The Quickening Read online

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  Lyrical Press, Inc.

  www.lyricalpress.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Antonia Tiranth

  First published in 2009, 2009

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  The Quickening

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  About Antonia Tiranth

  Lyrical Press

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  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

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  The Quickening

  Copyright © 2009 Antonia Tiranth

  Edited by Pamela Tyner

  Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: February, 2009

  The Quickening

  by Antonia Tiranth

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  First I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this book. It was written as part of the NaNoWriMo 2007 challenge and I am very proud of how it turned out. I have several people to thank for getting me to this point. The main person is my very dear friend Delilah K. Stephens. I met her a few years ago and since then we've worked on several joint projects, growing together as writers. It was she who pointed me to NaNo, convincing me to have a go at it, and it was she who provided the proverbial foot to the rump to submit the finished product. I am forever grateful to her, and I hope that we can continue our friendship and writing partnership as the years pass.

  I also need to thank my friends and sisters in spirit, Myrelle, Phoenix and Pid, for their encouragement and love. Phoenix and Pid have been very patient with my constant yet varying questions to their cards for answers and advice. My family has also been very encouraging, especially my brothers, who in typical brotherly fashion told me to quit whining and submit. And finally, my fiancé, who despite being biased provided me with my first rabid fan who is constantly crying for more.

  So this book is dedicated to all my family and friends, who have helped in anyway along my journey. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  Josephine Erlina Moreau

  "Hello! Earth to Jo."

  The Dixie Chicks song that had been blasting through the car was suddenly silent. I shook my head, turning to see Karen looking at me with exasperation in her dark brown eyes. “Sorry ... I was thinking.” I gave her an apologetic smile.

  "About what?” She stopped looking at me, concentrating now on maneuvering her VW Bug along the road as the light turned green. I still couldn't understand how she could drive a stick in four-inch stilettos and a miniskirt, but somehow she managed.

  "Nothing."

  "Don't ‘nothing’ me, Jo. You are not the spacey type. Something is bugging you."

  "A dream I keep having.” I hoped she would drop it. I didn't really want to talk about it. It never faded like most dreams, and the feeling of terror always filled me for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, my friend was not that easily put off.

  She waved her hand in the air in a rolling motion, urging me to continue. I sighed, maybe talking about it would make it go away, and we were still fifteen minutes from the house so there was plenty of time for Karen to pester me until I finally did tell her.

  "I only remember bits and pieces. I was in a cave, and there were some kind of animals around me. I could hear screams. I was afraid, and I felt...” I paused, trying to recall the feeling that permeated the whole dream. “Guilt. There was an overwhelming feeling of guilt."

  I waited for Karen to say something, but she didn't. Her eyes were focused on the road, but she had a strange look on her face. “What is that look?"

  "What look?"

  I poked her cheek. “That look. You think I'm nuts, right?"

  Karen glanced in my direction briefly and rolled her eyes. “Of course I think you're nuts. It's one of the things I love about you. I'm thinking, moron."

  I didn't say anything, just waited to see what her opinion was. I needed someone to tell me that it was nothing more than a crazy dream.

  "Okay, no idea what your dream could mean.” She turned onto the road leading to my parents’ house.

  I snorted. “Well, you certainly are a big help, Ms. Dream Expert."

  She pulled the car to a stop. “Get out of my car, smart ass."

  Giggling, I opened the door, but she called me back.

  "You sure you're going to be okay here all by yourself?"

  My parents had left two days ago for a second honeymoon, backpacking through France, and I was house-sitting. They lived in a very rural area, their house surrounded by an acre of land that butted up against a state park. Not exactly a neighborhood to worry about burglars in, but leaving the house empty for three weeks wasn't a great idea.

  "Yeah, I'll be fine."

  "Okay. Do you want to go out tomorrow night? I have the perfect date for you."

  I held up a hand, wanting to stop her before she really started pushing. I usually ended up giving in, but I was getting tired of her attempts to hook me up with a guy. “Not another one of your blind dates, Karen. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?"

  She gave me a pout, gazing at me with her dark eyes through lidded lashes. “Oh, come on. I know what your problem is."

  It was my turn to roll my eyes at her. “And what is my problem?” Karen thought she was an expert on my love life
. Hell, Karen thought she was an expert on everything Josephine.

  "You're still all weepy eyed for that guy from high school."

  The smile faded from my face. Where the hell did she get that idea? I never talked about it. Of course, she was partly right. “I am not.” A frustrated growl followed the denial. “Why the hell would I be pining for some jackass who doesn't even have the decency to return a phone call or a letter?"

  She poked me in the shoulder. “See, I told you."

  "Kiss my ass, Karen.” I got out of the car, intending to slam the door behind me.

  "Hey, don't be mad. I didn't mean it like that. I just mean you gotta’ let him go."

  I sighed again, running a hand through my short hair, pushing it out of my face. I shouldn't be mad at Karen. She was right. I had to let it go. It had been five years since I'd last heard from Aerandir. It wasn't like we had even been dating. I'd never worked up the nerve to ask him if he liked me as anything more than a friend. I'd been too afraid he'd say “no.” We had been pretty much inseparable, though.

  "Sorry, Karen. Look, I'm going to go inside, make something awful to eat, and then watch Johnny Depp movies ‘til I pass out. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know if I feel like going on this blind date, okay?"

  She grinned. “All right! Talk to you tomorrow.” She already assumed she'd won, and most likely she had.

  "See ya.” I closed the car door and took the porch steps two at a time. Man, was I glad it was Friday. If I wanted to stay up all night feeling sorry for myself, I could. Once inside, my first stop was my bedroom to change into something comfortable, more specifically my favorite jogging pants and t-shirt. After changing, I stopped to look in the mirror.

  What was wrong with me? Why did I have to keep thinking about a guy who was not coming back and had obviously never been interested in me in that way, anyway? The guys Karen had set me up with seemed to think I was attractive. Why couldn't I be interested in one of them?

  I wouldn't have said I was a beauty queen, but I didn't think I was a hag. I always thought my nose was too small though. I stared into my own gray-blue eyes for a good ten minutes before throwing up my hands.

  The blond hair so carefully tucked behind my ears fell into my eyes. I hated this short haircut, but it was another thing Karen had talked me into.

  "Just go on the damn date, you idiot. It's time to move on."

  While the evening news played on the TV, I spent the time deciding what easy meal I would make and what movies I was going to watch. As soon as it started to get dark, I wandered the one floor rancher and checked all the locks. I didn't mind being by myself, but at night I was still a little afraid of some boogy man coming out of the forest. It was one of the warmer fall evenings, so I did leave a window open a little bit. After my evening ritual of lock checking was complete, I settled in to watch Pirates for about the hundredth time.

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  I was walking through stone corridors. Torches hung on the walls at regular intervals, giving just enough light for me to see. I felt large and awkward. Looking down, I saw that my stomach was huge and I knew I was pregnant. Up ahead I could hear cries, screams. My cheeks were damp with tears, though I didn't know why I was crying. The corridors opened into a cavern. My foot hit something, and I looked down again

  It should have struck me as odd that my feet were not enclosed in shoes but rather were clawed and reptilian, yet it didn't. The flickering shadow I cast showed a form that had wings, but I was not concerned with this rather with what my foot had kicked. It looked like a piece of pottery, and the floor was littered with it.

  "You! Traitor!” A voice, speaking in a growling, hissing language that I could understand, echoed in the cavern. The being across the room looked human but for the wings, tail and clawed feet that I seemed to share.

  "No. I didn't know."

  "Traitor!"

  * * * *

  I jolted awake, my cheeks damp with tears. Obviously talking about the dream had not made it go away, only become more vivid. “You know what, Jo,” I murmured, wiping my damp cheeks. “You need to stop watching so much TV."

  A quick check of the clock told me it was two in the morning. The television showed only a blue screen, the movie having long been over. I flicked the remote, turning it off, and rolled back over, intending to go back to sleep, but a noise from somewhere else in the house made me sit back up. I sat there, hoping it had just been my imagination, though I had this nagging feeling that it was not, and I heard it again. My heart leapt into my throat.

  I took a deep breath and ordered myself to calm down. I'd left the window open—the wind had probably knocked something over.

  Better safe than sorry, though. I reached for the baseball bat I had dug out of the basement storage to keep at the bedside while my parents were away. As quietly as I could, I set my feet on the cold, wood floor and tiptoed to my bedroom door, avoiding all the squeaky floorboards.

  My heart thudded in my chest as thoughts of crazed murders flitted about my head. Part of me wanted to call the police and hide under my bed, yet another part was telling myself I was being stupid and a third was furious that someone would dare enter my house.

  I put my hand on the doorknob, holding the bat ready to swing. Slowly, I turned the knob, opening the door a crack. I stuck my head out, looking up the hall to my parents’ room. Nothing that way. I looked down the hall toward the living room.

  A shadow passed the hall outside the door, and my heart sped up even more.

  It was the curtain. It had to be. Still, I crept slowly down the hall. My feet slid against the carpet. I didn't dare raise them too high. A careless step on a squeaky board could be dangerous. I took my time and placed one foot carefully in front of the other.

  I reached the living room entrance, tightened my grip on the bat and looked around the corner. The shadow was not the curtain blowing in the wind, and the noise had not been said curtain knocking something over.

  There was a man standing in my living room.

  Without letting myself think any more, I leapt around the corner, swinging the bat, a little wildly in my haste. Instead of hitting him in the head as I intended, it hit him squarely between the shoulders.

  The intruder grunted and whirled as I prepared my second swing. He held up a hand, as if I was going to stop now—what if he had a knife or a gun.

  "Phi! Stop, it's me!"

  The fact that this person knew my name gave me pause and I did stop, though the bat was still poised to swing. I squinted in the dim light from the night-lights, trying to see who it was. He was tall, a good foot taller than me, short hair, broad shoulders.

  "Who are you?” I demanded. Only one person called me that, but it couldn't possibly be him.

  "Aw, hell, Phi, has it been so long you've forgotten your best friend? I'm hurt."

  His voice was deep and comforting. I knew that voice. I reached for the light switch, flicking it on. “Aer? Is that really you?"

  He blinked in the sudden light but nodded. “Yeah, it's really me."

  I studied him for a long moment. He hadn't changed much, his hair looked a little different in color, but his lopsided grin was still the same. He still looked at me with dark eyes that seemed to look right into my soul. His shoulders were broader; it looked like he had been working out. He took a step toward me, and out of reflex I took a step back.

  "You cut your hair."

  For some reason, that simple statement shook me out of my shock, but instead of joy at seeing my old friend, all I felt was anger. The bat fell from my hands, hitting the floor with a soft thump. All the questions I'd been asking myself rushed out in a flare of anger.

  I poked him in the chest with the first question. “Where have you been?” I shoved him. “Why haven't you called?” A punch in the chest.

  He was retreating, taking a step back with every blow.

  "Why haven't you returned my letters?” I punched him again in the chest. “And why the hell are you breaking int
o my house at two in the morning?"

  I stopped, breathing in deep gasps, my heart still working overtime, looking into his eyes. He didn't say anything, just looked at me. I closed the distance between us, going up on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. “God, where the hell have you been?"

  At first I thought he was just going to keep standing there, but eventually he crushed me to his chest. “I'm sorry, Josephine."

  I rocked back onto my feet, looking at him again. The fact that he called me Josephine made my heart drop. He never used to call me that. Of course, I couldn't let him know it upset me. “Five years, not a word and that's all I get?"

  He shook his head, and in the dim light I could have sworn his hair was dark blue, rather than black. “No, but that's all you'll be getting for now. I need your help."

  I didn't say anything for a few minutes, and then I realized that his hands still rested on my hips and mine on his shoulders. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I stepped out of the circle of his arms. “Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “Come in the kitchen. I'll make us some coffee, and you can tell me what's going on."

  I turned but stopped when I felt his hand on my shoulder. I looked back at him.

  "I missed you."

  Those soft words sent a shiver up my spine and more heat to my cheeks. I turned away again, wishing for my long hair back to hide the blush I knew was spreading across my face. I didn't need him thinking I was some goo-goo eyed teen who had been wasting away for him for five years. My sudden nervousness shocked me. What was there to be nervous about?

  Time had passed, yes, but this was still my friend. “Come on, let's go into the kitchen. It's kinda’ cold in here."

  I left the living room, walking quickly to the kitchen, silent now as I thought about what to say. I wanted to tell him that I had missed him too, that I'd thought about him a lot over the last few years, but I couldn't. I was pissed at him. I wanted to tell him how mad I was, though I think my hitting him had probably conveyed that fact, but I couldn't. I was too glad to see him again.

  Whenever I had thought about Aer over the years, I imagined what I would do when I saw him again. Always it was either beat the hell out of him or be extremely happy and let him know it. Now that he was here, I found I was somewhere in the middle. I didn't like being on this line between joy and anger. So, I did beat the hell out of him, but other than that I didn't know what to do, and I didn't like not knowing what to do. I always knew what to do. Even if it ended up being the wrong thing, I at least always had a plan, but not now.