The Eighth

By Rebecca F. Winner

Seven. The Wonders of the World have long been based around this number. Shrouded in mystery and hidden from the world, anything more has been deemed a mere myth.

When M.C. agreed to accompany her friends in search of an Eighth such Wonder, she never believed it might actually exist. After having just graduated from one of New York City’s most prestigious prep schools, she had been looking for a fun adventure with her best friends before moving on to college and apart from each other. However, despite her expectations, she finds herself on a journey across the continents, full of adventure, mystery, and magic. From the moment their plane mysteriously lands in the wrong country entirely, they knew this was no ordinary trip. Instead, they find themselves on a journey of discovery - not only about the mythical Eighth Wonder and all it entails, but about themselves and each other as well. Nonetheless, there are forces that seem to be working against them, creating obstacles every step of the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483439235

Book preview

Yeats

Prologue

All I hear is the sound of my footsteps echoing as they fade into the distance. I have no idea where I am. Am I underground? It seems so. There’s only darkness, and all I can feel is the dampness around me. I must be in a tunnel. I can’t tell where it may be or where it leads, but I end up in this same place every time. Why do I keep ending up here? You would think I would know where to go by now.

The tunnel seems to go on forever. Farther into its depths, it becomes illuminated in a curious yet beautiful golden light dancing across the walls and down the long passageway as always. Out of curiosity and determination, I look for the source. About halfway down the tunnel, the light suddenly comes from every direction as if I were standing in the place from which it emanates. I am suddenly surrounded and swathed by it as if it’s a warm caftan encircling my body.

Confused, I stop, looking for a crack in one of the walls or ceiling. But as soon as I think I see the source of the light, as soon as I’m about to figure it out, the light goes out and the cavern sinks into darkness. Through the darkness, a booming voice surrounds the space around me, amplified, as if coming right through the stone walls. I can feel the hairs on my arms stand up as the voice feels like it surrounds me, and I feel a sense of familiarity as everything around me goes black.

Chapter 1

The beat vibrated through her body as the music surrounded her and her friends. The DJ had been amazing, playing nonstop world music loud and laced with the current of a deep bass. M.C. had never felt so alive as she danced the night away bathed in the sweeping lights of the dance floor. She was with her best friends in the world, who had the uncanny ability to make anything and anywhere fun.

That night was no exception.

She took in the crowd, entranced by the chaos surrounding her. The dance floor was packed, and the music was deafening. She had been approached several times by guys there, but she just wanted to let loose with her friends rather than dancing it up with random strangers.

She spied her best friend, Walker, twirling a giggling Cali around in circles as Sawyer, Brie, and Lauren were having their own private eighties dance-off complete with full-on renditions of the running man and the sprinkler. They were enjoying the moment as they drunkenly goofed off on the dance floor.

M.C. stumbled slightly as a cocktail waitress slid by her and narrowly missed catching her hair on fire with the sparkler that shot out from a bottle of champagne headed toward a VIP table across the way. She had always loved ordering those sparkling bottles though she had to admit she didn’t want to get singed by one. The rush of adrenaline from the near miss with the sparkler made M.C. realize how exhausted she felt. It had been a long night with a lot of drinks. Forget that, she thought. It’s been a long week.

She nudged Walker and tapped her temple. It was the signal they used when they were ready to go. He saw the signal and exhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping. He was relieved she was ready to go. He too was exhausted but hadn’t wanted to be the first to make a move toward the door. He waved good-bye to his other four friends, letting them know he and M.C. were heading out. They smiled and waved, not breaking stride or missing a beat.

It was already one thirty in the morning, but M.C. knew the four of them would likely be partying for several more hours, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t ashamed. They always out partied her, but she took no issue with that. While she loved going out on the town and partying into the wee hours, she much preferred nights in with her friends, having some drinks and playing games or watching movies. Though they teased her for it, they all loved her for it just as much. She added some much-needed balance to the group.

Fifteen short minutes later, she was waving good-bye to Walker as he drove off into the night in the back of a town car. She stumbled off the private elevator into her foyer and clumsily made her way to her room. Kicking off her shoes and throwing her clutch onto a nearby chair, she collapsed into her soft bed and was asleep before the elevator doors had even dinged closed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

M.C. awoke in a damp near-panic, realizing she had sweat all the way through her 1500-thread Egyptian cotton sheets. She felt as if she were coming off a champagne-induced buzz from the surreal dream she had been having mere moments ago, and she tried to shake the bubbles from her brain.

Still in her clothes from the night before, M.C. lay sprawled across her California king-size bed, swallowed up in her favorite white comforter like a cloud surrounding her tall but delicate figure. Bright streams of late-morning sunlight streamed in through the curtains and across her face. As she came to, she caught a glimpse of the clock near her flat-screen TV mounted in the white, wooden built-in of her ornate yet chic junior suite of the penthouse she shared with her parents. Oh crap! she let slip underneath her breath as she realized how quickly she would have to hop in the shower and get ready before her friends got there for their usual Saturday brunch.

Frustrated at having come so close to finally discovering what lay at the end of the ever-persistent tunnel that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember and slightly embarrassed at having been so affected by it that time that she had nearly ruined her sheets, she rolled out of bed and headed to the shower.

The water from her fancy rainfall shower felt amazing as it slid down and across her body. She remembered how she had begged her parents for this particular shower, claiming she had to have it as it was all the rage among her friends at her wealthy prep school. She closed her eyes and imagined standing beneath an exotic waterfall. She opened her mouth and let the water pool until her mouth was full; she gulped it down.

Once the bathroom had become steamy, she shut off the spout and wrapped her oversized bath towel around her. She loved the feeling of a nice, fresh towel swaddled around her after a hot shower. She guided herself through the steam with one arm cautiously outstretched.

The previous night had been a late one for her, despite her having been the first to leave. It had been several hours of sweaty bodies moving to the beat at Jet Set, an upscale club she and her friends frequented even though they were underage and well known on the scene for that fact. M.C. hung out with fast and well-known friends, standard behavior for any child of the super-rich in New York City.

Though often surrounded by such a group, she had known Walker practically since they had been born. While she seemed to be able to talk to anyone without falter, she actually preferred the company of her closest friends; she didn’t have to project any image around them. And Walker was her closest friend. She was somewhat shy despite appearances, and because of that, she often sought out Walker’s company. With Walker, she could truly be herself. Not that she ever tried to hide who she was, but still, it was nice to not have to worry about it.

Walker also managed to consistently project a relaxed, cool demeanor, which made him pleasant to be around. He particularly shined around M.C., though, for she brought out the life and depth in Walker as only one who’s known someone forever can do.

M.C. seemed to have an amazing aura of self-confidence without being vain or cocky that was unparalleled for her age. As M.C. got older, it had become clearer to those around her she was not like every other teenage girl. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what made her special, but there was definitely something. While she was just like every other teenager she knew, whose lives revolved around friends, school, and normal teenage dramas, M.C. always felt a little different deep down, and excitement seemed to follow her wherever she went. Don’t all teenagers think they’re different, though, or special in some way? she often wondered when trying to feel more normal.

Just as M.C. was finishing blow-drying her silky, long, blond hair, she heard the ding of the elevator in the foyer. Like a pro who’s had to do a touch-up just before show time, she quickly applied a minimal amount of makeup before they came in, just enough to make her look like she had been born with her perfect, porcelain skin. She included a quick swipe of blush to each cheek and a touch of mascara to accentuate her crystal-clear turquoise eyes, which looked like the water in the Caribbean. She instantly looked effortlessly perfect and beautiful as always.

She ran into the hall to see her friends stumbling in and joking with each other about the ungodly hour of 11:00 a.m. and how they needed mimosas and croissants stat.

No, no! Seriously, guys, Cali said in an unhappy tone, I can’t believe I’m even standing here right now. I must be dreaming or sleepwalking or something. I didn’t hit my bed until— Cali glanced at the men’s Rolex she always wore —oh my God, about three hours ago. Her voice went up in pitch and faintness as she verbalized this realization. I need to lie down.

Everyone laughed. Somebody get Miss Cali a toadstool to lie on. She might fall down the rabbit hole if she doesn’t get some rest quickly. Sawyer, a tousled blond, surfer-looking boy mocked her with his imitation of a frenzied butler.

Come on, everyone. I know it’s early, kind of, but what better reason to wake up than for mimosas, croissants, and whatever else your hung over hearts desire? M.C. said in a sweet-as-pie tone, blinking her impossibly long eyelashes at the group.

Well, you got something right. Where’s that wonderful spread you speak so highly of anyway? Lauren asked.

Lauren was one of the more practical of the group. She was moderately tall and athletically thin, with long, sleek, chestnut hair that cascaded down and across her elegantly tanned back. She had beautiful olive skin and striking green eyes. M.C. had brought her into the circle of friends when they first started prep school, which accepted only the brightest and the richest. Lauren fell on the side of the brightest; that was not to say her family had little money, but money was not what had gotten Lauren to where she stood that day. Lauren’s intelligence was best seen through her quick-witted and sarcastic sense of humor, which they all loved and hated at the same time. She was the first to call someone out for something stupid or silly he or she had done, but she always did so in a way that the victim of her barbs could never get truly mad at her for long.

"The food and the mimosas she said with emphasis, which perked up the crowd, are right through here." She finished with a sweeping arm that gestured toward her suite. All eyes followed her arm’s direction, and soon, all the feet did too.

Everyone stumbled into M.C.’s luxurious suite of a room and plopped down throughout. M.C., Lauren, and Brie lay across the top of the comfy bed, and Sawyer and Cali took over the foot of the bed. Walker lounged nonchalantly on the cream-colored sofa chaise near the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of Central Park and the impressive New York skyline.

Brie was a petite, spunky blonde who was always happy, smiling, and irrepressibly optimistic. She was a little on the ditzy side, but everyone loved her for it. If anyone was having a bad day, Brie was the one who would cheer him or her up. M.C. had known Brie since about seventh grade, when Brie transferred into M.C.’s class from California. She was definitely more of a beach girl than a city girl, but she had adapted nicely, and she made the best of any situation.

M.C. pushed a small button at the edge of her bed stand. In about four seconds, a parade of three uniformly and classically dressed men and women stepped lively into the room, two with large, silver, covered trays of food and one with a doily-covered silver tray with a fresh pitcher of mimosas and champagne glasses on it. The two men with the food quickly set up two stands by the windows and put their trays on it, lifting the covers in unison. The woman with the mimosas circled the crowd, pouring the orange juice and champagne concoction into the glasses held by the willing hands of each teenager

M.C. attempted to pluck some ice cubes from the silver ice bucket to add to her mimosa since she always loved her refreshments to be refreshing, meaning ice-cold. Her hands were shaking, though, or buzzing, and every time she tried to pick up an ice cube, it melted, dripping right through her fingers. She pressed her hands to her forehead. Was she running a fever? She didn’t think her hands were hot enough to melt ice on contact; they felt fine to her. She wasn’t sure why her hands were buzzing. She shrugged it off and asked one of the men to add two ice cubes to her mimosa. That seemed to do the trick.

Weird, she thought, but she had already been distracted by watching her friends’ reactions to all the food and drinks before them. She patiently waited for the others to fill their plates with croissants, sausages, Belgian waffles, fruit, and eggs. When M.C. was sure everyone was settled, she told tell them, her closest friends, what had been on her mind.

I know this is going to sound sort of weird or boring, but I keep having the same dream over and over, and I had it again last night, M.C. said.

Yeah, yeah, Sawyer said. We all have dreams like that. Is this the one where you show up to school and suddenly realize you’re naked? But then you realize everyone secretly wants you and can’t keep their eyes off you because you’re so good looking? he asked with a smirk and a mock seriousness. I have that one all the time!

Oh shut up! said Lauren, laughing. She threw a pillow at him. You must have been looking in a mirror in your dream, because you’re the only one delusional enough to think all that about you! she said as she stuttered through her laughter.

"Yeah, that would happen only in your dreams, of course, Walker said to Sawyer with a smirk on his face. Anyway, let M.C. finish. he said, watching her as she looked deep in thought. Emmmm Ceeeeeee?" Walker said drawing her name out, tugging M.C. out of her concentrated state.

Oh yeah, nice try, Sawyer. M.C. commented belatedly.

So you’re still having those dreams? Walker asked, seeing that look on her face he had seen so many times before.

"Yeah. And I’m honestly not sure whether I’m starting to get more annoyed with them than intrigued by them. They’re driving me crazy. It’s like watching the same show on replay. Like that movie Groundhog Day, but my own version of it."

What’s it about? asked Sawyer, getting impatient.

Well, the version of the dream I had last night consisted of me walking down a long stone corridor that looked like an underground cavern or tunnel or something, she began. Becoming lost in her thoughts again, her eyes were somewhere off in the distance, as if she were watching the dream play out in front of her. After a moment, she continued to lay out the details of her dream like a screenplay, starting with the tunnel and the light and ending with the booming voice, all in vivid detail.

However, every time before I can make out what the voice is saying, I wake up, usually in a panic and covered in sweat, M.C. said in a hurry, a little embarrassed at the confession.

Everyone was staring at M.C. They were not so much transfixed by her story but by the effect M.C. had on people, especially when she had the focused look on her face. None of them seemed to take much interest in her dream; they seemed more engrossed in their food and drinks as they hungrily devoured mounds of food.

They still couldn’t help but pay attention to M.C., though, even if they didn’t find too much to gather from her story. From a distance, M.C. was a classic beauty. She had gorgeous blond hair, a well-toned and tan back, and piercing, turquoise eyes. The gangly and awkward young girl had developed into an elegantly tall young woman.

Just looking at her, many people wanted to hate her due to their secret insecurities and childhood notions of the pretty but mean girls, the standard clichés in teen movies. Once she opened her mouth, though, such jealous thoughts evaporated; no one could hate her a bit. She carried such a quiet confidence and a compassion for others that shone through her kind eyes, as her mother would say. She was also highly principled and moral for a girl her age, especially one in the high society in which she lived. She could unconsciously command the attention of everyone in a room without trying or wanting to. But it often seemed she was holding back just a little part of the story or joke for just her to enjoy. Her and Walker anyway.

Since they had grown up together from such a young age, they had developed the ability, an uncanny ability, to read each other’s minds. They always had a knack for being on the same page; it was a skill that had served them well over the years and had gotten them through many uncomfortable situations, what with all the parties and functions they had been dragged to over the years by their parents, who were insatiable in their desire for power, prestige, money, and status. Well, M.C.’s parents anyway. Walker’s parents were hardly ever around. Or even in the country for that matter. But that fact just brought her and Walker even closer, since he always had time to hang out due to the lack of family commitments. She guessed that their ability to be in sync with each other was what came from being around each other so much growing up and having such a close friendship.

Being around grown-ups who didn’t care about much other than status and money had been a draining and a difficult challenge for them as children, but they had managed, and they had done so together. They had developed a strong friendship, a firm bond, and in time, a craft at inventing ways of navigating through their upbringings. They had managed to come out on the other side more balanced and well-rounded than their parents had ever hoped for or even taken credit for. As a result, M.C. and Walker were who everyone in their school and even on the whole Upper East Side wished they could be more like. That was never their intention; it was just a by-product of who they were.

M.C.’s parents fit the definition of parents in every sense of the word, but they were not her biological parents. Her mom, Irena Van Buren, a jet-setter and popular member of the high society in her day, had taken M.C. in as a young child. M.C.’s mother, Irena’s best friend, Aleksandra, had been too careless and free spirited to settle down with the responsibility of a baby at the time. M.C.’s mom never spoke much about Aleksandra, and when she did, it was with an ambiguity and a dreamy tone of distant days that seemed meant more for storybooks and bedtime stories than anything else. M.C.’s dad, Robert Van Buren, had been Irena’s husband of only two years at the time M.C. had arrived, and he was excited at the prospect of starting a family. Even then, you could see the twinkle in M.C.’s eyes and could easily fall prey to the lilting giggle she possessed. M.C. won Robert over at first smile.

Well, began Sawyer in a dramatic tone, I have something to discuss with the group that will top M.C.’s bizarre recurring dreams of tunnels and light. A few seconds passed in silence. Lauren finally spoke up. Okaaaaaaay, so what is it? Go on! I’d like to hear what you possibly could have to say that would be worth even the tinsiest bit of significance, Lauren said, chuckling under her breath between words.

"Well, I will tell you, and you will be interested! Sawyer said in a commanding tone as he stifled a laugh. No, really though … I mean, it actually is interesting. At least to me. Did anyone see the special late last night on the History Channel?"

You serious? We were out until like three this morning! When did you find time to watch a special on the History Channel? M.C. asked in amazement.

You know I’m a night owl. Plus, I was still so pumped from the crazy night out that when I got home I made myself an awesome grilled cheese on our new panini press, which does amazing things with sandwiches, by the way. He shrugged his eyebrows at them suggestively. And then I plopped in front of the TV in the media room and just got so into this special that I ended up staying up to watch it till like six. Which, by the way … you’re all welcome.

We’re welcome for what? Walker asked.

You’re welcome I’m even gracing you with my presence right now, seeing as I got only a few hours’ sleep before coming over here, he said indignantly.

Oh, well, in that case, thank you, your highness, said Cali. We couldn’t have made it without you, she teased.

Everyone but Sawyer laughed. He took the moment to sink his teeth into a large croissant and take a swig of mimosa. They could see by his expression that he was thinking about how the croissant and mimosa were the reasons he had gotten out of bed after so few hours of sleep. He looked as if he was feeling a little better with every second, though, despite his friends laughing at him, not with him.

So if you’ve all got your ‘let’s pick on the blond surfer kid’ jokes out of the way, I think you all might actually find this somewhat interesting.

Alright, tell us, M.C. said softly. That silenced the group. All eyes turned to Sawyer.

Thank you, M.C., Sawyer said. So anyway, as I was channel surfing between bites of my scrumptious grilled cheese, I stopped on the History Channel. You all know how I have a slight fixation on mythology, lost worlds, anything of that nature. Well, this episode happened to be about the Seven Wonders of the World, which I think are up there on the list of some of the coolest things in the world everybody’s got to see.

Sawyer had always had a love for things of that nature. His father, Dr. Charlie Cane, was a professor at New York University. Until Sawyer was about nine, his father was a renowned archeologist who traveled the world on long sabbaticals, often leaving Sawyer and his mom in New York. Sawyer always hated when his dad would leave on his long trips, but he always dreamed up Indiana Jonesesque stories of what he thought his dad was probably doing. He could never wait for his dad to get back to see what he had brought for him and to hear his awesome stories of lost civilizations, artifacts, and the stories of the lives behind the people who once lived in or helped build the places his father sought out and discovered. His stories were fascinating, and his dad was a great storyteller.

Those times were the best when his dad had just come home and would spend hours playing with Sawyer in these part-real, part-imaginary worlds they created together to play off of the real trips Sawyer was left behind on. He missed those days. Though he still respected and admired his dad as a professor and of course loved that his dad was at home in the city most of the time, he missed the days of the new adventures and especially the time he spent with his dad when he would come home.

Though his dad was in town much more now, he managed to somehow not be as present in his life as he had once been, despite the earlier absences. At least he had an excuse then. At that time, however, he seemed always too busy with his classes and students and the lectures he gave at conventions and other schools around the city and country.

His students, above all, were the most irritating draw for his dad’s attention. For some unexplained reason, he seemed to have the need to fascinate his students rather than Sawyer with his stories even though Sawyer was at home and was his dad’s greatest admirer. Sawyer was jealous of his dad’s students; they seemed to get to spend so much more time with his dad than he did, and his dad seemed to crave their attention and admiration more than Sawyer’s. It just wasn’t fair how they seemed to be taking his place in his dad’s life.

So, Sawyer continued, as you all know, or should know anyway, seeing as we learned all this in history class last year— Sawyer rolled his eyes as he saw everyone’s guilty, uncomprehending faces that reminded him that none of them paid attention in history like he did —there are several lists that have been printed as to what constitutes the Seven Wonders of the World. There is everything from the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World to the Seven Underwater Wonders of the World. While only one Ancient Wonder is left, the Great Pyramid of Giza, the debate continues as to what should be included on the official version of the Wonders of the World list. Several publications have dubbed their own lists ‘the’ list and designated what they think ought to be included on that list. But there is a general consensus as to what are the most recognized Wonders and an agreement that there are seven.

Sawyer paused for a second to take a breath and sip his mimosa before he continued. The seven are Stonehenge in England; the Colosseum in Rome, the catacombs of Kom el Shoqafa in Egypt; the Great Wall of China; the Porcelain Tower, or Porcelain Pagoda, of Nanjing in China; Hagia Sofia in Istanbul; and the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

You going somewhere with this? Walker asked, breaking into Sawyer’s concentration. Or did you just feel like giving us a history lesson?

Of course I have a point! Drink your mimosa and simmer down, Sawyer teased. There has apparently long been a tale, or myth as some refer to it, that the Seven Wonders aren’t really seven, Sawyer said breathlessly.

I don’t get it. What’s that mean? Brie asked the question crossing everyone’s mind.

"I mean, there are only seven everyone knows about. There have