Return of the Line: Heroes of the Line, #2

By JA Carlton

The time has come for those of The Line to return.

 

Four years ago Nick and Frank Emerson learned they were destined to lead a band of heroes in a war against the Living Dark and its sinister minions.

 

The time for war between light and dark is near, Schades are assembling, Vestiges are rising, and the Heroes are stepping forth to defend all life. 

 

Destiny has come to claim two brothers whose shared soul holds the key to save the universe, or destroy it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JA Carlton
• Release date: Mar 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224041923

Book preview

Gratitude

The first thing I need to do is give tremendous thanks and gratitude to everyone who’s worked so hard to make Second Hand a work to be proud of that stands up and hopefully surpasses its predecessor.

So, I’ll start with my incredibly patient Betas.

So, in alphabetical order:

Bethany Taylor, Carol Lloyd, and Sheila Gratsinger, all three of whom put up with an unconscionable amount of insecurities, nitpicks and justifications! I’d’ve been floundering without the three of you! Thank You!

And to Katherine Schon, my editor without whom this might be one big, 269 page run-on sentence.

Thanks, also, to Katrine Wang Svendsen, and Kyurra Gill for their special attention, and our other awesome SPN FaNily: Amy, Chris, Jess, Claire, Ciel, for all your encouragement! It’s the kind that money can’t buy, y’know?

And since we’re on the subject of Supernatural – Thanks Krip, Kast and Krew for bringing brothers and brotherhood back into the light, and for well... maybe one day you’ll know.

Jodi, my lifetime stalwart. There aren’t words to thank you enough.

For all of you, I am grateful! Now, enough mush. Let’s get on with the story.

PROLOGUE

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go... I’m comin’, Nicky! I’m comin’! Frank leaped up, kicking off his pajama bottoms before pulling his jeans on in one swoop. His heart galloped in his chest, sweat slicked his hands as he stomped into his gym shoes on the way to his backpack, then tore through it for things he might need in the 3 a.m. world outside. While he stuffed his pockets, Uncle Howie’s sleepy voice broke through his frantic thoughts.

Frank? What is it, Frankie?

It’s Nick. He’s back. He’s up. He’s coming home!

What? Wait, Frank, no! Stop and think. It could be a trick, it might not be Nick. But Howie’s rationalization wasn’t what the boy wanted to hear.

It’s him.

"Frank, wait for us. It could be a trap. We’re coming back right now, just wait!" his uncle urged desperately, suddenly cursing the miles between him and his youngest nephew.

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go! Frank repeated breathlessly, shrugging into his jacket and racing out the front door.

—

It’s now or never. Nick’s palm stung as he pressed hard onto the slime-covered, jagged end of stone that cut into him. In the penetrating darkness of the corner of his cell, the blood he squeezed out into his cupped hand was barely visible but for the gray of his pale skin.

Glancing furtively around, his eyes long-acclimated to the dense blackness, the eldest of the junior Emersons pressed his back to the darkest part of the alcove. His pulse pounded in his throat as he listened for the dusty shuffling passage of the schade forces looking for him. Before ducking into the corner, he’d left a trail that headed toward the exit, even though he knew it wouldn’t fool them for long.

His eyes closed and his breath carried an unspoken prayer as he dipped his fingers into the small pool of blood. He scanned the darkness, the varying depths speaking to him, showing him what he needed to know. When the time was right and the faintest shimmer touched the air, he turned to the darkly glistening mold and lichen covered wall, hastily drawing a bow and quiver crossed with a sword. With the family Crest done, he drew four ancient symbols, one at each of the cardinal points, then completed the seal with a circle of blood. To anyone else in the perpetual darkness, that was the schade realm, on the wall it was just another layer of black, but to those that lived here, the symbols he’d dreamed of held a deeper meaning, one he knew they understood better than he did. They’ll know it opened the way for me to escape, and then they’ll come.

The thought made him shudder as he watched the veil between worlds thin and dip downward from the night shadow he could see above. Moonlight against a tree had thrown the shadow, drawing his attention and giving him this chance to escape, to finally return home.

Those hasty shuffling footsteps echoed closer to his cell. There was no door; there didn’t need to be one. The guards wouldn’t let him leave this stony prison. No matter how hard he fought, they came up through the floors or shadows along the walls, grasping and pulling him back whenever he tried to get outside. He was fairly certain they never thought he’d discover how to open the way on his own. But he had.

He leaped toward the distended fabric between worlds. His fingers and toes clawed at the slick rock walls while his bony arms, elbows and knees crashed in the upward scramble, filling him with dozens of added pains.

His feet slid as he turned, knocking the ribs that had been fractured against a jagged bit of wall almost three weeks ago. Breath wheezed into and out of his throat. I will be free! Tonight! He gritted his teeth, trying not to think of all his previous failures. Tonight he would succeed and everything he’d learned in the last month was going to be brought back with him to the world of light. All he had to do was get home.

Mud slid between his fingers as he pushed up, his big toe holding in a crevice while he dared to reach just a little higher. Above, a fibrous network of roots guarded the way home, separating grudgingly as he coaxed his way through them. Something squished under his fingertip. Thank God. He grasped the squirming rubbery body of a rain-fat night crawler and shoved it into his mouth. Food!

A cold knobby hand closed on his ankle, yanking his foot off the wall.

No! he yelped, kicking away, holding tightly to the closely woven web of roots above him before thrusting his other hand up into it as well. No! Not this time! he growled. He was too close to let them pull him back again.  

All the things he’d been through, what they’d done to him, the knowledge he’d accumulated, theories he’d arrived at, and speculations he’d indulged in were going home with him to the one person he was determined to never fail. They were going to the one person he swore he’d never leave - his little brother Frank. I won’t let them win, I won’t fall. I won’t, Frank. I promised I’ll always find you and I mean to keep it!

Tears slid helplessly from his eyes while the panic and despair that had nearly destroyed him a month ago when he was first captured came slithering forward, trying to weaken his resolve.

It’s just like then, only in reverse, I’m coming out. I’m breaking free... he kicked and clawed, making himself dizzy with exertion as he remembered the feel of the dirt under his fingernails from when he’d flailed, clawing the soil while they pulled him down. He could still feel the twist of fear in his face as those cold, dry hands wrapped with horrible strength around his ankles, pulling him out of the light and into their realm only millimeters away from his Uncle Ryan’s grasp.

He pulled with all his might, his hands growing slick with blood and rain as he reached through the grass, wishing he’d been able to find something, be it bugs, vermin or worms, to eat within the last few days. I can’t even go back to a point when I was stronger, ‘cause for all I know, it could be just what you sons of bitches want! So help me, God, I will kill you all one day!

He pushed and scrambled, clinging, sliding and grasping until his fingers broke through the topmost layer of his realm. Living, grassy needles stabbed into his cut like daggers, and still he couldn’t have been more grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you! He felt his face grow wet as he pulled and scrambled through the shadow, kicking wildly at the hands that made one more futile attempt to pull him back.

No! No, no! Let me go! he yelled, squinting into the brightness of his home plane in the middle of the night. A thousand pinpoints of light shot into his brain as moonlight reflected off the pendulous raindrops plunking through a canopy of leathery leaves.

He pulled and pushed himself out of the shadow, out of the doorway as the schade’s hand slipped from his ankle. Daring to believe he might be free, Nick rolled along the sodden, muddy leaves to lie in a circle of blinding moonlight that shone briefly between the storm clouds, as if it did so just to grant him a moment of safety in the arms of brightness.

He patted the soft, soggy ground covering, flipping onto his back with his mouth open as the frigid drops fell in, wetting and refreshing him. A chuckle bubbled up from his belly, quickly morphing into a fit of gut-clenching, half-hysterical giggles that finally let go to make room for the sobs he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to.

Lying on his back as an icy deluge washed over him, fourteen-year-old Nick Emerson had one conscious thought.

Frankie.

1

The good thing about being nine years old was that Frank was pretty sure he could run practically forever. The bad thing about being nine years old was that, at just after three o’clock in the morning on a pitch black street, anything he might encounter would probably be something he most definitely didn’t want to. 

Sheesh, only three street lights? That’s crazy! he noted, but kept running.

Doesn’t matter, he told himself while keeping his eyes peeled for moving shadows. I’m comin’, Nicky, I’m comin’, just hang on. Sorry, Wee, I ain’t waitin’. He thought hastily and patted his pockets, double-checking their contents. Light? Knife? Keys? Yep, yep, yep. Okay. Seconds after he fled the house, he was soaked to the skin, the rain driving in time with his pounding feet as he zipped along the slick asphalt.

Pulled unerringly forward, for the first time in weeks, hope filled the youngest Emerson’s heart.

2

Frankie! Dammit! Howie ‘Wee’ Emerson pawed his overlong hair off his face.

Ryan, the younger man’s best friend and partner, looked up from his duffel bag, but didn’t pause in his packing. He’s not listening?

Worse. Howie shook his head hastily, trading his sweats for jeans.

Ooooh, shut out. The older man smirked, but couldn’t hide his concern. Frank was only nine. Granted he was a smart, strong, and quick nine, but the little booger was still just a kid. Just a kid whose big brother’s been missing for almost a month, just a kid who feels like it’s all his fault and who’s been straining himself almost sick trying to make a connection since... he trembled as a shiver ran up his spine, hot on the heels of the memory of Nick’s fingers clawing at the ground just before the schades dragged him away.

Frank, the youngest of the junior Emersons, might feel like it was his fault that his big brother got snatched right through a shadow, but if there was a place to lay blame, it was right in Ryan and Howie’s hands. Once again, they’d underestimated the danger the boys would be in, and again, it was the boys who were forced to pay the price.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get the image of Nick Jr.’s terrified face calling for help while his fingers scratched futilely at the hard packed earth, out of his head.

Howie had held onto Frank while Ryan dove at the supernatural doorway. He clasped at the clay-like ground where Nick’s own fingers had been a single heartbeat before.

Frankie’s shattered cry still rolled in his head, filling him with loathing in spite of the fact that, or maybe even because, the boy never blamed him. He should, it’s my fault. Howie’s warm hand on his shoulder pulled him from the shadows of his shame.

Did he say where he thought Nicky might be? he asked around some vicious squeeze that seemed to have magically appeared deep in his throat.

Wherever it is, it’s going to be dark, Howie assured him. I just pray it’s not near the vortex.

That’s fifty miles from the house, Wee. You think he could feel him from that far away?

I don’t know, he shook his head. The way they screw with the senses and energies? Anything’s possible.

S’gotta be the woods. They’re less than a mile from the house and, let’s face it, those pasty-faced bastards are getting more and more ballsy. Ryan turned his green-gold eyes on the younger man. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if we started seeing signs of ‘em in the neighborhood soon. He shook his head. We shouldn’t have taken ‘em with us on the raid, Ryan muttered for the umpteenth time. He knew in his gut that was part of the reason they’d made it a point to try to get their hands on the boys. And if it wasn’t for those lightning-fast reflexes of Nick’s, that son of a bitch woulda had Frankie instead. Shouldn’ta got either of ‘em; if I’d just been a little faster.

Howie patted Ryan’s shoulder, knowing full well the man had fallen back into his well of self-recriminations. None of them would be right again until Nick was home.

Tell you what, as soon as we get him back, we’ll ask Nick to push back time so it doesn’t happen then, Wee joked tightly, grabbing their bags and leading the older man out of the motel room.

S’gonna come a time when he’ll be able to do it.

Probably.

3

Nick’s fingers hooked into the mud, small bits of woody detritus poking into the slice on his hand and cutting beneath his nails while his rain-soaked clothes weighed him down, feeding his exhaustion. I’m comin’ home, Frank. I’m comin’ home, baby boy, he thought, barely above a whisper; afraid he’d hear a response as he so often told himself he had while captive.

A chill ran through him, remembering the first time he thought he’d heard Frank whispering easy assurances that they were looking for him, that they hadn’t given up on finding him and bringing him home. For a time it gave him comfort, but after days and days it finally stopped and Nick knew; they couldn’t find him. They couldn’t get to him. They gave up, and no matter how hard he searched inside himself, he couldn’t feel the presence of his little brother anymore. Frank was gone, there was no one to help him, no one to search for him, no one was coming. He was alone.

Out in the open now, back in his home realm Nick reached out with his senses, almost able to feel the younger boy but afraid he was lying to himself again. He couldn’t bring himself to shout out, even mentally, he had to stay quiet, even in his own head just in case the schades were able to sense him. They knew things, over and over they’d proven they could anticipate his actions, appearing when he tried to sneak, overwhelming him when he tried to run, punishing at every turn.

But he could hope. That was the one thing they couldn’t take from him no matter what else they did.

Exhausted from squeezing himself out of the earth’s womb, he stopped and took a breath, resting his head on his arm he sighed and felt himself start to drift away.

There was no telling how much time passed until he could’ve sworn he felt the world vibrate around him, an indicator of the Master Schade’s fury over his escape.

‘Kay, mm’kay, mm’up. He pushed up, sinking into the spongy layers on the ground. Gotta move. He sat back on his heels wiping the heavy rainwater out of his eyes before gathering his strength and pushing up to his feet. He scanned the area, searching through the silvery curtain for motion, for those chalky-looking, pasty bastards. There wasn’t time to think about how come they weren’t coming yet. If I can get to the house, I’ll be safe, we’ll both... all, we’ll all be safe.

It was the only hope he could hold onto any longer. The place they were staying had once belonged to an old friend of Ryan’s, a man named Buck Forrester. When he died a few years back, he willed the house, his cabin and lands to the hands of another friend of Ryan’s, a hunter named Shepard McGregor, who, along with his nephew, tended to use the place as a safe haven.

Both the house and Buck’s cabin, at the edge of the Umatilla Forest, were so fortified against evil that, even in their deepest shadows, not even the Master Schade’s right-hand ghoul, ‘The One’ as Nick thought of him, could get through. Please help me get there, please let me get through. The sting of tears threatened to add to the blur in his eyes, and while leaden doubt weighed deeply inside his chest, fragile hope held tight to its own tiny space.

I’m comin’, Nicky. He stopped in his tracks, almost certain he really was hearing Frank’s voice in his head.

Frank?

Yeah, I’m comin’.

Is it really him?

’Course it’s really me. Just stay put, I’m on my way.

No!

No? Whaddya mean no?!

You gotta go back, get back to the house; get back where it’s safe. He didn’t dare think any louder than a faint whisper, not yet, not until he could be sure. Dammit! But the belief his little brother was out in the night looking for him, braving the possibilities, forced him forward.

Not without you!

Stop! Just stop. It’s not real.

Stop what? What’s not real?

Nick clamped his hands over his ears, his face twisted with pain as movement up ahead and to the right, just at the joint where a tree met the earth, caught his attention. Something lighter than the darkness shifted and his heart tripped in his chest, oh god they’re here. No, not already.

Nick? Talk t’me Nicky.

Shhhhutup!

And like a door swinging shut the littlest Emerson’s voice was gone and hollow silence reigned once more in Nick’s head.

He peered into the shadows, squinting against the glare from the stars above. Thank God, he sighed almost tearful with relief when the gray, bulbous body of a raccoon broke through the underbrush, sniffing after something to eat.

His footsteps slowed to a stop at the next tree, exhaustion pummeling him, the cut in his hand throbbing as he reached out to the bark, the hum of life energy suddenly so easy to feel after spending almost a month as the only truly living thing in what felt like an entire world. It’s everywhere here. I think I can even feel it in the air. He pushed away from the tree trunk and stood between the ancient sentinels, his arms outstretched and eyes closed. He fell to his knees, his arms collapsed at his sides, his head hanging down his chest, soaked hair hiding the world from his sight as darkness came.

Above him, another wave of rain drove hard against the thick, flat, leafy umbrella, and in that blink of time between waking and unconsciousness he understood so much more than he’d ever dreamed possible.

Life was light. It flowed around him. He was the dark center it massed and danced around, its very blinding brilliance bending and cavorting around him, concealing him. This living energy powered all things, even him. This was what mattered, this was what they wanted, and no matter how they plotted or planned, this was what they could never, nor be allowed to, attain.

Please... the word sighed from between his lips as consciousness and knowledge slipped behind the veil of his mind leaving swirling, twisting grays and blacks writhing somewhere in the back of his brain, cold, icy and calculating.

Memory of warmth flooded some area off to the side as if he was standing in a shadow with a strip of sunlight reaching tentatively for him and his chest burned with the pain of need. I didn’t, I’m not, like them, right? It didn’t work, far as I know. I can feel the warmth, the want. A moment later certainty tried to blossom inside when he thought he felt his little brother’s energy moving through the timescape. Alone. S’not real.  A choked sob ruptured unexpectedly from him into the night.  

Awareness came back with a raucous gravelly voice squawking from just up ahead and to the left where a glossy, black body the size of his head landed then danced and hopped along the ground.

He rolled back onto his knees squinting against the heavy, glassy drops plopping down. Poe? he asked as the large black bird hopped toward him then hopped away and squawked again. It appeared to be leading him, and it wasn’t the first time.

Are you one of hers or one of his? he asked, feeling the tightness in his chest begin to loosen, after all, if the emissaries were still paying attention to him, maybe he wasn’t a lost cause. Maybe I’m still worth saving.

As if in response, the raven leaped into the air and dove toward him. He lurched to the side with his heart in his throat wondering if it somehow sensed his doubt. Then he wondered why it would care, why any of the gods would care about him when they’d left his father helpless and unprotected on that horrible night so many years ago.

The talons that gripped him after the avian messenger turned around weren’t painful, but he could sense a warning in them just the same. As if his doubt was somehow an affront to the being.

His gaze slid toward the creature on his shoulder, his bright eyes, the color of summer morning sky, met those that appeared to be black, but he knew better. This raven’s eyes were layers of brown with a ring of gray around the outer edge, and in spite of their darkness, those eyes were bright with intelligence, and more than just a hint of mischief.

It is you. he sighed squinting, then wiped the water and his long dark hair from his eyes before reaching to his shoulder to run his finger down the bird’s breast. Its beak clicked against his finger first, a jagged nic almost dead center in its upper edge identifying