into thin air.

  The visions cease as abruptly as they began, and I blink a few times as my eyes readjust to the light. As he comes into focus, I regard Michael more carefully than before; he’s tall and sturdily built, his muscles just barely discernible under the fabric of his dark blue suit. His hair and skin are so close to being the same shade of gold that it’s hard to tell where one ends and one begins. He doesn’t look very old, but the lines creeping from the corners of his eyes and the lines on his forehead stand in stark contrast to the rest of his flawless skin. If he really is my father, then I barely resemble him at all. All I’ve inherited from him are my eyes.

  When it becomes clear that Michael is waiting for me to speak first, I ask, “How did you do that? Are you a spellcaster?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is what you are.” Michael removes his hands from mine, and I look down at my palm. Where there had once been two separate necklaces with separate pendants, there is now only one of each. The two wing shaped pendants merged together into one set of wings, spread open as if ready to take flight.

  “And what am I?,” I ask cautiously as I inspect the jewelry in my hands.

  “Nephilim.” I stare blankly at Michael until he continues, “In modern times, you are called a Conduit, but in the old days, we called you by a different name… Nephilim.”

  “Okay… Weird.” I slip the winged pendant into my pocket, and take a few seconds to think. Michael says he isn’t a spellcaster, but he seems to have powers that are at least similar to mine. So if he’s telling the truth, that begs the question; what exactly is he? I’m still having doubts about everything he’s claiming, but I need to get more information before I decide whether to trust him or not. “Say I believe you. Say you’re actually my father… Why come to me after all these years? What is it you want from me?”

  Rather than answering directly, Michael says, “I assume you’ve been told that there will only ever be two of your kind, correct? One champion of Heaven, the other of Hell?”

  I nod slowly; I do remember hearing about this roughly a year ago, just after my eighteenth birthday. According to legend, there will only ever be two people like me born, spellcasters with powers beyond our wildest dreams, called Conduits. One of us was born a representative of the light, and the other of darkness. Beyond that, though, I have no idea what a Conduit does, so I say, “Yeah… your point?”

  “The other Nephilim is thriving, and has already been contacted by their own father. Unlike me, my brother will likely take unconventional steps to enhance his child’s development. The time for the Nephilim to meet on the battlefield swiftly approaches, and you must be the one that survives. Otherwise… it could mean the end of countless lives.”

  “Okay… again, what does any of that have to do with me? You seem more than strong enough to take on the other Conduit… Nephilim… whatever.”

  “It’s forbidden for me to intervene in this contest, beyond offering you guidance. Besides, this is precisely why you were born. It is your destiny.”<
br />
  “It’s my destiny… to kill someone I’ve never even met?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “Yeah, sorry… Not happening. Besides, I don’t buy into all that destiny crap.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t accept that I was born for any particular reason. I make my own destiny.”

  Michael looks at me as if I’ve slapped him across the face. He must not have expected me to have a mind of my own. “You are the Nephilim,” he says. “As such, it is your duty to-“

  “It isn’t my ‘duty’ to do anything.”

  “Why will you not accept? You’ve been blessed with glorious purpose, you should be falling over yourself to accept the help I came here to offer you.”

  “Help with what? All you’ve done is show up, say you’re my father, and tell me I have to ‘fulfill my destiny’.”

  “You’re much too strong to reach your true potential under the tutelage of a mortal. If you were to let me teach you, I could have you in top fighting form in a matter of months. Teach you secrets that would prepare you for the challenges you’ll face.”

  I take into consideration everything Michael has said thus far. He seems to genuinely want to help me in his own demented way, but I’m being seriously put off by all the sudden talk about destiny. And besides, I’m the strongest spellcaster I’ve ever encountered, I’m sure I can handle things by myself. So I tell him, “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll make do on my own.”

  “There may be consequences for refusing my aid… Choose carefully.”

  “I’ve chosen carefully. We’re done here.”

  “Then on your own head be it. I’ve done all I can, for now.” Michael gives me a rueful smile, and says, “Under different circumstances, I’d be proud of the strong willed, resilient young woman you’ve become. But right now, it just seems like you’ve turned out a little too much like me.” Then, there’s a brief flash of blinding light, followed by the sound of fluttering wings, and when the light fades, Michael is gone.