Unveiled: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Novel (The Dark Skies Trilogy Book One) (15 page)

"
W
e can't leave
without your sword," Jax says. "Don't worry. Fire at this temperature can’t hurt a sword forged from stardust of the Pleiadian suns."

Before I can reply, Jax dashes around the side of the house. I realize he's planning on going in through the back.

Chasing after him, I yell, trying to be heard over the roar of the flames. "That’s great, but can the fire hurt you?"

As we come around into the backyard, flames shoot up from the roof. It looks like it’s about to collapse.

"Don't worry about me. I can timeshift my way in and out before you even notice."

“Timeshift?"

"I told you, time and space doesn't affect me the same way they do to you. I can be in and out in a flash.”

But as he says this, one of the roof’s crossbeams caves in, pulling a big hunk of the roof in with it.

“It’s too late” I argue back. “The whole thing is about to collapse,” I yell to be heard over the roar of the flames. "Even if you do find it in there, you'll never make it out."

He steps closer to me and looks in my eyes. His eyes seem to be glowing a brighter green than before. “We are not leaving without your sword.”

He smiles, then suddenly, he's gone. Vanished into thin air.

I spin a circle saying, "Jax? Jax! Where are--" But I’m cut off as two more crossbeams give-way bringing most of the house down.

“JAX!” I’m screaming, as two-thirds of the house falls in on itself while sending a wall of smoke and ash up into the sky. He’s gone. There’s no way anyone could survive that. “No! Jax!”

A voice from behind me speaks, “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

I whirl around to find Jax standing behind me holding BrightSky.

My jaw drops. "How did you…?" But before he can answer, I throw my arms around him. “I thought you were in there. I thought…”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay,” he says in a quiet voice, brushing a hair from my forehead. I feel a warm blush on my cheeks. “I promised your uncle I’d get you to the oracle and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Okay,” I nod, my head on his shoulder as I feel my racing heart start to calm down. I’m not sure what’s happening. At first, I thought Jax was a total jerk, but he just risked his life in order to help me. Perhaps, I completely misjudged him.

“C’mon, we have to get out of here.” Jax and I take a wide path around the burning house. In one hand, he holds BrightSky while the other is on my back guiding me safe past the burning house.

When we emerge back onto the driveway in front of the house, it's strangely quiet. If you don't count the roar of the crackly wood and hissing fire.

But the sound of the Johnsons yelling at each other is gone. In fact, the Johnsons are gone.

Jax gestures toward a pool of warm light, under a lamppost, a safe distance away from the burning house. "Look who's back."

Tom, transformed back to the form of a standard issue house cat, lies happily in the gravel, cleaning his fur.

A hideous lump of bloody guts lies not far from him on the ground. The only recognizable items are a pair of boots along with four black leather men's dress shoes randomly scattered. One shoe oozes bloody flesh.

My stomach turns.

"Guess kitty's full," Jax has to go and say.

"He didn't eat them, did he?" I'm utterly horrified.

A black and white police car, siren blaring, red and blue gumball lights spinning, pulls up blocking the base of the driveway.

"Aw jeez. Cops." Jax nervously looks around. "I'm not so crazy about cops."

"Had a few run-ins with the law, have we?"

The first cop emerges from the passenger side, and I recognize him as Officer Fitzgerald, the police officer from the mall.

"Hey wait, I know that guy. He's cool," I say, turning toward Jax, but he's gone. “Jax?”

I spin a circle. He’s vanished into thin air. Poof. Just like that. “Jax?”

But worse, so much worse, I realize that my sword is gone. No, it can’t be. Why would Jax steal BrightSky?

And then I realize he tricked me.

Being all sweet and caring was just an act, and I fell for it. He has the Kantaurian gold and my sword.

I’m such an idiot.

"Astrid? Is that you?" Officer Fitzgerald calls out, striding up the driveway.

I swallow my feelings and answer him like everything is okay. "Oh, hey. It's you again." I slowly move toward him and his younger partner.

"Get away from that burning structure before it collapses!" Officer Fitzgerald waves me toward him.

When what remains of the roof crumbles behind me, sending a shower of ash and cinder up into the sky, I decide it might be wise to follow the friendly police officer's advice regarding stepping away from the burning building.

Behind the squad car, a battalion of fire engines thunders up the hill, stopping in the middle of the road.

Sure, a flaming meteor crashes into the mountain, and it takes emergency services forever to get up here, but burn down one little rental house and suddenly the entire fire department rushes to your aid.

Officer Fitzgerald meets me halfway, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me down the driveway. "Are you alright?"

Am I alright?! Um, not so much, I'm thinking. Pretty much that's a big no. Not exactly a stellar day. To be honest, the last two days have kind of sucked.

"I'm all right," I nod.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" Fitz asks as a cluster of firefighters storm past us, thick fire hoses balanced on their broad shoulders. “Anyone else with you?”

"No. Just me," I say, watching Tom casually slink off into the brush.

'Where are your parents?"

"At work."

"At 10 pm?"

"Business dinner or something."

He nods but obviously doesn't believe me.

"What happened here?" Fitzgerald asks once we're safely behind his black and white squad car.

"I just woke up and smelled smoke." I try to sound convincing. "I must have dozed off in my room doing homework. Trigonometry does that to me. When I got downstairs, everything was on fire."

"Okay, let's check you out then we'll call your parents."

I turn back toward the burning house. From a distance, it's a terrible sight. Huge flames leap from the roof, and the fire has begun to crawl up the back hillside.

"Astrid, you're hurt," Officer Fitzgerald sees blood seeping from my shirt, down my arm.

"Oh, that." I look down and am surprised to discover that blood is slowly trickling down my arm from where the Grail's blade sliced me in the store's dressing room. My encounter with the Johnson boy must have re-injured it. "That's not from the fire. It's from before."

"Before?" he says, frowning at the deep gash. He touches my shoulder and pain shoots through my whole body. Not only am I not healing, but it's also getting worse. "The girl at the mall?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't really matter when it happened, honey." Officer Fitzgerald pulls a cloth hankie from his pocket (who has a cloth hankie anymore?) and puts pressure on the gash on my shoulder. "We need to get it cleaned up."

"Jameson!" He calls to his partner who's in the car, talking on his radio. "Grab the first aid kit and get the ambulance up here."

"Don’t you think an ambulance is a little overkill for a cut?"

"I believe we should get you checked out." He smiles, studying my face. "You look a little pale too."

"I always look pale," I say as hot tears roll down my cheeks. The next thing I know I'm full out crying right in front of this nice police officer. I'm blubbering like a baby.

"Hey, why the tears?" I'm surprised when the big burly officer gently wraps his fatherly arms around me and says quietly, "You're okay. It's all going to be okay. I know having your house burn is upsetting, but the important thing is that you’re safe and sound."

Jameson calls out, "An ambulance is on its way."

"Great," he waves to his partner. "Who can I call? Grandparents, friend? Maybe we try mom?”

"They're, uh, out of town," I say, between sniffles.

"A minute ago you said your parents were at a business dinner." He raises an eyebrow. "Have to call someone, honey. You're a minor. They can meet you at the hospital."

As if on cue, the ambulance pulls up and stops. I suddenly get this tight, suffocating feeling in my chest and I blurt out. "I don't want to go."

"Astrid," Officer Fitzgerald says, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. "They just need to get you to the emergency room to clean that wound and properly bandage it. That's all."

"But I don't want to go with them. I want you to take me."

"To the hospital?"

"Please." I'm pleading with him. "Please. I'll go, but only if you take me."

I don't know why, but somehow I feel safe with him. He looks over at the paramedics rushing toward us, then back at me. "Hey guys, you know what, we got this one."

The head paramedic, a thin, efficient looking woman, asks, "She stable?"

"Yes," he says, "Can you just quickly get a temp bandage on her then we'll drive her down to St. Michael's for a quick look over.”

It takes two minutes for them to bandage me up. As she walks away, the efficient paramedic frowns, "That's a surprisingly deep cut. Doesn’t seem to want to clot. Make sure they clean it again once you get to the ER."

"Okay, Miss Astrid. Hop in." Officer Fitzgerald opens the back door of the squad car, and I slide in.

"Thank you, sir."

"You can call me Fitz," he says as we pull out, heading down the hill, past the firefighters now dousing the what remains of the house in thick streams of water. I'm holding my still bleeding arm in the backseat. Bleeding feels strange. Unfamiliar.

"Let's see,” Fitz begins. “I'd guess you're about fifteen."

"Sixteen."

"Ah, I was close," he nods, proud of his guess. "I've got an eighteen-year-old and a twenty-year-old at my house. Both girls."

Just as we're about to emerge from the canyon and pull onto the main street, the police car's engine dies for no apparent reason.

"What the..." Officer Jameson reacts, checking the dashboard. He’s forced to steer the squad car over to the shoulder.

This is exactly what happened to Phoebe's car up in the canyon. A bad feeling is welling up inside of me.

Fitz is confused. "Why are we stopping?"

"Something's wrong." Officer Jameson twists the key in the ignition. “It won’t start.”

I hear a low rumble and swivel around in my seat to see an imposing fleet of black SUVs bearing down on us from behind. "Oh jeez..."

"You know these guys, Astrid?" Fitz asks just as the SUVs with the darkened windows surround us.

I shake my head. “Um, not sure,” I say because it’s true. This could be an entirely different fleet of black SUVs. It’s possible. Not likely. But possible.

Fitz says to Jameson, "Call it in."

Jameson reaches for the police radio, but as he picks it up, the quiet static disappears. "It's dead."

Before the two police officers can do anything, a dozen agents in black suits emerge from the SUVs. They’re dressed just like the two Johnson boys.

"Feds?" Jameson asks.

"Special agents," Fitz answers.

Gone are the orange bio-hazard suits. Even in their dark suits, these guys sure don't look like pasty-face government agents. They’re all huge. Sort of like a professional football team wearing Brooks Brothers suits. But not as polite.

"Sit tight, Astrid." Jameson stays with me as Fitz pops out of the car, one hand resting casually on his gun. "What can we do for you, gentlemen?"

From behind all the agents, a familiar voice speaks, "We've come for the girl."

My heart skips a beat as the cluster of black suits parts down the middle, and Sunglasses Man appears.

N
one
other than freaky Sunglasses-at-Night guy saunters casually toward the police car, flashing some shiny official badge. It's after ten p.m., and the Ray-Bans are still on.

In fact, two other agents are also wearing dark glasses.

"Who's this joker?" Jameson mutters under his breath.

“Oh boy…” Fitz says under his breath like he’s got the same bad feeling I do.

I have the conflicting desire to both hide on the floor of the backseat and press my face against the window to see what's going to happen.

"Federal agents, gentleman." Sunglasses strolls closer, calling out, "We'll take custody of the girl."

Officer Fitzgerald blocks Sunglasses' path. "And which girl is that?"

Sunglasses smiles. "One Miss Astrid Jones. Currently residing in the back seat of your squad car." He pulls a folded legal document from inside his suit jacket and holds it up. "I have a warrant."

"For her arrest?" Fitz asks. "She's sixteen."

"Nothing like that," Sunglasses answers drily. "She's wanted for questioning in an important matter."

Fitz and Jameson exchange concerned looks.

"What important matter?" Fitz inquires.

"Unfortunately, that information is above your pay grade, Sergeant," Sunglasses smirks and his agents arrogantly chuckle.

"Right." Fitz shrugs off the insult, then casually puts his hand back on his holstered sidearm.

As soon as he does, all ten of the feds do the same. Things are escalating way too fast. Officer Fitzgerald looks around, then drops his hand. It's pretty clear he's outnumbered.

Officer Jameson and I breathe a collective sigh of relief from the safety of the car.

"I don't think I caught your name," Officer Fitzgerald says, taking the warrant from Sunglasses.

"Didn't you?" Sunglasses replies.

"What department you guys with?" Fitz tries again, scanning the document.

"A division of immigration."

"Immigration?" Fitz repeats. "Do you believe this child to be an illegal immigrant?"

"Not exactly," Sunglasses shrugs.

Fitz frowns as he hands the warrant back. "Look, our first priority is to take this minor in for medical attention. She has a deep untreated cut on her arm."

"No worries, officers." Sunglasses waves his men forward. "We have a very specialized medical unit at the Federal Building. Rest assured she will be more than adequately tended to."

Something about the way he says this makes my skin crawl.

"Let's go," Sunglasses raises his right hand and snaps his fingers. His men efficiently surround the police car. If my guys even think about trying to keep me from the feds, they'll quickly be overpowered.

"Alright." Officer Fitzgerald puts his hands up in surrender. "Let me just help her get her things together."

Sunglasses nods, and the circle of suits falls back.

Fitz comes over to my window and bends down. "Astrid, you have any idea what this might be about?"

"No," I lie.

"Okay, well, looks like you're going to get a private tour of the federal building."

"Do I have to go?"

"I think you do."

I don't mind telling you that I'm terrified. Never in my life have I felt more alone. Somehow I don't think these suits have my best interest at heart. As I step out of the car, it's weirdly quiet, every eye focused on me.

"Hello again, Astrid," Sunglasses says with a crooked grin. "I believe we met the other night."

I shrug one shoulder. "Can't say I remember."

"Well," he says, opening his arms wide. "I have a feeling we're going to get acquainted pretty quick."

Officer Fitzgerald escorts me over to the SUV that Sunglasses points to. When I'm nearly there, the police car's engine roars back to life, headlights flipping on.

“Well, isn't that something," Sunglasses smiles, hands ironically on his hips. "It appears as if your vehicle is again operational. Just in time for you to drive quietly off into the night."

Jameson looks freaked out, but Fitz remains stone-faced. He gently puts his hand on my shoulder. "Okay, honey, looks like the bleeding has stopped."

Then he slips a rectangle of paper in my hand. It's his police business card.

He leans in and whispers, "I don't feel great about this. But I don’t think they’ll hurt you. You keep my card someplace safe and call me if you need anything. Anything at all, you understand?"

I nodded and slide into the back of the SUV. A cold ripple of fear balls up in my gut. Where are these scary feds taking me and what do they plan to do once we get there? That creepy "Alien Autopsy" video suddenly flashes through my mind.

A moment later, Sunglasses gets into the front passenger seat. The driver, the only female agent, regards me coolly in the rear view mirror. Even still, for some reason, her brooding presence makes me feel better.

The convoy of SUVs drives off, pulling a massive group u-turn then heading back down the hill.

The vehicle I'm riding in is right in the center. We pass the police cruiser where I see Jameson on the radio talking in an agitated fashion while Fitz solemnly watches us drive by.

"So Astrid," Sunglasses begins, "It surely is nice to have this chance to spend a little time together. You can't imagine how much I’ve heard about you."

He’s talking in that fake voice adults use when they're trying to win kids over. I just look straight ahead, because to be totally honest, despite my brave face, I am quaking in my boots back here.

"Although, I will say that I was perhaps expecting someone a little more..." he pauses, unable to find the right word. "Impressive, than you."

Wow. Nice.

We ride in silence for a few blocks then he continues, "Did you know I was a friend of your uncle?"

I'm not taking the bait.

"Pity about what happened to him," Sunglasses clucks his tongue.

If I could glare holes into his head, I would. How could he know my uncle is dead? He must be in contact with the Grail. And if he is, that bodes poorly for me. "Don't talk about my uncle."

"Fine," he shrugs. "Let's talk about the sword. Do you have it?"

I feel a little jolt of surprise. "Do I look like I have a sword?"

"Perhaps you stashed this legendary Sword of Stardust someplace for safe keeping." He looks out the window. "Perhaps you gave it to your little friend, the Arcturian thief."

"What were those... things... that were after me?"

"You answer my question." Suddenly he doesn't sound quite so friendly. "I'll answer yours. Where's the sword?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Princess."

We drive in silence for another couple blocks as the caravan of SUVs merges onto the wide main street of Ocean Grove.

"But no worries." Sunglasses waves his hand. "I've sent a team up to the smoldering pile of ash that used to be your house, as well as over to your uncle's karate studio to retrieve that sword. If you've hidden it, we'll find it."

Our snakelike fleet of autos winds through the town's business center, out to the city’s outskirts.

Then he adds, “And if we don’t find it, I might have a trick or two up my sleeve to get you to tell me where it is.”

Finally, we turn toward a rundown 70s-era square box of an ugly office building. It doesn't fit in amid the old Spanish style and the sleek modern buildings of Central California. It certainly doesn't look like an official government complex.

We pull into the dim tunnel-like subterranean parking garage. The caravan circles round and round, down and down, passing spaces occupied by Hondas and Fords and other sensible government employee automobiles.

It seems odd that a building this size would need so many levels of parking.

After descending at least four stories down into the bowels of the building, I say, "Jeez, looks like your parking space pretty much sucks."

"On the contrary, my dear." Sunglasses smiles. "I have the absolute primo spot. Just wait. You'll see."

After descending a couple more stories, it finally looks like we've hit a dead-end in the form of a dirty white wall. The caravan crawls to a stop.

"Be right back," Sunglasses pops out of the car.

I release my seatbelt and slide over to get a better look at what he's doing. The driver must think I'm going to make a break for it because she instantly hits the door lock button "ka-thunk."

I resist the urge to laugh out loud. Right, like I'm going to make a run for it from the bottom of a six-story parking garage with multiple carloads of big burly agents right behind me.

Sunglasses struts toward the empty white wall pulling something from his suit jacket. Looks like a key. Nothing interesting at all. There's a small rectangular box that looks like an electrical outlet. He inserts the key and twists.

As he does, the entire wall vanishes as if it was never even there.

In front of us lies still more descending tunnel. However, the dimly lit, dirty cement pavement is gone, replaced by pristine white floors and clean walls illuminated by the warm, bright glow of lights.

Sunglasses saunters back to the car with a smug grin plastered across his face like he's challenging me not to be in awe of him.

There's no way I'm going to give him the satisfaction, so I quickly slide back to my spot and re-secure my seatbelt like I never moved in the first place.

I avoid glancing into the rear view mirror where I'm sure the stone-faced lady driver continues to stare at me.

Once he’s back in his seat, the SUV crosses the threshold from the old garage into the new. It feels like we've entered a new realm. The passage has gotten wider, and the ceiling rises higher as it continues to circle down, down, down at a much steeper angle.

How far can this possibly keep going? It seems architecturally impossible.

Finally, we emerge into a flat wide-open space, the size of a football field, with a soaring domed ceiling that rises straight up hundreds of feet. Everything about this space seems implausible.

"Welcome to my little office," Sunglasses croons, as the caravan of SUVs swings around to the rear and parks, one after another, in a nice straight line.

"Okay, your highness." Sunglasses pops out of the car and opens my door. "I have someone who is dying to meet you."

But before I get out, the driver lady, who has remained silent until now, speaks, "Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Agent Holmes," Sunglasses begins, instantly annoyed. "You and I have already discussed this."

"I know, sir," Agent Holmes continues in a hushed voice filled with concern. "It's just... it might upset the Alliance, sir. And we have no idea what the implications of that would mean."

But Sunglasses is out of the car, walking away. "You worry too much, Agent Holmes."

With just the two of us in the car, Agent Holmes glances back at me like she could have lived her whole life without ever setting eyes on me.

"What Alliance?" I ask. "The Pleiadian Alliance? The whole council of light thing?"

She ignores my questions.

“But you know, right?” I push her a little further.

She continues to ignore me.

“Can you, at least, tell me what’s up with the sunglasses-at-night thing? How come you don’t wear them? I think you’d look super tough in ray-bans.”

“Asking too many questions can be dangerous for your health around here,” she finally says.

“Right.” I nod.

Then she adds, “If this all goes bad. You know, for us humans and all the other creatures that have the bad luck of living on Earth, remember this wasn't my idea."

"Gotcha," I say, sliding out from the backseat. “But promise me you’ll think about the whole sunglasses thing.”

We're obviously in some secret underground government facility. Apparently they don't all exist out in the barren desert of Area 51.

It doesn't even seem physically possible that such a vast space could be kept hidden this far below the surface.

It isn't until I've taken a few steps away from the car that I see what appears to be a small aircraft.

Except, it's oblong and has no visible wings. Sleek and smooth and impossibly aerodynamic, the craft seems to be made totally out of some liquid-looking metal. There are no visible doors or windows, not even a windshield. It hovers silently ten feet off the ground right in the very center of the dome.

I'll just go ahead and call it a flying saucer.

"What do you think of our little prize?" Sunglasses asks, all puffed up with evil pride. "I suppose you were too young to remember coming to Earth in something similar?"

When I turn to look at him, I realize he's trying to get a reaction out of me.

"Guess it slipped my mind," I shrug as I feel a sharp sting in my arm, right above the gash. "Ow!"

“Sorry.” Agent Holmes has poked me with a needle.

"Hey!" I protest. Before I can stop her, she quickly wipes the blood on a cotton swab and drops it into a glass vile.

"Just need to run a couple of little tests," Sunglasses explains. "Find out exactly what we're dealing with here. Just to confirm that you truly are of royal Pleiadian origin. But we’ll talk about that when you wake up."

Before I can ask what he means by “when I wake up,” my eyes go fuzzy, and I wobble on my feet. Then, everything goes black.