Read Online Created Darkly by Gena D. Lutz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gena D. Lutz
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took me by surprise. A knife? I measured the weight of the silver blade, holding it up so Rush and Jude could see it.
“There’s nothing in here to explain why I need this.” Frustrated, I turned the sack inside out, but it was empty. Rush snatched the knife from my hand and looked it over.
“This is impossible. There’s no way,” he mumbled.
“What’s impossible, GQ? Spill it,” Jude said. He reached over and snatched the dagger out of Rush’s hands. Immediately, Rush snagged it back.
“This is an ancestral dagger,” he said, his voice lowering a few decibels. It was like he was nervous that he would call attention to the blade, or to us. Whatever the reason he was acting so secretively, he certainly had my attention.
“Why would the kidnapper leave me one of those?”
Rubbing his chin, Rush was lost for a moment in his thoughts. He continued to inspect the blade. He flipped it over and slid a finger across the hilt and the blunt end of it. “This is a very old piece, maybe even fashioned by the first of our kind. See, take a look. You can tell by the crude markings along the side and bottom of the hilt.” Rush held the knife out, so I could look at it. Sure enough, there were swirled markings imbedded deep into the base of the dagger.
“The fact that I am holding this priceless artifact in my hands is beyond crazy. But what is even crazier is this,” Rush said, pointing to the swirls located at the side of the hilt. The marking seemed to almost move, come alive, against the dark stone it was carved into. I had to blink a couple times to focus on the double figure eight design he pointed to. “That’s the sign of eternity; it belongs to your family line, Kris. This is one of your family’s sacred daggers.”
“There’s more than one?” That was all I could think to say.
“Every practicing Creator has one of his or her own. It’s used in a blood ritual for the corpses that are harder to awaken.”
“I don’t have one,” I stated matter-of-factly. “And if you use them to raise the dead, then I’m not interested in ever having one.”
“It looks like it’s yours, whether you want it or not. What you do with it is your business,” Rush said.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips. If I hadn’t been sure before, I was positive then. The kidnapping had been meticulously planned. Someone needed or wanted something from me very badly—maybe for me to use that dagger. It all reeked of desperation, and from the lengths the person was willing to go to, it looked as if we were playing the game for keeps.
I wrapped the dagger in the sack and tucked it next to the gun at my lower back. Before anyone could speak another word, I approached the door. It appeared to have been unused for years, covered by a thick coat of dirt and moss. With a sleeved forearm, I leaned forward and swiped part of the grime away from the area where the handle should have been located.
“There’s no knob. How do you open the thing?” I asked.
Jude shrugged.
I looked over at Rush. “Any suggestions? This is your building; you must have some idea on how to get into it.”
“Fuck,” he blurted.
“What?” I asked, looking around, frantic. Had we been caught?
“I mean, yes, I know how to open the door. But ‘fuck,’ because if I do open it, that’s it for me.” Rush leaned down and steadied himself on his knees. He reached over and pushed the side of the wall; the surface caved in against the pressure. For about three seconds, a blinding light surrounded his hand. After it faded away, the door opened. “The system keeps track of which hand print opens the door, so anyone that checks will know who authorized it.”
A part of me hated the fact that I was putting Rush in that kind of screwed-up position. I was being selfish and single minded. I knew that. But there was an even bigger part of me that only cared about finding my sister, so any attack of conscience or regrets were short lived, overshadowed by
“There’s nothing in here to explain why I need this.” Frustrated, I turned the sack inside out, but it was empty. Rush snatched the knife from my hand and looked it over.
“This is impossible. There’s no way,” he mumbled.
“What’s impossible, GQ? Spill it,” Jude said. He reached over and snatched the dagger out of Rush’s hands. Immediately, Rush snagged it back.
“This is an ancestral dagger,” he said, his voice lowering a few decibels. It was like he was nervous that he would call attention to the blade, or to us. Whatever the reason he was acting so secretively, he certainly had my attention.
“Why would the kidnapper leave me one of those?”
Rubbing his chin, Rush was lost for a moment in his thoughts. He continued to inspect the blade. He flipped it over and slid a finger across the hilt and the blunt end of it. “This is a very old piece, maybe even fashioned by the first of our kind. See, take a look. You can tell by the crude markings along the side and bottom of the hilt.” Rush held the knife out, so I could look at it. Sure enough, there were swirled markings imbedded deep into the base of the dagger.
“The fact that I am holding this priceless artifact in my hands is beyond crazy. But what is even crazier is this,” Rush said, pointing to the swirls located at the side of the hilt. The marking seemed to almost move, come alive, against the dark stone it was carved into. I had to blink a couple times to focus on the double figure eight design he pointed to. “That’s the sign of eternity; it belongs to your family line, Kris. This is one of your family’s sacred daggers.”
“There’s more than one?” That was all I could think to say.
“Every practicing Creator has one of his or her own. It’s used in a blood ritual for the corpses that are harder to awaken.”
“I don’t have one,” I stated matter-of-factly. “And if you use them to raise the dead, then I’m not interested in ever having one.”
“It looks like it’s yours, whether you want it or not. What you do with it is your business,” Rush said.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips. If I hadn’t been sure before, I was positive then. The kidnapping had been meticulously planned. Someone needed or wanted something from me very badly—maybe for me to use that dagger. It all reeked of desperation, and from the lengths the person was willing to go to, it looked as if we were playing the game for keeps.
I wrapped the dagger in the sack and tucked it next to the gun at my lower back. Before anyone could speak another word, I approached the door. It appeared to have been unused for years, covered by a thick coat of dirt and moss. With a sleeved forearm, I leaned forward and swiped part of the grime away from the area where the handle should have been located.
“There’s no knob. How do you open the thing?” I asked.
Jude shrugged.
I looked over at Rush. “Any suggestions? This is your building; you must have some idea on how to get into it.”
“Fuck,” he blurted.
“What?” I asked, looking around, frantic. Had we been caught?
“I mean, yes, I know how to open the door. But ‘fuck,’ because if I do open it, that’s it for me.” Rush leaned down and steadied himself on his knees. He reached over and pushed the side of the wall; the surface caved in against the pressure. For about three seconds, a blinding light surrounded his hand. After it faded away, the door opened. “The system keeps track of which hand print opens the door, so anyone that checks will know who authorized it.”
A part of me hated the fact that I was putting Rush in that kind of screwed-up position. I was being selfish and single minded. I knew that. But there was an even bigger part of me that only cared about finding my sister, so any attack of conscience or regrets were short lived, overshadowed by
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