While We Shatter Apart

By E.K. Barnes

A year has passed since the diviners' coup against Priori Labs. Although they were promised to be hunted by the Krause family and the captivators if they violated the resulting treaty, the year passed without incident. That is until Bradley's great-grandmother insists Rebecca and Olga's public display of power in Monument Circle had incited an u

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.K. Barnes
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737971436

E.K. Barnes

It would not be false to claim that E.K. Barnes has enjoyed creating and writing stories for most of her life. In fact, the Diviner's Legacy series was first thought up when she was only ten years old. E.K. grew up in a family of creatives, surrounded by musicians and artists. Since she was young, she was always drawn to stories of adversity. If the story didn't match or exceed the anxiety she felt on a daily basis, she didn't care much for it. Struggling with undiagnosed mental illnesses for most of her childhood, E.K. preferred to live in her imaginary worlds. She owned and operated Scribe Stash, a personalized subscription box service for readers and writers from 2017 to 2018. Since the publication of her second book in 2021, she has often been seen at multiple comic conventions in the Midwestern United States.E.K. is a member of the Independent Author Network. She is a 2014 graduate of Olathe Northwest High School in Kansas and has been a student at Johnson County Community College, MidAmerica Nazarene University, and Southern New Hampshire University. She currently resides in Kansas with her dog, Nikki.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In March 2017, I sat in the passenger’s seat of my aunt Rosalie’s SUV while she asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I had given my two weeks’ notice that I was dropping out of college. Though I loved studying sociology and psychology, I couldn’t see myself pursuing careers in those fields. I had a longing to write and travel. I wanted to pour the ink of my heart and soul on pages for people to read, adore, and relate to. I wanted to live on the road and sell books. I was living in impractical dreamland, but with my neurodivergence, school was hard. Dreams were all I had.

My aunt listened and nodded along to my hopes and dreams as if they were something achievable for a broke college dropout who had severe social anxiety. I wasn’t used to adults believing in me.

This last year has been full of surprises. When the Divine Are Dead became a semi-finalist in the 2021 Kindle Book Awards. As in-person events restarted following a global hiatus during the pandemic, I found myself with a booth at some of my first in-person conventions. Even more surprisingly, I was able to see When the Divine Are Dead and the sequel on shelves at my local Barnes & Noble.

As an independent author with no college degree, not everyone wants to take a chance on me. My books and I are immediately dismissed and categorized under negative stereotypes. With that in mind, I especially want to thank those who have supported me in various ways along this journey.

First, I want to thank my supporters on social media; particularly, those I know from various stages of my life who have left encouraging messages following the small successes. Thanks to Maggie, Stephen, Miranda, Madison, Margaret, Jeanne, Desi, and Jenny, who were all either friends or role models to me as a child and teen. Also, thanks to my cousins Jessica, Megan, Justin, Brandon, and Eric, who all either read my book or supported me in smaller ways. Thanks to my uncle Terry, Aunt Kay, Uncle Paul, and Aunt Jen who also fall under this category.

Thanks to all my online friends and acquaintances through the Haikyuu Head*sses Discord server; especially, Shell, Rei, and Lauro, who expressed a particular interest in my series. Additional thanks to Rei for connecting me with her sister, who became one of the sensitivity readers for a scene in this book.

On the topic of sensitivity readers, I want to also thank Alyssa for being a huge help regarding the transgender representation in this book. I knew the rough and second drafts had some problems, and I am very thankful to her for taking the time to explain them to me. She offered incredibly insight and many helpful suggestions.

Special thanks to several members of the writing community on Twitter—Michelle, Midori, Cydney, T. M., and Muirinn—who offered helpful suggestions and resources.

I especially cannot forget to thank my amazing editors, Jessie and Rita of Ruff!, who have been working on this series with me since the beginning. Their helpful suggestions and comments have contributed to many changes and additions over the years that have made Bradley’s story stronger. I especially enjoyed their reactions to some of the plot twists in this book as well as their immediate desire to read the next one. They truly believe in my writing and the story my characters have to tell.

When it comes to people who have made a direct contribution to this book, I want to also thank my sister Kaitlin, who has designed and illustrated the cover for each book in this series. She always does such an amazing job with the artwork.

I want to thank my best friend Nery (also known as Gray), who has been with me every step of the way. She was the first to volunteer to help at my first in-person event and she has always been my biggest supporter.

Speaking of events, I want to thank my sister, my mom, and my brother for helping me setup and monitor my booth at various conventions. I also want to thank my Uncle Terry for hosting and feeding us at his local convention.

Thanks to author J. LaStar and the Writer’s Block team for accepting me as a fellow local author at the KC Book Fair. Thanks to Dianna Gunn and the Weeknight Writers team for hosting several online events throughout the year, and for allowing me to be a panelist for the April 2022 event. Thanks to the exhibitor teams at VisionCon, Des Moines Con, Smallville Con, InConJunction, and Memphis Comic Expo for allowing me to have a booth at their conventions this year.

On that note, I also want to thank my dentist, Gloria, for being so excited when she realized I was an author. I had no idea she was a science fiction and fantasy fan.

I want to thank the owner(s) of 3 Wishes in Kansas for being the first physical store to stock my book on their shelves.

I also want to thank Pastor Scott and the board at Christ Community Church of the Nazarene, whose mission statement inspired the name of Restoration Story Trauma & Recovery Center in this book. Other people who have inspired characters and plotlines are my cousins Justin and Jordan, my aunt Veronica, ex-classmates Selena and Taylor, and the famous fictional superhero, Rogue.

Thanks to A.R. for helping me fix some formatting issues; especially, the page numbers.

Last, but not least, I want to thank many voices in the Roma community who helped inspire small pieces of the storyline and who indirectly teach me every day how to be more tolerant and understanding of a culture outside of my own.

Thank you.

I hope you enjoy this book.

CONTENT WARNING can be found at

https://www.ekbarnesauthor.com/contentwarning6

"Nothing vast enters the life of mortals

without a curse."

Prologue

My stomach lurched, my head spinning. For seconds, I was nowhere. My feet dangled between time and space. Wind enveloped me, securing itself around my body, tight as Saran Wrap. Old television static ripped through my eardrums, crackling in various frequencies. My eyes stung as I tried to keep them open—tried to witness the strange, ever-elusive location this power took us. Was it another plane of existence? The limbo Savanna always failed to describe when she teleported to me? Even witnessing her memory never brought me anywhere close to this. Through my squinted, watery eyes, I couldn’t see the others. I panicked. To be left alone on this plane of existence—one that, as far as I could see, was a mash-up of colors sparkling so brightly it was difficult to discern one from the other—was utterly horrifying. Despite its unimaginable brilliance, the thought of being alone in this strange place caused unease to spark through my chest. Khayr squeezed my hand, reminding me that this wasn’t the destination. It was merely a mode of transportation.

I was going home.

1943

1

I Find My Father’s Violin

Great-Grandma Truda

I flinched at the knock at the door, backing against the wall. My siblings had seen the police coming from the window of our flat. The men had already taken our neighbors—arresting them and their families. We had watched as they piled them into large-bedded vehicles. Children had been taken too, causing us to panic. Our parents weren’t home to stop them from taking us.

"Policja!" the men at our door shouted.

We held our breaths, unable to do more than stare at the piece of wood separating us from the angry men. My older sister chewed her lip as one of my brothers asked in a whisper if she was going to answer. She tiptoed one step forward. The police shouted again, banging on the door, urging Adelajda to rush to greet them. She took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and flung the door open, prepared to act innocent.

Hello. How can I help you? she asked in rushed Polish. A police officer grabbed her wrist, yanking her into the hallway. He spoke angry words, spitting in her face.

I gripped the nearest chair, disappearing from their sight before the rest of them raided our flat. I reached for my nearest brother, but a police officer got to him first. Easily scooping him up, he threw him over his shoulder. My siblings scrambled to free themselves as I stood helpless in my invisibility.

Truda! another one of my brothers screamed, reaching in my direction.

Aleks! I cried, wanting badly to rescue him. I instinctively stepped forward but caught myself. I glanced at the men, who hadn’t seemed to hear me over the chaos. I needed to stay invisible. I needed to find our parents. They would know what to do.

My sister Alicja stretched her hands apart, a purple orb flickering between them.

The police officer who had her in his arms widened his eyes. "These are the Cyganie we are to watch for," he told his comrades as he dug through one of his pockets. He procured a syringe, causing most of us to still. A few continued to scream and thrash, including Alicja. He jabbed the syringe into her back—the easiest part he could reach—and dispersed the contents without hesitation. Alicja screamed in pain, her face contorting. She stretched her hands again, flexing her fingers to create a stronger force field, but the more she tried, the smaller the orb shrunk until her attempts became worthless.

Quick! the police officer said, gesturing to his comrades. For the ones who look older than ten. The other officers repeated his actions with half of my siblings. I watched in horror, my mouth drying as I panted in quick spurts of breath. I expected them to lose consciousness, not knowing what drug the officers had injected them with. But my siblings seemed unaffected.

Get them to the truck, one man ordered.

I followed them invisibly, trying to keep them in my sight. My parents wouldn’t be much help if I did not know where they were taking my siblings. One neighbor poked her head out of her doorway to spy on the fuss. I caught her looking and reached for her wrist. Please, I begged, reappearing so the woman could see me. Help us!

The woman screamed, and I gasped, disappearing as some of the men turned. Heart quickening, I sprinted. I could not risk being captured too. Turning into a nearby alley, I spotted a few police officers. The sight of them forced my heart into my throat. I pushed onward, knowing they could not see me, and padded down the concrete in my house slippers. The other side of the alley was closest to the corner where my dad played his violin and my mother danced.

Mama! I screamed as I approached the corner. Mama!

The streets were unusually clear for July. I thought maybe the police scared everyone inside. Reaching the corner, I stopped and took in the sight of the abandoned scene before me. My breath hitched in my throat. I dropped to my knees and my hands reached for my father’s smashed violin. Tears streamed down my cheeks, dripping onto the pavement. One of my mother’s shoes lay on its side a few feet from the empty case. My fingers stroked the frayed bow, sobs erupting from my lips. The police must have taken them first, having been out in the open with no place to hide.

Mama, I cried again, softer this time, as I tucked my knees to my chest.

I stayed there for a long time, sniffling into my dress as I clutched my father’s bow. It wasn’t until a hand clamped around my arm and a familiar voice spoke urgently that I lifted my head.

Truda, where is Adelajda? They seem to have taken everybody to the cemetery. Tell me she is not there too.

I blinked, realizing I had not stayed invisible. Dobry, my sister’s fiancé, shook me as footsteps ran in our direction. I wiped the tears from my eyes just in time to see my best friend running toward us.

Dobry sucked in a breath, having heard the answer in my thoughts. No, no. Did they grab her too? They grabbed everyone?

He let me go as my friend Agata bent to grab my hand. Quick. Turn us invisible with you. The police could spot us at any time.

I concentrated, struggling to focus enough to transfer my invisibility to another person. I was not too practiced with my abilities. Turning myself was easy enough. I’d done it to steal bread when my siblings were hungry. Turning Agata and Dobry? That was hard work. Maybe too hard for someone distraught over the police’s kidnappings and their mysterious drugs.

When I managed to include Agata under my shelter of invisibility, I reached for Dobry. His hands were covering his face. They’re going to kill them, he mumbled. They have orders to shoot them at the cemetery.

It felt as if Dobry had ripped all my organs out of my body. I could not breathe—a strange tingling sensation washed over me. I could not hold our invisibility any longer, reappearing in the street from the shock of it all. There was no questioning Dobry. He could read minds, and he had no reason to lie. Our country had been under Nazi occupation for almost four years.

We have to get out of here, my friend begged, pulling me to my feet and reaching for Dobry’s wrist. We cannot let them kill us too.

It took a few seconds to regain the use of my tongue. Wh-what? N-no, I stuttered, shaking my head. We have to help them. We have to save them.

No, no, no, Dobry moaned and dropped his hands from his face, revealing his agonized expression. He took Agata’s hand. The police have a drug that takes abilities. How are a mind reader, a telepath, and an invisible girl going to be a match for hundreds of police with—

I had a feeling he was about to say guns, but his words were cut off by the sound of bullets launching several times in the distance, echoing from the direction of the cemetery. Our village was small enough that the sound echoed through the streets—a vicious, destructive wave of violence that seemed to never end.

Dobry sounded like he was choking. Tears streamed down Agata’s cheeks as she pursed her lips, struggling to hold in the sobs. I closed my eyes, praying under my breath as I squeezed their hands. That sound couldn’t possibly be what I thought it was. No. The diviners had surely been able to protect themselves. Perhaps the bullets were marking the deaths of the police.

When I opened my eyes again, I had successfully made them all invisible. I could still see them, but the white glow surrounding their bodies told me I had succeeded. Dobry met my eyes, his leaking, as the sound of bullets firing continued. He slowly and deliberately shook his head at my hopes, his lips pressed firmly together.

My legs gave out once again. My abilities remained useless; we reappeared in the street. We were hearing our people’s deaths—our families. My siblings, my mother and father, Dobry and Agata’s families, the man I was betrothed to and his family… all of them. What was there to live for?

Dobry pulled me to my feet, attempting to shake some sense into me as I wailed. We have to go, he said. We have to save ourselves.

I shook my head, inconsolable. My lungs ached from grief.

We cannot let them see us! Dobry shouted.

I could not understand how he could hold himself together so much better than I could. How was he not falling apart too?

Agata tried to drag us back toward my family’s flat. Please, she begged. If you could help us stay hidden until the police leave. There is no good place to hide out here.

It was true. This corner of Szczurowa was located on a wide and treeless street. There was nowhere to go but inside. I stumbled alongside her, tugging Dobry with us. I did not want to return to the flat where the police may return, but it was better than the open streets where we could be spotted at any moment.

I will try to find us a way out of town, Dobry said, his voice shaking as he helped support my weight. But for now, we will have to hide.

I nodded, still sobbing, my entire body aching as we made our way back to the flat. I gripped their hands as we neared, remembering the police in the alley. We could not risk being spotted. It took all I had to gather the strength to keep our invisibility long enough to reach home.

When we were finally in the temporary shelter of the place where my siblings had been stolen, the pain inside me could no longer be held. Dropping to the floor as Dobry shut the door, I opened my mouth to scream a rush of quiet air. We could not risk the neighbors hearing us through the walls. I could not risk releasing the painful echo of loss. I had to be strong.

I had to survive.

64 Years Later

2

My Great-Grandmother Lacks Tact

Bradley

Grandpa smoothly swung around Grandma, a skillet in his hand, the oils bubbling from the heat. He was humming a hymn as he carelessly poured the hot oil down the drain. Grandma waved her hand in his direction, probably getting ready to chastise him, but the oil had disappeared by the time she had a chance to open her mouth. You’re gonna ruin the pipes, she hissed. He wasn’t listening. Ever since he got word that his mother was coming for Thanksgiving dinner, he was halfway to the moon.

We’ve rarely seen Great-Grandma in person. She’d been around a few times when I was little—before things started to go south for me. My memories don’t include her visits. It was only when she showed up in my hospital room a little over a year ago that I truly got to meet her.

Great-Grandma was a Holocaust survivor and, although she was never held captive in a camp, she survived a massacre in her Polish hometown when she was a teenager. She witnessed horrific violence toward her people during the years when she hid until, finally, she assisted her best friend in the secret assassination of the Nazi Party’s leader. She stayed in Poland two more years before leaving her home country behind, fleeing for the United States at the beginning of the Cold War with her son—my grandfather. She started running again forty years later.

Grandpa positioned the croquettes he had finished frying into a pyramid shape. When he was done, he held his hands out, presenting the dish to us as if he were introducing a beautiful woman. Krokiety, he said proudly. My mama’s favorite dish.

She’ll love it, darlin’, Grandma assured him in her slight Southern drawl. She stirred the barszcz—something I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be trying—one last time before she tapped her wooden spoon against the edge of the pot, red beet juice splattering over the edge.

The doorbell rang, and Mom sprang from the kitchen table to answer. Flinging the door open, she shouted excitedly, jumping and clapping like a teenage girl. Aunt Genna!

There was something about Mom’s family that seemed to age her backward. Then again, she had left home at eighteen to marry my father—a taboo rebellion in more ways than one.

It’s hard to picture my mom as rebellious. She’s kind, considerate, soft-spoken, and gentle. Mom is patient too and has the mystical ability to see a situation from many perspectives. She’s psychic—literally—and used to put her powers to use to help others. Mom was also brave and resilient and, perhaps, those were the traits that allowed her to take such a pivotal leap of faith into the jado—civilization beyond her Romani traditions. Great-Aunt Genna, though, was not so traditional.

Genna—short for Genevieve—was Grandma’s older sister. She was in her sixties now, but she didn’t look it. She’d aged better than Grandma. Great-Aunt Genna’s mousy brown hair stuck out at odd angles, cut short at the ears. Her fair skin only wrinkled at her eyes, and her dimples were more prominent. Grandma’s hair had grayed and was ridiculously curled, the tight coils creating a rounded hairdo. Knowing what the sisters had gone through in life, their difference in aging didn’t make sense. Grandma had her family mostly intact—her only act of