Darkness Rising: Daughters of Light - Brossura

Payne, Mary Jennifer

Brossura

ISBN 10: 145974103X ISBN 13: 9781459741034

Casa editrice: Dundurn Pr Ltd, 2019

Riassunto

The Final Battle is coming. Are the Seers ready?

Sixteen-year-old twins Jasmine and Jade and the rest of the Seers are not only divided between Toronto and London, they’re internationally wanted fugitives. While away in the Place-In-Between trying to return Solomon’s Ring, the girls become the prime suspects in a deadly terrorist attack in Toronto.

The Seers, their Protectors, and a handful of others know the truth: they are innocent, the world is dying, demons are around every corner, and the Darkness is taking over. As the only hope in the coming apocalyptic battle, the Seers will have to work together to save the world from the brink of destruction.

Su questo libro

Informazioni sugli autori

Mary Jennifer Payne is the author of the Daughters of Light series, the YA novel Since You’ve Been Gone, and several YA graphic stories. She lives in Toronto.

Mary Jennifer Payne is the author of the Daughters of Light series, the YA novel Since You’ve Been Gone, and several YA graphic stories. She lives in Toronto.

Estratto. © Ristampato con autorizzazione. Tutti i diritti riservati.

Darkness Rising

Daughters of Light

By Mary Jennifer Payne

Dundurn Press

Copyright © 2019 Mary Jennifer Payne
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4597-4103-4

CHAPTER 1

JADE

"If they catch you, the mayor will execute you, you know," the oversized woman says.

My heart is in my throat. The counter-terrorism squad is at the other end of the subway train, their semiautomatics ready, and they're moving fast. Everyone is being asked for identification, and no one is taking a second longer than necessary to show their credentials.

"Official government ID only!" one of the officers barks at an elderly man holding a cloth shopping bag filled to the limit in one arm and a tiny dog in the other. "Take off your mask. Now!"

The woman leans in closer to me and Amara. The stench of onions and sweet flowers emanating from her nearly overpowers me.

"Smith's gonna put you on the list to hang just like she's done with your friend Eva and that supposed subway bomber, Moore," she says, keeping her voice low.

Before I have a chance to reply, there's a crash and a high-pitched yelp as the elderly man's bag falls to the floor of the train, his tiny dog following closely behind. The officer grabs the man by the arm, wrenches him to his feet, and pulls off his anti-pollution mask.

"No ID? You're under arrest!" he barks into the man's pale face. The older man is trembling like a spider in a snowstorm — that's clear to me even from this far away. His tiny Chihuahua, having regained its composure after being dropped, begins snapping at the officer's pant leg in an effort to defend its owner.

"Please ... please," the older man sputters, putting his free hand up in front of his face. His accent is thick.

"He's an illegal!" a woman sitting across from us shouts. Spittle flies from her lips. "Get 'im out of here!" she says, pumping her fist into the air. I can read her mind. Her thoughts are strong with emotion. She's excited by the drama unfolding and disgusted by the fact that the elderly man is an illegal — at least, that's what she's concluded, even though there's no proof of the man's status. She seems convinced he's a climate change refugee who's sneaked into the city and is possibly a terrorist as well.

With the fluidity of a panther, the officer brings his booted foot down onto the diminutive dog's midsection. A single canine screech cuts through the subway car.

We both look over. The dog twitches briefly before becoming absolutely motionless.

"Oh, my god," Amara whispers. She crams the palm of her left hand against her lips as tears stream down her cheeks, then begins to hum. Not any song or melody, just a low, steady hum. I know she's fragile, maybe even close to snapping after losing her twin, Vivienne, earlier today. Seeing this little dog killed in such a violent manner isn't helping her state of mind, that's for sure.

"I'm Mary, by the way," the woman sitting beside me says. She raises an eyebrow at Amara, who doesn't seem to notice. "Listen, youse need to get outta here before they recognize you." Her voice is raspy; it's the voice of a lifelong smoker. "In two, you'll know what to do. It'll be your only chance to escape." She smiles at me, revealing two very chipped front teeth, but her eyes are serious. "Good luck. It's easy to tell that something's not right with the leaders of our governments — for those of us that ain't brainwashed by 'em." She nods her head toward the woman sitting across from us.

The officer who killed the dog punches the button beside a set of subway doors. As the doors slide open, he roughly pushes the old man, who is now openly sobbing, out onto the platform.

"I can't breathe!" Mary cries out. She clutches at her large bosom, hoists herself up, and starts stumbling toward the officers still on the train, one arm stretched out toward them. "My heart! Oh, god! The pain!"

Her thoughts come to me. They need to run. This is worth it. I've lived a long life.

The officers point their guns at her. "Stay back!" one of them warns. "Don't take a step closer."

"Help me!" Mary cries again. "I can't breathe!" I grab Amara's hand and yank her up off her seat. She stops humming.

"What the ..." She glares at me as though I've just shaken her from a deep sleep.

"We need to get out of here. Now," I say, keeping my voice low.

We slide out the subway doors just before they close. Though he's in the process of cuffing the elderly man's hands, the officer on the platform turns to look at us.

"Freeze!" he yells. "Don't move!" He looks back at the elderly prisoner sitting on the bench in front of him and then at us, clearly unsure which situation to focus on.

The sudden sound of gunfire from inside the train takes his attention off all of us for a moment. Without even looking, I know it's Mary because I can't read her thoughts any longer. There's only dead air when I try. She's dead.

"I've got a bomb," the elderly man interjects. His voice is calm and the word bomb is spoken so softly, it's barely audible.

The officer snaps his head back toward the man, who is now slowly rising from the bench.

"What the hell did you just —"

Suddenly, with all the force he's able to muster, the elderly man drives the top of his head into one of the only unprotected areas on the officer: his crotch.

The officer doubles over in pain and shock.

Without a word, Amara and I begin to sprint toward the stairs at the far end of the station, knowing perfectly well that our exit might be blocked if an alert has been issued. If not, we've got a small window of time. Our speed is our advantage. We bound up the stairs and leap over the turnstiles just as two TTC workers, accompanied by a drone, emerge from the ticket booths and lunge at us.

"Stop right there!" yells the younger one, a wiry but muscular woman with a shock of spiky blue-and-black hair. She catches Amara by the wrist. "Sound the alarm!" she shouts at the other worker.

Amara glances at me, her eyes wild. The woman is strong. I know what Amara's thinking. We're supposed to be uber careful using force on anyone but the demons. But she doesn't have much of a choice but to be aggressive with this woman if we're going to get out of here.

The drone swoops in front of Amara, moving dangerously close to her face. It zooms back and forth like a mosquito on cocaine, trying to distract her. A high-pitched beeping fills the air. We don't have much time at all. There are likely extra patrols of counter-terrorism squads on every street corner right now.

"Get off me!" Amara shouts, swinging her arm forward and taking the stunned TTC worker with her. Making the most of the woman's shock, Amara donkey-kicks her in the stomach and then takes a swing at the drone. The TTC worker crumples to the floor, but Amara's not as successful with the drone. It swoops down and out of her range again, only to be back buzzing inches from her eyes within seconds.

Amara bats at it, but it's too quick. I glance toward the entrance of the subway station. There are sirens approaching, but I can't be sure if they are for us or another situation. Sirens are oft en the musical backdrop for large, urban centres like Toronto. Especially these days.

"I can't move forward," Amara says, frustration etching her voice. "It won't let me."

I glance at the TTC worker. She's lying completely motionless on the tiled floor. Her skin has become ghostly pale. There's no time to check, but I get the sinking feeling she's badly injured ... at best.

With a swift , high side kick, my shoe collides with the belly of the drone, sending it spinning off course. It rights itself and swoops back, toward me this time. I'm its new target. The lens at the front of the tiny aircraft swivels, directing itself at my face. My image is being recorded. More ammunition for Smith and everyone else who believes we're terrorists.

Amara suddenly grasps both sides of the drone. Its buzzing intensifies into a high-pitched squeal. With one swift motion, she tosses it to the ground where it crashes on the tiles.

"We need to get out of here," I say, seeing the other TTC worker on the phone in the booth, a look of sheer terror spreading across his face. I run my hand over the pocket of my jeans. My fingers trace the hard circular outline of the ring. I look at Amara, hoping she didn't notice. But I don't have to worry. She's still fully focused on the drone.

"One second," Amara says, before leaping into the air and jumping on top of the remains of the drone, smashing the lens and main body into pieces. The buzzing ceases completely. "I want to destroy its ability to capture any more of ... this." She glances uneasily at the worker on the floor.

"I don't think destroying it matters," I say. "Police and military drones send real-time data, you know? Smith and her cronies have exactly what they need. Which means we need to get somewhere safer. We've gotta dash."

Amara frowns. "Where do we go? If what Mary told us is true, we're not going to be safe anywhere. At least he" — she cocks her head toward the glassed-in booth to the right of us where the other TTC worker is standing, still on the phone and watching us intently — "is too terrified to even attempt to take us on."

I glance toward the main entrance of the station. It will lead us out onto a side street, but we're less than a block from the Danforth — a main road usually packed with people.

"We're going to have to try to just lie low somewhere in this neighbourhood, but far away from this station, until late tonight. Then I say we make our way to Beaconsfield and wait there until morning."

"If we make it to Beaconsfield," Amara says, throwing one last concerned look over her shoulder at the smashed drone and seemingly lifeless TTC worker before we slip out of the station and make our way toward the back laneway behind the nearest houses.

CHAPTER 2

JASMINE

Raphael lifts his hands off my broken arm. The pain has completely disappeared.

"Good as new," he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Actually, better. For some reason, bone tends to heal stronger than it was before a break."

I rotate my arm above my head, reaching out toward the sky, then down and behind my back. Nothing. It feels completely normal.

"So, what do we do now? I mean, are we stuck here in London while we wait for this 'Final Battle ' or whatever to happen?" I glance around the platform at the commuters whose plans have been disrupted as I wait for Raphael's response. The atmosphere is as dense as an overcooked pudding.

"London is the epicentre. The place where time begins and the layers of existence come together. That's why the demonic activity is greater here as well. You know that. There's a reason you didn't get back to Toronto. Remember, your part in all of this is different than the other Seers' ... but we really don't have time to get into it." He nods his head toward the officers making their way through the crowd.

Though Lily's still not 100 percent recovered, it's clear we need to get out of here. And fast. If what Raphael said about these officers and drones checking for microchips is true, we're about five minutes away from being arrested and detained on suspicion of terrorism.

A female hologram appears above the tracks. "Please be ready for an identification inspection. Officers will be scanning you momentarily." She smiles brightly, her snow-white teeth shining out at us. You'd think she just informed us that we've won the lottery.

Without prompting, many of the commuters start forming a line against the back wall of the platform.

"Do you think you're okay to walk on your own?" Raphael asks Lily.

She nods, tucking a stray piece of black hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I think so."

Cassandra's eyes darken with concern. She presses her full lips together. "Well, I don't think you are okay," she says, before turning her attention to Raphael.

"How are we supposed to get out of here without the police noticing and gunning us down or something? According to you, if they recognize us, we'll be taken in as suspected terrorists. Sort of makes me think the last thing we should do is draw attention to ourselves."

"I'll distract them," Raphael answers, his voice as calm as an ocean sunset. "And when I do, you need to slip down those stairs." He nods his head toward a staircase down the platform that leads away from the main part of the station. One very serious-looking officer, his gun drawn, is blocking the entrance to the stairwell.

"Great plan. Just one little hitch. What do we do with that armed dude there?" I ask, my voice thick with sarcasm. I'm a bit surprised by Raphael's suggestion. As far as I know, as an Archangel, he's allowed to guide us, but not actually influence events. What he's about to do seems a whole lot like changing events, and though nothing is ever consistent with Raphael, I'm pretty sure this is not something his brothers and sister or whoever makes the rules for angels would approve of. That being said, as far as I know, he's not supposed to be around me, either. And yet ...

"Let me take care of that, okay, Jazz?" Raphael says, interrupting my thoughts. "Once you're down the stairs, you need to make your way to the river and then east along it to the Trafalgar Tavern. It's low tide, so you'll be able to walk along the edge of the Thames but try to be as discreet as possible. Once you're there, ask for a bartender named Clarence. Tell him you're Seers."

I raise an eyebrow at Raphael. Is he serious? Just walk up to the bar and tell some random bartender we've never met before that we're Seers?

"What about you, though?" Cassandra asks. "We can't just leave you here."

That familiar jealous twinge I sometimes have around Cassandra rears its head. I don't know why, but there's just something about her that gets to me sometimes. I mean, it's an innocent enough question, but now I feel like I look like an insensitive bitch next to her. Like I don't care about Raphael.

Raphael smiles. "I'll be fine. Remember that. No matter what, I'm going to be fine, and regardless, you can't turn back. Be ready. There will likely be only a small window of time for you to get away."

He gets up, brushes his ebony hair off his forehead, and gives us a wide smile before turning to jog toward the main group of officers.

Lily, Cassandra, and I slowly move toward the back wall of the platform and try to look like we're simply waiting for our turn to be scanned. A light drizzle begins to fall. I look over at Lily. Her skin has a greyish hue similar to the colour of the sky. She definitely doesn't look fine to me, either.

"Hey!" Raphael shouts out in the direction of the police, throwing his hands up into the air.

The officer by the stairs looks concerned and grips his gun tighter but doesn't budge from his post.

"Hey, coppers!" Raphael yells again. "What's happening? Why aren't you telling us exactly what's going on that we need this random identification scan? A bomb? Suicide? Or did you just feel like wasting our time?"

The officers turn their attention from a couple of drunk guys they were in the process of cuffing and scanning.

"You need to stand back," one of the officers says through gritted teeth.

Raphael keeps walking. "Come on," he says, his voice nonchalant, "give these blokes a break. They were only having a tipple whilst on the train. Oy! Are we not allowed to have any fun in London town anymore?" He shoots them a wide grin.

The officer by the stairwell moves a few steps away from his post to follow Raphael.

Cassandra, Lily, and I look at each other. Without speaking we share our thoughts: Not yet. He needs to be farther away. The last thing we want is to have to battle this officer. We could bring him down easily with our strength, but bullets are just as deadly for Seers as they are for any "normal" human. And for sure that would not be a discreet way to exit.

All the officers' attention is now firmly on Raphael. They begin to surround him in a half-circle. It looks like they're going to try to corral him.

What he's doing is suicide.

"Stand back! Don't come closer," another officer says, lifting his gun ever so slightly. The officer by the stairwell has joined them now, too. His back is to us as we slowly move along the wall, inching closer to our exit.

"Seriously, mate," Raphael is saying, keeping his voice loud enough for us to hear. "How do we know this isn't just a way for you lot to puff out your chests and feel more powerful?"

We reach the top of the stairs. From my limited vantage point, the area around the bottom of the staircase looks clear. No people and no police. Cassandra leads the way, with Lily sandwiched between us.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Darkness Rising by Mary Jennifer Payne. Copyright © 2019 Mary Jennifer Payne. Excerpted by permission of Dundurn Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Dettagli dell'edizione

• Editore: Dundurn Pr Ltd
• Data di pubblicazione: 2019
• Lingua: Inglese
• ISBN 10: 145974103X
• ISBN 13: 9781459741034
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 309
• Contatto del produttore: non disponibile
• Persona responsabile: Buchpark GmbH; gpsr@buchpark.de; ; Krügerweg 1; Trebbin; Brandenburg; 14959; Germania