Society of Light: The Lamp Series, #3

By jason cunningham

This is Book 3 of the Lamp Series.

It's been nearly 2 years since Violet disappeared and the city is being ripped apart by crime. Levi and Jenny have become targets of a violent movement called The Fellowship of the Fallen and Micah finds an unlikely ally in his race to piece together this complex puzzle before time runs out. A frightening allegiance has begun taking shape, and those who wear the robe are 
now the ones closest to home. 

Reading Order:
The Lamp (Book 1) 
Dark Works (Book 2)
Society of Light (Book 3)
Falling Embers (Book 4)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phantom Fiction
• Release date: May 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513052571

Book preview

Chapter 1

SAM WATCHED HIS HANDS tremble at the end of his sleeves, wondering if they would notice. His robe felt tight and constricted his breathing, the insides already damp with nervous sweat. The oversized hood left his vision partially blocked and the sash seemed a little too tight at the waist. To calm his nerves, he tried to ignore the throbbing bass of that sinister melody coming from the other side of the door, thumping and clanking against the heavy steel. Even with the volume cranked, he could hear muffled screams ripping through.

He gulped back the last bit of moisture in his mouth and swallowed with great effort. His parched throat was now a desert. There were noises. Banging of wood. A chain dropping onto cement. More banging. His pulse surged.

And then all went quiet in the next room. Only the music remained, a creeping, melodic orchestral piece that shook the walls. Sam scanned his surroundings: graffiti scrawled across decaying brick walls, a broken window, the deadness of night beyond it. A gust of wind carried a few leaves inside the dark corridor.

More banging.

Sam jumped this time, startled at the suddenly heightened sound. The music had died out. He felt hundreds of eyes turning toward him, even though he was standing there alone.

He sucked in a shallow breath and heard the clank of a lock falling open. The rusty door in front of him groaned as someone slowly pushed it open. Black shoes emerged from behind the large door, the shadow of their owner now covering Sam’s form. He bowed his head — a sign of respect, but he also wanted to hide the signs of fear so obvious on his face.

A voice slowly boomed at him. You requested to meet with Tenebris?

Sam nodded, still facing the ground.

Follow me.

Sam moved through the doorway and immediately heard glass crunching beneath the worn rubber of his shoes. He tried not to look around too much for fear of seeing something he’d regret. There were other bodies in the room. He knew that much. Two of them bumped past him as they moved in the opposite direction. But he kept his eyes down. Just keep moving forward.

The main room spit him out into another corridor. Sam thought he smelled burning garbage. There was a heat source nearby. A swinging light. The aroma of gasoline was strong. Another door was opened and closed. Sam continued ahead, following the broad man in the robe.

Behind him, two more hollow bangs echoed.

The man in front spoke to him without turning around.

How long have you worn the robe?

Sam cleared his arid throat. Since the second revolt.

And why did you request this meeting?

I… Sam coughed out. I wanted to tell him something. Something very important.

The man in front slowed his pace, which worried Sam. He didn’t know how his answer had been received. They turned into another dark hallway. This one smelled like sweetened smoke. Incense.

Be careful that you don’t speak before he addresses you. You will enter the chambers and bow with your face touching the ground. Do not lift your head until ordered to do so.

Yes, sir.

Do not look him in the eyes. When prompted to speak, be mindful of your words. You will be addressing the great Tenebris himself, not one of your little friends.

Understood, Sam gulped.

They plodded down a long hallway and finally arrived at a thick mahogany door. The man in front stood still for a moment, then slowly reached out a hand and placed it upon the door. There were two clicking sounds, like someone tapping a ruler against a desk.

The man in front pushed open the door and quickly backed away, sweeping his hand toward the entrance. The young man called Sam tightened his lips and stepped through the threshold.

As instructed, he dropped into a kneeling position, his knees scraping painfully against the cement. Sam leaned forward and placed his forehead on the cool ground. He didn’t see anyone else in the room, having thrown himself prostrate before he had the opportunity to look around. But he didn’t need to see who was in the room. He could feel it.

A subtle, disinterested voice floated in the air. Arise.

Sam heard the door clanging shut behind him. He rose from the ground, but trained his eyes on the bottom of Tenebris’ cloak, careful to avoid looking at his face.

I understand you have something to tell me.

Sam fought to stabilize his quivering voice. Yes, king. Yes, I do.

Sam saw the large form drawing closer to him. He moved like a phantom: graceful, yet grimly dangerous. It’s about Halo, sir.

Sam’s eyes sunk lower. He heard Tenebris shuffling around. Go on.

I know where she is, sir.

Have you made contact?

No, but I think I know a way.

He heard Tenebris make a noise, as if this amused him. I want you to rate your certainty, Sam.

Sir?

Give me a percentage. I want to know how certain you are about this.

Beads of sweat dripped from Sam’s forehead, his lower back already soaked. It felt as though a flame had passed through him, leaving his insides torched. He was still wondering how Tenebris remembered his name. I… he stammered. Could be… ninety. Ninety percent.

Sam waited for Tenebris to speak, his eyes trained on his own shoes, afraid to look farther. But then a flicker of movement entered his field of view and he perceived a dreadful presence standing just inches from him. Tenebris was intimately close now.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. It was taken from him.

Sam couldn’t find his breath. A hand came to rest upon his shoulder. He felt cold, liquid-like energy flowing into his neck and arm, cascading down through his torso. That thick, penetrating voice came forward once more.

That will be all, Sam.

Sam felt sleepy, hazy splotches in his vision. The room was growing dark quickly. The hand withdrew from his shoulder and that intense, nervous heat returned again. The cold liquid drained away at once. His head ached badly. He saw a shadow receding from him.

Now another hand lit upon his shoulder. He jumped. It was the man whom he had encountered previously, now urging him out of the room with hurried gestures. Sam quickly left the chambers, a loud thud from the door closing behind him.

You’re still alive, the man said, slightly amused.

Sam wondered if it had been worth it, to call a meeting with Tenebris. He’d only wanted to earn a few points with the king, and now that he’d stood almost-face-to-face with him, he felt like puking from the bottled tension. It was not something he looked forward to doing again. But what if he was wrong about Halo? After all, he couldn’t be absolutely certain. Nobody could. The prophecy was too vague, and only Tenebris really knew the significance of finding her anyway.

And yet, Sam found himself dealing with a cluster of emotions, his anxious thoughts swimming in doubt. His confidence was shifting. What have I done? he wondered.

Chapter 2

GENTLE WAVES LAPPED AGAINST the shoreline, the scent of saltwater hanging in the warm mid-day air. The boardwalk was crowded as usual, kids running around with snow cones and irritable parents giving chase, teenagers stumbling off their skateboards after failed landings, retirees lounging against shaky wooden rails and peering out into the timeless ocean. Seagulls were swooping and diving a short distance out, scanning for prey. A man in a pointy hat and suspenders shoved a silver cart that bumped along the planks, shouting to anyone within earshot that ice cream was now half-price.

This was a vacationer’s paradise, a snapshot of life usually found in paintings that hang in motel lobbies. Only this painting was animated and noisy.

A small crowd had gathered a short distance from the man with the pointy hat, underneath the shadow of a towering Ferris wheel. The man glanced over and saw a mousy-looking girl in a baseball cap, standing five-foot even, eyes hidden behind a veil of dark bangs, clumsily shuffling a deck of cards for a few bored strangers. She wore jeans and flip-flops, augmented by a pink t-shirt with a white bunny printed in the center. The man wheeled his cart over to see what all the fuss was about.

Violet fanned the cards out, using both hands.

That one, said an older woman as she extended a finger. The young magician snapped her thumb and the card sprung into the air and then slowly floated toward the boardwalk below, down through the planks and into the shallow water below. Her small audience had dropped their gaze in unison with the card.

That was a really bad choice, Violet said. You’ll have to pick again.

This is stupid, said a teenager with a surfer’s cut, clutching a skateboard against his leg. His friend chimed in with cheap laughter. You haven’t gotten one right yet. I’ve been standing here for like five minutes and you’ve screwed up every trick.

Yeah, his friend agreed. You’re like the worst magician I’ve ever seen.

Think you could do better? Violet challenged.

I couldn’t do any worse, the cocky teenager shot back. You can’t even hold the cards right. My eight-year-old nephew does better tricks than you.

Violet stared at him pitifully without speaking, then blinked and glanced down. You’re right, she apologized. I’m sorry for wasting everyone’s time. I’m really new to this and there’s so much pressure with all of you standing there. It’s so overwhelming that I almost forgot to rob you all blind.

Say what? the skater said, scratching the side of his head. The friend was equally confused. What is this crazy chick talking about now?

Violet tossed her head back to clear the hair from her eyes, then deliberately, and dramatically, swept her gaze across everyone standing in front of her, as if this was something she’d practiced in the mirror — and she had. For the climactic ta-da, she proudly reached forward to display her spoils: one watch, a necklace, and two wallets. Hang on, she said, reaching into her pocket to retrieve two cell phones.

She held one phone up to each ear and said, Hello… yeah… they’re here. They just got conned by THE GREATEST MAGICIAN EVER!

Violet scrunched her face and then tossed the phones toward the two hoodlums who had been harassing her. Their faces said it all: the girl had totally conned them, and creatively at that.

The small crowd broke into subdued laughter and applause. Violet took a tiny bow and began returning the valuables she’d taken from everyone. The man in the pointy hat gave the girl a free ice cream cone and several of the strangers tossed bills and coins into the upside-down top hat she’d placed near a tattered backpack.

Appreciate the donations, she said. You were a great audience.

The cocky teenager grinned and threw some coins into the lot. Hey, he said, stashing his phone, along with his pride. You want to go get a bite to eat? You’re pretty cute.

Sorry, Violet said. Already ate.

Well, maybe we could just hang out.

Can you see I’m working? she answered, annoyed.

The teenager rolled his eyes, slapped his friend on the arm and shuffled along. Violet’s tiny voice rose above the other vendors scattered across the boardwalk. Free magic, free magic… be amazed at the wonders of the Master Illusionist. Tips appreciated. If you let me starve, the magic will die with me.

* * *

Violet clutched the leather bag to her body as she pushed through a curtain of beads. She wore the top hat, which had collected her earnings for the day. Neon wall art lit her path through a musty corridor and down a flight of narrow, creaky stairs. Powerful incense wafted in the stale air of a building one and a half centuries old. The landing below housed two doors, a glowing EXIT sign positioned at the end. The door on the right was hers.

Keys jingled as she removed a ring of them from her backpack and jammed one into a rusty lock. Shoving the door open, Violet beheld her spectacular one-hundred-square-foot palace. The room had been her home for more than a year now, and it felt as permanent as any other place in which she’d lived. Sure, it was just a room, but at least it was all hers. And the pungent odor of the antiques store at the top of the stairs, and above her room, had grown less offensive over time.

She liked to imagine that it was her grandmother’s two-story house — a woman who’d died before she was even born — and that she lived downstairs in the basement, her elder relative knitting or talking to cats or something upstairs. It was, for Violet, a pleasant lie, and one of several false memories that she relied upon lately to stave off loneliness.

The room itself wasn’t much: a shelf, a bed, a small mirror, a fake plant, and an old television resting atop a standing dinner tray. There were no windows since she was below street level, but she considered this a positive thing.

A half-empty sleeve of oatmeal cookies and a fashion magazine occupied the bed. Violet bent over with a grunt, shoving the heavy backpack underneath her bed to conceal it.

She then flipped the TV on, catching one of five available channels. Hey, better than nothing. A tap on the door startled her. Um, she sputtered, paranoid for no clear reason. Come in. It’s open.

The door eased open and in walked a sixty-year-old man with thick white hair and three gold rings on his sausage-like fingers. He was balancing his weight on a shiny red cane with a big knob for a handle.

Hi, Mr. Jeffrey. Is the TV too loud? I can turn it down, it’s just the news anyway.

Mr. Jeffrey was the owner of the antiques store, and by virtue of his subletting the basement parlor, was also Violet’s landlord. Although he wasn’t that old, he moved with the careful deliberation of a man in his nineties.

No, no, he replied. Don’t be silly. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Everything going all right?

It was unusual for Mr. Jeffrey to pay her a visit at this or any other time of day. So she wondered if perhaps the man had forgotten that she’d already paid her rent for the month — a whopping seventy-five bucks — and was embarrassed to ask her about it.

I’m fine, she replied. Thanks for asking.

He stood in the doorway without speaking, his weak eyes regarding her for a moment.

Mr. Jeffrey, is there anything you need help with?

Hmm? he responded, as if snapping out of a daydream.

I asked if you were okay. Do you need something?

The man paused to consider, smiled, then moved his hand through the air as if to say, don’t be ridiculous. He half-turned to leave, then pointed at her bed. Did you enjoy the book I left for you?

Violet glanced over at the fashion magazine that he’d given her — the one she used for balancing food on her lap as she lay in bed. Oh, she said. Yeah, thanks. That was kind of you.

The man nodded, as if this made him happy. I thought you’d like it. These furnishings aren’t the best, I know. But a girl needs to be a girl, right?

You pegged me well, Mr. Jeffrey, she politely lied.

I’ll be tallying receipts upstairs if you need anything.

Aw, that’s nice. I’ll catch you later.

Mr. Jeffrey grinned and dipped his head, easing her door shut. Violet heard him slowly plodding up the squeaky staircase and imaged that he was her funny grandpa, always forgetting why he’d walked into a room. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills totaling fourteen dollars. Pretty good day, she thought, easing back onto the bed and munching on a cookie.

How different her life had become. She’d once lived in an abandoned factory with a ragtag family who had all since perished. She had survived the great riots a couple years ago and made friends with a famous boxer. She had been a college student, if only for a brief moment.

And once upon a time, she had been in love.

Chapter 3

MICAH TWIRLED A COIN around and through each finger as he reclined on soft leather. Another high-rise