Afterlife Page 19

  My unique connection to the universe didn’t feel like a burden anymore. I’d shed my why-me skin, and I was done with whining and feeling sorry for myself.

  Just as the Death card had predicted, I’d transformed.

  38

  “I think we’re ready,” I said, hanging the broom I’d been using to give the shop floor one final sweep on its hook in the supply closet. I shut the door, placed my hands on my hips, and scanned the tattoo studio. It didn’t look exactly the same as before—it looked better.

  The building had been almost completely destroyed by the Netjers’ sonic blast; Capitol Hill had been leveled, for the most part, just a skeleton—a mere footprint—of the once-thriving Seattle neighborhood remaining. The rest of the city was still mostly in ruin, but I figured we would take the rebuild-reclaim mission neighborhood by neighborhood, and of course I’d chosen to start at home.

  The shop now boasted At walls and At furnishings, like pretty much every other building and home in the area, including the brand-new Nejeret headquarters, built on the top of the hill where a hospital had been before. Heru was in charge there, of course, handling the Nejeret day-to-day affairs. He was the undisputed king now, and nobody seemed to mind one bit.

  People had slowly been trickling in as rumor of my return spread. I’d been ecstatic to see Kimi and her sister, Nina, as well as Alison, the teacher from Nina’s school, and her new beau, Joe. I so called that one. I was more than a little bummed that only one of the shop’s artists had survived the attack, but having Samuel back was a good start.

  It was the day of the Grand Opening—not only of the shop, but of the whole neighborhood. We were ready for people to move back in. For Capitol Hill to become a vibrant, bustling place once more.

  I couldn’t have been more excited, let alone prouder of all we had accomplished. We hadn’t just given Seattleites a portion of their city back—we’d given them hope, too. Hope that the world might not only recover from the Netjer attacks, it might thrive, becoming something far better than it had been before.

  And with Carson and his sycophants as well as the Senate and all of their followers left in energy form, no longer tied to the earthly plane and no longer fighting over control of our little blue planet, peace among my people seemed more achievable than ever before.

  As I surveyed the shop’s interior one last time, Kimi took up her usual position behind the reception counter, Samuel stood in the doorway of his studio, and Nina waited by the door, her hand on the lock and her eyes on me, awaiting the signal to open up shop.

  Nik approached me, taking up a stance behind me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He leaned down to kiss my temple. “You’re going to do great, Kitty Kat,” he whispered near my ear, straightening a moment later.

  He was now one of the shop’s resident artists too, though he wouldn’t be working here much for a while. Neither of us would be—we had far too much to do all around the world, repairing, restoring, and rebuilding alongside the surviving humans.

  I took a deep breath, then nodded to Nina.

  She grinned, bubbling over with excitement, and twisted the lock. As she pulled the door open, the bell overhead jingled, the familiar sound warming my heart. It was the original; I’d found the bell in the rubble, one of the few remnants of the old world, and its familiar jingle would never not make me think of my mom, of the days long ago when this shop had been hers.

  Out on the street, the noises of people chatting and laughing filtered in through the open doorway. A huge crowd milled on the street, waiting for me to emerge.

  Nik gave my shoulders one final squeeze, then released me.

  A bundle of nerves and butterflies, I took a step toward the doorway, then another and another. I’d been taking my new divinely appointed role as guardian of this world very seriously, but I hadn’t actually told humanity about it yet. I hadn’t told them anything about what happened, about why their world had been nearly destroyed.

  It was time to tell them now.

  Swallowing roughly, I stepped through the doorway and out onto the sidewalk. I created a small At platform in front of me as I walked and slowly ascended the three stairs.

  From my elevated position, I surveyed the crowd. It stretched out for blocks in either direction on Broadway. This was more people than I’d been expecting. If everyone who was here today settled in Capitol Hill, we might even have to expand to one of the neighboring areas of the city earlier than expected. The thought sent a thrill through me.

  I cleared my throat, then directed some of the power thrumming through my ba into my vocal chords to amplify my voice. I smiled broadly and stretched my arms out to either side of me like I was embracing every single person there, and when I spoke, my voice boomed out over the crowd. “Welcome home!”

  The cheer that rose on Broadway that day was as joyous and heartening as the Mother of All’s scream had been horrifying. Maybe her awful cry would remain with me for the rest of forever, but so would this hopeful roar.

  Grinning from ear to ear, I lowered my hands, and the cheering slowly died down. “I know you have questions,” I said, meeting the eyes of those nearest me. “I know you’re wondering why—why did all of this happen? Why did gods—monsters—attack us? Why did so many people have to die?” I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “The reason is long and complicated, but it’s my goal to make sure you leave today knowing everything. To make sure you understand that the danger has passed. That we won.”

  I licked my lips. This was it. The moment of truth.

  “Let me start at the beginning,” I said. “Before our universe existed—before any universe existed—there was a being, a god, and she was called the Mother of All . . .”

  The end

  ***

  Thanks for reading! You’ve reached the end of Afterlife (Kat Dubois Chronicles, #6). Thank you so much for joining Kat in her universe-saving adventures. I hope you enjoyed the ride!

  Kat also plays a big part in the Echo Trilogy, a completed series that’s available now! Read an excerpt from the first book, Echo in Time (Echo Trilogy, #1).

  Sign up for Lindsey Fairleigh’s Newsletter to stay apprised of new releases and receive previews and other book-related announcements in your inbox.

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  LOVE THE KAT DUBOIS CHRONICLES?

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  MORE BOOKS BY LINDSEY FAIRLEIGH

  ECHO TRILOGY

  1: Echo in Time

  1.5: Resonance

  2: Time Anomaly

  2.5: Dissonance

  3: Ricochet Through Time

  KAT DUBOIS CHRONICLES

  1: Ink Witch

  2: Outcast

  3: Underground

  4: Soul Eater

  5: Judgement

  6: Afterlife

  THE ENDING SERIES

  Prequel: The Ending Beginnings Omnibus Edition

  1: After The Ending

  2: Into The Fire

  3: Out Of The Ashes

  4: Before The Dawn

  World Before: A Collection of Stories

  FOR MORE INFORMATION ON LINDSEY FAIRLEIGH AND HER BOOKS:

  www.lindseyfairleigh.com

  EXCERPT FROM…

  ECHO IN TIME

  Echo Trilogy, book one

  A crystalline chiming punctuated my entrance into the cluttered shop. I’d been expecting a dark and mysterious space with shadowed nooks overflowing with eerie objects and ancient leather tomes . . . but I was surprised by its warm, welcoming atmosphere. Bookshelves lined t
he walls, many filled with shiny new paperbacks. A rainbow of crystals and tiny glass bottles decorated several bookcases from floor to ceiling, each item with its own sign proclaiming this or that mystical property. Tables were arranged close together throughout the shop, displaying spicy incense, aromatic candles, and a variety of odd items I would have been hard-pressed to identify. The cheerful atmosphere was somewhat of a letdown for my first venture into an occult shop. Is it too much to ask for a few shrunken heads and some eye of newt?

  “Can I help you, Miss?” a woman asked, her voice husky.

  I nearly dropped the statuette I’d picked up—a beautiful, carved representation of Thora’s namesake, the powerful Egyptian goddess, Hathor. “Um, yes,” I said, gently placing the pale, beautiful woman back on her pedestal.

  “Are you a practitioner?” the shopkeeper asked as I turned to face her. She fit the shop perfectly with her flowy, ankle-length skirt, layers of clattering gold bracelets, and wavy, black hair that nearly reached her waist. She wasn’t overtly attractive, but her curves in all the right places paired with her rich voice and graceful movements gave her an air of sensuality and mystery.

  Am I a practitioner? Of what? Witchcraft? “Not exactly. I’m here on research . . . for a graduate project. I’m a PhD student in the archaeology department over at the U.”

  She studied me with eyes so dark they were nearly black before saying, “Mostly true, but I don’t think you’re here for a project.”

  I frowned, wondering how she had guessed that.

  “Many people come here under the guise of some other purpose,” she said, seeming to answer my thoughts. “I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability if you tell me why you’re really in my shop.”

  I weighed my options and decided it wouldn’t hurt me to divulge my story. Or at least some of my story. After all, it was the reason I’d entered in the first place. With a heavy sigh, I nodded.

  “Alright,” she purred. “Follow me.”

  Swaying, she led me through a curtain of multi-hued glass beads and into a cramped back room that had clearly been decorated with fortune-telling in mind; there was a small, square table of polished oak, several dim antique lamps, and a short bookshelf filled with tarot cards, leather-bound books, and other tools of the trade. A teenage version of the shop owner was sitting at the table, rapt attention on her phone. She cocked her head inquisitively at our arrival but didn’t look up.

  “Kat, go watch the counter. I have some business with this customer.”

  The teenager—Kat—rolled her eyes before standing and exiting the room with a huff.

  “Your daughter?” I asked, amused.

  “Do you have children?”

  I shook my head, surprised by her question.

  “I’d advise that you spend some time remembering your teenage self before reproducing. If you can’t stand the idea of being around that version of yourself for more than a few hours, you’re not ready,” the shopkeeper replied.

  “I heard that, Mom!” Kat called from the front of the store.

  My hostess pointedly raised one artful eyebrow. “Please, have a seat.” She took her daughter’s place while I sat in the wooden chair opposite her.

  “Thanks for agreeing to speak with me,” I said after a long silent moment. It wasn’t much of a conversation starter, but it was the best I could come up with under pressure.

  With a knowing smile, she said, “I’m sure it will be enlightening for us both. Now, what brought you here?”

  I pursed my lips, considering the best way to start. “I guess you could say I’m looking for answers . . . or an explanation. You see, I’ve been experiencing something sort of . . . odd.”

  “Odd how?” she asked, resting her clasped hands on the table.

  “Well . . . it’s these dreams I’ve been having. Except, I just had one and I was awake, which doesn’t really make sense, does it? And they’re not dreams exactly, but more like visions. I mean, some are things I’ve witnessed in my life, but some happened before I was born, and—this is going to sound totally nuts—some haven’t even happened yet. But they’re all real.”

  As I spoke, my companion sat up straighter, evidently intrigued. “What makes you think it’s anything beyond an active imagination? What makes it ‘real’?”

  I leaned forward, intent on making the woman—a stranger—believe me. If she believed me without thinking I was crazy, maybe I could too. “Because I know things.” I said. “Things I shouldn’t know . . . things I couldn’t know. I dreamed something bad would happen to me, and it happened exactly as I saw it.”

  “If you knew it would happen, why didn’t you try to change it?”

  I laughed bitterly. “I thought I was just anxious. It didn’t seem possible that I could see the future in my dreams.”

  “You said it’s not always a dream, that you’ve been awake for these ‘visions’?”

  “Yeah . . . just once, about fifteen minutes ago.”

  She leaned back in her chair, studying me, her generous lips pressed together in a flat line. After a protracted silence, she asked, “You want to know what’s happening to you, correct?”

  “Yes.” Eager, I licked my lips. She knows something . . . she has to.

  “I’ve heard of people with abilities like this. Usually it’s genetic.” She paused. “Have you spoken with your parents about it?”

  Frustrated, I shook my head. “My mom doesn’t know about any of it. She’d tell me if she did. And . . . I don’t know who my father is.”

  “Mom!” Kat called from the front of the shop.

  “Just a minute!” the woman across the table from me yelled back. To me, she said, “Your situation is odd, like you said, but there are others like you out there. It’s standard for your kind to learn about such things from their families. I’m amazed you’ve slipped through the cracks for so long.”

  “My kind? What are you talking about?” My hands gripped the edge of the table so firmly that my nail beds were turning white.

  The muffled sound of Kat’s voice, along with a deeper, male voice, grew louder from beyond the beaded curtain.

  “Yes, your kind.” The woman seemed to be struggling with something as she stared into my eyes. Her head turned toward the doorway, and almost inaudibly, she whispered, “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t tell you more. Just know there are others like you and they will find you.”

  “But you—”

  Kat’s pleading whine sounded from just outside the back room. “But she’s busy right now!”

  “My dear girl, your mother is never too busy for me. You know that. I must see her immediately,” a familiar, faintly-accented voice said. Oh, you have got to be kidding me!

  “Hey!” Kat’s outraged admonition came just before a well-dressed man walked through the beaded curtain, making the pieces of glass clack excitedly. His eyes widened when they met mine, then narrowed slightly as he turned to my hostess.

  “Marcus?” I asked, stunned. He was the last person I would’ve expected to run into at a quirky magic shop, and seeing him triggered a deluge of the images from the previous night’s dreams. Oh God . . . those were just dreams, right? I shook my head, suddenly afraid I would start to suspect all of my dreams were visions. I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  Kat and her mother wore identical expressions of surprise.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” The corner of Marcus’s mouth quirked slightly. “Is Genevieve reading your cards . . . or perhaps your palm? She’s earned quite the reputation as a reader of fortunes. She specializes in past lives, you know.”

  Irked that he’d avoided my question, I responded in kind. “Is that why you’re here? Want to peek into a crystal ball?”

  Marcus laughed out loud, finding unexpected humor in the question. “No, definitely not. Genevieve, here, is quite skilled at acquiring certain rare, moderately illicit antiquities.”

  Slowly, I stood and backed into a corner, looking from Ma
rcus to Genevieve and back. “You deal in black-market artifacts? Both of you? That’s . . . that’s . . .” I couldn’t finish the statement, my mind reeling at the implications. Over the past two millennia, innumerable pieces of archaeological evidence had been destroyed or stolen as a result of the antiquities black market. So much of the ancient world had been lost because of it—because of people like Marcus and Genevieve. “I don’t think I can . . . can do . . .”

  Marcus strode around the table, stopped an arm’s length away from me, and placed his hands on my upper arms. I didn’t know when we’d become touching friends, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about the new development. In his present, looming state, I was leaning toward not-so-great. The memories of Mike attempting to force himself on me were still too fresh.

  Marcus leaned down so his eyes were closer to my level, and his expression changed from haughtiness to concern. “Lex, the black market is a necessary evil. You have to understand that if you want to make it in our field. It already exists, and the only way to save bits and pieces of the artifacts floating around in its torrent is to join in. I promise you, I only rescue artifacts from greedy hands—I never give them any.”

  The intensity of his words chipped away at my anger and fear. “And her,” I whispered, flicking my eyes to the woman still sitting at the small table. “What does she do?”

  He smiled wolfishly, but his tone matched mine in softness. “She’s like me, rescuing the most important pieces.” Shaking his head, he added, “The disparity between value and importance has always amused me.”

  “What do you—”

  “Later,” he interrupted and dropped his hands, turning to face Genevieve and Kat. “I need to take care of some quick business with Gen, then I’ll explain everything.”