Elemental (The Keeper of the elements)

BOOK: Elemental (The Keeper of the elements)
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Elemental

The Keepers of the Elements

Volume One

Shayne Donovan

 

Text Copyright ©2013 by Shayne Donovan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedication

To my baby sissy Tara.

Thank you for reading and encouraging my stories. I love sharing this passion with you and being able to tal
k about all things book related. I love having you as a little sister and I would trade it for the world. Every heroine I create, I think of you. As always, I hope you like this story just as much as the rest. Without you I don’t think I would have continued with this.

Love your sissy

xoxo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue                                                                                                                         

 

I can clearly remember the day my life changed. It had been my eighth birthday. I had spent the extra time to put my hair up in pig tails, tied with blue ribbon that matched my brand new dress. My parents were in the back yard hanging the blue and silver “Happy Birthday Gemma” banner that was surrounded by blue and silver gathered balloons. The colors sparkled each time the sun hit them, sending little rainbows dancing on the grass. My parents laughed and joked as they decorated my Princess theme party and I watched as a happy bystander from my bedroom window, putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I came down and my mother clicked on the radio and the three of us laughed and danced while we waited for my friends to arrive.

 

I had invited my whole class for my party, excited at sharing and celebrating my perfect day. My mother had spent hours filling out the castle shaped invitations and I had happily signed each one. I wish I could have taken that moment and savored it, held fast for just a bit longer. I wish I would have known the pure hell I would endure, the heartache.

 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, in fact, the day was as close to perfect as I could have gotten. I had a perfect dress, my auburn hair in perfect pig tails and my mother had even let me add a little of her make up to my brown eyes. I had woken up that morning a ball of happy nerves. I had brushed my teeth with my favorite tooth brush, dressed in my new favorite dress with black mary-janes to match and my hair was perfect; not a strand out of place. I honestly couldn’t see how this day could be ruined.

 

I wish I had known better. I’m still not completely sure when everything went completely wrong. I remember the first few of my friends arriving, dressed in their prettiest dresses,
some even sporting pretend crowns and the next thing I remember is screaming. My mother and father were laying in a pool of blood, my mother, face down in the dirt and my father staring lifelessly into the perfectly blue sky.  A strange man with dark chocolate skin was standing above them, he wore strange brown pants and no shirt but his body was covered in thick black tattoos; even his face was covered. His eyes were a bright yellow and his hair was long and black and fell to his waste. He watched me angrily and I felt myself frozen with fear. Suddenly he ran towards me, his voice bellowing a loud warrior cry. I had no idea what to do, so I did what any normal eight year old girl would do. I stuck my hands out, palms facing him, and screamed. The world erupted around me, throwing me back and slamming me hard against the brick wall of the house.

 

I dropped to the ground as the pain spread like a wildfire through my weak body. It was hot and plowed through my icy veins like boiling water. My vision faded in and out as the sensations grew more intense, dragging me closer to the threatening darkness. Through my swimming vision I could see that the yard was destroyed, splatter of blood covered my birthday banner and dirt covered every inch of the house. It was literally like a bomb had exploded. The strange man was lying a few feet away from me, his eyes closed and his dark chest stilled. Just before I succumbed to the darkness I saw him fizzle away and disappear.

 

I remember bits and pieces of the next few moments. A friend’s mother frantically calling 911 while another mother was telling me to just hold on. I can distinctly remember the sirens of the police and ambulance as they came to investigate. The thing I remember the most however was the never-ending darkness that never seemed to let me free. It incapacitated me with a pain that I have never before felt and trapped me in my own personal hell. I would drift in and out, sometimes hearing voices just beyond the dark and sometimes just stuck in the silence. I remember hearing that I was a medical mystery, the doctors just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Other doctors believe I was suffering from the shock of my parents’ death and to help me grieve, my body shoved me into a coma like state.

 

During my time in the darkness I would scream. Desperate, loud sobs for someone, anyone to hear me. I cried, begging to be released from this prison I had found myself in. It honestly felt like forever until I woke up.

 

The first thing I seen when I woke up was a very stiff woman. Some kind of book poised in her lap and fancy thin framed glasses perched on her thin, long nose. Her brown hair was piled high in a tight French twist and a pen stuck out across the top. She wore a black business suit jacket, a matching pencil skirt and black six inch heels. I immediately shied away from her presence. Instantly when she looked up I knew by the surprise in her firm face that something was wrong. She immediately called for a doctor and began talking like I wasn’t even there.

 

“Doctor, my files tell me that the child I am here for has auburn hair and brown eyes. This child has neither of those.” She whispered harshly. I eased myself up and eyed the doctor curiously. “I understand your concern Ms. Duncan but I assure you this is the correct child. I can only assume her shock has changed both the color of her eyes and the color of her hair.” He answered solemnly before turning to me with a tentative smile.

 

“Gemma, my name is Doctor Roberts and this is Ms. Duncan. She is with child services. Do you remember what happened?” I shook my head no, not wanting to relive the heartache of describing my parents’ murder. The Doctor smiled sympathetically and briefly glanced over at the woman. She stayed poised and emotionless. “Well it seems there was a gas leak and a large explosion at your home six months ago.” My breath hitched when he said it happened six months ago. He rested a hand on my arm to try and comfort me and I instantly felt uncomfortable with how cold his hand was. “Your parents were killed in the explosion and you were badly injured. Ms. Duncan is here to take you to a foster home.” My head was spinning. My parents weren’t killed in the blast; they were murdered by the strange tattooed man. I knew but I stayed quiet, knowing no one would believe me.

 

The day that I left the hospital with Ms. Duncan was the first day I actually seen myself. I stood in the small hospital bathroom, studying the new me. My hair was still shoulder length instead of my normal auburn color it had changed to a platinum blonde. It looked so much brighter against my tan skin. My eyes were the biggest change, instead of my muddy brown they were now a bright vibrant shade of indigo. Which I suppose could be defined as a color in between blue and purple.

 

Ms. Duncan watched me hesitantly as I climbed into the back of her van. Her face said all that she was thinking and what she was thinking was something was wrong with me. I didn’t necessarily disagree with her. “Now these folks have graciously accepted to foster you without even meeting you, which is almost unheard of. So you should be on your best behavior.” Ms. Duncan announced after driving for a few minutes. I simply nodded, I still haven’t spoken since waking and I had no intention of it yet.

 

The rest of the drive was uncomfortably quiet. About thirty minutes later, Ms. Duncan pulled the van into a perfect, unblemished driveway. The house was large and white and looked like something out of my mother’s home and garden magazines. A large tree with low, thick branches sat poised in the perfectly manicured lawn and the side walk that led up to the front door was lined with brightly colored flowers. Everything about the house screamed all American. There was even a big American flag hanging from a latch on the covered front porch.

 

I lifted my pack, filled with my last few mementos left from my old life, and hoisted it on my back. Even at eight years old, I knew. Something in me had changed that day. I’m not talking emotionally, I mean physically too. I knew I was different and something had been forever changed. I hid away all the things that made me, me. I wasn’t as outgoing or bubbly. I rarely smiled and I never talked about that day. I kept the murderer hidden deep inside me, only allowed to haunt me in my dreams.

 

That night I cried myself to sleep. It was the last time I would allow myself to cry. 

 

Chapter One

 

I walked briskly down the sidewalk, a warm early spring breeze lightly touching my cheek. The light breeze tugged a few strands of white blonde hair from my loose pony tail and I sighed. I hated my hair, it made me stand out and I hated standing out. I had even tried dying it and no matter the color it never took. I begged my current fosters for wigs but they refused. Just like all the ones before them. I was about eight months shy of eighteen and honestly I hoped that these ones would look past whatever was wrong with me and keep me until I was free of this god awful system.

 

Ever since my parents’ death, I had been in foster care. I was bounced around faster than a bouncy ball, having had at least six foster homes a year. Which, if your any good at math you would see I have been in just about sixty foster homes since the age of eight. I wish I could say that it was because I was a delinquent but the only reason ever given is because something feels off about me. One woman even went as far as saying I had a very 'static’ energy about me that made her uncomfortable. So far my current fosters Gabby and Mitchell weren’t too bad.

 

I made my way through the rich part of town, eager to get out of the view of the nosy old ladies that watched me from their fancy couches, behind their fancy curtains. They would turn their noses up at me like I was a spec of dirt on their perfectly white suits. The only reason they felt that way was because I was one of those 'foster brats’ as they so affectionately referred to me as.

 

I quickly made my way around the corner and slammed into what felt like a brick wall, landing me straight on my bottom. A loud “Oomph!” escaped my normally sealed lips. I looked up and my breath caught as Aydan stood above me, staring down with his trademark smile. Somehow Aydan had landed in foster care when he was five years old and managed to stay relatively close to me as we each bounced from house to house. I had no idea why he was bounced so often considering he was a serious golden child. His grades never went below a ‘B’, he was captain of our football team and he had that golden boy look. Yet somehow every time I got bounced, so did he. His soft brown hair fell across his forehead, nearly obscuring his perfect storm grey eyes. “Gemma!” I smiled up at him, happy to at least see him on this miserable day.

BOOK: Elemental (The Keeper of the elements)
9.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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