The Seven Wicked: First Read online

  The Scarecrow shrilled like a frightened rabbit, bleating and screaming and flailing his arms around as the ground swallowed his lower half and trapped him to the waist in broken cement and dirt. Caleb's eyes were wide, the minty green of his irises reflecting back the last black and silver sparks of my magic as he finally stumbled to his feet and wrapped shaky hands around the blood red leather of the hilt.

  He heaved the sword to an offensive position carefully, sidestepping the Scarecrow slowly as he took stock of the situation. But if he was worried about the First escaping just yet, he needn't have been. The giant blocks of shattered cement were so effective at pinning the monster that I knew without a doubt that it was going to take something big to get it out of there.

  Like another Wicked.

  C.M. Stunich

  Sarian Royal

  The Seven Wicked: First

  Copyright © C.M. Stunich

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E Ste. 203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  ISBN-10: 1938623010 (eBook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-01-1 (eBook)

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  Quilted Butterfly font © David Kerkhoff

  Optimus Princeps font © Manfred Klein

  Stock images © Shutterstock.com

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  to Matt and Joey Jones, brothers, inspiration

  Prologue

  I spent the night of my seventeenth birthday holding the dying body of the boy I loved. I watched in helpless horror as the light in his gentle eyes faded slowly, brushing my fingers through the golden halo of his hair as I tried not to cry. "You can't go yet," I whispered in the sudden silence. Either the First was already dead or it had crawled off into some dank, dirty hole in the ground to finish dying. I could only hope it was suffering half as much as we were.

  Caleb tried to smile at me, blood trickling down the sides of his face in warm, crimson rivulets. He was trying to make me feel better when he was the one who was dying. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. "Please," I begged, hugging him close to me. As I shifted his body, he grunted in pain and I was forced to release him back into the confines of my lap. "I'm so sorry." Caleb smiled again and reached a quaking hand up to my lips. This is all my fault. I did this. I killed my guardian angel.

  "Don't be sorry, Eevee. I'm not." A rumble shook the dirt beneath us and rattled the corrugated steel walls around us. The broken lamps swung violently overhead, the rusty chains snapping as glass and metal exploded into the ground and burst like bombs, shrapnel nicking my face and neck.

  "Caleb," I whispered, hunching over to protect him from the debris. "What's going on? I thought you killed it?" Across the warehouse, a mound of dirt was rising like an anthill, black oozing from the openings on its side, glistening and thick like oil. Caleb didn't respond at first, his eyelids fluttering like frantic butterflies as he struggled to maintain consciousness. I tore my gaze from his pale lashes and bloody lips, checking carefully to make sure we weren't going to be swallowed whole by the ever widening pool of sludge. The shaking had stopped suddenly leaving us in eerie quiet that sent chills down my spine. I had to get him out of there, but I didn't know how. Think of something. Caleb was there for you, be there for him. I couldn't let fear and panic cripple me. I had to be as brave, as strong, as the boy that I held motionless in my arms. I clutched for the necklace with my right hand, hoping there was enough magic left to save us both.

  A whisper drew my attention back to my guardian's pallid features. His cracked lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. "What is it?" I sobbed, taking his face in one hand and tilting my head so that my ear was pressed as close to him as I could get without touching the bruises on his cheeks.

  "The Second," he gasped, pink bubbles sputtering as he tried to enunciate beyond the red liquid in his mouth. And then he fell still. His eyes emptied of anything and everything that had ever made Caleb, Caleb. The necklace fell from my grasp, swinging back and forth like a noose. I screamed then like I had never screamed before, pain and rage and frustration. Hate, no loathing, pumped through my veins instead of blood as I raised my head and watched a pair of arms digging out from beneath the dirt.

  The Second of the Seven Wicked looked out at me from beady, black eyes, like bits of coal stuffed into a swollen, blue veined face. I tugged Caleb's sword from stiffening fingers and tried to remember why he had died. He died to protect me.

  I set Caleb's body gently aside and stood, facing an enemy that I had unknowingly brought down upon myself.

  I would not let him die in vain.

  Chapter One

  I gazed at it through the thick glass of the display case. There the necklace sat, in a bed of blue velvet, glimmering in the store's soft, yellow overhead lighting. In that moment, that's all it was, a piece of jewelry. Days later, they would try to kill me for it. I wish I had known that then. It would've saved me a whole lot of trouble. But I'd have put it on anyway. Love makes people do crazy things.

  "Can I see it?" I asked the kindly, older lady behind the desk. She removed a pair of thick lenses from her nose; the gold chain holding them around her neck tinkling merrily as she fished a pair of tiny keys from her pocket and unlocked the back of the case.

  I held back a gasp as she handed it to me. The delicate silver chain draped over my fingers, smooth as silk, as I watched the heart shaped pendant twirl in front of my eyes. I was already sold on it. The necklace couldn't have suited my prom dress any more than if it had been made for it, and even that would be a big if. The emerald satin of the gown was a perfect twin to the black glass of the multifaceted jewel spinning in front of my face. There was only one problem. I'd forgotten to look at the price tag.

  I took a deep breath and snatched at the oval sticker that was wrapped around the clasp. A sigh of relief escaped my chest in a whoosh of air, fogging the face of the crystal and the silver vines wrapped around its edges. It was only twenty bucks, and it was the perfect final touch to polish off my junior year. I just needed to convince my mom that I needed it.

  "Hey Mom," I said, turning towards her. Her back was facing me as she bent low over a white, plastic bin marked with a red clearance sticker. She looked a lot like a flower garden in her green capris and rose patterned sweatshirt, but I wouldn't ever tell her that. She'd been depressed enough as it was lately after her divorce from my dad. She turned towards me slowly, eyes still caught up in the piles of unfolded, discount clothing.

  "What is it Eevee?" She sounded tired. I hated when she sounded like that. It made me feel bad for even asking about the necklace. But it was my junior prom; I wanted it to be perfect. I was on the committee that helped come up with the "Darkest Dreams" theme. I needed to look the part.

  "What do you think of this necklace?" I asked her as she put down a very unflattering pair of brown trousers and walked over to the counter. "To go with my dress, I mean. For prom." I held the pendant out for her examination. She touched it lightly with one hand before taking a look at the price tag. I held my breath in anticipation. It wasn't like we were poor or anything, but Mom prided herself on being frugal with her purchases. I never knew what to expect.

  "Sure, honey," she said, trying to smile and failing. Divorce will do that to a person. At least she'd trie
d. "As long as you try it on for me. It's your prom, get whatever you want." I let out a squeal of joy and threw my arms around her. It wasn't something I'd have normally done, but as soon as I'd seen the necklace, I'd felt a connection to it, like we were meant for each other. Creepy, I know, but at the time, it felt right, perfect. Just gazing into the mirrored surface got my heart pumping. It made me feel like I'd run a thousand miles and never wanted to stop. And I hadn't even put it on yet. Magic was at work, and I didn't even know it existed.

  My mother laughed a soggy laugh that was as fake as the press on nails she'd worn last week to try and impress her blind date. It had been a while since she'd gone out. Needless to say, they didn't have a second date. She blamed the acrylics. I think it had everything to do with the fact that she was still in love with her ex and not her nails, but that's just me. I forced myself to stop psychoanalyzing my mother, and turned to face one of the antique mirrors that lined the counter. "Here goes nothing," I whispered, chalking my excitement and anxiety up to the fact that I wanted to look perfect. That had to be it, right? Wrong.

  I tore the sticker off and handed it to cashier who smiled knowingly and started punching numbers in on the register. I grimaced as I watched my mother go back for the brown grandma pants. I ignored her and tried to be grateful that she was buying the necklace for me. What would I have done if she'd said no? I shook the feeling of dread and hooked the chain behind my neck. This was made for me, I thought as the cool silver brushed my skin, drawing chills down my spine. I adjusted the heart so that it lay perfectly between the little cleavage I'd managed to scrape up with a padded bra and some careful arranging in my bathroom mirror. It looks so good! I squealed, careful to keep my thoughts to myself. I turned left and right, admiring the prism of light cast across the white walls of the store. Violet, indigo, and olive tones flashed over the racks of clothing as I did a little jig in place.

  "Eevee ... " My mother's tired voice. I glanced over at her. She'd added two pairs of men's overalls and pink and yellow sandals that had seen better days to her stack. I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't like I was fashion forward either. I was currently sporting a red and black miniskirt with tiny, white skulls spread around in place of the more traditional polka dots and a black tank top with a huge silver knife in the center, bloodied at the tip. I might not have referred to myself as 'Gothic,' but most people did.

  "Yeah?" I asked, giving the eye to a yellow sundress I'd seen on the rack nearest to her. She either didn't want the fashion tip or didn't notice. I was betting on the latter; she'd been pretty out of it lately.

  "Take the necklace off and let's go; you've got to get ready for your dad to pick you up." It didn't help either of our enthusiasm that she grimaced when she said it. I touched my fingers to the surface of the pendant and took a deep breath. Why is this so hard? I thought as I reluctantly unhooked the chain and handed it back to the woman who had waited patiently throughout our entire exchange. Relax, I warned myself as both my mother and the woman gave my shaking hands a second glance. I dropped the chain into the cashier's palm and spun away, acting unconcerned. You don't want anything to happen to it before prom night anyway, I told myself, promising to tuck it safely away in my nightstand drawer along with the bracelet my dad had given to me for the occasion. It's just a necklace, chill out a little. I ignored my own advice and watched with critical eyes as she wrapped it in white tissue paper and placed the taped package in a miniature paper bag marked with the name of the store. I surreptitiously removed it from the counter while my mother got out her wallet and waited for the clerk to fold her clothes.

  I wandered away, purchase clutched tightly against my chest as I started to mentally prepare my ensemble. Knee length gown, empire waist, black heels, ebony waist cincher. It was because I was so entranced in dressing a mental version of myself that I didn't notice him at first. If I'd been paying attention, I could've noticed him from a hundred miles away.

  He was standing across the street dressed in a pair of dark washed jeans and a red T-shirt that fit tightly across his chest. His hair was golden, not blonde, with highlights and lowlights that would put the most popular girls at my school to shame. He had the sweetest, friendliest eyes of any boy or girl I'd ever seen. They were a minty green, pastel and perfect, round and framed with thick lashes. From my vantage point inside the store, it seemed that he was staring straight at me, but I knew that couldn't have been possible. It was just a trick of the light. I tore my gaze from his bow tie lips and checked in on my mom. She was engaged in light, friendly conversation with the cashier.

  Might as well enjoy the sights, I giggled stupidly to myself, wanting to take the opportunity to drink in some more of the perfect stranger. When I looked back though, he was gone. I made a moue of disappointment and tried not to sulk. He would never have gone for a girl like me anyway. Way out of your league, Eevee, I said, as I forced myself away from the window and into the racks of clothing. My mother had gotten onto the subject of the failed institute of marriage. It was a favorite subject of hers now, and I had a feeling she was going to be there awhile. Not that you'd have ever gotten up the courage to talk to him. I used my own doubts as fuel for the fantasies that I began to run through my brain. Fantasies where I went outside and actually introduced myself, made pleasant, likable conversation.

  Yeah, I'm thinking of majoring in physics at the U. You are, too? Wow. Maybe we could hang out some time and talk laws of motion. I giggled, and then almost leapt out of my skin when, once again caught up in my own thoughts, I failed to notice my mystery dude coming into the store until he was standing directly in front of me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to smile.

  "H-hi." It was lame, but it was the best that I could do given the circumstances.

  "Hi yourself," he said sweetly, lips upturned.

  God, he's freaking gorgeous, I thought as I stood frozen in place in the center of the store. Say something, I screamed at myself mentally. Show him how smart and interesting you are. My mouth refused to obey my mind.

  "What have you got in the bag?" he asked me. He seemed genuinely interested, so I unrolled the top and pulled out the wad of white tissue. Without really knowing what I was doing, I handed it over to him.

  He opened it slowly, carefully, as if he expected something to leap out at him. When he saw the necklace, his face drooped with disappointment. Okay, I thought, so I'm not very fashionable. He could at least pretend to like it.

  "Why?" he asked me, glancing up sharply, his features suddenly tense. I was too embarrassed to answer. My self confidence was already teetering on the precipice of disaster. He didn't have to come in and confirm what I already thought I knew about myself.

  Feeling hurt, I snatched the necklace from his hands and stuffed it back into the bag, leaving the crumpled tissue in his now shaking fingers. His eyes had taken on a glassy look, like he was done with me, and had moved on to other thoughts. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. What is your problem? I thought as I shouldered past him and out of the aisle. Weirdo. I walked as quickly as possible to the glass front doors, and took one small glance back at the boy. He was standing hunched over some T-shirts, face pale, and brows scrunched. For a moment there, I almost considered stopping to go back and check on him. He didn't look so good. But then he turned away abruptly and busied himself with a rack of blue jeans.

  "Come on, Mom," I called out to her, trying to drag her away from her philosophical discussion of my father. "I need to get home and pack for Dad's." My mother's face fell at the mention of her ex-husband before she waved goodbye to the lady behind the counter and followed me from the store. I ignored the golden haired boy who neglected to say anything more as we left. He might have been pretty, but at the time, I didn't think there was any way that the two of us could ever get along.

  Oh, how wrong I was.

  Dad's new two seater convertible sat idling in the driveway, black and shiny and perfect under the new porch lamps Mom had installed. She tried to pretend hi
s choice of midlife crisis car didn't bother her, but I knew it did. It was precisely why I was stuffing my clothes into my duffel bag at record speeds.

  I had to be careful not to forget anything. Prom was in three days, and my friend Melissa was supposed to pick me up from my father's apartment to get ready. If I forgot anything, it was very likely she'd try to supply it. Let's just say this: Melissa's dress was made of pink taffeta; mine was covered in black lace; our styles didn't exactly mesh. I double and triple checked to make sure I had everything I needed. My new dress, slingbacks (and first ever pair of heels!), waist cincher, tights, bracelet. I paused as I picked up the package containing the necklace. I'll admit, there was a moment there where I'd fingered the black glass, considered putting it on. Psycho. I'd taken my own advice, for once, and zipped it away.

  I clomped down the stairs, trying not to trip over our dalmatian, Tide, who was sleeping sprawled across the bottom landing. Mom wouldn't be seeing me out. Whenever Dad came to pick me up, she retreated into her back office and pretended to be working. I called out a goodbye anyway and lugged my bag out the front door.

  "So," Dad began as I squeezed myself into the passenger seat with my clothes. He was trying to maintain a low, casual tone though I could see that he was genuinely interested in whatever subject he was about to bring up. "Who installed the new lights?" He gestured up at the frosty glass of the porch lamps before pulling out of the driveway. I tried not to grin but couldn't help myself. It was just too ripe an opportunity to pass up. Dad was a sucker for pranks.

  "Um, I dunno. I guess one of the big, hunky guys that have been hanging around the house lately." I gestured up at my shoulder length, raven bob. "You know, the ones with the long, blonde hair like, uh," I paused trying to remember the name of the chesty dude on my mom's romance novels. "Fabio." One of my dad's shaggy eyebrows rose questioningly.