Supernova (Supernova Saga)

  First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2011

  Copyright © C.L. Parker, 2011

  The right of C.L. Parker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part maybe reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Writer’s Coffee Shop

  (Australia) PO Box 2013 Hornsby Westfield NSW 1635

  (USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-036-1

  E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-037-8

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover image by: Olga Altunina

  Cover design by: Jennifer McGuire

  Author photo: Christy Boon, Sweet Somethings Photography

  www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/cparker

  C.L. Parker lives near Louisville, Kentucky with her husband, two sons, a daughter, and two dogs. Born in Los Angeles, California, her parents decided to move back to their native town two weeks after her birth. There, Parker grew up with her three sisters and they remain inseparable to this day.

  Parker eventually ventured into the world of writing. An outlet for her overactive imagination, it quickly grew into a passion that could not be ignored. Having a fascination for the paranormal, it didn’t take long to decide what type of book she’d really love to write. She went to work on her first novel intended for publication, Supernova. There are plans to write two additional books creating the Supernova Saga.

  Parker’s reality is that she is easily lost to a world of fantasy, driven to bring her characters to life if only in the pages of a book, for their story is one that must be told.

  This book is interlaced with a whole hell of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. It has been a true labor of love, one that I have shared with many people, as I could never do this on my own. Not a single day will ever go by that I will not be eternally grateful for all the love and support the people closest to me have shown.

  To my mother, Bobbie Butler: Your unwavering support has been the foundation of all that I am. As you have for all my life, whenever I thought I couldn’t go on, you picked me up and carried me the distance. To encourage is to inspire through hope and promise, and you have done it flawlessly.

  To my sister, Jessica Manley: You are where it all began. My life was just a simple humdrum of mediocre existence before you spotted the potential I had inside and pushed me to do something with it. You never refused me your precious time when I needed to talk about plot lines and character development, and you even helped me come up with a whole lot of it along the way. A good sounding post is the most important tool for an author, and you filled the role to perfection.

  To my bestie, Trish Dechant: I get stuck; you dig me out. I start to sink; you throw me a lifeline. My eyes cease to see; you take my hand and lead the way. This is the very definition of one’s other half. You know exactly what I want to say, and when my words become a jumbled mess, you make them pretty.

  To Melanie Edwards: You are my Yoda. I believe you once said, “It is a brave person who will give up their security to reach for something they always wanted, deserved, and worked hard for. Many would have wrapped up the project and filed it away neatly, just living with the loss of their dream, but you were brave enough to reach for that dream at great personal cost.” There are a lot of people who will never know just how great that personal cost was, but you do. And you stood by my side, offering your unwavering support through it all. I will never forget it. Here’s to Karma, babe!

  To my editor, Lauren Schmelz and to my pre-readers; Brittnie Day, Candace Pulliam, Whittney Sherman, Fernanda Read, Ann Smith, Monica Valentine, Marita Stout, Anita Smith, and Bleriana Aveiro: You are ironclad members in what I like to refer to as the Supernova Family. Your generosity with your time was a godsend. Your honesty with your critiques was more valuable than you will ever know. Lauren, I believe you promised me a good whipping, tease.

  And last, but certainly not least, to my husband, David and my children, Alicia, Kierahn, and Lucas: You have probably been the most affected by this book. You have sacrificed time with your wife and mother, so that she might live her dream. And for that, mi alma es tuya…My soul is yours.

  Kerrigan Milena Cruz lay tossing and turning in the comfort of her bed on the eve of her twenty-fourth birthday. Her sheets were tangled around her small frame like a twisting vine, ensnaring her further with each reflexive jerk of her body. Strands of her long dark mane were strewn across her face as she continued to shift and search for the comfortable ease of relaxed sleep. She was dreaming. Something she did often, but never as vividly as this time.

  Kerrigan was transported back to a time she remembered so clearly it could have been yesterday. She was a young and vibrant seven years of age with a face dimpled and round like a cherub’s. Her long curls bounced around her shoulders as she ran through Grammy Availia’s house in childish giggles. Like any other day, bright sunlight filtered through the tall windows and bathed the house in its warmth.

  She came to a stop and hopped up onto the couch in front of the beads her grandmother had displayed on the coffee table. She was helping Grammy make jewelry comprised of the most colorful precious stones she had ever seen. They had plans to take the jewelry they made that day to a local vendor on Saint George Street to be sold to the many tourists that frequented the community in search of something unique as a memento of their vacation.

  Kerrigan was busy working on a bracelet made of rose quartz and opal. Just as she was trying to force one last bead onto the plastic line, her chubby fingers dropped the end, and all of the beads spilled across the hardwood floor, scattering in different directions. Unable to contain her sadness, she began to cry, her bottom lip jutting out in that little pout that always made Grammy melt.

  “There, there, my little Sunshine.” Grammy’s weathered face peered down at Kerrigan, her pale blue eyes proving to be most comforting. She swept her granddaughter’s hair away from her wet face with an age-spotted hand. “There’s no use crying over such a trivial thing, child.”

  Grammy began to hum the soothing tune of This Little Light of Mine; a song that had always been instrumental in comforting Kerrigan for as long as she could remember. It was their song, and that made it special. Her grandmother pulled a tissue out of the box sitting on the table and dabbed at Kerrigan’s eyes before holding it to her nose to blow.

  “All better,” Grammy cooed. The soft wrinkles in her face showed deeper creases with her smile. She picked up the bracelet she had just completed and slipped it onto Kerrigan’s wrist. “What do you think of this, Sunshine? Grammy made it just for you. It’s special. As long as you are wearing it, the Light will protect you. I want you to promise me that you won’t ever remove it.”

  Kerrigan beamed at her new gift made of amethyst, black onyx, and moonstone. She looked back at her grandmother with pride in her eyes. “I promise, Grammy.” She wrapped her little arms around her grandmother’s neck and squeezed tightly.

  “Good,” Grammy said, kissing her on the temple. “Now, why don’t you run upstairs and get those pretty beads I saw you eyeing earlier this morning, and we’ll start over on that bracelet you were making. I can already tell it’s going to be a special one.” She smi
led and then pinched Kerrigan’s cheek. “I’ll just get this little mess cleaned up while you’re gone. Okay?”

  “Okay!” Kerrigan bounced up, excited to get to use the pretty green jade beads she had been admiring when she tiptoed into her grandmother’s room to wake her at the crack of dawn. The green stones were so bright next to all the others. Something about them gave her a sense of familiarity and security.

  “Don’t dilly dally now! We need to get this jewelry to market soon!”

  Kerrigan climbed the old staircase with the knobby wood banister, making up a childish melody to the creaks of each step she took along the way. When she reached the top of the stairs leading to the second floor, she rounded the bend and skipped down the hallway that led to Grammy’s bedroom.

  Once inside, she spotted the bag of special beads that lay atop other assorted bags of its kind in a basket beside her grandmother’s bed. Continuing further into the room, she stopped to look down when a tiny bead rolled across the floor and tapped her little foot. Although she had no clue where it came from, she didn’t question it either. She bent over and picked it up with her chubby little fingers. She smiled a little girl’s pleased grin when she noticed it was the same color as Grammy’s eyes. Deciding the bead must be special, she tucked it away in her pocket for later and continued her quest for the bag of pretty jade green beads.

  Her reflection in the vanity mirror of Grammy’s dresser drew her attention away from the previous task. The beads were momentarily forgotten about as she walked over and hopped up onto the embroidered bench. Playing dress-up had always been one of her most favorite pastimes.

  Grammy had so many pretty things: earrings, pearl necklaces, scarves, and bangles. Before she realized it, she had nearly every piece of jewelry on her tiny form, including a large pair of clip-on earrings that dangled from her lobes. Her eyes brightened when she spotted the piece to make her big girl ensemble complete – Grammy’s big, floppy beach hat.

  “Kerrigan?” her grandmother called from just outside the door. She stepped inside, her hands going to her hips and an amused chuckle spilling from her lips when she took in Kerrigan’s appearance. “Lord, child. I thought you had skipped upstairs to your playroom and forgotten all about your poor old grandmother.”

  She crossed the room and took the hat from Kerrigan’s hands. Lovingly, she placed it atop her granddaughter’s head. The hat was far too big, so she tilted it back until the brim no longer flopped over her forehead and covered her eyes. She smiled down at her. “Look at you. You’re a spitting image of your father, little one.”

  “No I’m not, Grammy,” Kerrigan giggled in a high-pitched squeal. “Daddy’s a boy, silly. I look like you.”

  Grammy leaned down and looked into the mirror with her face beside Kerrigan’s as she compared herself to the child’s reflection. “I suppose you’re right.” Grammy smiled through the mirror and then reached down to tickle her sides. She couldn’t stifle her laughter as she wiggled to try to escape her grandmother’s playfulness.

  Their play was short-lived. The bedroom, once filled with sunlight, darkened as if the sun were a candle whose flame had been extinguished. Day instantly turned to night, the cheerfulness of the moment all but forgotten and replaced by heart-pounding fear and confusion.

  Grammy’s form stiffened beside her as she straightened to look around the room. A tree branch scraped across the window pane, the sound sending chills down Kerrigan’s spine. A feeling of foreboding hung thickly over the room, and although she felt panicked, Grammy seemed to be accepting of the turn of events. It was as if she expected it, like a visitor had come to call.

  Her grandmother walked toward the window, wearing a mask of calm. Kerrigan jumped down from the bench in terror and ran over to join her, clinging to the long skirt of her grandmother’s white gown. Grammy opened the old shutter-style window that looked over the garden in the back yard, and she peered up at the now blackened sky. Dark clouds rolled in like thick billows of gray cotton. The heavens were devoid of any stars that she could see. The ominous looking clouds seemed to swallow up the moon, robbing the landscape of its pearlescent light.

  Claps of thunder resonated through the pitch dark sky, startling Kerrigan and causing her to flinch and hold tighter to the skirt of her grandmother’s gown. Then a bright bolt of lightning shot out of the black clouds overhead and struck one of the limbs on the old magnolia tree standing in the back yard. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the window just as a black, shapeless mass formed in the distance. The wind was relentless, howling an eerie song as it forced Grammy’s hair, once wrapped into a neat bun atop her head, to tumble and fall down her back.

  “Grammy?” Kerrigan’s shaky voice called out above the loud cries of the wind and thunder. “What’s that?” She pointed a chubby finger toward the horizon.

  Grammy began to take steps backward, eyes never leaving the window. She protectively nudged Kerrigan until she was safe behind her. A raspy croaking sound echoed through the night sky as the shapeless mass moved closer, revealing what looked to be hundreds – if not thousands – of jet-black birds flying toward the open window.

  “Ravens.” Grammy answered without stopping her retreat. Once she stepped over the threshold of the bedroom door, she turned to Kerrigan with worry etched on her wrinkled face. With as much calm as she could muster, she put her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “My little Sunshine, no matter what you hear, do not come back into this room. Do you understand me? Stay in the light. Your safety is important above all else. Remember that.”

  Kerrigan began to cry at her grandmother’s frantic words, but nodded her head in understanding. Grammy pressed her warm lips against her forehead in an attempt to comfort her granddaughter, but Kerrigan could sense something was wrong. Grammy looked into her eyes again, the color of her own brightening considerably until the irises were so pale they were opalescent in color. Then she gave her a gentle smile before stepping back into the room and closing the door, leaving Kerrigan safe and sound in the hallway on the other side.

  The might of the wind jarred the old door back open a crack, almost inviting her inside. Kerrigan hesitantly peered through the slit just as a mass of sooty looking birds converged through the window. The thudding sounds of their flapping wings and the growl of their eerie calls drowned out the claps of thunder and the howling wind. They filtered in through the window and flew about her grandmother, blackening out all but her long gown and flowing white hair.

  As if forced by invisible hands, the mass of birds parted to reveal her grandmother’s form once again. Grammy lifted her face toward the sky and raised her arms into the air. A bright white light appeared out of thin air and formed into a ball that sat in the palms of her hands. Then, with slow and deliberate motions, she used her whole body to swing her arms around. Great circular streaks of light filled the room, and then she twirled around with all the grace of an artistic dancer. A trail of radiant illumination encircled her frail body and repelled the flocking ravens.

  Grammy’s hair waved behind her glowing form, and Kerrigan’s breath hitched at the sight before her. The pulse of her heartbeat began to thump in her ears as she watched the scene unfold. She felt comforted by the show of light and was in awe of her grandmother’s tremendous power. But she was terrified of the forces that threatened to diffuse the all-encompassing supremacy of the light that radiated from Grammy’s every pore.

  The throng of ravens moved and melded into a solid black form, creating one body. The pressure of the darkness encroached on her grandmother, shrinking the circumference of light with which she had surrounded herself. Try as she might to push it back, it was just too strong. Her power weakened, taking her physical strength with it. More and more ravens littered the room, overpowering Grammy to the point she could no longer be seen. The bright white light was waning.

  Sobs of sadness wracked Kerrigan’s small frame. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she could feel her grandmother’
s life fading along with the light.

  She had to do something to help, but what could a mere child such as herself do? She stood frozen with fright behind the door, her tiny form useless against the evil that encircled Grammy.

  A cold breath ghosted over her cheek, and her skin pebbled. “Se valiente, guardián de mi alma,” a husky voice whispered like a gentle breeze across Kerrigan’s ear, a stark contrast to the chaos happening mere feet away.

  She jerked her body toward the voice, but there was no one there. She closed her eyes to compose herself. The second her lids shuttered, she saw the image of a pair of bright green eyes that vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. It was then that Kerrigan felt a surge of energy flow through her veins. Finally able to swallow back her fear, she summoned the strength to push open the door. She took a timid step forward, prepared to use her shoulder to push against the unforgiving wind, but, to her amazement, the door opened with ease.

  In the blink of an eye, the room transformed to its previous state. There were no more ravens, no more darkness, no more howling winds and raging storms. There was only the bright sun that filtered in through the large windows as if none of the nightmare she had just witnessed had even taken place. The only thing that was different, however, was Grammy. She was lying in the middle of her bed with her hand clutched to her chest, and she wasn’t moving.

  She rushed to her grandmother’s side and peered into her expressionless face. Grammy blinked her eyelids sluggishly as if she was trying to focus on Kerrigan, but her weakness was evident. Grammy attempted to lift her hand to comfort her granddaughter, but it fell back to her chest, lacking the strength needed to do so. She was spent.

  Kerrigan’s heart broke at the frail sight before her and took her grandmother’s wrinkled hand into her small one. She used great care in her handling, afraid she might break her feeble bones. Then she allowed the corpulent tears that had been teetering on the edge to trickle down her chubby cheeks.