Rise (Roam Series, Book Three) Page 10

  The sword room was dark and empty, moonlight spilling over the floor.

  I can use the sword.

  The rush of adrenaline sent me to the keypad, and I punched each reverse digit of my birthday with force. The case slid open, and Violet held a gun out in front of her as a small, red-headed toddler peeked from behind the shelves against the wall.

  “Roam?”

  “Protect her,” I lowered to one knee, holding my arms out to my baby. Without hesitation, she darted to me, curling into my arms.

  She knows me.

  “Mommy?”

  “Oh, Eva.” The scent of her hair triggered the memory of the infant I’d once held in my arms, and I struggled to keep my resolve. “Stay with Violet, sweetheart,” I crooned, pressing kisses to her velvety cheeks. “I love you with all of my heart.”

  “You’re a fairy princess,” she backed away, touching a flower in my hair. I pulled the decorative, emerald-and-diamond encrusted flower clip from my temple, holding it out for her.

  “You are,” I corrected, unclipping the belt that held the gown around my waist. I threw the costume to the floor, wearing only the brown, leather pants, corset, and boots. “Violet, do not open this door. If they don’t have the code, they don’t come in. No exceptions.”

  “Okay,” she nodded quickly as I climbed to the lower cabinet in two steps, reaching for the Kenauri-Rak from its high, mounted position in the case. “What are you going to do?”

  I unsheathed the sword before jumping down to the floor.

  “I’m going to end this.”

  Securing the secret room, I ran for the hallway. The music washed with gunfire and riotous screaming that echoed throughout the castle. Several soldiers barreled toward the weapon room; I turned and locked the keypad.

  “Your majesty,” one soldier drew his sword, holding it out before him. “There has been an uprising. You are to come with us.”

  I held the sword carefully, lowering myself to attack. “You will surrender,” I ordered. “Throw your weapons on the ground.”

  Mentally, I counted the members of Troy’s army flanking the hall.

  Seven up.

  “Treason,” the soldier hissed, his mesh mask darkening the phantom-like façade of his presence.

  “Well. You had your chance.”

  Squatting beneath his blade in a flash, I sliced through his legs.

  As he dropped to his knees, I positioned the sword before cutting his neck.

  Blood gushed from the separation of skin and cartilage; he hit the floor before the remaining soldiers advanced on me.

  Time skipped once again. My thoughts drifted to the endless Guitar Hero battles with Logan over the prior summer, and my mind focused on each brightly lit chord of the song. In the end, the powerful strength of my fingers (which Logan attributed to my constant wringing) would prevail over Logan’s home advantage with his old Playstation 2…

  ...and I would win every time.

  I stared at the hallway, blood dripping from the blade of the Kenauri-Rak.

  Seven down.

  Turning for the great hall, two women dressed as foxes ran from me, breaking into earsplitting screams as they saw me round the corner. I caught my reflection in the mirrored atrium; blood mixed with the green paint on my face, and streaked my cheeks like macabre tears.

  No guilt.

  Bursting through the double doors, I rolled beneath a soldier poised at the entrance. With speed, I managed to gut him before he had time to raise his sword. Another soldier advanced, and this time, I raised the blade high over my head, slicing vertically.

  Throat to navel.

  “Jesus Christ… Roam?” West’s incredulous shout drew my attention to the left; he held an AK47, picking off soldiers amongst the blaring music and terrified victims.

  I spun on my heel, severing the lower back of an aggressive soldier advancing on West. West watched me before lifting the rifle to the man’s forehead and firing. As the soldier hit the ground, I glanced down at his blood-spattered face.

  Gregory.

  “Troy is mine,” I mouthed, turning toward the throne.

  As if he could hear my silent words over the metallic guitar bass, Troy’s eyes met mine from the platform. He held a sword himself, tearing away his mask.

  With a menacing step forward, he pointed the sword directly at me.

  An invitation.

  Music… red, blue, green, yellow… kneel, roll, kill, drop. Blood dripped from my hair as I moved my fingers over the grip of my sword, recalling the colors of the buttons on the game guitar.

  Logan’s voice at my ear. “Roam, go!” He shouted, shoving a magazine into his heavy gun. He thrust the rifle against his shoulder, firing at the approaching, intoxicated soldiers. It’s only a matter of time before the sober ones show up, I registered, as West stood before me.

  His hands gripped my shoulders as he shouted over the angry music. “Don’t go after Troy alone.”

  He turned, fighting back to back with me as I ran the sword through the soldier that had knocked Logan out the first, horrible night we had arrived.

  As the man reached for the blade buried in his stomach, I yanked it backwards, removing at least three of his fingers.

  The soldier dropped to one knee before falling over, and I stepped over him, climbing the three stairs to the altar. Troy stood behind the thrones, his hand up in the air as four guards started toward me. “Don’t touch her!” He shouted, pointing at West and Logan on the floor. “Fucking kill those two,” he snarled, reaching for me.

  The blade of my sword disappeared through the air in a blaze as I slashed at him. He jumped backwards, grinning. “Ah, you found the Rak. No doubt my son had something to do with that.”

  “No talking- just die,” I lowered and tried for his shins, but he raised his own sword, the curved blade similar to my own. I anticipated the move, striking at him from below.

  The moment my sword cut across his left hip, I smiled.

  He seethed with pain, still defending himself against my attack. I spun the sword, going right for his chest, but he blocked, sweeping his leg at mine.

  I fell hard, flat on my back, but still gripped the sword in my hands. Before I could move, he towered over me, crushing his boot to my wrist.

  “Stop,” I cried, bones snapping in my arm and forcing me to release the sword. The moment I did, he flung the Kenauri-Rak at the throne, aiming his own sword at my neck.

  Sweat trickled near his temple. “I will lock you up like an animal until the day that I can get my child out of you.”

  Blood, either my own or someone else’s, dripped into my eyes. I blinked at his face now blurred by the fluid. “It’s not your child!” I screamed, loud enough to be heard over the gunshots and chaos.

  He roared, rearing back with his sword and driving the blade through my shoulder.

  I felt nothing for a long second…

  Suddenly, the searing agony erased my breath.

  Strange burning, followed by an excruciating sting, swarmed through my shoulder and down my arm. As the blood cleared from my eyes, I watched him reach for the Kenauri-Rak. I tried to move, but his blade pinned my flesh to the wooden riser on the stone floor.

  Reaching down, Troy grabbed a fistful of my hair. He tugged me upwards so that the sword, still skewering me to the wood, ran through my shoulder. Positioning himself over me, with the strength of a thousand demons, he slammed my head back down against the floor.

  Blood, in my ears, in my mouth… Focus left my eyes, and I forgot how to breathe.

  “The end,” Troy hissed, sweeping the sword over his head and targeting my neck.

  I watched, my vision blurred, as the soft tissue from his temple separate in slow-motion. The bullet hit diagonally, behind his eye. Before I could comprehend what was happening, he was falling to the ground.

  West fired two more shots to Troy’s head.

  I tried to sit up, but a strange chill settled over my limbs, making them too heavy to lift. W
est knelt next to me, his face directly over mine. “Oh God… Roam,” he reached for the air above me, but Troy’s saber impaled through me to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he cried, yanking the sword upwards.

  I registered some pain but made no sound; he slid his arms beneath me, lifting me against his chest.

  “I’ve found him- but we have to hurry.” Will’s voice.

  “I’m going to get Violet…,” Logan’s words.

  Silence.

  Colors, sounds, warm lights; I stirred as cold hands touched my left arm.

  Blinking, I saw West’s face, and watched a tear slip down his cheek as he pleaded with someone. “Don’t let her die. Father, change this, please… don’t let her die.”

  “The magic is old… the consequences are unchangeable… if I do this once, there is no going back, my son.”

  Asher. I tried to turn my face, but West’s lips pressed to mine. Too weak to return his kiss, I simply stared, the world slowing around me.

  “They will all forget. You will remember. Do you wish for this?” Asher rested his palm over West’s shoulder.

  “She’ll forget me? And… everything here?”

  “Another chance,” Asher’s old voice quivered, the elder wizard still gripping my arm. “You cannot- ever- touch her again. If you do, time will reverse here, as well, and she will remember everything.”

  His words linked slowly together.

  “This magic requires sacrifice.” Asher’s voice shook with age.

  Another spell… a codicil to the prophecy.

  “No,” I managed, scalding tears clearing my vision. West clung to me, rocking me in his arms as tears slipped down his face.

  “Her heart is failing,” Will’s voice, his fingers at the artery in my neck. “Do something,” he begged quietly.

  “Immortality is a gift, given only from the father. West, you must sacrifice your immortality to save her mortal life.”

  “Yes,” West agreed severely.

  Without question.

  “Then you, William, shall rule this kingdom, if you agree not to harm the child.”

  “I’ll find another way to stop the sun. I won’t hurt the baby.” Will promised.

  “Both worlds shall exist apart from one another. My son,” Asher’s voice shook with emotion. “You shall go back to the beginning.”

  West brushed at his face with the back of his hand, and blood smeared across his cheeks. My blood? He met my eyes. “Roam Eva Camden, I will love you forever.”

  “West,” I closed my eyes, serene thoughts overcoming the horror of the world around me. My breaths came easier; the pain subsided, and I disappeared into West’s blue eyes.

  “August twenty-seventh,” he whispered, clasping my hand in his. “2012.”

  Asher’s resigned sigh filled the room. “It is done.”

  Chapter Eleven

  June 8, 2013

  “Hold on- your tassel is stuck in a pin,” Logan reached for my hair, and I dropped the visor in his Camry, searching for the mirror.

  “I just can’t get this cap on right- it doesn’t fit.”

  “That’s ‘cause your brain is too big, Socrates,” Morgan teased from the back seat, wrapping her arms around the headrest to help me. “Valedictorians need extra-large.”

  “Ha ha,” I grinned, letting her adjust the cap. The parking lot of Madison High School was overflowing with cars, graduates, and families talking and hugging excitedly. The warm, spring sunshine made for the perfect weather for the outdoor commencement.

  We climbed out of the Camry, and Morgan adjusted her skirt. “Do I look okay? Hotty McHistory is still introducing you, right?”

  I rolled my eyes at her, smiling as Logan hugged me from behind. “Morgan, please don’t embarrass me. Mr. Perry is still my teacher for another couple of hours,” I clasped my hand in his. Logan’s graduation gown was blue, and mine white, representing Madison colors.

  “Yes, and once that diploma is in your hand and you’re on your way to Princeton, I’m asking him out.”

  “Whatever, but control yourself for the rest of the day, please.” Logan waved at one of his friends from the baseball team, jogging over to his car to meet him.

  “I’ll try. After our wedding, I’m totally telling him that you used to dream about him every night,” she teased, jabbing me with her elbow.

  “Morgan.” I elbowed her back. “Stop it. Logan doesn’t know that.”

  “Right- sorry. I’m going to go save a seat for Dad.”

  I thought back to the first day of school when the dreams began. At first, Mr. Perry had simply been an onlooker, like a customer at the grocery store or a spectator in the stands during one of my swim meets. By December, I went to sleep at night and found myself looking for him. My entire night was spent in a frantic search for Mr. Perry, and in February I woke up in a flush as I dreamt of kissing him.

  When Mr. Perry began coaching Logan’s baseball team, I ran into him at every practice and game. Seeing him outside the classroom only added details to my dream, making them more and more realistic to the point where I could feel his touch when I woke up in the morning.

  In class, I had no problem paying attention. Mr. Perry was a wonderful teacher, describing events in history as if he’d actually been there. He provided me with the perfect recommendation letter for my college applications, and when my acceptance letter for Princeton arrived in the mail, I had been waiting for him at his desk before first period the next morning.

  He walked into the classroom, stopping short in the doorway. “Miss Camden?”

  I could barely contain my excitement, holding the envelope in my hands. “Mr. Perry, I wanted to personally thank you- I was accepted to Princeton,” my voice shook with exhilaration, and my ear-to-ear smile was uncontainable.

  His slow grin turned his eyes to the brightest blue I’d ever seen. “Congratulations, Roam. I had nothing to do with it,” he shrugged, gesturing in my general direction. “You’ve earned that acceptance letter.”

  “Well, your letter was a fantastic addition to my applications. Now, I’ve decided on the history of science major, which encompasses physics and psychoanalysis, and-…,”

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “Miss Camden, I’m very proud of you. Please let me know if you need anything else at all.”

  My mouth closed quickly at his polite dismissal. Stop being offended. He needs to get ready for class. “Well, thank you,” I repeated, extending my hand to shake his respectfully.

  He nodded once, his hands locked in his pockets.

  Awkwardly, I dropped my hand, flushing. “Okay, I’ll see you soon. I just have to run to my locker.”

  He had nearly moved to the back of the classroom as I passed him to reach the door.

  My ego was utterly confused by his behavior, and I decided to ignore it. That night, I found Mr. Perry immediately in my dreams, making love with him on an ocean shore smothered in moonlight.

  And I’ve never even made love… or been to the ocean.

  Every night thereafter, I dreamt of making love with Mr. Perry, interrupted only by my alarm. First I’d register my disappointment, and then my utter sluttiness.

  Logan respected my boundaries, but as the dreams became more frequent, I let my defenses down more and more when Logan would kiss me. I was sure that I wanted to make love to him before he left for boot camp, but Morgan chided me during our private, marathon conversations.

  “You’ve waited this long… don’t rush into anything because he’s leaving.”

  At the prom, I was relieved to find that Mr. Perry was not a chaperone. I danced with Logan all night, laughing with Ally-May as she paraded her crown after the coronation ceremony. Logan slow danced with me, his mouth at my ear. “You should have been queen,” he admonished, dipping me backwards exaggeratingly.

  I smiled, looping my arms around his neck. “I have absolutely no desire to be queen.”

  That evening could have easily become a clichéd episode
of prom night extraordinaire, with Logan clumsily taking my virginity while his parents were conveniently out of town. However, after an hour of making out on his couch, he pulled away, staring blankly at the muted television.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulled me into his arms, twirling his finger around one of my carefully crafted, chocolate curls. “I had this weird dream that you had blond, curly hair last night. Did you tell me you were curling your hair for prom?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I nudged him playfully. “You sure it was me?”

  He chuckled. “Who else could it have been?”

  “Abby?”

  He groaned, throwing his head backwards dramatically. “Oh. My. God. Roam, would you let it go?”

  “What? I don’t have blonde hair. Just drawing logical conclusions.”

  “It was white-blonde. And it had to be you.”

  “I think… I’ll head home.”

  “Stop it.”

  “What? It’s late.”

  We set the foundation for the way that we argued that night; a passive-aggressive remark from me, sarcasm from him, indignant comment from me followed by irritated dismissal from him. Within three days, we’d move on, but we regressed right back to amateur make-out sessions.

  “Roam,” our principal, Mr. Kingston, ushered me toward the stage that was set up on the football field. “Good morning dear! Do you have your speech prepared?”

  “Yes I do,” I nodded, waving at Ally-May as she ushered her brother, Jason, and her parents to the stands. “It’s about eight minutes long.”

  “Perfect. Now, I’ll address the audience and welcome everyone as you all file in to your chairs. Then, you’re up.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded, spying my father in the crowd. Hurrying to him, I folded into his arms.

  “Ah, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. Mom is too.”

  “Thanks Dad,” I held my cap as it slid on my hair again, reaching for the pins. The wind picked up, tossing my hair and now-free cap against the bleacher seats. I climbed a row of bleachers, looking helplessly at the audience seated there as my cap landed at their feet.

  A little girl, no more than two or three, reached down at the floor of the stands, her red curls almost covering her face. When she retrieved the cap and sat up, I smiled, reaching.