Unbound (All Good Things #1)

By Georgia Bell

After her father dies, Rachel realizes she is scared and stuck. Scared of heights, of cars, of disasters harming the people she loves. Stuck in a life that is getting smaller by the minute. Stuck with a secret she has kept all her life: Someone has been watching over her since birth. Someone who tends to show up when she needs him the most. Someone she believes is her guardian angel.

Eaden is a 1,500-year-old immortal who wants to die. Drained by a life stretched too thin, he has requested his final reward – a mortal sacrifice bred specifically to bring him death. But something went wrong. Rachel’s ability to grant death has mutated in ways that threaten to upset the uneasy alliance between mortals and immortals. And utterly beguiled, Eaden discovers that although Rachel is the key to his death, because of her, he no longer wants to die. And he will do anything to protect her.

Swept into a world of legends, caught between the warring political factions of immortals, and carrying the future of mortal kind in her flesh and bone, Rachel must risk everything to save her world and the man she loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Georgia Bell
• Release date: Feb 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311321695

Georgia Bell

Georgia Bell was raised on a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy, courtesy of her father, a man who loved his family, fishing, scotch, and science (although not necessarily in that order). Georgia is an avid reader of young adult fiction, and a lover of good wine, music, children, and cats (although not necessarily in that order).

Book preview

UNBOUND

ALL GOOD THINGS (BOOK #1)

By GEORGIA BELL

COPYRIGHT@2013 GEORGIA BELL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Unbound (All Good Things #1)

Georgia Bell

Copyright 2013 by Georgia Bell

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

First Edition: October 2013

For you, Dad.

The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

Chapter Two: Somewhere Only We Know

Chapter Three: Never Let Me Go

Chapter Four: Black Coffee

Chapter Five: Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Chapter Six: Brilliant Disguise

Chapter Seven: White Horse

Chapter Eight: Fool on a Hill

Chapter Nine: Sweet Emotion

Chapter Ten: Avalon

Chapter Eleven: Another Nail in my Heart

Chapter Twelve: All Good Things

Chapter Thirteen: Lay Your Hands on Me

Chapter Fourteen: Cross Your Fingers

Chapter Fifteen: Team

Chapter Sixteen: Tír na nÓg

Chapter Seventeen: Weapon

Chapter Eighteen: Landslide

Chapter Nineteen: Exodus

Chapter Twenty: Into the Fire

Chapter Twenty-One: The End of the World as We Know it

Chapter Twenty-Two: One Step Beyond

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Prologue

* * * * *

I am eight years old. A scream rips from my throat and echoes down the pale yellow hallway of the second floor. Wild-eyed and disoriented, I sit up and grope for my teddy bear in the dark. Unable to locate him, I clutch the covers to my chest and begin to moan a name over and over again, into my knees. My father is there within seconds.

Hush, Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit, he croons and rocks me back and forth against his chest. Hush Rabbit, hush.

As he holds me the sobs break free and I relax into my fear and grief. Eventually, my breathing slows and the circles he traces upon my back with his hand become lighter and lighter. He lowers me back down to the bed and tucks the red and white patterned quilt back around me.

Hush, Rabbit, back to sleep, he says and stays with me until my eyes close and I return to my dreams.

Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

He wasn’t there when I looked out my bedroom window. The shadows under the tall maple tree were empty when I pressed my nose to the cold glass, my breath obscuring my vision so I had to wipe it away. Frowning, I pulled the curtains closed and went to the kitchen, more tired than I should be after an early night in bed.

I knew my mother had already left for work by her empty coffee cup on the counter with a half-eaten piece of toast beside it. There was also a pile of applications sitting on the table and I could see where she’d circled the due dates with heavy lines of ink. Grimacing, I pushed the papers aside, poured myself a bowl of cereal, and watched the milk dribble off my spoon and land on the crisp white sheets.

When the bowl was half-empty, I reached across them for the newspaper and methodically traced my finger down the bold type of the front page. Like a nurse triaging patients in the ER, I read each of the headlines first, deciding what order I would read the stories they described. Settling back into the wooden chair, my pulse slowed as I made my way though the first article about a house fire over on Johnson Street. From the description, it sounded electrical given that the firefighters had mentioned bad wiring.

Glancing over my shoulder at the socket where the toaster was plugged in, I made a mental note to ask our superintendent about having an electrician visit. The apartment building my mother and I lived in was old, a six-storey walk up without elevators, buzzers, or security like the new condominiums that were crowding into any spare surface along the lakeshore. I preferred it that way, but the trade-off was my constant worry about old plumbing and the DIY handiwork of our landlord.

Skimming the rest of story, I noted that the couple who had lived in the burned down house had escaped, but their cat had died. That was why we didn’t have pets. An animal was just something else you cared about that could disappear. I read that there’d also been a few break and enters in the west end of the city, but they seemed to be mostly petty theft and vandalism. By the time I worked my way through the local news I felt centered, and after putting the dishes into the sink, I went upstairs to get ready for work.

Checking my reflection in the mirror, I tied my hair back and was about to leave when I saw the neatly folded piece of paper on my dresser. My heart thudded loudly in my chest as the tiny scrap of looseleaf filled my vision. It had been sitting there for days, and although I hadn’t touched it since I had dropped it there last week, I couldn’t seem to forget about it. It was weird how something so small could take up so much room in my head. I reached out to touch it, then changed my mind and turned to go. Cursing, I turned back and not letting myself think too much, shoved the paper deep into my pocket and hurried to the front door.

Standing on the landing outside our small apartment, I rolled my shoulders back like a boxer ready to hear the bell, pulled the door closed, locked it, and took a deep breath. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed myself to move down the stairs, to move away from the door. I plunged my hand into my pocket and rubbed the piece of paper between my fingers like a talisman, looking for strength that I was sure I didn’t have. With gritted teeth, I tried to take a step and then felt the panic wash over me, waves of unease that seemed to emanate from my guts and radiate out to every nerve ending in my body. Doubt spread through me like wildfire and with prickles of dread and relief in equal measure, I knew what I would have to do.

It was what I did every morning.

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I reached out and turned the doorknob, checking to see if it was locked. Then I unlocked it and locked it again.

Unlocked it. Locked it.

I counted to five out loud, got halfway down the stairs. Turned around and did it all again, hating myself.

When I finally left my building and caught the bus ten minutes later, I concentrated on the smell of diesel and the grit under my feet as I stood in the morning crowd. I tried not to look for him in the shadows. Tried not to wonder if he was one of the passengers behind me. Tried not to turn around and scan their faces, looking for those eyes, the ones I knew so well I saw them in my sleep.

It was raining by the time I got to work. You’d think obsessing over a newspaper every morning would give me a chance to check the weather, but I hadn’t even brought my umbrella. If only what I searched for in the newspaper was as easy to predict as bad weather. Sighing, I pulled the collar of my coat up and ran up the steep stone steps of the library.

Shaking the water out of my hair as I walked into the building, I waved to the security guard. Good morning, Tomas.

Morning Rachel, he said, white teeth flashing. Good day for ducks, huh?

Quack, quack, I said, moving towards the elevator and feeling my heart race in anticipation. My stomach clenched and I felt my half-eaten bowl of Cheerios roil. Steeling myself, I stood there for a full ten seconds. Trying to summon courage from somewhere inside me. Just be normal, Rachel, I whispered. Be normal for once.

But well before the numbers had counted down to the ground floor and the doors opened, I moved towards the stairwell, unable to endure what others seemed to do without thinking. Apparently today wasn’t going to be any different, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness that had hung over me since I woke up. The feeling that something was about to change forever.

Trudging up the cement steps of the stairwell, I climbed to the fifth floor – my home away from home. For the last four years I’d spent a lot of my time at the city’s central library, one of the best in the province. I’d started working here in the ninth grade, when, forced to fulfill my volunteer hours somewhere, I had chosen the quietest, least interactive option that was offered. I had no idea that it would become such a sanctuary. It was the one place where my reluctance to engage with the world was completely unremarkable.

It seems I suited the library too, because at the end of my placement, I’d been offered a part-time job at the checkout desk. This pleased my mother, who I suspect was simply glad to have me out of the house, and annoyed my best friend Lacey, because it confirmed for her that I was hopelessly uncool. It had been beyond me to explain to either one of them what it was that I loved about working here, beyond the hushed empty spaces. As they had always been, books were my one chance to live vicariously through others, to immerse myself in the safest world I could imagine – one in which events had already unfolded. Nothing could hurt me if it had already happened.

And now, with my senior high school credits completed early as a result of my non-existent social life, I chose to finish my last year of high school year here on a co-op placement. While other girls my age were revelling in homecoming dances, comparing GPAs and picking out duvet covers for their freshman dorms rooms next year, I was working full-time in historical archives. I’d just been offered a paid position for next year, and had accepted, despite promising my mother that I would apply to university. So far, I had managed to avoid the topic successfully, but deadlines were looming and if the neat pile of papers she had left for me this morning was any indication, she had definitely not forgotten.

Walking into the tiny staff room to put away my lunch, I nearly stumbled over Jane as she bent awkwardly down to place her own bag in the bar fridge.

Sorry! Here Jane, let me get that for you.

Grunting, Jane stood up slowly and pressed one hand to her lower back, the other hand rubbing the enormous belly that swelled out in front of her. Thanks, kiddo, she said and sighed in relief as she leaned back against the wall. I’m really at the point where reaching anywhere below my knees is futile. She shook her head. Trevor had to put my shoes on this morning.

Flashing a sympathetic smile, I tried to sidle around her to cram my lunch and hers in the overcrowded fridge.

She peered over my shoulder. Damn, are we out of milk?

A quick check confirmed we were indeed milk-less.

It’s bad enough I have to drink decaf. I hate black coffee, she said, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall.

I stifled a sigh. How about I run over to Sam’s and buy some more?

Oh would you, Rachel? Her face lit up like a child being offered candy.

Sure, no problem.

Jane smiled her thanks and wobbled out the door in the direction of her desk. You’re an angel.

A small shiver ran down my spine at her words, lodging itself in my already disquieted stomach. Suppressing a shudder, I grabbed my purse and headed back out on the street.

The first thing I noticed as the bells tinkled my arrival at Sam’s Downtown Convenience Mart and Lottery Center was that Sam was having an argument with a customer. A man in a well-cut black suit leaned across the counter towards Sam, speaking and gesturing with unusual intensity. Although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, a quick glance confirmed that Sam seemed upset by their conversation. His jaw was clenched tight; his hands clutched the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled death grip.

Uneasy, I wondered what could have happened to create the look of hostility on Sam’s face. He was a family man and typically, a pretty friendly guy. In all of the years I’d been coming in here, he had always been unfailingly polite. He’d even remembered my name after my first visit. I liked the way he pronounced it too, his accent softening the ‘ch’ so it sounded like Ra-shelle.

Eager to avoid conflict, and unsettled by their anger, I walked quickly to the back of the store to grab the milk and stalled for time by checking the expiry dates on all of the milk cartons, all the while listening intently for the bell that would signal the man in black’s departure. I stood at the refrigerated shelves, straightening the rows of cartons until my fingers began to numb with cold. Finally choosing a small carton with the latest date possible, I wandered over to the magazines, feigning interest in the celebrity gossip as I waited. My hopes that Sam’s irate customer would leave were fading, but my stomach was tightening at the thought of approaching the customer service dispute unfolding just a few feet away.

After several more minutes passed without the slightest sign that the two of them were going to knock it off, I took a deep breath and walked uncertainly towards the counter. The man speaking intently to Sam immediately noticed me hovering. Stepping back, he motioned me forward with a grand sweep of his arm, his face a mask of polite contempt. Mortified, I hoped they didn’t think I was eavesdropping and I stepped up and rummaged quickly though my purse to find my wallet. Cursing in my head as I fumbled around in my bag, I heard the bell ring as another customer entered the store behind me. With embarrassed relief, I finally managed to fish my wallet out and pulled out a $20 bill.

I glanced up and then froze, my hand still held out in front of me, the money lying limp in my hands. My heart thudded, loud and insistent in my ears as the seconds stretched into the silence. Staring at Sam across the counter, it was clear that I’d made a serious mistake. Sam wasn’t angry. He was terrified. His glassy eyes were so unnaturally wide that the whites were completely visible all the way around his irises. Looking straight back at me, his lower lip began to quiver as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his cheek to drop noiselessly onto the counter.

Sam, I said, my voice husky with fear. Are you feeling okay? Do you need help?

Sam shook his head with the smallest of gestures and his eyes flicked quickly from me to the man now standing slightly behind me, then back again.

Dizzy, I closed my eyes and fought to remain on my feet. Breathe, Rachel. My heartbeat pounding in my ears was the only sound I could hear until the piercing wail of a police siren echoed through the now silent convenience store.

Opening my eyes again, I saw that Sam was trembling visibly as he stared out the window at the police car that had pulled up across the street from his store, his expression hopeful. Two uniformed officers climbed out of the squad car and strode quickly away from us, heading towards another building a few doors down on the opposite side of the street. The man in black stepped behind me, placing a tight hand on my shoulder as he leaned against me. I felt something small and hard press into my back as my vision swam.

Listen carefully, he said in a quiet conversational tone, his mouth near my ear. Sam and I are in the middle of a business negotiation. I could smell the unpleasant combination of coffee and garlic on his breath and my stomach protested. Go sit behind the counter, don’t move. Don’t say anything. Do you understand? He placed a great deal of emphasis on the last sentence.

Nodding slightly, I prayed that I would be able to walk without falling. My legs felt wooden and stiff.

Hey Sam, he called out. Time for a coffee break. Why don’t you flip the sign and lock the door? In the same tone, he turned his head away from me and said more loudly, You got the other one? I remembered the bell ringing and realized there was another customer in the store.

Yeah, I got him, called another male voice from the back of the store.

The man in black propelled me towards the counter with a slight push. On unsteady feet, I stumbled behind it as Sam scrambled around me to lock the door.

Gulping air into my lungs, I dug my nails into my palms, hoping the pain would keep me from passing out. Holding myself upright on shaky legs gave me a perfect view of the other customer being escorted to the front of the store. I felt my heart pause between beats as I looked straight into his eyes. Eyes that I had seen in dreams and nightmares for my entire life. A strangled gasp escaped my lips and I felt my legs give way, only distantly aware that my body was collapsing in a heap on the floor. Blackness settled on me like a thick blanket.

* * * * *

With no connection to the events unfolding around me, I felt unnaturally calm from my head to my toes, as if I floated in a warm pool in the sunshine with my eyes closed. Swimming slowly up from the darkness, I felt the relief that often accompanies having your worst fears confirmed. Clearly, I’d lost my mind, because I knew who those eyes belonged to and he wasn’t real. Smiling, I opened my eyes, ready to embrace what I’d been running from, and towards, for as long as I could remember.

Instead, Sam’s face loomed over mine, his brown eyes still wide and startled. I stared at him silently, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Rashelle, are you okay? He tried to pull me up by tugging on my arm, but before he’d even finished his question, he turned to look over his shoulder. I followed his gaze and felt my heart sink. We were completely alone.

Where did everyone go? I was trying to connect the pieces, but I felt thick and unreasonably calm, as if hold ups at the local convenience store were all part of a typical day.

Instead of answering, Sam left me standing on unsteady legs and peered out the front door, his head swinging back and forth as he looked up and down the sidewalk. Satisfied, he stepped back into the store. They left.

Who were they, Sam? My heart jumped in my chest, pushing against this inexplicable tranquillity, trying to find its usual panicked rhythm.

He shook his head. Bad men.

What about the other customer? The tall one? Where is he?

Sam locked the door and moved quickly towards the back of the store, still avoiding my eyes. I don’t know Rashelle. He left too. But you’re okay? Not hurt?

I felt numb, as if my emotions had been wrapped in cellophane, but I wasn’t hurt and I told him so.

Shouldn’t you call the police? I felt curious about my lack of anxiety as I said that. Why wasn’t I more frightened by what had just happened? Was this what shock felt like?

No police, he said, shaking his head.

Nodding as if this was a perfectly reasonable response, I unlocked the door and left the store. Standing on the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, just as Sam had. The rain had stopped and the last of the morning’s commuters had closed their umbrellas and loosened their jackets. But the person I was looking for, the one I always looked for, was gone. Again.

A surge of disappointment pushed itself forcibly into my cloudy thoughts and I sagged a little under its weight. The thought of going back to work, of spending one more minute trying to make the best of this already horrible day, was so unappealing that I reached for my cell and called Jane as I walked in the direction of home.

Rachel! Her voice beamed motherly concern at me through the phone. I thought you’d gotten lost. Where’s the milk?

I cursed silently as I realized the milk was still sitting on the counter at Sam’s. Guilt bloomed up in my chest, riding shotgun to the uneasiness I was beginning to think had made a permanent home there. Hey Jane. Um, I’m not feeling well? It came out sounding more like a question than I’d intended it to.

Fortunately, Jane’s maternal instincts were in overdrive and she didn’t seem to notice. You did look flushed this morning, she said. Poor you! Where are you? Do you need help?

I’m around the corner. I um, didn’t make it all the way to the store, I said, sounding as pathetic as I felt. I think I just need to go home and rest. I slumped my shoulders and then felt ridiculous as I realized she couldn’t see me.

That’s probably best. You don’t seem yourself at all today. Take care, okay kiddo?

I thanked her, grateful for having an understanding boss and knowing that trying to concentrate on my work would be pointless. It was always like this after I saw him. Days could pass in a stupor, filled with half formed ideas and unanswered questions.

Throwing myself on my bed when I got home, I crawled underneath my blankets and felt just as sick as I had told Jane I was. The unnatural sense of serenity had fled and was replaced by pangs of anxiety and self-doubt, mixed with serious questions about my sanity. Reaching down, I pulled the paper out of my pocket and twined it through my fingers, tracing each number with my eyes, committing it to memory.

I felt weary as the tears came, tired of struggling so hard to do what others did without trying. Tired of being different, tired of being so broken. In a flash of irritation, I wiped my eyes and sat up, grabbing my phone. Fingers shaking, I dialed the first few digits, then stopped, staring at the black screen. What if being normal also meant losing him? I hit cancel and put the paper under my pillow and flopped over on my stomach. I promised myself I’d call tomorrow, knowing that this was only the lie I repeated to help me get through another day.

As I felt myself drifting to sleep, I tried to recreate that last moment in the store, the moment he had turned around and I had seen his eyes. Eyes that I had first seen when I was five years old.

* * * * *

Rachel! Now please.

That morning, my mother had stood at my bedroom door, arms folded. I’m going to start counting.

Leaving my motley crew of stuffed animals stranded on my bed, I darted to the hall closet, pulled my coat off the hanger, jammed my feet into my boots and quietly slipped under her arm towards the sidewalk.

A late November wind ripped the few remaining leaves from the trees to mingle with the garbage that coasted along the curb in front of our house. Realizing that I’d forgotten my mittens, I shoved my hands into my pockets and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

We stopped at the park on the way, sitting on the cold, hard bench while she drank her coffee, watching as the squirrels scurried across the ground, foraging the last scraps of the harvest while the weather held.

My mother and I filled in the long hours until my father came home as best as we could. Like toys discarded in the playroom, we only truly came to life when my father walked through the door at the end of the day. Busying ourselves with household tasks, we allowed the minutiae of ordinary life to distract us for as long as possible, until – with the banking done and the dry cleaning dropped off – we would wander over to the park to wait. And watch.

That day, the first time I saw him, we hadn’t stayed at the park for very long. My mother had grudgingly begun her overseas Christmas shopping that afternoon, hoping to package up and ship off the gifts for her Scottish in-laws ahead of the holiday rush. Thoroughly uninterested in helping her pick out pyjamas for my cousin Dawn, I trailed behind her as she impartially flipped through racks of polyester nightgowns. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut and one hand stretched out in front of me, I used the belt of my mother’s winter coat like a lifeline. Fumbling along cheerfully, I was pretending I was blind.

Eventually growing tired of my game – mostly because my mother had stood in one place for so long – but also because my arm was starting to ache from holding it out in front of me, I let my eyes slide open and turning my head slightly, was stunned into stillness.

Past the racks of children’s clothes, near the entrance of the department store, lay a Christmas village built completely out of gingerbread. Almost as tall as I was, the walls of the houses were stacked upon cotton candy snowdrifts – the crystallized sugar a fair mimic of ice warmed by the sun. The warm smell of cinnamon wafted under my nose as I gazed in wonder at the chocolate wafer streets that had been patterned like cobblestones and lined with candystick light posts. At the end of the street, a licorice car was stopped at a cherry red lollipop stop sign.

Captivated, I drifted towards the village, staring at the snow-capped peaks on the roof. Was it icing? Tentatively, I reached out with one finger to touch the outer edge of the sugary wall and stopped, suddenly aware of the slack in my other hand. Looking back, I stared uncomprehending at the tan belt that lay on the floor like a sick snake, no longer attached to my mother’s coat. No longer attached to my mother. She was gone.

Looking around wildly, stomach clenched and eyes stinging with soon- to be- shed-tears, my hands fluttered up from my sides like two startled birds from a hedge. With a sickening lurch, I realized I was alone. I caught a glimpse that day, understood the fragile wall that stands between our sense of security and anonymity. Between being loved and being annihilated by loneliness.

Seconds before I melted down into a hysterical, I want-my-mommy kind of panic that only young children are capable of, I felt a hand rest comfortingly on my head. Gazing up, I saw a man with kind grey eyes staring down at me. He wore leather gloves that were soft on my hair and he smelled really good, like new wool and musk.

Looking back, I realize I should have been scared. Instead, I’d admired the long tartan scarf he wore loosely wrapped around his neck, underneath his long dark coat. I had almost reached out to touch it as he knelt down beside me, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. The man with the grey eyes that smiled, even though his mouth did not, said, Don’t be afraid, and I realized I wasn’t.

Something about his deep, warm voice was familiar and I thought maybe he knew me, or maybe he was a teacher at my school, because I wasn’t really feeling shy, like I usually did. Instead, it felt like he liked me. I think it was because he looked right at me, and not through me, like most adults do with kids.

As I looked silently back at him, he reached for my hand and placed it firmly in his own. We walked to the counter of the department store together, this tall man with the nice-smelling leather gloves and kind eyes. He waited his turn in