Shifted

By Kristalyn A. Vetovich

Ending the world just got complicated. 

Anaya, a spirit guide, has been tasked with guiding her charge, Kade, to save the Chosen One. There's only one issue: Kade can't hear Anaya's guidance. If she doesn't get through to Kade before her rival, Jordin, tempts him away from his life Plan, the world will end in a way it was

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637527955

Kristalyn A. Vetovich

KristaLyn is a certified holistic practitioner, author, and intuitive coach who helps people attract the lives they want to live with the one thing they can’t control: divine timing. For her thirteenth birthday, KristaLyn’s mother took her on the first of many mission trips, showing her how a single person can make a large impact on the world, one fellow human being at a time. Thanks to this, KristaLyn has spent more than a decade serving others through coaching and holistic therapies. She is certified in life, spiritual, and health coaching and follows various holistic modalities including reiki (master/teacher), crystal healing, advanced integrated energy therapy, and advanced ThetaHealing, with additional certifications in Hellenistic astrology and chirology. After graduating from Susquehanna University with a BA in English, KristaLyn wrote several books with motivational themes of being your own hero and serving the world through your unique talents and gifts, which she knows everyone was born with. A paragon of the millennial generation, KristaLyn entertained a variety of jobs, ranging from amusement park showgirl, coordinator of the Group Mission Trip Week of Hope Program, and cast member at Disney World, as she pursued her dreams of sharing her message with the world. KristaLyn lives in a treehouse in Elysburg, Pennsylvania, with her husband and corgi, Jack, and cooperates with her family to help revitalize the coal region of Pennsylvania to a new, sustainable glory. Website: www.KristaLynAVetovich.com Email: [e-mail] Social Media Handle: @AuthorKristaLyn

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Bring it in! You’re gonna lose it! Kade’s father hollers as waves crash against the boat. December rain falls like icy bullets, adding to the spray of water splashing over the side. Kade struggles to keep a grip on the ropes. At this rate, the whole boat is going to capsize.

Kade is strong, fresh out of his teenage years, full of life and energy—and too much pride to back down from anything no matter how many times the world dismisses him as a failure. He winds the rope around his arm and yanks again. His father stumbles to his aid, grunting against the strain. If the ropes don’t snap, their muscles might, but the Buxtons are a stubborn breed. It would be worth it.

The sea of Okhotsk churns in defiance. A bitter wind slashes across their hands and faces, goading them to loosen their grip. The Buxtons resist, but nature always wins. A mighty gust sweeps across the water and blasts the side of the boat.

The ropes rip away from Kade and flail in the air. The boat capsizes. The Buxtons go under.

The end.

Just kidding. I’m too good at my job for Kade to meet such a dismal fate, but my intervention isn’t even required here. The boat is self-righting; the ropes are just a fishing net, and Kade and his father are excellent swimmers. This is just a normal, disappointing day for them. Besides, if Kade can’t survive a simple storm, we are going to have issues.

The boat rolls back to its proper position as Kade and his father breach the water, gasping and annoyed. They climb back into the boat and prepare a new fishing net, shivering in irritated silence. That’s time and money lost to the depths, and all the other boats saw it. None of the other fishers laugh, nor do they help, but their hearts go out to the Buxton’s and their misfortune.

There’s not enough daylight left for them to bring in a decent catch. The dinner table will take the toll tonight. Mr. Buxton’s wallet will suffer in the morning when his usual clients finally run out of sympathy for his family.

But, in the bigger picture, this is nothing. Soon, the Buxtons will have one less mouth to feed. That should help.

The sun dips low in the sky, and Kade and his father still have an hour’s bike ride ahead of them with traffic. Mr. Buxton casts a new net as he turns the boat back toward the dock. At least he still has enough pride left in him for blind hope. That’s more valuable than any currency in the sprawling Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk housing development—in all of Beta-Siberia, to be honest.

The net drags smoothly through the water, too smoothly. They were never going to catch fish this way, but that doesn’t dull the stinging disappointment when they pull up the empty net.

Kade doesn’t say a word. He just collects the bikes while his dad secures the boat for the night.

Mr. Buxton rakes a hand through his hair, glaring at the day’s catch as though it’s been scant on purpose. They wouldn’t even need to divide the weight between them to get it home.

Kade notices this and grins. Regardless of the financial loss, at least now he won’t have to tote a tub of reeking fish all the way home. His nose curls at the mere thought. Kade hates fish. Not for the taste but for how they mock him. This is his father’s work. Kade only tags along because he’s twenty years old with no occupational placement to speak of.

Mr. Buxton throws the meager catch of the day into a large, plastic tub with a bit of ice—December in Siberia, you know—and secures it to the back of his rickety bicycle.

As Kade throws a leg over his own bike, his father holds out an arm to stop him.

Will you run by Arthur’s and buy some better bait for us? We can’t have another day like today. And here, he reaches into the basket of his bike and produces a small, cardboard box. Your mother made these for the kids.

Kade curls his lip. Come on, dad. Again?

Mr. Buxton shrugs before Kade can explain that the contents of that box—homemade scarves and cartons of fishy leftovers—are unwanted even by their closest friends. It’s your mother, he reminds Kade. Just humor her. She cares.

Kade throws his head back with a groan but tosses the box in the messenger bag he keeps in his basket.

See you back at home. He mock-salutes, then kicks the bike into motion, weaving through the people on the sidewalks until he comes to a stop at a crossing light.

Something in the back of my brain tickles and I realize Kade’s workday may be over, but mine has just begun. I am a divine messenger, and Kade just got mail. From experience, I know there’s only one effective way to get a message through to Kade. I consider my options and settle for the least lethal one.

I shouldn’t wish death upon my Neshome—I know. It’s my job as his spirit guide to keep him alive until he fulfills his divine timing. I know Kade’s innermost soul. I know his destiny—and I know how he’ll die. I protect that Plan at all costs to keep Creation balanced and on track.

But sometimes it’s just so tempting, especially with a Neshome like Kade. He never listens. Not unless his life depends on it.

So that’s what I’ve been reduced to: kicking his instincts in when I need to get him moving.

Today, I’m using a bus to do it.

He does not understand what’s coming. To him, it’s just a normal delivery for his mother, just another boring stroll in his meaningless existence until he can finally realize his dreams of joining Yuzhno Sakhalinsk’s Security Task Force. Then everyone will see his true potential. Then they’ll know what he’s really worth. He’s so much more than just the poor fisherman’s son.

I can feel the stress of all this consuming in his mind as Kade walks his bike off the sidewalk, reciting the list of Security measures in his head on repeat for comfort. Tomorrow is his last chance to pass the entrance exam. It’s a big deal for Kade and his entire family. Either he passes and proves them all wrong, or he fails and fades into lower-class obscurity just as they all said he would.

So, it’s not surprising that Kade doesn’t feel the frost-laced wind as it stings his face, doesn’t sense the abrupt halt of the other pedestrians around him as they stop at the crossing signal. He doesn’t hear the revving of engines when the traffic light turns green.

But the screech of tires and blares of horns does the trick of ripping him out of his head and back into reality.

His body reacts before his brain can even process what’s happening: his stomach tightens, sweat beads at his hairline, his heart clenches, and he draws in a long, gasping breath, slowly turning to face his giant, metal doom—

Now, as adrenaline courses through Kade’s blood, is my chance.

Time slows, or I move extremely fast—either way, it doesn’t matter—as I step up to Kade’s shoulder. I breathe into his ear: Kade, get back. Not a shout, just a soft, firm command. Shouting won’t get me anywhere—I’ve tried. Kade’s subconscious accepts my words as his best chance of survival and sends his muscles into reaction mode, that gut instinct every living soul has that keeps them alive even when the world turns against them. I am that voice for Kade Buxton. I am his spirit guide, his Firn. And he is my Neshome, my entire purpose for being.

Kade catches his footing with a shout, and his senses finally register what he’s stumbled into: the silver bus bearing down on him, the driver leaning on his horn and shouting muffled profanities at Kade’s idiocy. Air rushes out of Kade’s chest. Panic takes over.

I tug on his shoulders, not more than a wisp of pressure to him, but an obvious message to his body to move or die.

Kade’s body obeys even while his thoughts disperse into a sheet of white, blinding his vision and overriding his judgment.

One, two, three reeling steps backward and he’s safe on the sidewalk, bent over and gasping, surrounded by disapproving strangers.

Humans these days. So eager to judge each other. Now for the important bit.

The news tonight, I whisper quick and close to Kade’s ear as he plants his feet and curls in on himself under the scrutiny. Watch the news tonight.

That’s it. That’s the message I nearly killed my Neshome to deliver, and now my window of opportunity is closing. Embarrassment will soon shut him down under the condescending glares of the surrounding strangers, all judging his whole character based on this single misstep. If only Kade would hear me. We could have avoided this. He makes me work, this Neshome.

Oh, and do the dishes for your poor mother tonight before you go to Ainsley’s. She’s always so exhausted. Help her out.

Kade takes a deep, calming breath. He clutches his bike’s handlebars and glances around to take stock of how many spectators continue to stare at him. Only a few—impressively forgiving for the harsh, nit-picky culture of Yuzhno. The people here are as icy as the Siberian wind rushing off the sea, and twice as eager to freeze each other out.

Kade shakes himself off, scratches the back of his neck, and misses a beat to fall behind the crowd when the crossing signal finally turns. An apology for his perceived arrogance, but it doesn’t stop them from shaking their heads as they leave him behind.

I settle my energy around him like a warm blanket to calm his nerves—and to read a bit of what he’s thinking. In the swirling emotions of his aura, I find remorse, shame, guilt, and one compassionate thread that tells me Kade will probably do the dishes for his mother tonight. That’s all the proof I’ll get that he heard me this time, that the danger I put him in was worth the while. Even if he did almost die. Again.

The Security quiz starts up in Kade’s mind again, repeating the test questions he’s seen twice now and will answer, for better or worse, one last time tomorrow. If he fails Security’s entrance exam this time, it will be for good and no one in the city will hire him unless it’s out of sympathy.

Except no one in Yuzhno is that sympathetic. Kade will be out of work for good.

I’ve watched Kade train for this since he chose the Security curriculum in his seventh year of school. This is all he knows, all he wants. But it just doesn’t seem to want him.

His chin stiffens against the thought. No, his convictions echo in my mind, tomorrow is the day. He’ll pass it this time.

As the spirit who helped Kade write the story of his life and knows his miserable track record so far, I have serious doubts.

We’ve got big plans for Kade, but he hasn’t been holding up his end of the deal. If I can get him where he needs to be in time, Kade Buxton will be the most important person in the universe and get all the glory that comes with it.

And, as the Firn to guide him smoothly to his success, so will I. That’s what I’ve been working my whole afterlife for. Kade and I have that in common, I guess. We both committed everything we’ve got to a single goal. The only difference is mine is divine, commissioned by El Olam, the great Creator himself, to protect the single most important law in every plane of existence: free will, of course.

You might think free will would be something everyone would want, but you’d be wrong. There are spirits—the Aropfain—who think they’re better and smarter than the rest of us. They organized themselves a few tens of thousands of years ago and forced El Olam to plan against them. So that’s what we call El Olam’s grand design to restore balance and preserve free will: the Plan. Every Firn gets a copy of their Neshome’s Plan in the back of their mind. We keep our Neshomes on track so that each piece of the puzzle falls perfectly into place until a certain human soul, chosen by El Olam himself, performs the ultimate act of free will. I’d much rather serve at that soul’s side, but it’s forbidden. She—the Reyn Gayst—will ally with either El Olam or Narn, leader of the Aropfain. Or, if you ask me, a pain in the—

CHAPTER TWO

Assuming a hunched posture, Kade crosses the street just before traffic picks up again, trudging toward his last stop before home; to the one person, apart from his mother, that will smile at his presence instead of trying to get rid of him as fast as possible.

I’ve always wanted to tell you if you cut down this alley, you’ll get to Leo’s shop faster, I comment at Kade’s shoulder, drifting along at his side, a barely-formed consciousness until form is necessary. Those with the ability to see me might be witless enough to call me a ghost. I’m not a ghost. I’m not nearly so indecisive. I ascended to Lemayle when I died last. Some call it heaven or paradise or Nirvana. I call it home, just a dimensional slip away from the living world, but much wiser. Everyone on my level should know enough to choose wisely.

Of course, even paradise isn’t perfect. So we protect living souls like Kade from those who would force them into dark and twisted things.

Though Kade’s lack of reaction shows what good I’ve done with it. He hasn’t heard a thing I’ve said since his third birthday, not unless I threatened him as I did just now. Everyone thinks Kade is unlucky for all the mishaps he fumbles into, but I’ll see that one day everyone knows Kade’s worth—especially Kade.

He takes the straight path to Leo’s—the less direct one and a fitting metaphor for his life up to this point. Five more blocks instead of three, and we finally duck out of the frosted mist and into the Arthur & Son Bait and Tackle shop.

A small bell rings as the door opens to a dingy store, the owner of whom does his very best but consistently falls short. Leo Arthur. Poor Leo. He’s the & Son on the sign outside. Post Mortem. This was never meant to be his lot in life from what I could tell over the last fifteen years of watching him at Kade’s side. Someone—something—interfered and knocked Leo off course. They took down his father and left Leo rooted in Yuzhno, unable to leave without abandoning his mother and sister. That’s how the Aropfain work, and I take this situation personally. I know it was actually an attack on Kade.

Leo was my secret weapon against Kade’s intuitive disabilities. He is a moral compass to Kade, and I’ve always appreciated him for it. I thought Leo would join Kade’s divine mission. He had such a bright future—he was going to be Kade’s ticket out of Yuzhno when the time came…but then the store fell into Leo’s care.

I feel even worse for Leo’s Firn. I wish I could see them to tell them how sorry I am, but that’s not how it works. Free will trumps all. We can’t collaborate for or against our Neshomes. If we did, we’d be no better than the Aropfain.

Leo! Kade shouts, disturbing the thrumming buzz of the fluorescent lights. Four customers jolt and turn to look at him, disdain on their faces. Kade doesn’t notice. He’s used to that look from people. He probably thinks that’s just what everyone’s face looks like by this point.

Kade strides past the aisles of disorganized, shoulder-height shelves and props his bike at the register. He taps the bell in quick succession until an agitated growl sounds through the Employees Only door. Leo emerges wearing a pleasant ‘How may I help you?’ expression, which deadpans once he realizes the nuisance is only Kade.

You’re a disturbance of the peace, Leo grumbles as he leans on the counter. You know that, right?

Kade shrugs. I’ve heard it before. He reaches into his messenger bag. Mom made scarves for you and Nyla. I’m pretty sure she still thinks Nyla’s six, so forgive the powder puff pink. He draws two knitted scarves from his bag, one navy blue with black zig-zag patterns and one a soft pink with white flowers, and drapes them across the counter.

Leo lifts them with a practiced smile. That’s…sweet of her, he manages through gritted teeth.

What’s sweet of who? a lively voice asks as Leo’s younger sister, Nyla, emerges from the back room. Her eyes light up at the sight of Kade, but Kade points to the counter. Oh. Nyla’s smile twists into a forced grin with too many teeth. That’s…sweet of her.

Kade chuckles. You two should’ve been twins. But like I said, I’m sorry.

Leo gathers the scarves into his arms. We can always add them to the donation pile. He blinks, cringing. Please don’t tell your mom I said that.

I’d be wasting my breath, Kade scoffs. She’ll be knitting those for you till you’re sixty. It won’t be long ‘til she sends more.

She really doesn’t need to do that. It isn’t a polite suggestion. Nothing Nyla says ever is. "Actually, tell her she doesn’t need to do that."

Kade lifts his hands with a grin. I have! Nothing works. You’re stuck with them as much as I am. He reaches into his coat to reveal a red-and-white scarf underneath.

She’s a lovely lady. Leo passes the scarves to Nyla with an apologetic smile. She gives him a distasteful look but snatches them when he doesn’t relent and marches to the back room with an exaggerated groan.

So, Leo turns back to the counter, tomorrow’s the big day.

Again, Kade grumbles, cheek mushed against his palm.

Leo laughs as Kade’s head slips to the counter. I’m sure they’ll remember you. If you don’t get in this time, it’s not because of your skills, it’s because of your face.

Watch it, Kade warns with a weak smack at Leo’s arm.

You’d be better off— Leo starts, but this conversation has happened before. That phrase always carries the same tone. The better kiss up to Security like the good dog you are tone. It happens every time Kade mentions his dreams of joining the Besta-Siberian Security Task Force.

Leo, don’t, is all Kade says, but it’s firm. A genuine warning. I know you don’t like Security or the Association, but you made your choice.

The choice to drop out of the prestigious Logics curriculum: the coveted path to Beta-Siberian high-class occupations. To qualify for Logics is to walk a street paved with gold until old age makes you irrelevant. Then you take your severance package and live a quiet, comfortable life until you die, as long as you do as you’re told.

I place a hand on Kade’s shoulder, praying it calms his seething anger. We should be getting back, I tell him.

But he only scrunches his face at Leo. Man, you could’ve been a dignitary or something. He seems to forget he was the one to discourage this conversation to begin with. All I want is to do the Director’s grunt work. Why is that so bad? I could help so many people. You love that kind of stuff. He throws a hand toward the back room and Leo’s aforementioned stash of donations.

Kade, I chide him, but I don’t know why I bother.

Leo’s eyes darken. He ducks his head. I don’t trust them.

Well, that’s weird, Kade says pointedly. They never did anything to you. You and Nyla get a ton of support from them—for what happened to your dad and for your mom.

That’s enough, Kade, Leo hisses through his teeth. He can’t make a scene in front of his customers, but Kade is testing his tolerance.

Kade takes a step back from Leo and their argument. He knows when Leo is past the point of teasing, when his words are bordering on unforgivable. He catches himself but doesn’t apologize.

Glaring at the top of Leo’s head, probably contemplating the worth of yet another argument, Kade sighs, shoulders sagging, aggression ebbing. He turns from the counter. Can you just…try to be happy for me if I make it tomorrow? Just fake it for one day.

Leo doesn’t meet his eyes, but nods.

Thank you. Kade zips his coat up to his chin. I’ll see you tonight.

The customers stare as Kade pushes through the door back into the elements. The wind and cold don’t bother him, even as his cheeks flush against them. I stay at his side, as always, with nothing to say. If I weren’t already dead, the silence would kill me.

I’m not the quiet type. I’m not the hands-off Firn who just lets her Neshomes run amok through their lives until they stumble upon their destinies just a second before the world falls apart. My Neshomes change the world from birth to death, never tiring and always responsive to the signals I give them.

And then came Kade. He’d been so promising in our entrance interview—eager, excited, grounded. This should be his last life before he stays in Lemayle with us, but you’d never know it looking at him. He makes me look like an incompetent Firn. Thank goodness no one can see it.

So…this appears to be going well, the familiar voice coos, too close to me.

I whirl, placing myself between Kade and the voice, my flattest stare at the ready. Almost no one from Lemayle can see me. No one good can.

CHAPTER THREE

An amused grin breaks across the Aropfain’s face. Nice to see you too, Anaya.

I turn from him, keeping Kade in front of me. Go away, Jordin.

Jordin moves to my side and shakes his head, white-tipped, black bangs brushing over his eyes. Listen, I know you can hold a grudge, but don’t you think this is petty, even for you? I Shifted from the Firns to the Aropfain centuries ago. Look around you. He spreads his arms wide. "It’s the end of the world. Get over it."

I struggle to keep my face calm and unmoved. Jordin sees me the way he imagines me to be, just like I do him. To him, I could have blue hair and purple skin, but he can’t force a smile on my face. Just as I can’t get rid of that stupid Cheshire grin he always wears.

"It’s not like you only lied to me, Jordin. You Shifted—without even telling me. You abandoned your Neshome in the middle of their lifetime. You didn’t even finish the assignment. I can’t think of a single soul who would find that forgivable."

That’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Jordin places a pondering finger on his cheek. You’d think El Olam would, considering all the other nonsense he forgives for these people. He glares at Kade—at all living souls.

I won’t explain this to him. Not again. Jordin knows better. He knew better than to turn from El Olam and serve Narn. I know because I’m the soul who trained with him, sacrificed for him, carried him with me on the path to becoming a Firn so he wouldn’t fail on his own.

This must be how Aropfain like him show gratitude.

You’re just jealous of them. It’s a fact. It’s the driving force behind every Shift. A desire to go back to the naivety of life without the lurking promise of death.

No, Jordin argues with a childish tone. I’m smarter than them. So are you. I believe we should be recognized for it. Valued for it.

We are valued for it, I counter. "We guide them so when El Olam’s Plan comes to pass, all souls will be safe and valued—as they should be."

I catch him mimicking my words with his hand. If our friendship shattered centuries ago, then I’ve been giving Jordin this same lecture far longer.

You don’t have to listen to me. I turn my nose up. If you’re happy being wrong, then have fun with it. But leave me—and my Neshome—alone.

The corner of Jordin’s mouth quirks upward, and his jasper eyes pin me with arrogant pride. I’m sorry, Anaya. I can’t do that.

I ignore the shiver running up my spine. That sounds too much like a threat. Oh? I thought Narn allowed you to do anything you wanted. Isn’t that part of the freedom you’re so attached to? Narn preaches freedom for souls above the living plane, souls like us who move through the world but can’t be a part of events. We are servants to the living. We chose this. Narn couldn’t handle it and led a mutiny of uncertain souls on a crusade against El Olam. Lost souls. Confused souls. Moronic souls. Jordin.

Jordin tilts his head. You’re right. He leans too far into my space to correct himself. "I won’t do that. Because I don’t want to. He throws a glance to the back of Kade’s head as Kade tugs his hood up against the freezing rain that’s picked up again without our realizing it. I’ll see you two later."

And then he vanishes, like always. I’ve got plenty of insults at the tip of my tongue for him, but they’d pass right through that empty head of his anyway. He’s not worth my scorn. And it’s not worth the scolding I’d get if I stepped too far over the line.

I don’t know when later is, but I know he’ll be there. For the twenty years of Kade’s life, Jordin has always been there. Hardly any other Aropfain have bothered with us because Jordin made Kade his pet project. If it isn’t me throwing Kade into traffic to get him to listen, it’s Jordin sending a