Celia Thomson - The Nine Lives of Chloe King: The Fallen; The Stolen; The Chosen

THE
NINE
LIVES
OF
CHLOE
KING

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division
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This Simon Pulse paperback edition June 2011

The Stolen copyright 2004 by 17 th Street Productions, an Alloy company
The Fallen copyright 2004 by 17 th Street Productions, an Alloy company
The Chosen copyright 2005 by Alloy Entertainment
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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The text of this book was set in Fairfield.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2011922984
ISBN 978-1-4424-3570-4
eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-4135-4
These titles were previously published individually by Simon Pulse.

Contents

THE FALLEN

For John Ordover and Dave Mack, good friends
and the sine qua nons of my career and marriage

Prologue

He never tired or lost her trail.

Not since shed first seen him an hour ago in the bar, when his sleeve had fallen back and revealed an ornate black brand. Scrolls and curlicues of ink and scar tissue spelled out the familiar words: Sodalitas Gladii Decimi.

And so she ran.

She took a deep breath and looked ahead, leaping over piles of garbage and puddles with the precision of an acrobat, propelled by her terror. Which street did this alley connect to? Was there a public place close byeven a twenty-four-hour gas stationwhere she would be safe?

Finally the smell of open, wet air told her an exit was ahead: a barbedwire-topped gate blocked the far end of the alley.

She prepared to leap, triumph and freedom singing in her ears.

Then something burned into her left leg, ripping through muscle.

She clung to the gate, her leg dangling uselessly below her. She reached to pull herself up, hand over hand, but a near-silent whir announced a second attack. In an instant, she fell.

Trapped, Im afraid, said an irritatingly calm voice.

She desperately tried to push herself along the ground, away from himbut there was nowhere to go.

Please no , she whimpered, pushing herself back up against a wall. Im not what you think. Im not bad.

Im sure you dont believe you are.

She heard a blade, fine and small like a dagger, being whisked out of its sheath.

Ive neverI would never hurt anyone ! Please!

He cut her throat.

Id tibi facio, Deus, he whispered, putting the side of his left hand to his heart, thumb in the middle of his chest, pointing up. A gentle sigh escaped the dying girl; a thin ribbon of blood trickled down her neck. Tiny marks of an expert assassin. He bowed his head. In allegiance to the Order of the Tenth Blade. Pater noster, rex gentius.

He adjusted her head so that she looked more comfortable and closed her eyes. Then he wiped the tiny silver blade on a handkerchief, sat back on his heels, and waited.

When she woke up, he would kill her again.

One

As soon as she opened her eyes that morning, Chloe decided that she would go to Coit Tower instead of Parker S. Shannon High, her usual destination on a Tuesday.

She was turning sixteen in less than twenty-four hours, with no real celebration in sight: Paul spent Wednesdays at his dads house in Oakland, andfar worseher mom had said something about maybe going to a nice restaurant. What was a nice restaurant, anyway? A place where they served blowfish and foie gras? Where the wine list was thicker than her American civilization textbook? No, thank you.

If Mom found out about the Coit Tower expedition, Chloe would be grounded, completely eliminating any possibility of dinner out. Then Chloe would have a right to feel miserable on her sixteenth birthday, at home, alone, punished. The idea was strangely alluring.

She called Amy.

Hey, want to go to the tower today instead of physics?

Absolutely. There was no hesitation, no pauseno grogginess, in fact. For all of Amys rebel post-punk posturing, Chloes best friend was a morning person. How did she deal with the 2 A.M. poetry readings? Ill see you there at ten. Ill bring bagels if you bring the crack.

By crack Amy meant Caf Elands distinctive twenty-ounce coffee, which was brewed with caffeinated water.

Youre on.

You want me to call Paul?

That was strange. Amy never volunteered to do anything, much less help with group planning.

Nah, let me guilt him into it.

Your funeral. See ya.

She dragged herself out of bed, wrapping the comforter around her. Like almost everything in the room, it was from Ikea. Her moms taste ran toward orange, turquoise, abstract kokopelli statuettes, and blocks of sandstonenone of which fit in a crappy middle-class San Francisco ranch. And since Pateena Vintage Clothing paid a whopping $5.50 an hour, Chloes design budget was limited. Scandinavian blocks of color and furniture with unpronounceable names would have to do for now. Anything beat New Southwest.

She stood in front of the closet, wearing a short pair of boxers and a tank. Even if she still hadnt gotten her period, Chloe was finally developing a waist, as if her belly had been squeezed up to her breasts and down to her butt. Hot or not, it wasnt as though any of it really mattered: her mom grounded her if she so much as even mentioned a boy other than Paul.

She threw herself in front of the computer with a wide yawn and jiggled the mouse. Unless Paul was asleep or dead, he could pretty much be located at his computer 24/7. Bingohis name popped up in bold on her buddy list.

Chloe grinned. Maybe her birthday wasnt going to suck after all.

She looked out the windowyup, fog. In a city of fog, Inner Sunset was the foggiest part of San Francisco. Amy loved it because it was all spooky and mysterious and reminded her of England (although she had never been there). But Chloe was depressed by the damp and cheerless mornings, evenings, and afternoons and liked to flee to higher, sunnier groundlike Coit Towerat every opportunity.