This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination. The emergency alert in this novel was fictional. If there had been an actual emergency, you wouldn’t be reading this book.
Copyright 2019 Casey L. Bond
All rights reserved.
Book Cover and Interior Formatting by The Illustrated Author Design Services
Edited by The Girl with the Red Pen
Table of Contents
Copyright
Part One 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Part Two 12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
Part Three 23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Casey L. Bond
“A mesmerizing and haunting twist on a familiar tale you don’t want to miss.“
-Cameo Renae, USA Today bestselling author of the Hidden Wings Series
“Casey L. Bond reaches for the stars to bring us Things That Should Stay Buried. The Zodia are beautiful, dangerous and to die for.”
- Chanda Hahn, New York Times Bestselling Author
As above, so below.
Trouble a star, watch it explode.
The harbinger soars, the earth is bowed.
There is chaos in the heavens, there is chaos on the soil.
PART
ONE
Things That Awaken
There are things that ruled the earth long before humans began to scribble their histories.
Things that were forgotten.
Lost to time and memory.
Things that became myths.
Wicked things.
Things that should stay buried.
1
This morning in Physics we learned how momentum often led to collisions.
But that lesson extended to more than just mass and velocity. It was applicable to life. I was barreling toward the last rites of every high school senior: prom, graduation, college acceptance, and the beginning of life as my parents let go of the reins and handed them to me.
Maybe I was looking too far ahead and forgot to look at what was right in front of me.
When I emerged from the locker room in fresh running gear and saw Brant and Reagan standing next to one another, my stomach dropped. He nudged her, teasing her as she tied her shoe. She flirted as he stretched, showing a tan, taut sliver of stomach.
If I was being honest with myself, my pride had been hurt worse than my feelings. I wasn’t planning on forever with him, but we’d dated for a few months and I had come to really like Brant, to respect him. He told me things I was absolutely positive he’d never told anyone else and let me in when he usually pushed people away. We’d made plans to go to prom together this weekend, and then hang out at the bonfire planned for after.
I thought we’d date until graduation and new beginnings separated us, but he had other plans. I couldn’t stomach a liar, much less a cheater. He should’ve broken it off when he first thought of hooking up with Reagan. And he sure as hell shouldn’t have told the entire student body he only slept with her because I wouldn’t sleep with him. While it was true, it was none of anyone else’s business.
Some girls would’ve cowered. They would’ve stayed home and wallowed or ducked down hallways to avoid interacting, maybe even skipped practice since we were all on the same cross-country team. But I wasn’t about to let Brant or Reagan ruin my last days of high school. However, I also didn’t want to watch them paw each other.
I jerked the laces to my shoes tighter than necessary and inserted Air Pods into my ears, queuing my running playlist. When angry lyrics poured into my ears, I tucked my phone into the little zipper pouch built into my leggings at the small of my back and did what I did best. I ran.
Ignoring the warning from my Physics teacher and letting the world blur into nothing more than controlled breaths, dribbles of sweat, and the stubborn will to leave everything and everyone behind me, I pushed myself to finish first.
I didn’t even know I’d taken a misstep until my ankle cracked and I collided with the earth.
I pushed myself up, spitting out a leaf stuck to my bottom lip, and rolled onto my backside. My palms were shredded and already stinging. Blood welled into the gashes. It oozed into the cuts on my knees, too, but it was my ankle I was worried about. The pain in it was sharp. Both sides of the joint were swelling fast and it was already bruising. It was probably broken.
I wanted to cry. Because of the pain, yes, but also because I’d had entirely enough this week.
My brother could heal all of this in seconds if I could get ahold of him. I just hoped he answered.
I rolled over far enough to pull my phone out, brought up my favorite contacts, and pushed Kes’s name. Twigs, dirt, and leaves dug into my skin as I tried to sit up.
“Practice is already over?” Kes asked. He never answered the phone with a normal hello, but then again, he wasn’t exactly normal.
“I need you. I’m hurt and I need your help.” My voice cracked as searing pain shot through my ankle.
“Where are you?”
I looked down the hill at the football field just below, where my stuff was waiting. Where if I could just make it, I could leave before I had to see the happy new couple again. “Almost to the end of the trail.”
Kes appeared in front of me just like I hoped. His eyes snapped from my face, to my hands, and then to my knees before zeroing in on my ankle. He took it in his hands and I watched as the swelling bled from the joint, along with the blood that had pooled under the skin. Soon, it didn’t hurt at all. I rotated it to be sure.
“Was it broken?” I asked.
“It’s healed now,” he corrected. My brother, always looking at the bright side of things. It was his way of answering that indeed it had been broken, but now it wasn’t. Simple as that. Focus on what was right now, not what had been or could be.
The sound of footfalls, laughter, and heavy breaths came from the other side of the hill. Kes helped me up. “Run fast. Finish first,” he encouraged. It was what he always said before one of my races. “I’ll heal your hands and knee later.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I took off running. “Go get the car!” I yelled over my shoulder in case he wasn’t already gone.
I pushed through the burning that flared over my kneecap and palms, hustled harder and faster, and finished first.
Grabbing my water bottle, I gulped as the rest of the cross-country team spilled from the hill and onto the grass behind the football stadium. Some went for water, others collapsed to get a breath, while several braced hands above their knees, waiting for their hearts to calm.
“Nice run, Larken,” Coach praised.
I thanked her before grabbing my backpack and gym bag. The only problem now was that Kes would have to drive here like a normal person, which meant I’d either have to wait with the team or start walking home and meet him along the way.
I was about to choose the latter option when Xavier appeared beside me. “Hey. You were hel
la fast today.” Xavier was one of Brant’s friends, but also one of mine. And if I was being territorial, I’d say he was my friend first and apparently didn’t ditch me just because Brant did.
“Thanks.”
He raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “You fell and you still wiped the floor with us?”
I followed his eyes to my knee, then held out my palms. “Almost face-planted, but I caught myself.”
He glanced behind me and I made the mistake of turning to see what he was looking at.
Brant and Reagan.
Xavier’s easy smile fell away when he saw that I’d followed his glance. He cleared his throat, giving me an apologetic look. He was taller than me. Lean but strong. Sandy hair. Nice smile. We’d been in school together since kindergarten. We’d played on the playground together, pushed each other on the swings, and when I’d dared him to eat a juicy earthworm, he hadn’t hesitated at all.
“Will you go to prom with me?” he blurted.
After Brant dumped me, I had planned to go alone because there was no way I was wasting Mom’s money. She’d taken me dress shopping, and when I fell in love with the sixth one I tried on, she insisted on buying it for me despite the price on the tag that I knew was too much.
But this might be great. I could still wear my dress and go out with my friends. They all had dates, and if I went with Xavier, I wouldn’t feel like a third wheel going to dinner with them… assuming Xavier didn’t mind. It might even be better going with a friend. No pressure from an expectant date after the dance, just fun with friends. A big party before the final one at graduation.
I smiled at him. “I’d love to.”
“Awesome.” He gave a relieved smile. “What color’s your dress?”
“Midnight blue.”
“I’ll get a tux to match. And a corsage, of course.” Xavier was a life-saver.
“Emmy and Kayla and their dates were planning to go to dinner first. Would you want to—”
“Yeah,” he answered quickly, an excited grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, anything you want to do, we’ll do it.”
I laughed. “You say that now, but just wait until my dad threatens to kill you if you lay a hand on me and my mom burns your corneas with the fire of a thousand camera flashes.”
Kes pulled into the parking lot, the engine of his sleek, black Ford Mustang shining like glass beneath the parking lot lights that just blinked on. He’d saved up money from summers spent mowing lawns for anyone in the neighborhood who’d pay him, bought what I thought was an incurable beater, then he and Dad spent the next six months repairing it, replacing what was broken, and polishing her until she shined.
Just went to show I knew nothing about cars…which probably explained why I failed the test to get my Learner’s permit twice and then barely passed my driving test, only to side-swipe a car on the way to school the following morning. The impact somehow totaled the car – Mom’s car. (She’d taken a vacation day just so I could use it to take my test, promising to take me used-car-shopping after school.)
I hadn’t driven much since. If she rode with me, she made me a nervous wreck because my driving made her one, while Dad was the opposite. He was too quiet. He didn’t say anything. He’d let me drive off a bridge and when we were bobbing in the water, slowly sinking, then he’d say, “You took that turn a little too sharp.”
Kes offered to ride with me so I could practice and get rid of the jitters that came when I thought about getting behind the wheel, but I knew we couldn’t afford another accident. The insurance was already sky high as it was and it was just easier not to worry about it. And to be honest, I was terrified I’d make another mistake that my parents would have to foot the bill for, or maybe even hurt someone.
When my brother asked how I was planning to get around during college, I wittily replied that every college worth its weight had public transportation, and if that failed, I would run where I needed to go. When he asked what I would do after college, I ignored him. Obviously, I wouldn’t avoid driving forever… or else I’d live in a metropolis where, once again, public transportation was readily available.
I threw my things into the back seat and then slid into the passenger seat.
“Mom’s cross-stitching,” Kes warned, flicking his eyes toward me for a second as I fastened my seatbelt and he pulled forward.
I sank further into my seat. “What happened?”
“She should be the one to tell you,” he said.
“That bad?”
He nodded once.
I wondered what could’ve happened to make her mad enough to stab fabric with needle. Lost in my thoughts, we reached the road to our house and pulled into the driveway before I knew it. I grabbed my bags and headed inside.
Mom sat in the dim corner of the living room in a worn reclining chair, a small light clipped onto the wooden ring that stretched the white cloth she worked tight. She tugged crimson thread through, piercing from below and then plunging across, back and forth, counting the x’s she wove and following the pattern laying on her lap. Mom collected cross-stitch patterns. Hoarded them, actually, but she only cross-stitched when she was stressed.
Before I even spoke, she speared me with a glare so harsh I felt stretched as thin as one of her cloths. I could almost feel her needle pierce the skin above and below each of my lips as she sewed them shut.
“Did Kes tell you?” she asked.
“No. He said you would.” I sat my things down and waited. She eventually spilled.
“I got fired,” she said, angrily drawing x’s in thread.
“What?”
She threw the circle into her lap, thread and needle dangling over her knee, and told me how it went down.
My mother had worked as a secretary at a local insurance company for the past ten years, basically running the office, writing policies, running to the bank, even handling the taxes for the owner – who paid her peanuts and didn’t even consider selling the agency to her when he decided it was time to retire.
So, the company sold it to someone else, an agent with ten other satellite offices who wanted to place their own people in the office and didn’t want Mom anymore. The new owner-agent told her he had to “let her go,” as if those words somehow lessened the blow of sudden unemployment.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I offered, knowing how much she’d loved her job.
Silent, she took up the cross-stitching ring again, fingers searching for and finding the errant string and needle.
“It’ll be okay. Dad’s paychecks can get us by until you find something.”
She went still. “I don’t want to find something else. I liked what I did, and I can’t find that at another agency.”
“Why not?” Kes nudged me and shook his head, trying to get me to stop while I was ahead.
“Besides,” she continued, getting more worked up as she spoke, “I’m too old to start over or learn a new industry. I know insurance. I wouldn’t know what to do somewhere else.”
I walked over and hugged her neck. The tension bled from her shoulders as she hugged me back and patted my arm.
“How was practice?” She looked me over, eyes catching on the dried blood on my knees. “You’re bleeding. Did you fall?”
“Yeah. This entire week has been shit.”
“Language, Larken,” she warned, unable to keep the exhaustion from her voice.
Well, it was. She couldn’t even argue differently.
“I love you, Mom. It’ll be okay. You’ll find something you love.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m going to go shower.” I trudged upstairs.
“I have homework,” Kes said, following me up to our bedrooms. He ducked inside mine and healed my palms and knees. “Wear Band-Aids in case she notices.”
Before Kes even left my room my cuts were gone, as w
as the stinging, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the feeling of being healed. Of my body being injured one minute and repaired the next. Not that it didn’t come in handy like it had this evening. Without Kes, Mom would be worrying about unemployment and a pile of medical bills. Broken bones required a lot of attention.
So, despite the twinge of guilt that always rose when I thought it, I was glad Kes had come into our lives.
I learned that there was much more to this world than what met the eye at the ripe age of ten, when my fraternal twin brother disappeared and no one noticed but me.
Kestrel collapsed at school during recess. A ring of children quickly formed around him on the playground, while others screamed and ran for the nearest supervising teacher. A classmate of ours saw him falter and raced to get me from where I swung on the monkey bars.
I ran faster than I ever had to get to him, but it wasn’t fast enough to help him. He wasn’t breathing when I fell to my knees and begged the teachers to help him, to do something, anything. They did the only thing they could. They called 9-1-1 and ushered the children inside so they wouldn’t bear witness to the tragedy unfolding before us all.
I refused to budge, staying as close as I could to my brother.
Less than five minutes later, an ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the school. We heard its siren across town, getting louder as it rushed through the cross-hatched streets with its lights flashing. The paramedics quickly assessed him and then started CPR. Breaths alternated with chest compressions. For several long minutes, they tried. But exhaustion set in and nothing seemed to work.
One pushed on his chest so hard, one of his ribs cracked.
I’ll never forget the splintering sound.
But no matter how much air they forced into his lungs, my brother, who looked so much like me, never stirred. Never took another breath.
His chest was still.
So terrifyingly still.
It was all I could stare at as he lay there.
My teacher held me as they lifted him onto a gurney and loaded him into the ambulance, and then the sirens blared as Kestrel was whisked away. Dad picked me up and we met Mom at the hospital, arriving just in time for them to usher us into a small, private room where a weary doctor stepped in. He said he was sorry, but there was nothing they could do to revive him. Kestrel had died before he even arrived at the hospital; he had likely died the instant he collapsed on the playground.
Things That Should Stay Buried Page 1
