Chawna Schroeder - The Vault Between Spaces

Acclaim for
THE VAULT BETWEEN SPACES

HopeWella place where no one is as they appear to be. A dwelling of dismal grey thats visited by a great light in disguise. Where hope and love is crushed, beaten, and murdered only to rise up even stronger than before. The analogies just never stop in The Vault Between Spaces and author Chawna Schroeder never fails to excite my imagination. Sometimes heart-wrenching, frequently edge of your seat, this is one read you will NOT want to miss.

Michelle Griep, Christy Award-winning author of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series

Chawna Schroeder has a gorgeous way with words. Her delicious descriptions transported me straight into the fantastical world of The Vault Between Spaces. The world building is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis but with a flair all its own. Vault is perfect for fans of Christian fantasy who are looking for a unique, intriguing tale packed with beautiful spiritual metaphors and deep redemptive significance.

Lindsay A. Franklin, award-winning author of The Story Peddler

Vault shows that beauty can be found in places of suffering. Love is often reflected in sacrifice. Freedom can be celebrated within the constraints of service. Chawna paints unseen realms amid an alternate history of our own world and invites us to watch them intersect. Imaginative, heart-wrenching, and soaring with hope.

Sharon Hinck, author of Hidden Current

Books by Chawna Schroeder

Beast

The Vault Between Spaces

The Vault Between Spaces

Copyright 2020 by Chawna Schroeder

EPUB Edition

Published by Enclave Publishing, an imprint of Third Day Books, LLC

Phoenix, Arizona, USA.

www.enclavepublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, digitally stored, or transmitted in any form without written permission from Third Day Books, LLC.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-62184-113-5 (printed hardback)

ISBN: 978-1-62184-116-6 (printed softcover)

ISBN: 978-1-62184-114-2 (ebook)

Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, www.DogEaredDesign.com

Typesetting by Jamie Foley

Printed in the United States of America.

I dedicate this book first to

my Lord, the Creator of the universe.

Thank You for reminding me to stop and play a little.

And secondly,

to my parents, Jim and Barb Schroeder,

who gave me the freedom to play.

Without you, not only would there be no book,

there would be no author.

She appeared out of nowhere.

One minute all was quiet at the country estate of the archeras, the high commander of Anatroshka. The next, an alarm in his private office tripped. When soldiers burst inside two minutes later, they found a young woman perched on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs as if she were waiting for them. Nothing had been removed from the office. Nothing was destroyed. The doors were still locked, the windows unbroken, and the safe untouched. Even stranger, the young woman didnt bother to resist arrest. Yet when interrogated, she refused to answer a single question, leading the chief agent on the case to declare her a dangerous skolops and a member of the Underground.

Or so the story in her file went.

The commandant of HopeWell eyed his newest prisoner over the top edge of the papers. Young woman? That was an exaggeration at best. The slender girl of porcelain skin might pass for fourteen years, fifteen at a stretch, but eighteen, the legal age of an independent adult? Never. But despite her young age, she showed none of the normal signs of a new arrival at the prison camp. Whereas others would defy him with glares or tremble before him in terror, this girl merely studied the uneven floorboards of his office with a quiet serenity that contradicted both her youth and her position.

With a scowl, the commandant shuffled again through the file, which had been delivered, along with the girl, by the curvaceous woman sitting opposite of him. Torrents of rain pounded against the tin roof, the noise filling the otherwise quiet room. A lightning bolt flashed outside the window; thunder shook the building with impatience.

Finally, the commandant tapped the papers into a neat pile and squared them with the corner of the battered desk. Everything appears to be in order. His voice tightened at the word appears, making him sound none too pleased with that fact, and as if to underscore his displeasure, his lips pressed into a hard, flat line. He scrutinized the girl again. The tall, muscular sergeant guarding her only accentuated her youth. She looks sickly.

Looks deceive. The curvaceous woman tossed out the careless rejoinder on a cloud of cigarette smoke and leaned back in her chair. Though dressed in a well-fitted military jacket and skirt, she flaunted convention by crossing her legs at the knees, emphasizing their length. Youll get plenty of miles out of her before shes boxed up. If nothing else, shes young, fresh, spirited, just the way men like them. Rising, she sauntered over to the prisoner, a feline grace marking each movement. She brushed a lock of limp ash-blonde hair from the girls cheek, exposing her neck, and jabbed the end of the cigarette against the tender skin.

The girl flinched, yet her voice remained silent.

Youve made your point. Clipping the edges of his words, the commandant pressed his knuckles into the scarred desktop.

The woman stubbed her cigarette out and flicked it across the room and strode toward the door, her heels clacking like the report of a machine gun. Ill return at my usual time to check on your progress. She lifted a black umbrella from the coat stand in the outer office and stepped into the stormy night. A bolt of lightning flashed, highlighting her dark form beneath the umbrellas hood. Then oily darkness swallowed her whole.

The commandant slammed the door on both the night and the woman. Over the years, headquarters had brought him the intellectual dissenter who threatened the state as well as the violent rebel who threatened society. But this newest prisoner, this girl, seemed incapable of endangering either.

Marching back to her, he grabbed her jaw and yanked it up. Children! Is this what we hunt these days?

Eyes blinked back at him, as unperturbed as a placid mountain lake and luminescent as stars. A pink blush blossomed across her cheeks, bringing with it a fiery heat and the spicy scent of cinnamon. Cursing, the commandant snatched his hand away, redness searing his fingertips as if he had grasped a live coal, not human flesh. He shook his hand to cool it off.

Outside, the pattering rain seemed to laugh at him. Blood rushed into his face, and his right hand flew upward, cracking against her cheek.

Her sharp inhale cut through the room.

The commandant narrowed his eyes. Was that all?

Slowly she raised her right hand, letting her left dangle from the handcuffs binding them together, and her fingertips probed the crimson streak etched into her pale skin. She shivered slightly.