Inimicus E-Book

T.H. Morris

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Jonah knows that Inimicus is in the game.

His unseen enemy is prowling through the shadows, making moves that no one can predict or prevent. And he's armed with a weapon more dangerous than any ethereal blade or staff: anonymity.

Jonah thought he had ventured into uncharted waters before, but the past is nothing compared to this.

Loyalties will be tested, and people will lose sight of what’s truly important. The line between friend and enemy will blur. And the question in everyone’s mind will make the difference between victory and downfall.

Who can you trust?

Inimicus is a standalone novel and can be enjoyed even if you haven't read other books in the series.

Leseprobe

Inimicus

The 11th Percent Book 4

T.H. Morris

Copyright (C) 2015 T.H. Morris

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Ariel Mathis, Donna Moore, and Melannie Johnson Savell, for helping me make it as crisp, clean, pristine, and sharp as humanly possible, and also dedicated to Matthew William Harrill, who took it through his world-famous Acid Test, and declared it worthy.

Acknowledgments

Man. The 11th Percent Series, Book Four. Number four. Can't believe that I'm here. And I thought that I was accomplished when I got the first book released. To think, there is more to come, but it's those present moments…those present victories…that we celebrate right now. That said, I would never ever say that I got this far by myself. The tight core of supporters that surrounded me from the beginning is still here. To my family-you're the best. I wouldn't be the man that I am now had I not been blood-bound with you, experiencing your tutelage, support, love, and camaraderie. You're irreplaceable, I mean that. My beautiful wife Candace still challenges, inspires, and motivates me to be a better man. She was my first fan from Minute One, and remains so to this day. Dzintra Sullivan, thank you for always being a great friend, supporter, and inspiration. I'm so glad that your own creative contributions are soaring to such heights! Patti Roberts of Paradox Book Designs is an icon in my eyes now. I swear, this woman has the ability to take one's mental vision out of their head, and turn it into a creative masterpiece. One of my favorite moments is when I give her the ideas and themes that the next book will convey, and she says, “Leave it with me.” When she says that, I know she gets it, and I punch the air in victory every single time! Tiffany Wyke, Joe Compton, Jessica Wren, Amanda Hoey, Jon Lowery, Margot Robinson, Jared Mingia, Brenda Jarrett, Patrick Foster…where would I be without you guys? I can answer that…I don't even want to know. Cynthia D. Witherspoon, my informal sister and collaborator in the Chronicles from the Other Side series, it's always a blessing to hear your ideas, create new lore and lit with you, and to have your support.

And the people that the book is dedicated to, Ariel Mathis, Melannie Johnson Savell, Donna Moore…you guys mean the world to me. Due to your assistance with this book, I will call you guys the chains on this bike that is Inimicus, because you kept things in motion. You are truly an amazing group of women, and an invaluable asset to this craft. And the final person the book is dedicated to…Matthew William Harrill, author extraordinaire and creator of The Acid Test. You're the best in the world, man. I thank you abundantly and genuinely for always being real and direct, yet informative and unswervingly helpful at every turn. I can honestly say that I am happy that my book and I took your Acid Test, and passed with flying colors! The list goes on and on…just like I said in Lifeblood, if I named everyone, it would be a book all by itself. So I will simply say thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul, and I could have never done these things without you. Trust and believe that.

1 The Crystal Diner

Jonah's dream started off odd enough, but then it got worse.

He was in a palatial bookstore, clad in a slate-grey button down, matching blazer, and his reading glasses. He had his own table, engulfed by books with eerily blue covers that all bore his pen name, J.J.A Rowe. The huddled patrons that surrounded him were gleeful, exuberant, and impatient. They all held books of their own, which all bore Jonah's pen name. The scene was absolutely perfect. As a matter of fact, if there were a word above “perfect,” Jonah might say that the word didn't do the scene justice.

The problem was the fact that Jonah had had this dream before.

On a summer evening a couple years before, Jonah had experienced this same scene. He sat right here (even the attire was the same) amidst a sea of people who wanted their books to be autographed. The activity had been invigorating and fun, but then it was derailed by the appearance of a frightening figure that'd been dread-locked and pale. He gave Jonah harsh critiques and made no secret that he doubted Jonah's ability to handle some “coming storm.” Then the scene worsened as black crows descended into the crowd outside, and the people became savages. It was as if the presence of the crows triggered primal and evil behaviors in the populace.

With that old scene still sharp in Jonah's mind, he scanned this new one for any variations. There didn't appear to be anything sinister here. There wasn't anything but mirth and marvel on every face that he saw. He even recognized some of the faces in the crowd: his best friends Terrence and Reena, Kendall Rayne, Reena's girlfriend and Jonah's former professor, Vera Haliday, Bobby Decessio, Liz Manville, and Malcolm Mercer. Even Royal Spader was there, deftly picking an oblivious patron's pocket. But the familiar faces did nothing to assuage Jonah's anxiety. In that previous dream, he'd witnessed his friends get trampled in the crowd.

Despite all of the activity and suspicion, one question nagged at his mind: How was he aware that he was in a dream? He knew that this was a dream. He had no doubts about it. The whole huddled masses thing was a sham, because he knew in the back of his mind that his writing career had yet to take off. That damnable writer's block hadn't faded, although Kendall's Creative Writing class did wonders for his confidence. But he pushed that thought away. It helped nothing at the moment.

“Okay,” he said above the din, “what's going on?”

“About time,” said an unfamiliar voice.

When the person spoke, all the people froze, as though someone hit a PAUSE button somewhere. Jonah rose and saw a new figure.

It was a black man whose clothing and demeanor were unlike anyone else's. With his severe haircut, dark brown jacket, black cargo pants, and black boots, Jonah thought that he resembled a modern-day cowboy, sans all the dust. But what wrecked the profile for Jonah were the bow and arrows, which were neatly strapped to the guy's back.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that question,” said the man quietly.

Jonah surveyed the new figure. “Um, you didn't happen to bring a gang of crows with you, did you?”

The man laughed. “No crows, Jonah. This isn't a reproduction of the dream you had all that time ago. I simply manufactured the setting because literary fame is where your heart is.”

Jonah straightened. “Manufactured?”

“Yes,” nodded the man. “Fashioning dreams is one of the attributes of Protector Guides.”

“You're a Protector Guide?” Jonah narrowed his eyes. “And you guys can fashion dreams? Jonathan never did that.”

The Protector Guide shrugged. “We all have free will, Jonah. That is just as true for Spirits as it is for physically living beings. But I enjoy fashioning dreams because the dream realm is more interwoven with the spiritual realm than you know.”

“So why did you wait to reveal yourself?” asked Jonah.

“Because you had to verbally acknowledge that this was a dream,” said the guide simply. “It was my dream, but this is your mind. Free will, remember?”

Jonah nodded, thankful to have finally encountered a Protector Guide that was concise. It was a welcome change. “So why did you do this? Why are you here?”

The guide's brown eyes darkened somewhat. “There are things that you need to see. Protectors can't interfere, but we can alert. Listen to me very carefully. You need to pay attention to every detail that you can, because this is a Spectral Event that cannot be repeated. My ethereal powers will be rather taxed, so when the Event blanks out, you will have seen all that I am able to show you. One more thing: fine-tune your senses. You are an ethereal human, after all. Focus on feelings. Not every living being on Earth and Astral Plane has to resort to noise from their mouths to communicate.”

“Um, okay,” said Jonah, eyeing the Protector Guide. “May I ask why? And who are you, by the way?”

The guide looked Jonah in the eye. “Things may very well be changing, Jonah. Upheaval. It would be unfair to be caught unawares. Now, activate your Spectral Sight. You will see the things that I'd like you to see.”

“But what about these people you froze—?”

Jonah gestured to all the fans, but his voice trailed off when he realized that there wasn't a single soul in sight. He looked at the guide in alarm.

“I created them for a level of comfort,” he explained, “although that didn't quite work the way I hoped. Now go into Spectral Sight. And to answer your other question, my name is Daniel.”

“Alright then,” said Jonah, who had no desire to dwell on the fact that he was taking all of this on faith. “Thanks for—whatever, Daniel.”

“Don't bother committing my name to memory,” warned Daniel.

“Why?” questioned Jonah as he took a deep breath and willed the actors to perform in his mind.

“Because you won't remember it when you wake,” answered Daniel. “Plus things may be quite hazy.”

“Wait, what?” said Jonah quickly, but now that his eyes were open and his Spectral Sight was activated, Daniel and the bookstore scene were gone.

Because of the inauspicious tone in Daniel's voice, Jonah didn't know what to expect. Dark spirits and spiritesses? Minions (if there were any left)? Someone hurting spirits from a Spectral standpoint?

But he didn't see any of those things. He saw a cozy diner that bore a bright white sign which identified the place as The Crystal Diner-Where the Cooks Shine and the Food's Fine.

Jonah frowned. Since when had his Spectral Sight revealed hole-in-the-wall diners? Was the place haunted or something?

Jonah noticed that a light rain dampened everything, but as he was in Spectral form (or dream form or whatever), it had no effect on him. That was good. He couldn't very well be all sleuth-like and whatnot if he had to focus on dryness.

As a slim, hooded patron entered the diner, Jonah tried to gauge the surroundings. The Crystal Diner was comfortably tucked between a Meineke and a BP gas station, both of which were closed. Factoring in the density of the night sky, Jonah surmised that it was very late. Must be one of those twenty-four-hour spots.

While Jonah still wondered why Daniel saw fit to show him a diner, someone edged into his line of sight. He wasn't hooded like the previous patron. He was a slim man with an angular face and hair the color of rust, which looked slick due to the increasing rain. He favored his left side as he moved to the diner, as though he'd recently been in a scuffle or the weather had aggravated arthritis. But that wasn't what caught Jonah's attention. He remembered what Daniel said about focusing on feelings. And gauging this guy's feelings wasn't troublesome at all. It was frightening how easy it was to do. Maybe it was because of Jonah's current dream form, but he was well aware of the man's emotions. And they unnerved him.

This man with the slight build and the hampered left side was evil. There was no other word for it. Pernicious, calculating waves just radiated off of him. It felt like he not only did evil things, but got enjoyment out of them.

The vibe was so strong that, even in this dream form, it made Jonah almost nauseous.

Jonah followed the man into the diner without hesitation. The place wasn't exactly buzzing, but he attributed that to the fact that it was nearly four in the morning, according to the clock near the restrooms. There were several customers in the place in addition to the slim, evil guy. A truck driver at a stool was digging into a plate of steak and eggs, which made Jonah shudder. The eggs seemed to be over easy, which he found disgusting. There was a man in a booth sipping at steaming coffee, and a woman seated in the rear, with her back to everyone. Jonah realized that this was the customer who walked in prior to the slim man and himself. She'd removed her hood, and her blond hair was in shambles around her face. Jonah couldn't make out her face due to the wet strands that obscured it, but he didn't need to. She was frustrated. There was no question.

“Mornin', sir!” said a jovial man from behind the counter. Jonah guessed that he must be the owner of the diner. He was a rosy-faced guy with curly hair and a rotund belly. He resembled what Santa might look like if he dyed his hair and decided to take a day job.

The man barely acknowledged the salutation and seated himself near the register. The owner, undaunted, moved toward him with a menu and a pitcher of water in tow.

“Y'know, you been coming here at this hour for 'bout two weeks,” he said in a conversational sort of way, “and you never say much. Are you alright?”

The man gave a ghost of a nod, took the menu, and pointed to a platter that consisted of sausage, eggs, and grits. Jonah hoped with everything in him that the waiter would take the guy's order and just leave him be, but he wouldn't take the hint.

“Very good choice, sir!” he went on. “I'll have it out to you in no time! You'll have to forgive me, but I'm gonna keep working on you. Ma said kindness is always the best weapon!”

The slim man looked the owner in the eye, and Jonah gauged his intent with horror. But just then, the scene changed once more.

He now stood in a widely-shaped room. The place looked as if it had been quite a sight at one time, but had become dreary and derelict with age and passage of time. Dusty furniture lined one wall, and an ancient rug took up the entire floor. Jonah couldn't help but notice that every piece of furniture, every detail, and every object in the room seemed trained on one thing in the room: a handsome fireplace, unlit and barren. The wide chasm of darkness within must have been a stark contrast to the roaring flames which undoubtedly dominated it in days long since past.

Jonah walked to the window and looked outside, but he saw no identifying characteristics on account of the darkness of night and the pouring rain. He tried very hard to make out something outside before a sharp gust of wind brought his attention to the center of the room. A figure in dark clothing stepped out of nothingness and tossed a twig at the fireplace. Jonah's eyes narrowed. Twig portal meant Spirit Reaper.

The person pulled out a tiny flashlight, knelt at the fireplace, and moved a small tile to reveal a box. Placing the flashlight between their teeth, the person pulled out a handkerchief that had recently been saturated with blood. Jonah's eyes widened. What was going on here?

The figure in black wrung the handkerchief, and several droplets of blood dripped into the box, which appeared to be full of ashes. Apparently satisfied, the figure tossed the handkerchief aside, gathered some of the bloodied ashes and tossed them into the fireplace.

Flames rose instantly, mighty and high. Jonah jumped backward. What the hell had been in that blood? Gas?

He was also unnerved by three other things about this fire. The first was the fact that the flames seemed to expand and contract, like the fire was breathing. The second thing was that the flames, bright as they were, seemed tinged with blackness. The final—and most daunting—thing was the temperature. The room chilled when the flames burst forth. The fire burnt cold.

“Transcendant, I desire your presence.”

Jonah noticed that these words came across his mind, much in the same manner that Bast intimated her thoughts. He frowned; why would someone intimate thoughts to an icy fire?

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the flames took on an even darker tinge, and the room's temperature dipped lower.

“I am here.”

Jonah was glad that he was in dream form, because he spat an involuntary exclamation that would have surely betrayed his presence if he'd been physical. Though the words were in intimated form—Jonah heard no voices—the feeling from them was venomous. It chilled the blood.

“The implementation of the lambs' schemes has begun,” intimated the figure in black. “Just like you said.”

The fire cackled for many moments. “That is pleasing news.”

The figure straightened somewhat. “I will never disappoint you, Transcendent.”

The fire breathed for a little while. “Those are refreshing words, given recent events. We have had much to repair, thanks to the 49er's audacity.”

The figure's head tilted slightly to the right. “Transcendent, I was opposed to the 49er's involvement from the minute one. I've been itching to kill Jonah Rowe since he dared cross into your zone. It should have been me all along—”

The flames rose to a frightening height, and had enough force to knock the figure in black flat on their back. Jonah could see that the fire pulsated with unmistakable rage. Despite the dark tinge, the fire shone with such brilliance that it was too much for Jonah's eyes, and he shielded them, though he could still see the flames through his eyelids. Movement prompted him to glance through his eyelashes, and he saw that the figure in black was no longer prone. The person now prostrated before the flames.

“Forgive me, Transcendent, my words moved faster than my thoughts—”

“Never question me,” intimated the flames, and Jonah could almost hear the growl that would have been present had the words been voiced. “I had my reasons for using the vampire, as you very well know. Despite his mutinous blunder, he had some advantages nonetheless.”

Jonah's eyes flew open at those words, though his pupils ached due to the brightness of his flames. What was this about the 49er? What mutiny? What blunder? And he had had some advantages? What had he done right?

“Do you have it?” intimated the flames.

The figure straightened with pride. “I do, Transcendent.”

The figure withdrew a corked vial from a pocket and placed it on the floor. It was full to the brim with what could only be blood.

“Yes,” intimated the flames. “The other item as well. Place it here before me.”

The figure obeyed, and Jonah was so shocked that he nearly fell backward.

The figure lowered down a thick card, which illustrated a sheathed sword and a closed eye.

The Inimicus card.

Jonah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the contradictory fire.

“I got it seconds after the 49er threw it on the ground,” intimated the figure. “I had to wait for Rowe to leave the area, or he'd have seen me.”

“You have done well, Inimicus,” intimated the flames. “Now lower your hood. I tire of my own disciple wearing a disguise in my presence.”

The figure began to lower the hood, but at that very moment, the scene began to blink and fade. Alarmed, Jonah realized that Daniel's power over this Spectral Event must be dissipating.

“NO!” he shouted out loud. “I need a few more seconds, Daniel! WAIT!”

But Jonah found himself shouting the last word to a sunlit ceiling. He'd awakened at last.

2 Spiritual vs. Physical

Jonah stayed prone on his bed, wide-eyed, winded, and disoriented.

That was one of the strangest dreams, visions, or whatever it was, that he'd had in his life, and that was saying something. It had been so jam-packed with details that he didn't even know where to begin, but when he tried to start, his brain seemed somewhat short-circuited. Some Protector Guide—at least he thought, because it was hard to recall—had reconstructed a damnable dream he'd had once before, and then invited himself into it. He'd known everything about Jonah, but Jonah barely remembered a thing about him. If Jonah concentrated very hard, he could almost recall that the guide promised that he'd forget his name, and damn if he hadn't been right. Jonah couldn't even remember what the guy's name sounded like.

He closed his eyes tightly. The trick of only looking into his mind had assisted with rejoining mental puzzle pieces in the past, but it didn't seem like it would oblige him this particular morning. But he had to try something. The information seemed too important to let it slip away.

There had been a café—no—a diner. He couldn't remember the name of that, either. Some morning customers got an early start on feeding their faces, and there was also a portly, annoying waiter that pestered a guy who seemed…off.

Jonah frowned as he lay in the tangle of blankets. His memory got hazier by the second.

The scene shifted to some sort of room. Yeah. That was right. He'd been in a room where some person dripped blood in ashes and roused a cold fire. A cold fire that—spoke?

Did Jonah remember that right? No, he hadn't. The fire hadn't actually spoken. Jonah had seen words splashed across his mind. That cold fire and the hooded person intimated a conversation through thought. They hadn't spoken a single word.

He shook his head. Things were fading like trapped heat from a window in winter.

Stop trying to recall everything, he scolded himself. Focus on the essentials.

And there were essentials. That hooded person intimated something about “lambs” moving forward with some plan, and there had also been something about how they'd been itching to kill Jonah Rowe.

Itching to kill him.

Then Jonah remembered something with perfect clarity. It was the one recollection that no amount of hazy memory would deter.

The Inimicus card.

That word and that card prompted Jonah to pull himself from the bed and stand so as to allow blood to flow through his body in a simpler way.

Jonah remembered that the presence in the fire referred to that hooded person as Inimicus. That damned word again. Jonah had very little knowledge of it, but the bit that he did know was unnerving enough.

A few months ago, the 49er, a vampire who also happened to be one Creyton's most loyal followers once upon a time, had a fit of reckless ambition and attempted to take Creyton's place as Alpha. When it became clear that his plot would flop, he'd thrown a card on the ground that depicted an open eye, an exposed blade, and the term Scius. But Jonah witnessed the card transform into a new picture that showed a closed eye, a sheathed blade, and the term Inimicus.

Jonah's friend, and resident Latin expert, Malcolm Mercer told him that Scius and Inimicus were “gloved” cards in a mythological game. Scius was the obvious enemy, while Inimicus was the enemy you never saw coming. It was supposed to be a game, a myth…but this was the second time Jonah had seen the supposedly mythological term.

The presence in the flames identified that disguised figure as Inimicus. Who was that cloaked person? It had to be that guy from the diner. Who else could it have been?

The hooded figure made it clear that they wanted to kill Jonah, and that guy certainly looked capable of killing.

That jolly waiter hounded that man in an attempt to get him to show emotion. And then Jonah saw the cloaked figure drop blood into a box of ashes. That couldn't have been coincidental.

The one thing that Jonah couldn't understand was why the man bothered to disguise himself. He hadn't done so at the diner, so it seemed, at least to Jonah, to be a pointless triviality. It wasn't like he could know that someone in a dream state watched him walk into the place, could he?

A faint smack made Jonah jump and turn, but he shook his head. His wallet, which he'd perched on the bedside table the night before, had fallen and hit the floor. Jonah picked it up, and looked over some of the things within it: his driver's license, his check card, a faded picture of his grandmother, and an as-yet-unused blank check. It was the blank check of all things that pulled on Jonah's attention. Not the possibilities that it provided him, but its source, Turk Landry. That man was an appallingly opportunistic Eleventh Percenter who used his ethereality to pose as a psychic medium and made himself obscenely rich in the process. But the guy had one good quality: a remarkably sharp spiritual attunement.

Jonah made a wry face. Spiritual attunement was something he wished he had at this particular moment. He'd been so sharp in that dream-vision; connections made sense, shifts and transitions were like unthinking reflexes, and he'd gleaned so much just from people's feelings. For God sakes, he'd witnessed a mental conversation, and got every word. But that was a dream form. A spiritual form.

That was all well and good, for as long as the ride lasted. But now he was back in physical form.

The Protector Guide warned Jonah that he wouldn't remember his name and many other things when he woke up. He recalled that part just fine. It was almost as if the Guide had thrown Jonah a bone with a…Spectral Event? Yeah, that's what he'd called it. Thrown him a bone from a spiritual standpoint while conceding that his wakeful, third-dimensional mind would maintain all that he'd seen.

“Thanks for that,” grumbled Jonah. “Whatever your name was.”

If only Jonah had a way to remember as much information as he could before it disappeared like snowflakes in hell…

Something registered in Jonah's mind, and he looked out of the bedroom window. Despite looking, he didn't really see anything, because he only registered one thing in his mind. His writing.

It was interesting how Jonah only had this realization now. He's always been a writer, but was plagued with a deep writer's block that was lenient enough for him to write editorials and school assignments, but not enough for him to write full-fledged novels.

He shook his head so as to detach the negative. Those were concerns for another day. It wasn't like he wanted to write a novel at the moment. He just wanted to maintain important data.

The thought, however annoying, gave Jonah an idea. He grabbed a pen from the bedside table, open his notepad that he used for his grocery lists, and began to pace, racking his brain.

“Approach it like a story,” he whispered to himself. “Like a story. Where does it start?”

He walked to the notepad, scribbled the words, “It Starts,” and resumed pacing.

It was indeed a challenge, because a great many of the memories had already slipped away.

“Come on, Jonah,” he prodded himself, “no need to focus on the negative. The story started—in a dream! A manufactured dream!”

He wrote that bit down on the notepad and left it again.

“Okay…the dream…which led to…led to…”

He shrugged and jotted down the words, “Led To.”

“The next part's easy,” he told himself. “The diner with the evil psycho.”

Jonah recorded that.

“That was pretty quick right there,” murmured Jonah. “The diner, which switched to the creepy room.”

He wrote some more.

“Blood and ashes—immaterial. But that cold fire…with that presence…”

Jonah attention sharpened. He knew that presence in the fire. There was no point deluding himself. It was Creyton's presence in that fire.

But how could that be? Creyton got destroyed—again—that night in S.T.R! He should be on the Other Side!

Jonah forced himself to focus. As jarring as that realization was, he had to focus on the Spectral Event. Had to write down details before they disappeared.

Painstakingly, he filed the questions about Creyton's presence away, and wrote down, “Cold fire with Creyton's presence.”

“Okay, okay,” he mused. “Creyton was—was pissed about the 49er trying to take his place. That also ticked off this Inimicus person, who is itching to kill me.”

Jonah scribbled down the final notes. He couldn't recall anything else. When he got the last note out, though, he noticed something that made his eyes widen even more than they did when he realized that it was Creyton's presence in that cold fire.

His random jotting of notes had actually created a haphazard message. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even realized what he had done. He'd just yanked fragments from his mind and put them down on paper. It seemed that throughout his yanking, he'd subconsciously attempted to make connections that his eyes hadn't seen.

He had to get his reading glasses to figure out all that he had written. The stilted, broken words seemed useless when he wrote them down, but when he read it as a whole, it took on a brand new meaning.

The broken notes translated to:

It Starts

With a manufactured dream

led to

the diner with the psycho

switched to

creepy room

cold fire with Creyton's presence

49er's screwup

led to Inimicus

who wants to kill me

Jonah stared at the message. His own writing told him that the man in the diner, who had to have been Inimicus, planned to rectify the 49er's failure and come after him. He wanted to succeed where the 49er had failed with his Haunts, mind games, and vampire army.

But now Jonah had to revisit the thoughts that he'd filed away. How could Creyton be in that fire? Jonah knew for a fact that Creyton's essence, or whatever it had been, got snuffed out that night in S.T.R. when Jonah rescued Vera and used the nurse's healing endowment to attack him. As Creyton's disguise had been artificial and impure, his form exploded the minute such pure essence hit him. So how did he get into that fire, and make it burn cold?

And where did Inimicus come into play? Was Jonah right about that guy in the diner? Was he the sheathed blade on the card, the embedded enemy that Jonah would never see coming?

But if that was the case, then the dude at the diner would be in for a rude awakening. According to Malcolm, Inimicus was supposed to be an enemy that you'd never expect in a million lifetimes. Thanks to Jonah's dream encounter with the Protector Guide, he'd already seen the guy's face.

He had to make doubly sure that the guy's image was another memory that didn't fade. He'd have to call Reena so she could do a sketch image STAT. If he could remember the guy's face, a name wouldn't be necessary. Jonathan could help him fill out all the blank places. If this guy was in league with Creyton, Jonathan probably knew everything about him.

Jonah just had to remember his face.

His thoughts moved back to Creyton's essence in that fire. What was his goal? To use his tool for vengeance? To live vicariously through his lackey?

Jonah looked over the words on the notepad and snorted. This wasn't the first time a strange message had been encoded in his own writing, and, though he went through some truly dangerous crap, all had ended in a Creyton's vanquishing. And now he was a damn fire who gave telepathic orders to a secret spy who wasn't so secret anymore. With Jonathan and his friends on his side, plus the fact that the secret guy wasn't so secret anymore, he liked his odds. He just had to call Reena to get the face sketched out.

He reached for his phone when movement from another room made him push the morning's thoughts away. It wasn't the time or place for them; he was a guest in someone's home. This would be a good day, and there was no room for fear or suspicion.

He returned his gaze to the window when the inevitable knock came.

“You up, Jonah?” said a voice that accompanied the knock.

“Yeah, Nelson,” replied Jonah.

“You decent?”

Jonah shook his head. “Dude, did you think I went to bed in a damn speedo, or something? Come on in!”

Nelson opened the door, laughing as he did so. “You can never be too careful, man! Have you been up long?”

“A little while.” Jonah filed the thoughts further away. “Had an odd dream, and needed to gather my thoughts and whatnot.” Hey, it was true enough.

Nelson shook his head. “You're friends with the Sybil from the TV show now. You think those weird dreams come from hanging with her?”

Jonah snorted. “I'm certain that's not it.”

“Well hey,” Nelson shrugged, “she is a pretty woman.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “You'd better not let Tamara hear you callin' some other woman hot.”

“She knows she's the only one for me,” said Nelson dismissively. “But come on, dude! She's got breakfast ready.”

Jonah nodded and followed his friend, not even bothering to register the fact that all remaining thoughts of the morning's dream slipped away from his head.

3 The Brand New Home and the Same Old Bitch

Jonah was still familiarizing himself with Nelson and Tamara's new layout, but he knew that it was a definite step-up, since they'd upgraded from his old apartment.

When Nelson and Tamara had gotten married, Jonah had sub-leased his apartment to them. He became a full-time resident at the Grannison-Morris estate and no longer needed it. They'd been very grateful for the place then, and were excited to start their lives together.

Now, a year later, they were still as happy as ever. But, as Nelson had told Jonah, the aspect of living in an apartment had gotten old relatively quickly for them. As such, they had moved into a small house still within city limits. It had the total package: more room and space, and no noisy neighbors or tenant meetings. Jonah loved their place. He'd been their guest for nearly three days now and was excited about the evening's festivities. Their housewarming party coincided with their one-year wedding anniversary.

Jonah had to laugh when he saw Nelson slink up behind Tamara at the stove and kiss the back of her neck. He'd known that Nelson had been smitten with the woman ever since he'd first laid eyes on her in that shoe store, and a year of her company had only intensified how he felt. Jonah suddenly got a strange feeling in his gut that he couldn't really place. Then, as if his brain decided to catch up with his gut feeling, he wondered if he'd ever have that kind of excitement and comfort with a woman.

Where the hell had that come from?

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, more to distract himself from the awkward thoughts than anything else. “Enough of that. You have a guest present.”

Nelson chuckled, and Tamara turned to gaze over at Jonah in mock defiance, which was no less alarming. Her vividly blue eyes blazed with every emotion, even the play ones.

“Don't tell us what we can or cannot do in our own house,” she scolded. “If I wanted Nelson to take me, right here in this kitchen, I'd kick you out without a moment's hesitation.”

Jonah laughed. Yeah, Tamara meant it as a joke, but a lot of truth was said in jest. “Duly noted, ma'am,” he played along.

Tamara's eyes softened somewhat, and her smile returned. “Did you have a good birthday last week?”

“Oh yeah.” Jonah waved his phone at them. “I'm still getting text messages from people now.”

Nelson and Tamara seated themselves at the table with Jonah, where they began to eat bacon, eggs, and waffles.

“I guess it's safe to say that your mid-to-late twenties have been interesting, huh?” Nelson asked him.

Jonah used swallowing the eggs in his mouth to mask the look of awkwardness he pulled. “You have no idea,” he replied. “So how's Essa, Langton, and Bane?”

Tamara snorted. Nelson rolled his eyes.

“Interesting, much like your twenties,” he answered.

“Really?” Jonah doled out a bit more syrup on his waffles. “How so?”

“First off, Langton hasn't been doing very well, health-wise.” The indifference in Nelson's voice was testament to how big of an asshole Jonah's former boss was. “He's been missing stretches at work, and his wife's at her wit's end. And on the days he's actually in the office, he's not even strong enough to harass us about work.”

“Aww,” said Jonah with as little emotion as Nelson. “Years of bad choices, bad dealings, and bad food tend to have that effect. So what has he done? Delegate things to Jessica?”

“Mmm hmm,” said Tamara instantly.

Jonah snapped his attention to her, and then back to Nelson. “Seriously? Jessica Hale practically runs the office?”

“Pretty much,” said Nelson, with a roll of his eyes. “It's given her a rather high opinion of herself, which is saying something, since she had one already. It's a joke, really; she hasn't even gotten an official promotion from her current position.”

“Now that you mention it,” said Jonah with a frown, “what is Jessica's position?”

“The same thing it was when you were there,” answered Nelson.

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know what it was then.”

“Neither did the rest of us,” Nelson deadpanned.

Jonah and Tamara got a nice laugh out of that one. He couldn't imagine Jessica in a position of power like that, because she already had enough clout as it was because she was so far up Langton's ass (or was it the other way around?).

“I hope Langton's health improves soon,” said Nelson after the laughter, “if for no other reason than to depose Her Highness.”

Jonah's mind wandered. He remembered Jessica all too well. She was about four years older than he was, but her level of maturity made those extra years immaterial. She'd made Jonah's life a living hell from the first day they'd met, as she always seemed to be more aware of his shortcomings, more so than anyone else's. But she had Langton wrapped around her little finger for a myriad of reasons, the most obvious being her keen memory for gossip and her trampy outfits.

“You can ask her all about her experiences atop the food chain, Jonah,” scowled Tamara, “when you see her tonight at the party.”

“I'm sorry,” said Jonah stupidly, “but say what?”

“You heard that right.” Nelson gripped his fork a little more tightly. “She is gonna be here tonight.”

“But why?” demanded Jonah. “I understand why you guys felt the need to invite her to the wedding, but why will have her in your house?!”

“Two reasons,” said Nelson with little inflection in his voice. “The first one is self-preservation. If I've invited so many co-workers without her being one of them, we both know that there will be things said. I enjoy my job, and have been there this long because I've learned how to navigate through B.S. like that. And the second one,” for some reason, most of Nelson's indignation evaporated, “well—let's just say that there is something I want you to see. I want you to have a good dose of entertainment before you've gone back to your friends in Rome, N.C.”

When the party began several hours later, things were so light-hearted and warm that Jonah didn't even think about Jessica. It was fun to converse with Nelson's dad and Tamara's sisters, as well as former colleagues that he liked back in his accounting days like Fredrick Park, Cheyenne Usher, and Clayton Tarr. One person that he was most pleasantly surprised to see was Mrs. Souther, the receptionist whom everyone loved.

“Jonah Rowe,” she said in that motherly tone of voice that he'd grown accustomed to back in his accounting days, “you look so well. And boy, you are wasting away!”

Jonah shook his head. His physique had made marked improvements since Reena had aided him in his ability to eat toward his body type. He still was far from a comic book hero, which was completely fine.

“I wouldn't say that, ma'am,” he told her in a rather sheepish tone. “But I'm grateful for the compliment just the same.”

Mrs. Souther motioned Jonah away from the door, so he wouldn't get struck with it by new arrivals. Once they had space, she eyed him in a shrewd sort of way.

“I wonder,” she said to him, “whether or not you have someone special that's keeping you in line.”

Jonah stood there for a moment, and then laughed. That was why Mrs. Souther got him over to the side. It had nothing to do with the door; she was just being her usual self. As worrisome as it was, he found it highly amusing.

Mrs. Souther raised her eyebrows, inviting him to share. What the hell.

“Well, I'm nowhere near marriage, like Nelson and Tamara,” he obliged, “but um—there is this woman…”

He paused there. How to describe Vera? He wasn't really sure how to do it.

Mrs. Souther barely noticed the hesitation. “So you do have a lady that you've taken a liking to,” she said. “You're together?”

“Well, no—”

“Why not?” prodded Mrs. Souther.

“I—” Now the experience wasn't so amusing anymore. “I-I just want to be patient, I suppose.”

Mrs. Souther shook her head. “You kids. Patience has its virtues, but sometimes, you've just got to jump!”

It took them getting that far into the conversation for Jonah's face to warm. “Well, how is your job going, ma'am?”

Mrs. Souther's eyes narrowed, but she smiled. She acknowledged the change of subject, but had the willingness to roll with it. He loved this woman. “I'm retiring in eight months, son,” she said with the tiniest trace of wistfulness. “I'm past the September of my years, but I don't expect you to get that reference—”

“I do,” said Jonah without hesitation.

Mrs. Souther raised her eyebrows, which prompted Jonah to shrug.

“Nana was a huge fan of Sinatra,” he explained.

Mrs. Souther smiled and nodded. “Good taste! But anyway, yes. I'll be free to do what I want in a few months. Jessica's even got me training my replacement.”

The smile fell from Jonah's face as he choked back a scathing comment. “Well, if anyone deserves the rest, it's you, ma'am,” he said instead. “Despite that, I'm sure that your expertise and advice will be greatly missed—”

“Change is necessary, Rowe,” said a familiar voice.

Jonah closed his eyes, and employed the deep breathing techniques that he learned from Felix Duscere. Mrs. Souther's hand, which was on Jonah's forearm, tightened somewhat. Acknowledging her, he gave her a brief nod, braced himself, and turned to Jessica.

She'd cut her strawberry blonde hair to a chin-length bob style, which would have been a nice touch on any other woman. But this was Jessica. The French-tipped nails? Constant. The snug blouse? Of course. And the black skirt that was about the length of one of Tamara's dish towels? Jonah didn't expect anything else.

The hair may be different, but it didn't matter. Jessica Hale was the same old bitch.

“Change is necessary and natural,” she continued, regarding Jonah with the usual distaste. “You either adapt, or perish.”

Jonah took a level breath. Mrs. Souther actually gave a smile, which would have amazed Jonah had he not known she'd dealt with false people for years.

“Very good to see you Jess,” came Nelson's voice, and suddenly, he was there with them. He hadn't changed either; he could sense and diffuse tension just as well as he did in the old days.

Jessica turned her gaze to him. “Got a housewarming present for you, Nelson,” she muttered. “Tam should love it. Tony!”

Jessica actually snapped her fingers, and Anthony Noble bumbled into the door.

Jonah gaped in shock. Anthony was another former colleague. He might have been tolerable if he hadn't worshiped Jessica. He would have done anything for her to notice him and give him the time of day. Apparently, he had finally gotten his wish.

But if Jonah judged things just based off of this interaction, it was the furthest thing from a dream come true.

“Where were you?” Jessica demanded.

“Oh sorry, Jess,” he mumbled. “I was only taking a call on the porch—”

“Hang up the damn phone,” she snapped. “We're at a party; why are you taking calls anyway? Give Nelson the present.”

Anthony complied with Jessica within seconds. Jonah was surprised he didn't bow as he did so. He glanced over and noticed Jonah's presence.

“Oh hey, Rowe,” he said. “How's—?”

“I'm going to mingle,” interrupted Jessica. “Go busy yourself with—I don't know. Just do something. It's a party, after all.”

“Right, sweetie,” said Anthony sheepishly.

He moved in for a quick kiss, but Jessica ducked out of the way with scorn.

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “It took me thirty-eight minutes to properly apply this makeup!”

“Right! Right.” Anthony's response was so sycophantic that Jonah could have gagged. “So sorry, sweetie.”

He shuffled off, and Jessica sneered after him.

“Nice house, Nelson,” she said, despite the fact that she hadn't seen anything past the living room. “Now, if you'll excuse me. Rowe, Marguerite.”

Jonah's blood rose to a boil. Marguerite? Did the skank have no more respect for Mrs. Souther than that?

Mrs. Souther swallowed, but she didn't say anything. She patted Jonah's arm with a smile, crossed the room, and immersed herself in conversation with Tamara's mom.

Jonah unclenched his fists. “My God,” he grumbled to Nelson. “What I wouldn't give for her to not be a woman for just five minutes.”

“I know, Jonah,” said Nelson, who looked as if he didn't appreciate the way Jessica had addressed Mrs. Souther, either. “But she and Anthony have been together for about six months now. It was rather random, too; she practically ordered him to ask her out when we were leaving work one day. You'd have thought he'd flown to the moon.”

Jonah looked over at Anthony's slavish form across the room. “Well, he fell back to earth pretty fast, didn't he? How can that idiot, in good conscience, allow her to treat him like that? You'd think he was a one-legged, mange-ridden dog.”

Nelson looked at Jonah in all seriousness. “Jonah, don't you get it?”

Jonah stared at his friend blankly. “Get what?”

“There is someone for everyone,” said Nelson. “So it figures that he is the perfect dog…for the perfect bitch.”

Jonah burst out laughing. Even his anger with Jessica faded. It was fun. So much fun that nothing could quell it. Not Jessica, not Anthony—and not Creyton's presence in a fire with his psychotic servant.

4 Green Aura, Green Envy

After two more days with Nelson and Tamara, Jonah bade them goodbye and was back on the road to Rome. In days past, the aspect of the end of a vacation was a depressing one. These days, however, things were much better.

The trip took about three hours. Jonah enjoyed so many things about it: his friends, good food, dependable pets, and invaluable guidance, at least on most matters. The very first time Jonah had awakened there, he'd been bewildered, injured, and as ready to return to his “real” life as ever.

That was then.

Now the place itself was a familiar comfort and had more aspects of reality than the so-called “real” world. It was the best thing since his childhood home with Nana.

Had he truly been freaked out by the place at one time?

He turned onto the rocky drive that led to the estate, knowing exactly who he'd see when he reached the end. He was already prepared for the mirth and probable tackle.

He got out of his car and glanced to his left where the gardens were. As expected, Liz Manville was there, straw hat atop her head and filthy gloves on her hands. As happy as he was to see her, it was who usually accompanied her in her horticultural exploits that he was more interested in seeing.

But the person with Liz wasn't Vera. She was a little shorter than Liz and had a straw hat of her own that appeared to be more of a hindrance than a help because it kept sliding down her face and blocking her vision.

“Hey Jonah!” Liz removed her gloves and hugged him. “I was looking for a reason to take a break!”

“Hey Liz,” grinned Jonah as he hugged her back. “I was curious as to why you had a new addition today.”

Liz looked Jonah in the eye, not fooled at all. Jonah could have grimaced. At twenty, Liz might still be very young, but she had never been one to ignore the obvious.

“Vera is in her room, watching some play,” she told him, “and this isn't some new addition. It's my sister. Nellaina!”

The younger Manville girl was so focused on what she was doing that she hadn't noticed she was working alone. Liz calling her name roused her from her preoccupation, and she gave Liz an annoyed look.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nella?” she moaned. “It's not that—”

Then she finally noticed Jonah.

“Oh!” She scrambled to her feet, and tore off the straw hat, which revealed brown pigtails. “You're Jonah Rowe! Sorry I didn't notice you before!”

Jonah wasn't surprised that she hadn't noticed him, as that straw hat had been too big for her head. Jonah could see the family resemblance now that he saw Nella's face. She seemed almost as chipper and perky as Liz, but Nella's eyes were very dark, almost black. She had a rather chubby frame, and her welcoming grin included braces.

Jonah loved her already.

“It's quite alright,” he told her. “How do you know me?”

“Liz talks about you all the time!” she answered. “You're a great hero!”

Jonah blinked, and glanced at Liz, who smiled and shrugged.

“Jonah, you've saved more than your fair share of hides since you've been here,” she reminded him.

Jonah felt some of his embarrassment fade, and he smiled at Nella.

“I appreciate the praise,” he said. “You're a Green Aura, too?”

Nella nodded, though some of the light left her face. “I'm not as good as Liz and Sandrine—that's our oldest sister,” she said when Jonah frowned. “But Mom says time will take care of that.”

“And practice,” added Liz.

Nella looked so sad that Jonah pitied her.

“Look, Nella,” he said in a bracing tone, “I'm the Blue Aura, and there are a bunch of things that I still haven't got figured out. Your sister is the best Green Aura I know. So I know that you will be great, too.”

Nella's smile was radiant, and she ignored Liz's blush. “I wish I were a Blue Aura,” she said longingly.

“No, you don't,” said Jonah automatically, and he turned to leave them to their work. Nella grabbed his wrist.

“Wait!” She seemed struck with inspiration. “Could you help Liz and me with the tilling?”

Jonah frowned as he looked at the next sequence of rows. They were strewn with weeds, and looked tight-packed and tough. He'd tilled earth in the past, and it was backbreaking, tedious work that he didn't feel like doing at the moment. “Sorry, but I hadn't really planned on yard work— and you seem to be doing a kick-ass job already—”

“Oh, come on, Jonah,” said Liz, making her voice a bit supplicating. “Surely, you'd do this favor for your favorite little sisters…?”

The look that they gave Jonah melted his heart. But it annoyed the hell out of him, just the same.

“You'd better be glad I love you, Lizzie,” mumbled Jonah, ripping off his polo. “And since you're her sister, I guess I love you, too, Nella!”

Both young women squealed with delight. Jonah didn't share their enthusiasm, but at the same time, being the big brother who helped out his little sisters wasn't all that bad.

After some toiling, extensive elbow grease, and reconsideration of his decision, they were done. Liz and Nella were more than a little grateful, and both regarded Jonah as though he were the answer to their dreams.

“Thank you so much for that, Jonah!” said Liz. “You probably don't even know it yet, but you probably helped your own self out by doing this!”

“Really,” said Jonah, who wiped his face for the umpteenth time. “How do you figure?”

“Horticultural therapy is invaluable to stress relief,” said Nella. “Who knows what negative feelings you just released, just through good old-fashioned time in the dirt!”

Jonah looked at their sunny faces, and simply decided to humor them. He didn't have it in him to shoot down that theory. “I promise to keep that in mind. See you, Liz. Nice to meet you, Nella!”

He grabbed his bag from the car, and went inside. Now, he needed a shower, but there were two other people he wanted to see beforehand. He knew where to find at least one of them.

He reached the kitchen and was nearly knocked backward by the sound of seemingly unintelligible music. The lone figure standing near the sink turned, though Jonah didn't have the faintest clue how he'd heard him. Terrence nodded in his direction and gave a quick wave, brandishing a paring knife as he did so.

“WHAT'S UP, JONAH?” he bellowed. “HOW ARE YOU?”

“GOOD!” Jonah shouted back, hoping his ears wouldn't bleed. “JUST—WHAT IS THIS?”

Terrence turned off the music, which left a blaring silence. “What did you say?”

Jonah's ears remained rather raw from the recent pounding. “I said I'm good, and asked what that was.”

Terrence looked at his half-prepared dish, which Jonah saw included some chicken. Then his eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh, you mean the music!” he said. “It's The Incline Down, my favorite alt-rock band!”

“The Incline Down?” repeated Jonah, pleased that his ears had re-acclimated to the lower decibel levels. “Can't say that I've ever heard of them.”

“Not surprised,” replied Terrence as he returned to the food. “They never compromised their music for increased radio play. They're better than half of the shit that's considered mainstream.”

Jonah wouldn't have known either way. As he wasn't a fan of alt-rock, he couldn't tell one band from the next. “Right,” was all he said.

“You're a mess, dude,” observed Terrence, who looked Jonah over. “Did that happen on the road? Did you A/C go out, or something?”

“No, man,” said Jonah. “I was helping out Liz and Nella in their garden. That's why I look like this.”

“Damn,” said Terrence. “Talk about backbreaking…you burned all that energy—you probably need to eat something. Luckily, you're just in time! I've got some lunch here you might be interested in.”

Jonah looked into the bowl again, and his eyes widened. “Is that your chicken salad? The world-famous chicken salad?”

“Yep!” Terrence looked proud as all get-out, and Jonah could see a sense of accomplishment in his features that wasn't usually there. Despite everyone's endorsements, Terrence didn't feel like he had any real skill or profound talent, particularly as an Eleventh Percenter. He didn't even feel that way about cooking, which was second nature to him. “I fixed the kinks that were there last time!”

Jonah frowned. He hadn't recalled any kinks. “Come again?”

“There wasn't enough sea salt in the mayonnaise that I made last time,” said Terrence with a shade of irritation. “But I rectified that.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “You know, you have moments when you're just like Malcolm,” he muttered. “This is perfect!”

“Much like your writing,” said Terrence shrewdly. “Hey, Reena!”

Jonah turned, and sure enough, she was there. She'd just come from a run, which Jonah always found ironic, because speed wasn't an issue for her, due to her ethereality. She nodded to Terrence, and went to sink to wash her hands.

“Great to see you, Jonah,” she told him. “Did Nelson and Tamara like the bamboo plant I got for them?”

“Loved it,” laughed Jonah. “Tamara set it up near the entertainment center.”

Reena beamed. “I saw you out there, working with Lizzie and Nella. Cool of you to help them like that, and I imagine the physicality was exhilarating.”

Jonah frowned. “You saw us? Where were you?”

“I saw you from the woods.”

“You were running in the woods?” Jonah demanded. “With all the thorns—brambles—undergrowth—”

“Exactly,” said Reena. “Learning to avoid all of that really improves coordination.”

Jonah shook his head. Reena Katoa, the Fanatic Eternal.

“How about coordinating yourself to a chair, and eating something?” suggested Terrence, who pushed a plate of chicken salad her way.

Reena took it without hesitation, which made Jonah grin. She normally ignored most of Terrence's cuisine, but Terrence's chicken salad was her guilty pleasure. She looked leery of the bread, though, but Terrence put her at ease.

“It's rice bread, Reena,” he said. “And you know it's full of celery, and nothing dairy. Obviously, there is no garlic in it.”

They all bowed their heads. Jonah knew that Terrence didn't like reliving his brief experience as a vampire from a few months ago. An aversion to all things garlic was a result of that.

Reena quelled the awkward moment by grabbing the sandwich and eating it with great relish. “This is perfect, Terrence,” she said. “And that's coming from me.”

More people ventured in, which was fine, because Terrence made plenty: Douglas Chandler and Spader were first, followed by Malcolm, Maxine, Benjamin, and Magdalena. Malcolm made inquiries behind Nelson and Tamara as well, because he, like Reena, had supplied a housewarming present in the form of wooden dinner trays.

“They adored those things,” Jonah told him. “When I said a friend made them, they swore that I was lying. They thought they were imported.”

Malcolm, who never really was too overt with his emotions, managed a smile, and went on his way.

Several other people spoke to Jonah over the lunch as well, such as Sherman, Akshara, Noah, and Drakeson, as well as Ben-Israel Larver. Jonah was still on the fence about the No. 2 Green Aura at the estate. He didn't hate him, but his rigidity and inflexible nature led to an infuriating disagreement nearly a year ago. But when Terrence had been attacked by the 49er, Ben-Israel was one of the first ones to respond. That elevated him several notches, but Jonah still wouldn't refer to him as a buddy or pal.

Liz and Nella finally vacated the garden, but this time they were accompanied by the person Jonah had expected to see when he drove up: Vera Haliday.