Blood

  Blood

  K F Williams

  TEXT COPYRIGHT 2014 ©

  KAY FRANCIS WILLIAMS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Developed during NaNoWriMo 2014

  Prologue

  It happened in 2263; a moment both impossible and yet true.

  The League of the Waking Night lost its control of the Nexus, and the bridge of magic and light once again united the two worlds of Earth and Favlas.

  During the upheaval when the Nexus dispatched its flares to anchor is power, they swept through buildings, destroying the Earthling structures that were never built to withstand its strength. For the people inside their offices or their homes death came quickly from the falling rubble, by coming in direct contact with the flares themselves or simply by being swept away in the panic and rioting that they inspired. But not all were caught in these moments of death and madness; for a few who stood on the edge of the destruction, who watched awed and fearful of the power that ripped through life as they knew it, something else happened.

  The flares terrible beauty that held these people captivated in the right place and at just the right distance found themselves caught in ripples of raw magic. Not enough of it kill them, but it seeped under their skin and wove itself into the very fabric of their DNA.

  They became able to fly, to control the elements, and many other gifts; unlike the magic users of Favlas who had to tap into an internal pool of limited Essence, these people weren't forced to use the Spells a magic user was. Dubbed the Children of the Nexus, these special few were limited only by how far their imagination could manipulate their gifts.

  They assumed that the Nexus had only touched them, and only they would bear the gifts. But with each new generation, they discovered their gifts were passed on. A genetic marker to be carried by all their children. As the generations past the strength of their abstract grew as well allowing its wielder greater control of the power they were born with. Some had power so difficult to hide they became recognised by the media, they became celebrities in their own right, they had websites run by dedicated fans boasting blurry photos and video feeds.

  Those who could conceal their gifts had the harder job of not displaying a power that came as naturally to them as breathing.

  London, England 2339

  Seventy-Six Years Post Pause

  “Are the mysteries of the universe solved in there?” A slow southern drawl teased me.

  I jerked as a hand landed on my shoulder almost upsetting the cold latte I had had my hands curled around for too long. Cornwall muffled his laugh probably assuming I was daydreaming again and eased his impressive frame into the chair across the table. I let go of the cup and swept my long fringe back, I was way overdue getting it cut.

  “No,” I answered, realising that Cornwall was still waiting for a reply.

  “Is there a fly in there?”

  “No,” I frowned at him.

  “Did you lose part of a dunked biscuit?”

  “Simon, where are you going with this?” I complained.

  “I’m just trying to work out why you were staring at it so hard,” he answered teasing me again. “Just looks like latte to me.”

  “It's not so much what is in it, but what I want to do with it,” I replied.

  “Well if you wanted to drink it you’re a bit late,” he grinned. “How did your date with Colin go?”

  Colin Matthews was the last of many guys Cornwall had set me up with over the last few months, each one of them he assured me was good natured, complimentary, honest and charming…

  And each one of them had taken me dutifully on a date during which time they had smiled and flattered and made me feel special and feminine…

  And each one of them had met me a couple of days later to explain that even though they had had a good time, and even though I was fun and sweet, none of them had wanted to see me a second time. All of them had gone on to reassure me that they would like to stay friends; they had awkwardly given my shoulder a very guy-like gentle punch before escaping on a breath of relief.

  Matthews himself had been in Cornwall’s chair only twenty minutes ago when my coffee was still hot, he had told me he enjoyed my sense of humour, liked me for my more serious qualities and my devotion to my work. He had promised to take me to see the West Indies play at Lords when the one day tests started again to try and change my mind about the ‘dullness’ of cricket; but in the end he just wanted to be friends.

  It was ironic really, I had heard that line levelled at me more times than I could count or keep track of.

  It was supposed to be the girl who said those words.

  I had told him I understood and I did really, I had got the messages long before Cornwall and his good intentions of setting me up came into my life. The truth was that I was just plain and unattractive and it was meaningless to be sweet, funny and opinionated in compensation for it.

  “We are just going to be friends,” I answered.

  “Again?” Cornwall scowled. “I don’t get it. Colin was really looking forward to meeting you.”

  “We had a good time,” I said. “Just no sparks.”

  I cupped my chin in my hands and watched Cornwall turn his scowl on his espresso as if it was the drink's fault. I couldn’t help but think of Cornwall as a hypocrite, a very nice, handsome hypocrite.

  We had met on a blind date a few mutual friends had set up, we had had a good time, enjoyed snacks and drinks at a drive-in movie show. He had called a couple of days later telling me what a good time he had and he hoped we could be friends and if I didn’t think it was too weird, would I like to meet one of his friends whom he thought I would be perfect for.

  Of course I had thought it was weird but he had been so enthusiastic I had found myself swept up in his energy for the idea before I could rally a refusal; that had been four of his friends ago. The problem I was discovering with Cornwall was that he was a very difficult man to say ‘no more’ to. He had a way of making me feel right in the centre of things, as if the whole two worlds revolved around me. It was a load of rubbish of course and I promised myself that I wouldn’t accept any more of his offers at matchmaking, if I even thought about considering it I was going to pour the cold latte over myself in a reality check.

  “I don’t know what to do with you, Hannah,” Cornwall sighed.

  “Leave it alone?” I asked hopefully.

  “Leave it alone?” He repeated clearly not liking that idea.

  “Yeah,” I attempted a smile and a joke. “All this dating your mates is keeping my Prince Charming from finding me.”

  “I just don’t get it,” Cornwall chuckled but shook his head.

  “You should. You never got any sparks either.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “My beast is predatory,” he replied, confirming a little bit more of his nature without actually telling me what beast lived under his skin, a subject he had been teasing me with since I found out he was wilding. “I don’t get those kind sparks with people my beast feels like it can walk all over.”

  Wildlings were originally a Favlian race, people who shared their souls with that of an animal and had the ability to shape shift into it. I didn’t know what Cornwall shared his with but I doubted he could walk all over me. I had an ace up my sleeve he could never hope to get the better of. I got the feeling he was using his wildling nature as an excuse, because just like everyone else, he was not attracted to me and didn’t want to have to say the words.

  “Sure,” I said, going back to staring at my latte.

  “Why don’t we go to dinner tonight?” Cornwall offered. “There is a new fish restaurant opening up not far from me.”

  “I like fish.”

  “It’s settled then; wear something fanc
y.”

  “Fancy?” I laughed. “Me?”

  “Yes. Wear something fancy. We will dress up and order champagne.”

  “And like any true gentleman you’ll pay the bill?” I finished.

  “As a true gentleman, yes, I’ll pay the bill,” Cornwall chuckled.

  # # #

  The entrance to the restaurant was a nondescript wooden door set in a stone wall that ran along the Embankment, once inside I felt completely out of my element and understood why Cornwall had insisted I wear something ‘fancy’.

  The ceiling was high and decorated with beautiful iron and crystal chandeliers, everything was elegant and coordinated with silver, blue and gold. The bar and scatter of tables in the reception room were made of black glass while the plush chairs were draped in thick blue or gold cotton, mirrors added depth and dimension to the small room and I found it was disconcerting to see myself reflected from so many angles.

  I had pinned my hair up but had taken the time to moisturise and curl it so the chocolate brown locks fell down to my shoulder blades in soft, loose, glossy waves. I knew the style wouldn’t last; the heat would make it go flat and limp long before the end of the evening. My hair had always had a mind of its own and it liked to be straight and unfussy. Most days I just pulled it back into a tail and ignored it.

  I had found a dress in the back of my closet I had bought to go to my mother's wedding in but had never had the chance to wear it as the engagement had been called off, so although it was almost three years old, it had also never been worn and was immaculate.

  It was a rich dark green and made of heavy velvet, it had a prom style top and the left side fell to mid-calf. The right side of the dress gathered up in artistic little pleats and rumples until it touched just above my knee, I had chosen it as I had never had much of a body and the criss-crossing gathering of the fabric disguised my pencil thin and ruler straight figure.

  I hated girls who wanted to be a size six, I would have killed to have been a twelve or a fourteen and not only have assets but dips, curves and graceful lines.

  There was nothing attractive about a figure that looked sickly and refused to put on weight. Of course I had a good reason for my figure but it wasn’t one I was keen on sharing, as it resulted in people demanding I prove my claim, which usually ended up making me feel like a freak.

  I knew logically that I wasn’t the only Earthling who had ancestors that had been directly exposed to ripples of raw magic that fanned out from the Nexus flares , which had passed a magical abstract down my genetic line.

  I had seen the blurry images on social media the same as everyone else, but I had never had the desire to join their semi-celebrity ranks despite my exceptionally strong and well-honed telekinetic skill. Partly because it burned any and all excess fat and calories to power it, and partly because I didn't want to encourage anyone to follow me around with a camera phone in the hope I would do something they could post. It sounded too much like inviting a variety of stalkers into my life and giving them full permission to violate my civil rights.

  Over the years I had managed to find a balance between my eating habits, my diet, the use of my skill and keeping a steady weight. Unfortunately this did leave me almost frighteningly thin but I was, medically speaking, the picture of health.

  The bar was beginning to fill up now, elegant and professionally made-up women in flowing dresses and formal splendour accompanied by men in tailored suits stood around in tight-knit groups chatting between themselves. I kept looking up at the door expectantly but there was still no sign of Cornwall. If it wasn’t for the fact I had been asked my name and checked off a list at the desk inside the door before being admitted I would have worried I was in the wrong place.

  I certainly was in the wrong kind of company.

  “Excuse me?”

  I nearly flinched in surprise when a soft touch grazed my elbow I turned to take in a tall well-toned man who looked about thirty-five, and was dressed in a classic black suit and white shirt that was broken with a pale blue tie and cufflinks.

  “Hello,” he smiled.

  “Hi,” I smiled back, loving the little uncertain but charming crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

  “Greyson Adams,” he offered me his name and his hand.

  For a moment I was actually fazed, I had never been approached by a total stranger before, my second smile was more than a little embarrassed as I realised I had waited a fraction too long while trying to formulate an intelligent response.

  “Hannah Roberts,” I introduced myself, taking his hand and returning his warm shake.

  Things went quiet and I gave myself a mental shake and told myself to get a grip. Adams was very attractive, clearly had taste, class and money, and considering my track record with men he was a prime example of a coffee house let down tomorrow morning so there was no point in flirting or getting myself worked up over him.

  “Are you here alone?” Adams asked.

  “I’m meeting a friend,” I replied honestly. “You?”

  “Same.”

  A movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention to a group of people looking just as expensive as Adams loitering by the bar watching our exchange with amusement and interest.

  “I think they are by the bar.”

  Adams blinked in surprise and half turned, none of the group waved but they exchanged looks spoke volumes.

  “That would be them,” Adams agreed.

  “Hannah!” The startled sound drew my attention to Cornwall, who was staring so openly I found myself under the scrutiny of other guests. I didn’t enjoy being the centre of attention. Cornwall caught my hands and turned me gently one way, and then the other. “Wow, you look…”

  “Well you said fancy,” I found myself going defensive when he couldn’t complete the compliment.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair,” he smiled, running a finger over the curls.

  It wasn’t exactly the compliment I was hoping for but it was better than nothing.

  “Simon, this is Greyson Adams,” I tried to introduce the man who hadn’t wandered away as I had expected him to considering Cornwall’s tactile attitude. “Mr Adams, this is Simon Cornwall.”

  “Nice to see you again, Simon,” Adams interrupted me gently.

  “Greyson,” Simon greeted him, and they shook hands in a way that spoke of old familiarity. “I didn’t realise you were going to be here tonight.”

  “Harriet gave me a couple of tickets, she wanted some company.”

  “I worry about you, Greyson, when you are given tickets to go to dinner and the only person you can think of bringing is your boss,” Cornwall teased after he had given a quick glance at the people standing by the bar.

  The exchange between the two men loosened the group, and a few moments later I was frighteningly surrounded by people I had only seen on television and in glossy magazines.

  The multi-millionaire car tycoon Henry Heronsgate who had more zeros on his bank balance than actual numbers.

  The completely stunning author Harriet South, I had never read her book, science fiction didn’t really interest me but I could appreciate how hard she must have worked to gain so much popularity.

  The lovely Julia Harcourt who was a politician with the Favlian passport control office.

  And strangely, and a little out his age bracket, the famous actor Ryan Harper who was known for his portrayal of an aggressive detective in the television crime series Integrated, which I did enjoy when I had time to sit down.

  I was glad in some ways that there were so many of them, it made trying to choose which one to stare and gape at very difficult. I had no idea that Cornwall’s social circle extended in this way but from his smiles and the responses he was getting he was good friends with South, Heronsgate and Adams who turned out to be Heronsgate’s executive assistant. Cornwall's flirting with Harcourt told me they had met before, and the pleasant greeting he exchanged with Harper was more formal but relaxed.

&n
bsp; Cornwall introduced me to everyone and I shook hands with some of the most respected, powerful and photographed people on the Earth. I politely refused the glass of champagne Harper offered me on the grounds that I was driving. Under normal circumstances I would have at one but I found the company intimidating.

  It was almost impossible for me to get drunk so long as I was using my telekinetic ability in some small way which would burn the alcohol off before it had a chance to affect me. Usually I would sit with my bag on my lap and undo and reattach the buckle clasp over and over. It was a simple but effective technique and didn’t draw any attention.

  South turned out to be surprisingly inarticulate and genuinely shy but from the confidence she had with the others I guessed that she was that way with all new acquaintances. Harcourt appeared more captivated by my dress than with me, and Heronsgate and Cornwall fell into quick conversation and the tycoon looked almost grateful for his company.

  “You look a bit overwhelmed,” Adams said softly, catching my attention.

  I found a smile that felt more brave than genuine from somewhere but I got the feeling he saw right through me.

  “I feel a bit overwhelmed,” I admitted.

  “How long have you known Simon?” He asked.

  “Only a few months.”

  “How did you meet?” Adams asked curiously.

  “Through friends of friends, they set us up on a blind date.”

  “Oh,” Adams frowned.

  “And if she had worn that dress when I took her out,” Cornwall's southern drawl teased, making me aware that my conversation with Adams wasn’t as private as he had been trying to keep it. “I might have been tempted to be less gentlemanly.”

  “If you had taken me anywhere other than a drive-in movie you might have got a different outfit,” I replied.

  “Simon,” South complained. “A first date and you took the poor girl to the movies?”

  “I didn’t know who I was meeting,” he protested. “It was a blind date. I’m making up for it now.”