Apple | Kobo | Barnes and Noble | Amazon |
The story of how I got drafted into the world-savin’ business isn’t so complicated.
Amelia Thornhill directed a vampire at me.
Turns out, I have a higher calling and I feel horrible every time I have to lie to Mama about my job. It's been the two of us since I was five years old, so leaving home is painful, but Amelia says I put people in danger by staying. Because I’m not a normal girl, there will be no college graduation ceremony, no wedding to a nice man, and no grandbabies for Mama to spoil, but I'll let her hold on to those dreams as long as possible. Making sure she's taken care of always comes first.
Agent Seven’s origin story.
This series is intended for readers over the age of 18 due to adult situations.
Chapter Three
In early June, the
school year was done and I got on a plane with Miss Thornhill.
Once again, she
was dressed like she should be in some fancy office. “Can you stop fidgeting, please? These seats
are too close together for you to keep wiggling about,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I
can’t get comfortable.” Tugging on the
hem of my shorts, I switched my crossed legs so my jiggling foot didn’t bump
her.
“Why in heavens
not?”
“I’m nervous,
okay?”
“Della, I promise
we have the best intentions. You’re special to us.”
“It’s not
that—though I want to be clear I’m here because my mother said so.” A breath, then I admitted my lack of culture
with, “I’ve never flown before.”
“Really? At
sixteen? Hmm.”
Sat up straighter
and gave her some side-eye. “If you noticed,
we’re not exactly rollin’ in dough. Never had the occasion, ‘kay?”
She held up
delicate hands. Narrow fingers and a
perfect manicure of short pink nails. “No
judgment. You know, statistically speaking it is safer to fly in an airplane
than be in a car on the highway.”
“Swell.” The car still had the advantage of being on
the ground.
But of course I
was worried about where I was going, which I had no clue about. The brochure didn’t include an address other
than rural New York
A child slavery
ring?
Something worse?
My fingers rubbed
the cross pendant I always wore and I sent up a silent prayer this wouldn’t end
in tragedy.
She’d allowed me
to bring music, so I passed the hours with Mama’s old Walkman and a few classic
country tapes I’d heard on the radio all my life. Can’t go wrong with Dolly Parton and the
Mandrell Sisters.
We landed in New York City
It looked like an
old private school. “What is this
place?”
“Our US
The school vibe
continued as I followed her inside, though instead of linoleum, the floor was
hardwood. Definitely an old private
school. The doors were also wood, not
the thick things reinforced with steel in US public schools. These rooms might’ve been offices once as the
doors had no windows. The hall was quiet
except for the click of Miss Thornhill’s soles.
We paused at the
basement entrance.
It led not to a
cellar or boiler room, but a huge underground installation. The corridors were wide, walls and floor made
of thick concrete. An endless amount of
gray. Industrial lights above, the bulbs
framed in a wire cage.
“From now on,
you’ll be known as Seven,” Amelia said, showing me to a room.
“My name is Della.”
She paused at the
door and handed me a key. “And you’ll
forget it if you want to survive. A name isn’t merely a word, it’s an identity,
and therefore has power. There are many things in our world that would use that
against you.”
“How? Why?”
“Magic and because
you are the enemy.”
“But why ‘Seven’?”
“Because you are
the seventh active we have at present.”
“Six people?
That’s your organization?”
Amelia averted her
eyes and tugged on the hem of her jacket.
“At the moment, yes. Some of the agents were injured recently. Others
were forced to retire from field service.”
“Why?” Probably wanted a big raise.
“You can ask them
yourself when we go to London
I had the feeling
I’d just offended her in some way. Hard
to tell with this chick—cool as ice.
Left with a key
and a door, I entered. A bedroom. My room was cozier than I expected. The walls were papered in textured light blue
and I had white wooden furniture, except for the armchair in the corner. A print of the Serenity prayer hung above the
lone bed. I missed having a window, but
figured I wouldn’t be in here much except to sleep. A lamp on the nightstand and another on the
dresser gave enough light to hide the fact we were underground.
With my clothes
put away in the drawers, I followed the map Amelia gave me to the dining hall
above.
My first meal away
from home.
Picking up a tray
from the stack in the corner, I walked to the buffet station. They had
to be kidding—plain chicken breast and steamed vegetables? I glanced at the tables in the center. Not a single salt shaker in sight. My stomach growled, complaining about the
lack of breading, gravy, or pie.
A single bowl of
apples and oranges sat at the end of the cart.
“Ah, there you
are,” Amelia said. She was followed into
the room by three young people: two boys maybe in college and a girl just a
hair over five-foot tall. Couldn’t place
her nationality besides Asian.
“For the love o’
Pete, Thornhill, you brought us a redhead?” That came from the guy on her left. He was shorter than the other, with a stocky
build.
“It won’t show
when she’s in uniform,” she said.
“Seven, these two gentlemen are your trainers.”
“Hi.” I groaned internally. Dealing with the opposite gender that wasn’t
family had never gone terribly well for me before.
She placed her
hand on the girl’s shoulder. “This is
Kaede.” The girl remained silent,
standing with her arms crossed. Her body
was still shaped like a kid’s, but hard to tell whether it was because of age
or petiteness.
“I thought names
weren’t allowed here?”
“She hasn’t been
tested, yet.”
Ah. No wonder the girl looked like this was the
last place she wanted to be.
I’d had to relive
dusting a vampire in my dreams every night for the past month to have it sink
in as real. Or, as real as anyone could
trust a memory to be. People who
hallucinated usually thought their visions were real, too, didn’t they?
The young men walked
through a swinging door to the side. I
caught a glimpse of the kitchen. Might
there be real food hidden away in there?
Amelia nudged Kaede up next to me and handed her a plate. The girl slapped food on it and stomped to
the table farthest from us.
“How did you get
her here?” I asked quietly.
“Her brother came
to us a couple years ago.”
“Oh. You’re hopin’
whatever this is runs in the family.”
Amelia pushed her
glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “It’s
not unheard of. Fill up your plate. Suppertime is limited.”
I chose a chicken
breast and stuck to carrots, since they were the only veggie offered I could
swallow without seasoning. And an
orange. I could use the juice for
flavor. Stocky Guy came back first,
carrying a pitcher of milk. He set it down
at Kaede’s table.
“I can’t drink
that,” she said loudly.
“Why not?”
“I’m lactose
intolerant, duh.”
He placed his
hands on the table and glared at her.
“That’s ‘sir’, little girl.”
“I don’t call
white boys ‘sir’, meat-head.”
Wow. If Mama heard something like that, I would
have gotten my mouth washed out with soap.
Stocky Guy pulled
Kaede out of her chair by her arm.
“Twenty push-ups. Now.”
“Go to hell,” she
spat.
“Forty. Now.”
Her chin went
up. “You can’t touch me,” she said. “My father donates too much money to your
stupid organization.”
Stocky Guy
shrugged, bent to toss her over his shoulder, and left the room with her
upside-down like that, kicking and screaming.
“What’s he gonna
do with her?” I asked Amelia.
She didn’t look
shocked by the drama. “Confine her to
her room. Part of the reason her parents agreed to send her is this, her
attitude.”
“You’re not a
reform school, though.” Right? Institution for the mentally altered, I could
believe.
She sighed, and
sat down with her own plate. “No…but
sometimes a favor is worth the cost. Doing what we do isn’t cheap.”
“Oh.” Made sense, I guess. “May I ask somethin’?”
“Yes.”
“Will all the food
be this bland?”
She pushed her
glasses up her nose, attempting to hide a twitch of amusement. So, she wasn’t
pure British stiff-upper-lip. “The menu
is part of our lessons on discipline, Seven. Pure body. Pure mind. Pure heart.”
“Yay…”
The chicken felt
dry in my mouth, leading me to drink more milk with the meal than I’d done at
age five. Tall Guy entered, drying his
hands with a dish towel.
“Seven, this is
Thirteen.”
Thirteen offered
me a handshake. His hand felt hot
compared to my nervous cold one. “I
thought there were only six,” I said
“There were
recently fifteen,” he said.
Were…
“Oh. I’m sorry.” And gulp.
Past tense meant people died. “So, I’m takin’ someone else’s number.”
He had a kind,
friendly face. Looked like a California
I liked him a lot
better than the other one.
Better than
Amelia, too.
She smiled when I
cleaned my plate. She’d been watching,
studying, since we left Oklahoma
I’m not that
fascinating.
Thirteen asked me
to put on running shoes when I was done and meet him outside. I was already wearing what I had, basic
tennies.
He led me to a
track.
“You’re gonna ask
me to run after eating?”
“You never know
when you’ll have to run,” he said.
“Stretch your legs then do a lap as fast as you can.”
I’d rather do the
push-ups. Mama didn’t raise no whiner,
though, so I did what he said and warmed up.
He nodded at me to go, holding a stop watch, and I ran.
The stitch in my
side that always came in PE didn’t appear.
It felt good.
I felt fast.
The dusk air was
cool on my cheeks, but I wasn’t sweating.
Lap complete, I skidded to a stop in front of Thirteen.
“Not bad,” he
said.
“Not bad? I was flying.”
Running had never been like that for me before.
A shrug of one
wide shoulder. “It was alright for your
first day.”
I pouted. “You’re gonna be the ‘I never give out A’s’
teacher, huh?”
He smiled at my
assessment. “We don’t assign letter
grades.”
“Whatever. So,
what do you really do?”
“You don’t believe
Amelia.”
I stuck my hands
in the pockets of my hoodie. “I don’t
know, but come on…vampires and magic and crap? It’s fiction.”
“Is faith
fiction?”
Hey.
“What makes you
think I have any?”
He pointed at my
collarbone. “Saw the cross you’re
wearing.”
Stay cool. “Could be a fashion statement.”
“If you had one of
those frilly types. That one is plain silver, small and modest.” He smirked, looking absolutely confident he
was right.
He was. I’d worn the cross every day since my twelfth
birthday, even showering with it on. It
was the year my faith became somethin’ more personal to me, more than stories
in Sunday school. “Fine, but believin’
in God is different than sayin’ old horror movies are based on fact.”
Thirteen
grinned. “In our world, not so much.
You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” He
poked my abs. “In the meantime, let’s
get you in shape to beat a human.”
“What’s wrong with
my shape?” I was not fat.
“You’re soft,
kid.” He pointed to the other
building. “To the gym.”
Though this
building was the same two-story height as the other, it was an open space
indoors. The side we entered on had
various weight-lifting and work-out machines.
The center was taken up by a large blue mat. On the far side, a couple gymnastic bars at
various heights.
“Learn to love it,
Seven. This will be your home for the next month, if you’re lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Could take
longer.” He walked to the weight
bench. “Ever lifted weights before?”
“I’ve carried
heavy things.” Restocking the diner every
week could be back-breaking work during busy season.
“Not what I
asked.”
“Then no. I
haven’t used any gym equipment before.”
He sighed and
muttered something about schools falling down on the job.
For the next hour,
he explained what everything did and showed me how to do proper form with them
so I didn’t kill myself.
“How long…have
you…been doin’ this?” I asked while he made me run on the treadmill.
“Five years.”
“Does your family
know?”
He increased the
speed of the machine a notch. “They’re
dead. Gang of bloodsuckers interrupted their date night.”
Foot in
mouth—check. I was running too fast to
reply, but I hoped he could see sympathy in my eyes.
Twenty minutes at
that pace, and my legs felt like cooked noodles. Wheezing, I slid off the treadmill. Thirteen made notes in a little book, then
offered me water.
“Do
you…still…remember…your name?”
He laughed and
joined me on the floor. “That’s been
bugging you all day, hasn’t it?”
“Well…yeah.”
I was Della Garvison, just like my great-grandmother.
“I still
remember.”
“What is it?”
He shook his
finger at me. “Uh-uh…can’t say.”
“I’m trustworthy.”
He leaned in,
staring at my eyes. “Would you keep that
secret if you were tortured? Could you hold your tongue under a spell or
compulsion? None of us can take that risk, Seven. And none of us will.”
My first reaction
was to be offended, but then I thought about it. This guy didn’t know me. He also believed in the dangers he mentioned;
I could tell by the conviction in his voice.
Crazy or not, if these people thought their identities had to be secret,
I needed to respect that.
There was no harm
in calling him a number—it was just awkward.
Bedtime was at ten.
My first night
outside Oklahoma
The room was too
quiet. At home, I’d hear bugs and birds
outside my window, especially in summer.
The hum of the AC. These sheets
were coarser and the pillow a different height.
Despite the workout, I didn’t sleep well.
Amelia had me up
with the sun.
My first full day
started the routine of the coming weeks.
Ten minutes to shower and dress, then a half hour for breakfast. She ate with me, answering some of my
questions and delaying others for my lessons.
Then I was sent to the gym.
From eight to ten,
she taught me about the monsters I would face.
“Vampire 101—Kill
them with a wooden stake to the heart or by cutting off their heads. UV light
burns and younger vampires go up in flames from sunlight.”
“Only the young
ones?” I wrote on a notepad.
“There are reports
the ancient can walk around on a cloudy day, or make short burst runs through
sunny spaces, but no one has seen the old ones for many years. We can’t confirm
they still exist.”
“Are they all like
that guy that attacked me? A walking corpse?”
His red eyes and rotten smell still haunted my dreams.
She took a photo
album off the shelf and placed it on the desk in front of me. “We’ve catalogued several specimens since
photography was invented. You will be taught how to observe without being
noticed or caught. Know what you are facing before you attack.”
I started flipping
through the pages. The vampires were
former people from all walks of life, which surprised me. I figured the most vulnerable would be the
unfortunate, those who didn’t have a safe home or transportation at night. “Can they walk into my house?”
She shook her
head. “A vampire needs an invitation to
enter a home. There is a distinction between a house and a home, by the way.
The dwelling needs to be in the occupant’s name, either on deed or lease, and
they need to live there often enough to—”
“Believe me, I
understand home. Is there any other
way they die?”
“Sanctified items
also burn the undead, though one would need to subject them to prolonged
exposure to dust them. Fire works, of course…not many creatures natural or
supernatural can resist that. The vampire is not truly immortal, Seven, but you
must always remember they possess a powerful innate skill set. They are faster
and stronger than you and hand-to-hand combat is greatly discouraged.”
“So I’m s’posed to
shoot one if I see it?”
“Thirteen will
cover that.”
“But you want me
to avoid them.”
She got
huffy. “You’re not a vampire slayer. The
supernatural world is huge and vampires are merely a small part of it. Most of
your work will consist of containment, and retrieval of dangerous artifacts.”
“Containment?”
“Early
interference. Cutting problems off at the pass. People naively mess with things
they shouldn’t. We handle that.” A cagey
answer, but she seemed the type to not dole out info all at once.
“Oh. So, are all
vampires the same?”
“No…aside from
individual personalities based on the people they used to be, there are four
families. The vampire’s visage changes when their true nature is revealed.
Aside from the fangs, their irises shift color.”
“The red-eyed man
that attacked me.”
She nodded. “Yes. They display as red, gold, green, or
bluish-white.”
More notes. “And that’s the only difference, the eye
color?”
“No, each family
has innate traits.” She wrote the colors
on the chalkboard and began listing traits below them. “The Reds are what you know as the classic
vampire. The Golds are not affected by holy items and we don’t know why.
They’re the only species to have a reflection. The Greens are reclusive and
rarely seen, so we know little about them, but at least they keep to themselves.
And the Blues are thought to be extinct.”
“’Thought to be.’”
“The vampire is a
wily creature, so we cannot be one-hundred-percent sure, but yes. We are quite
certain they were killed off.”
“By what?”
She shrugged. “Does it matter? The only good vampire or
demon or any other monster is a dead one.”
Well, that’s
harsh. “But how does a human become a
vampire in the first place? Is it like in the movies?”
“The exchange of
blood, yes. They drink from a human up to the point of death, then make the
victim drink vampire blood. Moving on, let’s talk about werewolves.”
“Wait, why does
that make a vampire? Can you cure it?”
“No. Seven,
vampires are not your problem. We don’t want you anywhere near them. Now, the
werewolf affliction is spread by a virus in the beast’s saliva…”
From ten to noon,
Stocky Guy kicked my butt with torture he called plyometrics.
I got a half-hour
lunch, then another two-hour lecture on the history of killing demons.
Amelia let me have
a half hour in my room to do what I wished, then Thirteen took over at three
with weapons training.
He started with
the Bo staff.
“I’m not hittin’
you with that.”
He twirled the
staff around his fingers, all fancy like.
“You can’t damage me any more than I’ve had in the field. Besides, it’s
padded.”
“Yours isn’t.”
He smirked. “I know what I’m doing.” Jerk.
“Attack already.”
My arms already
felt like jelly from the workout earlier.
Couldn’t they alternate days? I
dropped the staff. “I’m not a violent
person.”
He barely
contained the eye-roll. “This isn’t
about violence. It’s about
protection. Every martial art is about disabling your opponent quickly so you
can get away alive. You have the
talent, Seven. Learn to use it.”
“Talent? Talent? All I know is a man with red
eyes disappeared after I pushed on his face. It was weird and it was scary and
it was dark. I only came because my
mother insisted on me going to ‘summer camp’ for a scholarship.” I turned to leave.
Got as far as two
steps when my legs were swept out from under me and I landed on my butt.
Thirteen stood
over me with the end of his staff pressed into my chest. “I did not give you permission to go.” He jabbed the staff at my face.
I caught it before
it struck my nose. What the hell?
“See? The
instincts are there, Seven.”
“Let me up.” He backed off. I reached for the padded staff, setting my
hands slightly wider than shoulder width.
“I’ll try this once.”
He grinned and
bounced on his toes. “Sure…”
I started circling
him so at least I was moving.
Thirteen moved with
me—step, crossover-step, step. He kept
grinning at me, making part of me want to knock that smile off his face. “Gonna swing that thing, or what?”
“I’m thinkin’
about it.”
Sighing, he
dropped the staff tip to the floor.
“Maybe we should start you with Aikido and add weapons later.”
I jabbed his chest
with my staff, like staking a vampire.
“But then I couldn’t do that.”
Thirteen was
instantly at the ready again. “Oh, is
that how we’re playing it.” He swung for
my head.
Turning my head so
he didn’t hit my nose, I narrowly dodged the strike. “Hey, that was close.”
“Be even closer
when you’re fighting for your life.” He
went low to sweep my legs again. This
time, I saw it and hopped over the staff.
“Good. Faster.” He had me on the
defensive, trying to block his moves from hitting my body and driving me
backward.
My foot slid off
the mat and I fell, landing on my back.
“What should you
have done there?”
“Not fall down?”
He shook his
head. “Don’t get forced into retreat.
Either retake control, or run. If I was something that wanted you dead right
now, you would be. Don’t react. Think.”
I held my hand out
for a hand up. He backed off to the
center of the mat, leaving me to get up on my own. My back hurt from hitting the tile.
He stood poised to
attack. “Again.”
That night, I lay
on my bed bruised and sore, and homesick.
This place was so
empty.
Cold.
I missed the
chatter of the diner, the sounds of sizzling burger patties and bubbling
oil. Missed Mama’s contagious laugh and
buttermilk biscuits. Rolling over, I
faced the wall, and wrapped around Muffy, my stuffed bear.
Could I take years
of being away?
That’s what they wanted.
No. Summer would be long enough.
No comments:
New comments are not allowed.