Trial by Heart (Trial Series Book 4)

Trial by Heart

T
RIAL
S
ERIES,
E
PISODE
F
OUR

*

By Lizzy Ford

www.LizzyFord.com

*

Cover design by Lizzy Ford

*

KINDLE EDITION

Published by Kettlecorn Press

*

Trial by Heart
copyright ©2015 by Lizzy Ford

www.LizzyFord.com

*

 Cover design copyright © 2015 by Lizzy Ford

All rights reserved.

*

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

*

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

I can’t stop thinking about my mother and whether or not I’m living up to the memory Myca showed me where she told my bitchy grandmother I was meant for something great. Her faith in me is no less baffling than that of the three candidates and my father. I want to believe I can become the person they need me to be.

But … how?

Unable to sleep last night, after Tristan’s departure, I’ve been completely alone with this frustrating mystery and
it,
the shadow figure stalking me in my own home. We’ve been staring at one another for hours, through two pots of coffee and the profound fear blazing inside me that makes me think I’ll never feel safe enough to sleep again. 

As dawn slips through the blinds into the house, I can’t help wishing the shadow would … Just. Do. Something. There’s nothing creepier than the uncertainty of what happens next. What’s it waiting for? Me to doze off so it can eat me? Kill me, like it did Jenny?

Even as the thoughts race across my mind, I know they aren’t right. If the shadow thing wanted me dead, it’s had more than one chance to kill me. When I was buried alive, it actually spoke to me to help calm me down.

It doesn’t want me dead. Understanding this doesn’t bring me the relief it should and it doesn’t explain what the hell this thing is.

My phone vibrates, and I almost jump out of my skin from sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused paranoia. Myca has texted.

You need to see Ben first this week.

My mind is so far from what Tristan told me, it takes me a minute to remember what Myca’s talking about.

Ah. I’m allowed to see each of the candidates once during my final week of trials, although I can text or talk to them as much as I want.

I start to type a response with quivering fingers, about to tell him I’m not going anywhere near them until I understand if the shadow poses a danger. However, Myca’s next text cuts mine short.

Ask him why he killed your great-great grandfather. He’ll tell you the truth this time. Oh – carpet cleaners will be there in two hours.

I blink and reread the message, not trusting my brain at the moment.

“Don’t ask him.”

Did the fucking shadow just speak?

I look up and yelp. It’s standing before me and reaches for me. I leap away, and the phone clatters to the wooden flooring. The shadow swipes at my cell once, twice, three times without being able to grab it before releasing a near feral cry of frustration and stalking away.

I sink down against the counter in the kitchen, unconcerned with the dried blood beneath my feet.

“I can’t take it anymore. This can’t be happening,” I repeat the mantra that’s become my personal motto the past few weeks. I squeeze my eyes closed and grip my head. I’m unsuccessfully trying to pinpoint the moment during the trials where I slid into a psychotic break, when my phone vibrates again.

I open one eye then the other.

The shadow’s gone.

Releasing a breath, I shuffle to the phone and snatch it up.

Are you okay?
Tristan has asked.

“No, Tristan, I’m not. But I think you all know that,” I snap.

I wait a moment then climb to my feet and listen. As if I can hear a
shadow.
Is it gone? Does morning drive it into hiding? If so, is there a chance for me to take a nap during daylight?

“Where are you?” I call and then hold my breath.

“Study.”

One word, and I’m thrown into an anxiety attack that makes my night of meltdowns look tame. I stagger to the couch and collapse onto it, hyperventilating, struggling to breathe, crying …

“You’re doing it again.” Its … his? … voice is closer.

Oh, god. I’m not going to survive this without going insane. Even now, my mind feels fragile. It’s going to shatter, and I’m never going to leave this nightmare.

The shadow says something else, but it’s swallowed by my raging thoughts and the panic attack that has me in its clutches. This is worse than turning into a werewolf or lusting after Myca the first night as a vampire. I don’t think this level of agony will ever release me. I’m fighting myself, the darkness and awareness that have been growing throughout the trials, and the terror of discovering what I am and how many have died at the hands of my family.

This isn’t me. I don’t freak out this badly. Is it magic? The final trial?

I surrender to whatever it is trying to overtake my mind and tumble into the deep end I’ve been resisting. At least, until I recall that being a torn up dumpster fire is not what I need, if I’m going to become the Kingmaker who breaks the curse and make my mother and father proud of me. This thought, above everything else, is what motivates me not to be the person I was when I started this mess, the woman with a brittle temper and lack of conviction in any area of her life.

I’m better than that.

Well … I might not be, but I
want
to be. I want to stop the deaths and suffering of the Community. I’m the only one who can, but not if I can’t get my fucking head straight.

I’m able to pull myself out of the black pit with effort. The tight muscles of my chest gradually relax, and I can breathe again. It takes longer for the dark edge of my thoughts to settle and the panic to release me, and I lie still, waiting.

Opening my eyes turns out to be a mistake.

The shadow is seated on the coffee table, inches from me, staring with its empty eyes.

My heart stops for a split second. “God … damn it!” I twist my head away and bury my face into a pillow.

I’m not going to dive into the deep end … not going to let the panic take me … not going to fail everyone I care about because I can’t control my own mind …

“Maybe we should clear up a few things,” the shadow offers.

“Don’t talk!” I bark. I close my eyes and focus on settling my freaking out mind and body once more. Several deep breaths later, I still don’t feel ready, but I open my eyes once more.

I can do this. I can talk to a shadow creature that doesn’t really exist.

It’s pacing back and forth across the living room.

I push myself up, exhausted by the panic attack and the long night without sleep. I open my mouth to speak to it then stop.

Am I crazy? Legitimately psychotic? The sense I experienced with Myca, that I’ve reached my breaking point, crackles within me as if I stuck my fingers in a light socket. Soon, I’ll fracture into so many pieces, no one – not even the candidates – will be able to put me back together.

“Are you real?” I whisper.

“If I weren’t, do you think I’d tell you the truth about my existence?”

I don’t need a shadow creature in my life, and I definitely don’t need one with an attitude.

Muttering curses, I cross to the kitchen and make more coffee. My only food is the ice cream I bought my first day as a vampire and couldn’t keep down. I spoon half a gallon into a bowl and start eating. At this point, I don’t care if I can fit in my jeans by the end of this. I’ll be lucky to be alive, let alone sane or concerned about my weight.

The thing follows me and stands across the kitchen from me, staring.

What does one ask a shadow creature?

“Do you have a name?” I ask finally.

“I do,” it replies in the same haughty tone. “Erish Girin.”

Recognizing his name, I lower the bowl and swallow hard. “
Erish Girin, death by vampire
,” I repeat some of the first words I ever read in the Book of Secrets. His name and manner of death, along with those of every Kingmaker who came before me, are scrawled inside the front cover.

“Yes.”

“But you’re not dead.”

“Physically dead.”

“Physically dead, accidental murderer. You’re a real piece of work!” I snarl. “How can you be dead but not dead?”

“It’s my penance for bringing the curse upon my bloodline. Every generation, I relive what I did and inflict it upon a new generation of Kingmaker and Community.”

Startled by its honesty, I miss my opportunity to ask about the curse.

“Myca’s mother killed me,” he continues. “I took the bitch down with me, but … I guess no one really won that round.”

“You’re the first demon, the asshole who cursed our family!”

“Angel with clipped wings,” he corrects me. “A demon is the supernatural I made a deal with. Our clans merged after that. I’m not sure what we are now.”

I cross my arms. “You dragged our family into a living hell and slaughtered hundreds of thousands of Community members. Was it worth it?”

“Yes, you fool,” the spirit of Erish Girin, my ancestor, retorts arrogantly. “It was worth it!”

“How can you say that?”

“You have no idea what happened.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I cannot. It’s forbidden, one of the rules I have followed for twenty generations.”

All the answers are in front of me, and the one I need most, I’ll never, ever get. My mind is back on board with my goal of making it through this without killing anyone else and racing furiously. “I don’t understand. What’re you doing here? Aside from afflicting every Kingmaker with misery.”

“It is my sole duty to enforce the curse I brought upon my family.”

“Why would you do such a horrible thing?” I demand.

“Your father never did listen to me. I told him he needed to tell you some of this long ago,” Erish replies moodily. “I
am
the curse, Leslie. I became it when I lost my physical form. I am attached to the soul of every Kingmaker born, hence your double shadow. My wings are visible to the Community as a sign of warning.”

I look down instinctively. I don’t have a double shadow now, because he’s standing a few feet away. “The vampires thought they were my wings.”

“Nope. They’re mine. I’m with you from birth, but my consciousness remains with the elder Kingmaker. When the elder Kingmaker dies, I transition fully to the younger during the course of the trials, overtake your mind and feed off your energy until it’s time to transition to the next generation. It’s how I continue to exist.”

“Overtake my mind?” I repeat in disbelief. “You’re going to possess me?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And you do this to every Kingmaker?”

“Yes.”

“So you were in charge of my father’s mind?”

“Yes. Mostly. There’s somewhat of a shared existence at times. The transition period starts when you come of age, around twenty one. At that point, I’m basically split between the two of you. It’s how he was able to do some things I didn’t approve of.”

When I learned the truth about my family’s past from the vampire council, I recall wishing I’d never asked. The sense has returned, of wanting to hit rewind on my life and not learning this much about the dark legacy each generation of Kingmaker has left behind. “And now you’re climbing into my head.”

“Trying.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I see what you see, know what you know, feel what you feel. But there’s only room for one of us to be in charge of your mind. Right now, that’s you.” Erish reaches for a plastic cup on the counter. It goes through his hand, and he mumbles unhappily. “That damn vampire amulet won’t let me in.”

My brow furrows, and I touch the amulet Myca gave me. It’s warm, the way it is when it’s near the curse charms.

Erish won’t give up on the cup and continues trying to grab or move it without success. He seemed to think he could grab my phone and wasn’t able to. Finally, he curses and walks to the doorway. I don’t know what he’d be upset about, unless …

“When we were underground, you said you were weak,” I say slowly. “You weren’t talking about suffocating. You meant you … the curse … whatever … is weak.”