Awaken From Death: Born From Death, #2

By MS Kaye

Will they discover the truth of their ancient connection before it destroys them both?

Ilona continues to struggle with loss, as well as trying to find where she fits in with other people, if she ever really will. She starts taking dangerous risks.

Archer is desperate to protect Illona and discovers more about himself in the progress. When Ilona is in danger of being mauled by a dog, he desperately tries something that shouldn’t be possible. And yet he succeeds.

This is just the beginning of his discovery of who—what—he truly is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781939590893

Book preview

Awaken From Death

Book 2 of the Born from Death Series

M.S. Kaye

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Awaken From Death

Copyright © 2016 MS Kaye

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-939590-89-3

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Rie Langdon

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Chapter One

The wind whipped, but it didn’t pull at Lettie’s hair or even touch her skin. Around the bridge swirled blackness. Only Lettie knew the way back across to the living world. Not even Tory, the keeper of the gates, could come this way.

Then someone appeared in her path, and Lettie froze.

I hear you call yourself Lettie now, said a strong male voice. He was several feet away, features lost in the blackness.

Who are you?

You know what I am.

Lettie’s hands shook. No one could appear on the bridge like this. It had to be traversed by foot. Unless...

You’re a Messenger, she said.

A long pause.

You may keep your chosen name, he said.

Lettie forced her voice to be strong. Thank you.

It may not be appropriate, but it has been deemed to be an unharmful desire.

She nodded.

There are stipulations.

Of course there were. She waited.

Have you not yet seen that your interference is dangerous? he asked.

She said nothing.

Patience has been given, more freely than I think it ought to have been. But patience is running thin.

She stood still, back straight, and continued to face the Messenger.

His voice boomed. Do you not have anything to say? No apology?

I only did what I thought was right.

His voice echoed through the blackness, stabbed through Lettie’s ears. Yours isn’t to decide right and wrong.

I know it was right, all of it.

He roared.

Lettie covered her ears.

Then he was closer. He ripped her hands from her ears.

She stared up at his hooded figure. She’d never seen the face of a Messenger before. She’d expected something grotesque, like the pictures humans made of demons. His lips were thin and eyes black, no whites. Long lashes surrounded his eyes, and the shape of his face, especially the jaw, reminded her of someone else—someone who was just as beautiful, just as terrifying. And just as good. She knew the Messengers were on the side of good, but sometimes it was hard to remember.

He held her hands away from her ears. Her fingers went numb. You will heed the warning I bring.

He threw her hands away from him like a gardener tossing weeds. Then he rose off the bridge. The blackness surrounded and then devoured him.

~* * *~

Mrs. Estes said her mom’s death is her fault, Agatha said.

Why? Chloe asked.

Agatha whispered, Because she ran away. Her mom went out to look for her at night and got stabbed.

Little Chloe gasped and held her hand to her mouth.

Ilona walked past the open bedroom door that the two girls shared, and they both stared after her.

Ilona had been at Mrs. Estes’ foster home for almost two weeks. She’d always been stared at—it was nothing new to be thought strange. But being accused of causing her mother’s death was very new. She’d seen it in people’s eyes since the night her mother’s body had been found in the street, but it hadn’t been vocalized until today.

Her expression flat, Ilona continued down the stairs. Her expression always felt flat now. Everything did.

She walked into the tiny kitchen, across the linoleum floor with a worn daisy pattern. The room smelled like bleach, as always. Mrs. Estes stood at the stove, a skillet of eggs on one of the two working burners, a pot of oatmeal on the other.

Ilona picked up the spatula and flipped the eggs. They splattered in their grease.

Mrs. Estes stirred the oatmeal. She looked up at the rumbling of small feet rushing down the stairs and sighed. How many times do I have to tell them to be quiet?

Ilona knew she wasn’t talking to her, so she didn’t answer and just continued flipping the eggs.

Agatha and Chloe appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later. Their rumbling footsteps stopped.

Ilona felt them staring at her again. She took the eggs off the burner and divided them evenly onto four plates. She set three of the plates on the table in front of the three chairs. Then she took a fork from the drawer and leaned against the counter to eat her portion of the eggs. She didn’t like oatmeal, so she always just had the eggs.

The girls squeezed around the other side of the table to their seats.

Mrs. Estes served the oatmeal to the girls and herself and then sat to have her breakfast.

Ilona finished her eggs, washed her plate and fork, and set them in the dish rack. I’m going to school.

Between bites, Mrs. Estes said, Come straight home after your psychiatrist appointment tonight.

Ilona nodded, then walked out of the kitchen. She put on her coat, a white hoodie. Mrs. Estes had sold the cashmere one Archer’s friends had given her.

She pushed that flicker of a thought about Archer out of her mind as she walked out into the cold, and then down the street past all the tiny row houses.

As she walked up to the school, she lifted her chin and focused forward, away from her classmates and teachers. She was tired of the stares and whispers, and she had several months left before she graduated, before she turned eighteen and could escape. Although she had no idea what she was going to do once that happened.

There you are, you little bitch.

Ilona whipped around. A group of girls a few feet away were looking at her and giggling. She was sure they didn’t see the woman standing in front of her, the woman in a blue flapper dress and a slit across her throat.

~* * *~

Dorothy continued to wander. She’d been stuck in that prison for so long, she didn’t know the area anymore. She had to learn streets and houses before she could travel by making jumps. But she did know where the prison was now—which meant Soll could not imprison her again.

She smiled and lifted her chin as she walked.

Then her feet paused. What if he had other prisons—was that possible? And surely those whom he hadn’t imprisoned were aligned with him, perhaps even followed and obeyed him.

Of course, she had plans, not so different from her plans in life—gain the adoration, and therefore control over, powerful people. Most likely men. Women admired her, but men adored her.

She flipped her long curls off her bare shoulder and continued walking.

She knew which man she would befriend. Now she just had to find him, the one man she knew to be as strong as Soll, the man who took Soll’s hand.

~* * *~

Ilona spoke under her breath, keenly aware of the teenagers around her. What’re you doing here?

Anne smiled. Did you really think I was going to let you get away with it?

Get away with what?

What you did to Soll.

Ilona’s expression remained flat as she met Anne’s eyes. He chose to leave.

The group of girls giggled again.

Anne yelled in Ilona’s face. You made him leave, you lying little bitch.

"No one can make a spirit move on. They have to choose it."

Hey, spazzo, one of the girls called. Who’re you talking to?

Ilona sighed and walked away.

Anne reappeared in Ilona’s path. You’re not going anywhere.

Without pausing, Ilona continued forward, through Anne. She felt the oddest sensation for a second but kept going.

Anne screamed after her. This isn’t over. You’ll flit to this side eventually—and I’ll be waiting for you.

Ilona continued into the school—though today she wasn’t going to stay, wasn’t going to listen to the teachers drone on about subjects she knew better than they did. She’d already gotten in trouble for telling a teacher he was wrong. She’d learned now it was easier if she just shut up and let them feel like they had authority over her.

Just outside the restrooms, she stopped. She held her stomach then pressed a hand to her mouth. She arched forward.

Everyone near her moved back. She’s gonna hurl.

She ran into the girls’ restroom and into a stall, past a few girls standing at the mirror applying their fourth coat of makeup. She squatted in front of the toilet while taking her bottle of water from her bag. As she unscrewed the bottle cap, she made gagging sounds.

The girls at the mirror stopped their chattering.

Ilona made another gagging sound and dumped some of the water into the toilet.

Eww, one of the girls whined. Then she heard their hurried footsteps and the sound of the door closing. Good. Now they’d go tell a teacher she was in here being sick. The teachers never came into the restrooms with the students. They’d call for her from the doorway and hopefully just assume she was too sick to respond.

Ilona stood, put the cap back on her water, tucked it in her bag and then hung the bag off the back of the door. Stall door still locked, she flitted to the spirit side and disappeared. The police didn’t seem to be doing shit to catch her mother’s killer. She was done being patient.

~* * *~

Archer stood at the window, one of the many that overlooked the school’s parking lot. Ilona walked through the lot while ignoring all the people around her. Everyone. He’d seen her speak to maybe a couple people since that night, his one night with her.

But other than not talking much, she seemed fine—went to school every day and never cried, never even seemed upset, just kind of blank.

Then Ilona stopped walking and turned around.

That bitch with the slit throat had appeared in the middle of the parking lot. She yelled in Ilona’s face.

His image flickered as he fought to stay put, not to make the jump outside to beat the hell out of the damn flapper. Maybe he’d finish what someone else had started and lop off her head. His knife in his back pocket seemed to vibrate, call out to him.

Then he turned away. Ilona didn’t need him to do shit for her.

He walked through the halls. He thought maybe one of the girls glanced at him. He kept walking. If she did have the gift to see him in his natural state, she’d just write him off as another student.

He stepped through a wall to the outside and started down the street—to see if Will was going to deign to attend school today. Funny that neither he nor Ilona had yet realized they now attended the same school, not that Will showed up much.

Hi there.

He looked over at a woman, another spirit, in a pale blue silk dress, fitted perfectly at the top. It’d been awhile since he’d seen cleavage that nice.

Then he focused on her face—the rosebud lips and high arched eyebrows. He’d seen her before, the woman from Soll’s prison.

I hear you’re the one I’m looking for, she said. Archer Lane.

Chapter Two

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Ilona appeared in a narrow alley. A cat sitting on a crate hissed and swatted through her.

Yeah? Ilona said to the cat. Too bad. She walked toward the mouth of the alley, and her skin tingled as she shifted back to the living side. Only a few steps and she was at the spot where her mother had died.

She didn’t linger or even think about that night. She never did. Nor had she cried since.

She kept walking.

Across the street, a familiar-looking teenage guy was hanging out with a few others. She was pretty sure he went to the same high school she was now attending—but he was definitely not the type to snitch on her for cutting class, especially since he was obviously cutting, too. Not that he would likely even recognize her.

She kept walking until she came across someone she thought might be helpful—a homeless woman who’d wedged herself into the nook next to steps leading to a building. Newspapers and plastic bags surrounded her, as if furs and silk pillows.

Do you stay here often? Ilona asked.

The woman continued picking at something on her scarf.

Ilona focused on making her voice sweet, like it used to be. Excuse me.

Head still turned toward the scarf, the woman looked up with just her eyes. She said nothing, but Ilona got the get the hell away from me message very clearly.

I wonder if you were here on a night about two weeks ago, Ilona asked. The night a woman was stabbed and killed.

The woman lifted her head, and her gaze bored into Ilona.

Ilona met her eyes. She knew she couldn’t make her expression gentle like it used to be, but she kept it non-aggressive.

What’s it to you, birdie? the woman asked.

The woman’s accent threw Ilona off. She hadn’t heard a British accent since...the night she didn’t let herself think about. I just wanted to know if anyone saw anything. I don’t think the police are working very hard to find the killer. She knew it was a member of Nex who’d killed her mother, but she didn’t know which one.

You’re not bloody likely to find help around here. She went back to picking at her scarf.

Ilona’s initial reaction was to say eff off and walk away, but she forced her voice to be as nice as possible. I really need to figure out who did it. The woman who died...she was my mother.

The woman looked up with an expression of sympathy, but then that slipped off her face, as if to land on her dirty scarf. "Well then, what’s a delicate flower like you doing ’round here?"

Ilona dropped her attempt at nice and walked away. As if I’m some damn pixie. She walked a few more steps then glanced back at the sound of a dog, a big dog. A small man, mid-thirties or so, was walking a beast that weighed as much as he did. The chain leash rattled as the dog barked, a booming sound like bass drums.

Excuse me, she said as she walked toward him.

He looked up. Yeah?

Do you live around here?

He hesitated and glanced around, making sure she was talking to him. Yeah. The dog yanked on its chain, and the man’s thick glasses slid down his nose.

Two weeks ago, she said, there was a murder. I’m trying to find someone who saw something.

Police already asked me.

She let out a defeated breath. Thanks. She started to turn but then looked back at him. Have you heard anything about that gang Phasmatis Nex?

He raised his eyebrows. I try not to. His gaze flickered away and then back, and something told her to lock on to eye contact.

A few seconds passed.

It’s nothing, he said.

Maybe. She kept eye contact, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Well, he said. "My apartment’s in the basement level, and a few nights back, I heard some guys talking as they walked by.

About?

Something about Mar having nice aim.

She cocked her head. Marwell Hall?

He shrugged. Only one I could think of who might go by Mar. But then, it could be anyone—lots of people in Brooklyn. His dog jerked forward again. "Bruno, stay."

Thanks, Ilona said. I really appreciate your— The dog pulled more on its chain, and she stepped back.

The man held the leash with both hands and stumbled forward a step.

The dog bared its teeth, and saliva spewed as it barked furiously. Ilona knew better than to run, but the dog obviously didn’t like her and she wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t very well make a jump and disappear in front of the man, the homeless woman, and the guys across the street.

The dog lurched forward, pulling the man off balance. The dog reared up on its hind legs and—

Someone ran in front of her, and the dog yelped. The boy she recognized from school had punched the dog in the snout, and now it cowered on the ground.

The man regained his balance and tightened his grip on the chain. "Bruno, bad dog. Bad dog. He looked at Ilona. You all right?"

Yeah. Then, to the guy standing in front of the dog, she said, Thanks. I’ve never seen someone punch a dog before.

He just nodded, while looking at her, almost like he was expecting more reaction.

Don’t you go to my school? she asked.

He lifted his hand to run his fingers through his hair, but then he stopped, as if he’d forgotten his blond hair was locked into spikes with some kind of product. Finally, he said, You’re welcome, and then walked away, not toward his friends.

Ilona watched him walk away, half expecting to see someone else.

~*