White - Changing Nature

Changing Nature

Book Three

The ImmortalDescendants

April White

Copyright by April White,2015

Published by CorazonEntertainment at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition,License Notes
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Immortal Descendants are disappearing andseventeen-year-old Clocker Saira Elian is next on the list

Saira and Archers romantic London summer isshattered by the bold kidnappings of Immortal Descendants. Itsclear Mongers want control of the Descendant Families, and whenthey target a powerful Shifter, theres no doubt they willeliminate anyone who stands in their way.

A split in time could be the cause of thisnew Monger aggression, and Saira, Archer and Ringo suspect theirtime-traveling nemesis Bishop Wilder. One dangerous world isexchanged for another when Saira and her friends track Wilder tothe gloomy streets of Paris in 1429. They find the city besieged bymarauding wolves led by a fanatical peasant girl who will be knownto history as Joan of Arc.

Crossing the time stream to repair it hasdropped them into the heart of the Hundred Years War on the eve ofan epic battle, where the line between friends and enemies will bedrawn in blood. To finally end the deadly game of cat and mousewith Wilder, Saira must confront her greatest challenge yet: thetruth about her changing Nature.

Its like everyone tells a story aboutthemselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That storymakes you what you are. We build ourselves out of thatstory.

Patrick Rothfuss

The Name of the Wind

As in both Marking Time andTempting Fate, several plot points in Changing Natureare based on actual historical events. I discovered somefascinating things that happened in medieval times, but not all ofthem occurred during the year in which Ive set this time travelstory. Ive taken some liberties with dates one specific eventactually happened twenty-one yearsafter it takes place in my story, another was committed during thedecade following the events in this book, and a building I describewasnt actually built until later in the same century. Im beingvague because I dont want to spoil anything for those of you who,like me, enjoy surprises, but there are some fact-checkers among myreaders (I know this because Im one, too), so Im warning you inadvance. If you look up a thing or two while youre reading, dontdo it by date.

I didnt go crazy re-arranging history well, at least not more so than usual but please read the note atthe back of the book if youd like to know when things trulyhappened. This history is really interesting, and I appreciate yourindulgence as I adjust things to suit my needs.

Chapter One - London Run

The view from the top of Salt Tower wasmagnificent. It was a corner tower in the ancient fortress of theTower of London, which held court around me like an aging warriorthat had only just laid down its sword. The Tower Bridge in frontof my seat on the parapet wore the colors of its July sunset like asummer dress, with flickering lights for its sparkly jewels.

I had jewels on the brain. ProfessorRavindra Singh, my mentor at the Tower complex, had been all overthe news last week for his discovery of the Armada Pearls,the exquisite six-strand black pearl necklace Queen Elizabeth I hadworn in the Armada Portrait. The media had jumped on thestory, and I grinned at the delight on Professor Singhs face as hetalked about the pearls to the swarm of reporters hounding ouroffice every day since they were pulled from the secret stash inthe sub-crypt of St. Johns Chapel. The Tudor crown that my friendRingo and I had found there in 1554 was, of course, long gone.Elizabeth I had handed it down to her heir, and so on, until 1649when Oliver Cromwell had ordered it melted down along with nearlyall the other crown jewels.

But the black pearls had survived, and itmay or may not have been my suggestion to Elizabeth to hide themthat saved the spectacular jewels from the fate of the other royaltreasures. Even if I couldnt take credit for that out loud because seriously, who would believe Id met Elizabeth Tudor, orthat such a thing as time travel even existed I knew, andthat was enough.

I stood up, dusted off my black jeans,pulled the hood of my favorite Ugly Kid sweatshirt up over my headto hide my long braid, and started down the outside of the tower.The handholds on Salt Tower were decent, and it would probably onlytake a couple minutes to descend.

Or less if I slipped.

But Id been scaling these towers since Igot a historical research internship with Professor Singh, and thegame I played with Archer to keep my commute entertaining wasFind Me. Since Archer was a Vampire with some extrabadassery in the skills department, the game was way better thantraditional hide-and-seek. He couldnt rise until sunset, so Idwait on top of one of the towers until the sun hit the horizon. Andthen it was time to play.

He was never sure which section of the TowerId choose for my escape route, or, if he didnt catch me outsidethe walls, which bridge Id use to cross the Thames. The firstperson to hit a chair at Bishop Clearys dinner table was thewinner. Loser had to do dishes. Since Archer didnt actually eatwith me and the jeans-wearing, silver-maned bishop who had becomeour friend, it wasnt really fair. But whoever said life wasfair?

I touched down outside Salt Tower and tookoff at full speed toward the Tower Bridge. The route seemedstraightforward enough, but involved a tree-climb, a roof-jump, anda drop down to the walkway along the bank of the Thames. By thetime I got under Tower Bridge Road and up the stairs to streetlevel, I was feeling pretty confident Id left Archer looking formy dust back at the Tower.

It was almost nine oclock at night summers in England were brutal on Archers waking schedule sotraffic on the Tower Bridge was fairly light, and I let my pacefall back into something less freakish. Foot traffic was almostnon-existent, which was why the faint sound of rubber soles hittingthe pavement behind me put my half-Shifter senses on highalert.

When my guts started twisting in the wayMonger-proximity brings on, those Shifter senses started searchingfor an escape route. I didnt look behind me. I didnt need to. TheDescendants of War were bad news in every sense of the word, andthe only Monger I knew who didnt automatically hunt me on sightwas Tom Landers, a mixed-blood like me. He was also probably deadby now, so call me a conclusion-jumper, but it was a safe bet itwasnt Tom on my tail.

I broke into a full sprint. That thefootsteps behind me did too was no surprise. It was asurprise that they were gaining on me. I wasnt a sprinter, but notmany people could keep up when I free-ran. My problem was that thiswasnt free-running. This was just running. And I was going tolose.