The Secret Heeder

By Fleur Camacho

*** This ebook will be on sale for a special price as a preorder and for the first week of it's release ***

I crouched in the tree, breathing heavily and watching the man below me.
“Tristen,” he sang. “I know you’re here somewhere. It won’t take me long to find you.” He climbed around some large rocks, looking in crevices like I’d managed to shrink myself.
“I don’t know why you bother running,” he said. “Don’t you know that we’ll kill you eventually?”
I breathed in sharply.
Then he was below my tree and he looked up, straight into my eyes. I felt my hold on the branch slip and I gripped it tighter, clinging onto it for my dear life.
“Do you know why I’m going to kill you, Tristen?” I shook my head. “Not because it’s my task or because they want me to kill you. No, I want to kill you, boy. And you know why?”
I could only stare at him as he taunted me; I was frozen in fear.
“I’m going to kill you because your dad is the reason I’m an orphan.”

Now that Tristen knows he’s the Last Seeker, his mission is clear: to stop the Tingui from killing important people in the past. However, everything else in his life isn’t so straightforward. His best friend is suddenly acting mysterious and winning his true love’s heart isn’t easy. When Tristen begins having strange dreams again, an old enemy arises to threaten Tristen.
Then Tristen and his friends travel to Nineteenth Century Maryland and they’re horrified to find that they’ve appeared in the middle a great race war. There, Tristen is thrust into a world of spies and intrigue to find the Tingui. Everyone is a suspect and trusting the wrong person could kill one of the greatest Presidents that’s ever lived. Tristen must discover the Tingui’s plans in a world where one wrong move could get them all killed.
Why does Tristen feel like his best friend is keeping secrets?
How will Tristen figure out who to trust?
And ultimately, will he be able to save Abraham Lincoln from dying before the Civil War?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fleur Camacho
• Release date: Sep 10, 2015

Fleur Camacho

Fleur Camacho is author of the TRISTEN books: a young adult paranormal series. She loves to be silly, travel, hike, read, paint, be healthy and read boring economic reports. She is happily married and has two beautiful children. (Really. They should be models.) She is passionate about following your dreams, even if you only have 10 minutes a day to work towards it, and practices positive inevitability. You can learn more about her on her website at FleurCamacho.com. The TRISTEN fantasy book series began as a conversation with her husband, after watching the tv show Heroes. They talked about what ability they would pick if they could have any magic power. Since she loves to experience different cultures, she decided that she would love to have the power to magically travel around the world and through time. Her husband liked this idea and told her that she should write a book about it. She wrote one page and then forgot about it. One day, her husband read the page and encouraged her to keep writing. She picked it up on and off until one day she finally decided to get serious and finish her book already! She hopes to complete at least five books in the paranormal TRISTEN series and already has the beginnings of the next young adult series bouncing around her brain.

Book preview

I crouched in the tree, breathing heavily and watching the man below me.

"Tristen, he sang. I know you’re here somewhere. It won’t take me long to find you." He climbed around some large rocks, looking in crevices like I’d managed to shrink myself.

"I don’t know why you bother running, he said. Don’t you know that we’ll kill you eventually?"

I breathed in sharply.

Then he was below my tree and he looked up, straight into my eyes. I felt my hold on the branch slip and I gripped it tighter, clinging onto it for my dear life.

"Do you know why I’m going to kill you, Tristen? I shook my head. Not because it’s my task or because they want me to kill you. No, I want to kill you, boy. And you know why?"

I could only stare at him as he taunted me; I was frozen in fear.

"I’m going to kill you because your dad is the reason I’m an orphan."

Now that Tristen knows he’s the Last Seeker, his mission is clear: to stop the Tingui from killing important people in the past. However, everything else in his life isn’t so straightforward. His best friend is suddenly acting mysterious and winning his true love’s heart isn’t easy. When Tristen begins having strange dreams again, an old enemy arises to threaten Tristen.

Then Tristen and his friends travel to Nineteenth Century Maryland and they’re horrified to find that they’ve appeared in the middle a great race war. There, Tristen is thrust into a world of spies and intrigue to find the Tingui. Everyone is a suspect and trusting the wrong person could kill one of the greatest Presidents that’s ever lived. Tristen must discover the Tingui’s plans in a world where one wrong move could get them all killed.

Why does Tristen feel like his best friend is keeping secrets?

How will Tristen figure out who to trust?

And ultimately, will he be able to save Abraham Lincoln from dying before the Civil War?

Although this is a work of fiction, some of this book is based on history. I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my research. Nevertheless I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as events, conversations, physical properties, occupations and places of residence in order to fulfill my literary goals. Please understand that I am not a historian and, although I have tried to be as historically correct as possible (except for all the paranormal stuff), I’m sure I have made some mistakes. Any resemblance to actual living persons, names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are purely coincidental, the products of my imagination or have been changed to use in a fictitious manner.

Warning: this book might cause you to stay up too late to finish reading. If you are experiencing feelings of exhaustion, anxiety, loneliness or sleep depravation, please contact a good doctor. Book hangovers can be a serious issue if it happens repeatedly in short periods of time and if you are frequently having these symptoms, please seek help immediately.

The Secret Heeder

by Fleur Camacho

Copyright © 2015 Fleur Camacho

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Please do not reproduce, transmit, download, reverse engineer or anything else you wonderfully innovative people can think of to do so that you can give or receive any of my work for free. I intentionally keep my prices low so that all can be entertained.

It would really be appreciated.

This book is dedicated to the boy who is my inspiration for Tristen

Son, no matter how many words I will ever write

there will never be enough to tell you how much you mean to me.

And to my real life Pinky who, really, never sleeps

Except when reaching for toys under the couch.

I will always call you Dear Friend and Internet Husband

I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.

Abraham Lincoln

Prologue

The man fingered the red paper burrowed deep in his pocket.

Red. The color represented Blood. Death. Triumph. Pride.

All ideals worthy of the cause.

His fingers traced the creases of the paper, now permanently embedded into it over two days' worth of folding and unfolding it obsessively. He touched it constantly as a reminder to him: he was The Chosen One. The one destined for greatness, the Only one who drew the ballot.

His other coat pocket held a long, striking dagger. Even though it had never been used, he’d painstakingly sharpened the blade to make sure it wouldn’t fail him. It had been given to him by his Captain as a gift, in honor of his calling.

He thought he could hear the whistle of the train approaching and he stiffened to listen intently; it was early.

The man released his hold on the paper and grabbed his handkerchief.

It was just his imagination; he still had a few minutes.

He wiped at the sweat running down his forehead, then he reached for the stale whiskey on the table and swallowed it in one big gulp. He enjoyed the burn as it travelled down his throat. It made him feel alive. He closed his eyes and smiled, imagining the pride on the faces of his comrades once his mission was accomplished.

It was not luck that he had drawn the red ballot. With his last breath, his father told him that he was destined for greatness.

He deserved it.

Life owed him.

There was some doubt that he would survive this, but living was no longer important.

Because this day, he would become immortal.

He would be honored as a hero. His name would be written in history books and would be announced with pride for many years to come.

His immortality would be as glorious and noble as his cause.

The whistle of the approaching train interrupted his thoughts, causing a shadow of misgiving and a lurch in his stomach.

"Curse him, him and his ideals," he muttered as he chewed on his mustache; it was too long again.

The sound of the train releasing its final steam pounded in his ears and he knew that it was time. He stood up and felt a little bit of urine trickle down his leg.

"Curse it," he mumbled to himself. He wiped at it desperately and then, afraid that others were watching, he brushed at his well-worn coat and leveled his shiny Palmetto badge. Then he straightened his shoulders and held his head high. He had been promoted to a man of position, after all. Second in command, even.

"They should be afraid of me!" he declared as he walked proudly to the door of the train station and paused just outside it, waiting for his target to descend the train platform. There was no suspicious activity. Everyone seemed to be going about their normal business and that gave him courage.

No one knew.

He smirked. Everything was just as it should be.

Just then, a tall, lean and bearded man exited the train, with two others by his side. The man’s heart rate increased and his breath came in short bursts. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, the man stepped out into the street, honing in on his target.

That abominable man. He must die!

Reaching into his pocket for the blade, he began his advance. The man felt an immense surge of power and he could hear every breath, every foot-step he took toward his mark. With vigorous energy he ripped the blade out of his pocket.

"For my country!" he yelled as he charged.

The yard erupted with excited cries. People pushed to get out of his way and he could see the fear in his target’s face. Then a peculiar noise clamored for his attention: two shots. One from in front of him and the other from behind.

Searing pain tore through his chest and he collapsed onto the wooden floor. Feet stomped his arms and legs as the crowd surged away from the new threat, ignoring him lying on the street. He was no longer the greatest threat.

The man clutched his chest in confusion and felt the blood spurt from beneath his fingers.

His blood.

Thump thump thump, the blood spurted through his fingers in time with his heartbeat. He stared at it, unbelieving.

The man looked through the feet of the crowd and struggled to see the man he was destined to kill. He saw him lying in a pool of blood.

Their eyes connected.

This formed an instant bond, their fates sealed collectively, as they lay on the floor together, each watching the other die.

I wasn’t the Only one.

CHAPTER ONE

TODAY

I glanced at the page torn from the school directory; it was crumpled and had a ketchup stain. I shoved it back into my pocket and looked for Isolda’s apartment. My heart thumped in my chest and I struggled to calm my jitters.

I had no idea how Isolda was going to react to my just showing up here. I had barely spoken to her since the day we returned from France. In fact, I had barely spoken to anyone at all, since that day. Except for Ailey.

But it was time. Time to pull free of the shock of my dad’s coma and come alive to the world again.

What if I waited too long to go to see Isolda? What if she’s already moved on?

I found her number, #207, and took a deep breath before I knocked shyly on her door. Inside, a dog barked and several feet pounded toward the door. It jerked open; a young girl stood there, with an even younger girl looking eagerly under the first one’s arm. They both looked like younger versions of Isolda. I could see that their living room was decorated with bright and cheery colors.

Hi, the first one said brightly.

Who are you? the second one chimed.

Hi, I said. I’m Tristen. Is— I had no time to finish before the girls dissolved into giggles.

Isolda, the older one hollered. Trih-staan is here.

Your boyf—

A hand reached out, pushed both girls back and then slammed the door. Embarrassed, I took a step back and looked around.

Then the door opened abruptly and Isolda stood, alone, in the door way.

I grinned widely. The movement felt foreign to my mouth.

Hi! You’re here, she said.

Hey, I answered. I am.

And you’re smiling, she commented.

The slice of peace I felt came crashing down on me and the pain in my chest constricted. I hid my eyes to keep them from betraying the pain.

No, no, no. I didn’t mean that. I mean, I’m sorry. I'm happy to see you smile. It seems like it’s been so long. She paused, looking distressed. I mean, I know that you have every reason to be sad, with your dad and all. I just meant, I mean, I like to see that you are happy when you look at me. She paused again and the silence seemed to stretch on.

I tried to smile again but this time it was forced.

Oh, no, I’m sorry, I always mess things up. I’m sorry.

It’s okay, I said. Really, I’m happy to see you.

Are you sure? she asked. I mean, you didn’t really seem like it at school. Anymore.

I frowned. Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.

No, stop. No frowning. At least when it comes to me. Stop it.

I exaggerated the frown and she burst out laughing. You look like a clown, she cried.

Wait, what?

You know, like those clowns with the sad face painted on.

Oh, I replied, embarrassed.

You look great, she said. I looked up at her, suddenly serious, and caught her eyes. They were blue with a little bit of green around the center today. Her face grew somber and the air buzzed around us as we stared at each other.

I reached toward her and tugged on the belt loop on the side of her jeans. She instantly responded and stepped down from the doorway. We were only inches apart.

I’ve missed you, she whispered earnestly, staring deeply into my eyes.

I’m sorry, I replied.

I know. It’s okay, she said. I just… I just want to be here for you. I can be here for you. For whatever you need.

I closed my eyes and gathered her to me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and held me tightly. My pounding heart settled into a calm rhythm and my nerves stilled. Then, I leaned my head down on hers and sighed sadly.

Your dad’s going to be okay, you know, she said.

I stiffened. Is he? I gulped.

She pulled back to look up at me.

Yes, she said, with a determined look in her eyes. He will.

My throat tightened but I pushed down my sadness and pulled her back to me.

I hope so, was all I could say.

I squeezed her tight.

I couldn’t let her go.

Eventually giggles erupted behind her and I looked to see two faces peeking behind the door. Isolda turned around and sighed.

Alright girls, back to finishing your homework.

Aw, man. Do we have to? they complained.

Yes, you do. Now, go on. Isolda shooed them back and then shut the door behind them. Then she turned to look at me.

So, er, do you want to come in or...? She looked hesitant.

Doubt overcame me.

Oh, I uh… I tried to remember the reason I came over. Or, at least, the excuse I gave myself. I need to get a car and was hoping that you would come with me, I said. Unless, you don’t want to. Or, of course, if you’re busy, you don’t have to come.

Of course I want to come, Tristen. Really? You want me to help you pick out a car?

Yeah, is that okay?

Of course, it sounds like fun, she exclaimed.

I smiled, relieved.

When? she asked.

Um, right now? I replied.

Now?

Sure. Why not?

She perked up. Yeah, why not? She turned to open the door and leaned in. Jenessa! she yelled.

Yes? Jenessa squeaked out from behind the door.

Isolda rolled her eyes. I’m leaving for a little bit. You’re in charge.

Really? Where you going? She poked her head out.

Out. I’ll be back in time for dinner. She paused. On second thought, make macaroni and cheese if I’m late.

Are you going out with your boyf—

Isolda slammed the door abruptly and turned toward me. You ready to go? she asked.

I couldn’t help but grin and she grinned in response.

I think your sister was trying to tell you something, I said, teasing.

No she wasn’t. Let’s go. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stairs.

What was she about to say? I asked, feigning innocence.

Shut up, she said and I laughed.

Did you bring your mom’s car? she asked when we got to the parking lot.

Oh yeah… I pulled on my neck. Um, do you mind driving? My mom’s using her car.

Oh, okay sure. I need to go get my keys and purse. What should we do with your bike?

I could feel my face turning red. I… uh. I walked here.

What? she exclaimed. Why?

I don’t have a bike anymore.

Why?

I was quiet for a minute. I pictured Greg rolling over my front tire with his red Hummer but I didn’t want to admit what happened.

What happened to your bike? she persisted.

When I didn’t respond, she stood in front of me, with her hands on her hips, forcing me to look her into the eyes. Tristen, what happened to your bike? she asked, anger turning her eyes a steely blue.

I was just talking to Greg and he—

Ah! Seriously? she interrupted. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course he did something to your bike. That jerk. What a jerk! She paced back and forth and mumbled, When I see him again, I’m gonna… He can’t just do whatever he wants and get away with it.

I reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her pacing, and then pulled her to hug me, trying to still her.

How about we not say anything to him about this? I said. I could feel the anger radiating off her in waves. "The bike was old, and it’s just a bike. It didn’t mean anything to me. But you mean something to me. So, let’s just forget about it for now and not let it ruin our day."

She stilled. I mean something to you?

Of course you do.

She was silent.

And, it also gives me an excuse to buy a car.

Yeah, okay. You’re right, she mumbled.

What? I can’t hear you, I teased.

Ok! Fine, she said, louder.

I leaned back and tipped her chin up toward me and grinned. She attempted to smile but bit her lip instead. Strawberry lip gloss. I breathed her smell in deeply and brushed my lips against her forehead briefly. Then I laid my head on her head contentedly and nuzzled my chin against her hair.

She traced my arm for a while with the tips of her fingers.

This was exactly what I needed: to be near her.

Come on, she said begrudgingly. Let’s go get you a car.

I sighed heavily. Alright.

She laughed and then ran up the stairs for her keys.

What happened? Where’s your boyfriend? I heard Jenessa say before the door slammed and Isolda jogged back down the stairs.

Where are we going?

❦

You have got to be kidding me, Isolda exclaimed.

I blushed. She reached out and grabbed the check I was holding. It was made out to CASH and the amount line was blank. After reading it, she huffed and pushed it back into my hand.

Make me sick, she mumbled. The light turned green and she huffed again.

What? I asked.

Nothing, she said.

Tell me.

Nothing, nothing is wrong. She sighed and put on a perky face. Where are we going? The Mercedes dealership? Lexus? Lincoln?

I laughed. I’m not eighty years old.

Ha ha.

Actually, I had something else in mind. Turn right there. I pointed to the dealership at the end of the street.

Here? She looked doubtful as she pulled into the lot. She took in the peeling paint and the eager look on the face of the lonely salesman waiting in the parking lot. Are you sure?

Yep.

You can go pretty much anywhere and you want to go here?

Yep. Actually, I’ve already called ahead. I smiled and wiggled my eyebrows mischievously.

She sighed. Man, you are such a nerd.

I laughed. Yeah, yeah.

We walked toward the building on the lot and a guy with blond hair and a suit size too large walked toward us.

You guys need something? he asked.

Uh, yeah. We’re looking for Kele, I responded. The guy looked us over.

Are you waiting on your parents? he asked.

Nope, I responded. Just looking for Kele.

Disappointed, he turned around and yelled in the door of the building. A small mousy man with big glasses walked out. He wore a blue checkered shirt that was badly in need of an iron. Or at least a throw in the dryer.

Hi, Tristen? Kele reached out his hand toward me.

I nodded and shook his hand. Nice to meet you.

You too. I’m glad your lawyer called ahead, we’ve had to hold it for you. Come on back, they just finished getting it ready for you. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and walked back into the building.

He led us through the building and into the garage. There, still on the mechanic's lift, was a shiny blue 1968 convertible Ford Mustang.

I get it now, Isolda gushed. Tristen, I’ve never seen you smile so big.

I tried to push the corners of my mouth down, but couldn’t.

I spoke with Gary, Kele said. We’ve got everything from him that we needed and just need the check from you.

Gary? I asked.

Your lawyer?

Oh yeah, right. The lawyer whose office looked like a shrink’s office. The lawyer who I didn’t even know we had before my dad slipped into a coma and left all the responsibility of our estate on my shoulders. An estate that, again, I didn’t even know we had.

His first name is Gary? That sounds so… normal.

Now, the engine works perfectly but the aesthetics still need some work, Kele continued, so it’s not completely restored. That’s why you’re getting it for such a good price.

I nodded and waited for him to lower it off the ramp. There were some scratches in the paint that still showed through the shiny wax, but they could probably be easily buffed out. I looked inside. The car smelled stuffy. There were rips in the vinyl and there was no radio. It still needed floor mats.

It was perfect.

I looked at Isolda, who had stuck her head through the passenger window. I like it, she said.

Kele pushed a mound of paperwork and empty snack-sized chip bags to the side of the desk and pulled out the bill of sale. After signing it, Kele stood up. There’s one more thing we need to take care of.

Really? I asked.

Yes. Follow me, please. He got up and walked toward the garage again.

Isolda looked at me questioningly. I shrugged and we began to trail behind him. All I could think about was getting my hands on the steering wheel of my new car. When we reached the garage, he was standing by a motorcycle. He reached out and handed me a key.

What’s this? I asked.

A 2006 Suzuki Boulevard. I hope this one is okay? I was able to find one faster than expected.

It’s nice, but why are you showing it to me? I asked.

He frowned. It’s yours.

What? I only got the Mustang.

Gary told me to find one for you. You didn’t know about it? He said it’s the same one your dad had when he met your mom. Except a newer model, of course. Gary’s arranged for someone to take it to your house.

What?

He didn’t tell you? He said that your dad was looking for one for you. I thought you knew.

My stomach felt empty and my hands shook as the impact of his words hit me. I… I didn’t know what to say.

No wonder my dad insisted I get my motorcycle license.

Isolda squeezed my hand. It’s so beautiful. I love it. Your dad’s so awesome, she said.

I nodded. He is.

Is it okay? I assure you it’s in great condition and runs smoothly, Kele said. I looked it over.

I like it, I responded.

He smiled. Great. Unless you want to drive this home, someone will come by to take it home. A second key comes with it.

What about the price? Has it been paid for?

Gary paid for it. He said it was a gift from him.

Wow, mouthed Isolda. She looked over the bike. I need to meet this Gary guy. Is he single?

Uh, no. Definitely not. At least, I’m certainly not going to find out for you.

He sounds like a catch, she said and grinned. I rolled my eyes and we began walking toward her car. My stomach turned with excitement and my fingers itched to get my hands on the Mustang steering wheel. When we got to her car, I turned to