Creation: Fae Warriors - Book 1, page 1
Creation
Fae Warriors: Book 1
A.J. Moran
Copyright © 2021 A.J. Moran
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
This book is for everyone that has ever been facinated with fairies. This is what I've imagined.
Pawpaw, don't read this. Please don't read this. I love your support, but trust me you don't want to read this book. This is where you close the book. Family, you probably don't want to read this one either. It will just make family get togehters awkward. Love you all. -A.J.
Chapter 1
Brook
Have you ever had that moment in time, where your whole life stands still and on the other side of time is a new reality? No? Well, let me share my story with you. For me, this was the start of that moment in time. Where the before was no more and the future was unclear.
“I’m telling you right now I’m going to fail English. I mean he gave us a book. What teacher does that any more? I thought that was behind us when we started College.” I complained while staring at my best friend, Samantha, on my phone. It looked like she was more focused on applying another layer of mascara than she was listening to me. “Sam, are you listening?”
“Yeah, Brook, you don’t want to read a book. Surprise, surprise. Maybe you should have thought of that before you signed up for mythology for your English class.” She smirks, glancing at her phone briefly, her dark eyes sparkling. It was a contrast to her pale blonde hair and painted pink lips.
“Books are barbaric. It is so much easier to click a link and go to the right page. Now we have to flip through this musty smelling, heavy thing for the right page and then hold it to make sure the page stays where it is supposed to.” I swat at the evil book. It barely moves from the spot it landed on my bed where I had tossed it down earlier. Perfect.
“You sound super lazy right now.” Samantha laughs. Her attention back on the phone. “How much energy will it take to hold a book down? Or to flip to the right page? I doubt he is going to even teach out of the book. Mr. G likes the old-school stuff. It is why he teaches mythology. We heard all about him our freshmen year."
Leaning back on my bed, I relax. I hold my phone in front of me and watch the ceiling fan for a moment as she adjusts herself on her bed. “He gave it to us. Which means we have to carry it to class and home. It is way too much for him to be old-school.”
Mythology was something I was interested in. I knew the class would be excellent. It was just a stupid book. Everything was in ebook form now. Why couldn't we use that?
"Well, if you had roomed with me in the dorms, you wouldn't have that far to carry it. But you couldn't leave your mom all alone." Her words are teasing, but they still sting a little. I couldn't leave my mom alone. We were all we had. I couldn't imagine her taking care of the house all alone and working. Maybe if she had started dating at some point, she said she didn't have any interest in that. I did what any good daughter would do. I stayed. There would be time to live my life later.
"You know I can't leave her," I tell her, feeling a little defeated even though it was what I wanted.
With a sigh, Samantha's face fills the screen again, blocking out her ceiling fan. "Can we talk about something besides you not leaving home or needing a book for English? They are such boring topics. What about that guy in our political science class? Greg or Gray or something? He was pretty hot. He is going to make waking up for that class extra easy."
Groaning, I roll my eyes dramatically at her. She was always boy crazy. Since the sixth grade, when Michael Thomas moved in on our block only five houses down from her, boys were among her favorite topics. Even though he was a toad and had zero manners, it had only grown since starting college. I was sure she was never in her dorm room for more than a single night in a row.
"I guess he was kinda cute."
"Kinda?" She sits up, and I see the ceiling fan rotating on her ceiling again. "He had green eyes and blond hair. And did you even see his jawline? Even his nose had the perfect angle. I will be dreaming of him tonight." Her face pops back into view, a blush to her cheeks—a grin taking up most of her face.
Talking about a guy wasn't on my list of top things to do tonight. I had to swing by my mom's work and grab something she wanted me to pick up. Then I had to actually read two chapters from the evil book sitting next to me. "Sam, I've gotta go. You dream about the guy, and you can tell me all about it tomorrow. I have to go grab something for my mom."
"Sounds fun." She smirks, knowing it isn't fun at all, going to the museum. If books are boring and old fashion, museums are archaic and torture on a new level. I wasn't sure why my mom loved all that old stuff. Some of the mythical stuff they had from time to time was interesting, but the history stuff. Ugh. Not my favorite thing at all.
"Right. Anyways, see you in the morning." I give her a small wave before clicking end on my phone. Standing up, I catch my profile in the mirror. I should change before I go to the museum. The pajama pants I threw on when I got home probably would be frowned at by my mom.
I reach over to my vanity and grab the brush, quickly pulling it through my long hair. Some of the bristles need replacing, so it slightly scraps at my head and pulls out some of my dark hair in the process. Wincing, I toss the brush back down. Then I manually part my hair and quickly make two braids, one on each side of my head.
Then I line my eyes with the eyeliner that my mom hates. She says it makes my eyes look icy and emotionless. I'm not positive how eyeliner could make eyes look like that. But really, it made them pop and sparkle. You know, like the waters in the Bahamas. So blue that they look almost transparent. I thought, aside from my butt, that they were my best feature. Nobody else in my life was lucky enough to have eyes as blue as mine.
Then I pull on my favorite pair of yoga pants that I've never actually done yoga in and a pale blue t-shirt.
Pausing at my bedroom door, I glanced back at the mythology book, "I'll deal with you later." I told it before closing the door behind me and heading outside.
The drive over to the museum was uneventful unless you counted the almost running of the red light. But I did stop. It wasn't my fault. The song on the radio was just that good. Not that I could use that defense if I had run the red light and been pulled over.
The sun had set on the way over. I was not too fond of the fall and its early darkness. It made it feel like the days were so short. The only thing to give me life was sunlight.
Closing the car door and locking it quickly with a touch to the door panel, I turned towards the illuminated museum entrance. It was a giant white building. It reminded me of those government buildings in Washington DC. You know, the kind that makes the stairs look like they went on forever.
Halfway up, a tingle flowed down my back, and I hesitated and glanced over my shoulder. Peering into the darkness, I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. I shook my head and turned back to the entrance. The feeling stayed with me, and I shivered.
Stupid darkness.
Making quick work of the second half of the staircase, I pressed the automatic door opener once I was at the entrance. The door quietly slid to the left, and I entered the large open area. The feeling of being watched went away as soon as I was in the bright lobby.
The only thing filling the marbled area was three cashier desks. I couldn't imagine anyone paying to come to a museum. The thought made me want to yawn. I glanced around, and my eyes fell on Phil, one of the janitors.
"Phil, is my mom still here?" I call out to him.
With a slight nod, he points to the door behind him. It leads to the back storage area. If outside in the darkness was creepy, then the storage area was even more dreadful. The old tomes and decayed bodies waiting to be displayed did not make me feel at ease. Why people would take them from perfectly good graves to show them off made no sense, but who was I to judge?
"Thanks," I reply to Phil as I pass him and pull open the door.
Taking in a deep breath like I'm going deep-sea diving, I step into the backstage area. It had changed a little since the last time I had been here. The museum must have rotated stock with another museum. A tall golden tablet with different markings stood next to the doorway. It shined brightly even in the dim light. Pretty. Walking past and deeper into the room, I glance around, looking for my mom's dark head. Her hair was usually in a ponytail, high on her head to keep her hair out of her face while she cataloged.
"Mom?" I whisper-yell, feeling a little like being in a library. Those were also unnerving for me. All the people just silently sit around reading. I mean, I liked reading, just not at the library. "Mom?"
"Over here, honey." Her voice comes out at an average level, and I jump as I turn towards where it came from. She was behind another one of those golden tablets—a smaller one on a table in front of her.
Walking up next to her, I place my hands on the table. And loo k down at the golden tablet she has laid there. "What are you working on?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
Probably the first interest I had shown in anything at the museum. They were just so pretty. My mom looks over at me and pushes an invisible strand of hair behind her ear before looking back down at the tablet.
"I'm not sure. I haven't come across anything like this in my whole time working here." She looks a little awestruck.
"Well, what did they say it was?"
"That's the thing. It was donated earlier by an anonymous donor, and it didn't come with any information. No history. Nothing. I've been looking up Egyptian tablets because I thought they looked similar to ones I have come across. But none of them have these markings on them." Her fingers graze the surface, and I swear a slight musical sound comes from it, and it lights up under her fingers.
"What was that?" I lean forward, trying to get a better look and hear the music better.
"What was what?" Mom looks over at me, confused as she pulls her hand back.
The music still vibrates low in the room-filling the space between us, and different symbols are still lit up.
"That." I point at the tablet.
She looks at the tablet and back at me with the same look of confusion on her face.
"And that music." I gesture at the air around us.
She gives me a blank look and shakes her head.
"You are telling me you don't see that or hear that?" I point at the tablet and then gesture at the air again.
"Honey, are you okay?" Concern deepens her frown lines as she looks at me. My mom is ageless, but she would end up with wrinkles if she kept making that face.
"Mom, I'm fine." I snap my patience thin. How could she not see that or hear it?
Then I grab up the tablet, the vibrations of the music filling my arms, traveling up to my chest, and the symbols lighting even brighter and making the shadows around us deeper.
"You don't hear and see this?" I hold it out.
Unbelievable.
"Brook, you need to put that down. It is valuable to the museum, and we don't even know who donated it or where it is from. It might even be a brand new discovery." Her voice is firm, and it is obvious she isn't seeing or hearing what I am. I felt like I was a teenager again, and she was scolding me.
"Fine." I bite out and go to put the tablet back on the table.
As if it knows the connection will be broken, the music gets deafening, and I drop it to the ground before covering my ears. A moan of pain escapes my lips as I fall to my knees next to it. Then there is nothing but silence and me on the cold cement floor on my knees with my hands grasping my ears.
"Brook!" My mom is down next to me. The concern is back, but I can barely see her through the blur of the tears that had filled my eyes. "Are you okay? Do we need to take you to the hospital? What happened?"
As the silence continues to fill the space between us, I shake my head. My ears still rang with the echo of the music. A hospital wouldn't help me. I don't know what that was. But the fact my mom didn't notice any of it is strange. Maybe it was all in my head. I suddenly felt tired. The kind you get when your muscles are sore from working out, and you feel kind of like jello. All I wanted to do was rest.
"I'm good." I croak out of my dry throat. Standing up, I look down at the tablet on the ground. How had that thing caused me so much pain? "I think I might be coming down with something. I'm going to head home if that is okay."
"Okay, honey. Call me when you get home safely. I'll be home by 9. But if you need me sooner, call." She pulls me to my feet and wraps me in a hug. "I love you." She says into my hair before she pulls away. After letting me go, she focused entirely on the tablet again. I watch as she gently picks it up off of the floor and brushes it off. It's silent, with no music or strange lights. Maybe it was all in my head.
"I love you too," I replied, but I'm not even sure she heard me.
Chapter 2
Brook
At some point in the middle of the night, I woke up wide awake. It felt like I was in a whole new year with how hard I slept. Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I read 1:11 am. Make a wish, I thought, falling back onto my pillow with a groan. I felt better. My body still felt like it had worked out hard, but I wasn't feeling sick anymore. But going to sleep at 6:00 pm didn't do me any favors. I was going to crash by the time it was 10:00 am.
Climbing out of bed, I quietly go to the front window and look out at the driveway to check for my mom's car. I hadn't heard her come home. Usually, she would check on me, and I would at least wake up a little bit to know she had. At the empty driveway, my heartbeat pounded quickly in my chest. Why hadn't she come home? I ran back to my room and grabbed my phone. No missed calls or text messages. Sending a quick message to her, I waited impatiently for a response, but it sat unread. Alarm runs through me as the minutes' tick by. Is this what parents feel when their kid misses curfew? If it was, I was never having kids.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and my slip-on shoes. I grab my keys and phone and run out to my car. Finding my mom was the only thing on my mind. She was all I had in this world for my family. The rest of our family was non-existent. Seriously, I didn't know any grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, none of that. I didn't even know my own dad. There had been no family reunions or parties while I grew up.
The streets were empty as I drove towards the museum. It was a little eerie being out in the middle of the night. This was only my second time being out this late and the first time I hadn't been alone. It was my single delinquent and rebellious moment as a teenager, all driven by a guy who wasn't even worth my time in the end. I've had no reason to stay out too late since starting college; the party scene isn't really me. So staying in and binging a tv show with my mom every once in a while was my entertainment. Pathetic, I know. I'm not ashamed of it, though. My mom was all the family I had, and I didn't make friends that easily.
As I pulled off the road, I took in the empty spots, and my heart started to pound. The lights were shining brightly over the parking lot. I guess they left them on all night or something. My mom's car sits all alone, and I feel a panic grip my chest making it harder to breathe.
It's okay. She just worked late, got pulled into that tablet. I tried and failed to calm myself down.
Locking my car, I run up the steps like I'm the next Rocky. I press the automatic door opener and step forward, almost running into the unmoving door. Instead, I knock on the door and press my face to the glass, trying to see inside the dim lobby. It is empty. I pound on the glass again in frustration, watching for any movement on the other side.
With a sigh, I turn back towards the parking lot. My mom's car sits under a light near the back of the lot. She has to be inside. Pulling out my phone again, I look to see if she responded to my text yet—nothing, not even the little read next to it. Running back down the steps, I head around the side of the building towards the dock doors.
She just lost track of time, I tell myself again. I’m going to find her inside, and she is just going to be absorbed in her work.
Climbing the short steps to the dock door, I pull on the handle, not expecting it to swing open under my force. Stumbling slightly, I push my hair back before stepping into the darkness of the building. The lights were not left on down here, and the darker shadows of the yet-to-be-sorted future exhibits were giving me goosebumps.
As quickly as possible, I make my way to the stairway up to the backroom. I emerged from the dock area. The lights are on but still a little dim in the backroom.
"Mom?" I called out. My voice echoes back to me in the large room. My aversion to making noise and disturbing the old stuff is entirely absent.
Moving through the prepped exhibits, I make my way to where I left her earlier. Her purse is on the table, and her phone is lying next to it, but she is not in view.
"Mom?" I walk over to her purse and pick up her phone. She has a few missed calls starting around 9:00 pm and some missed text messages from Tina, her best friend.
