Reckoning Read online




  Contents

  The New World Order

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Thank you!

  Also by Laura Hall

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Laura Hall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by Lawrence Editing

  The New World Order

  Before fantasy became reality, pop culture predicted apocalyptic chaos if vampires were discovered real. Or, for that matter, humans with magical talents or the ability to shapeshift into animals. The presumption was that any sort of arcane power introduced into the world would not only corrupt the users, but result in overthrows of governments, gross abuse of said powers, and a possible resurgence of Renaissance clothing trends.

  * * *

  The basic allegory had value, a warning of the corruptible nature of power. The truth, however, was that supernaturals had been living peacefully among us for centuries, long before Ascension Day turned Average Joes into spellcasting savants, Plain Janes into glamorous vampires, and the homeless guy at the intersection of Sunset and Santa Monica into the alpha werewolf of Los Angeles.

  * * *

  There’d been chaos, of course. Riots and lawlessness. But in the United States and most other developed countries, social structures had bent but not broken. The reason was simple: supernaturals who had spent lifetimes in the shadows stepped into the light. They restored order in a world gone mad. Rules of conduct were laid down. Ancient laws given a voice.

  * * *

  Those who didn’t turn furry, drink blood, or cast spells? They were ciphers or nulls. Nulls got the short end of the Ascension stick, staying fully human. Weak. Vulnerable. And then there were ciphers, who had no inherent power save an immunity to supernatural influence.

  * * *

  Most ciphers I’d met over the years were normal people. The more recent set, a.k.a. Terrorist Assholes, had a full cannon of conspiracy theories about how the world was being corrupted by supernaturals. Alchemy was their way of leveling the playing field.

  * * *

  I wasn’t a philosopher to argue for heightened morality since Ascension, or a new-age religious devotee to wax poetic about the elevation of the human soul to a higher state of being. I liked facts. Numbers and odds. A leftover quirk from my pre-Ascension career as a Statistician. My glass wasn’t half full or half empty. It was fifty percent to capacity.

  * * *

  Humanity—if it could still be called that—was just as capable of treachery and depravity as it had always been. Only now, barring accident or violence, we would live with our sins forever.

  * * *

  We continued to bicker about politics, police, and the weather. In addition to racism and sexism, there was now speciesism. Celebrity was still worshipped, though the term had expanded to include immensely powerful supernaturals. The trifecta of power, money, and sex still thrived.

  * * *

  Everything and nothing had changed.

  1

  We drove for hours, switching highways and roads seemingly at random. At one point, we stopped at a convenience store for food and ice for my ankle. The next stop wasn’t made until just before nightfall and was a mega-giant retail store. Katrina went inside alone and came out with two overstuffed duffel bags. They went into the trunk and we hit the road again.

  I dozed and woke with a jolt in the darkness. Lifting my head off a hard shoulder, I blinked at the man it was attached to.

  Ethan smiled and touched the side of his mouth. “Bit of drool, there.”

  “Ugnh,” I replied, rubbing my face wearily.

  We were parked outside a nondescript two-story motel, the kind found on back roads across the country, that generated just enough income to stay open but not enough to update to the current century. Directly in my line of sight was a flickering neon sign proclaiming COLOR TV and beneath that, POOL. Said pool was visible inside a gated courtyard, and looked like it hadn’t seen water in a decade.

  The front passenger door opened and Mal ducked his head inside. “We’re all set. Room 104, ground floor around the corner.”

  I followed Ethan out of the car into bone-deep cold. At least it wasn’t raining. My ankle, which had been mostly numb for the last hours, began throbbing at the combination of temperature change and renewed blood flow.

  Before I could gain my bearings, I was swept up into strong arms. “This isn’t necessary,” I hissed, wiggling in protest.

  “Indulge me.”

  A smile played on Ethan’s lips, but his eyes were shadowed with fatigue. Remembering that he’d carried me through the forest, I immediately felt like an ass.

  “Sorry. Thank you.”

  Fortunately, our destination wasn’t far. We crossed several empty parking slots, veered around a corner, and found Katrina waiting outside an open doorway.

  “All clear,” she said and disappeared inside.

  “Does she work for you?” I asked Ethan as he carried me inside.

  He grunted in amusement. “Not even close,” he said cryptically and angled toward one of the two beds.

  Katrina stopped him before he set me down. “Bring her to the bathroom first. We’ve got to do something about her hair.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, but dye won’t take.”

  She held up a pair of scissors.

  I wasn’t attached to my long hair. Not in a vain way, at least. But after losing most of it due to my Ascension, its length had become synonymous with my grueling road back to normal-ish life.

  The sensation of air on my neck was disconcerting. I also barely recognized myself.

  “Are those my cheekbones?”

  Katrina chuckled. “You’re lucky I dropped out of cosmetology school once.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t electrocute you.”

  Our laughter was interrupted by a short knock. Mal leaned through the doorway. He took one look at me and his jaw dropped. I pointed a warning finger at him.

  “Careful what you say.”

  He smirked. “It looks good. I was afraid she was going to shave it.”

  I touched the shoulder-length strands. “We bargained. At this length I can fit it under a wig or hat.”

  “Makes sense,” he said with a nod. “Ethan went to pick up food. After you shower, we’ll sit down and have a chat over dinner.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, then turned to Katrina. “Will the talk include what you actually do for a living?”

  She grinned and turned to pack away the scissors and comb. “No, but feel free to keep asking.”

  “Clandestine government operative?”

  “Nope.”

  “Member of a supernatural interest
group?”

  “Negative.”

  “Alien invader?”

  She laughed. “Take a shower, Fiona. See you in a bit.”

  When the door was closed and locked, I turned on the shower. It was a far cry from the luxurious stall at the Prime’s compound, with a weak flow, chipped tile walls, and spots of mildew on the peeling ceiling.

  The squalor was a relief. This was normal. Real. My time in Seattle felt further away by the moment, the events of the past week increasingly surreal.

  Hot air pumped through a grate on the floor beside the sink and the water was scalding, but neither did much to combat the chill seeping through the seams of the bathroom’s small window.

  I was shivering by the time I turned off the water, and dried and dressed with alacrity in dark jeans and a hoodie. After towel drying my hair, I hustled into the more pervasive heat of the bedroom.

  My companions looked up from a circular table littered with takeout Chinese food cartons.

  “Where’s the fire?” teased Katrina around a mouthful of chow mein.

  I limped across the room and slumped into the final chair, between Ethan and Mal. “Just cold, and maybe a little on edge.” I glanced around the table. “Aren’t we worried the Prime will follow us?”

  Ethan shook his head. “If he could find you, he already would have. You didn’t drink any of his blood, did you?”

  I choked on a wonton. “No. Gross. Definitely not.” He raised a speculative brow and I flushed. “I, uh, fed him once, when the Liberati wounded him. Other than that, there was zero exchange of bodily fluids. Got it?”

  He fought a smile and finally coughed into a napkin. “Yes, got it.”

  “Wounded the Prime?” asked Katrina with a low whistle. “I’d heard a rumor, but figured it was PR lies. How did they manage that? He’s basically indestructible.”

  I shrugged, unable to answer, but Ethan said, “Theoretically, if they catalyzed a weapon with vampire ether extracted from very powerful blood, they could breach his defenses. Even so, it’s strange. I’m not aware of any missing masters who possess an ounce of the strength necessary to match Connor Thorne.”

  Disquiet slithered through me. I looked at Mal and found him staring back at me.

  “What?” asked Katrina, glancing between the two of us.

  Mal pushed his carton of food away. “Gabriella. Connor’s mate. He’s also her sire. She disappeared eight years ago and they’ve long suspected the Liberati.”

  “But—” I looked around the table, feeling like a kindergartener in high school. “If she’d had Connor’s blood, why couldn’t he find her?”

  Katrina murmured, “Alchemy. The Liberati are known for their snatch-and-grabs. They also vanish like smoke.”

  Ethan grunted. “If they did take Gabriella, the attack on Connor makes sense.”

  Mal and Katrina both nodded, but I was still confused. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Ethan faced me, but instead of wearing the slightly patronizing look I was used to, he spoke normally, as though we were equals. Partners, even. My opinion of him went up substantially.

  “At most, Fiona, the Liberati can power two, maybe three alchemical tools from a supernatural’s ether before the process kills them. A weapon capable of affecting the Prime . . .” He shrugged. “It’s likely they channeled all of Gabriella’s ether into one weapon, meaning to kill him if they had the chance. They failed.”

  Mal grunted. “They might have succeeded if Fiona hadn’t been there.”

  Ethan nodded, shooting me a speculative glance. “So I heard.”

  I didn’t correct them, despite Connor’s confession that only removal of his head could kill him. I doubted he wanted that information bandied about.

  “You’re saying Gabriella’s dead, then?”

  “Of course. It’s been eight years.” Ethan frowned at the look on my face. “What have they told you?”

  “It’s not what they told me, it’s something my mother said.” I put down my chopsticks, no longer hungry. “She told the Prime I would bring Gabriella back.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “That’s utter bullshit. They must have misheard her.”

  There was another interpretation, of course, but I kept it to myself. “Frankly, I don’t care about Gabriella. I care about finding my dad.” I looked at Mal. “Did you tell them about my vision?” He nodded.

  Katrina gave me a small smile. “It must have ended right before I burst in with a shotgun and flamethrower.”

  I gaped at her. “Who are you?”

  She flipped blond hair over her shoulder and gave me a coy look. “CIA.”

  My uncle snorted. “People in the CIA don’t say they’re in the CIA.”

  Katrina laughed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  I glanced at Ethan, who wore a faintly amused expression as he listened.

  “What about you?” I asked him. “Whose orders are you following?”

  “My own,” he said, flashing a quick smile. “My contract with Prime Kilpatrick ended the night of the gala. I’m currently acting of my own free will, and I must say, it feels fantastic.”

  “Been a while, huh?” asked Mal wryly.

  Ethan grinned. “Years.”

  I bit my tongue on asking why, if he was free to do whatever he wanted, he was helping us. Ignoring the memory of his pointed flattery, I decided that for now, I would simply accept that he’d aligned himself to our cause. Maybe he had noble intentions. Maybe he didn’t. But if he helped us get my dad back, I didn’t care.

  As for Katrina, I was pretty confident she worked for the government, her bartending job a cover as she kept an eye on me. If the Primes had known about me since Census, there were bound to be others equaled informed. She was either FBI or CIA, or some other acronymic agency. And once again, I found I didn’t care.

  Dinner wrapped up and Katrina cleared the food to make space for a map, purchased after it became clear that the complex spell protecting the car from my surges didn’t extend to handheld electronics. With a ballpoint pen, she traced highways south through Oregon, across the bottom corner of Idaho, and into Nevada.

  Without being asked, I closed my eyes and focused on Rosie.

  “She’s sleeping,” I said, disappointed. “Looks like any roadside hotel.”

  “Do you have a wide-angle lens option?” asked Katrina. “Maybe there’s a brochure somewhere, or a map?”

  “With red arrows pointing toward the lair of the Liberati?” asked Ethan drolly.

  I sighed, opening my eyes. “No. I can see maybe five feet in every direction, but the lights are off.” I narrowed my gaze on Katrina. “No infrared ability, either.”

  “That’s okay,” said Mal. “We know she’s in Nevada, so we have a direction. She’s three days ahead of us, at most, with no idea we’re on her tail. We’ll catch up and with luck, she’ll lead us right to Frank.”

  I nodded and began methodically tearing a paper napkin to shreds.

  “We’ll get your dad back, Fiona,” said Ethan.

  I looked at him. “Did Mal tell you what else was in the vision?”

  He nodded. “You saw me in a cage and I was yelling your name.” He winked. “Clearly, you were about to bust me out.”

  My gaze pinged around the table. “We’re out of our minds, you all know that, right?”

  Mal reached across the table, then paused when he remembered he could no longer touch me. He traded a look with Ethan, who took the hint and gently pried my hands apart, scattering bits of napkin across the table.

  Keeping my hand in his, he said intently, “I don’t know your mother well, but in our brief time together she taught me a little about her gift. She said that when she sees the future, it seems fixed, the events unavoidable. The truth, though, is that the only time period that can’t be changed is the past.”

  “Makes sense,” I murmured. “And I hope you’re right.”

  “Me too. I don’t think I’d enjoy being in a cage.” He gave my hand a final squeez
e before standing. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  Sleep reminded me of dreams, which reminded me of Connor. “What about dreams? Can the Prime find me that way?”

  Ethan frowned. “Sometimes I forget how powerful the bastard really is.” Then his expression gentled, and he shook his head. “If you haven’t ingested any of his blood, he can’t find you. As for dreams, I’m positive it was only possible due to proximity. Until meeting him in Los Angeles, had you ever dreamed of him?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll be safe in sleep.”

  2

  Ethan was wrong.

  I stood on a familiar coastline, on a narrow patch of sand between rock and sea. The ocean was strangely placid, a soft, eerie green, while the sky seemed oddly leeched of color. There was a metallic quality to the air, and a thinness like very high altitude.

  “Did you leave because of me?”

  I closed my eyes tightly, unwilling to turn around. “No. I left because the opportunity presented itself to take action. To rescue my dad.”

  “You trust Ethan Accosi, a stranger who spelled you without permission, more than you trust me?”

  His voice was closer now, coming from just behind me. The tone was deceptively mild—I could feel his anger, his frustration, pounding against my spine.