The Turncoats (The Thirteenth Series #2)
A guard, a hunter, a duty…
IN
THE THIRTEENTH
SERIES
by
G.L.Twynham
Details of copy right;
Copyright © 2010 by G.L.Twynham
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and
any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design by: J.Davey/G.L.Twynham.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of G.L.Twynham, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN:978-1-907652-71-4
Media Contact - Tel: 01673 849 813
In Loving Memory
Of
Nan.P and Phil
*
This book is dedicated to Alzheimer’s Society, the UK’s leading care and research charity for people with dementia, their families and carers.
*
Thank you
*
Visit:
alzheimers.org.uk
The Thirteenth Series:
The Thirteenth
The Turncoats
Turncoat:
1550- 60, from turn + coat;
Originally a person, who tried to hide,
or turn round the badge of their party or leader,
a traitor.
Chapter 5: To Trust or Not to Trust
Chapter 8: Eyes Down for a Full House
Chapter 11: Promises, Promises
Chapter 12: In the Eyes of the Law
Chapter 14: Intergalactic talks
Special acknowledgment goes to
HAPTER
1
The Hunter Arrives
Valerie Saunders opened her eyes tentatively, unsure of what would be waiting for her. Luckily she found herself face to face with the sleeve of a strangely familiar, yet very ugly, tweed jacket. She sighed in relief. In the early hours, when she had returned to the flat above the bookshop, she had decided not to sleep on the bed. It smelt of old men and that, mixed with the crazy seventies duvet pattern, was enough to put anyone off climbing in. So she had tried to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden floor. Cushioned by a pile of old clothes and a sleeping bag she had spotted by chance on the top of Wallace’s wardrobe.
As she pulled at the sleeping bag’s zip, images of her ex-boss, the aggressive elderly bookshop owner who had turned out to be a psychotic prison guard turned rogue from another planet, ran through her mind. But Wallace was no longer a problem: she now had to deal with his alter ego. “Excariot,” his name escaped her lips as if to remind her that he was back here with her, in the present. Not only that, he had brought with him the spirits of a multitude of escaped prisoners who were just waiting for an opportunity to jump into the bodies of innocent humans. She may have lost to him yesterday, but she still had the satisfaction of knowing that the one person he really wanted, Lailah, was safely locked away on the prison planet of Alchany.
Rolling onto her back she looked up at a yellow stained, artexed ceiling. Her thoughts drifted for a second to how her life had changed since her eighteenth birthday party and the mysterious arrival of a tattoo. Destiny had thrust itself upon her without having the good manners to first ask her permission. Still, she had done what she thought was right, even though it had turned out to be the complete opposite. She raised her arm into the air and turned it to see the now clear patch where the tattoo had been. Then her eyes moved down her arm to her new accessory, the bracelet Gabrielle, her alien father, had left her. She really wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it could do. However, having seen Excariot use his to escape her in sixteen forty-five she knew it had power and if her life continued to follow its new path she was sure to be shown, very soon, what it was capable of, possibly whilst hanging off a burning building or dodging a bullet on an airplane.
She lowered her arm and pushed herself up. A quick glance across at the cupboard door was a stark reminder that she was now the proud owner of a bookshop and a portal to another galaxy. It wasn’t normal, but what was anymore?
The hardest part of this crazy situation was losing her present day mum and dad. Wyetta, Val’s other mother, and her coven had reached into the future from sixteen-forty-five and caused Val’s parents - and almost everyone else -, to forget her, to protect them from Excariot. So now she had one set of parents who had forgotten she ever existed, a mother she had no memory of except in her dreams, and a father, Gabrielle, she had never met.
Gabrielle had been the unlucky guard who had been sent to catch Excariot and deliver him to the Warden or, as she liked to think of him, the
Father Christmas
lookalike. Val giggled. The sound echoed round the empty flat and she stopped, feeling embarrassed and then sad at how alone she was. She had gone from ‘only child’ to ‘lonely child’ in one fell swoop.
The clock on the bedside table buzzed bringing her to the sharp reality that it was time to go to work. She made her way to the bathroom, her mind already busy with plans. She was definitely going to require some new clothes and food, and for that she would have to find some money. Popping home for a meal and change any time soon was out of the question.
At least the shower worked and the aging mirror reflected her disgusted grimace as she contemplated using Wallace’s greasy comb to tame her hair, but needs must. Pulling on the jeans and t-shirt she had worn the previous day, she moved over towards the door to Alchany and pulled it ajar slightly. What if someone needed her? Maybe that Collector woman she had met last night would come and visit, she thought to herself. But she wouldn’t be putting the bracelet near the portal in a great hurry after all the problems she had caused. Like the Collector had warned, “Not unless you have a prisoner,” and she really wanted to stay out of trouble.
Val grabbed her trusty sword and phone from the bed and shoved them into her back pocket as images of Sam flooded into her head. He was so gorgeous. After she had fallen for Jason and felt the pain of meeting his very nice girlfriend, Fran, Sam had arrived at just the right moment. Not only was he incredibly good looking, without his gadgets she would be lost.
She headed downstairs, knowing that Wendy wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. Her ‘
never judge a book by its cover,’
friend, Wendy Whitmore, was the girl who had added a pinch of witchcraft to her life. The one person she had spent her life avoiding had turned out to be her guardian and protector. A better friend than
her
! Val could feel her face scrunching into an annoyed frown as memories of Delta suddenly rushed through her mind. “
The traitor
!” How could she have done that to her after everything they had been through together? Friends, like family, every summer for seven years. “Stop,” she said in a hushed tone. She wouldn’t waste another second thinking about someone everyone had obviously forgotten and she would never have to see again.
She opened the door marked private. It seemed strange coming into the shop from this angle. Everything seemed brighter today, cleaner, if that was possible. Val gently passed her hand over the counter as if greeting an old friend. She had done a good job keeping this place spick and span, but as the Warden had reminded her she would now have to read a few of these books not just dust them.
As the mangled water cooler spluttered out a glass of water, Val couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going to happen to her from here on in. When the bang came on the door she nearly threw her glass across the room. However, as she had predicted, there stood Wendy ready to start work at eight-thirty a.m.
“So much for a late start,” Val said as she unlocked the door.
“Should I go?” Wendy looked shamefully at the ground.
“Shut up and get in,” Val laughed grabbing her by the arm. “Do you want a coffee?”
Wendy nodded as she circled the counter and placed her bag down. “Where would you like me to begin?”
As Wendy’s last word escaped her, the private door flew open. In the opening stood a young man, slightly out of breath, dressed all in black. He had jet-black hair in a military style haircut. He scanned Wendy with searching blue eyes, then grabbed her by the arm.
“Where is twenty-three thirteen!?” he barked into her face.
“Who?” Wendy struggled.
Val instantly dropped her glass and moved swiftly in their direction.
The man looked up at Val. “Twenty-three thirteen?” He released Wendy whose thrashing about hadn’t even been acknowledged.
Val had her sword out and was around the counter pointing it at his throat in the blink of an eye. “What if I am? Who wants to know?” she demanded, pulling Wendy behind her.
“I’m thirty-three twenty-seven, your designated hunter. We need to go.” He reached past Val’s sword with ease and they were gone, a blue spark marking the spot.
Wendy was alone. She scrambled for her bag, pulled out her mobile and started to dial. “Shane, this man came and took Val. Get here now!” Wendy listened to Shane’s instructions, her adrenaline pumping, “OK.” She shut the phone and quickly wedged the stool from behind the counter up against the door to the flat. Picking up her bag she backed towards the main shop door, never taking her eyes away from the flat’s entrance. When her back touched the cold glass of the door she turned the lock and then gradually eased herself to the ground, still never taking her eyes away from the
private
sign.
“What on earth!” Val fell to the ground, landing with the grace of an elephant on ice skates. They had arrived in an alley and Val’s nostrils were immediately assaulted by the smell of food, yet she was unable to distinguish which type. There were piles of rubbish scattered around and several large bins on each side. “Who are you?” Val questioned, pulling herself up as the man walked around her looking at some strange watch attached to his wrist.