Born of Nether- Everwitch

  Kish Knight

  www.kishknight.com

  An Everwitch is born when an angel and a demon die on the same day. When all goes as it should, their life energy passes through the ley between the mortal world and the ether. But….if a human is caught in the crosshairs of that ley, he or she is consumed by that energy and thus becomes Eternal.

  ….a danger to both celestial and netherworld beings….

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Born of Nether

  Copyright © 2019 by: Kish Knight

  Cover Artwork by: Vicki Adrian, All Covers Book Designs

  All rights reserved. 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 further information:

  www.kishknight.com

  Part One : EverWitch

  CHAPTER 1

  As they turned onto the street of the diner, Brielle Acosta raised her brows behind the designer shades she wore, but said nothing. Before they’d set out on the trip, she had already known that the town where her supposed ‘sister’ lived wasn’t the nicest. Or the most opulent. It was, in fact, a far cry from the plushness of Brielle’s own life.

  “Eastway Diner,” her best friend, Roe, read from the GPS on her phone. “Is that it up on the right?”

  Brielle looked where her friend was pointing. Roe was right; it was the diner where she was to meet the private investigator. “Yep.”

  Street parking seemed to be the only available option here, and so reluctantly, Brielle pulled the Mercedes Benz SUV over to the curb. Not like she had expected to find valet parking in this town, but still, she wasn’t interested in leaving an expensive rental car curbside like this.

  Ordinarily, Brielle would have traveled via private plane and been chauffeured by her own driver, but she couldn’t risk that in this case. This was a matter of privacy, and she couldn’t afford to have the paparazzies follow her out of New York to this little out of the way town just outside of Cleveland. So instead, she had dragged her best frenemy, Roe, along with her and set out to drive the hours-long trip.

  All because of one simple letter that had arrived a month before.

  “Ugh, this place sucks. It looks like it’s sweltering outside. How long are you going to be in there?” her friend complained, though they were perfectly comfortable in the SUV’s AC, her silky mane of hair sliding forward as she snapped a selfie, undoubtfully for one of her many social media profiles. Roe, like Brielle, was the child of celebrities and a popular face online. Unlike Brielle, Roe was from old money Hollywood, and hadn’t been adopted into her family. Neither had she received any letters from anyone claiming to be family.

  But Brielle had.

  “Well, the P.I. that I hired has the report of what he found, so I guess I just have to pay him, grab the info and head out.”

  “Lucky you,” her friend replied sarcastically, “it’s probably all a scam to get money.”

  Brielle gritted her teeth as she picked up her designer purse. “Hope not.” Sometimes, her friend could be really cruel and insensitive. It was why the women had been on-and-off friends for most of their lives. Inseparable at age ten, mortal enemies for the entire of junior high, cautious best friends at sixteen, and now at twenty-five, had settled into a convenient friendship bolstered by fame and popularity.

  Though she had been grateful for Roe’s company on the long trip, still….

  “Good luck.” Brielle watched as Roe posed for another picture, pouting her lips. “Hope you finally find out who you belong to.”

  Rolling her eyes so that her friend didn’t see, Brielle discreetly rolled the window down an inch out of pure bitchery. It would be a shame if the heat frizzed her friend’s perfect straight blond tresses while she waited. A sneaky smile played along her lips at the thought.

  Artfully arranging her own hair, Brielle checked her makeup in a compact mirror. The person she saw looking back was all too familiar: almond eyes framed by perfect lashes, soft cinnamon skin perfected by regular spa treatments, naturally pouty lips that were a tabloid favorite. What would someone else see? Someone that was supposed to be family, and not impressed by her wealth and lifestyle? She shrugged, then got out of the car, leaving the engine running. She blew an air kiss at her friend. “I’ll be back.”

  Wrap-around shades in place, she squared her shoulders and marched into the dinner to find her life. Even with the simple cut blouse, fitted jeans, and high-heeled boots she had worn, Brielle still managed to stand out in the little dinner. Hastily, she surveyed the room for the man she needed to meet.

  There, sitting alone at a corner booth, was the P.I., Dale Jones. A single mug sat on the table before him. She headed over to him. Taking a seat opposite Jones, Brielle swung her purse onto her lap, not wanting to place it on the sticky seat. Bad enough that she had to sit there.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Jones nodded, taking a sip of coffee instead of responding. A waitress appeared and gave what seemed to be a forced smile. “Would you like to order something, hon?”

  Brielle nodded immediately. “Yes, thanks. A green tea will be fine.” She wasn’t interested in eating or drinking, since she was too wound up to keep anything down, but for appearances sake….

  Without a word, the waitress left the table, leaving them in silence. The P.I. continued sipping his coffee, eyes on her. Brielle took the hint and reached into her purse, retrieving a new paperback book. She handed the book across to him. Jones stared at it in confusion.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s an envelope with a check inside,” Brielle told him. “Just in case that there are any wanna-be photographers around.” She’d learned the hard way that there was always someone with a camera-phone around, ready to sell a pic to the tabloids. At the moment, she wasn’t interested in having her picture splashed across the cover of some magazine, shown handing over a mysterious check in a run-down diner.

  Jones nodded. Suddenly, a plain manila envelope appeared on the table trapped beneath his fingers.

  “This is what you wanted, miss,” he said gruffly, sliding the envelope across the table.

  Brielle didn’t touch it; she didn’t dare. The instant she opened that folder, her life would be changed forever. She had to make completely sure first.

  “What did you find?” she asked, keeping her emotions tightly under wraps.

  Settling back in her chair, the detective crossed his arms as if he’d expected this. “They’re not lying. Everything that was said in the letter, it’s all true.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Okay,’ she told herself, ‘breathe.’ Slowly releasing the pent-up breath, Brielle kept her eyes locked on the man in front of her, still ignoring the traitorous folder on the table.

  “Am I a match?” she asked directly.

  He nodded. “You got it.”

  There it was. Brielle sat back in her seat, feeling as if the wind had been sucked out of her, and was slowly being piped back in. In a mere three minutes, the detective had changed her life entirely, and she had no clue how to handle it.

  A flurry of emotions assaulted her, and she tried to force them down, tried to will them away, tried to regain control of her thoughts. She didn’t realize that she was getting to her feet until she was standing over the table.

  “I need-…..I’ll be right back.” Pushing away from the table, Brielle walked away from the detective abruptly. On her way into the restaurant, sh
e had spied a restroom tucked away toward the back. So that’s where she headed, hurrying as fast as her heels could take her.

  ‘Family,’ she thought, ‘I have family.’

  It had only been a month since the letter had arrived, delivered Express to Brielle’s penthouse apartment. Of course, the first thing she had assumed was that it was random junk from a social media stalker. But upon opening it, she realized that nothing could be further from the truth.

  The letter was written by a woman named Charlize, who claimed to be Brielle’s biological, full-blood sister. After two sentences of friendly platitudes, Charlize had gotten right to the point. Her son was very sick, and needed a kidney transplant. While Charlize and her husband had insurance to cover the operation, what they did not have was a kidney. Apparently, her son had a rare blood type, and neither Charlize nor the husband was a match. After testing all of their respective siblings, they had found no suitable donors. Then there was only one sibling left to test: Nicole Brielle Matthew, the sister who had been adopted at birth.

  Brielle.

  The letter from Charlize asked whether Brielle would be willing to get tested to see if she was a match, and if so, donate her kidney. It was a lot to ask of a stranger, she knew, but she wouldn’t have asked if she wasn’t desperate, her letter stated.

  Without the transplant, her son Jalen would die.

  It had been a lot for Brielle to take in.

  The weird thing was that clearly her ‘sister’ had known of Brielle’s existence all along, yet she had never reached out once, even though she had to have known of Brielle’s well-to-do lifestyle. Because it wasn’t like as if Brielle didn’t move around, she did. It was obvious that her sister had kept up with her moves from city to city, but had remained silent in the shadows.

  Until now. Until the life of a child was at stake.

  Her nephew.

  She was an aunt. Brielle marveled at this. Family relationships were not things that she was well-versed in. Having been the adopted only child of two celebrities, Brielle’s life had been one of status, yes, but also emotional isolation.

  Keeping her name trending in the media was enough to take up most of her time, and usually that was all she thought about. But even so, for most of her privileged childhood, she had wished to have a younger sibling, or even just someone truly related to her.

  Now she did.

  ….or so she was being told, according to the letter that had been sent to her from her ‘biological sister’.

  ‘It’s true,’ she told herself. That’s the result that she had paid thousands of dollars to the detective to verify, wasn’t it? Whether Charlize with her sob story was fake or not….

  According to the worn P.I. with 30 years’ experience, Brielle had a sibling and was an aunt.

  Lucky for her, the restroom was deserted when she got there. Careful not to lean against the lavatory counter which was wet in some spots, Brielle stared into the mirror at herself. But something over her shoulder caught her eye. In the reflection, the wall across the room began to shimmer with a faint light.

  Turning, Brielle stared at it, puzzled.

  It hadn’t been a trick of the light seen only in the mirror; the tiled wall actually seemed to have a glowing window of light, which was steadily growing larger by the second, until it was door-sized. The brightness of it pained Brielle’s eyes, and she squinted, shielding her eyes from the sudden intensity worthy of a solar flare. Perhaps it was a portal, because suddenly, a woman’s figure came into view, materializing through the large window of light.

  As the woman came fully into focus, she glanced around the room hastily. Brielle froze in place, mind blown, only blinking once as she realized that a person had just appeared out of thin air. Literally. Because the light flare or portal or whatever the hell it had been, was closing down, growing smaller, leaving only a woman about Brielle’s own age behind.

  From the way she was breathing hard, she was clearly panicked.

  Aside from the fact that the woman had just come out of nowhere, she seemed to be perfectly normal. She was on the small side, perhaps a few inches over five feet, and fairly petite. Gentle brown skin covered a cute, heart-shaped face, and over-sized bangs completed a shiny, shoulder-length bob. And that was where the cuteness ended, as Brielle wondered whether the startling bone-white hair was natural or bleached. But as odd as the cap of white hair was, the woman’s eyelashes and brows were even more so, the same tint of bone-white laying heavy contrast against the brown skin.

  Brielle’s mind struggled to get back on course. ‘She-….seems harmless,’ she told herself. But a fresh sheen of perspiration dotted the woman’s face, and Brielle took a step back, apprehensive. Her visitor hadn’t just come for a simple restroom visit, clearly. Regardless of how harmless the woman seemed, Brielle sensed something sinister. ‘And we all know that looks will be deceiving.’

  In the woman’s arms, was a book; not the typical paperback or even a hard-cover text. Instead, the book looked like an old-fashioned journal, albeit one that was about 6 inches thick and tall enough to cover the woman’s chest. Its cover was unusual, a mottled mix of reddish-brown and grunge green, with battered and worn edges. In it, there had to be close to a thousand pages, all yellowed with age.

  More sharp gasps of breath erupted from the woman’s lips as she crossed the room toward Brielle, obviously out of breath. Left to right, her eyes darted back and forth as if in search of something. A concerned look crossed her face, signaling that she wasn’t finding what she wanted.

  An enormous set of wings erupted at her sides, in a way that could only be called glorious, filling most of the room. They were beautiful, with sparkles of light reflecting off the edges, even in spite of the low lighting in the room.

  ‘An Angel,’ Brielle’s mind supplied, despite all other appearances.

  But Brielle could sense the darkness surrounding the other woman, if she could be called that. An unsettled feeling roiled in Brielle’s gut, as her instincts began to scream that something was not right.

  For the first time, the Angel drew to a stop and seemed to look right at Brielle, but still not seeing her. That was when Brielle saw that the other woman’s irises were red, eyes the shade of bright blood. And something else shone in that gaze.

  Terror was apparent in the Angel’s eyes. Immediately, Brielle understood that she was on the run and afraid for her life. Understandably, as blood had begun spreading quickly across the Angel’s midsection, most likely from the gaping wound that Brielle now noticed was there. She was hurt really badly.

  It was why, at last, Brielle couldn’t help the gasp that slipped her lips.

  The Angel froze in place.

  “You can see me?” she asked softly, halfway in amazement but also something else darker: despair, it seemed.

  It wasn’t rudeness why Brielle didn’t respond, simply fear.

  The soft puff of air that left the Angel’s lips contained one word. “Shit.”

  Eyes suddenly narrowed on Brielle, the Angel seized her forearm tightly. Brielle struggled but could not break the death grip. Suddenly the old book that the Angel carried began to peel away, stripping itself into a long winding strand. It glowed faintly, pulsing with a life that wasn’t possible. Little at a time, that strip made its way up Brielle’s arm, coiling firmly around her skin. The sensation of it moving over across her wrist, up her forearm, over her elbow, was unpleasant, creepy even.

  The shriek came but stayed clamped behind her teeth, as the Angel locked eyes with her, hypnotizing her in place.

  “Find the fores,” was all she said.

  The book was gone, all of it now wrapped in the strip covering the length of Brielle’s arm. It felt odd and alien, and alive somehow. Almost like a layer of warm skin making a cast around hers.

  But what was different now….was everything else.

  Before, the bathroom had been typical for a worn-out diner on the poorer side of town. Now, it was something straight of a horr
or movie. As Brielle looked around at things that just hadn’t been there a few seconds before, she wondered if she might be having a nervous breakdown.

  Tiles in the room had previously been the grungy off-white of public restrooms, and they still were, but now they held the faint vestiges of violence past. Traces of blood splashed its way across the floor and walls, but oddly enough, just the outline of it.

  It was like Brielle could see that there had once been blood there, but at the same time, she could tell what she saw was no longer there. It had been long cleaned up. So why was she seeing it?

  Along the ceiling, too, clung shadowy patches which she was sure had not been there before; now, they hung there ominously, creepy warnings that all was not as it seemed.

  Everything she saw seemed to be slightly different, as if the world itself was now slightly different, now darker and a bit more dangerous.