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Halflings
BOOK ONE
Heather Burch
0310728185_Halflings_int_cs4.indd 3
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ZONDERVAN
Halflings
Copyright 2012 by Heather Burch
This title is also available as a Zondervan ebook.
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Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
ISBN: 978-0-310-72818-4
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Cover design: Cindy Davis
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Printed in the United States of America
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For the men in my life:

My sons Jake and Isaac;
you guys are the music in my universe.
My brother Skyler;
your commitment to our mom humbles me.
When I grow up I want to be like you.
My father-in-law, Pops;
thanks for being my toughest critic . . .
but also my biggest fan.
And most of all, my husband, John;
thank you for making the world small
so I could conquer it.
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The sons of God saw that the daughters

of humans were beautiful, and they married
any of them they chose.
Genesis 6:2
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Chapter
1
F
angs sank into Nikki Youngbloods leg, setting her skin on

fire. A scream gurgled in her throat, but she willed herself
past trees smeared by her jarred vision. Her jacket snagged on
a branch. No, no, no . . . She jerked free, casting a glimpse backward at the gnarled faces behind her. The lead beast stumbled
over paws caked with mud. She seized the moment to widen
the distance.
Run. Her lungs burned. Just keep running.
Her feet, now numb, thumped against the dense carpet of the
forest floor. Once a place of security, a quiet sanctuary of solitude and escape, her woods had morphed into a house of terror
complete with four grotesque dog-wolves tracking her every step.
Despite her years of martial arts, of seeing herself as tough
and in control, Nikki was completely helpless. But that didnt
mean she had to die. Karate had taught her to stay calm in all
manner of attack. Though I dont think this is what you had in
mind, Sensei.
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One minute shes perched against a rock, drawing. The

next, shes running from . . . from . . .
She started to glance back, but stopped herself. Concentrate
on escape. Dont concentrate on your enemy.
Besides, she didnt even know what those dog-things were.
But one thing was certain: they were out for blood and Nikki
was an easy mark for the vicious beasts.
Exhaustion squeezed each muscle, depriving them of
strength. Likewise, it pushed at her consciousness, promising
failure. When she thought her lungs might literally burst, a
momentary, blinding flash of light sparked above her, as if the
universe were snapping a picture of her dilemma. Within seconds of the spark of light, a sound descended. Church bells? The
reverberation of a thousand muted bells soothed her nerves and
curled around her like a warm blanket after a nightmare. The
unearthly noise filled her ears, a beautiful hum closing her in.
But the tempo rose higher and higher until it caused the backs
of her eyes to throb.
The dog-wolves began to moan. She glanced back the
four monsters had crumbled to the ground, their taut, muscled
legs folding beneath them. One raked his head in the dirt and
grass, his massive paw clawing brutally at his ear. The sound.
Convulsing and groaning, their desperate plea to escape the
melodic cry of the bells filled the air around her. Nikki took in
short puffs, knees nearly buckling beneath her where shed slid
to a stop. The first flicker of relief tried to manifest, but Nikki
knew she wasnt out of trouble yet. Her mind reeled, searching
for a feasible escape. But her eyes watered, causing her to press
a flat palm to her temple where it throbbed from the wind song.
Wind song; thats all she could think to call it. And right
now whether causing a killer migraine or not anything
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able to stop the ugly wolves ranked at the top of Nikkis new
favorite things list. The pain intensified, but she still kept her
attention riveted on the wolves. Were they wolves? She still
wasnt sure. Each one was dark as a black hole, with hollow
eyes she couldnt seem to look into directly. When she forced
herself to lock eyes with one of the beasts, a cold river of pure
fear streaked down her spine as if the wolf seized her very soul,
choking out life and leaving a tormenting void.
The creatures legs had folded and twisted into awkward
positions, claws scraping at the ground, then at their ears. Wait,
thats not mud on the dogs. Its . . . dried blood. Her eyes blurred,
causing her sense of survival to kick in. Head still throbbing
like a bass guitar at a concert and with one hand at the side of
her face, she ran. Through the tree line she caught a glimpse
of silver. Yes! The gate to the football field. Shed make it to the
other side and this nightmare would be over.
Was it just a nightmare? Some indigestion-induced dream?
She could have fallen asleep in the woods while she drew the
picture of . . .
What had she been drawing? She couldnt remember.
But this was no dream. She was awake. Awake and aware of
the spongy grass collapsing beneath her feet, aware of the scent
of moist pine hanging on the forest walls. Aware of the searing
sensation in her calf where the thing had sunk its teeth.
Eyes fixed on the fence, she tried to take a breath but managed only tiny gasps. Get to the gate. Just get to the gate. As if
the deserted football field on the other side could somehow offer
safety. Four dog-wolf-things had chased her through a quarter
of a mile of woods; why would five feet of chain link stop them?
She pushed on, leaping over rotting tree roots protruding from
the earth like the twisted fingers of a witch. She imagined her
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legs getting tangled in the mass of vines, imagined the weathered

roots reaching for her as she bounded past. Determination swept
into her soul. With sickening certainty, Nikki knew she was racing for her life.
And more. Things, big things, world changing things factored into her circumstance. She didnt know how she knew it.
But she did. And for the first time in her seventeen years of life,
Nikki felt a destiny awaiting her. Fear and dread careening in
her soul, and deadly hounds at her back, Nikki felt alive.
Raven, the song is hurting her too, Mace said, anxiety creeping into his words as he peered over the rock ledge.
Raven scowled through his too-long bangs. The Angel
Song doesnt hurt humans. It only affects the evil within.
Then you should be writhing on the ground with the
hounds, Mace mumbled.
Raven chuckled and sank his hands into the pockets of his
jeans.
Mace shifted his weight and slid his hands down his thighs.
Its time to intervene. If Raven thought he was going to torture this girl for fun, he was dead wrong. What made him think
he was in charge, anyway? Just because hed been on more
journeys, and was the oldest of the three Lost Boys? So what.
Experience didnt make a capable leader. The best leaders were
those who put the welfare of their soldiers before their own.
Anyone who knew Raven knew he only looked out for himself.
Beside him, Mace felt Vines apprehension rise. For a quick
moment, he closed off the noisy world and quieted his own soul,
tuning into Vines heart rate. Maces gaze narrowed slightly as
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he listened to the kids breathing pattern. Inhale. Exhale. All in

check. Just first-time jitters.
Assured Vine was okay and ready for the fight, Maces gaze
returned to the pretty teenage girl trying to escape a nightmare
sent directly from the pit. Her name echoed in his head: Nikki
Youngblood. Hed known her name instantly. They all had. One
of the perks of being a Halfling. Her shoulders were narrow,
arms thin, but looked tone beneath her snug windbreaker. A
small, straight nose rested above full lips that remained parted
as she panted with each pounding step. Large eyes stayed
focused on the field before her. Maybe pretty was an understatement. There was something . . . captivating about her. It
wasnt her face. It wasnt the long train of golden-brown hair
that trailed behind her as she ran. It was her absolute tenacity to outrun her pursuers, her determination to survive. Hed
watched grown men crumble at the sight of a single hell hound;
she was chased by four. And crumbling didnt seem to be in her
list of options. Shed kicked free from the hound when it bit
into her calf muscle, then with a limp bolted for the gate of the
football field, and he could sense as well as smell her resolve.
But a mere human girl against four hell hounds? Zero chance
for survival there.
Havent you seen enough? Mace spat.
Raven gave a noncommittal shrug and finger-combed his
hair away from his eyes. Whats your rush?
Mace glanced fifty feet below first at the girl, then the
hounds. Shes terrified.
Yeah, Vine agreed. She looks really scared.
Raven smiled, white teeth shining in the disappearing light.
So?
Youre a jerk. Mace spread his arms and prepared to
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descend. One of the benefits of being a Halfling: a fifty-foot

drop was nothing. He snapped his wings open to swoop down,
but before he could drop off the ledge something hit him square
across the chest. Air whooshed from his lungs as he landed
with a thud.
Shell see you, Raven snapped. As he stared down at the girl,
a surprising almost tender look crossed his face, only to be
whisked away by his normal demeanor of cold detachment. But
Mace had seen it, and the flash of compassion shocked him.
Youre not in charge, Raven. Mace said, rising from the
rocky terrain. Once on his feet he dusted his rear end, partly to
remove the dirt, partly to keep his hands busy so they wouldnt
ball into fists and pound Raven into the ground.
Be patient. Ravens voice lowered to a purr.
Maces jaw clenched. He hated this part of an assignment.
Yes, okay, sometimes it was important to let things play out a
little, to not sail in and rescue too quickly. But the human side
of Mace despised it. The angelic side of him . . . well, the more
journeys he completed, the less human he felt. Just as well. It
was a world out of reach, and he needed to remember that.
He knew Raven would only allow intervention at the last
possible moment. Mace felt the short hairs on the back of his
neck rise along with the anger crawling up his spine. Why
would we have been sent if we werent going to be utilized?
Ravens eyes f lashed fascination. Maybe just for
entertainment?
Vines mouth dropped open, his white-blond hair falling
forward. Entertainment? He shot a quick, questioning look
to Mace. Does that happen? I mean, are we sent to just watch
stuff like this? Trepidation clouded those naive blue-gray eyes.
Mace sometimes marveled at the fact Vine was only two
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earth years younger than him; his innocence glowed like morning dew, quickly visible and quickly trampled into the mud.
Ravens mouth twisted. Our kind does it all the time. No
dew softened Ravens stark features and face cut into strong
angles. His eyes, once bright blue, had darkened to midnight
in recent years, which didnt bode well. You know, earth girls
are hot when theyre running for their lives.
That was it. Mace dove for Raven, sick of his antics and, well,
sick of him in general. Raven sidestepped and in an instant the
two were nose-to-nose, fists drawn.
Mace cast a glance to Vine. For the first time, the kid looked
like a warrior. Ready to step in if the two older boys came to
blows. Go, Vine.
Mace exhaled a long breath and lowered his hands.
Adrenaline surged into his muscles and pulled every ligament
into a tight cord.
Cool confidence oozed from Raven as he tilted his chin into
the sun, as if daring Mace to strike.
I wont fight you, Raven, Mace said. Vine needs some sort
of role model. Which hell never have if I keep getting sucked
in by Ravens games. He forced his attention away from the
Halfling and focused on the pitiful scene unfolding beneath
them. A fist fight wouldnt help the girl either.
Long hair floated behind her. Strands matted across her
delicate face where her skin glistened with a silky sheen of
sweat. She smelled like fear. The scent curled into the wind and
rose on pleading wings, calling to him.
When she reached the fence, her golden eyes flashed relief.
Mace watched a moment longer. Raven, theres nothing to learn.
Look at her. He gestured toward Nikki Youngblood and the
hell hounds no longer chasing her. The four beasts whimpered,
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trying to escape the Angel Song drifting around them. Nikki

trembled at the gate to the football field, hands shaking when she
spotted the padlock secured with a thick chain.
Shes here for a reason, Mace. We have to find out what it
is. With a twinkle in his eye, Raven clapped his hands and the
Angel Song died. Time to party.
Sometimes the worst part of being a Halfling was standing aside and letting events happen as theyre supposed to.
Maybe that was the worst part of being any created being.
Maces eyes drifted shut. Without the Angel Song to torture
them, the hounds would once again be on the hunt. And Nikki
Youngblood would be as good as dead.
Come on, Nikki pleaded, willing her hands to stop quaking.

Her fingers bled where shed slammed them into the fence. She
jerked back and forth on the entrance, a vain attempt to break the
lock, and hopelessness born of despair slipped down her body like
deadwood slipping into the sea after a storm. She was trapped.
Blood began to work its way through her veins but brought with
it a new form of torture. Splinters rather than blood seemed to
course through her while her head pounded rhythmically.
Then the wind song disappeared.
The dogs stopped groaning. The forest dropped to a dead,
graveyard quiet. No little bunnies or squirrels rambling through
the fallen leaves. Just stillness. Just the promise of death.
A rustle behind her evoked a fresh wave of nausea.
Desperate hands tightened on the crisscrosses of chain link. If
she had the energy, shed climb. But fear and torment had stolen the last shreds of her strength, leaving nothing but a bundle
of exhausted nerves.
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She dropped her head to her hands and closed her eyes. A
twig snapped, forcing her head up. She tried to swallow, but her
mouth and throat were cotton.
As a breeze skirted through the trees, cooling the sweat on
her face, Nikki cast a reluctant glance over her shoulder.
The lead dog-wolf moved toward her methodically, a long
bead of saliva dripping from his mouth. She watched as each
paw landed on the ground. Nikki frowned. He seemed almost
. . . fearful as well. Was he scared of her? She turned, chin jutting forward. What? she spat, addressing the hound. You
afraid I might pop the cork on a bottle of screaming bell song
again?
Head dropping between his wide shoulder blades, he stared
at her with those empty eyes. She hated that posture, that stalking, ready-to-lunge stance. Wolves at the zoo did the same thing
and it freaked her out even though they were on one side of the
enclosure and she on the other. She didnt even like to see her
dog Bo stand like that. It was too predatory, too anxious to kill.
Oh man, she mumbled. What did I just do? Her valor dissolved at her feet as the breeze moved again, this time pushing
a rotten scent toward her. Nikki nearly gagged on the putrid
odor. Rancid meat has nothing on these wolves. Years ago, some
boys at her school had put a dead pig inside a car and locked
it in a garage of an empty house. Weeks of scorching heat not
only ruined the car, the house had to be demolished as well.
When the vehicle was opened, the stench fetid animal threaded
through several blocks of her neighborhood. At the time, she
thought shed never again smell anything so foul. She was
wrong.
The beast growled deep in his throat and the sound invaded
every cell of her being. Black lips curled back to expose yellowed
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fangs. Round eyes grabbed and swallowed light into the empty,
soulless pits that were its sockets.
She pressed her back into the chain links. Tears rushed to
her eyes as the other hounds appeared from the woods, leaving
no way to escape.
The hunt was over. This is where shed die.
Wiggling on his back haunches, the wolf leapt.
She cupped her hands over her head for protection, watching
through the crook of her arm as the animal attacked. Scarred
paws stretched toward her, razor-sharp claws seeming to grow
larger and larger as they filled her vision. Why wouldnt the
song return? Frantic, Nikki cried, God, help me!
A whoosh of cool air blasted her body and an explosion of
light soared past. An instant later something solid slammed
against her, shoving her to the ground. Her head thundered on
impact. As she fought to take in air, white sparked above. She
could hear voices, and the wolfs growl, but remained unable to
focus her eyes or attention.
White again. With it, the dog creature screeched. A sickening voice entered her ears, whispering, hissing like a hundred
snakes. It referred to something as sons of God.
Was the wolf talking? She couldnt see. White white
everywhere. Her mind whirred as an electrical current ran the
length of her being: head to foot, foot to head, zipping through
her, electrifying and depriving her muscles of movement.
Consciousness slipped away. As her eyes closed for the
final time, a velvet voice soothed, Youre safe now, daughter
of man.
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Chapter
2
A
nd why did you bring her here? Will asked.

Their caregiver donned the fatherly posture hed cultivated from watching family sitcoms. Mace, Raven, and Vine
gathered near Nikki and awaited the tongue-lashing theyd
expected since arriving back at Pine Boulevard and their new
two-story, Victorian-style home for the moment.
Shes injured, Mace said. Its partially true, at least. He
glanced down at Nikki passed out on the couch and his
heart flopped. Since encountering this girl, hed been trying to
figure her out.
It was a useless attempt. He didnt get her. One second shes
shaking the gate with the full force of her body, hair whipping in an S pattern, the next shes crying, and the next, shes
screaming at the hell hound in what hed describe as a taunt.
Maybe hysteria did strange things to the brain he could
understand that. But when the hound leapt at her, she kept her
eyes wide open and peered through the bend in her arm. Shed
actually intended to watch the attack.
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Did you see what we did? Vine asked for the thousandth
time. Thats what Im talking about! Those hell hounds were
nothing. When do I get to face a wraith?
Will groaned.
Mace cast a furtive smile to Vine. Newbie. He still remembered his first assignment, his first shot at hero work. If only
that excitement lasted forever.
Uncle Will or so they called him pursed his lips. Mace
had to bite his cheek to keep his mouth straight. Though Will
was over six foot five and built like a Mack truck, the deep
dimples and puff of curly brown hair as well as his animated,
bright blue eyes weakened the intimidation factor.
Can we keep her? Vine asked, voice lilting like a childs.
Shes not a pet, Bloom. Shes an assignment, Will said.
And facing off with wraiths should be neither a desire nor a
source of excitement.
Im not the bloom. Im the Vine! He tried to frown, but a
quick smile betrayed him.
Mace knew Vine loved the nickname hed gotten from developing his power at an unprecedented young age. Nicknames
were what families had for one another. Real families. Though
Will tried his best, Mace often wondered what it would have
been like to be raised by his real parents, instead of separated
from them at birth as was the custom for beings like him for
his protection, of course.
His younger brothers eager voice knocked him out of his
thoughts.
Ive got a question, Vine said. Why would the Throne
have sent us to protect some teenager? I mean, arent our
assignments . . . you know, about important people?
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Will nodded toward the girl, who still lay unconscious. Do

you not consider her important?
Vine rolled his blue-gray eyes. Everyones important. But,
I mean, shes just a kid.
Will smiled. Like the three of you?
Yeah. A frown furrowed Vines smooth brow. Didnt
Raven have an assignment once where he protected some political dude?
Raven gave a curt nod. He was a world leader, and thanks
to me hes still alive today.
Vine pointed at him. Yeah, thats what I mean. I expected
to be assigned to, like, D.C. or New York or something.
Mace took a step toward Vine, blocking Raven from his
field of vision. He was still ticked at the brooding creep for baiting him in the woods. No, Mace was angry at himself for letting Raven bait him. Mistakes like that could cost lives. Vine,
we dont always know why were protecting a person. This isnt
the Secret Ser vice. Were not CIA or FBI. And our instructions
dont come from the limited knowledge of an earthly man. He
nodded toward Nikki. It may not be about who she is right
now. Its possible that . . . He shook his head and shrugged.
Maybe shes going to be the scientist who discovers a cure for
cancer.
Or solves world hunger, Will added.
Raven scoffed. Or maybe shes going to do something
really important, like figure out how to get the DVD player to
stop flashing twelve oclock.
Whatever it is, the enemy isnt wasting any time. Will
lifted the girls arm, his giant palm swallowing her dainty
hand. You say she was being chased by hell hounds?
The sight of her dodging the predators was forever carved
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into his mind while the gratitude in her glassy eyes when he
scooped her into his arms was imprinted in his heart. His pulse
accelerated. There were four.
Wills eyes narrowed in concentration. Doesnt make
sense. He examined the cuts and scratches on her fingers.
Hounds coming after a human. Youre sure? A crystal-clear
gaze questioned them, drifting from one boy to the next.
Mace crossed his arms over his chest. Uh, yeah. We got
an up-close, personal look at them. Rotting flesh with a sole
purpose. To kill Nikki Youngblood.
Someone wants her dead, Raven said, bending his fingers
so they resembled a gun. He pointed it at the girls head and
pulled the trigger by clicking his thumb.
Mace shot him a dirty look.
What? Ravens voice oozed innocence.
Howd the hounds get here? Vine interrupted.
The same way we got here, moron, Raven said. You know,
the midplane? The safe zone between heaven and earth where
all of us misfits roam? Someone hasnt been paying attention
in class.
Vines lips pressed together, embarrassment splashed all
over his face.
Maces heart ached for Vine. The first journey was always
the toughest. Lost Boys, Halflings: no matter what you called
yourself, you were still an outcast in both the heavenly and
earthly realms. Who thought up that brilliant idea? An emissary of heaven to an earth you can never have.
Not that journeys were not important. Mace himself had
been sent on several. Hed saved lives and had hopefully pushed
himself away from eternitys cliff edge named Scary Beyond
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All Stinkin Reason. Quiet and peaceful eternity sounded so

much better.
This is a surprising card for the enemy to play. What does
he know about this girl that we dont? Will stepped away from
where Nikki rested. Hands on hips again, he searched the street
beyond the bay window. Four hounds pursuing one young
girl? he repeated. Sunlight streamed in and illuminated the
side of his face. He pitched a glance toward the boys, gaze locking with Maces.
A fatherly smile formed and almost hid the apprehension.
Almost. Worry clung to Uncle Wills expression. Mace knew
he agonized about his boys, even though he wasnt supposed
to be equipped with sticky emotions like worry, happiness, or
sorrow. Hiding your emotions . . . what a human thing to do.
The girl stirred.
All eyes went to her.
Wills clear, penetrating look shot through Mace like a lightning bolt. Shes the only clue we have to why weve been sent.
Im glad you found her when you did. Those hounds would
have shredded her. Will shuddered, then resumed his authoritative posture. Since we just arrived from the midplane, I dont
want any of you outside again for a couple days. You all need
time to adjust to this realm. That means beginning Monday
morning, youll be keeping a close watch on her. Should be easy
enough; Ive enrolled you at Waterside High School.
Moans emanated from Raven and Mace. Not high school,
Raven groaned.
Really? Vine swiped at a dirt smudge on his T-shirt
and chewed on a Twizzler hed snagged from the foyer table.
Thatll be cool.
But right now, youd better get her home. Will returned
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from the window and leaned over the couch. He placed his hands
on Nikkis. The longer she stays in our presence, the more shell
be able to tolerate our atmosphere, and we dont want her waking
up to four unnatural creatures hovering over her.
No, Mace agreed. Thats actually how she passed out in
the first place.
Vine questioned him with a look.
But those four were stinking hell hounds, Mace said.
Vine raised a finger. Actually, she didnt pass out until
you picked her up. Remember? She looked right in your eyes
and
Raven coughed, stifling a laugh.
Wills face turned to fury. She saw you in the forest? His
stormy, silver eyes shot icy daggers at Mace. Thats one emotion
Will really shouldnt be equipped with.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mace watched as the muscles
in Vines face collapsed, leaving a gaping mouth.
We didnt mean for her to see us. We were waiting for her
to close her eyes or turn away from the attack. Maces heart
pounded. If hed blown this assignment already, hed never forgive himself. He chucked a frustrated hand toward Nikki. She
just kept watching, Will.
What?
She kept watching. The attack.
Wills eyes dropped to Nikki and held for a long time.
Mace thought he heard him mumble something about a
mark of fearlessness.
Finally, Will spoke. The world balances on a pinhead, and
its fate rests in the hands of teenagers.
The cloud of uncertainty surrounding Nikki unnerved
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him, Mace could tell. Will was a true warrior, and right now the
fighter within was being stirred.
Time is short, Will said. I wouldnt be surprised to see
an untapped weapon hidden in her mortal bones. Though she
looks like a mere teenage girl, I think her heart beats with the
strength of a warriors spirit. Queen Esther comes to mind.
Huh? Vine said, his head tilted and his face twisted into a
quizzical expression. Actually, Wills little monologue had sort
of lost Mace too. As an eternal being, Will often sensed things
the boys couldnt, but was prone to voicing it in grand terms.
Raven had been around the longest; maybe he understood
what Will was mumbling about. But he stared straight ahead,
hands locked across his chest as if bored with the whole conversation. On cue, he yawned.
Will knelt beside the girl. Squeezing her hands gently, liquid
gold oozed from his palms and covered hers. The pure aroma
of Gileads Balm heavens Neosporin filled the room. They
each savored it. Nothing was sweeter except the breath of life.
Whoa, Vine said, eyes darting to Mace. Were, um, seeing in both realms right now?
Mace smiled at his young counterpart. You aint seen
nothin yet.
Nikki awoke in her own bed. She sat straight up and shook off
the sleep. Fragments of memory bounced in her head. Running
. . . the fence . . . the wolves. Voices.
And deep, blue-green eyes. Cerulean blue. The color of the
glistening Mediterranean Sea capturing the suns reflection.
Even as she remembered the horror, her heart calmed, imagining
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those pools of safety. And a face. There was a face attached to

those eyes. Angular. Strong.
Rich words had rolled off his tongue: Youre safe now,
daughter of man. Then all had faded, except those round,
cerulean eyes. No other shade on her artists palette captivated
her like cerulean. And no other eyes captivated her at all.
But it had just been a dream, right? She lifted her arm from
under the covers and ran a hand through her hair. As she did,
she noticed her arm was still in the vintage T-shirt shed worn
yesterday. She wiggled her legs. Yep, jeans. Panic crept in and
she suddenly wanted to get out of the clothes she had on.
She jumped from the bed, and the room spun around her.
Whoa, she muttered as fingers scrambled for the bedpost,
holding on with white-knuckled determination until the walls
slowly sharpened into focus.
In the dream, she hit the fence. She remembered the slicing
pain when the chain links cut into her flesh. Lifting her hands,
she examined them, front and back.
Nothing. Not a scratch on her fingers, not a cut on her
hands. And no jacket. Nikkis mind raced. She had her jacket
on in the dream and it snagged and tore on a branch. Her gaze
darted from the small bistro table sitting in one corner to her
laptop in the other corner, but no sign of her light coat. The
room whirled again. Nikki sank to the bed and her hair fell
across her face. A few calming breaths later, she shoved the
loose strands back as the nausea passed.
It had to be a dream, she whispered.
No, the hounds were real.
And those beautiful eyes, they had to be real. She rolled
her pant leg and searched for the mark the monster dog left.
Twisting, she squeezed her calf. No wound. No pain. As she
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unrolled the material, however, a spot of blood appeared on the

denim. She unsnapped and unzipped her jeans and dragged
them from her body, turning them inside out. Skin exposed,
goose bumps spread along her thighs.
The spot on her jeans was larger on the inside than on the
outside, making it clear the dried blood had come from her.
Using one hand to tug her hair over her shoulder and out of
the way, she propped her foot on the bed and examined her
calf again.
Nada. She poked at the spot where the bite mark should
have been. Not even sore. She lifted the jeans for closer inspection. Just above the dried blood, a tiny hole. Frantically, she
brought the material to her face and searched. A black hair was
partially buried in the blood. Clasping the thing between her
finger and thumbnail, she tugged it from its cocoon, finding it
half an inch in length and . . . wiry. She placed it on her nightstand and repeatedly wiped her hand against the bed, removing
the dead sensation the hair created.
Standing on shaky legs, she peeked from her bedroom
window. A cloudless Missouri sky hovered above the world,
her world, and the home shed known since birth. She took in
the room that had grown with her, first filled with baby dolls
and teddy bears, then Barbie and the preferred G.I. Joes; now
replaced with karate trophies and artwork. All of her favorites
splashed across her walls, with Starry Nights swirls shimmering down on her. And somewhere in the deepest corner of her
closet her much-loved teddy rested in a box. Yes, this was her
world. Safe. Normal. Without wolf-dogs.
In the kitchen, her mother was probably baking as she did
every Saturday morning, while her dad puttered around in the
garage playing with ancient swords and daggers. As antique
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11/16/11 11:49 AM
weapons dealers, her parents passion for history had always

fascinated Nikki, and likely spawned her interest in art. Theyd
taught her beauty was often hidden in ordinary items, but with
the right amount of care, patience, and a dose of determination,
what most see as junk could become a treasure.
She drew a breath and started to turn from the window, but
something flashed in the fringe of woods alongside her house.
Cold chills ran up and down her spine as she squinted into
the darkened edge of trees. Off to the right, movement. She
tried to swallow against the desert growing in her throat, but
gulped down only hot, sticky air. Her hand trembled, squeezing
the curtain with such force she felt each pulse of blood pumping through her closed fingers.
Something was lurking in the shadows. And it was waiting
for her.
So, can you give me a reason why youre so distracted today?

Krissy asked, batting thick lashes at her while sinking into the
coffee shop seat.
Nikki pulled the latte to her lips and took a long, lingering
drink. Explain? I wouldnt know where to begin.
Krissy used the end of her green straw to toy with the
chocolate-striped whipped cream on the top of her iced drink.
Look, I know you hate shopping. But you promised to at least
have a good attitude.
Nikki sighed deeply. What kind of a friend am I? Im sorry
Krissy. Its not the shopping. Im excited about it, really.
As is evidenced by your wide eyes and bobbing head. You
know I live for these chances to see you in real clothes. Not
your customary boyfriend-fit jeans and vintage T-shirts. I
26
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mean, theyre cute every once in a while, but would it kill you
to wear a skirt? Krissy slurped some of her drink, but stopped
and wiped her mouth when two guys passed by their table. A
toothy smile and a flirtatious head toss, and the guys were sitting across the coffee shop with eyes glued.
Nikki cast a glance behind her to the boys. Youre
unbelievable.
Its just a game. I happen to be a good player. Krissy
beamed and motioned with her free hand, careful the boys
wouldnt see. Look, look, look! Theyre totally coming over
here.
Nikki panicked and grabbed Krissys arm in a death grip.
No.
Lets invite them to sit down.
Krissy, please. She squeezed tighter. Look, if youll get rid
of them, Ill tell you whats going on.
Blue eyes narrowed, the telltale signal she was unable to
resist the intrigue. Youll tell me why youre so jacked up
today?
Nikki felt the boys bearing down on her. Yes, I promise.
Ill tell you everything. Her cheeks felt like they were burning.
Krissy sighed and shifted into catch and release mode.
Fine.
When the two teen boys stopped at the table, Nikki tried
to offer a tentative smile, but figured it looked more like
constipation.
They greeted, and Nikki mumbled a greeting in return.
Then Krissy kicked into full gear. So, I noticed you guys go by
and I was thinking, you two look just like a couple of my little
brothers friends. His name is Jeff and he goes to Waterside
Middle School.
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The boys faces crumbled.

Oh, dear Lord, just kill them now and save them from this
embarrassment.
But Krissy soldiered on. I dont know all his friends, but
I remember meeting some of them at Chunky Monkey Ice
Cream Shop when we had his birthday party.
Nikki sank deeper into the chair sure the boys egos werent
likely to recover in this millennium.
Within moments though it felt like several lifetimes
they disappeared.
Krissy! That was mean, Nikki scolded and threw a glance
over her shoulder.
But the petite blonde gave her a dead stare. Youve got info.
And I dont want to be distracted by some cute guy hanging
around while I hear it.
Nikki could relate. All morning her thoughts had strayed to
the ocean blue eyes and the velvet voice that had soothed and
protected her in the dream. Yes, shed determined it had to be a
dream. Otherwise, she had to admit the very distinct possibility she was going nuts.
Krissy listened intently as Nikki filled her in. And thats it.
I woke up in my clothes in my own bed.
Wow.
Nikki dropped her hands flat on the table and blinked at
her friend. Wow? Thats it? Krissy had an opinion on absolutely everything.
She waved a hand in the air. Give me a minute, Im thinking. Her lips puckered slightly and her straw plunged repeatedly
into the depths of her iced mocha. Youre being chased. That
means something in dreams, but I cant remember what. Then a
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fence. She snapped her fingers. What could a fence mean? And
there were wolves? That means something too, but . . .
Nikkis head dropped to the table. Let me guess. You cant
remember what.
Krissy nodded, ignoring the monotone remark. What else
stands out?
Cerulean eyes. So filled with color and life, it was as if pure
pigment had created them and trapped a beam of sunlight just
beneath their depths. Nikki squeezed her eyes shut. The guy.
Oh. Ohhh. Krissy nodded. Now were getting somewhere.
Its simple. You want someone to rescue you. You want no,
wait, you need a knight in shining armor to come and save you
from the dragon.
What? That was the stupidest thing shed ever heard. And
yet . . . She rejected the thought. I dont need some guy. From her
karate to her artwork, from her choice of clothing to her choice
of transportation, she had it all together. She was a girl who
knew exactly what she wanted. Except she didnt.
In fact, she felt like the most conflicted person on the planet.
She couldnt even decide on a career path. Business for becoming a karate instructor and own her own dojo someday, or art
school? They both fit like a shrunken sweater: a past favorite,
and the other certainly not a choice one could live with forever.
It was as if a huge part of Nikki had gone missing long ago and
she didnt know how to find it . . . or if shed ever had it to begin
with. Could her best friend actually be right? What? Whats
the dragon?
Krissy threw her hands into the air. Who knows? It could
be anything. Science class, the MCAT, green Jell-O.
Nikki drew her brows together in a deep frown.
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11/16/11 11:49 AM
The dragon is whatever terrifies you. Its whatever youre

scared of.
Myself, Nikki thought. Im scared of myself. What I cant do.
What I can do. Why I dont know who I am. A rock sat on her
chest, making it hard to breathe. She forced a laugh, but there
was no humor in it. Im pretty sure its green Jell-O.
Krissy pointed at her. You need a man. Thats all.
One split second later, two new victims entered the coffee
shop. Nikki groaned and grabbed her backpack-style purse.
Lets go. I dont want you fixing me up. Besides, there are
clothes waiting for us!
Krissy squealed and clapped her hands together. Yay!
Shopping.
Nikki hung her new clothes in her closet, her eyes stopping
at the black cocktail-style dress Krissy talked her into buying.
She ran a hand over the soft, shimmery material. She chewed
her lip. It really was a beautiful garment. And she did have the
art gallery showing in a few days. She should have a grown-up
dress, or as Krissy called it, a little black dress destined to be
a girls best friend. Admittedly, it had been gorgeous when she
tried it on, but now, hanging in her closet, it looked ridiculous
amongst the jeans, T-shirts, riding boots, and flip-flops.
Shopping was always exhausting on a deep level and her
constant apprehension about rabid wolves finding her in the
dressing room and chasing her through the mall in her underwear didnt help. All day it was like eyes were on me. It was
nearly evening now, and she had to get out, clear her mind. She
shoved the black dress to the back of her closet and slammed the
door, flying down the stairs in a desperate attempt to outrun
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such adult clothing. Sprawled in the family room, she caught

a glimpse of yellow fur beneath the coffee table. It whimpered.
She dropped to her haunches at the tables edge and cooed,
Whos a good dog?
A massive head plopped onto her thighs. Innocent brown
eyes blinked their adoration.
She scratched his head between his ears, and the yellow lab
stretched, arching his back, long gawky legs straightening like
boards.
Already feeling better, Nikki strolled into the kitchen and
snagged a piece of fruit.
Getting hungry? Im going to start dinner soon, Mom said
over her shoulder.
Nah, Im good. Im leaving for a while.
Where are you going?
Just for a ride.
Her mom frowned. Alone?
Nikki cast her eyes heavenward. Yes, alone, but Ill be fine.
Youd think Id just gotten the bike a week ago.
I just like it better when someone goes with you.
Must we go through this every time? Well, Ive put in an
application to join the Swamp Riders Biker Club, but I havent
heard from them yet.
Her mom swatted at her with a dish towel. Thats not
funny. Oh, before I forget, we have to be gone Monday night
your father has an auction in St. Louis. Well be finishing late,
so hes planning on spending the night and driving home
Tuesday morning. Her mothers dark brows scrunched inward.
Actually, we could cancel the room and drive home Monday
so youre not alone.
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Nikki groaned. Mom, Ill be fine. Im seventeen. I think I

can survive one night without you here.
All grown up, her mother said, and closed the distance
to pull Nikki into a tight mom hug. Speaking of grown-up
events, did you find a dress for the gallery?
Nikki groaned again and sank onto her moms shoulder.
Did I say the wrong thing?
No, Mom. Everythings fine. But her mom pulled her
closer, nearly squeezing the breath from her lungs.
Thats right, Nikki. Everything is fine. When she drew
away, something glistened in her moms gaze. Something
unsettling.
Nikki smiled and refused the voice that told her life as she
knew it was about to end.
She flew down the highway with wind rushing past, enjoying
the whine of the Kawasaki Ninja 600s engine. Her mood lifted
with each rev. The nightmare of last evening jettisoned away as
she gripped the clutch and relished the feel of her bike beneath
her. Or certain-death crotch-rocket, as her mom called it. She
still remembered the fights when shed asked her parents for the
motorcycle for her sixteenth birthday and how her dad had
worked around her moms no-sixteen-year-old-of-mine ultimatum by presenting the bike a year later. Eight inches of hair
flapped below the helmet shed promised her mother shed always
wear. So far, shed honored that vow, but warm Saturday afternoons encouraged long drives. Shed often end up in Arkansas
where there was no helmet law. The temptation was great.
She stopped for gas and filled the tank. Six bucks. Beside her,
a thirty-something-year-old guy filled an SUV. Nikki stifled a
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grin as he poured in numerous gallons of gas. Yes, life was good

and it was beginning to feel normal again.
The guy shoved the gas pump back into the holder and
caught her gaze. It stopped his momentum and he stared
straight at her without moving.
Nikki swallowed and gave a nod toward him, but before she
could turn away his eyes changed. A shadow closed over his features, then seemed to disappear. The guy blinked a few times
and mumbled some angry words, then wiped his hand across
an already dirty flannel shirt. But he never took his eyes off her.
She flashed a quick smile and dropped her gaze. When he
slammed the hatch to his gas tank, Nikki jumped.
Seeming pleased with her reaction, he watched as she
replaced her gas lid.
I said Im talking to you, he growled.
She hung up the pump. Excuse me? Looking down at
her gas cap, she noticed her hands were trembling. Her teeth
clenched. Whats happening? I never walk around this afraid.
Plus, I could take this guy if I had to. The answer wasnt long in
coming. Last nights brush with . . . well, with whatever it was,
left her more than a bit uncomfortable. And grungy flannel
shirt guy with the SUV wasnt helping.
Stupid teenager, he grumbled.
Nikki donned her helmet, snagged her receipt, then threw
a leg over her bike. I didnt do anything, she said in the safety
of her full-coverage helmet.
What? His face reddened, and he took a step closer. What
did you say?
Twisting her wrist, she sped out of the parking lot. Okay,
that was weird, she muttered. The guy had seemed fine when
she first pulled up.
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Trees and hills disappeared past as she zipped down Farm

Road 211. But her nerves were raw so she slowed down. The
speedometer read fifty, and she held steady there until she saw
the grill of a vehicle inching closer in her small, round rearview
mirror.
From a half-mile away she could plainly see the acceleration as the SUV moved closer, faster. She blinked repeatedly,
fighting panic it was the same vehicle from the gas station.
Glancing alongside the road, she searched for a place to pull off
and hide or turn around, but no decent option presented itself.
Hands sweaty, she accelerated again.
The dark SUV closed the distance. She could outrun
him sport bikes were known for their speed. But they were
also known for hitting loose gravel and tumbling end over
end. Every time she tried to accelerate beyond a safe speed, the
rear end shimmied, losing traction. Road rash? No, thank you.
Nikki held firm at sixty, and didnt dare push it even though
every synapse in her body begged her to let loose. The two vehicles sped down the empty stretch of road, the SUV now mere
feet away.
In her mirror she made out his face, still red but now smiling as if enjoying the chase. Nikki willed her mind to concentrate on riding, instead of imagining what Nikki roadkill
would look like. More than once she swerved into the empty
oncoming lane to keep his front bumper from making contact
with her back tire. If the two touched, it would catapult her
from the bike like a ragdoll.
Her secret weapon was she knew this road by heart, could
probably drive it with her eyes shut. Up ahead, a tight turn
waited. Nikki formed a plan.
34
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Chapter
3
M
ace snuck from the house for the second time on

Saturday. Keeping a safe distance, hed watched Nikki
and her friend meander through stores at the mall with a mammoth battle raging in his gut. Will had given an order a direct
and very specific order and he was breaking it. It was a huge
risk to move among humans while he still looked, smelled, felt,
and, as hed discovered, tasted otherworldly. The problem was,
he simply couldnt wait two more days to see Nikki Youngblood
again.
Hed messed up on this journey already by letting the
girl see him in the forest. It had been a stupid mistake, one
that could cause questions later. Guys dont just appear out of
nowhere. Of course, neither do hell hounds. None of it would
make sense to her. Then again, nothing about this journey
made sense to him, either. Especially the way he couldnt stop
himself from scooping the girl into his arms.
Raven had watched with the interest of an alligator waiting
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for a victim to pass by. Hed probably intended to tuck away

Maces mistake and pull it out when it could do the most damage.He couldnt afford to give Raven such leverage.
Yet here he was on Saturday evening, tailing Nikki
Youngblood as if hed been instructed to do so. Stupid.
And necessary. Something inside told him she needed a
constant watchman. Not that his ser vices had been helpful.
Shed spent the day shopping, and though hed managed to
stay off her radar, every now and then shed pause and scan the
area around her like she knew he was there. Hiding. Waiting.
Watching.
Like he was doing now. Hed nearly turned back and headed
home but as he banked, wings spread above the motorcycle and
the girl riding it, hed noticed the SUV. It pulled into the road
and gunned the engine, causing Maces wing feathers to prickle
the way they did when demons were around. He tilted down
for a closer inspection of the driver. No demon, just some guy
whod been rude to Nikki at the gas station. Nonetheless, Mace
kept his speed up to keep from being seen, moving so fast his
molecules disappeared and no human would see him coming.
Nothing like having angelic powers on hand when spying on
someone.
He hovered above a row of trees. Judging by what was happening on the road, it was a good thing hed disobeyed Wills
rules.
The girl was being chased by a human, but one under evil
control. Darkness wastes no time. Well, then he would step up
the game as well. Uncle Will wouldnt approve, and neither
would Raven, who despite his experience or maybe because
of it had the most contempt for their charges. Will I grow as
callous over time? Will these journeys in this realm create shad36
11/16/11 11:49 AM
ows in my heart? Raven hadnt always had the darkness that

now glimmered in his eyes.
Wills constant reminder drifted thought Maces thoughts.
Never forget your origin. Born in rebellion, marked for eternity, and rejected as outcasts. And meant to keep the realms
in peace.
His eyes fanned to the corner ahead, where the street bike
and the SUV were moving too fast for the turn. Mace waited
while seconds stretched, each one lasting an eternity. This
couldnt end well.
Hed promised himself hed simply observe, not interact.
Yeah, right. If Nikkis truly in danger, I shovel her into my arms
before a single scratch marks her skin. And he believed that
single fact alone made him a dangerous choice and the right
choice for this journey.
Thankfully, she slowed as she reached the tight corner. The
SUVs engine wound down in response. For a brief instant
Mace thought shed make it, but loose gravel connected with
her tires, throwing her into a fishtail. She zigzagged one way
then the other, along with his stomach. The bike tilted closer
to the ground with each swerve. Momentum drove the bike,
and though he could tell Nikki was a capable rider, a hundred
pound girl was no match for an out-of-control seven-hundredpound machine. Gravel sprayed from one side then the other
as if created by a water skier in perfect form.
Maces muscles tensed with each swerve of her front wheel.
Rules or not, if he didnt interfere shed never survive the fall.
In less than a heartbeat he was at the back of her bike. He
lifted the back end gently, keeping it an inch off the ground
until Nikki cleared the dangerous corner. Behind him the SUV
squealed.
37
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Please tell me he didnt see the golden glow . . .

Mace reached around the girl and held her against him in
a bear hug, unsure if the vehicle behind might make contact.
He longed to snap his wings open and lift her to safety, but that
would definitely get him replaced on this journey and it would
certainly trash her bike. No, hed wrap his body around hers
and take the hit himself, gravel blanket and all. If tumbling
along the road was his fate, hed seize it, as long as he protected
Nikki.
His heart jolted again when her reflection flashed in the
side view mirror, face covered by her helmet save for her caramel eyes now filled with terror. He wasnt the SUV shed been
expecting.
Great, he mumbled. How am I gonna explain this to Uncle
Will?
Recognition filled her gaze and her eyes melted into peace,
proving his cover was blown. Mace knew he should be admonishing himself for landing directly behind his target even
Vine knew better than to stop when you wanted to stay invisible but instead his heart hammered with an uncommon
sensation. Something in his very soul reached out for her. And
the really scary thing was . . . it felt like something in her soul
was reaching for him.
Behind them the SUV shuddered, wheels catching and
releasing the road. It squealed again before shooting into a field
like a rocket and disappearing.
Maces muscles released marginally, causing a new awareness of where her body touched his. The inside of his arms,
moments ago simply a place of absolute safety for her, were now
on fire. His arms and chest tingled. He felt like a rod of metal
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in a lightning storm, or a cord of frayed wires plugged into a

socket and scattering sparks. He was in trouble.
As if awaking from her trance, Nikki squeezed the brake
and they slid to a stop. She leapt off the bike and spun to face
him. But instead of the fiery speech, she faltered, grabbing for
air. Her eyes rolled and she collapsed.
Slipping behind her, he caught her weight. He noticed her
scent as he lowered her gently clean and alive like flowers
sprinkled on the wind. Her fear blended with and only intensified the sweet smell. Strands of hair pressed against her
forehead where her helmet held them in place, trapped like
butterflies under glass. Before he had her all the way to the
ground, he unfastened the strap beneath her chin, needing to
see all of her features.
A blanket of her silky, dark hair covered his legs once he
knelt down. A breeze blew across her, setting the butterflies
free and allowing long strands to dance slowly in the current
of air. Her eyes fluttered open, dark lashes framing irises of
warm honey.
I know you, she whispered then passed out again.
For an eternity he held her while the wind grabbed leaves
and waltzed them across the road. Mace couldnt stop his fingers from reaching to touch the skin on her cheek. Ah. Angel
skin. It struck him as odd that though he was the half heavenly
being, it was her flesh that carried unearthly softness. Maybe
all daughters of man felt that way. He didnt know, since hed
never spent time so near earth girls.
Nor would he.
Mace snatched his hand from her face as if it burned. But
when she pulled a deep breath and seemed to snuggle into his
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lap, tension dissolved from him. Admire, he told himself. But

admire from a safe distance.
He bit his cheek hard to keep from pulling her closer.
Stillness seemed an unnatural state for her. Shed been
halted, stopped by possibly the only thing that could stop her.
Maces face creaked into a smile. It only took a blast of heavenly
electricity to slow her down. The mere fact hed been the force
powerful enough to stop her played havoc with his senses. Get
a grip. He drew a deep, cleansing breath.
Her scent assaulted him again.
Above them thunder rumbled, the heavens sending a warning of their own. Mace glanced at the sky; dark clouds swirled,
announcing an oncoming storm. Across the road, a barn
anchored an overgrown cornfield and an ancient farmhouse
sagged at the edge of the street. Mace scanned the buildings
with narrowed eyes. No one outside. No one inside. The entire
area seemed uninhabited, absent of even a skittering rodent.
Will and Raven wont find out. He slid a hand beneath her
knees and effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Smooth steps
carried them toward the house. Less than two hundred feet
away, he stopped.
Alarm prickled across his shoulders, heightening his
already-tuned senses. The cold of death, torment, and evil
swept past. He angled away from the house and toward the
barn as thunderheads rolled closer.
He shifted her weight as angry, fat drops fell from the sky
only feet from the entrance. When he fumbled for the door
handle, she stirred. Her head fell back and a tiny moan escaped
her lips. Her breath feathered across his face.
Mace staggered. He pulled the sugar-sweet aroma into his
being. The breath of life. As a boy, Mace carried the scent all
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Halflings did. But as hed gained his angelic power, the breath
of life disappeared. One more reminder that earth was not his
home.
Leaning against the doorframe for support, he inched his
face closer to hers. Again, her breath fanned him, weakening
his strength and reminding him of all he could never have.
Deep yearnings drove him to close the distance to her mouth
where the cloying air hissed from her lips. Nothing smelled so
satisfying, so alive or so unattainable. And at the moment,
nothing looked so inviting.
Only inches from kissing her, her eyes flittered open.
The faintest smile touched soft, pink lips. Im floating in a
pool of blue-green water, she whispered, drawn from the
Mediterranean Sea. Her eyes blinked, still glassy but concentrated. You know what?
He shook his head.
The water is perfect. Lashes fluttered. She slumped against
his chest.
Mace had to draw several calming gulps of air before
attempting to transport her into the barn. Admire, but from a
safe distance. Ive already wrecked that plan. He tried to remind
himself of all that was on the line. Normally, he liked boundaries. Boundaries were the safety net. Boundaries kept people on
the right path. But right now, he felt like rules were made to be
broken and consequences were miles and miles away.
If journeys came with rulebooks, hed probably just disobeyed every word.
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J:3:3
Replication
[A Novel]
Jill Williamson
0310727588_replication_int_cs5.indd 3
11/4/11 1:31 PM
ZONDERVAN
Replication
Copyright 2011 by Jill Williamson
This title is also available as a Zondervan ebook. Visit www.zondervan.com/ebooks.
ISBN: 9780310727583
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy
Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by
Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book
are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an
endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these
sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any otherexcept for brief quotations in printed
reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design: Cindy Davis
Cover photography: Getty images
Interior design: Sarah Molegraaf
111213141516171819/DCI/181716151413121110987654321
11/4/11 1:31 PM
To Amanda Luedeke, for believing in me
11/4/11 1:31 PM
Martyrs Map of Jason Farms
11/4/11 1:31 PM
J:3:3
[Chapter One]
Martyr stared at the equation on the whiteboard and set his pencil down. He didnt feel like practicing math
today. What did math matter when his expiration date was so near?
His wrist still throbbed from Fidos teeth. Martyr touched the
strip of fabric hed ripped from his bedsheet and tied around his
wrist to stop the bleeding. He hoped the wound would heal before
a doctor noticed it. A trip upstairs to mend it would be unpleasant,
as the doctor would likely use the opportunity to perform tests.
Martyr shuddered.
To distract himself, he glanced at the other boys. Every Jason
in the classroom except Speedy and Hummer scribbled down the
9
11/4/11 1:31 PM
jill williamson
numbers from the whiteboard. Speedy sketched Dr. Maxs profile,
staring at the doctor with intense concentration. His hand darted
over the paper, shading the dark face with a short, black beard.
Hummeras alwayshummed and rocked back and forth,
hugging himself. Martyr never understood why the doctors made
Hummer take classes instead of putting him in with the brokens.
Perhaps it had to do with Hummers being so much older than
the other brokens, or the fact that he could walk and didnt need
special medications.
Movement at the back of the room caught Martyrs attention,
and he twisted around to get a better look. Dr. Kane stood outside the locked door, looking in through the square window. A
stranger wearing glasses stood beside him, much shorter and a
little rounder than Dr. Kane. The mans head was also shaven like
Martyrs, but the way he carried himself next to Dr. Kane showed
he was nothing like a clone. Martyrs pulse increased. There hadnt
been a new doctor on the Farm in a long time.
Dr. Kane opened the door, and both men stepped inside. Martyr
gasped. The new doctor wore color! A narrow strip of fabric ran
from his neck to his waist. Martyr jumped up from his desk and
headed for the stranger.
J:3:3! Dr. Maxs tone slowed Martyrs steps. One mark. Take
your seat immediately.
Yes, but one mark was not so bad. Martyr quickened his pace.
If I could just touch the strip once
Dr. Kane shooed the new doctor back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. Desperate, and knowing the
door would lock once it closed all the way, Martyr stepped into
the shrinking exit. The door slammed against his bare foot, and
a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He winced and wedged his
torso into the crack.
He was met by Dr. Kanes hand pressing against his chest.
J:3:3, return to your seat this instant. Two marks.
But the color on the new doctor was too tempting.
Something indescribable stirred inside Martyr. He has color,
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[replication]
Dr. Kane. He tried to remember the wordlike carrots, like the
caps on the doctors needles, like the slide. Its orange!
Martyr pushed the rest of his body through the doorway, and
Dr. Kane moved with him, keeping his imposing form between
Martyr and the new doctorthe same way Martyr did when a
Jason picked on Baby or another broken.
Chair legs scraped against the floor, and the Section Five math
class rushed from their seats. With a quick glance that seemed to
hint more marks were coming, Dr. Kane reached around Martyr
and yanked the door shut before any other Jason could escape,
leaving Martyr in the hall with the doctors.
Identical faces filled the square window, but Martyr could
barely hear the Jasons inside. The silence in the hallway seemed
to heighten the severity of Martyrs actions. He glanced from Dr.
Kanes stern expression to the new doctor, to the strip of orange
color.
The man stepped back, face pale, eyes wide and slightly magnified through his thick glasses. He clutched the orange fabric with
both hands as if trying to hide it. Wh-What does he want?
Dr. Kane rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Its my fault,
Dr. Goyer. Its been so long since I hired someone. Years ago we
stopped allowing any adornments below level one. They were a
danger to the doctor wearing them. Plus, the boys dont encounter much color down here. It causes problems, as you can see.
Dr. Kane turned to Martyr with a tight smile. J:3:3 is harmless,
though.
Dr. Kanes casual tone emboldened Martyr to carry out his
plan. He reached out for the orange color, exhaling a shaky breath
when the doctor allowed him to touch the fabric. It was smooth,
softer than his clothes or his sheets or the towels in the shower
room. A napkin, perhaps? Maybe it hung there so the doctor could
wipe his mouth after eating. Whats it for?
The new doctor tugged the orange fabric from Martyrs grip.
Its a tie.
Enough questions, J:3:3, Dr. Kane said.
Martyr cocked his head to the side. A napkin tie?
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jill williamson
Three marks, J:3:3. Back against the wall, or itll be four, Dr.
Kanes deep voice warned.
Martyr inched back and glanced down the hallway. Rolo
jogged toward them, clutching his stick at his side, his large body
bouncing with every step. Johnson, the other day guard, loped
along behind.
Martyr fell to the ground and immediately wrapped himself
into a ball, covering his head with his arms. His curiosity had gotten him in trouble again. Three marks meant three hours of lab
time. All to touch the orange napkin tie.
It had been worth it.
Whats he doing? the man named Dr. Goyer asked.
Rolo and Johnsons footsteps on the concrete floor drowned
out Dr. Kanes answer.
Rolo jabbed the stick between Martyrs ribs. Whats up,
Martyr? Another jab. Rolo liked when the Jasons fought back.
Getting into mischief again?
Johnsons familiar crushing grip pried Martyrs arm away from
his face, despite Martyrs efforts to keep it there.
Rolo stopped poking long enough to whack Martyr on the
head, sending a throbbing ache through his skull. Get up, boy.
Martyr complied as best he could with the stick still poking his
side. He hoped the stinger wouldnt engage.
Rolo grabbed Martyrs other arm, and Martyr bit back a groan
as the guards dragged him up and pushed him against the wall.
Rolo slid his stick under Martyrs chin and pressed up, forcing
Martyr to look at him. See, now? Were not so awful, are we?
Rolos eyes were clear and cold. Martyr knew it was best to nod.
Johnson smirked at Martyr over Rolos shoulder. Johnson had
thick brown hair, a bushy brown beard, and a mustache. The boys
were not allowed beards or mustaches or hair. They visited the
groomers once a week to be shavedto keep from looking like
Johnson.
These are our day guards, Dr. Kane said. Robert Lohan,
known as Rolo to the boys, and Dale Johnson. Men, this is Dr.
Goyer. Hell be starting next week.
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[replication]
Was it necessary to strike him? Dr. Goyer asked Rolo. He
wasnt being violent.
Martyr looked from Dr. Kane to Rolo, then to Rolos stick. Rolo
always used his stick. Most of the time it wasnt necessary.
Rolo snorted, like Dr. Max sometimes did when one of the
boys asked an ignorant question. He tightened his grip on Martyrs wrists.
The guards know how to keep the boys in order, Dr. Kane
said. I dont question their methods.
But why sticks? Dr. Goyer asked. Why not something more
effective? A taser?
We use tasers if things get too far. Johnson bent down and
snagged up Martyrs pant leg, revealing the stinger ring on his
ankle. Theyre remote controlled, and each has its own code. Lee,
up in surveillance can turn each one on manually or in a group.
If the boys gang up on us and manage to swipe our weapons, the
tasers knock em flat in a hurry.
Dr. Kane put his hand on Martyrs shoulder and squeezed.
But J:3:3 doesnt cause those kinds of problems. He sometimes
gets a little excited, thats all. Take him up to Dr. Goyers office,
Robert. He turned to Dr. Goyer. This will give you a chance to
try our marks procedure and get to know one of our subjects.
Martyr eyed Dr. Goyer. Would the new doctor be angry that he
had touched the orange napkin tie? Would the marks be miserably
painful?
What do I do with him? Dr. Goyer asked.
The guards pushed Martyr toward the elevator, and he struggled to look over his shoulder at the new doctor.
Dr. Kanes answer made Martyr shiver. Whatever you want.
Martyr lay strapped to the exam table in Dr. Goyers office, which
hed discovered was the third door on the right. He twisted his
head to the side and squinted. The lab-like office rooms were
always so bright. The lights buzzed overhead and the smell of clean
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jill williamson
made him sick to his stomach, reminding him of the hundreds of
times he had lain on a table in such a room while a doctor poked
and prodded. All the labs looked the same: a desk for the doctor,
an exam table, and a long counter stretching along one wall with
cupboards above and below. It had been five years since Martyr
had been in this particular lab, though. He would never forget the
last time.
The third door on the right had belonged to her. To Dr. Woman.
Many years had passed since the incident. Martyr was certain
Dr. Kane would never allow another woman to enter the Farm
because of what had happened, and the thought made him feel
lonely. Dr. Woman had been kinder than any other doctor.
But it had gone bad.
Martyr blamed himself.
The door opened and Dr. Goyer entered. The light glinted off
the mans head as he looked down at a chart, and Martyr wondered
why this doctor had to see the groomers when the other doctors
were allowed to grow hair.
Dr. Goyer jumped back a step when he saw Martyr on the table
and put a hand to his chest, but then moved about the lab as if he
hadnt seen Martyr at all. Martyr waited and watched Dr. Goyer
file some papers, wipe down his counter, and sit at his desk. He was
no longer wearing the orange napkin tie, only a white coat over a
white shirt and black pants. Martyr frowned. Dr. Goyer would
probably never wear the orange napkin tie again.
He hoped Dr. Goyer wouldnt use pain today. Occasionally he
got lucky with his marks and only needed to answer questions or
try new foods. Dr. Goyer hadnt carried in a steamy sack full of
food, though.
Dr. Goyer suddenly spoke. What am I supposed to do with
you?
Martyr met the doctors eyes. They were brown, like the eyes
of every Jason on the Farm. Martyr knew the color brown well.
What do you want to do?
The doctor rubbed a hand over his head. I dont know I
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[replication]
dont know. They gave me a list of starter questions, but youve
probably had all those by now.
Martyr had answered them often. Whats your number? Do
you have a nickname? Whats your purpose?
Dr. Goyer smiled. Thats right. Can we just talk?
Martyr relaxed. Talking would likely be painless. Yes, we can.
Do you like living here?
The question confused Martyr. Where else would he live?
What do you mean?
Do you enjoy it? Do you find it fun?
Some days.
What makes a good day?
No marks. No fights. Food with color. Being with Baby. Especially a day where no one is trying to hurt Baby.
Is Baby your friend?
Martyr nodded. He needs me.
Why?
Baby is a Broken, so a lot of Jasons pick on him.
Broken.
Yeah, you know. Something went wrong when he was made.
Hes small and doesnt speak. The doctors think hes ignorant and
cant learn, but they just dont know his language. He talks with his
hands, so Im the only one who understands him.
Why did the guard call you Martyr?
Its my nickname. I got it because I help Baby and the other
brokens.
Dr. Goyer paused for a second. Tell me about a time you
helped one of them.
Dealing with bullies wasnt Martyrs favorite thing to talk
about, but it was better than being poked with needles. He didnt
want the doctor to change his mind, so Martyr answered quickly.
A few days ago, Iron Man and Fido attacked Baby, and I called
Johnson to stop them. Fido found me later and was angry.
What happened?
Martyr saw no harm in pointing out the wound since he was
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jill williamson
already in a lab. He jerked his head to the strip of bedsheet tied
around his wrist. Rolo was close by, so Fido only bit me.
Dr. Goyer stood and walked toward the exam table. And thats
why they call him Fido?
Fido is a dogs name. Martyr knew this because Rolo said it
almost every time he spoke to Fido. Rolo says that Fido acts like
a dog.
Have you ever seen a dog? Dr. Goyer released the strap holding Martyrs wrist to the table, loosened the sheet, and inspected
the bite marks. Then he went to his counter and opened a cupboard.
Only pictures were shown in class. Have you seen a real one?
Martyr had heard dogs were small and hairy and drooled a lot.
Sometimes Hummer drooled, but no one called him a dog. Baby
drooled a lot when he cried, but no one called him a dog either.
Apparently Fidos dog-ness was due to something else, because he
certainly wasnt small or hairy.
Dr. Goyer closed the cupboard. Ive seen lots of dogs.
Martyrs eyes flickered around the lab while he waited. A thick,
black coat was draped over the back of Dr. Goyers chair. You can
go outside?
Of course. Dr. Goyer stepped back to Martyrs side and
rubbed cool alcohol on his wrist.
It stung and Martyr stiffened. You take the antidote?
Dr. Goyer paused and looked away. His throat bobbed. I, um
yes.
Martyr blew out a long breath. He couldnt even imagine what
it must be like in the outside world. I know Ill never see things
like dogs, but someone has to stay underground so people and
dogs can exist. Sometimes, the knowledge of his purpose was the
only thing that made the Farm bearable. You took off your napkin tie. Will you wear it again?
Its a necktie, not a napkin tie, and Im not allowed to wear it.
Im sorry I broke the rules today. It was a mistake.
Im glad you did. Orange is very rare on the Farm. So is red.
Red is my favorite. Where did you get the necktie?
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[replication]
Dr. Goyer peeled a bandage and stuck it to Martyrs wrist. My
daughter gave it to me for Christmas.
A tingle traveled down Martyrs arms. Daughter was woman.
He lifted his head off the table. You have a woman?
Dr. Goyers eyebrows crinkled over his eyes. My daughter.
Shes seventeen.
What does she look like?
Dr. Goyer reached into his back pocket. He unfolded black fabric and showed Martyr a colored picture. The doctors sometimes
showed them pictures, but never in color. Martyr had never seen
so many colors in one place. He stared at the face and exhaled a
long breath. The daughter had orange hair! And it was long, past
her shoulders, and very curly, like spiral pasta. His eyes were the
color of peas.
He is very colorful. Martyrs eyes did not leave the picture
when he asked, What are the colors of peas?
Green.
Martyr stared at the daughters eyes. His eyes are green.
Her eyes.
Martyr glanced at Dr. Goyer. Her?
Womens belongings are hers instead of his. Theyre called she
instead of he. Personal pronouns are gender specific.
Goose pimples broke out over Martyrs arms. This was why Dr.
Woman had been called Her. Martyr wished he could remember
more about Dr. Woman, but it had been so long ago, and he had
been so young. I would like to see a woman.
Dr. Goyers eyebrows crinkled together again. He put the picture back into the black fabric and tucked it into his pocket.
Whats that you keep the picture in?
A wallet. It holds my money and credit cards, my drivers
license.
Martyr shook his head slightly, confused by the strange terms.
None of the other doctors ever showed him things like this. He
wished he could see the picture againwished he had his own
picturebut Dr. Goyer had seemed upset when he put his wallet
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jill williamson
back into his pocket. Martyr hoped Dr. Goyer wouldnt stop showing him fascinating things in the future.
As the silence stretched on, Martyr tried to think of something
to say so Dr. Goyer wouldnt get bored and decide to use needles.
What is Christmas?
Dr. Goyer leaned against the wall by the door and folded his
arms. Its a holiday. You dont celebrate Christmas here?
Whats celebrate?
Celebrate is being happy together. Dr. Goyer straightened
and looked into Martyrs eyes. What do the other doctors do
when you have marks?
Martyr swallowed, torn over how to answer. If he didnt tell Dr.
Goyer the truth, the other doctors would, and Dr. Goyer would
know Martyr had lied. Lying always made things worse. Mostly
they use needles to test the contents of different vials. Medicines
for outside, I think. Sometimes the vials cause pain, sometimes
they make us sleep. Other times the doctors put sticky wires on
our bodies that buzz our insides. And occasionally they just ask
questions.
What kind of questions do they ask?
Questions about pain. Questions about math and science.
Questions about Iron Man and Fido, or Rolo and Johnson.
Who is Iron Man?
The doctors call him J:3:1. Hes the oldest who is still living,
which makes him the leader. But many of us choose not to follow
him. Hes cruel. Hes cruel to Baby.
Dr. Goyer walked to his chair and sat down, glancing over the
papers on his desk. He picked one up and read from it. Whats the
most important rule here?
It was the standard list of questions. Obey the doctors.
What is your purpose?
Martyr swallowed and closed his eyes. My purpose is to
expire. To be a sacrifice for those who live outside. Martyr opened
his eyes and met Dr. Goyers. Like you.
Dr. Goyer folded his arms and stared at his lap.
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[replication]
Did the doctor want a longer answer? I expire in twenty-five
days, when I turn eighteen. Then my purpose will be fulfilled.
Dr. Goyer looked up. Does that scare you?
No one had ever asked if he were scared. I dont want to
expire.
Because you want to live?
Yes, but not for myself. Im content to sacrifice my life to save
thousands from the toxic air. But if Im gone, who will take care of
Baby? And if Baby doesnt live until hes eighteen, hell fail to serve
his purpose. That wouldnt be fair.
Its important to you to serve your purpose?
Its why Im alive.
Dr. Goyer rubbed his mouth with his hand. Can I answer any
questions for you, Martyr?
Martyr thought about the orange necktie and the picture of the
daughter. How do you celebrate Christmas?
You give gifts to those you love.
Dr. Max had explained gifts once, when they talked about
being nice to others. But the other word was new. What is love?
Dr. Goyer ran a hand over his head again. Uh its when you
have kind feelings for someone.
Dr. Goyer had been kind. He had given enjoyable marks and
mended Martyrs wrist with no lecture. Will you give me a gift?
Maybe someday.
An orange necktie?
Dr. Goyer pursed his lips as if fighting a smile. Probably not.
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J:3:3
[Chapter two]
Con number one: coming home to a vacant apartment.

Weighing the pros and cons always helped Abby Goyer deal with
stressful situations. She stood in the open doorway, heart racing,
unable to move. Her eyes drifted to the number on the door just
to make sure she had the right place.
4B.
Right apartment, but everything else was plain wrong. No furniture. No pictures on the walls. Nothing. She dropped her sleeping
bag and pillow, then shrugged off her duffle bag, letting it thud to
the floor. After the long ride from Philly, she should be enjoying a
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jill williamson
deep, peaceful sleep, not dealing with this. She fished her cell phone
out of a pocket in her quilted bomber jacket and called her dad.
The phone rang and Abby scanned the bare carpet for her Silver Persian. Einstein?
Con number two: no sign of my cat.
Dad picked up on ring four. Abby, honey. You okay? His voice
had a guilty edge to it.
Abby scowled at the parallel vacuum stripes on the carpet. Dad
must have paid a service to clean the place. Whats going on, Dad?
Either we were robbed by some pretty thorough burglars or youve
done something crazy again.
Why are you home early? You didnt get my message?
Evasion: con number three, Dad. Abby ended the call. She
took a deep, bleach-scented breath and checked her messages. Sure
enough, one from Dad. She held the phone to her ear.
Abby, honey? Call me before you get in so I can pick you up. Got
big news.
Abbys posture slumped as she surveyed the bare apartment.
Big news? Einstein?
She kicked her things inside and slammed the front door. At
least the heat was still on. She hurried to her bedroom and found
it had been emptied as well. Where is my cat? She picked up a forgotten red ponytail holder off the floor and stretched it over three
fingers, plucking it like a guitar string.
Her dads synthesized ring of Elton Johns Im Still Standing
echoed in the empty room. Hed changed his ring last time he borrowed her cell, his way of telling Abby he was fine and she could
stop worrying about him. That hed gotten over Moms death.
The vacant apartment proved one thing: he was a liar. Abby let
the phone ring until the loathsome song stopped. A moment later
her cell trilled, signaling a new text message. She opened her phone
to see what Dad had to say for himself. They did this when they
were angry; speaking by way of text messages kept the screaming
to all caps.
ABBY HNY. STY PUT. ON MY WAY.
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[replication]
Great, she said to the empty room. Ill just hang here and
do nothing.
She settled on the lilac carpet and mourned the loss of her
private bath, balcony, and view of the Washington Monument.
Theyd only lived in this apartment three months. Clearly Dad
had found a new jobpro number onebut did the man have
enough courtesy to mention an interview? At least drop a hint hed
accepted an offer before packing up everything without a word to
his only daughter?
Abby sighed. Moms death had messed him up. He so needed
to see a shrink.
Fighting tears, she gathered her red curls over one shoulder,
braided them into a single plait, and fastened the end with the
forgotten ponytail holder. Mom had died nine months ago, and
ever since Abby kept busy at school and youth group, taking care
of Dad in her spare time. She grieved in silence, refusing to fall into
despair. She needed to keep a level headfor Dads sake. Despite
her anger over what hed done at his old job and his emotional
checking out since Mom died, she was all he had. It was up to her
to hold things together, which was why his sudden meddling was
so unfair. He had put her in charge of their family by his own evasion. How dare he move them without consulting her first?
Abby sniffed away her tears and pulled the latest issue of CRS
Quarterly out of her duffel bag. Midway through reading La Brea
Tar Pits: Evidence of a Catastrophic Flood, the front door whooshed
open.
Abby, honey?
She slammed her magazine shut and murmured, Ill Abby,
honey you
Dads footsteps creaked through the apartment until he stood
in her doorway. He wrung his hands together, his usual frown of
concentration replaced with a fake smile. Snow dusted the top of
his bald head. He wasnt even wearing a coat over his dress shirt
and tie.
Abby clunked her head against the wall. Good grief, Dad.
Wheres your coat?
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jill williamson
He turned to look down the hall then ran a hand over his head,
turning the flakes of snow to water. I dont recall.
Abby held in a sigh. Evidently were moving somewhere.
Please say its not far.
Dad kneeled on the floor in front of her and took her hands in
his. Just hear me out.
She shivered at his icy touch. Youve got to dress for the
weather. Your hands are freezing!
I will, I promise. He grinned like shed just given him a lifetime subscription to Biochemical Journal. Especially since
were moving to Alaska.
Abby sucked in a ragged breath but couldnt exhale. It was
one thing to move across town without checking with her. It was
another thing to drop her in the middle of Alaska, where the temperatures favored below zero. As if the DC winters werent cold
enough. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dad spoke first.
We leave tonight. The stuff is already on its way.
His behavior over the past few weeks suddenly hit her. She
hadnt said anything because she thought it had to do with Mom.
That simply moving from the house to this apartment hadnt
worked. That Dad was still trying to avoid dealing with his grief
by stuffing memories into boxes.
And then there was the trip he consented to, and paid for, only
two days before shed left. This is why you let me go to Philly. To
soften the blow. Dad had barely let Abby leave the house since
Mom died; he never would have let her go to Philly otherwise,
especially because it had been a church trip. Dad had major God
issues. What other signs did I miss?
I needed to fly up to sign some confidentiality agreements, see
the facility, buy a house. It seemed like the perfect time
To get rid of me.
He tried to work his brown puppy dog eyes. You wanted to go
to Philadelphia.
Not so you could pull a fast one on me while I was gone. Dad,
its halfway through the semester.
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[replication]
Youre way ahead. Im sure youll be fine. Dad forced a smile.
Its a good job.
Im sure its fabulous, but why do you need to take it? Couldnt
you have found something a little more south?
Alaska has very nice summers. And wait til you see the house.
Youre too good for Alaska, Dad. Ive seen your resume. They
cant possibly have anything going on up there that requires someone of your caliber.
I know what Im doing.
For himself. For his career. He wasnt doing this for her. Abby
seethed. Just like that, she was supposed to give up what little she
had left of her life. Her youth group. Her studies. Her friend Claire.
Visits with Uncle Pete. All because Dad wanted to run away.
Wheres Einstein?
Hes in the car.
Dad!
Hes fine. Hes in his cat carrier. I gave him food and water.
Abby jumped to her feet and held up her phone, forcing her
hand not to shake. Im not fighting with you, Dad. Text me the
pros and cons, then well talk. She grabbed her magazine, pushed
past him, and headed for the exit to rescue Einstein.
Dads muffled voice drifted behind her. Okay, but our flight
leaves in three hours.
Fishhook, Alaska, slept in the heart of the Matanuska Susitna Valley. The population of 2,640 consisted of farmers, schoolteachers,
retail workers, and their families. Fishhook had one mall, but most
of the stores were empty. As far as Abby could tell, the new Super
Walmart got most of the business.
No Nordstrom. Major con.
The next thing shed noted was how white everything was.
Shed expected snow in early March, just not so much. Snow
banks edged every road like retaining walls, and it just kept coming down. Dad had shipped up her shiny red BMW from DC, and
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jill williamson
it sat in the driveway under a mound of snow. Shed need to put her
first Alaskan purchase, an ice scraper, into action and clean off the
car before driving to school on Monday.
Which gave her two days to get settled. The new two-story log
house was spacious, the surrounding snow-covered forest was beautiful, but classes and making new friends consumed her thoughts.
She spent most her time deciding what to wear to school, knowing
how first impressions could forever label herlike it or not.
When Monday morning finally came, she settled on a cashmere cream-and-brown-striped sweater, a brown matte-jersey
skirt, and her cream suede knee-high boots. Very chic, very warm,
very cute.
Unfortunately, she didnt give herself enough time to use the
new ice scraper. By the time shed cleaned the mound of snow off
the car and scraped a patch of ice big enough to see through, school
had started.
She also wasnt used to driving on snowy roads in the dark.
With a speed limit of thirty-five through Fishhook, Abby crawled
along at twenty until the front and back windshields defrosted.
This car is going into the garage the second I get those stored boxes
unpacked. And when does the sun rise around here, anyway?
Lost in her thoughts, she sailed past the high school and had to
turn around in a random driveway. Her tires spun in the snowdrift
until her car jerked back onto the icy road.
No wonder shed missed itthe high school looked like a warehouse, a big, rectangular, windowless, two-story building with a litup sign that read simply: Fishhook. Hopefully, looks were deceiving.
Abby parked her car in the first spot she saw, eager to walk on
solid ground. She soon regretted that wishand her decision to
wear the suede bootsas she slipped and fell on the icy pavement.
She sat still a moment in the dark, wincing at her throbbing tailbone, thankful she was late and no one had seen. The cons against
life in Alaska were climbing rapidly.
Abby checked in at the school office. Back in Washington, DC,
shed been a junior at George Washington High School, with a 4.2
grade point average, taking four AP classes, and auditing Gross
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[replication]
Anatomy at the university three nights a week. Now, four days later,
she was one of seventy-six juniors at Fishhook High School, where
only two AP classes were offeredEnglish and calculusboth of
which Abby had taken her sophomore year. She opted to take them
again, hoping the teachers would let her serve as a teachers assistant.
She handed her choices to the frog-eyed administrative secretary.
Ooh! The womans bulging eyes grew wider. Calculus is
tough stuff.
Abby faked a smile. Thats me. I like a challenge.
Well, our Future Farmers of America program is stellar. You
can talk to Mr. Lester about it. Hes your biology II teacher. Now,
heres your locker combination and your schedule. Your first class
is AP English with Mr. Chung. Hes such a nice young man.
Abbys cheek cramped slightly from the cemented-on smile.
Sure, all of these Alaskans were nice people, but this wasnt home,
and she couldnt keep up the relentless cheer much longer. She
accepted the papers and stalked away.
Her locker stood at the end of a long hallway and took three
tries to open. When she succeeded, she hung her bomber jacket
and backpack inside, taped a picture of Einstein to the inside of
the door, then checked her schedule for the room number of AP
English.
New student? a deep voice asked.
Abby peeked around her locker door to see Mr. Smallville himself walking toward her. She sighed with relief. Despite his Clark
Kent looks, he didnt dress like a farmer.
Im Abby, from Washington, DC. Im a junior. She winced,
hoping that her TMI response hadnt come off too hyper.
The guy sent her a wide smile that undoubtedly cost plenty in
orthodontia. JD Kane, from Fishhook, Alaska. Im a senior.
Ooh. Handsome and older. Two marks in the pro column.
You arent in the Future Farmers of America are you? Not that
there was anything wrong with that.
His eyebrows wrinkled in a smirk. Not me. I play football.
Hmm. Jock. She twisted her lips, contemplating whether being
a jock was a pro or a con. JD stepped beside her, and a plume of
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jill williamson
cologne attacked like exhaust from a city bus. She coughed in
search of clean air and mentally marked a check in the con column for reeks.
His chocolate-brown eyes searched hers. You dont like
football?
She pulled a notebook and pen out of her backpack. Im not
really into sports.
He leaned one arm against the locker beside hers, pinning her
between him and her open locker door. Are you into fame? Cause
youre looking at it. Im the star quarterback.
Abby gagged inside. Ego. Major con. Why did all the hot
guys lack personality? She dodged out of his predatory lean and
slammed her locker.
See you around, JD. She lowered her voice. Good luck with
all that fame.
Abby floated through her first day like it was a bizarre dream.
The place had the feel of a normal high school, but so far students
had only stared, gaping like Abby bore the face of a third-degreeburn victim. The teachers had been friendly, and she participated
in the discussions, but sensed that was a bad way to get started.
Becoming the overachieving teachers pet was not on her list of
high school goals.
Abby hadnt been popular at George Washington High, not
that shed cared. With eight hundred plus in the junior class, she
had plenty of room to find friends with similar interests. Unfortunately, girls interested in DNA and fingerprinting were likely
scarce at Fishhook High, and although Abby didnt really care
about popularity, the fear of being the only science-minded girl in
the school made for lonely thoughts. She prayed God would lead
her to more of her type.
At least one of her type.
When the bell rang after second period Government, she gathered her things and inched out the door with the crowd. Every eye
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[replication]
tracked her as she made her way down the hall, as if she were some
creature to be gawked at. She clutched her books to her chest and
raised her chin. Why did this bother her? She wasnt the type to
be intimidated.
Hey, new girl. Smile.
Someone whistled. Nice boots.
Abby tensed and marked the cluster of blue and white letter
jackets ahead on her right.
Jock cluster.
Your locker or mine, angel?
The guys burst into laughter.
There were five of them. She scanned the faces and her eyes
locked onto JDs.
He wasnt laughing, but when their eyes met, his lips twisted in
a lopsided smile. Hi, Abby.
She couldnt help but smile back despite the company he kept.
Ooh, I got one, a short, wiry guy said. Abby, if I said you had
a great body, would you hold it against me?
JD elbowed him. Shut up, fool.
Mines better, a beefy blond guy said. Girl, if you were a
burger at McDonalds
JD tackled him and tried to clamp a hand over his mouth.
Youd be McGorgeous!
Abby pursed her lips together as she passed. They might be
obnoxious, but at least they verbally acknowledged her presence,
which was more than she could say for the girls. She stopped at her
locker, twirled the combination, and opened the door. Someone
tall stopped at the locker beside hers, sending a dark shadow over
her things. A familiar scent soon followed.
Sorry about the guys. They were just messing around, JD
said. Hows your first day?
Abby glanced up at his towering form. Okay. People arent
very friendly though.
Give them a day or two. Theyre just intimidated. I mean
JD raised his dark eyebrowsyou look like an actress or something with that hair and those boots.
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jill williamson
Abby glanced down. Whats wrong with my boots?
Nothing. I love them. He leaned closer. Its justthe girls
around here might not be ready for the competition.
She put her government book into her backpack. She shut the
door, twisted the lock, then glanced past JDs toned arm at a group
of girls. They wore non-designer jeans, pleather shoes, and layered
knit tops. Plain, comfortable, and not likely from anything close to
a department store. Maybe JD wasnt that far off. Tomorrow shed
choose more casual clothing.
She checked her schedule. Calculus. Room 204.
Ive got Volkman next too, JD said, peering over her shoulder. Its upstairs. Ill walk with you.
Abby didnt want to encourage him but saw no reason to be
rude. Youre in AP calculus?
Yeah. That surprise you?
Absolutely, but Abby switched gears. Whats the teacher like?
JD started up the main staircase. Shes cool. A stickler about
homework. I have a feeling youll like her.
Abby did like Mrs. Volkman. And, to her mild annoyance, JD
was growing on her. He was the only student whod gone out of
his way to make conversation. Abby had never realized how lucky
shed been to have friends in DC.
Somehow she made it through the day, though shed chewed
her poor thumbnail down to the quick. She walked outside and the
bitter cold blasted her face, forcing her to snuggle into her bomber
jacket and step carefully over the icy pavement. As she crossed the
lot, not only did she feel the stares of every person within eyesight,
she realized her car was the only BMW in a lot filled with two-tone
pickup trucks and run-down cars. There were a few exceptions. JD
waved at her from a new cobalt-blue Ford F150 with gun rack and
snowboarding accessories.
Rich misfits? She squirmed at having so much in common with
the likely-to-be-elected prom king. His type had never paid much
attention to her before, and she had yet to figure out his intentions.
In a town this small, it was probably just the thrill of the new girl.
Abby slid into the sanctuary of beige leather seats and tinted
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[replication]
windows. Once she was inside, she started the car and turned up
the heat. While the car warmed up, she pulled out her cell and
texted Dad.
FEEL LKE SNOB N A HALF. NO 1 DRIVES BMW.
The trip home went much faster in daylight. As she pulled
up the narrow driveway and parked the car outside the log cabin
house, she found herself peering around the perimeter. So used to
living in an apartment in the city, it creeped her out to be home
alone surrounded by trees and the occasional bark-eating moose.
Not that shed admit it to Dad, of course. Still, she could barely see
the lights of the neighbors house through the trees. Only 4:35 and
the sky was growing dusky.
Abby locked the front door and turned on all the lights as she
made her way into the living room. Einstein padded up to greet
her, and she snuggled into his soft, white fur. You love me, dont
you, Einstein?
She checked the cats food and water, then tucked herself onto
the living room couch with her homework. She read her government chapter first, then did her calculus problems, and finally
curled up with Einstein to start reading The Great Gatsby.
Six chimes of the grandfather clock jolted her away from 1920s
New York. She sat up. Six oclock and pitch black outside. She
walked to the huge wall of windows that stretched to the vaulted
ceiling. All she could see was her reflection staring back. The
image reminded her of the array of horror films she shouldnt have
watched over the years. Forest-dwelling weirdos could be spying on
her right now, planning her murder, and shed never know. How
might the forensic scientists enter the scene? Theyd take photos
first, then analyze how the intruder might have broken in, estimate
the time of death
Abby shook her head. Not the best line of thoughts when one
was home alone. This room needed drapes. She walked to the front
door, flipped on the porch light, and peered out the narrow, fulllength window that edged the front door. Empty driveway. She
shouldnt be surprised. Dad had never gotten home early before;
why would Alaska be any different?
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She contemplated making dinner, but why bother? Dad would
likely wander in after she was asleep. She microwaved herself a
potpie, gathered The Great Gatsby and Einstein, and climbed the
stairs to her room, wondering where might be the best place to
order drapes online.
She ate and read more of The Great Gatsby until she nodded
off. After brushing her teeth, she twisted the mini-blinds closed on
her bedroom window so she wouldnt have to see the inky blackness, then crawled under her purple comforter and clicked off the
lamp. The hallway light filtered through her cracked-open doorway, casting shadows across the bare, lavender walls and carpeting.
See? Her dad wasnt completely self-centered. Hed gone out of his
way to make sure her room was purple. Tomorrow shed put up
some posters.
Einstein jumped up beside her and kneaded the comforter
with his paws, purring like a distant lawnmower. She pulled the
cat close and stroked his fur, missing her mom more than ever.
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J:3:3
[Chapter Three]
Rolo opened the door to Dr. Elliots office and

shoved Martyr forward. In you go, boy.
Martyr fought to keep his balance as he entered the chilled lab.
Dr. Elliot, the only doctor on the Farm who conducted health
examinations, looked up from his desk, a wide smile stretching
across his narrow face. His small, dark eyes glittered over a long,
oily nose. He stood and glided to the counter.
Martyr couldnt help but stare every time Dr. Elliot walked,
amazed he was able to move at all. The man looked like the stick
figures Baby drew in art class: tall and very thin.
You know the drill. Clothes off. Then up on the table. Dr.
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jill williamson
Elliot always sounded like he was pinching his nose when he spoke.
He opened an upper cupboard, clinking glass vials together as he
searched for something. Fasten him tight today, Rolo.
As he did each time he visited Dr. Elliot for a check-up, Martyr
removed his shirt and pants, draped them over a chair sitting beside
the door, then lay back on the paper-covered exam table. Within
seconds Rolo strapped his wrist into the restraint, pulling the buckles until they pinched. Martyr barely noticed the pain as he watched
Dr. Elliot. Bad vials were kept in that cupboard. Things that made
Jasons sick. What was the doctor looking for? This was to be an
exam, not marks.
Rolo hooked the last restraint on Martyrs leg and left. Once
the door clicked shut, an eerie silence blanketed the lab. Dr. Elliot
still busied himself at the cupboard.
Martyr swallowed. He shifted slightly and the hairs on his
right calf pulled. He looked down and adjusted his leg as much as
was possible within Rolos handiwork. When he straightened, Dr.
Elliot stood over him. Martyr jolted, heart thudding in his chest.
Dr. Elliots wide smile returned. And how are we feeling
today?
Fine.
Eighteen days now.
Two-and-a-half weeks until expiration. Martyr stared at his
feet, which hung off the end of the table. He, like most boys in
Section Five, had long ago grown too tall to fit on it comfortably.
Ive been thinking. Dr. Elliot held Martyrs left eye open with
his thumb and shined a light into it, then did the same to his right
eye. What will happen to Baby when youre not here to protect
him?
Martyr squeezed his hands into fists.
Dr. Elliot patted Martyrs head, his rubber glove scratching
against the prickly stubs of hair that would be shaved off tomorrow
during the J:3s weekly grooming. Dont you worry about Baby,
Dr. Elliot said. I promise to take good care of him.
A wave of heat flashed over Martyr, and he clenched every
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[replication]
muscle to remain calm. Dr. Elliot liked to taunt; he would not get
the satisfaction of a reaction today.
As if nothing had occurred, Dr. Elliot commenced with his
tests, scribbling information onto his chart after each step. Martyr
had been through it hundreds of times over the years: Blood pressure, temperature, then a look in Martyrs eyes, ears, and throat.
Blood drawn from his arm. Poking and prodding all over his body.
Listening to his heart and lungs.
At the end of the exam, Dr. Elliot would call Rolo to escort
Martyr to the bathroom, where Martyr would have to urinate in
a cup. Dr. Elliot claimed it was all to make sure he stayed healthy,
but Martyr wondered if there was another reason.
Someone spoke in a raised voice just outside the closed door.
You know Im worth more than that. Dr. Maxs voice. Muffled,
but angry. Why not give me top clearance?
I see no reason to change things. Dr. Kane, cool and calm.
Ive sacrificed more than the others. I deserve to be involved
at Camp Ragnar.
Martyr looked at Dr. Elliot, who stood motionless, staring at
the closed door. What had Dr. Max sacrificed? And why was he
so upset?
Youre welcome to work at Gunnolf full time, Dr. Jordan, Dr.
Kane said. I dont know why you refuse. Your bedside manner
with the surrogates is matchless.
Martyr held his breath, straining to hear Dr. Maxs response,
hoping his favorite doctor would not leave Jason Farms to work at
any other facility.
Weve been over this, Dr. Max said. Deborah and I deserve
more
Then we have nothing further to discuss. The door handle
lowered, and the door opened a crack, increasing the volume of
Dr. Kanes voice. Now if youll excuse me, Dr. Elliot is waiting.
Dr. Maxs voice lowered. At least let me see the shared consciousness data. Some of the specimens are mine. Ive got a right
to
Good day, Dr. Jordan.
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jill williamson
The door to Dr. Elliots office opened completely, and Dr. Kane
swept in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He studied Martyr.
How is he?
Perfect, as usual, Dr. Elliot said. He glanced at the labs
entrance. Is there a problem I should know about?
Dr. Kane followed Dr. Elliots gaze. Dr. Jordan wants top
clearance.
Why not give it? His expertise would be an asset to the
project.
He never offers expertise, only asks questions. Demands to see
the data and the formulas. Hes too ambitious. Dr. Kane turned
his eyes back on Martyr. Were on schedule?
Of course. Dr. Elliot lowered his gangly body into the chair
behind his desk and read from Martyrs chart. Friday the twentyeighth. Well put him under, transport him to Gunnolf that night,
and you can meet us there in the morning.
Put him under. Transport him. They spoke of Martyrs death
as if it was a mundane routine, like sweeping the floor or making
a bed. Martyr supposed it was that way for them. For people who
had approval to go outside. But why couldnt they wait until he left
to talk about it?
And how are you feeling? Dr. Elliot asked Dr. Kane.
Nauseous. I havent eaten yet today.
Martyr scrutinized Dr. Kanes appearance. His tall and muscular body seemed as forbidding as ever, but his pale face and red
eyes ringed with creases hinted all was not well.
You need to eat, Dr. Elliot said, whether youre hungry or
not.
I will. Dr. Kane slumped onto the chair by the door, sitting
on Martyrs clothes. I need to hire a personal assistant, but the
idea of screening someone
Two-and-a-half weeks and youll be good as new. You wont
need an assistant.
Dr. Kane rubbed his face, sighed, then stood and walked to
Martyrs side, his commanding presence returning with each step.
Well, J:3:3, are you ready to serve your purpose?
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[replication]
Martyr looked away from Dr. Kanes bloodshot eyes. Yes. But
his voice cracked, betraying his cowardice.
Dr. Kane patted Martyrs shoulder. It will be painless, I assure
you. He walked to the door and pulled it open. Dr. Elliot, let me
know if there are any complications.
Of course.
When the door closed behind Dr. Kane, Dr. Elliot stood and
walked to the opposite side of his desk. He perched on the front
edge, crossed his ankles and arms, and fixed his beady eyes on
Martyr. You remind me of my older brother.
Martyr glanced away and swallowed. Now things would get
weird, like they often did in Dr. Elliots lab once the testing was
complete. Martyr usually distracted his thoughts from Dr. Elliots
ranting, but all he could think of today were the conversations hed
just overheard.
Eighteen days now.
Youre welcome to work at Gunnolf full time, Dr. Jordan.
Friday the twenty-eighth. Well put him under, transport him to
Gunnolf that night
Richard did everything right. Dr. Elliot puffed out a short
breath. I dont think he ever got in trouble once, not even a lecture. It wasnt normal.
I get into trouble, Martyr said.
Dr. Elliot tipped back his head and chuckled, an almost silent,
wheezing sound. Only because you play the hero. If you simply
minded your own business, youd never get marks at all.
But Martyr didnt mind marks if it meant keeping Baby and
Hummer from getting hurt. He glanced away from Dr. Elliots
penetrating gaze and noticed a small vial sitting on the counter. A
chill washed over himthe vial hadnt been there when Martyr
first entered. Dr. Elliot must have removed it from the cupboard
while Rolo hooked Martyrs restraints.
A smile swelled under Dr. Elliots greasy nose. Always so sharp,
you are. He strode to the counter and held up the vial, which was
filled with yellow fluid. This is for an LD:50 test. Do you know
what that means?
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jill williamson
Martyrs mouth went dry.
A lethal dose-fifty test determines the amount of substance
required to kill fifty percent of the test subjects used in a study.
Ive been documenting the side effects of EEZ for the provider.
Martyr worked to keep his panic at bay. The doctors often
tested different vials on the Jasons as a consequence of misbehavior and a way to conduct the research necessary to save the lives
of those who lived outside. But exams were not meant for marks.
Surely Dr. Elliot wouldnt do testing on him now, especially when
Dr. Kane was concerned about Martyrs health.
Yet Dr. Elliot often did things that Martyr did not understand.
The doctor poked a needle into the vial and filled the syringe.
As he stepped toward Martyr, he tapped the barrel of the syringe
with his index finger. One cc of EEZ has been enough to make
some of the boys ill for a week. Im sure youve seen them in the
bathroom, puking violently into the toilets after marks with me.
Ive been saving a larger dose for someone special: Baby.
Martyr pulled against the restraints.
I want you to have a small taste of what your little friend will
experience once youre dead. My farewell gift to you.
Dr. Elliot clamped a hand down on Martyrs forearm. The needle stung as it pierced his skin, and Martyr looked away while the
yellow liquid emptied into his veins. He waited for the pain, but
nothing seemed to be happening.
Dr. Elliot tossed the syringe onto the counter and pulled off his
rubber gloves, then threw them into the trash can and pressed the
intercom button on his phone. Send Rolo up. Im all done in here.
It wasnt until Rolo steered Martyr out into the hall that Martyr
felt his chest itch, then his arms. He scratched, but the sensation
did not abate. Martyr slowed to scratch harder, leaving long red
marks on his arms.
Rolo prodded him in the back with his stick. Keep moving.
Into Dr. Goyers office.
Martyrs head snapped around. Dr. Goyer?
You still have two marks to serve with him. Rolo smacked his
stick against his palm.
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[replication]
Martyr moved on, not wanting to be struck. As he walked, his
heart suddenly thudded irregularly. His chest burned. He tensed
and willed himself to reach Dr. Goyers office.
This day continued to get stranger. Marks were usually done
daily until completed, so when a week had passed from the necktie
incident and hed not been escorted to Dr. Goyers lab, Martyr had
assumed the doctor had decided not to work at the Farm, and that
his marks had been forgotten.
But Dr. Goyer was sitting behind his desk when Rolo steered
Martyr inside and strapped him to the exam table.
As soon as Rolo left, another burning throb singed Martyrs
insides. He gasped and clenched his muscles against the pain. His
clammy back stuck to the thin paper sheet that lined the exam
table and he shivered, wishing he could itch or fold his arms to
hold himself together.
Dr. Goyers chubby face rested in one hand, elbow propped on
his desk. Hello, Martyr. How are you today?
I Martyr winced, gritting his teeth at the burn that now
radiated through him like pronged fire.
Dr. Goyer straightened. Are you all right?
Fluid rose in Martyrs throat and he gagged, trying to hold it
back. His body shook, rustling the paper sheet beneath him.
Dr. Goyer leapt to his feet and scurried to the exam table. He
laid his hand on Martyrs head and frowned.
Martyr vomited. He twisted his head to the side to get the stuff
out of his mouth. Dr. Goyer jumped back, then lunged forward
and fumbled with the restraint buckle on Martyrs left wrist. Once
he freed both arms and helped Martyr to a sitting position, Dr.
Goyer ran to open the cupboard under the sink. He returned with
a plastic tub and sat it on Martyrs lap.
Im calling Dr. Elliot.
Martyr shook his head and began to speak, but Dr. Goyer had
already turned away.
The doctor spoke into the intercom. I need Dr. Elliot in here
right away. Martyr is sick.
But Martyr felt somewhat better now. All but the burning
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jill williamson
itch and the taste in his mouth had vanished. He swiped his wrist
across his mouth and scraped his tongue with his teeth. Could I
have some water?
Of course. Dr. Goyer scurried to the sink and returned with
a tiny paper cup.
Martyr sucked the liquid into his mouth, swished it around,
then spit into the tub Dr. Goyer had brought. He held out the cup.
More?
As the word left his lips, the door burst open. Dr. Kane rushed
in, followed by Dr. Elliot.
Whats happened to him? Why is he loose? Dr. Kane
demanded.
Dr. Goyer removed the tub from Martyrs lap. He threw up
and was practically convulsing. I didnt want him to drown in his
own vomit.
Dr. Elliot pushed Dr. Goyer aside. Theres a bug going around.
He grabbed Martyrs head and tipped it back, shining his little
light into Martyrs eyes again.
Martyr wrenched away then grabbed Dr. Elliots throat. If you
give that to Baby, Ill But there was nothing Martyr could do
once he was dead, so he squeezed harder, pouring his hate and
frustration into his hands.
J:3:3, no! Dr. Kane pulled at Martyrs fingers. Help me get
him off!
Dr. Goyer shoved the tub on the counter and pried at Martyrs
other hand until they managed to free Dr. Elliot.
Martyr breathed through his nose, fast and deep. He gave me
something called EEZ. He says hes going to give a lot of it to Baby
after Im gone. Please, Dr. Goyer, you have to help Baby. Dont let
them kill him early. Baby wants to serve his purpose too. He has
every right.
Dr. Kanes chest swelled. You gave him what?
He doesnt know what hes saying, Dr. Elliot said. I took a
routine blood sample, thats all.
No! He said he wanted me to know what Baby would feel
when he gave it to him. He said Another wave of nausea seized
Martyrs stomach and he retched into the tub.
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[replication]
When he looked up, Dr. Kane had rounded on Dr. Elliot. Are
you a fool? Why him? Why now?
I didnt do anything to your precious candidate.
J:3:3 does not lie.
Dr. Elliot pressed his thin lips together then shrugged. I didnt
give him enough to do any damage.
Dr. Kanes face reddened. This is insubordination. How could
you be so rash? Do you see me? Im barely standing, the pain is so
fierce. I cant afford the risk of your torturous hobbies.
Oh, be reasonable. Do you honestly think I would jeopardize
the plan? Ive already tested this sample on eleven subjects. I know
my limits. The adverse drug reactions are strictly flu-like. No ones
suffered any permanent damage.
Dont touch J:3:3 again without me there.
Dr. Elliot held up both hands. Youre the boss. His long legs
carried him from the lab in three smooth strides.
Dr. Kane ran a hand through his hair and blew out a long sigh.
Martyr trembled. He didnt understand what had been said.
Why should Dr. Kanes health depend on Martyrs heath? Perhaps
Dr. Kanes condition was what happened to the people who didnt
get the antidote. Dr. Kane must be in the next group to receive it.
Dr. Goyers forehead wrinkled, as if he, too, were suffering some
ill side effect. Dr. Elliot purposely gave Martyr an unapproved
pharmaceutical? As a hobby?
His identification is J:3:3, Dr. Goyer. Their numbers are on
their sleeves and wrists if you cant remember. Calling them by
their numbers makes it easier not to become attached.
Martyr had never heard it put quite like that.
Right. Sorry.
Ive explained our reasons for pharmaceutical testing. We all
do it, and you will too. But Dr. Elliot, he enjoys it.
I understand the need for testing. But he already knew the side
effects and administered it maliciously, not as a scientist seeking a
cure or test results.
I know what he did. That said, it doesnt matter. What matters
is that J:3:3 lives a healthy life for eighteen more days. Thats all I
care about right now. Keep an eye on him until you leave today,
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jill williamson
then tell Erik to watch him tonight. If his condition worsens, call
me immediately.
With a final nod to Dr. Goyer, Dr. Kane left.
As Martyr watched Dr. Goyer cross the room, he was shocked
that the doctorsespecially Dr. Kanehad not remembered to
re-hook his wrists to the exam table.
Dr. Goyer sat behind his desk and once again pressed the intercom button on his phone. This is Dr. Goyer. Can I get one of the
assistants in here? I need a mess cleaned up.
Right away, doctor.
Thanks.
What made you come back to the Farm? Martyr asked.
I always intended to come back, MarJ:3:3. I simply lived far
away and had to move, and that took a few days.
Im glad youre here.
You are? Why?
I like talking to you. Youre one of the few doctors who see me
as more than an experiment.
Dr. Goyer leaned back in his chair. Well, we have the rest of
the day to talk. Would you like that?
Martyr winced as the burning itch surged. He nodded, unable
to speak over the pain.
You dont like Dr. Elliot, I imagine.
Martyr gritted out his words. Hes a bad man. The things in
his cupboard Pleasehe took a sharp breathkeep him
from hurting Baby when Im gone.
Dr. Goyer shifted in his chair. When I met Dr. Kane last week,
he seemed a different man. Now that Im here, hes not only deathly
ill, but absentminded and moody. Im afraid he hasnt given me very
efficient training, so I really cant say what Ill be permitted after
your your expiration. I will do what I can for Baby, though.
Martyr relaxed his posture. Thank you. Hummer will also
need someone. He and Baby are the two Section Fives who dont
speak.
Ill make a note of that.
When Iron Man and I are gone, Fido will take over. He will be
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[replication]
a horrible leader, worse than Iron Man because hes ignorant and
barely talks. Plus, Fido hates Baby. Maybe Baby could move into
Section One? Do you think Dr. Kane would allow it?
I can ask him.
An awkward silence stretched between them as Martyr struggled to find questions appropriate for a doctoreven someone
like Dr. Goyerto answer. Each thing that came into his head
seemed somehow forbidden.
Finally, Dr. Goyer said, Would you like some more water?
Thank you.
Dr. Goyer got up and retrieved another tiny paper cup. He
filled it and handed it to Martyr. Do you have anything youd
like to do, you know, before you expire? Any desires?
Could the doctor sense his thoughts? We arent allowed things
we cannot normally have.
I know, but that doesnt mean you cant wish, right?
Martyr hid a smile. His wishes never came true. But it was still
fun to think about them.
Well, then? Id like to know what you want, besides keeping
Baby and Hummer safe.
I want to see the sky.
Dr. Max had taught them about sky in science class seven years
ago, and Martyr had never forgotten. It was blue, but he was not
sure what blue looked like. It was rumored Rolos eyes were blue,
but if anyone asked, Rolo smacked them with his stick.
Were not allowed outside because of the toxic air, but since
Im going to expire anyway, Id like to see the sky before I fulfill
my purpose. Do you think Id be infected if I went outside just long
enough to see it?
I dont really know.
If I knew Baby and Hummer would be safe and I could
glimpse the sky for only a moment, I would die happy. It isnt too
much to dream for, is it?
Dr. Goyer rubbed his face with both hands. No. Not at all.
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Other Books by Bill Myers

Forbidden Doors
Dark Power Collection
Invisible Terror Collection
Deadly Loyalty Collection
Ancient Forces Collection
Dark Side of the Supernatural

The Elijah Project
On the Run
The Enemy Closes In
Trapped by Shadows
The Chamber of Lies
0310715342_darkpower_int_cs5.indd 2
10/17/11 9:56 AM
FORBIDDEN DOORS
DARK
POWER
COLLECTION
The Society
The Deceived
The Spell
BiLL MyERS
10/17/11 9:56 AM
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ZONDERVAN
Dark Power Collection
Copyright 2008 by Bill Myers
The Society
The Deceived
The Spell
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Interior design: Christine Orejuela-Winkelman
11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 /DCI/ 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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THE SOCIETY
10/17/11 9:56 AM
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the
rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark
world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly
realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when
the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground,
and after you have done everything, to stand.
Ephesians 6:12 13
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1
R
ebeccas lungs burned. They screamed for more air; they

begged her to slow down. But she wouldnt. She pushed herself. She ran for all she was worth. She had to.
There was no sound. She saw a few kids standing along the
track, opening their mouths and shouting encouragement. She
saw them clapping their hands and cheering her on. But she
couldnt hear them. All she heard was her own gasps for breath
. . . the faint crunch of gravel under her track shoes.
Several yards ahead ran Julie Mitchell the teams shining
hope for all-State. She had a grace and style that made Rebecca
feel like, well, like a deranged platypus. Whatever that was.
But that was okay; Becka wasnt running against Julie. She
was running against something else.
Its Dad . . .
For the thousandth time, she saw her moms red nose and
puffy eyes and heard her voice echoing inside her head. They
found his plane in the jungle. He made it through the crash,
but . . .
Becka bore down harder; she ran faster. Her lungs were going
to explode, but she kept going.
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Bill Myers
Youve got . . . to accept it, her moms voice stammered.

Hes gone, sweetheart. He was either attacked by wild animals
or . . . or . . .
Becka dug her cleats in deeper. She stretched her legs out farther. She knew the or . . . or . . . was a tribe of South American
Indians in that region. A tribe notorious for its fierceness and for
its use of black magic.
The back of Beckas throat ached. Not because of the running. It was because of the tears. And the rage. Why?! Why had
God let this happen? Why had God let him die? He was such a
good man, trying to do such good things.
Angrily she swiped at her eyes. Her legs were turning into
rubber. Losing feeling. Losing control. And still she pushed herself. She had closed the gap with Julie and was practically beside
her now. The finish line waited a dozen meters ahead.
Trying out for the track team hadnt been Beckas idea. It was
her moms. To help you fit in, shed said.
Fit in. What a joke. Rebecca had spent most of her life living
in the villages of Brazil with her mom, her little brother, and a
father who flew his plane in and out of the jungle for humanitarian and mission groups. And now, suddenly, she was expected
to fit in. Here? In Crescent Bay, California? Here, where everybody had perfect skin, perfect bodies, perfect teeth? And lets
not forget all the latest fashions, right out of Vogue or InStyle or
whatever it was they read. Fashions that made Becka feel like
she bought her clothes right out of Popular Mechanics.
That last thought pushed her over the edge. She tried too
hard, stretched too far. Her legs, which had already lost feeling,
suddenly had minds of their own. The left one twisted, then gave
out all together.
It was like a slow-motion movie that part of Becka watched
as she pitched forward. For a second, she almost caught her balance. Almost, but not quite. She stumbled and continued falling
toward the track. There was nothing she could do only put out
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The Society
her hands and raise her head so the crushed red gravel would not
scrape her face. Knees and elbows, yes. But not her face.
As if it really mattered.
She hit the track and skidded forward, but she didnt feel any
pain. Not yet. The pain would come a second or two later. Right
now, all she felt was shame. And embarrassment. Already the
humiliation was sending blood racing to her cheeks and to her
ears.
Yes sir, just another day in the life of Rebecca Williams, the
new kid moron.
+ =
As soon as Beckas little brother, Scott, walked into the bookstore, he knew something was wrong. It wasnt like he was frightened or nervous or anything. It had nothing to do with what he
felt. It had everything to do with the place.
It was wrong.
But why? It certainly was cheery enough. Bright sunlight
streaming through the skylights. Aqua blue carpet. Soft white
shelves with rows and rows of colorful books. Then there was
the background music flutes and wind chimes.
But still . . .
You coming or what? It was Darryl. Scott had met him
a couple of days ago at lunch. Darryl wasnt the tallest or bestlooking kid in school actually, he was about the shortest
and nerdiest. His voice was so high you were never sure if it
was him talking or someone opening a squeaky cupboard. Oh,
and one other thing. Darryl sniffed. About every thirty seconds.
You could set your watch by it. Something about allergies or hay
fever or something.
But at least he was friendly. And as the new kid, Scott couldnt
be too picky who he hung with. New kids had to take what new
kids could get.
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Bill Myers
For the past day or so, Darryl had been telling Scott all about
the Society a secret group that met in the back of the Ascension Bookshop after school. Only the coolest and most popular
kids could join. (Scott wasnt sure he bought this coolest and
most popular bit, since theyd let Darryl be a member. But he
didnt want to hurt the little guys feelings, so he let it go.)
Hey, Priscilla, Darryl called as they walked past the counter toward the back of the bookshop.
Hey, yourself, a handsome, middle-aged woman said. She
didnt bother to look from her magazine until the two boys
passed. When she glanced up and saw Scott, a scowl crossed
her face. She seemed to dislike him immediately. He hadnt said
a thing; he hadnt done a thing. But that didnt matter. There was
something about him that troubled her a lot.
Scott was oblivious to her reaction as he followed Darryl
toward the hallway at the back of the store.
So far his first week at Crescent Bay had been pretty good.
No fights. No broken noses. A minimal amount of death threats.
But thats the way it was with Scott. Unlike his older sister, Scott
always fit in. It probably had something to do with his sense
of humor. Scott was a lot like his dad in that department; he
had a mischievous grin and a snappy comeback for almost any
situation.
Scott was like his dad in another way too. He had a deep faith
in God. The whole family did. But it wasnt some sort of rules
or regulations thing. And it definitely wasnt anything weird. It
was just your basic Gods-the-boss-so-go-to-church-and-try-tomake-the-world-a-better-place faith.
But sometimes that faith . . . well, sometimes it allowed Scott
to feel things. Deep things.
Like now.
As he and Darryl entered the hallway, Scott brushed against
a large hoop decorated with what looked like eagle feathers. He
ducked to the side only to run smack-dab into a set of wooden
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The Society
wind chimes. They clanked and clanged noisily. Lately, Scott

hadnt been the most graceful of persons. It probably had something to do with growing two inches in the last three months. He
was still shorter than Becka a fact she brought up to him on a
regular basis but he was gaining on her by the week.
As they continued down the hall, Scott noticed a number of
trinkets and lockets hanging on the wall. He couldnt put his
finger on it, but they looked strangely familiar.
Then he noticed something else. Frowning, he glanced
around. Was it his imagination, or was it getting colder? There
were no windows, open or otherwise, anywhere close by.
Something inside him began to whisper, Stop. . . . Turn
around. . . . Go back. . . .
But why? Nothing was wrong. It was just a hallway. Just a
bookshop.
Here we go. Darryl gave a loud sniff as he slowed in front
of the last door. He smiled, pushed up his glasses, and knocked
lightly.
No answer.
Well, it doesnt look like anybodys home, Scott said, his
voice cracking in gratitude. I guess wed better
Dont be stupid, Darryl said, reaching for the knob. They
always meet on Fridays.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open.
It was pitch-black inside. Well, except for the dozen or so
candles burning around a table. And the faces illuminated by
the candles. Faces Scott had seen at school. They were all staring
intently at something on the table. Scott squinted in the darkness, making out some kind of board game with a bunch of letters and symbols on it. Two of the kids had their hands on a
little plastic pointer that was moving back and forth across the
board.
Whats that? Scott whispered.
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Bill Myers
What do you think it is? Darryl whispered back. Its a

Ouija board.
A what?
You use it to spell out words. You know, it tells you about
the future and stuff.
Scott looked at him skeptically.
No kidding, Darryl squeaked. Scott grimaced. Even when
the guy whispered his voice sounded like a rusty hinge. Darryl
continued, watching the others. The pointer moves to those letters on the board, spelling out answers to anything you ask.
No way, Scott scorned. As far as he could tell, the pointer
moved on the board because it was pushed by the two kids
whose hands were on it: a big, meaty fellow in a tank top and
a chubby girl dressed all in black. Those two, theyre the ones
moving it.
Darryl didnt answer. He just sniffed and stepped into the
room. Scott wasnt crazy about following, but he walked in after
him.
And just like that the plastic pointer stopped. One minute the little pointer was scooting around the board, spelling out
words. The next, it came to a complete stop.
Hey, a pretty girl complained, pushing her long red hair
back. Whats wrong?
I dont know, the meaty guy answered. He turned to his
partner, the girl in black. Are you stopping it?
Not me, she said. And then, slowly turning her head toward
the door, she nailed Scott with an icy look. Its him.
Every eye in the room turned to Scott.
He raised his hand. Hi there, he croaked, trying to smile.
Nobody smiled back.
Ask it, the redhead demanded. Ask it if hes the reason its
not answering.
Yeah, the meaty guy agreed.
The girl in black tilted back her head and closed her eyes. Her
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The Society
hair was short and jet black an obvious dye job. Please show
us, she said more dramatically than Scott thought necessary.
Show us the reason for your silence.
Everyone turned to the plastic pointer. Waiting. Watching.
Nothing happened.
Scott tried to swallow, but at the moment, there wasnt much
left in his mouth to swallow.
Suddenly the pointer started moving. Faster than before. In
fact, both the girl and the meaty guy looked down in surprise as
it darted from letter to letter, barely pausing at one before shooting to the next. In a matter of seconds it had spelled out:
D-E-A-T-H
Then it stopped. Abruptly.
Everyone waited in silence. Afraid to move. Afraid to break
the spell.
The girl in black cleared her throat and spoke again. But
this time, a little less confidently. What do you mean? What
death?
There was no movement. No answer.
Scott shifted slightly. He felt the chill again, but this time it
was more real. It had substance. Suddenly he knew that there
was something there, in the room . . . something cold and physical had actually brushed against him. He was sure of it.
Again the girl spoke. What death? Is someone going to die?
Whose death?
No movement. More silence.
And then, just when Scott was about to say something really
clever to break the tension and show everyone how silly this
was, the plastic pointer zipped across the board and shot off the
table.
Look out! Darryl cried.
Scott jumped aside, and the pointer hit the floor, barely missing his feet. He threw a look at the girl in black, certain she had
flung it across the table at him.
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Bill Myers
But the expression on her face said she was just as surprised
as him.
Or was she?
+ =
You okay? Julie Mitchell asked as she toweled off her thick
blonde hair and approached Rebeccas gym locker.
Sure. Rebecca winced while pulling her jeans up over her
skinned knees. Nothing a brain transplant couldnt fix.
It had been nearly an hour since her little crash-and-burn
routine on the track. Of course, everyone had gathered around
her, making a big deal of the whole thing, and, of course, she
wanted to melt into the track and disappear. But that was an
hour ago. Yesterdays news. Now most of the girls had hit the
showers and were heading home.
But not Julie. It was like she purposely hung back. Becka
glanced at her curiously. There was something friendly about
Julie, something caring. Becka had liked her immediately . . .
even though Julie was one of the best-looking kids in school.
The team really needs you, Julie offered.
As what? Their mascot?
Julie grinned. She tossed her hair back and reached over to
slip on a top-of-the-line, moneys-no-object, designer T-shirt.
Seriously, she said, Im the only long-distance runner weve
got. Royal High has three killers that bumped me out of State
last year. But if you work and learn to concentrate, the two of
us might give them a run for their money. Youve got the endurance. And Ive never seen anyone with such a great end sprint.
Or such klutziness.
Julie shrugged. Youve got a point there, she teased.
Becka felt herself smiling back.
Anybody can learn form and style, Julie continued. Thats
what coaches are for. And if you add that to your sprint, we just
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might be able to knock Royal out of State. She rummaged in

her gym basket, then bit her lip and frowned. Shoot . . . dont
tell me Ive lost it.
Becka rubbed a towel through her hair, then sighed. Her hair
was mousy brown and would dry three times faster than Julies.
The reason was simple: Beckas hair was three times thinner. Yes
sir, just another one of lifes little jokes with Becka as the punch
line.
Julies search through her basket grew more urgent.
What are you looking for? Becka asked.
My pouch . . . There was definite concern in her voice as she
continued pawing through her clothes.
Pouch?
My good luck charm.
Becka wasnt sure what Julie meant, but she gave a quick scan
along the bench.
I just hope nobody stole it, Julie said.
Becka spotted something under the bench. It was partially
covered by towels. She reached for it and picked up a small
leather bag with rocks or sand or something inside. A leather
string was attached at the top so it could be worn as a necklace.
Is this it? Becka asked.
Julie relaxed. Yeah. Great. She took it and slipped it around
her neck.
Becka watched, fighting back a wave of uneasiness. She tried
to sound casual as she asked, So, whats in it?
I dont know. Julie shrugged. Some turquoise, some powders, herbs that sort of stuff. The Ascension Lady puts them
together for us you know, for good luck.
Ascension Lady? Becka asked.
Yeah, Julie fingered the little pouch. Course I dont believe
in any of that stuff. But with the district preliminaries coming
up, it doesnt hurt to play the odds, right?
Beckas mind raced. She wanted to ask lots more about the
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Bill Myers
pouch and this Ascension Lady, but Julie didnt give her the
chance.
Listen, well see you Monday, she said grabbing her backpack. And dont be bummed, you did fine. Besides, she threw
a mischievous grin over her shoulder, we can always use a good
mascot.
Becka forced a smile.
See ya. Julie disappeared around the row of lockers and
pushed open the big double doors. They slammed shut behind
her with a loud click, boooom.
Becka didnt move. She sat, all alone . . . just her and the dripping showers.
Her smile had already faded. Not because of the pain in her
knees or even because of the memories of her fall.
It was because of the pouch. Shed seen pouches like that
before. In South America. But they werent worn by pretty,
rich, athletic teenagers who wanted to go to State track
championships.
They were worn by witch doctors who worshiped demons.
16
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2
W
hy do I always get the grunge work? Rebecca complained.

She grabbed a pile of old newspapers by their string and
dragged them across the floor. Julies leather pouch and the mysterious Ascension Lady were no longer on her mind. She was too
busy shuddering at the cockroaches that scurried from under
her papers and dashed toward darker quarters.
Her mom stared at the rows of stacked boxes behind
them boxes that still needed to be moved. She sighed in
answer to Beckas complaint. Honey, weve all got our jobs.
Fine . . . then let Scotty clean out this stupid garage, and let
me hook up the TV and computer junk.
Becka, please . . . Mom brushed aside a tendril of gray,
sweaty hair. It had been six months since Beckas dad died, but
it looked like Mom had aged ten years. Maybe she had. We all
have certain skills, and Scottys
I know, Scottys the electronic whiz kid, and Im . . . the bag
lady. Becka bit her lip. She hated being a whiner. She knew it
had been a tough week for Mom getting moved in, getting
situated, trying to find work. In fact, it had been a tough week
for all of them. They hadnt known a soul in the town except
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Bill Myers
for some distant aunt whose name Becka couldnt even remember. But since this aunt was Moms only relative, here they were,
smack-dab in the middle of Weird Town, USA, cleaning a house
that, at the moment, seemed to have been owned by the Addams
Family.
Do you think these people ever threw anything away?
Becka asked, trying to change the subject.
Mom fought to lift a half-rotted box. It wasnt heavy, just
big. Well, at least they were honest, she groaned. The ad
said the place was a fixer-upper, and this place is definitely a
fixer
Look out! Rebecca cried.
The bottom of Moms box gave way, and a dozen lightbulbs
fell out, smashing and popping as they hit the concrete. Mom
dropped the box with a loud thump, and a few more shattering
pops followed.
The two stood a moment in stunned silence. Finally Rebecca
stooped down for a closer look. Lightbulbs? she asked.
She shook her head in amazement. They saved their used
lightbulbs?
Must be a hundred of em, Mom marveled as she peered
into the box.
I know they were ecology nuts, but . . . whats next?
Without a word, they both turned to the stack of fifty or so
boxes thrown against the back wall of the garage. Fifty or so
boxes that still needed to be cleared out.
Mom pushed her hair aside, a weak grin crossing her face.
Maybe next well find their secret stash of used toothbrushes.
Mom . . . , Becka groaned.
Like Scott, Mom had a sense of humor in tough times. And
it didnt get any tougher than being dog-tired and having fifty
more boxes to move.
Or how bout used Kleenexes you know, nice and
crispy.
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Mother . . . Becka was weakening.

Maybe if were really lucky, well find a giant ball of used
dental floss.
That was it. They both started to giggle. Neither knew what
was so funny. After all, fifty boxes were still fifty boxes. No
doubt about it, it had been a long week for both of them, and it
didnt seem to be getting any shorter. So of course they had to
laugh. Either that or cry.
Suddenly, Becka swallowed her giggles and grew still. Listen. What was that?
Mom quieted down and gave a listen. I dont hear
anything.
Becka scowled slightly, looking toward the boxes at the back
wall. Its stopped now. But it sounded like . . . She hesitated,
thinking she heard it again. It sounded like a faint scraping
sound didnt you hear it?
Mom shook her head and stared toward the boxes. Both
of them stood in silence, listening, waiting but there was
nothing.
Probably just the wind, Mom finally offered as she stooped
down and started picking up the shattered bulbs.
Becka nodded and crossed to the broom and dustpan. Yeah,
she said, probably just the wind.
+ =
For the past couple of hours, Scott had been able to put the
Bookshop incident out of his mind. And for good reason. So far
he had almost blown up the TV by connecting the wrong cables
to the wrong box.
Now it was a fight to the finish with the computers wireless router. He was up in his room, going for the best two out of
three falls with the contraption. Unfortunately, Cornelius wasnt
helping much.
BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY, BEAM ME UP.
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Bill Myers
Not now, Cornelius, Im busy.

The bright green bird hopped onto Scotts arm and worked
his way up to Scotts right shoulder. MAKE MY DAY. MAKE
MY DAY.
Scott let out a heavy sigh. Teaching the family parrot cool
phrases was fun back in the beginning. It was a great way to
impress all of his Brazilian friends. The only problem was that
people quit using those cool phrases a long time ago. A fact that
totally escaped Cornelius. The bird just kept repeating the same
things over and over and over . . . and over some more. It made
Scott crazy, especially when he was trying to concentrate.
BEAM ME UP! SQUAWK. BEAM ME UP! BEAM ME UP!
Scott tried to ignore him. He finished connecting the last
cable, took a deep breath, and hit the computers on button.
So far so good no power surges, no nuclear meltdowns.
Scott grabbed the mouse and brought up his email home
page. Got it!
Before Scott could log in, a flurry of green feathers leaped
into his face. Cornelius had grown weary of sitting on Scotts
shoulder and thought hed fly down to the keyboard to take a
little stroll. Unfortunately, he strolled across the wrong keys.
Immediately the screen went blank.
Hey! Scott cried. But that was all he managed to get out
before Cornelius reached up and began nibbling on the end of
his nose.
Scott sighed. It was hard to yell when your nose was being
kissed.
+ =
Hi there. . . . Rebecca, isnt it?
Becka froze. This was about her twentieth trip to the sidewalk
with about her twentieth extra-ply, heavy-duty Glad bag filled to
the brim with junk. In the beginning, when she had first stepped
out of the garage and into public view, she had cared how she
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The Society
looked. But that was eight hours ago. Before the exhaustion.
Before she became a sweaty greaseball covered in grime. Now
she couldnt care less about how she looked.
Or so she thought.
She turned toward the voice and squinted into the light. The
sun glared behind him so she couldnt see much except that
he was tall and had incredible shoulders.
He shifted slightly. The sun flared around his face, and now
she could see his thick black hair and strong chin. She caught a
glimpse of something else too. His eyes. Shed never seen anything quite so blue.
Her face flushed instantly. Of all times to be looking like
pond scum. She gave one final tug on the bag, bringing it to
the curb. She was careful to keep her back to him, hoping he
wouldnt recognize her. But since he already knew her name,
chances of that seemed kind of slim.
Need a hand? he asked.
No, she answered too quickly, almost sounding angry. She
tried again. I mean, this is the last of it for the day.
Oh. Was it her imagination, or was there a trace of disappointment in his voice? After a moment, he continued. The
people that used to live here were really weird. Did some strange
stuff.
Beckas mind raced. She knew the guy was trying to make
conversation, and she wanted to help out. But at the moment, all
she could think about was how awful she looked. Well . . . , she
faltered, were finding some pretty weird stuff in there, thats
for sure. She reached up and discreetly tried to fluff out the
stringiest part of her hair.
If you guys ever need a hand, let me know. I just live down
on the corner.
Rebecca nodded.
Another pause.
She tied another knot at the top of the bag. It didnt need
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Bill Myers
it, but she had to do something. Still careful to keep her back
to him, she asked, So, uh . . . howd you know my name?
Ive been asking around.
Becka? It was Mom, calling from the garage.
Coming, Rebecca answered. She was both mad and grateful for the excuse to get away. Well, Ive gotta go. She quickly
turned and headed up the driveway. It was nice meeting you.
Same here see ya.
She immediately hated herself for being such a chicken. It
wasnt until she reached the garage that she realized she wasnt
just a chicken. She was a brainless chicken. She hadnt even asked
his name!
But he knew hers. Whatd he say? Ive been asking around?
One eyebrow lifted, and she glanced over her shoulder in the
direction hed gone. Hmmm . . . maybe life around here wont be
so terrible after all.
22
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3
B
y three oclock the following morning, Scott had twisted his

blanket and sheets into a tight little ball. He thought hed be
able to forget about the Bookshop and the Ouija board. No such
luck. He just kept tossing and turning and kicking and thrashing. And the dreams just kept coming, one after another. The
latest was of his dad. Or at least his dad as Scott remembered
him. Before his death.
They were playing football just the two of them. Well, just
the two of them on one side. The other side had a team of giant
bruisers at the line of scrimmage just waiting to turn them into
football shoe goo.
Scott shuddered as he and his dad huddled up. Not because
he worried about getting tromped to death. He figured that was
inevitable. He shivered because of the chill. The same chill hed
felt the day before in the bookstore.
Scotty, his dad asked with a frown, wheres your armor?
Scott looked to him in surprise. The man was wearing a full
suit of armor, like something right out of King Arthur! It was
obviously another one of his dads little jokes. My armor?
Scott chuckled. Well, I, uh . . .
23
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Bill Myers
Cant play the game without your armor.

Yeah, sure . . . I, uh . . . I guess I must have left it at the cleaners, Scott quipped, or maybe the body shop. His dad didnt
laugh. He didnt even crack a smile.
They broke from the huddle and approached the line of
scrimmage. Scott glanced up at the faces of his towering opponents and gasped. There were no faces. The football helmets
were there, even the face guards. But inside . . . inside there were
no heads, no faces. Nothing. Just dark, ominous shadows. Scott
fought back a shudder.
Dont worry, Dad whispered. Just run the plays.
Plays? Scott asked. What plays?
The ones we practiced.
Where . . . when . . . we never practiced any plays.
Sure we did. Dad grinned. All the time.
Scott was clueless. But before he could argue, Dad took his
position over the ball. Scott had never played football in his life,
but through the process of elimination, he figured if his dad
was playing center, that probably made him quarterback. What
a mind.
Once again Scott looked to the faces of the opposing team.
Once again he only saw menacing blackness.
He took a breath. Well, it was now or never. Ready! Set! he
yelled. Hed gotten that much from watching TV. Now what?
He wasnt sure. But when all else fails, yell.
HIKE!
Dad snapped the ball, but to Scotts amazement, it was no
longer a football. Now he was holding a small bronze shield, like
in one of those old Roman gladiator movies!
Scott stared at it, frozen in surprise but not for long. Suddenly, the entire line of shadows charged toward him. He could
hear their cleats pounding the mud; he could hear animal growls
coming from their throats.
He dropped back. But they kept coming grunting, growl24
10/17/11 9:56 AM
The Society
ing, snorting like bulls. He frantically searched the field for his
dad. Finally he spotted him standing on the sidelines, watching.
What do I do?! Scott cried. What am I supposed to do?
Dad cupped his hands and shouted. Use the shield!
What?!
Just like we practiced!
The faceless crushers kept roaring toward him, closer and
closer.
Use the shield! Dad repeated.
I dont know what shield? What are you talking ab
Finally they hit him. Hard. Scott cried as they knocked the
wind from him, as his head snapped back and he fell to the
ground.
Suddenly he shot up in bed, wide-awake. He was breathing
hard and covered in sweat. His eyes darted around the room as
he fought to get his bearings.
Finally he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. As he eased
back onto the pillow, he tried to relax. But he knew sleep would
be a long time returning. When he closed his eyes, all he saw
were the shadowy giants. When he opened them, all he thought
of was the Ouija board.
The faceless crushers kept roaring toward him, closer and
closer. And with them came a strange buzzing sound.
Use the shield! Dad repeated.
I dont knowwhat shield? What are you talking ab
The buzzing repeated itself as they hit him. Hard. Scott cried
out as they knocked the wind from him, as his head snapped
back and he fell to the ground.
Suddenly he shot up in bed, wide-awake. He was breathing
hard and covered in sweat. He fought to get his bearings as
he heard the buzzing sound again. He looked around, perplexed
until
There. On his bedside table. His cell phone.
25
10/17/11 9:56 AM
Bill Myers
Even though they didnt have a lot of money, Mom insisted

Scott and Rebecca each have their own cell phonefor safety.
Scott grabbed the phone and looked at the screen; he had a
text message.
Welcome to Crescent Bay.
Z
Z? Whos Z? Scott stared at the text trying to remember who
hed given his number to. He and Becka had gone to a Christian
youth thing at a nearby church when they first got here. Maybe
someone there...
Thanks! Who are you?
He hit send and waited nearly a minute. When there was no

answer he gave up, set down the phone, and nestled back under
the covers. But hed barely closed his eyes before the phone
vibrated again.
He scooped it up and saw it was the same number. The text
read:
Isnt 3:36 a.m. a little late for a freshman to be up?
Scott frowned then texted:
Actually, I was asleep until you called.
He hesitated a minute, then feeling bad, added:

Which was okay cause I was having a pretty weird dream.
He hit send and started to set the phone back when it buzzed
again. This time the text read:
Does it have anything to do with your Ouija board
encounter?
Scott stared at the phone in surprise. Once again he felt the
familiar chill creeping across his back. Quickly he typed:
26
10/17/11 9:56 AM
The Society
Who are you? How did you know about that?
He hit send and waited and waited. Then, after what

seemed like hours, his phone buzzed a final time. This time
there were only two words:
Be careful.
Immediately, Scott texted back. But there was no response.
He tried again. Then again. No answer. Finally, he sat the phone
back on the table and lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Any chance of going back to sleep was long gone.
+ =
Down the hall, Becka was having her own trouble sleeping.
Granted, part of the problem was her skinned knees. Whenever
she moved or dragged the blankets across them, they let her
know how much they appreciated her little performance out on
the track.
But that was no big deal compared to what was going on in
Beckas brain. It kept racing with thoughts of Julie, the amulet,
and the Ascension Lady.
Should she warn Julie about the pouch or keep her mouth
shut? After all, Becka was not like Scott. She couldnt make
friends at the drop of a hat. It took time. The few friends she did
make, she made for life. Thats just how she was . . . faithful and
giving to the end. But the initial work of making friends, that
was always hard for her.
And now, out of the blue, one of the most popular girls in
school was reaching out to her. If Becka tried to warn Julie this
early in the relationship, she might ruin it. She might sound like
some sort of superstitious fanatic. But if she didnt say something, what would happen to Julie?
27
10/17/11 9:56 AM
Bill Myers
She shook her head impatiently. What was she worried about?
Nothing would happen. It was just a stupid little necklace.
But shed seen too many things in Brazil . . . heard too many
stories. Lots of the missionaries her dad had flown in and out of
the jungle had tales about witch doctors and hexes and amulets
and spirits . . . tales that made your hair stand on end and your
blood run cold. Tales that they swore were true.
So the argument rolled around and around in her head. To
tell or not to tell? Finally, shed had enough. She threw off the
covers, hopped out of bed, and padded downstairs to the kitchen
for some munchies. Scott could have his fingernail chewing
when things got tense; she preferred junk food.
Shed just shut the door of the fridge and started to unwrap
last nights chicken when she heard it.
Scrape.
She froze. It was the same sound shed heard in the garage
the day before. Only now, in the stillness of the house, it seemed
louder. She looked at the kitchen door leading to the garage. The
sound stopped for a moment, then started . . . then stopped again.
Rebecca hesitated. A tiny knot formed in her stomach.
She took a deep breath and forced it away. Mom was right, she
thought, its probably just the wind.
Or a giant rat . . .
Or a wild, vicious animal . . .
Or a ghastly ghoul hiding in the bizarre boxes at the back of
the
Stop it! Becka forced her mind to quit racing. Which almost
worked until
SCRAPE . . . SCRAPE.
She looked back to the door. What was she going to do just
stand there like some little kid afraid of the dark?
SCRAPE.
Somebody better check it out.
SCRAPE . . . SCRAPE.
28
10/17/11 9:56 AM
The Society
And since there were no other volunteers, that somebody

would have to be her. With another deep breath, Becka crossed
to the door.
SCRAPE.
After a moments hesitation and an extra breath just to be
safe, she turned the knob and quickly threw open the door.
A light a beam streaked across the garage to the back
wall of unopened boxes . . .
SCRAPE.
. . . and was gone.
Becka gasped. She fumbled for the switch. It took forever to
find it and flood the garage with the much-welcomed light.
There was no movement. No sound. Everything was deathly
silent.
Becka stood in the doorway, barely moving, barely breathing. That was definitely not the wind. And it definitely was not
an animal. It was a light. But what kind of light shoots around
garages in the middle of the night making strange noises?
Beckas heart pounded. She was frightened really frightened
and she hated it. She hated being intimidated. Shed have to
do something to get to the bottom of it . . . to prove it was all
perfectly normal and explainable.
But not tonight. Not all alone. Not in her bare feet and
sweats. Becka stepped back, snapped off the light, and closed
the kitchen door.
Then, after a moments hesitation, she reached down and
locked it.
29
10/17/11 9:56 AM
PRESENTS: WARMER DAYS DARKER NIGHTS TEEN SAMPLER
FEATURING SELECTIONS FROM:

Heather Burch, Jill Williamson, and Bill Myers
Get tour info at Facebook.com/GoodTeenReads
WarmerDaysDarkerNights.com

Z Street Team Presents: Warmer Days Darker Nights Teen Sampler

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Z Street Team Presents: Warmer Days Darker Nights Teen Sampler

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PRESENTS: WARMER DAYS DARKER NIGHTS TEEN SAMPLER

FEATURING SELECTIONS FROM:

For the men in my life:

The sons of God saw that the daughters

angs sank into Nikki Youngbloods leg, setting her skin on

One minute shes perched against a rock, drawing. The

legs getting tangled in the mass of vines, imagined the weathered

he listened to the kids breathing pattern. Inhale. Exhale. All in

descend. One of the benefits of being a Halfling: a fifty-foot

trying to escape the Angel Song drifting around them. Nikki

Come on, Nikki pleaded, willing her hands to stop quaking.

nd why did you bring her here? Will asked.

Will nodded toward the girl, who still lay unconscious. Do

All Stinkin Reason. Quiet and peaceful eternity sounded so

those pools of safety. And a face. There was a face attached to

unrolled the material, however, a spot of blood appeared on the

weapons dealers, her parents passion for history had always

So, can you give me a reason why youre so distracted today?

The boys faces crumbled.

The dragon is whatever terrifies you. Its whatever youre

such adult clothing. Sprawled in the family room, she caught

Nikki groaned. Mom, Ill be fine. Im seventeen. I think I

grin as he poured in numerous gallons of gas. Yes, life was good

Trees and hills disappeared past as she zipped down Farm

ace snuck from the house for the second time on

for a victim to pass by. Hed probably intended to tuck away

ows in my heart? Raven hadnt always had the darkness that

Please tell me he didnt see the golden glow . . .

in a lightning storm, or a cord of frayed wires plugged into a

lap, tension dissolved from him. Admire, he told himself. But

To Amanda Luedeke, for believing in me

Martyrs Map of Jason Farms

Con number one: coming home to a vacant apartment.

Rolo opened the door to Dr. Elliots office and

Other Books by Bill Myers

Dark Side of the Supernatural

ebeccas lungs burned. They screamed for more air; they

Youve got . . . to accept it, her moms voice stammered.

wind chimes. They clanked and clanged noisily. Lately, Scott

What do you think it is? Darryl whispered back. Its a

might be able to knock Royal out of State. She rummaged in

hy do I always get the grunge work? Rebecca complained.

Mother . . . Becka was weakening.

Not now, Cornelius, Im busy.

y three oclock the following morning, Scott had twisted his

Cant play the game without your armor.

Even though they didnt have a lot of money, Mom insisted

He hit send and waited nearly a minute. When there was no

He hesitated a minute, then feeling bad, added:

He hit send and waited and waited. Then, after what

And since there were no other volunteers, that somebody

PRESENTS: WARMER DAYS DARKER NIGHTS TEEN SAMPLER

FEATURING SELECTIONS FROM:

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