Second Chances

Second Chances

A book in the Hidden World Series

Griffen

Published by Vivian Griffen at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 by V. Griffen

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Other books by V. Griffen.

Stories of the Dísir Saga

Curse of Memories

Call of Memories

Taken For Memories

Individual Novels of the Hidden World

Blue Fusion

Second Chances

Author's Note

This is a book of fiction by V. Griffen. Names, characters, places , and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental. The use of historical events and documents depicted in this book are purely the product of the author’s imagination and are not based on historical scholarship.

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Chapter 1

‘I miss my car,’ I thought as I hunched against the chill wind. Despite the fact that my little apartment was only a couple of blocks down, I had to stop at the corner to rub my numb fingers, as much to work some feeling back from the cold as to give me a brief respite from the shopping bags handles digging into my fingers.

I sighed. The car in question was, yet again, in the garage, this time for the alternator to be replaced. And it was probably a good deal warmer than I was right now. ‘How important is an alternator, anyway? I don’t even know what it does; can it really be worth a couple of weeks pay?’ And how sad is it that my salary was so pitiful that I was reduced to mac n’ cheese for those two weeks just to pay for it?

As a practiced city-dweller, I surveyed the area as I worked at my hands. I lived in the ‘rough’ area of town. Which is to say, not very. But, I was born in a truly rough area of New York. To me, this was just a challenging place to live. At least it wasn’t Cabrini Green.

I had no trouble with anyone in the area, as long as I took care to be uninteresting. And there is nothing more uninteresting than a single middle-aged woman that has long given up on any prospects in life, love or fortune.

I looked at my hands. Age spots were starting to appear on my skin. I was grateful it had taken longer than with most other women. Still, the skin was worn with heavy calluses from years of heavy work. The knuckles were larger, the skin around them sloughing away, looser than the last time I looked. I noted the myriad of tiny scars, like dings in a car except that they couldn’t be worked out with a little work and a coat of primer and paint.

Dark windows from the upper apartments stared disinterestedly down at the street. It was late enough that most of the ground street level shops were closed. Everyone else had either gone home long ago or was out enjoying the beginning of the weekend. Which is where I’d like to be right now.

But work ran late, as usual. And, being a Friday night, all the other employees, especially the younger ones had something going on. If I’d had a life, I’d be busy too. But, again as usual, I’d offered to stay and close everything up. After closing up, my body had petitioned vehemently for dinner. With the imminent threat of an internal strike, off to the store I went. Thus were my exciting plans, dictated by a salary that didn’t even qualify for the label, ‘Living Wage.’ It was more like an Existing Wage. Maybe Sub-subsistence Living Wage.

I indulged in a wishful thought about retiring. Not that that was going to be a reality. Especially with the economy the way it was. Maybe in a few years. I snorted at myself, Yeah, right.

I glanced up at the few stars bright enough to peek through the ambient light. A few times in my life, I’d gone outside the city and seen the stars in all their glory. I'd never had such a profound experience and I’d never forgotten. I'd spent every single night in a battered canoe, gazing. Simply gazing. And if I had a single clue about how to live in the country, I’ve have packed up years ago and gotten out.

And that was my problem. Easily bored, skilled in much, an expert in nothing, I’d drifted from job to job my entire life, like a nomad. And, now I was getting on in years. It was enough to wish I had the foresight to have settled down somewhere. I would have too, but it was so…boring. It was almost amusing that the boredom I abhored was something I would like right about now.

My hands were marginally warmer now. I glanced down at them, wondering when I’d had gotten old. It still caught me by surprise, now and then. Inside, I still felt half my age. Even last week, when the kids were playing dodge ball, I’d taken almost half of them out of the game on my own.

I had to smile at that. They’d been so surprised, which in itself was no surprise given my gray hairs. I’m tall, but could stand to lose a few pounds. Okay, a few dozen pounds. But the remnants of an active life were still with me, even if they were hidden.

I heard a rhythmic pounding of running feet echoing off the buildings. In counterpoint, there was a light tapping that was just a beat ahead. It broke my self-pitying reverie. Instinct drove me to the side of the building, easing into the shadows. I glanced around uneasily, frowning when I didn’t see anyone.

‘Damn my hearing.’ It had been bad all my life and only got worse as the years went on. Between that and the echoes off the building it was impossible to gauge where the sounds were coming from. The winter cold just made it all sound clearer, letting the sounds bounce all the hell around me.

I hoped they were farther away than I thought. I had no hope that I could outrun anyone, even unencumbered by my grocery bags. It might be foolish to worry about the food, but they were all that I had to eat for the next two weeks. Over the years, I’d gotten silly about the notion of eating. I liked having a regular meal, even if it still included mac-and-cheese and hot dogs.

My brief wish was dashed when a woman ran out from an alleyway across the street, into the streetlights lining the narrow avenue. The woman never paused. She kept running across the street, to the alley mouth that waited there.

‘Drugs,’ I thought. How else could anyone explain a woman running through the Chicago streets at night, without even a coat in the November winds? She cut a riveting picture. Her black hair streamed behind her and I caught the gleam of the pale skin of her legs and arms under the black cocktail dress. Gods, the woman was wearing heels. A damsel in distress, ready to trip and fall. But there would be no knight in shining armor tonight. There was no knight to be found in these garbage-strewn alleys.

A few seconds after the woman disappeared back into the dark recess of the alley, four men emerged from the opposite way, clearly in pursuit. My heart fell. The woman hadn’t a chance.

The men were tall and fit, though they didn’t fit the usual image of street thugs. Sure, some were wearing jeans, and two had leather jackets. But they looked tidy and clean. No street signs, no tats, no identifiers of any kind. More like college varsity players. Maybe one of the university’s sports teams? And, I swear one was wearing dress shoes, and another had a sports jacket on. Not the typical mugger then, either. But their faces had violence in them. They meant more than a simple warning or scare.

Alarmed, I sank further into the shadows. I looked around, noting the area. No one else was in sight. Or else the transients were smarter than I was and had high-tailed it out of there. Spend enough time around here and you knew when to be scarce. Which is what I should be doing.

Like the woman, the men passed through the light and disappeared into the alley. For an instant, one raised a pipe and brandished it, spurring the others on. I could have sworn a line of light gleamed off an edge, almost like one of the man was wielding a sword.

I instinctively ducked into a crouch, to remain hidden. ‘Idiot,’ I chided herself. I had to get home before they saw me. I might not take the place of that pretty young thing, but I didn’t want them to get any notions in their heads. Like making sure there were no witnesses. And, for some, even an old woman was sport.

Scrambling over to my bags, I grasped the handles and hefting them up. It was time to prove I’m not as out of shape as I think. Or, at least to fake it well enough to get home.

At the mouth of the alley, I peered around the corner. There was enough light to see through to the other end. No one was in sight. Even with the dumpsters, there weren’t enough debris to hide all of them.

I crossed the narrow opening and made it to the next alley. Only two more blocks to go. I swear, the next time I have to go out after dark, I’m calling a cab. For the millionth time, I wished I had my car.

Even on high alert, I jerked back with an involuntary cry as a figure emerged from the alley. Heart pounding, it took a second to realize it was the woman. I smiled in approval. She had doubled back and taken off the heels. She had to have moved fast to do that. Faster than any person I had ever seen. By being clever, she had managed to lose her stalkers. But for how long?

Her long black hair was in disarray about her shoulders. Long bangs framed beautiful deep blue eyes. The flush of her exertions only enhanced her perfect skin with a rosy blush across her cheeks. Her black cocktail dress was partly fabric, partly lace roses that hinted at the skin underneath. Mesh came down from her shoulders to encircle slender arms and wrists. The dress had one small tear at the right shoulder, so maybe she’d only gotten a bit roughed up. It was a small price to pay, considering the alternative. She had her shoes tucked under one arm. I grimaced, looking at the ally and what she just ran through. I hoped she was up on her shots.

The woman slowed and stopped, glancing over her shoulder.

Don’t stop! I hissed. They’ll figure it out soon enough. You better kept moving.

The woman stepped closer and further into the shadows next to the building, regarding me. I sighed. Obviously the woman was so stupid she didn’t know good advice when she heard it.

Like a damn fool, I hovered. The sensible thing to do would be to turn and keep going. This was no concern of mine. The woman, after all, had a decent head start. She should be able to get away. But, half of me argued against my hardheartedness. I’d never in my life left someone behind that I could help. Sometimes I got bit in the ass for it, but most times I did it because I knew it was the right thing to do.

C’mon, girl. I’m Grace. My place is close. You can hide out there, or call some friends to come get you.

Teeth flashed as the woman gave me a sharp smile. It made me quite uneasy about the situation. My instincts with people were never what anyone would consider good. Actually, I was a damn fool when it came to figuring people out. But, I was rarely wrong about situations. And this just wasn’t…right. Even if she was on drugs, she should be a little panicked. Or out of breath.

Hearing no answer, I turned to go. The woman stepped forward, blocking my way.

I moved to shoulder past her. Hey! I offered to help. You don’t trust me? Fine. But I’m going home.

The woman stepped closer and I stepped back, re-establishing my personal space. I-I don’t have any money. Not on me. I’m not stupid.

I didn’t think you were.

The woman’s voice was a perfect alto. Husky, hinting at, well, certain things I hadn’t considered in a long time. Certain things that didn’t involve a woman of my age. I could imagine every man with the requisite XY gene falling into her sway.

The woman took another step forward. Her vivid blue eyes glowed from under those long black bangs. The streetlights played over high cheekbones that were perfectly chiselled. The woman could have modelled anywhere with that bone structure, I noted enviously. Mine were doughy and round. In my youth, I’d have killed for a face like that.

She moved closer, peering intently at me. Her gaze swept over me and, defensively, I raised the bags to cover me. At one time I had an ‘interesting’ face. Some would even have said ‘lively.’ But never pretty. I think I could have approached ‘cute’ but that was years ago.

I couldn’t help but compared the two of us. Youth and age. Designer clothing against my no-name second-hand trousers and shirt under the threadbare, inadequate coat. Model-perfect face and body against mine thickened with age, the product of being forced to eat inexpensive food.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away even when the woman stepped so close I could feel the warmth of the woman’s breath on my cheek as she spoke. ‘You’re not my usual choice, but I never turn down an opportunity.’

I wanted to turn away, wondering what the woman was talking about. But I was feeling light-headed and the woman’s eyes seemed to just grow larger, darker until the whole universe seems to consist of those two orbs. Fascinated into immobility, I stared at her, like a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake. I swear I could see a soft green glow in the pupils, growing, spinning, and filling my sight.

Pain seared through me. Little bits of electricity arced right up each vertebra, stopping to toy a bit with the nerve endings before continuing on. I gasped, arching my back. My hands spasmed before going limp, letting my bags fall. The pain coiled around my temples, sending white streams of pain to the back of my eyes.

I clutched my head, trying to keep my brain from splitting open. My hands shook and my legs were buckling. I had the sensation of falling from a great height. It was how I imagined it would feel if I jumped from one of the skyscrapers downtown.

For a brief, insane moment, I thought I saw several people behind the strange woman, all looking at me, pleading, or maybe screaming. Their hands were out, reaching as their mouths contorted with anguish. I reached out and grasped her arms, trying to keep my balance.

Nausea twisted my stomach. I felt…pulled. It was as if a hand was clutching me through my skin and was drawing out my heart. The red, searing pain left me gasping, fighting for a single breath. If I could manage that, I was certain I’d get through this. I hung on to the woman tightly, gritting my teeth, the pain intensifying beyond anything I had felt before. And, in my long life, I had felt plenty.

The world began to spin. I threw my hands out again, grasping at the phantoms in front of me. I wheezed as my hands went through them, smearing them as if they were wet paint.

Black dots obscured my vision as I fought to hold any thought as they scattered around me like leaves in a blustery wind. Through the pain, I knew if the darkness took over, I was done for. How did I know? That was a good question. I’d be sure to reflect on this when I next sat down for coffee. Hell, make that a whiskey.

Despite my best effort, the world faded away and then, in an instant, it went black before there came a blinding flash of light, not at all how I envisioned the light at the tunnel signalling my ascent to the afterlife. And, while I wasn’t a saint, I didn’t recon I’d done enough to rate the descent to the alternative. I fell against the building, sprawling in an undignified heap on the sidewalk.

Rolling my head to the side, I stopped moving as nausea surged through me again. I didn’t move until it had passed a bit, breathing shallowly through my mouth. I pried open one eye, snapping the other open at the sight in front of me.

I saw myself lying there, a bloody wound in my chest and my head at an unnatural angle. My greying hair had come loose from the winter cap and fluttered in the wind My eyes were staring, already beginning to film over.

‘Ah, crap. I’m dead.’

Chapter 2

We all have notions about what it would be like to be dead. The general consensus is that it shouldn’t hurt. At least, not after the deed was done. Unless you were a very bad person, of course.

But I didn’t really think I’d led such a bad life. Okay, I am short-tempered and tend to snap at people when stressed. And I am stubborn and foolish and all manner of stupid sometimes.

And who would have thought that I’d still feel the cold wind, or the concrete under my hands and cheek. In fact, being dead was looking a lot like being alive, which really sucked.

Gingerly, I rolled over onto my side, lifting my head. Model Girl was long gone and I had to wonder how long I had been lying there. At least there were no witnesses to tell anyone what happened. Hey, I had my pride. Having people think I died from a mugging was, from any city dweller’s perspective, a really stupid way to go. Craning my head around, I stopped, shocked again.

A finger’s width away was a sword. A real, honest-to-God, gleaming, wickedly sharp-looking sword was pointing directly at my nose. My eyes travelled up the long, long shining length to see a hand, then an arm, and finally a man, standing there.

Somehow, the sword didn’t really clash, no pun intended, with the leather jacket, red-and-white t-shirt, and jeans. I suspected it was the man wielding it that made it work.

He was tall, probably a few inches taller than I am, without heels. And I’m