White - Marking time: Immortal Descendants

Marking Time

Book One

The ImmortalDescendants

April White

Copyright by April White,2012

Published by CorazonEntertainment at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition,License Notes
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My mother had vanished again.

She did it every two years like clockwork,and her absence meant wed be moving again soon. So I did what Ialways did when I found the stocked fridge and the note I ran.The knots in my guts and a startled cat were my only company as Isprinted along the top of a wall and down a dark alley. The wallended at a narrow gap separating a head shop and tattoo parlor, andI spider-crawled between the buildings with knuckles bitten by therough edges of the bricks. It was a free-run fueled by an earlydiet of superhero fiction and a fierce need to lose myself insurvival mode. I dropped the last six feet, slipped into the tattooparlor through the broken back door, and then vaulted the stairrail to hit the basement floor. My lungs burned, but my hands weresteady when I stopped to loosen my backpack. I took a deep breath,slipped behind a shelving unit, and stepped into the underworld ofVenice.

The prohibition era rumrunner tunnel forkedinto a bigger branch already colored with graffiti that felt morelike one-upmanship than art. The smaller fork was jammed with boxesand pallets and other junk that kept the easy access taggers out.Old places had history, and I loved history especially anythinghidden, secret, or underground which meant the jammed tunnelwasnt a deterrent to me; it was like an engraved invitation.

I heard the hiss of spray paint just as Iturned the corner. Two bangers in respirators were throwing uptags, and though their drawing skills were decent, the tags wereall gang signs and territory markers. Bangers were sheep with fangsas far as I was concerned. Anyone who needed to belong to somethingthat badly didnt have the confidence to stand alone. And alone wasall people could ever count on in life. I turned the corner andslipped through an opening at the far end before the bangers sawme.

The long, narrow passage was like my ownprivate art gallery, with vintage tags that felt more visionarythan vandalism. The standout was an old tag from 1972 signed bysomeone named Doran a spiral symbol that looked ancient andvaguely Celtic. A spiral I wanted to copy.

I flipped on my Maglite and a rat darted awaydown the tunnel. I shuddered, imagining disease-filled fleasleaping off the creature as it ran, then focused my light on themostly brick walls of the narrow space. There was a clean plasterfacing next to Dorans spiral.

I set the Maglite on the floor, pointing uplike a candle, opened my backpack, and pulled out a World War I gasmask. Besides not wanting to give myself cancer, I wore the mask tohide my face. My black hooded sweatshirt covered long dark-goldhair tied back in a braid and whatever minor curves Id managed togrow in seventeen years. The gas mask kept me looking like anyother tagger skinny, fast, and vaguely male. Someone would haveto be pretty close to see I was a girl, and frankly, no one evergot that close.

I fitted a new tip to my red can and startedon the center spiral. The paint laid down easy, and by the time Igot to the fourth one the tightness in my chest was letting go. Thesun-like circles were a good way to mark my time living so close tothe beach in L.A., and they practically painted themselves. Butthen things got weird: the spirals started to glow. Like daylightpeeking through the cracks in a door. Not possible with standardKrylon paint. At night. In a dark tunnel. Not possible at all. Iflipped off my Maglite to see better. Maybe the fumes really weregetting to me.

Something moved. The rat? I froze in placeand saw a shadow at the far end of the tunnel shift. I had greatnight vision and I loved the dark, but shadows creeped me out.Darkness was just dark. Shadows could be anything.

Something was there and it was time to go, somy brain instantly clicked into flight mode. I could drop thebackpack if I had to run, but it could be a weapon too. I slid thecan back inside just as a scuffling noise came from the tunnelentrance. I was trapped. By the bangers, or someone else?

Dude, theres nothing down here. A surfervoice. Right, someone else.

Im telling you, man, he said it would godown tonight. Were supposed to keep the kid from running. Thesecond whisper sounded nervous. These jokers were up to nothinggood, and I backed myself against the wall to become one with thebricks.

Theres no one here. Your intel is faulty.Something in Surfers voice changed. Like someone else just camein. Someone Surfer was afraid of.

My intel is never faulty. Its thistunnel. Tonight. Tom saw it. A third voice spoke quietly in aBritish accent. The Englishmans voice was slick and reptilian, andmy guts twisted unaccountably.

Dude, Toms so scared of you hell sayyoure the King of England if he thinks its what you wanna hear.And now Im thinkin, fifty bucks aint gonna cut it.

Leave now and youll never stop looking overyour shoulder. Slicks quiet menace made me shiver. I believedhim, and instinct screamed at me to run.

I wanna see whats comin. Hit the light.Nervous Guys voice shook.

No light! Slick yelled too late. The beamhit me square in the chest.

What the hell is that?! I was really glad Istill had my respirator on. But Slicks next words sent anearthquake down my spine.

Grab her.

I spun on the balls of my feet and sprangaway down the tunnel. When I was out of range of the flashlight Ireached out to both walls and did my best Spiderman impression,practically flying up the sides with all four limbs. My spinepressed against the curved brick ceiling of the tunnel, and Iclosed my eyes with that if I cant see them, they cant see merationale.

Whered she go? Nervous Guy screeched. Shewas just here!

Slicks voice was cold in the darkness. Getthe light. Shes still in this tunnel.

No way, Dude. Im telling you, shedisappeared. Surfer walked right under me. And like most people,he didnt think to look up. Its why ceilings made such greathiding places.

I froze as Slicks flashlight beam hitDorans spiral. He touched it gently, and then retrieved myrespirator. I couldnt see his face, but I thought Id never forgetthe sound of his voice.

You cant hide from me little Clocker.

I shuddered at the threat in his words.Clocker? He had the wrong girl, and only sheer force of will keptme silent.

Finally, a few curses and a dying batterylater, Slick and his henchmen slithered away.

My night vision cleared and I was alone. Ispider-walked myself back down the walls and fumbled for myflashlight. I wanted to be long gone. I found my way back to thetattoo parlor through the door in the basement and was just aboutto sling my backpack over my shoulders when it was ripped out of myhands. I bolted for the stairs and slammed into someone beefy.Ooof! The guy went down hard on one knee.

Grab him! A deep voice shouted.

Not if I could help it.

Stop! Police!

I closed my eyes with a sigh. This was notgoing to end well.

I may have lived on the edge of legalsometimes, but I wasnt a bad person. Yet here I was beingdriven home by two pissed-off cops. Officer Beef, named in honor ofthe massive chest that was losing its war with gravity, had hurthis knee when I accidentally ran into him and was particularlyannoyed to discover I was female. Apparently, I hit hard.