Weaver

By John Abramowitz

Fifteen-year old Alex Cronlord just met the boy of her dreams. Literally. Unfortunately, the dream involved him killing her. When she encounters him at her school the next morning, Alex understandably freaks out – and her mother’s bizarre behavior only makes it worse. What Alex doesn’t realize is that she can see the future – which will get her into a whole lot of trouble.

Across town, FBI Agent Moira McBain and her partner Andy Hall investigate a series of house burnings in Dallas, Texas. When a clue leads them to the Cronlords, Moira discovers a disturbing link between Alex’s family and her own – which opens an old wound Moira has spent years trying to ignore.

Something is rotten in Dallas, Texas – something involving a secret society, children with extraordinary powers, and human-looking creatures who might literally be out of this world ....

Welcome to a different kind of world-wide web.

(Book 2 of The Weaver Saga, The Void, is now available!)

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Abramowitz
• Release date: Aug 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466081543

John Abramowitz

John Abramowitz is a long, tall Texan (very, very tall) born and raised in Fort Worth, Texas. Educated at Grinnell College in the great state of Iowa, he considers Iowa his second home state, and keeps on good terms with both by eating both barbecue AND corn. When he's not watching way too much sci-fi/fantasy TV or reading similar books (or working, obviously), you can usually find him reading the news or playing video games. He currently resides in Austin, Texas, where he works as a lawyer and author.

Book preview

WEAVER

Book 1 of The Weaver Saga

John Abramowitz

Copyright 2011, 2012 John Abramowitz

Smashwords Edition

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Also By John:

Novels:

Atticus for the Undead (Legal Fiction Series, Book 1)

The Void (The Weaver Saga, Book 2) -- Available May 12, 2012!

Short Fiction:

The Antlerbury Tales

For my (de)mentor, Joss Whedon,

who has taught me so much about storytelling;

For Ruth, for whom

I save all of my best stories;

And for my parents, who gave me

an imagination, and taught me the words to give it life.

Acknowledgments

In addition to my own efforts, a number of people worked tirelessly to see Weaver come to fruition.

First and foremost is Ericka Skinner, who gave me a concept for the character of Moira McBain while having no idea how perfectly that concept would fit into the story I wanted to tell. She deserves infinite credit.

Second, my tireless beta readers: Ericka Skinner, Suzanne Capwell, and my parents, Mary Ann and Ben Abramowitz. These people selflessly gave (lots and lots) of their time to read drafts of chapters, sections, or even the manuscript as a whole, often doing so on short notice so that I could keep the story flowing quickly. Their feedback – both thematic and technical – has been invaluable, and some parts of this story were made much better by their efforts. I am in their debt.

Third, to my online writing and gaming group, On The Bird. Working with them for years has taught me much of what I know about the things that make a story work – character development, pacing, plot development, tying together apparently disparate story threads, and much more.

Fourth, to Steven Novak, for doing such a brilliant job with the cover art. (The cover for The Void is even better, folks!)

Fifth, to my dear friend Ana Nagel, who contributed to this book without even realizing she was doing so. Her vivid zombie dreams (and colorful recitations of same) were the inspiration for Alex Cronlord’s prophetic power.

Prologue

Alex ran frantically over the uneven ground, her feet seeming to almost have a mind of their own as she raced desperately, not in any particular direction, but simply away. The first beads of sweat broke out on her forehead beneath the crown of golden-blonde hair, but Alex didn’t care, couldn’t care about that, nor about the burning feeling starting to blossom in the pits of her lungs. All she could think about was keeping as much distance as possible between herself and what was chasing her.

Snick! came the soft noise as one of her tennis shoes collided with a branch on the ground in front of her, snapping loose a twig from the branch as she fell forward, her face hitting the dirt. Alex cursed herself even as she fell – she’d been so focused on the simple act of moving ahead that she hadn’t thought to watch what was ahead. Always were a clumsy bitch. She rolled onto her back as fast as possible, scrambling to her feet as she saw the dark streak swoop ever closer to her.

It moved with almost inhuman speed, closing a full third of the gap between them just in the time it took her to get to her feet. Alex shrieked and leapt to one side. It was a wooded area, so there were plenty of trees to hide behind. She scrambled behind a trunk and hid. The black thing raced forward, stopping a mere few feet from the tree behind which she hid.

Alex’s heart raced, a pounding in her ears that she was sure her pursuer could hear. She waited a few moments in the barest silence, the only noise being a slight breeze rustling the leaves above her head. A brown leaf fell across her nose and cheek. She struggled to resist sneezing as it tickled her sinuses.

What seemed like eternities passed in utter silence.

CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. Alex’s heart continued to pound in her ears, intermixed with the soft squeak-squeak-squeaking sound of her pursuer’s shoes against the dirt and grass as he searched for her. Unable to bear it any longer, she risked a glance over her shoulder – and her heart nearly stopped as she saw him.

Her eyes followed his frame from the beaten-up tennis shoes, up the slender legs covered in the black denim pants, past the torso in the black t-shirt, with sleeves just short enough to show hints of his muscular upper arms, to the sculpted face and short, close-cropped brown hair. There was something almost angelic about his features, even now, as he hunted her. Slowly, his head turned in her direction, and she jerked her own head back behind the trunk, actually holding her breath to avoid detection.

"I know you’re here, Alex," came his baritone voice, at once lilting and lethal. I can feel you. I can smell you.

Another eternity-long silence in which Alex heard nothing – not the wind, not her heart, not his voice. It was the space between heartbeats, but it felt like a lifetime.

And then he found her. "Gotcha!" he roared, starting for her as she squealed in fright and tried to run away.

She could feel him closing the distance between them, but dared not look back, dared not put any of her already-exhausted body’s energy into anything but propelling herself forward, forward, forward. Adrenaline pushed the ache out of her muscles and the burning out of her lungs as she ran –

And then he was on her – one arm like a vise around her stomach, and his breath on her cheek and in her ear told her that he had brought their faces close. She looked over, trembling and whimpering, and saw the cool, predatory smile, the soft brown eyes gleaming with delight. And then, for just a moment, the eyes flashed blood red.

"I’m gonna enjoy this," he whispered.

And then all she knew was a world of pain.

Chapter 1

Monday, 7:25 a.m.

Alex Cronlord trudged down the stairs of her family’s two-story house, yawning sleepily and rubbing at her eyes. Leave it to her body to sleep poorly and fitfully the night before her first day of school. Tenth grade. The first thing she saw was her father – or rather, his posterior, as he stood hunched over his briefcase near the front door to their house.

Honey! he called loudly, in his chipper voice. "Have you seen my office key? I’m closing the Barov deal today and all the paperwork’s still in my office, being late would not look go – whoa!"

He stopped in his tracks as he turned around, nearly colliding with Alex as he started walking toward their kitchen. Hi, honey, he beamed, gray eyes twinkling behind the rectangular glasses as he folded her in a tight hug. Tenth grade, huh? Can you believe it? You’re practically a woman, he chirped. Do well at this, and you’ll have a corner office and a Mustang convertible in no time.

Alex outwardly laughed and inwardly sighed. This was typical of her father, to get this worked up about this development. He had gotten this excited about every development in her life since she was very young – from learning to ride a bike to starting kindergarten to surviving her first filling at the dentist’s office. As a young girl, Alex had found this endearing, but as she grew, she increasingly began to find it annoying.

But of course she said none of this to him. Office right next to yours? she asked, her typical reply to his academic-related kudos.

Her father smiled, the expression lending a bit of curvature to his square face. That was honestly how she thought of her father – very square. I don’t think you’d want to be an insurance salesman, baby. It’s pretty frustrating work – Here, he tilted his head to one side, "Especially when you can’t find your office keys! HONEY!" he called to Alex’s mother, who was presumably in the kitchen making breakfast.

I do your laundry and cook your meals, came a rich, thrumming voice from the adjacent kitchen, as Ainsling Cronlord swept into the room. With a frame that was curvy while staying just shy of overweight, Alex’s mother was a much more commanding physical presence than her father, who was slightly taller, but lanky. Whereas her father had a chipper, exuberant personality, her mother simply radiated unspoken authority wherever she went. Her green eyes narrowed beneath the aquiline brow as she completed her thought, "Why on Earth should I keep track of your keys, too?"

Alex’s father shrunk back a bit from the unspoken power in her mother’s voice. …Err, he replied, somewhat meekly. I’m just stressed, that’s all.

Ainsling nodded curtly, then turned a serious expression on her daughter. Alex, dear, go eat your breakfast.

Alex nodded and walked past her mother into the kitchen. She could hear their two voices continue to talk as she sat down to a plate of French toast, though she could not discern any words. Thus went the perpetual tug of war between her parents -- her mother sometimes found her father’s perpetual optimism and energy irritating, and felt that he needed to be more down-to-earth with a greater sense of personal responsibility; her father, meanwhile, sometimes felt that Ainsling was overly joyless and did not give him sufficient credit for his accomplishments.

And yet, despite their frequent minor (and occasional major) disagreements, the two invariably found their way back to what appeared, to Alex, to be a loving relationship that benefitted them both. Alex chuckled slightly to herself around a bite of French toast drenched in maple syrup, and wondered if her own married life would be such a rollercoaster.

Alex? came her mother’s voice from the kitchen counter behind her, interrupting her thoughts. Alex turned with a start – she had not heard Ainsling re-enter the room.

Hmm? Alex asked, eyes still wide from her surprise.

Are you feeling all right, dear? Ainsling asked, in her rich tones. You don’t look well."

Huh? Oh, she answered, realizing that her mother was referring to the bags under Alex’s eyes and the slightly pale tint to her skin. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… didn’t sleep well, that’s all.

Oh really? Ainsling asked, raising the eyebrow over one of her piercing green eyes as she regarded Alex curiously.

Alex did not answer for a moment, sure that her mother was going to suggest that it was mere anxiety about starting tenth grade, and then tell Alex that it was nothing to worry about, and she’d do fine.

But Ainsling did not.

Alex? she snapped, after a few seconds silence. You know it’s rude not to answer someone when they speak to you. I asked you a question!

Alex shrugged it off, cringing inwardly at the rebuke. Just… bad dreams, that’s all.

She started to turn back to her French toast. While she’d always admired her mother’s ability to exude authority, it had always made Ainsling a source of greater fear for Alex than her more easy-going father.

But Ainsling still was not finished. Oh really? she asked, leaning over the counter, putting her elbow on it and propping her chin in her hand. Dreams about what?

Alex truly did not feel like discussing her sleeping problems with her mother. I – I don’t remember, okay? she asked, irritated by her mother’s persistence.

The eyebrow went up again, and an incredulous expression came over her mother’s features. You had frightening dreams and you don’t remember what they were about?

I didn’t say frightening, I said ‘bad,’ Alex answered, surprised that her mother had not upbraided her for her tone. I just… I dreamed I showed up to my first class without clothes on, she told her mother, and then, for extra flair, added, And spent the whole period sitting at my desk waiting for someone to notice.

Ainsling gave her daughter a long, skeptical look. Then, finally, she shrugged, waving a hand in the air dismissively. So you’re nervous about starting school. Stop being silly. Go in, work hard, and you’ll be fine.

Alex nodded, turning back to her food at last. This was closer to the response she expected from her tough-love mother. When she finished eating moments later, she grabbed her backpack, and headed off to school.

--

Ainsling Cronlord went at once to her phone, as soon as Alex and her husband were out of the house. She picked it up, poised a finger like a claw over the touchpad to dial. There was a strange feeling in her throat, in the pit of her stomach – excitement, certainly. The moment she’d long expected had arrived! But also a sort of sadness, or at least regret. What this would do to Alex….

And yet this did not stop her, nor did it delay her for even a fraction of a second as she began to dial the number, put the receiver to her ear. Too much was at stake, she reminded herself, and too many people had given up too much, to let some