Court of Nightfall (2 page)

"Because you wouldn't let me watch it. Zeniths are being mistreated, and people need to do something. I need to do something." I'd seen Zenith kids on the street, wearing a tag in their ear, getting picked on, getting beat up… store owners telling them to get lost. It wasn't fair. Just because they were different, just because they had para-powers others didn’t.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked, still curious more than anything.

I thought about it, glad I wasn't in trouble—yet. "Well, I haven't settled on a plan. With some time, I could hack the Inquisition security system."

She shifted on the bed to look at me better. "If you do, they will find you."

"I could cover my tracks."

She tilted her head, a long curl coming undone from her clip and falling over her shoulder. "Some of them. But, Star, understand that other people have been at this for far longer than you. Whatever you can do right now, no matter how amazing, Inquisition security can do much better."

I folded my arms across my chest, knowing I probably looked like a pouty kid but not caring. "But I have to do something."

She smiled again, her eyes crinkling. "You can keep practicing."

"Practicing doesn't change anything," I said, dropping my chin to my chest as feelings of impotence and frustration built in me.

My mom was still for a moment, her eyes distant, reflective, before she focused on me again. "Come with me," she said. "I want to show you something." She stood and left the room, walking downstairs.

I hurried to follow. "What?"

"The video I didn't let you watch," she said over her shoulder.

The television in our living room covered nearly the entire wall in a grey reflective material. With it we could access networks or play videos sent via satellite signal from an e-Glass.

My mom clicked her e-Glass and a video appeared. A man was tied to a beam on a wooden platform surrounded by hay. People circled him, throwing food, stones, rotten vegetables, calling him names and sneering.

Another man dressed in a red and gold cloak walked forward holding a torch, speaking to the crowd, but the people were too loud to hear the Inquisitor's words.

"That man on trial was a hacker," my mom said. "He wiped multiple Inquisition bank accounts. They found him a day later."

I felt a small surge of pride for what he'd done. "He must have really messed them up."

My mom sat on the couch and I joined her as she asked, "Do you think those accounts mattered?"

"I imagine they would. Money's important, right? But… " I thought about it more and realized… "The Inquisition isn't hurting for money, are they? They can always get more."

My mom nodded.

"Well," I said, "at least he showed people they could fight back."

"Did he?" my mom asked. "Or did he simply become another example of the Inquisition's power?"

I looked back up at the video just as the Inquisitor set the torch to the haystack. As the hacker began to burn, his cries mixing with the cheers of the crowd, my mom turned off the video and set the display to a serene mountain scene.

She turned to me and reached for my hand, squeezing. "My Star, one day, when you're older, you'll make a difference. A
real
difference. But you need to be ready. Hone your skills. And…" she ruffled my hair, "try to avoid stupid mistakes."  She stood and walked toward the kitchen and I slumped in the couch, depressed.

All of my practicing was for nothing. I didn't want to end up like that guy in the video. "I guess I'll stop hacking then," I announced to the world in all my despondent pre-teen angst.

My mom turned back, a mischievous grin forming on her face. "I didn't say to stop," she said, winking. "I just said to be careful."

When I finished fixing his site, Jax hugged me, and I melted a little.

"Thanks, Scarlett. Now, how about that dinner? On me." He glanced at the computer. "I owe you."

I linked arms with him, happy to have spent a few hours immersed in something that took my mind off my future. "You
do
owe me, don't you? Is this going to be a real dinner, or are we dining on airport food again?"

"Real dinner. I've got something I want to tell you. Something important."

He looked at me with such intensity, my stomach knotted. Maybe we were finally leaving the friend zone? Suddenly the test seemed far away as he walked me to my car, and I followed him to the nearby hotspot for dinner.

***

His words took time to sink in. "You're leaving?" I asked, my burger and fries forgotten.

"Looks like it. It's an amazing opportunity, and you and I both know Montana is a dead end for our careers." He looked so earnest with his beautiful half-smile and handsome face. Even in shades of grey he radiated confidence that had been reducing me to jelly since the moment I hit puberty.

"But New York? That's so far away. When do you leave?" I choked back my tears, refusing to cry in front of my best friend. But this whole thing felt surreal, and my heart was breaking as surely as if he were ending our friendship.

"In a week. Classes start on the first."

I gulped. "That soon?" I wanted to grip his hand, to feel the physical presence of him, to assure myself that he was still here, still a part of my life, but I kept my hands in my lap instead.

He reached into the inside pocket of his leather bomber jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to me. The messy loops of his familiar handwriting filled the page.

"It's my new address." He tapped his e-Glass. "And with this we can talk anytime, day or night. See each other every day. We'll keep in touch. I promise."

I forced a smile and kicked myself for being so selfish that I'd make him feel bad for his dream coming true. Some friend I am. "I'm so happy for you, Jax. This is wonderful. You're going to be the best pilot in the program!" And I meant it, even if a small corner of my heart withered in my chest. I meant it.

"You'll be joining me soon," he said. "As soon as you pass your test and get approval, I'll make sure they have a place for you there."

I excused myself to use the bathroom, and only then did I let the tears fall. It was silly, stupid and entirely juvenile, but I missed childhood. I missed, for just a moment, the simplicity of not having to wrestle with this kind of loss, these kinds of pressures. As a child I could imagine anything was possible. Now, barely eighteen, I knew some dreams weren't meant to be, and never would.

I washed and dried my face, and studied my appearance in the mirror. I couldn't tell if my eyes looked red from crying ("Your eyes look red—with some swelling," Evie helpfully informed me.)

"Thanks, Evie." I reapplied my mascara, careful lest I make myself into a clown without realizing it. I knew from the comments of others that my silver eyes were startling and my pale blonde hair coveted by those who grew theirs from a bottle. I'd always assumed my strange eyes were a result of my genetic color-blindness, but there's no real proof that's true. Regardless, it always struck me as odd that others could see me in a way I could not see myself.

Finishing up a light coat of pink lipstick, I shoved it into my purse and plastered a smile onto my face. I would not ruin Jax's good news with my own maudlin desires and disappointments.

I returned to the table and, with my appetite gone, fiddled with my uneaten food.

"No hurry," Jax said. "The server had to leave for her break, so I settled the bill, but we can hang out and talk."

I didn't know what we could talk about. Yes, we could 'see' each other daily, but that wasn't the same as hanging out all night watching movies and eating popcorn and chocolate chip cookies until we were sick to our stomachs. That wouldn't replace time spent in the sky together, sharing our passion of flight. That would never be enough for what I'd hoped would one day grow between us.

I tried to smile at him as I stood and grabbed my purse. "I should get home. It's getting late."

He stood and put his arm around me. "Cheer up, Scarlett. You're still my best friend in the world. Nothing will ever change that." Something in his eyes shifted as he looked down at me. "Please remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what life brings us, you have always meant more to me than you'll ever know."

Those words would come to haunt me, but at the time, they just broke my heart.

***

The voices carried through the kitchen and into the living room as I dropped my purse on the couch, my gift from Jax tucked inside. My parents rarely argued, and I shamelessly listened in concern.

My mom sounded frustrated, like she'd repeated herself too many times already and didn't want to say it again. "We've been ordered to stay."

"They've found us, Violet." My dad sounded equally frustrated, though he did his best to hide it. Of the three of us, he had the most patience.

His words sent a chill up my spine. Who'd found us? And why would anyone be looking for us to begin with?

"We don't know that for sure," my mom said, walking out of the kitchen, my dad following. When her blue eyes landed on me she smiled, but it didn't soften the anxiety on her face. "Hi, honey. We didn't realize you were home."

"I just got in," I told her. "What's going on? Who's found us?"

My dad, his dark hair a mess, looked at my mom, and she shook her head, her eyes pleading him to… what? I didn't know, but he didn't listen. Turning his attention back to me, he took a breath. "Come with me. I'll show you."

"Marcus, we promised to keep her out of this." My mom moved to stand between me and my dad, as if he was about to show me something dangerous.

His eyes were sad when he replied. "Perhaps we were wrong, Violet. Perhaps we've been wrong about everything."

My dad walked toward the front door and I followed, expecting my mom to come, but she reached for the call button on her e-Glass instead as she brushed aside a lock of blonde hair. "If you're sure about this… I've got to tell the council we're leaving. I'll be right out."

My dad nodded sharply once, then led me outside and behind our house. Toward the bunker.

It had been built before I was born, dug deep into the earth with a circular metal door directly on the ground. I'd never been inside. Once, when we were little, I convinced Jax to help me break in so we could discover the secrets my parents kept there, but we couldn't dig around it, couldn't pry it open, couldn't do anything to penetrate the steel walls. It was the one mystery of my life. What was in the bunker, and why was I never allowed to see? Not even during the war did we use it, which seemed odd.

My dad always told me it was a safety issue. "It's just a bunch of emergency survival gear for if something terrible happens. There are guns and ammo and other weapons that I don't want you having access to."

Once I was old enough and trained in the use and safety of guns, I thought he'd relent and at least take me on a guided tour of the place. No such luck.

But now, now I was about to find out the truth, and that knowledge sent pinpricks of nerves over my skin. There are moments in life when you just know that what's about to happen will change everything. This was one of those moments.

I rubbed my hands together, forcing warmth back into them despite the heat of the early evening. "Dad, what's going on? Is this another training exercise?" I asked, though I knew the answer in my bones. My parents have always wanted me to be prepared for anything and everything and, from the time I was little, had often set up impromptu tests to see if I was mastering the skills they spent time teaching me. As I grew, those tests got harder, more unexpected and mysterious. But nothing like this.

"No, sweetheart. The time for training is done. Now, we can only hope you learned everything you needed to." With those cryptic words my dad brushed aside leaves and branches and dirt that hid the door. He kept his left hand clenched, and I realized he was holding something small and dark, but I couldn't tell what it was. Using a key he kept on him at all times, he unlocked the door and pulled it open, triggering an emergency light.

Shadows danced beneath me as I followed my dad down the ladder. Once inside, I prepared myself for something extraordinary, but was disappointed to find that it was fairly typical looking. Canned foods, extra water, guns and ammo, three cots, blankets… all the basics for survival for whatever apocalypse my parents imagined would occur. "Why didn't you want me in here?" I asked.

"Because of what you might find," he said ominously.

I picked up a can of beef stew and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He chuckled, almost sounding like my normal dad. "Not that." He opened an electrical panel and flipped some of the switches. "Stand back," he said.

I took two steps back, and then my breath caught in my throat. The wall in front of us began to open, revealing a secret room.

There were weapons laid on tables to either side of us. More guns, but also swords, knives, a javelin. Weapons I recognized from books but had never seen in real life. Weapons that had been polished, sharpened and well cared for.

Between the tables, to our right and left, were two large steel cases, each embossed with an intricate tree with the carving of a hand in the center.

My father walked to the one on the right and placed his hand in the carving. It fit perfectly, and streams of light began to form around his hand, filling the crevices of the carving like liquid, pooling out until it filled the whole tree. Once each leaf glowed with the light, the case began to unlock, clicking and moving through a series of internal gears until my father could pull the front panel open.

Inside, silver (according to Evie) armor polished to a high sheen adorned a mannequin roughly my father's size and shape. The armor was covered with a design of elegant, stylized branches.

"My old armor," my father said, almost to himself. He slid his free hand over it with care, the other still clutching something hidden, then began taking the armor off the mannequin.

I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to fit this new information with what I knew of my mild-mannered father who crunched numbers for a living. "Dad, who are you really? What are you really? Because clearly you're not just an accountant." I stared at his armor as he undid another clasp. "Unless the definition of business wear has changed."

He chuckled again, and the familiarity of that sound helped me to breathe easier, if only just a little.

"I
am
an accountant, Scarlett. But I wasn't always one. There's more to me than that."

His palm opened, revealing what he'd been holding. A black ring, ancient-looking, with small spikes lining the inside. He set it down on the table next to me and began putting on the armor. I focused on the ring, fascinated by the jewelry that looked more like a torture device. I touched it and cut myself, a pool of blood forming on my finger. "Ouch! What on earth?"

My dad looked down at the ring. "A Token of Strife," he said.

"What's that?" I asked as I watched my dad transform from normal guy to something out of a comic book. I ticked off everything in this room that made no sense to me, adding it all to a list of things I would find the answers to, no matter what. I pressed a button on my e-Glass, giving Evie the alert to record and photograph whatever she could. Someone was going to tell me what the heck was going on.

"It means an old argument is to be settled, one way or another," he said as he finished putting on his armor. He picked up the ring again and looked at it, his eyes distant and sad. Then he slipped it onto his finger and grimaced in pain as the spikes bit into his flesh. A small trickle of blood ran down his hand.

I watched in shock. "Why did you do that?"

He looked up, surprised, as if he'd forgotten I was there. "Sometimes pain can serve as a reminder to finish what we start."

Thanks, Dad, that explains everything.

He hooked the last piece of his armor, his helmet, to his side. "I'll explain more later, but right now, I need your help."

He walked to the very end of the room where one more case stood, this time with two handprints on it. He put his hand in one, then looked at me. "Place your hand on it," he said.

I did as instructed and once again everything began to glow, spreading over the design until all the crevices and carvings filled with light. The locks shifted and moved with the sound of old metal being woken up.

I pulled my hand away and stared at it. "This was made for me?"

"No, for your mother," he said. "But you're close enough genetically for it to work."

The case opened, revealing a solid piece of… glass? I ran a hand over it, marveling at the beauty, even in black and white. This wasn't glass; it felt like crystal. A huge rectangular crystal box, taller than my dad, and several feet deep. It was carved with more intricate designs, and I could almost make out something within the crystal. "What's in there?"

"A weapon," my dad said. "One we must protect at all costs." From under one of the tables he pulled out a furniture dolly and placed it at the base of the case, then switched a lever that lowered the crystal box out and onto the dolly.

"Neat trick," I said, and I realized my parents must have built all of this themselves.

"We need to get this to the truck." He put his helmet on top of the weapon.

I thought about the entrance to our bunker, how we'd have to push this huge mass of crystal up to the surface. "Seriously? No way we're strong enough."

"You're stronger than you think," he said. "And your mom will be here to help."

My mom? The petite schoolteacher?

But I didn't argue. Instead, I pushed and he pulled until we stood under the open door. "Climb out and wait for your mother."

When I reached the top, she was already there. "Mom, I think Dad's lost it. He wants us to move this giant crystal box out of here, but it must weigh a ton."

My dad had already pushed it the rest of the way so that the top reached the opening. "Ready, ladies?" He called from below.

"Ready," my mom said, gripping it on the right side. "Get the other side, Scarlett. There's a carved handle."

"Mom, there's no way we can lift this. It's solid crystal." I felt like I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone and somehow my parents had been replaced by lookalikes from another planet. Maybe this was all a dream and I'd wake up and things would be back to normal.

My mom sighed. "Please just do as you're asked without arguing. Please."

I moved to the other side and found the groove in the crystal where my hand fit. She'd see soon enough this was all a waste of time.

"On three," my dad said from below. "One, two, three!"

I pulled with everything in me.

And, by the Orders, the thing actually started moving. It startled me so much that my hand slipped, and I dropped my end.

My dad grunted and my mom centered herself to grab both sides, her body draped over the top of the weapon as her muscles flexed and she pulled the box out by herself.

I scrambled to help, belatedly, and assisted in getting the tail end safely on the ground as my dad climbed the stairs with the dolly.

I stared at my mom. Shocked. Amazed. Speechless.

She didn't even look at me, just helped my dad get it on the dolly again. Like all of this was totally normal. She looked at my dad with a serious expression. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "They will come."

She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded as well. "Okay, then. Let's hurry."

I helped them push it to the truck, though they clearly didn't need me. Because apparently I'd been born to superheroes. Or mutants. Or…

Oh my God. Did my parents have para-powers? I'd seen the coverage in the news like the rest of the world, but living in rural Montana we didn't see much in the way of Zeniths. I heard a rumor once that a guy in town was arrested for making his beer cans dance in the street, but no one ever corroborated it. Likely someone was just on drugs and seeing things.

But how else could I explain what they could do?

And then I felt a tiny twinge of jealousy. If I had a para-power, maybe it would have helped with my eyesight. Maybe it would have made my dreams easier to accomplish.

As we got to the truck, my mom looked at me, a frown on her face. "I'm sorry, honey. You weren't supposed to find out this way."

What have I actually found out? I wondered. "Was I ever supposed to find out?"

She bit her lip. "I have to go back to the bunker for my armor. Let's get this in the truck quickly."

I threw open the back of our truck, which resembled a small moving van. My parents bought it for the same reason we had the bunker, “in case.” In case the world ends and we needed a big truck for some reason. In case tragedy struck. Always in case.

I thought they were nuts—normal in most respects, boring even—just a little extreme about this particular issue. But I chalked it up to history. They remembered the Attack on Diamond Head just over ten years ago. They'd seen the devastation wrought by the Nephilim War a few years after that, in which the Nephilim had been destroyed completely—in which their dangerous, blood-sucking race had been eradicated for good. I remembered too, of course, but I was a kid, sheltered from the enormity of it by my parents. But they had this bunker before those things happened.

And now… Now I knew they had other reasons for their extreme cautions and preparations. My parents made short work of getting the weapon into the truck while I watched and wondered.

"Who are we protecting this from?" I asked.

My dad looked down at his horrible ring, the Token of Strife. "An old friend."

I was about to ask more when the crack of thunder filled the sky. All three of us looked up. The clouds caught the rays of the setting sun, bursting with the colors of the retreating day. But then they changed, shifting, spinning like a whirlpool in the air, forming a funnel.

"They're here," my dad said, his voice too calm, too quiet. Too controlled. Because I could sense that whoever 'they' were, it was bad. Really bad. And my heart skipped a beat, shifting and bumping erratically in my chest.

But I couldn't pull my eyes away from the sky as the center of the whirlpool lit up and a beam of golden light blasted down into the field beside our house.

Even without Evie whispering the colors in my ear, I would have known. The golden light of it burned into my soul.

And then a figure emerged from the light clad in shining golden armor, holding a sword in the sky like an avenging hero.

No, not a hero. As the golden wings unfurled, as the light brightened and radiated around the figure, I saw the truth.

Not a hero.

A Nephilim.