Scattered Ashes

  Scattered Ashes

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright (c) 2015 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information:

  www.jessicasorensen.com

  Cover Design and Photography:

  Mae I Design

  Interior Design and Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  Scattered Ashes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  GEMMA

  The sky is dark like a rainstorm; only, no rain is falling from the clouds. The air is cold and crisp, and I can smell death, taste it, feel it through the humidity seeping into my skin.

  I'm standing alone in a forest just at the edge of a field. Through the thick tree branches, I can see where three human figures are leaning over something with their heads bowed.

  I slowly walk toward them, my bare feet burning against the snow with each step. Tree branches scratch at my face, my arms, my legs, trying to hold me back, a warning not to go any farther. Still, I press on, shoving them out of my way, until I finally trip into a flat opening where the trees part.

  "Hello!" I call out, but they don't turn around.

  Snowflakes float from the sky and melt against my flesh as I inch closer. Who are they, and what are they looking at?

  "I can't believe she's gone," one of them sobs.

  Wait. I know that voice.

  Aislin.

  She's standing between two people who I recognize are Laylen and Alex. My heart leaps in my chest as fear pulsates through me.

  Something's wrong.

  I race for them, but a flock of crows swoop from the trees and dive for me. I hunker down, shielding my head with my arms as they circle me, pecking at my skin. Finally, I let out a scream, and they scurry away. But one remains, flying above Aislin, Laylen, and Alex.

  I straighten an inch closer, my heart knocking in my chest as I approach them.

  Aislin slips her fingers through Laylen's, and they turn from whatever they were looking at. Their eyes glisten with tears as they look through me and walk toward the forest.

  I twist back to look at Alex. His head is still tipped down, his body still.

  "Alex," I utter softly.

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. "Forem," he whispers the words of our Forever Blood Promise then turns to leave. His shoulders are hunched, his eyes are red from tears, and he looks so heartbroken, so in pain.

  And I want nothing more than to make it all go away.

  Forever.

  "Wait." I reach for him, but he vanishes in a heartbeat.

  "No!" I cry out, my voice echoing around the forest.

  Turning back to where the three of them were standing, I finally see what they were looking at. On the ground is a black coffin with the lid open. Inside, a girl lies with eyes shut, her skin as pale as snow, and her hands are overlapped across her heart.

  "No." My voice trembles as I trip back. "No, this can't be happening. I'm not dead."

  "Oh, but you are," someone says from directly behind me.

  My back bumps into something solid and cold, and I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

  I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I'm not dead. You're lying . . . this . . . This isn't real."

  Suddenly, the half faerie, half Foreseer, and one-hundred percent dead Nicholas emerges in front of me.

  An evil grin spreads across his face. "Yes, you are. And denial isn't going to get you anywhere." He gestures over my shoulder at the coffin. "Look again, Gemma. And I mean really look this time."

  My eyes burn as I lean forward and look into the coffin.

  "It's not me," I stammer, shaking my head.

  "Look closer," Nicholas purrs, "and you'll see it."

  Suddenly, the girl's eyelids lift open, and I find my own violet eyes staring back at me.

  "No!" I scream, stumbling back.

  Nicholas chortles. "Welcome to the Afterlife, Gemma, where only the soul survives."

  He shoves me forward, and I fall into the coffin.

  "No!" I cry out again, scrambling to get up, but an invisible force holds me down.

  Nicholas peers down at me with a crow perched on his shoulder. I start to get to my feet, but the coffin lid slams shut, sealing me inside with nothing but myself.

  Forever.

  GEMMA

  I open my eyes and breathe easy again when I realize I'm not inside a coffin, but in the safety of my room. The nightmare of my funeral has constantly haunted my sleep for the last few weeks now. It's always the same, never changing no matter how much I want it to. I know it has more meaning to it than just showing me my death, that it might be my inner conscious showing me what I fear the most--my approaching, unavoidable death.

  I try to settle back to sleep, but now that I'm awake, I'm hyperaware of everything going on around me. My boarded up window may block the outside world from me visually, but it can't conceal the horrible sounds of the crackling fires and screams that plague the air like a toxin. They're always there, painfully reminding me of the damage I've caused by messing around with visions.

  Ever since I shifted the vision back to what it originally was before my father tampered with it, the Mark of Malefiscus has taken over the streets of the human world. Fey, vampires, witches, and even a few Foreseers run wild, tormenting and killing innocent people. And nobody can seem to stop them.

  After tossing and turning for a half an hour, I flip on the lamp, climb out of bed, and then pad over to the mirror hanging on my door. My reflection stares back at me; only, I look more tired than I remember, more worn out. My skin is even paler than normal, almost sickly; my violet eyes have shadows under them; and my brown hair is a tangled mess.

  Shaking my head at my appearance, I sweep my hair to the side and catch sight of the circle enclosing an "S" tattooed on the back of my neck--the Foreseer's mark. Just beneath it, a circle traced by fie
ry gold flames brands my skin--the Keeper's mark.

  "Admiring your own reflection," Nicholas says. "How very vain of you."

  I scowl at the ghost faerie that suddenly materializes behind me. "Go away. I see enough of you in my dreams."

  He presses his hand over his heart, his golden eyes twinkling mischievously. "Wow, Gemma, I'm honored that you think of me so often. But what I'd really like to know is what exactly happens in these dreams?" An impish grin curls his lips. "Are they naughty dreams, Gemma?" He reaches for me. "I bet they are. I bet you let me touch you because, secretly, that's what you want."

  "I think those are your dreams." I dodge out of his reach and spin around to face him. "And I don't dream of you, Nicholas. I have nightmares of you." I back away from him and onto the bed. "Always nightmares."

  "So you say." He smirks, stepping toward me. "But deep down, we both know your words don't match your thoughts, that really, you want me just as bad as I want you." His eyes scroll across my body, lingering on my chest before dropping to my hand. "Otherwise, you'd take the ring off."

  I glance down at the ring on my finger. My father told me it holds the answers to saving the world, but all the damn thing has done is given me the gift--the curse of seeing one very obnoxious ghost.

  "You know what? You actually have a point." I start to slip the ring off.

  "Gemma," Nicholas warns, his body tensing, "I wouldn't if I were you."

  I inch the ring toward my fingertip. "Why? So you can keep driving me insane, make your perverted remarks when you shouldn't?" I wrap my arm around my stomach to emphasize my point, even though it really does make me feel ill.

  I haven't told anyone yet about the heartbeat I heard that night or how Nicholas implied that I might be pregnant. Saying it aloud means dealing with the fact that I might be carrying around another person inside me, which is terrifying in itself. However, there's a whole lot more to it than that, like the fact that if I have to die in order to save the world, so does it.

  Nicholas shakes his head, brushing strands of his sandy blonde hair out of his golden eyes, then glares at my stomach with disgust, as if suddenly remembering I might be pregnant. "I'm not just here to drive you insane." He looks up at me. "And if you take the ring off, you'll never learn the real reason I came back."

  He could easily be lying or telling the truth. It's hard to say. Right now, however, I'm tired, and whether he can help me save the world or not, I really need a break from him.

  "I think I'll take my chances." I take off the ring and drop it onto my bed, and just like that, he's gone.

  I blow out a breath of relief as a tiny bit of my stress alleviates. From now on, I'll only put the ring on when I need Nicholas's help.

  I check the time on the clock. Even though it's early, I'm too wired to fall back asleep. Climbing off the bed, I tug on a grey Henley and a pair of jeans then tiptoe downstairs. The house is so quiet I figure I'm the only one up until I walk into the kitchen and see Laylen stretched out on the floor. His blonde hair is damp, and his tattooed arms flex as he twists a wrench around a pipe underneath the sink.

  Laylen is utterly gorgeous and dangerously sexy, and we get a long fantastically. There are rare occurrences when I look at him and wonder what it'd be like to be with him. But I know it's mostly my hormones and newfound emotions possessing me. That I sometimes might be attracted to him, but there's only one person who can make me feel . . . Well, I haven't completely accepted what I feel for Alex. Deep down, I think I know where my emotions are headed, though.

  "What are you doing?" I ask Laylen through a yawn.

  Laylen dips his head and smiles up at me. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You're up early."

  "So are you." I sink down into a chair at the table. "Fixing the sink, I see."

  "Yep." He taps the wrench against the pipe. "That stupid drip has been driving me fucking nuts."

  "God, I wish every problem was that easy to fix." I picture picking up the wrench and banging Nicholas on the head with it over and over again until he finally spills whatever secrets he's keeping from me.

  Laylen's brows knit. "Are you okay? You seem really depressed lately." He frowns as if realizing something terrible. "It makes me worry that I'm not doing a very good job when I promised Alex I'd make sure you're okay."

  "It's not that." I shake my head, loathing that I've been so down lately and hating even more that Laylen is concerned. "I swear I'm fine." I force a smile. "I'm just stressed out"--I wave at the boarded window--"with the apocalypse happening and everything."

  His expression softens. "Gemma, you need to stop worrying so much. We're going to fix this"--he pauses--"without sacrificing you and Alex."

  "I hope so."

  He sternly points the wrench at me. "Well, I know so, so cheer up."

  "Okay." I force another stiff smile.

  "Are you sure that's all that's bugging you?" he asks, growing concerned again. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

  I absentmindedly splay my fingers across my stomach. "Can I?" I whisper. Just thinking about telling him everything makes me want to vomit. "Laylen, I swear to God I'm fine. I just don't feel very good. That's all."

  He gives me a skeptical look before leaning back and reaching for the pipe again. After he fiddles around for another minute or so, he tosses the wrench onto the tiled floor and sits up.

  "That's it. I give up," he surrenders, throwing his hands into the air. "Clearly, I suck at the plumbing thing." He stands up, stretching his arms above his head, giving me a glimpse of his rock hard abs that I try not to gawk at too obviously. "I guess we're just going to have to deal with the dripping." Lowering his hands, he pulls up a chair and joins me at the table. "You never said why you're up so early. Is it your nightmares? Or is Nicholas bothering you? Because if he is"--he cracks his knuckles as a smile plays at his lips--"I can totally take care of him for you."

  I contemplate on where to start. "It's that stupid nightmare again that woke me up. I can't stop dreaming about my death, no matter what I do."

  His expression plummets. "Is it the one with you in the coffin?"

  I nod. "Yep and everything happens exactly the same, no matter how much I tell myself I'm going to try to manipulate my dream."

  He drapes an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him, stroking my shoulder with his fingers. "You know I won't let that happen. You're not going to die until you're super old and have lived a full, happy life."

  I rest my head on his shoulder, hoping somehow he's right. "I wish it were that easy--that you could just want something to happen and it would--but nobody can control the future." I gesture at the back door that has five deadbolts and three chains securing it. "Otherwise, stuff like what's going on outside happens."

  A scream comes from outside, adding an emphasis to my point.

  "We're going to fix what's happening," Laylen promises, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "But without anyone dying. There's been too much death already."

  My heart hurts as I think about all the deaths that are happening. People are dead because I changed the world's future, and people are still dying and will continue to die unless I fix what I did.

  Laylen leans back in his chair, nibbling at his lip ring with a contemplative look on his face.

  Desperate for a subject change, I ask, "So have you heard anything?" I nervously fiddle with the ceramic cow in the center of the table, avoiding his gaze as the thought of Alex consumes my mind and soul. I haven't felt the electricity in weeks, ever since he left, but sometimes, when I think of him, I can almost feel the tingling sensation kissing every inch of my skin. "I mean, from Alex?"

  Pity fills Laylen's eyes as he reluctantly shakes his head. "I'm sure he's fine, though. And Alex, he can take care of himself."

  "Yeah, I know he can."

  Sometimes I think about going to find Alex by using my extraordinary power to track him down and Foresee to wherever he is. If I close my eyes and picture his face, I could pull it off. But in the
aching part of my heart, I know he left for a reason: we can't be together; otherwise, we'll die. I've seen it happen with my own eyes.

  A bang on the back door interrupts my thoughts. I jolt, standing up with Laylen, my chair tipping back and toppling to the floor. Laylen hastily retrieves a knife from a drawer while I hurry to the back door and peek out through a crack in the board across the window.

  "It looks like they might be witches," I hiss to Laylen. "But I'm not one hundred percent sure. It's still too dark outside for me to see their marks."

  "God fucking dammit." Laylen cautiously approaches the door, holding the knife. He peers through another crack in the board and curses again. "I wonder if they're here just because or if it is something else."

  By something else, I know he means me.

  I look through the crack again, peering at the bottom of the porch at a tall woman with wavy black hair and green eyes. If she is a witch, then we're in deep shit because their magic gives them the upper hand.

  She glances back at a few people standing behind her, and then her hand erupts with a glittery, purple glow.

  "Go get Aislin. It's definitely witches," I hiss, a ripple of tension waving through my body.

  "Don't do anything until I get back," Laylen says then races off toward the stairway.

  The witch says something to her group, and then they all cackle. Panic flares through me as I ransack the drawers for another knife. I end up choosing a smaller one with a razor-sharp edge.

  "This is all your fault," I whisper to myself as I move back for the door.

  Before I can look out, Laylen and Aislin come barreling into the kitchen, out of breath and panting heavily. Aislin's golden hair is disheveled, and she's blinking her green eyes, looking a little groggy.

  "How many are there?" she asks me, cracking her knuckles.

  I peek through the boards again. "Five, maybe six."

  She nods, flexing her fingers. "Which one's going to open the door?"

  Laylen opens his mouth, but I cut him off because this is my mistake, mine and mine alone.

  "I got it." I wrap my fingers around the doorknob, my pulse erratic and my hands a little unsteady as I count down. "On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three." I swing the door open.

  The witch closest to me jumps back in surprise, but her hands are already aimed at me, and she starts chanting a spell underneath her breath.

  Wasting no time, I charge out the door and shove her back. She trips down the stairs, and I start to step back when she seizes ahold of my ankle and pulls me with her into the snow. My arm instinctively cradles my stomach as fear slams through my body. Thankfully, my Keeper instincts kick in, and I'm able to catch myself from landing too hard.