Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Read online

  “I'm sorry,” Sara said. She sounded like she meant it. That was something at least. “We need to get you some clothes. I don't have anything that would fit you, but we can probably find something in one of the mother earth stores around the corner. It'll be cotton and you'll look like a hippie, but there are worse things. And man, your face. I don’t even know what to do with that.”

  She sure can talk. How does he know her? Mecca sat on the arm of the threadbare sofa and watched them.

  “Thanks,” her dad said. “I still need a connection though.”

  “Head downstairs. It’s all up and running.”

  “Sara,” Mecca said, watching the woman closely, “you look familiar. Do you go to ASU?”

  “Yep, computers. You?”

  “Yeah. You really look familiar.”

  Her father interrupted, his voice tight and edgy. “Okay, Sara, show me which machine you want me to use, would you?”

  Sara looked at him sidelong, her left brow arched. “Certainly, if you need me to show you again.”

  “That would be good,” he said as he walked to a doorway beneath the stairs. “It’s been a long day.”

  Mecca followed them down. The narrow staircase down opened out into a large room with a red concrete floor. Books lined the walls and an island of electronics took up the middle of the room and one entire wall.

  It reminded her of a movie, where the underground resistance has a secret bunker from which the charismatic hero— or heroine, of course — commanded the valiant troops. At one time, she could have seen her father as the charismatic hero. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure.

  “You can use that one over there,” Sara said, pointing to the desk in the middle of the room with a dual flat panel monitor set-up. “What are you wanting to do?”

  Her dad sat down in the oversized leather chair and pulled the keyboard tray out from under the desk. “We need to do some traveling, but I want to make sure to throw them off track.”

  “Who?” Sara asked.

  Mecca wondered how he would answer. She still couldn’t tell how much Sara knew about the situation, or even about her own Gift. Their Gift.

  “The people who kidnapped Mecca. You know I’m not going to go into detail, Sara. It’s too dangerous.”

  Sara shrugged and flopped down into the chair at the other desk, which had an entire wall of monitors. “Whatever,” she said. “If it’s so dangerous, it’s not going to matter what I know or what I don’t.”

  Mecca wandered over to one of the overstuffed bookshelves and ran a finger along the wood. “Dad. We don’t have our passports.” It was weird the bits of information that decided to come up at random times.

  The tack-tacking of the keyboard stopped.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “Are they in your office at home?”

  “No, the safety deposit box at the bank. Damn it.”

  “The bank’s closed.”

  “Yes.”

  Would they end up staying the night here? Where else would they go? Mecca didn’t want to be in the house longer than she needed to.

  The keyboard tacking resumed, and her dad said, “I’ll get them in the morning. I should be able to get in first thing. We’ll be out tomorrow night.”

  A low chirruping sound came from her father’s jeans and he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. Concern, then anger slipped across his features as he listened to the caller. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow night. I’ll see you there.” He clicked the phone off and then looked at her.

  “That was Uncle Ken. He’s going to see if he can get Carolyn and Jenny to Amsterdam.”

  “I thought they were in London?” Mecca asked.

  He nodded and turned back to the monitor. “They are.”

  Emilia must have sent someone after them. But what good would that do? Jim was dead. Mecca tried not to think too hard on that. Maybe Emilia was trying to frighten them.

  Or flush her and her dad out.

  Mecca took the stairs back to the living room, her palms leaving damp streaks on the handrail. The sudden urge to sit and be alone overwhelmed her. Grateful to be able to put a closed door between herself and her father, along with the strange girl he’d inexplicably befriended, Mecca sank into the old, blue sofa that dominated the room.

  Decorated in typical college décor, with mismatched furnishings and an array of scattered books, Mecca realized with surprise that she felt at home here. She craved the normalcy that this living room promised, with its oddly tilted recliner and scuffed wooden coffee table.

  Safety. Normalcy.

  But she could never be this normal again. Perhaps she’d kidded herself all along that she could be like every other girl in the world. She should have known the moment she put her mom in the hospital. Nothing could be normal for her. Ever.

  “Mecca?” Sara’s voice came from behind her, from the doorway to the basement. “I thought maybe you’d want something to eat or drink. I think I’ve still got some muffins in the kitchen.”

  “No, I’m okay. Thanks.” She was hungry, but she didn't think she could eat. Every few minutes, memories of Jim Barron’s study, or the sound of his breathing, or … a million other things about those moments, would flitter through her mind. She didn’t know if she could keep anything down.

  The door closed, but she still felt Sara’s energy in the room. Quiet footfalls approached.

  “David’s still looking at travel sites. I think he’s going to book you guys flights to a bunch of different places. You’ll each need a suitcase though. Flying without luggage can make them look really closely at you. Not always, but better not to take the chance. I can give you clothes for your suitcase, but I don’t know what we’re going to do about him, except buy him a bunch of hippie clothes.”

  “How do you know my dad?” The question came out before Mecca had even thought whether it was a good idea to ask.

  Sara came around the sofa and perched on the edge of the recliner. From the way she sat, she’d had lots of practice balancing on the precariously slanted chair.

  “He was married to my Gran a long time ago.”

  Anxiety stabbed through Mecca’s heart. “What’s your last name?”

  “Harrington. Why? Did he tell you about me?”

  Mecca shook her head and Sara’s smile faltered a little. Mecca felt even more confused now. Harrington—the name of the last woman the papers said that her father killed. If he really murdered those women, how could he still be in contact with the families? Why would he take that chance? How could he live with himself?

  A bright thought crept in.

  Maybe he didn’t really kill them. Who could say that the reports Emilia fed her were even factual? Emilia could have told her anything—probably would have told her anything—to get her cooperation.

  “Yesterday,” Sara said, “was actually the first time I’d met him in person.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. We're online buddies though. It’s not like he hangs out or anything. We talk about techie stuff a lot, what with him getting into the whole ‘hacking’ thing.” She grinned at Mecca conspiratorially. “He plays with it, but he’s not serious.”

  Mecca barked out a laugh. She’d said the same thing when he’d told her he was interested in “computer security.” Her dad knew his way around a computer, but the Department of Defense had nothing to worry about from David Trenow.

  “I’m glad he got in touch with me yesterday though. And I’m glad he found you.” Sara’s green eyes held Mecca’s gaze. “He was really worried. Even I could tell, and I’m definitely not a people person.” The quirky grin tugged at the corners of her mouth again.

  “Thanks.” Mecca didn’t know what else to say — she didn’t even know how she felt — and they drifted into an awkward silence. Mecca’s thoughts jumbled through her head.

  She liked Sara, but Sara linked her to her dad’s past. It confirmed, at the least, that he’d been married to a woman named Harrington.
Mecca didn’t want to ask Sara how her grandmother had died.

  After a few minutes, Sara got up. “I’m going to go check on him. Do you need anything?”

  “No, but thanks.”

  “Okay. Come on down if you feel like it.”

  An hour and a half later, her dad had purchased plane tickets for ten destinations around the world. They sat at the kitchen table, a modest spread of Quarter Pounders and Chicken McNuggets scattered across the surface. Sara had picked them up, along with a pair of brown cotton pants and a white tunic for her dad that reminded Mecca of Hari Krishnas at the airport. He only needed a sprig of daisies.

  Mecca munched on a few fries but nothing else. She still didn’t trust her stomach. Not just because she’d witnessed her best friend’s father die a terrible, bloody death — that was bad enough, but also because she’d finally come to face the reality that her father had probably killed those women. Watching his nervous moves and pinched eyebrows, she knew that the last thing he wanted was for her to spend much time with Sara.

  She wished that she felt angry and betrayed, instead of this nothingness that sat on her shoulders like a vulture. Between learning about her dad’s past and watching Jenny’s dad die, Mecca figured being numb shouldn’t be a surprise. Shock. It’s normal. Natural.

  But it still made her belly hurt.

  “I think I’m going to go to bed,” she said. Relief sailed across her dad’s features for a split second before he fixed the concerned look back on his face.

  “Okay, honey. You can take the spare room and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  Sara made some noises about getting extra sheets and pillows and showing her the way, but Mecca’d already stood and found herself through the doorway before Sara finished speaking. Mecca made her way upstairs and into the bathroom, closing the door tight behind her and throwing the lock on the knob. Through the wood, she heard Sara climb the stairs, the tread too light to be her dad.

  In front of the mirror, Mecca braced herself against the porcelain pedestal sink and hung her head. Exhaustion crept through her limbs, weighing them down, making her eyelids droop. She twisted the faucet for the hot water and there came a tap on the door.

  “Mecca?” Sara’s voice came through. “I put out some clothes that might fit you. You’re way taller than I am, but maybe there’s something you can use. I also left a duffel bag in the guest room too. For the airport.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Sara seemed to be on-board for this jaunting all over the globe thing that her dad had devised. But it was a bad idea. They couldn’t save Jenny and her mom. They couldn’t save anyone.

  Not by running away.

  Steam floated from the sink and fogged the mirror. Mecca’s reflection became a dark, blurry outline, all her features indistinct. It matched her mood: unfocused.

  She leaned over the sink and pulled a handful of water up and onto her face. Her nerves tingled with the almost-too-hot temperature. If it could wake her up, if it could un-blur the outline of her mood, her thoughts, maybe she could figure out some alternative to jetting around the world, waiting for monsters to slaughter them.

  She slept heavily, but not for long. The bedside clock glowed 12:47 a.m. when Mecca jolted awake from a nightmare where Jenny and her mom had been turned into zombies. She didn't understand it, but it scared the hell out of her, all the same.

  The answer came to her as the dream receded to float in her subconscious.

  She would go back.

  It all came clear in her mind as she swung her legs out of the warm bed. The only way to truly escape from them would be to destroy them.

  They would expect her to run. They would expect her and her father to try to save Jenny.

  She wouldn’t be trapped on their terms, she decided.

  Mecca pulled on a shirt and pair of jeans that Sara had left on the dresser. The jeans barely came to her ankles, but they would do.

  If Emilia expected her to run to Europe, then Mecca would do the opposite. She’d confront the Visci in their own yard. But she’d do it her way.

  Her feet, still tender and a little swollen, only fit into the sneakers Josie had brought her yesterday morning after she loosened the laces as much as their length would allow. She winced, but tied both as tight as she could handle, doubling the knots.

  Beyond the curtains on the window, Mecca saw darkness, save for the streetlights which always shone after sundown in this neighborhood, so near the university. The street below looked clear.

  Now she wished she hadn’t left Josie’s car at the cabin. How would she get back to the house where she’d been held captive? Enough time to figure that out later. Now she just needed to get out of this house.

  She crept out of the room and closed the door behind her, listening for any sounds coming from below. Down the hall, a light peeked from under a closed door.

  Sara.

  What was she doing awake?

  Mecca tread with light steps to the stairs and tiptoed down. Halfway to the main floor, she heard her dad snoring. It made her smile as she thought of all the good-natured teasing she and her mom had put him through over his freight-train snore. Then she remembered that she shouldn’t be smiling.

  Maybe she could take the van. Where would he put the keys?

  Probably in his jeans.

  She couldn’t see anything in the gloom of the living room, where someone had drawn the curtains closed against the streetlights. A minute ticked by and her vision adjusted to the shadows.

  There, on the corner of the coffee tables. The keys.

  The van’s shocks left a lot to be desired; Mecca bounced along the potholed road away from the university. The ride smoothed out as she turned onto Moreland. She thought she could recall the route to the house. She was pretty sure.

  She didn't have a plan of action. Going back to the house had seemed like a good idea when she’d woken up. Now, as time got shorter, she thought maybe she hadn’t thought it through enough.

  In the back of her mind, she knew she wanted to destroy Emilia. It would be the only way to be free of her. But how? She tried not to think too hard on it, hoping something would come when she wasn't paying attention.

  She'd thought briefly about waking her dad to come with her, to help. But he still wanted to run. Sure, he’d made noises about rescuing Jenny and her mom, but really he wanted to run, she knew. Mecca didn’t understand this hidden side of her dad — the side that thought running away would solve this problem. But the only way any of them would be safe would be with Emilia’s death.

  And if she was being very honest — and why not? She was probably going to die soon anyway — a part of her didn't want to see him fight them. She didn't want him to use the Gift against Emilia. That would mean everything must be true. Everything.

  In her heart, she still didn't want to believe it.

  She took the exit after Stone Mountain and turned at the third light. The Sonic on the street corner served as her landmark. She passed subdivisions and strip malls, groceries and video stores, all their parking lots dark, except Kroger. God bless the twenty-four-hour grocery store.

  After fifteen minutes, suburbia gave way to pasture and ten minutes later, Mecca recognized the strip of road that would lead to where she'd been held. A hot panic flashed through her and she sucked in a lungful of air. She pulled onto the shoulder and cut the engine. The van shuddered to silence.

  Counting her breaths, she waited for the unease — she didn’t want to call it panic — to settle.

  She knew she would only have about a mile to walk before she came to the wooded edge of the property. Another ten minute jog, and she’d be at the back gate. She remembered Jenny’s dad, lying on the floor of his office, blood droplets spraying his chin as he tried to breathe through the gash in his throat.

  Mecca let the horror well up and incite her anger.

  Yeah, that worked.

  She pushed open the steel door and dropped down to the ground.

  Cha
pter Twenty: Claude

  Something pulled at him. An internal pull, like the need to find something previously lost. It told him someone of his own blood should be nearby.

  Claude looked across the pens, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Only filthy cattle making pitiful sounds and an ungodly stink.

  He’d sent Salas to check on Will, as Emilia had asked. She’d decided to oversee the details at the maze herself, rather than leave it to one of the younger ones who’d never attended a Maze Gathering before. Claude thought the pull he’d felt indicated Salas’s return, but the tall Egyptian didn’t materialize.

  Claude looked more closely at the occupants of the pens. Dirty and thin, every one. At least the hunters had found young ones this time. The last Maze Gathering he’d attended had featured old, tired men and women. He’d hardly considered it sport at all.

  Another tug.

  Who is that?

  None of the cattle should pull at him. Only—

  “Ahh,” he said, as he considered the only other human who carried his blood.

  The girl in the pen nearest him shrank back. The tangy smell of sweat and excrement came through the bars as she moved away from him.

  “My girl has come home.”

  “Will is resting,” Salas said when he returned to the pen area. Tall, with skin the color of pale molasses and a toned but slender frame, Salas intimidated most people, including the cattle in the pens. Claude found it to be one of his most useful talents.

  Claude nodded. “Mecca is here.” When Salas looked around, Claude clarified. “She’s on the grounds. I don’t know exactly where yet. I expect we will be seeing her soon.”

  Claude had taken to grooming one of the horses, a dapple grey with an uneven white marking right between his eyes. The musky scent of the animals made Claude’s nose twitch.

  “What would you like me to do?” Salas asked.

  “Nothing, right now. This will necessitate a change in my plans for the Gathering. I will not be participating in the Maze.”

  “What will you tell Emilia?”