This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-68291-160-0

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my mother-in-law Cindy

for being the most amazing warrior I know.

Acknowledgements

This book, and the series as a whole, has truly been a labor of love over the last few years. Many friends, family, and professionals have helped me along the way.

Big thanks to my husband, Jeff, my parents, Rick and Mary, my sister Sarah, my friends Jessica, Jamie, and everyone who has offered encouragement and support through the whole process.

Huge thanks to Soul Mate Publishing and Samantha McMahon for sharing my vision and helping it shine.

Prologue

Late afternoon sunlight brightened the red brick ruins of a chapel next to a large gothic church. The road signs and surrounding architecture were obviously British. Past the ruined and new churches, the road led to an archeological site ringed with remains much older than the battered chapel. A couple walking up from inside the excavated pit spied the ruins and the woman gestured with delight. Her words inaudible, she pointed from a brochure in her hand, up to the ruins and back to the paper.

The man nodded and they made their way towards the churches. As they grew closer, I recognized them. Ivan and my mother walked arm in arm, young and happy. Ivan had a kind of warmth and energy to him. His face was tanned and speckled with ginger beard stubble. He wore a plain grey T-shirt and faded blue jeans. I almost didn’t recognize him. My mother looked equally different in a sundress dotted with small flowers. Her cheeks were pink. Wavy brown hair cascaded down her back, shimmering in the sunlight as she moved. As my view of them zoomed in, their voices came in as well.

“Let’s take some pictures here too. The light is still good enough.” My mom reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her camera.

“Shoore, vat de hell,” said Ivan in a thick Russian accent.

My mother walked ahead, twirling through the building’s fragmented remains. She paused to snap a picture, dialed the film ahead, turned, and snapped another picture. The open walls and setting sun cast hard shadows against the glowing brick.

“I know this one isn’t as old as the Roman ruins, but isn’t it so lovely to have something to walk through? It’s so much easier to
feel
this place. I hope the pictures turn out. Photos never do a vacation justice.”

“I’m yur pictures vill be perfect,” said Ivan.

Mom looked through her brochure again, examining the text carefully.” It says here that both the current church and the adjacent ruins are heritage sites. The 'new' church is an excellent example of eleventh century architecture. The ruins of the original building date back to the year 689.”

My mother’s voice held a sense of wonder uncharacteristic of the woman I knew. She kept walking, looking up and around with her hands clasped against her chest, leaving Ivan to play with the settings on his own manual camera. My view expanded again, drifting upwards to an aerial vantage. A dark spot amongst the excavated Roman remains flickered to life and traced my parents’ path, pursing them like a fluid shadow.

“Dis one is interestink,” said Ivan as he came to a plaque on a pedestal under a window of a partial wall. He read something I couldn’t make out from my viewpoint. He scratched his chin and then rested his hand on the plaque.

Ivan’s body straightened with a jolt as he stood with his hand planted firmly on the weathered stone. The shadow caught up to him, flowing along the ground and up through the pedestal. Ivan shuddered as he absorbed the dark blur. He stood like a statue with his hand on the plaque until my mother came back to him.

My viewpoint shifted and I saw a cold smirk on Ivan’s face. His suddenly pale skin matched the familiar man I had worked for in Victoria.

“Hon, what are you doing over here? We’re missing the best light on the other side of the building. The sun will set in a few minutes!”

Ivan looked over at my mother’s face, and then dropped his gaze to her belly. He reached out a hand to touch her. As soon as he made contact, he broke into a grin.

“What’s gotten into you?” Concern filtered into my mother’s face.

Ivan said nothing and the image turned to blackness.

Chapter 1

“You stupid loser!” A woman screamed outside my window. “Where’s my crystal, you fuckin’ moron!”

I rolled over in bed and picked my new phone up off the nightstand. The time read 7:53 AM over a background of a serene night sky. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and looked at the rusty mirror on the opposite wall.

My decision to dye my hair back to my natural color hadn’t worked out perfectly. The box I’d chosen - Darkest Chestnut Brown–was intended to decisively convert my easily recognizable faded blue streaks. Now, my whole head looked several shades darker than its original cinnamon. My face seemed paler than usual against the flat dark brown frame. I looked like a goth girl without her makeup. My amber eyes did appear a bit warmer than usual, which made me smile.

The lump of covers remained motionless on the other bed. Faith’s purple dreadlocks poked out of the blankets like a hairy anemone. My twin brother Ilya had suggested we divide our accommodations along gender lines so we could all stay focused. Nobody contradicted him. As though she sensed me watching her, Faith rolled around and threw off her blanket.

“Even four stories off the ground, we just can’t escape the neighborhood charm,” I said. “At least we got to sleep in a bit today. The curtains here are thick enough to keep out most of the early morning sun.”

“Too bad they can’t block out junkie drama. Ilya better be right about Ivan having tested on these assholes,” said Faith.

Everyday life in Vancouver’s downtown east side had been notorious since my childhood. Discussions about Vancouver in my northern hometown of Prince George frequently referenced East Hastings Street as nothing short of the gateway to Hell. I felt uneasy with every step I took on the crowded sidewalks.

“How long did Ilya say we could stay here? Wasn’t it about a month, factoring in the cost of food for everyone?” I asked. “I think our room is forty dollars and the guys’ room is sixty.”

“Sounds about right,” Faith said. “His estimate accounted for staying at other hotels in other cities, didn’t it? I hope so, because the longer we stay here, the less money we have for other places. And considering the fact that we’ve got one window with a view of a boarded-up sushi joint and a pot dispensary covered in iron bars, I think we’re getting ripped off big time.”

I changed from my nightshirt and pajama sweats into jeans and a fresh shirt. I brushed my freshly dyed hair up into a dark ponytail. Faith had slept in the clothes she wore the previous day. I felt relieved as she finally dug some fresh clothes out of her bag and changed into a new pair of cargo pants and her other black T-shirt.

We stood next to each other in front of the mirror as we flicked through cosmetic bags applying eyeliner and eye shadow. I added lip-gloss while Faith added copious swoops of mascara, narrowly missing her eyebrow ring with each blink.

“So . . . I had a dream about Ivan last night. And my mother. I think Ivan was possessed or something.”

“Awesome. I guess it doesn’t matter now though.” Faith adjusted her nose stud while examining her reflection. “Still, hold that thought for breakfast. The guys will want to hear if you’ve got new info.”

I had to give my reluctant roommate credit for her capacity to absorb weird and unpleasant news in stride. I wondered if I would become numb to bizarre things once I had been in the variant world as long as Faith had.

We met Ilya, along with my almost boyfriend Jonah and my estranged crush Cole in the hotel lobby. My heart sank as I took in Jonah’s form. His skin had a gray undertone and his once stunning arctic eyes had faded to the color of pre-dawn sky. He’d been healed after his bone-breaking fight with Innoviro’s most dangerous thug, but he clearly wasn’t his old self. As an aquakinetic, I knew Jonah needed regular intake of fresh water. I wondered if thinking at my telepathic twin would help. Maybe Ilya could reach out to Jonah. I couldn’t. Our would-be relationship had ebbed when we discovered that his touch or kiss drained me of life and energy. God, I missed him! But, I couldn’t afford to die for him.

Cole radiated strength, his biceps bulging through a fitted army-green T-shirt. His fresh crew cut had transformed him from skater to would-be soldier. Ilya was the shortest and slimmest. His shaggy cinnamon hair and lean build mirrored my own–exactly as my twin should look.

Ilya had already picked out our breakfast spot, a greasy spoon in the heart of Chinatown. As we exited the Bella Maria, I could barely suppress the urgency I felt to get away from the abundance of pedestrians on the street. I had always known Vancouver’s downtown east side was one of the worst neighborhoods in Western Canada. Yet how could I properly prepare myself to function in ground zero of Vancouver’s addiction and mental health problems?

We followed Ilya silently past too thin people scratching their arms, some smoking cigarettes or pipes, a few sitting on the sidewalk with empty stares, or rifling through shopping carts. The chatter of arguing and mumbling blended with the engine sounds of traffic. Cars, SUVs and buses all rumbled past without stopping. We walked until abandoned buildings and barred storefronts gave way to overstated Chinese architecture advertising curios, fast food, travel agencies and wire transfers.

Ilya turned into a small diner under a simple yellow sign with red letters, the English words “Hung Fat” printed below larger Chinese characters. Air thick with grease pervaded the room and several strips of overhead lighting were burnt out. Cole gestured to a vacant window table and we all took seats.

“So what made you pick this paragon of nutritional bounty?” Jonah picked up the typed menu.

“I read some reviews online that the food tasted great but the service was terrible. Meaning we’ll get a decent meal with practically no attention from the servers,” Ilya said, “and if the workers here don’t speak English, we can probably talk freely.”

“Couldn’t we take some food back to our rooms again?” said Cole.

“I figured we’d have a little field trip after breakfast today. We should leave your car behind in case we encounter any Innoviro staff on site that might recognize it. There’s a bus stop just down the street.”

“So you’re in charge now, Ilya?” Faith demanded.

“Does it really matter?” I asked.

“Where do you want us to go?” Jonah looked at Ilya, ignoring the sniping and the glares Faith and I shot at each other.

“We’re going to find Irina’s warehouse, the one she saw in Brad’s head,” said Ilya.

“I still don’t have anything to go on, apart from a few vague landmarks,” I pointed out.

“Exactly. We have landmarks,” Ilya said. “You were on the North Shore, between the bridge and a pile of sulfur. So let’s go find the sulfur. It should be in a light industrial area. Or we’ll get as close to the bridge as we can.”

“Sounds like a great way to get mugged.” Faith tossed her head, purple hair flying.

“It’s a decent idea.” Jonah eyed me warily over his menu, trying a cautious smile on me. “Irina might see something new if we hit the right spot.”

“We’ve got nothing better to do,” said Cole.

“Good. The bus that picks us up outside will turn towards West Van after the Lion’s Gate. We’ll get off at the first stop on the other side of the–,” Ilya’s forehead crumpled and his face screwed in a confused frown.

“What do you hear?” said Cole.

“Let him listen, genius,” said Faith.

“Variants?” said Jonah.

“Only one, I think. A boy. The one that just went by on a bike a moment ago,” said Ilya.

“How can you tell?” I said.

“He’s worried about his skin changing color in the sun. I could be wrong. Maybe he gets bad sunburns,” said Ilya.

“Should I run him down?” said Cole.

“I think that would draw attention even in this part of town,” said Jonah.

“Let’s worry about tracking variants later,” I said. “I’m anxious to try the ‘new vision’ tactic on the North Shore. Oh, and speaking of new visions, remind me to tell you about my dream where Ivan and Mom hang out around some ruins.”

“Good. And I will,” said Ilya.

The bus that picked us up near Hung Fat an hour later was almost full. We crammed in like sardines, nudging between passengers and grappling for bare handrail space. The bus driver’s frustrated voice came over the PA system asking passengers at the back to keep moving backwards, but it had almost no effect.

I clung to a rubber hand loop attached to a railing above my head. My face was angled away from my friends, but I could see out the window between a schoolgirl’s shoulder and the cap of an elderly man on the seat facing me.

We rolled out of Chinatown and into the heart of downtown. Vancouver’s glass towers loomed overhead bigger than ever. The bus crept along the urban street until residential condos and a marina replaced the financial district. I saw a sign for the Lion’s Gate Bridge in time to stave off a claustrophobic panic attack.

Still driving slower than a tractor, our bus edged out onto the bridge while the green pole and cable structure reached up into the sky overhead. I felt like a small-town girl more intensely than I ever had in my whole life.

The sea came into view below the bridge and across the water I saw my bright sulfur pile glaring out of the landscape ahead. I felt relief when the ding of the stop cable pierced the din of voices and the bus engine. We came to a halt at the first bus stop after the bridge shrank away behind us. We stepped off the road and into a ditch to get our bearings.

“So, who knows this area best?” I asked the group.

“Aren’t
you
supposed to know where we’re going?”

“Cut her some slack, Faith. This angry rebel thing is getting old.” Frustration filled Cole’s voice too. I hoped our lack of direction was the problem rather than my choosing Jonah over him, futile as the choice had become.

“I don’t know how close we can get to this giant yellow pile. It’s probably part of an industrial site,” I said. I looked around for signs of machinery in the landscape.

“She’s right. We won’t be able to walk right up to the sulfur,” Ilya said, “and I don’t think we want to get that close. But we can walk around under the bridge on this side. We might be near enough.”

“We don’t even know if getting close to these landmarks is going to work.” Jonah rubbed his tired eyes.

“You’ve still got the letter, right?” said Cole.

“Yeah, it’s here in my bag.” I patted my backpack.

“Then, let’s go for a walk,” said Ilya, clapping his hands.

We followed Ilya in a line. Nobody spoke. The tension eased as the blaring sun took center stage in my mind. I hadn’t expected heat and high UV in Vancouver. Without the cover of downtown towers, we baked slowly under the early summer sky.

In a few minutes, Ilya led us off the road onto a grass-lined dirt path with a view of the open space under the north end of the Lion’s Gate Bridge. “Well, I think this is as good as it gets.”

The dirt path opened up to a concrete landing. We stopped as soon as we reached the bridge’s shadow, facing the ocean inlet. Under the near mid-day sun, we stood almost underneath the grid of green steel. Trees flanked us on the right, rising high enough to block out the ocean-side, industrial, and real estate to the west.

“Should we go right?” Jonah gestured in the direction where the giant sulfur pile should be located.

“Yeah, we’ve already got a ballpark idea here. Let’s start walking,” said Cole.

“Feel free to do your vision-quest thing.” Faith lifted her purple dreads in a medusa-like pose, mocking my authenticity.

I frowned back at her. Then, I fished the letter out of my backpack and looked around as the others walked ahead. Apart from recognizing the bridge, probably because of its iconic status, the area was totally unfamiliar. I took the letter out of its envelope and ran my hands across the typed surface. Nothing happened. Voices carried from the group ahead, but I had fallen behind them. I wanted to take in everything around me. This is why I picked up a black piece of rubber that looked exactly like a bottle stopper.

The road dissolved in front of me, but I didn’t go far. I found myself back in front of the rundown building. This time the bay door was closed, but daylight added detail to the neighborhood. The cream-colored stucco building didn’t have any signage to suggest ownership or occupancy. The sulfur pile seemed farther away. I scanned the face of the building for a street number, but saw nothing. I turned around and around until I caught sight of a street sign. Aspen Lane! I concentrated on the ground beneath my feet and forced the vision to end.

“Stop!” I shouted. “We’re looking for Aspen Lane!”

Everyone came to a halt and turned. I looked down at my hand and unclenched my fist, the rubber stopper dewy with sweat. My hand picked up dirt and debris from whatever mystery muck the stopper had rolled through on the ground.

“I see it. It’s the next road up here,” called out Ilya, farthest ahead of the pack.

Anticipation flooded my body and I started running toward them. Finally, we’d have some answers, wouldn’t we?

BOOK: The Compendium

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