Witch Apocalypse (Includes The First Three Series Novels)

By Rivka Zohar

This novel includes Light of Twilight, Light of Darkness, and Light of Worlds with a short teaser from Light of Splendor.

From Light of Twilight: With a worldwide pandemic, 2024 is not the best year to fall in love or is it? Rich and famous shock rock star, Jadis Bellemet, may be victim to the witch coven, but he cannot seem to get the vintage-style burlesque dancer, Shine Ambrosia, out of his mind. With his family and loved ones falling mysteriously dead around him, he is afraid to jeopardize Shine’s life. No matter how much he wants her, he will do whatever it takes to keep her safe even if it means going to shocking lengths.

From Light of Darkness: In the year 2042, after the Pokuth Virus kills Vanille Cossette's father, Vanille runs away from the witch coven to join an underground colony in the woods. After she meets a mysterious man with secrets, her life turns to horror. In her hell, she finds her fairy tale...

From Light of Worlds: After Bunky and Vanille escape their nightmare, the unjust colony pursues them. Under the dark waters of the lake, Vanille discovers witch coven secrets with clues to the purpose of their takeover. Back on land, more secrets are revealed about Vanille's past and her mission to save the world. A handsome bad boy fights with Bunky over her love as they skirt many dangers and the terrors of black magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rivka Zohar
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005849702

Rivka Zohar

Thank you for stopping by. Rivka Zohar appreciates your readership and hopes you have much success in your writing adventure.

Book preview

Prologue

Absence of Light

The prologue is to my mothers, Mom, Linda, and Rifka

Thank you for reading and supporting my writing.

Prologue

2036

Digging his long brown fingers into his stiff dome of chocolate colored hair, Pop’s eyes are so wide I am afraid they might pop out of his head like blue and white marbles. Do you hear that song? my father asks Mum as she scrubs the vomit off my baby brother’s highchair in our apartment kitchen.

Whoa! I cough up red and green mucus mixed with old, dried bread into my small brown hand. Gross! Pushing my horn-rimmed glasses closer to my big, watery blue eyes, I continue to stare at my father.

My Ray Bradbury novel falls from my small brown fingers and catches in my long white hair as I notice something demonic looking about Pop as he paces the linoleum floor of the kitchen. It’s like there is a different energy exuding from him that is foul and foreign. And on top of that, I am wondering why it smells a little like sewage in here.

My throat tight, I untangle the old science fiction book from my hair as I watch Pop. A little foam has gathered at the sides of his thin lips. He wipes beads of perspiration off his pallid, round face. From malnutrition, his cheekbones look pronounced even more than usual, but that’s not really the difference that I am noticing, and his bushy dark eyebrows look knitted together. It’s not the impoverished Los Angeles life we live—it is something more.

I do not hear any music, my mother snaps, her teased brown curls hardly moving as she picks up Zip and pulls back the waist of his torn pajama pants to check if his wrap needs changing. I notice her thin collar bone protrudes from her simple sheath dress as she sniffs inside and complains to Pop, I only hear Vanille’s teacher lecturing in the room.

Eighth grade is the cockroaches, a real bam. I look across the short hall and see the left side of my instructor’s hologram. Oops, I mumble. I logged in but forgot the time. I do not want to leave the kitchen though because I am worried about Pop.

My father continues pacing, the edge of his bell-bottomed pants caught in his long lace up boots. The skin on my arms prickle at the sight of him. I cannot help but tremble at how his eyes bulge with seeming horror. The damn President of the United States was impeached this morning, he says in a strange, shaky voice that, also I have never heard his tone like this before. That team with all those reinventor gothic women are replacing him. We did not vote on it. No election. The rhythm of his voice rises through varying pitches as if his throat were a xylophone sounding with water running through it. He runs his hand over his neck as he shakes his head.

Why is he acting so weird?

Not seeming to give notice to Pop’s new oddness, Mom rinses the sponge in the sink as she bounces Zip on her delicate hip while he wines lightly. After the new Solar 49 permutations, the Unith has paved their way and are recommending everyone to have their mouths sewn shut, she says. They expect us to register with the meditricians and list ourselves for filter implants on the sides of our cheeks.

I bite my lip. Do we have to? I say to Mum in a somewhat high-pitched tone compared to my usual meek voice. I don’t want a feeding tube. Maybe because I am only twelve years old and kind of immature in some ways, I cannot imagine never eating a French fry again and even though it’s been years since I’ve eaten cheese, I dream of pizza.

Her coffee eyes widen as she looks at me and her black pupils move side to side as a code for no, I am guessing. From her expression and things she has said to us in the past, I wonder if we are about to run.

It’s an oldette, Pop says as he stops pacing suddenly and stares Mum in the eyes. Mind control. His thick boned body that used to look so strong and solid before the release of Solar 49 Virus on the world, is shaking in its frailty now.

What are you talking about? Mum sets the baby back in the highchair even though his whimpering has increased.

Do you feel any different? he asks Mum, his eyes burning with vigour.

Huh?

I notice something almost invisible, but not entirely see-through, fly past Pop’s round face. My heart pounds fast in my small-framed, flat chest. It’s kind of like a flying rat or maybe like a fat black cat.

Pop juts his chin back, but Mum does not seem to notice the transparent-like creature. It flew so fast and then it was gone. I wonder what it was. Maybe Pop saw it too, I am guessing. He is not okay.

Get to your class, Mum snaps at me as I stare at Pop.

I look at her and see the serious expression on her pretty, high cheek-boned, but pale face as she roughly rakes her brown fingers through her brown curls.

My baby brother’s cries pull at my heart strings.

At once I get up from the table and set the crust of the rest of my dry bread on the highchair tray before Zip as I pass him with my novel still in my hand. He stops whimpering.

When I walk in the mostly bare room, as we sold our furniture, my instructor reprimands me. I expect you to be on time to class, Vanille Cossette, Mr. Xotikt says to me fussing with the tucks and bows on his slacks.

Maybe from a feeling of inner rebellion, I tap one of the keys on our piano that I begged my parents to not sell and look away from his thin holographic body. As I sit on the linoleum, I survey the holograms of the other students sitting on the floors or sofas of their rooms. Most of them are not paying attention to me as I am a wallflower, even though I have strange looks because of my ultra-long albino hair that contrasts so weirdly to my brown skin. You would think that might be enough to make them notice me, but they do not. I am a geek in their eyes, not worth their time. They don’t hate me or abuse me much like they do Pastina, the ultra-short girl with the drippy nose, but they do not seem to know I exist. My body has always been too skinny and awkward, even before the food shortage. I suppose my glasses do not help that much, but I like them because I can hide my thoughts behind the horn-rimmed frames and thick lenses.

Everybody attending the class looks hungry and tired, but some must be passing messages to each other because I hear snickers that are not directed at me. One boy, Edik Pardkat, who used to be popular and good at zep ball keeps grabbing the sides of his head. He does not seem to care about the other kids or even the instructor. It looks like he is lost in his own world.

For the rest of the class, I barely listen to Mr. Xotikt and find myself staring at Edik. He stops holding his head after a while, but it looks like he is whispering to someone. There does not seem to be another holograph who he is talking to. It is kind of like he is talking to himself.

The class is coming to an end. I memorize the writing assignment. This is an advanced class for gifted students even though most of the students do not act all that advanced in my opinion. We have to write all of our thoughts down for one half hour in rapid succession, as stream of consciousness, mark the time, and then transmit the writing to him tomorrow. Whoever writes the most, receives a chocolate bat from Lady Unith, he says in closing. Lady Unith are the gothic women leaders who are taking over for President Brandenvid. I do not believe anyone will really get chocolate. Nobody gets chocolate.

The apartment seems quiet. I pad back into the kitchen to check on Pop, not making much noise as I move because like I said, I am a very light, waify person. An uneasy feeling washes over me. Is everyone gone?

I step into the kitchen. The table is clear. Zip is not in his highchair as he was when I went into the room. Mum and Pop are both gone. I look around for a handwritten note because once the world governments started getting unstable, my parents started weaning off a lot of the energy devices. Rarely do they send energy messages to people anymore. I mean, they slip up a lot though. It’s not easy to quit when the whole world is energetized. I look over. No note on the counter. Goosebumps lift on my skinny arms. I don’t bother with the drawers because the power was cut from them a long time back. Nothing but beans, stale buns, and dried seeds in the hanging baskets.

Our apartment only has one room other than the kitchen. Mum and Pop do not just leave without telling me or at least leaving a note. Never. I trek down the short hall past the sparse room and peek in the toilet room. Nobody!

What happened to them? I feel the blood drawing from my face. They could not have run without me. Did someone kidnap them? My breath feels heavy in my chest like a cloud. I stand there in the hall trying to figure it out. My heart is beating much too fast beneath my ribs.

I know I am not allowed to leave the apartment without Mum or Pop. One time I left, and Mum beat me so hard I had a headache for two days. She’s not an abuser or anything like that. It is just with the stress of Solar 49 Virus and all the panic and the quarantining and the forced medical masks on the population, she has become more controlling. It’s like all these weird fears get at her and she loses herself. She says she does not believe in the new ways that the country is moving in. Mum has always been a sensitive person. I never can understand her really. It is like she has this whole hidden world inside her.

Maybe they wrote a note, and it blew out the window. I wonder about this. I head back into the kitchen and push over the white cotton curtains on the little window above the waterspouts. The glass pane is locked shut. A note from Mum and Pop could not have blown out.

They will return soon, I decide. No way did they run without me. It is not like they would abandon me.

My mind feels like it is spinning inside the way the propellors spin on the backs of the extreme sports enthusiasts who fly for the thrill of it. If my family were kidnapped, I would have heard the struggle over my instructor’s lecture.

The more I consider the possibilities, I realize they must have left on purpose because I would have heard them leave, yet I did not. I am an aware person. In the least, I would have heard the door shut as they exited. They must have snuck out of the apartment. It seems they did not want me to know they were leaving. My heart clenches as my ocean blue eyes, as Pop calls them, well up. Something about this abandonment seems familiar. It is like my heart hurts so much.

I lean my back against the wall by the little window. Just because Mum and Pop have never left before without telling me does not mean I will never see them again. Why am I so afraid? Why do I think I have lost them forever?

A tear rolls down my brown cheek. It seems like I have always had a fear of abandonment. I wonder why I am such a freak. I must be paranoid. Gotta just wait it out. They will be back soon.

*

Sitting before our white grand piano, I sing a sad, haunting song as I play. No one in my family is musical but me. Mum used to say my so-called talent is some sort of anomaly like my albino hair. I do not know how I know this song. It is just soooo familiar and it makes me feel loved for some strange reason. The song is about the sky and about flying. I dream of being able to fly. It seems like I should be able to fly.

It is almost night, and I should try to go to sleep. But I cannot. Two days have passed since my family left. During the daylight, I continue on with my eighth-grade classes and do not tell the teacher that Mum, Pop, and Zip are gone. Both nights so far when the sun goes down and the apartment is all dark and quiet, I cannot stop crying as I lie on our blankets on the floor. I try to subdue my wailing so that I do not alert the neighbors. Mum and Pop are going to come back for me. If I were to make too much noise, the neighbors might alert the new government. I do not know what this new Unith organization might do with an abandoned kid. In the old government, I heard they put kids in the foster system. From what Pop says, this new government wants to exterminate the population. Our neighbors probably don’t think the way Pop does. Like Mr. Xotikt, they probably believe the lies.

I head into the kitchen and fill a pot with water. Our hot water system does not work anymore, so I set the pot on the stove and add some beans that I soaked all day like Mum does. Beans take a long time to cook, and I am hungry now. Yesterday I finished off all the dried buns we had.

My stomach is growling though, so I grab a handful of seeds and sit down at the table. I am not sure what kinds of seeds these are. It’s some type of mixture and they taste overly roasted, almost burnt.

I am not sure what I should do once the beans and seeds run out. Last night I searched the apartment for jewelry to sell in case they never come back for me, but oddly, all of Mum’s jewelry is gone. She used to let me try it on sometimes and wear it around the house for fun. I wonder where it went.

Pop sometimes has gold coins that he uses to buy food and supplies. Before the release of the Solar 49 Virus on the world, both Mum and Pop bought everything electronically. They said before I was born people used paper money and coins to buy things, but then the entire world switched over to Webcoin. Now Pop does not want his money tracked, so he has some trouble buying things.

Making my way out of the kitchen, I leave the beans to simmer through some of the night. Hopefully, I will wake up around midnight to turn off the heat. I do not expect to sleep anyway because I have barely been able to sleep the previous two days and I expect the same for this night.

I lay down on the floor beside our piano and wrap the blanket around my waify body. Images of Zip come into my mind. He is such a cute baby boy. His hair is real thin and a mix of chocolate brown like Pop’s and regular brown like Mum’s. We all have brown skin, but mine is browner than theirs. I hope Zip is happy. It surprises me how much I miss him. I feel a pinch in my heart and decide to try not to think about my family tonight.

My eyes well up and I try to keep any tears from spilling out. I have this strange numb feeling in my chest now. I wonder why.

Mr. Xotikt told our class earlier that Edik would not be attending class for a while. His mother died of a new virus that he said was announced on the news yesterday. Edik maybe feels like I do. At the thought, my head feels kind of dizzy and my limbs ache. I met Edik’s mother before. I forgot her name. She helped at the music club I used to be involved in at school before we started learning at home. I liked her. She used to ask me to help her with her singing which I thought was kind of funny.

Mr. Xotikt said the new virus is called the Pokuth Virus. He said the mediticians do not know how to cure it yet, but soon they will find a vaccine. President Brandenvid, in unison with all the leaders of the world, are being accused of creating a team that formulated the virus and released it on the populations.

Edik also caught the Pokuth Virus, my teacher heard, and he is being treated for it in the hospital now. He has been acting so strange lately in our classes and now he is sick. The thudding in my chest echoes in my eardrums. Thinking about Edik, my eyes feel heavy, and I notice my eyelids keep falling shut.

*

Suddenly, I am wakened. My eyes fly open wide. Box tape is wrapped around my mouth. It is completely dark inside the room. Who is doing this to me? I try to breathe through my nose, but I feel like my lungs are going to explode.

Don’t say a word, someone says in a threatening whisper. I am swooped up into what feels like a man’s arms.

I struggle to get away, but he pushes down on my face. By the feel of his strength, I sense I do not have a chance at escape. I decide it is safer to hold real still for now.

He moves swiftly and quietly through the apartment grabbing things as he clasps onto me with the other hand. It is like he knows his way around. Something about him smells familiar, yet different all the same.

Pop? I wonder if he is Pop.

Squeezing my waify body too hard in his arms, he rushes out of the apartment, closing and locking the door as we exit. He must be Pop. How else would he have a key? Ah, the idea of him coming back for me makes my insides light up. In the dim light of the stairwell of our apartment building, I look up at his face. His head is covered in a gas mask!

A gas mask? Why is he wearing that? Usually, the government forces us to wear surgical masks. Is this new apparatus because of the recent outbreak of the new virus? I cannot tell who he is with his head covered like a spaceman.

Once in the lobby, he jams the lock on the door of the mailroom with some sort of tool it seems. Once he gets it unlocked. he carries me inside. In no time, he retrieves one of the boxes from a pile of like boxes of the same sizes and shapes. He tears it open and pulls out what looks like another gas mask and shoves it over my head.

Now I can hardly breathe at all. Somehow, I adjust somewhat, and we are out on the dark street. He walks briskly, holding me tight, down La Cienega Boulevard. More streetlights are out than the last time some months ago when I went out at night with my family. There is a lot of noise and chaos. Crowds of people are running into some of the stores along the street and carrying things out. I see a fire on the other side of the thoroughfare. It is the market we shop at sometimes.

I try to look at the man who carries me through the front shield of his mask, but it is so dark out and I cannot see him even barely at all. He must be my father. He has the same build I realize. It is him. I know it. If I did not have tape over my lips, I would smile so big my teeth would cover half my face. The tension of the tape and the lack of air does not even bother me now that I am so happy.

He does not seem happy though. I remember his agitation before he disappeared. He did not seem right. Real off, he was. He cannot be too happy about all this stealing, these fires, and the new virus. I am just glad to be back with him.

He jogs now and soon we intersect with Sunset Boulevard. On the metropolis the holograph boards with the giant ads are still the same with all the glitz and Hollywood pizazz, but some of the holographs of the dome cinema stars are buzzing and flashing on and off. More fire on Sunset. When we pass by a blazing outlet, the wind and smoke feel hot on my face. I feel like coughing, but I cannot with the tape on my mouth.

Under a streetlight, a group of men pull some goths in their all-black costumes through the windows of their limo-wave that hovers just above the boulevard like it is stalled or something. The men have gas masks on, but the goths do not. What is going on here?

The gang of men beat the goths bloody, but Pop does not stop them. He hates the goths. It is all unclear who they are, but Pop said in the past that they are part of the new government somehow. He was always angry that most regular civilians did not believe him when he warned them, but now I see other people are angry too. It is not just him and the fringe groups as he calls them. It is not just us against the world maybe.

He has jogged past the brawlers, and we are coming upon some fire burners. Men, women, and children are lighting the courthouse on fire. It feels like fur is in my throat. This is an important U.S. building. President Brandenvid and the other world leaders are scheduled for their trials here next week. It’s a big thing. All over the news bleeps when I watch from the kitchen window. The announcements flash in the sky.

Suddenly, Pop falls on the ground with me still in his arms. His body starts convulsing and I roll out of his grasp away from him. My body drenched in sweat, my eyes wide, I stare at him. But before I can try to help him, his body stops flopping around and he immediately scoops me back up into his arms and starts running.

Nausea rolls through me. What just happened? He was like an Epileptic man and then he acted like nothing happened and just took me back to him and ran. He just keeps running now. I mean, is he okay? This is too weird.

He darts off the main boulevard of the metropolis and runs down an alley. He weaves through another alley and then another. He looks side to side and then climbs through a broken window into some dark building.

It smells musty inside and a little like herbs, but it is so black, and I cannot see a thing. He bumps into something and then moves away, feeling his way through. I feel his body bend down. He lifts something. It sounds like he may be pulling a heavy chain. I think he is lifting a door on the floor. Probably some kind of hideout.

He climbs down some stairs and the door bounces closed over our heads. It’s dimly lit now, but nothing looks clear with this mask and the absence of light. I think of the United States, the land I love, and I think of darkness.

At the bottom of the stairs, I see Mum with Zip in her arms waiting for us. My heart warms. They did not leave me forever. I am back with my family. It is The Light of Darkness.

***

Light of Twilight

(Witch Apocalypse, Book 1)

Rivka Zohar

*

To Jerry,

Thank you for paying for my undergraduate and graduate degrees.

*

Chapter One

Light of Twilight

Witch Apocalypse

Rivka Zohar

The Year 2024

Standing before the door of her parents’ Las Vegas apartment, a teardrop falls from Shine Ambrosia’s deeply big and beautiful ice blue eyes and splashes on her black jeweled virus protection mask that is tucked under her chin. Even without makeup, she has unusually long black eyelashes, the thick type that most females might kill for.

Pull yourself together, she muses, trying not to sniffle. With a jagged inhalation, she tosses her shiny raven waves of hair off her shoulder and wipes the poison black lipstick off her pout with the back of her pale hand.

Her mobilex says in an authoritative, automated, and overly feminine voice, Stockings by Gandal arrived at Vega Way. Send Webcoin now to continue transport.

Shy retrieves her mobilex from her clutch and holds her eye up to the light on the front for scanning.

Say yes for payment.

Biting her pouty lower lip she murmurs, Yes. How am I going to pay this?

Eighty-nine and ninety-nine chaing, the girly voice says.

Off, she growls and shoves the device back in her purse.

Her thoughts roll in tumultuous waves like her mind is in the eye of the storm as she breathes in too deeply. Coughing from the dust and germs, she yanks off her surgical mask.

I am going to shine until the stars fall from the sky. Jim Morrison, Jim Morrison… The musician from the 1960’s or 70’s. Wasn’t he a witch? Or was that his wife? Girlfriend? She cannot remember.

Shine Ambrosia thinks of herself as an average looking young woman made up to look glamorous like her favorite vintage stars, Merle Oberon, Betty Page, Maria Montez to name a few, and most of all her favorite modern-day seductress, Detia Tahali, the latest it girl in all the dance movies with her burlesque performances, her black lace and her black sparkles. Without her creative makeover, Detia Tahali is a regular looking woman, not particularly pretty by nature but is an inspiration with all her transformational vintage glamour and style that makes her stunning to the eye.

Some people say Shine Ambrosia is beautiful. The idea makes her scoff because she feels dirty and debauched inside, not pretty at all. She can only see the darkness that haunts her.

Her mind reels with unpleasant thoughts. Her former grease ball boss, Luca Capone, from the Burlesque dance club, has been stalking her. She has a restraining order against him, but he doesn’t follow rules. Apparently, he seems to be a dangerous man without conscience. She wipes the perspiration off her palms on her black velvet retro skirt lined with Swarovski crystals. The lace from her thigh high stockings irritates her inner thighs. Her urges rise and she wants to scratch hard, but she refrains.

A memory floods her mind. Oh, she does not want to think about this, but as much as she tries not to, she cannot stop the haunting recollection. It was an eerie night, one of those times where her intuition informed, a needle prick to her brain, warning her to leave the dance club. But that dark night, in a lapse of stupidity, she ignored the cognition, brushing it away like a feather over her pale arm as if it were something to toy with.

Curiosity got the best of her. All the dancers had left for the night. Shy was on her way out too, but she turned back for her cape that she used in her last dance in the outdoor terrace theater they used because of the Solar 49 Virus. Opening the grand doors, warm wind blowing through her black hair, she saw it was still on the stage where she had stripped it off before the encouraging crowd. Every time she dances, she knows it should be her last, but she always finds excuses.

As she went for the fine, delicate fabric, the grand doors blew open behind her. She heard a noise coming from down the hall. Must be from inside one of the dressing rooms. Muffled cries, ever so light. Shine felt the energy of fear rush through her veins. Horror. What is going on? She should have left. She should have. That would have been wise. But instead, she crept ever so carefully down the dim hall. Just a peek and then she will go on her merry way, catch up with the girls, have a couple drinks at the local outdoor pub before going to bed.

The sounds, though subdued, increased. The lightest whimpering. Dread. She rushed light footed to the dressing room hearing the sounds within. Sucking in a frazzled breath, she pushed the door open just the tiniest crack, so she could peek inside without being detected. Oh, no! Immoral and preposterous!

Her cool blue eyes flew wide open. Her boss was tying a gag over a baby’s little mouth. The strange and gigantic oven Mr. Capone kept in the dressing room was lit. Shine did not even know the old cooker worked and certainly felt surprised it could produce such a blaze. The huge doors were propped open with a raging fire inside. Oh, how could it be? The infant cried through the sash.

Shine turned away. Her head fell to her hands. Suddenly, there was some strange chanting. Were there other people in the room? Her eyes swept the floor briefly before turning away again. Red shoes. Everyone in red shoes. Capone sounded possessed, speaking in another language, his voice snakelike. Was there a layering of voices or just one? Her mind whirled with shock.

Blood curdling screams. Shine took off running down the hall. The baby’s cries were intense. The tiny one’s muffled voice pierced Shine’s ears as she ran.

Throw it in! The shrieks and the ground shaking squeals Shine heard as she threw herself out the front door of the dance club made the earth shake. The infant’s pain filled her entire essence. And then there was silence.

She should have saved the baby. Maybe they would have killed her too. But, still, she should have tried. She could never forgive herself.

Her body shaking at the recollection, Shine now tries to push the memory out of her mind. Stop! Stop! Just stop it! With a reckless tilt of the head, she guzzles the last of her vodka from her flask. It slides down her throat and burns in her tightly cinched stomach. There is barely room to breathe let alone drink with her black corset laced to eighteen inches. Had she known she would lose control, she would have tied it at her usual twenty inches. It’s been quite a while since she drank like this.

Though she fears Capone may have followed her to her parents Las Vegas apartment, she does not want to enter the flat and would rather take her chances for a while in the hall. So many horrible memories, a childhood past and gone. With everything at stake and the stirring ambivalence in her mind, her heart races. If her former boss does find her, God knows what terrors he will inflict upon her. He must be pure evil. But confronting her mother after so long tugs at her heart in ways she fears she cannot handle.

Maybe music will soothe her. Her mind, in a sort of paralysis, she sets her earpiece in place snugly in her ear and plays Tantalize by The Strollers hoping to calm herself. It is one of their slow songs. Her estranged step-cousin is the lead singer in this controversial metal rock band, more like shock rock, outlandish in its absurd coarseness. Women across the planet are madly, insanely in love with Jadis Bellemet and his shock rock persona. It’s not that he defecates on the stage before a deity. There is something about his voice that caresses her very soul and usually takes her to a soothing place, but this evening even the music does not seem to help.

Ah, how could she have such a messed-up family? Maman’s sordid career and her father’s insatiable appetites. But she still loves her mother and vowed to herself that she would return and take care of her. She will make things right between them even if it kills her. Veronique Paradis needs her even if she cannot confess it and right now and as much as she does not want to admit it to herself, she needs her mom—dreadfully.

She leans her back against the door glancing down the hall biting her full lower lip looking like a frightened baby doll. Feeling paralyzed with indecision, she takes another swig of vodka and puts her mask back on, afraid she might catch the newest strain of Solar 49 upon entry. How many people have died these past weeks? Okay, I can do this. I can’t stand out here all night and with only ten dollars to my name, I am in desperate need of a place to stay. So what if the last time I talked to Maman she cursed at me in a filthy stream of venom. With a deep inhalation, she turns the handle to the door. To her surprise, it is unlocked.

Maman, she calls out, her voice shaking. Are you home? Her heartrate picks up, the blood surging roughly like water rushing over jagged rocks.

With a suitcase in each hand, her eyes widen when she walks into the deep yellow kitchen, a den of hate. It feels like forever since she has been home. Everything looks both the same and different. An anxious feeling jitters inside of her chest and neck. The familiar sheer white curtains are drawn from the two windows that overlook the city lights of the Las Vegas strip below. So much sparkle and glitz in contrast to the black sky. Film Noir. The porcelain sink is filled with empty beer bottles and a syringe lay on the tiled counter.

Maman, she calls out to her mother, her heart thudding against her pale chest. Hello? Anybody here?

There is no response. The apartment seems nearly silent aside from her own footsteps of her high heels as she walks across the linoleum floor out into the living room and the faint sound of crackling wood.

Veronique must have recently left. But why did she leave the door open? An old fire is dwindling out in the fireplace, giving off the scent of burnt wood and the lightest air of smoke. Cushions from the grey velvet sofas are scattered on the plywood floor and candles are burnt out and melted down on the glass coffee table aside a tray with a half eaten pâtisserie and an empty Chinese porcelain tea urn with delicately painted cups turned on their sides.

She sets her suitcases down and takes up a half-emptied bottle of Jack Daniels and guzzles a quarter of it down. The burn in her throat and cinched stomach soothes her wearied soul.

Why did I do that? Do I have a death wish? She considers all the contagion.

Taking in a deep breath, Shine decides to check the two sleeping quarters. She stops in the hallway. Her knees feel weak. She places her hand on the closed door of her childhood bedroom hesitant to enter. Too many memories. She has not been in this room for two years. Steadying herself, she turns the handle and peeks inside.

To her surprise, the space is in perfect order as she left it nearly two years ago. The walls are still painted black with red velvet curtains drawn over the small windows. She is obsessed with velvet, lace, and crystals. Her red velvet comforter is arranged neatly with her teddy bear resting on the black lace pillow. Posters of pinup girls of the 1930’s and 40’s decorate the walls. It feels strange to be back in the apartment where memories haunt her as she looks at the bed.

Quickly, she exits and walks down the hall into Veronique’s and her father’s quarter. Rocks Ambrosia has not been around in the past year, probably off somewhere gambling or with one of his girlfriends. The king-size bed of white lace is neatly made. She opens the nightstand drawer. It is filled with conspicuous items. Bile rises in her throat. Is Maman still taking clients? She thought the money she sent would help her out enough to quit, especially since her Aunt Corinne told her Veronique was working at a gift shop at one of the casinos. Are not her clients afraid of the virus? She wonders if they wear masks, but she realizes her thoughts are warped.

With a glance across the room, she notices her mother’s perfume collection is perfectly arranged on her cherry wood dresser. Such an opulent ensemble. She opens one of the bottles. It is shaped in the silhouette of a woman’s body. So sensuous. She spritzes the inside of her wrist. Wow! It’s a luminous jasmine scent with the undertone of vanilla and something else secret and magical. Shine has always adored perfumes. Veronique’s taste is the finest.

She walks into the bathroom, her eyes widening. The cabinets are left open and the mirrored cupboard above the sink is hanging off its hinge. Pill bottles, hairbrushes, and a toothbrush are scattered on the floor. What happened? She fears the worst.

Biting her nails, she returns to the living room and twists the cap off the Jack Daniels. The sharp scent fills her nostrils. With the bottle in her hand, she sits on the armrest of the sofa and drinks the rest of the harsh contents, throwing caution to the wind. Her head whirls. She thinks she hears a noise from another room but cannot comprehend it. Her heart rate picks up as she considers the possibility that one of her mother’s clients could be inside the apartment. Or could it be her horrible boss, Capone? Her body trembles.

But as she stands up, she nearly falls and forgets what she is doing. Stupid, she thinks to herself. She passed her limit with the drinking. Trying to keep her balance, she walks to her bedroom and lies down on the red velvet bed. Will he throw her into the oven and burn her alive? A tear rolls from her eye as she falls asleep almost immediately.

Hours must have passed. She awakes to a noise. Chills rush up her spine. Her head is still spinning from the drink. The door of her bedroom opens. Light from the hall floods into the black space. Maman? she says, hopeful that her mother has returned and that it is not someone dangerous. If it is her mother, maybe she will forgive her. Oh, but she is not in well enough shape to reason with her appropriately. What was she thinking drinking like this?

She sees a dark silhouette standing in the doorway. Light casts on a thin woman’s golden hair. It looks like her mother, but the shadows and age render her an eerie look. Her delicate face is impassive, but her blue eyes are fiery as she stares at her daughter lying in the bed.

Maman, it’s me Shy. I’ve come home to be with you, she says in the dark.

Her mother does not answer. As Shine rolls over onto her side, she glances back at Veronique and sees that she is holding something in her hand that rests at her side. Quickly, she sits up as the object glistens in the hall light. It is a knife.

No! Her heart slams against her ribcage like a jackhammer as her mother charges at her with the long blade.

Before Shine can scramble to her feet, Veronique jabs the knife at her but only scathes her arm as she misses her body and lodges it into the mattress full force. I’m going to kill you, her mother screams as she pulls the blade out.

Breathless, Shine pushes past her, stumbling around the bed as she grabs up her purse and runs out of the room. Heat surges in her chest. She can hear her mother chasing after her as she runs down the hall. Her breath is strangling her, and she feels lost and disoriented from panic in the apartment. She makes her way into the living room, trips over her suitcases, and bashes her knee against the floor.

Her eyes dart toward the hall, her mother fumbles with the blade. Beast! the older woman says through clenched teeth. The blade drops at her feet. Shine blinks several times hoping her mother has gained her senses. This cannot be happening. But Veronique snatches up the blade. Stop! It is all moving so fast. Her forehead beaded with sweat Shine grabs hold of the edge of the coffee table.

Her mother’s eyes widen as she charges at her daughter again holding the knife over her head. Gasping, Shine pulls herself up just as her mother reaches her and takes another jab barely missing her torso.

Before she knows it, Shine is outside and in the parking lot, her chest heaving. She searches around through the dark. There is just one flickering lamp set off to the side by the dumpsters. Veronique is not to be seen. Panting and trying to catch her breath, she digs through her purse and retrieves her keys. Get a grip! Her fingers feel numb as she fumbles with them trying to get the metal into the lock of the car. Her heart surges with the recognition that her mother loathes her. Finally, she manages to get the door open.

At once she climbs inside and locks the door. Her head falls to the steering wheel as she puts the key in the ignition. She exhales, trying to gather her senses, but then she feels a hand grasp onto her shoulder.

Oh, please, no! she screams. She feels like she is going to hyperventilate. Is her mother in her car? She tries to get out of the Kung Tzx Comp, but she cannot get the door open.

You have to unlock it, the person says in a deep, relaxed voice.

She whips her head around, startled out of her wits. Who are you? she demands, goosebumps prickle the back of her neck. It is a man in a black top hat and a leather mask with a depiction of some sort of ferocious animal. The mask is of a theatrical sort, not a virus buffer.

Jadis Bellemet is my name… He grins sardonically. … and you must be Miss Ambrosia. His voice is cool.

What did he just say? With all the turmoil, she hardly feels coherent. She thinks of serial killers she has read about on the internet. Maybe he works for Capone. A cold lump settles in her throat. She swallows hard and stares at the man, feeling unable to move. Did he just call her by name?

He is handsome like a model as are some of the most famous serial killers portrayed in the media and he is dressed entirely in black with studded fingerless gloves, a bullet belt with bullets, and a long overcoat. His eyes are of two colors. One is emerald, so green like leaves in spring and the other is grey like a silver gun. They are so intense that she figures he must be wearing contact lenses. Maybe not? As he cocks his head to the side, apparently studying her, his strange, yet beautiful orbs bore into her in a way that makes her feel completely out of control—lost, angry, freaked out…

What do you want from me? She manages to ask, her voice hitching in her throat. At once she digs through her purse for her surgical mask.

There is a knock at the driver’s window. Startled, Shine screams. At once she turns and sees a man in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts holding a bag of fast food and a tray of drinks. His white hair is cut short and neat. We thought this was Uncle Rocks’ car, he calls through the glass. Didn’t want to frighten you, Shy.

He knows her. The guy at the window just mentioned her father. Oh! She realizes who these enigmas are. Her winter blue eyes widen as she turns to look at the man in black leather in the backseat.

He grins wolfishly. Maybe he didn’t want to scare you, but I did. His low, musical tone is taunting as he unlocks the back door and lets his companion in beside him.

Shine is still shaken up, but her shoulders fall as she begins to puzzle the pieces together. She is afraid her mother might still be looking for her. If she had not been out of her mind, she might have figured out who these guys were right away. It is my father’s Kung Tzx. As much as she wants to sound cool and collected, her voice cannot help but quiver. But I’m using it. Her adrenalin rushes much too fast. Is she going to catch Solar 49 from them?

Retrieving her virus protector from her purse, she threads the elastic strings over her small ears and pulls the black gauze over her lips. Blinking several times, she looks at the man in the theatrical mask questioningly as she wipes her sweating palms on her black retro skirt. You’re Jadis Bellemet, the psycho rock star, and my step-cousin? she says, probing his intriguing eyes and then searching out the window for her mother. His expression appears impassive as he stares at her.

And you are… she looks at the man in the Hawaiian shirt, also quite handsome but in a more conservative way, …Matt Bellemet, my real cousin. She had not seen Matt since she was a child and Jadis was an entirely different story.

Yeah, Matt says pulling out a burger from the fast-food bag and holding it out to Shine.

She shakes her head and waves her hand at it as her stomach rolls.

He laughs. Too much drink?

Wondering how he can tell, she stares at him blankly.

Well, I remember swimming with you in that lake down south as kids. You were super-fast in the water. We went fishing.

Don’t bother her about that, Jadis says grabbing the burger from him. Where’s Uncle Rocks? he says in a low voice tilting his head down as he eyes her.

To her horror, her body fills with an uncontrollable tingling sensation that stirs her. You’re crazy breaking into the car and scaring the hell out of me. Get out. Her mind whirls and the next thing she knows her stomach rumbles loudly. Tearing her virus protector off, she feels like she might faint, but instead, she heaves forward, and vomits right over the back of the seat on Jadis’s steel toe boots. She falls over to her side and passes out.

Chapter Two

Light of Twilight

Witch Apocalypse

Rivka Zohar

The next morning Shine wakes up lying in a bed of white feathers and gold ribbon inside a solid gold canoe that drifts gently in a sort of indoor pool. Startled, she takes note of the elegant Greek art on the walls and the high reaching arched windows giving view to the gardens.

Where am I? Her pale blue eyes cast down at her body. She is clad in a white silk sleeping gown with a string of tiny pearl buttons from the high neckline down to her ankles. Her feet are fitted in soft white satin slippers in the style of ballet flats, but with lax soles designed for indoor wear.

My oh my. What the hell is this? she says as she sits up trying not to wobble the canoe for fear of tipping into the strange clear green water. She touches her lips. Where is my surgical mask? The potent scent of liquor odors the room balanced by a strong herbal and floral scent. How strange. She has an eerie feeling as she notices camera’s protruding from the upper corners of the room and a rather large projector lens lodged into one of the walls like a huge glass eyeball watching her.

Oh, it is just her overactive imagination. Nobody is watching me. That would be just too weird. The setting in some ways seems idyllic with the lovely art depictions and fine architecture, but she feels rather unsettled because she cannot fathom how she got here or why it smells so strongly of alcohol.

Her mind reals back trying to recall last night’s events. Argh... Her heart clenches as she remembers her mother with a knife. How could she? Her own mother tried to kill her. The ache in her heart grows nearly to a hot bleed, sickened by distress. She covers her mouth with her hand while still grasping onto the side of the canoe with the other.

Her head aches from the drinking of last night. And there was that man with the burgers, Matt. Oh, yes, her cousin, Matt, Fast Jon’s son. And the other man in the car. Her heart rate accelerates as her hand slides down the white silk covering her chest. Jadis Bellemet.

This was not her first encounter with her odd step cousin, Jadis. In a sense, they had met before, but only once. It was like a hazy dream. She saw him briefly about two years ago. It was an unexpected happenstance at a diner on Sunset Boulevard when she arrived in Los Angeles for the first time before her audition for the TV series.

Mesmerized in a sort of teenage angst with the Hollywood scene, she recalled how she and her father, Rocks, had gone out to eat. As they walked into the mostly glass restaurant, Rocks said to her, Go, babe, take a seat by the big windows. You can watch the L.A cars glide on by. Her dad chuckled at his description.

Rocks Ambrosia always seemed bigger than life to her. The way he stood—erect, emphasizing his tall frame and thin, slightly muscular physique. That early morning, when the stars were still out, he was dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt with dark boots. For a moment, he gazed out the window, blinking his cinnamon brown eyes as he brushed away his shaggy, overgrown copper hair with his weathered hands. This is the life, hot cakes, he said under his breath, lightly nodding his head before walking away.

Shine hated how he called her that but, she obeyed and as she sat down at the table, she took a pen out of her backpack and started sketching on her napkin. The first thing that came to her mind was an automatic rifle. She always liked guns and wanted to invest in her own collection someday. Rocks taught her how to shoot many a times at the gun range in Las Vegas where he practiced.

So, while her father was ordering at the counter and Shine was drawing her image of her most coveted rifle on her napkin, an extraordinary guy entered the diner. It was strange—she felt a sort of surge of energy rush through her body and she looked up. Whoa! Something about this young man caused her to tremble.

Seemingly distracted talking in his cell phone, he was dressed in all black leather. His chiseled face was painted in a thin layer of white makeup. She remembered how handsome he looked to her in his oddness. Was he ashamed like she was of his looks? Is that why he covered himself with makeup? He seemed to have one silver eye and one emerald eye. Contact lenses?

As he stood by the glass front entrance, he must have sensed her watching him, because he looked over at her. To her surprise, he chuckled wryly and shook his head. Why’d he do that? His strange, ununiformed eyes widened slightly. His black hair was cut short and windblown like he had just gotten off a motorcycle.

Heat rose through her neck and burned at her cheeks, but she forced herself to hold his gaze so as not to appear weak. But then, what struck her most was what he said to her. He snapped his cell phone closed and said in a musical, gravelly voice, I’m gonna marry you. He pointed at her with his long fingernail painted in black.

What?! She was only seventeen at the time and nobody had ever spoken to her like that let alone a man as disturbing as this one. From the shape of his chiseled face, even with all the makeup covering it up, she could tell he was naturally as gorgeous as a model, but it was not even his appearance that irritated her. It was something about his essence that was entirely maddening. She could not quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way he looked at her so intensely, maybe it was the musical intonations of his masculine voice, or maybe it was the sad look in his weird eyes. No, it was just simply the way he moved so gracefully with confidence almost like an animal.

But she sensed he wasn’t sincere. He looked like the kind of guy who got lots of women. What a user. What a player, she thought, anger boiling up inside her. Her heart clenched and heated. What the hell?

And then the craziest thing happened. Her father stepped away from the counter and looked at the young man. Sudden fury flamed in Rock’s eyes. What was he angry about?

All at once, Rocks ran forward like a shooting pistol and jumped the guy! Shine was shocked. Hurling his body on top of him like a mad man, he slugged the poor guy in the jaw.

Stop! Shine screamed.

The young man’s weird eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet, but Rocks