Shattered Heir (Broken Gods Book 1) Read online

  Only, she could no longer see the men on her heels. Her ears perked up as she focused her attention back down the road she had just come down. Raising her hands to her ears, she did her best to block out the sound of the late-night traffic, trying to pick up any noises from whatever was behind her.

  Growls, tearing, cursing, voices she didn’t recognize and others she thought she did. Her heart pounded as she stood stone-still on the sidewalk, a passing car splashing frigid slush against her back. She heard the sound of a wild animal’s angry roar and a frantic laugh that sent a chill through her body. Voices echoed against the city walls, conversational and cheerful, unlike the angry men who had cornered her. Whoever had caught up with her attackers seemed to be having a good time kicking their asses.

  The crosswalk signal beeped. She turned and ran across the road, doing her best to ignore the sounds that emanated from behind her. She had no idea who had stopped those men, but she had a feeling she didn’t want to find out. If they were strong enough to take them down, who knew what they could do to her. Detroit was infamous for its murderous assholes.

  Rhea turned the corner and ran the remaining eight blocks back to her home.

  Her breath shallow and ragged, she leaned against the poster-covered concrete wall of the building she had called home these past six years. It was a wonder she’d managed to hang onto it for so long, considering. The sweet and sour smells of the hole-in-the-wall Chinese delivery place on the ground floor filled her nose with familiarity. She breathed it in deeply, happy to be home. Leaning her back against the hard surface, she propped herself up against her knees. She sucked in another breath.

  Laughter sounded from around the corner. The same laughter from whoever had intercepted her attackers.

  She cursed and stood up. Clinging close to the wall, she slid around the corner into the side alley of the building. She grasped the box between her front teeth and climbed up the familiar brick wall, her hands and feet finding the crevasses and projections as if the bricks were an extension of her own body. She hopped onto the roof, crouching down low as she shimmied across the lower roof line to her make-shift shelter. Two large, mechanical shafts graced the rooftop of the two-story brick building she called home, and she had crafted her own little apartment from supplies she’d collected around the city.

  Sliding the sheet of corrugated metal across the gap, she finally let out a slow breath when she was sure she was fully inside where no one could see her. Rhea rolled her head from side to side, stretching out her neck as her breath came back to her. Her heart still raced in her chest, but she was safe now. She traced the delicate bruises she could feel on her neck, and couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

  Ducking under the low beam separating the entryway from her main living space, she came into her not-so-luxurious yet cozy space that she had learned to call home.

  She had spent months collecting debris from garbage bins and construction sites. She was crafty, and in her first few months after finding this place, she had built quite a sturdy shelter for herself. Large tarps hung over the roof structure that she had fabricated from dismantled wooden shipping panels, the roof structure an intricate network of wooden planks and rope that spanned the distance between both mechanical towers. Large, faded rugs hung from the walls and across the ceiling, making it feel homey and keeping out the drafts. The towers themselves even offered some warmth and she had installed pipes that diverted the warm exhaust air through her tent-like space, creating her own outdoor heating system. It had been her sanctuary for six years, and she had grown to love it in her own way.

  Rhea reached for the battery-operated lamp on her bedside table, but paused when she felt her skin prickle. An uneasy feeling washed over her. Her hand fell as she turned back toward the entryway.

  “Is anybody there?” Her voice echoed in her small space, but no one answered. She waited a long moment, turning her head sharply when she thought she caught a glimpse of a shadow against the far wall. She let out a breath when she realized it was just from the lights of a passing car in the street below.

  Confident that no one had followed her home, she turned on the lamp and knelt down in front of the cracked mirror she had found last summer in an alleyway down the road. Washed out stickers clung around the frame and remnants of a few hearts with boy’s names sketched onto the glass in black sharpie decorated the corners. Whoever had owned this mirror had a real thing for a boy named Parker.

  She imagined it had belonged to a young girl, discarded for something shinier and new when it no longer served its purpose. She was grateful for people who threw away such things. They added to her collection, contributing to the homey feel of her shelter.

  In the dim light, Rhea examined herself in the mirror. She tied her hair back in a loose bun as she stared at the large, pointed ears that had given her identity away to the gangsters.

  She scrunched her nose in concentration, muttering a quick spell under her breath. It had been the first time she’d used magic since escaping to the human world, and she couldn’t believe she had gotten so careless as to let her glamor fade. Not a moment later, her ears shrunk down to normal human size.

  “Much better,” she whispered. She even noticed the bruises on her neck beginning to fade, her natural healing magic one of the only things apart from her glamor she had allowed herself to hold onto since her self-imposed exile.

  Staring into the mirror, the reflection that looked back at her made her smile. Faded freckles appeared through a smudge of dirt on her nose. High cheekbones carved a delicate silhouette above her narrow chin. She could recognize traces of her heritage, sure, even through her glamor. But most people were blinded by their own narcissistic tendencies to notice the particularities of anyone else. Not that they cared, anyway.

  The lamp flickered, the already dim light growing darker behind the small glass case. Breathing out a slow sigh, Rhea tapped it with her fingernail. The light sputtered, then dimmed some more. She ran her hands up and down her arm for warmth, a chill setting in now that she had begun to settle. When she dropped her hands, the chill remained. It wasn’t the normal chill she had grown accustomed to, though, living in the streets. This one tingled with a strange unfamiliarity that caused her to pause.

  She held her arms out in front of her to inspect them. Goosebumps appeared on her flesh and she tried to rub them away with the palms of her hand. The sensation was electric, like a soft buzzing over her skin and through her muscles, sharp and penetrating. She noticed it in her legs, too, now that she paid attention. It was the same strange sensation from the surge of energy she had felt back in the alleyway with those men. The same electric shock to her muscles that allowed her the strength to kick her attacker twenty feet across the road.

  The strength wasn’t her own.

  Her skin suddenly grew hot as she sucked in a quick breath. But before a full panic set in, the feelings dissipated. Her skin cooled, her muscles relaxed. She blinked and flexed her arms and wiggled her toes. Everything seemed completely normal.

  Rhea let her head fall back and stretched her neck out, convincing herself that she had imagined the whole thing. There was no reason she should be experiencing any sort of strange energy. Strange magic. Not here. Not in the human world.

  She turned her attention back to the mirror. “You’re imagining things, stupid.” She pulled out her thin elastic band from her hair and tousled it with her fingers, allowing the tangled mess of faded coppery hair to fall in front of her eyes, concealing her own face from view. “Now is not the time to lose it. Get your shit together.”

  Confident that she had imagined the whole thing, she brushed her hands together and glanced back around her small home. On the carpeted walls hung photos and newspaper clippings. Her favorite was one of those series of goofy photographs you get printed in those booths at the mall. Hanging right above her pillow, on a faded red and gold oriental rug, were the smiling faces of Rhea and her best friend Lanei with a fake tropical beach backg
round. They had even found some plastic leis that they wore in the photos.

  She and Lanei had collected some coins tossed in the fountain at the mall across town and splurged on two photo sets. One for her, one for her friend. They had been chased out by the cops after someone noticed them stealing the money on the security cameras not long after, but they managed to get away with both sets of photos. It was one of her fondest memories.

  She didn’t have much, and she wasn’t much to look at in this form, but she was safe. She was human, at least on the outside. She was Rhea, a seventeen-year-old—no, eighteen-year-old—kid braving the streets of Detroit, taking care of herself as best she could. She had worked hard for her life, and she was grateful for everything that she was.

  “That reminds me,” she muttered to herself, smiling.

  Settling onto her thick, patchwork quilt, she pulled the small box onto her lap, grinning broadly as she slid her finger along the top edge, tearing the sticker that held it shut.

  The box was crumpled and dirty, but she didn’t care. She had grown accustomed to things not looking shiny and new. She appreciated the imperfections in life’s gifts, and no one could take this moment away from her. She was just happy for this life. Six years ago, she didn't even think she'd survive to be eighteen.

  Slowly, she opened the cardboard lid, revealing a single, small chocolate cupcake with the symbol of an intricate rose decorating the top in pink and red icing.

  “Happy birthday to me.”

  2

  Snuggling into her thin, worn-out bed, Rhea finally allowed her body to relax. She stretched out her legs and tossed off her boots, pulling off her wet socks and finally shimmying out of her muddied, torn jeans. She pushed her clothes against the far wall and pulled her favorite blanket over herself. Her skin still prickled with goosebumps, but it didn’t take long for her body heat to warm the air under her covers and become more comfortable.

  The floor vibrated with the mild traffic that seemed constant even that late at night. She could hear the rush of tires passing through puddles as the sound echoed up between the buildings and into her makeshift apartment. There was constant noise, even up in the rooftops. A permanent hum that had become the constant backdrop to her new life. If she listened hard enough, she could sometimes even hear the music blasting from the nightclub down the road. On Monday nights, they played old-school jazz, and she had taken a particular liking to that sort of music.

  But with no electricity where she was, she was limited in what she could enjoy. She had found a Walkman discarded on the side of the road once last year, but that was short-lived. One of the other street kids, Jake, found her listening to it as she walked down the road, not paying attention, and kicked the living daylights out of her because he wanted a turn with it. She remembered sitting on the pavement, watching him as he listened to her music. She was devastated when he smashed it against the concrete in disapproval of her music choices, laughing his maniacal laugh that always made her jaw clench whenever she heard it.

  He had kicked her down to the ground that day and walked away, leaving her in the dust with a shattered Walkman, and no more music to enjoy. She would’ve followed him and taught him a lesson, but he was twice her size and had connections with the local gangs. She saw him lurking around the streets with his lackeys quite often, and it didn’t take long to learn who to stay away from for her own safety. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was still hers. She wasn’t about to risk it for the chance at some stupid music.

  She had gotten quite good at avoiding conflict, for the most part. She was a shadow, nothing more than another dim heartbeat contributing to the buzz of the city. She was nobody. And that was how she liked it.

  The memory of Jake’s laugh triggered another memory of hers. Only this one was distant, faded like the worn rugs that lined her walls. She tried to remember who he reminded her of, but her memory had grown so foggy over the years, she found holding onto anything in her mind difficult. She had repressed so much, it was as if her past didn’t exist anymore.

  Her past… She sat up, and a surge of panic sent a wave of nausea into the pit of her stomach. Holding her arms tightly around her middle, she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled at the deepest, darkest dredges of her memory. She knew that laugh. It was the same laugh she had heard earlier on. The same laugh that echoed through the streets as she ran home, away from her attackers. She also knew it from somewhere else.

  Shaking her head, Rhea tried to think of a thousand other explanations. Surely many people in the world shared the same laugh. She had met so many people who looked alike, sounded alike. There was no reason she should come to wrong conclusions. Not when those conclusions were impossible.

  When she had escaped her home six years prior, she had made sure her whereabouts was untraceable. She ensured every precaution was taken to protect herself from the darkness that prevailed in the Otherworld and from the unforgivable evil and torture and death her father inflicted on her home and her people. No one in either realm could track her. No one even knew that she was still alive.

  It couldn’t be them. It was impossible.

  But then she thought of her strange surge of strength.

  “Adrenaline,” she said aloud. She then nodded to herself, confident she had come to the correct conclusion. Her mind was just playing tricks on her. “Stop making shit up.”

  A thick wind picked up, rattling the large metal sheet that leaned against the beams at her front door. The tarps above her billowed and she pulled the blankets up to her chin against the chill.

  “Pull yourself together,” Rhea whispered. “And stop talking to yourself out loud like a crazy person, you psycho.”

  Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Rhea closed her eyes and hummed out a relaxing note, holding onto the sound as long as her breath could manage. She had picked up all sorts of neat tricks on the streets, one of which was a method of calming her nerves. She had learned it from Trish, a seventy-five-year-old woman who hung around a nearby park, reading people’s palms and hosting free yoga and meditation classes to anyone bold enough to wander by her beaded blanket.

  Calmed and content, Rhea shook out the remaining tension in her arms and propped herself up against the wall at the head of her bed.

  Sighing, she reached to the side of the bed, and gingerly picked up her prize. She held the cupcake as if it were the most breakable object in the world. It sat balanced between her two hands, her fingers outstretched forming a platter. The smell of chocolate and raspberry filled her nose. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, allowing the rich aroma to send a shiver through her body.

  She had walked by the bakery window countless times. Two months of watching every cake that was displayed, she knew this was the exact one she wanted. It cost more than a normal meal anywhere else, but it was worth it. She saved for it like her life depended on it. Her sanity did, in any case. Rhea lifted the cupcake to her lips, her mouth hanging open to take the first, long-awaited bite.

  But before her lips reached the icing, a loud, metallic bang caused her to shriek. The noise echoed loudly in the small space and she jumped nearly two feet from her bed. In reflex, her hands shoved the cupcake up against her nose. She groaned, licking the icing from her top lip, using the back of her hand to wipe the rest from her face. She peered down at the smudged rose, finally feeling defeated.

  The loud bang sounded again, this time in a familiar pattern. The tension she had been holding subsided.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Lanei,” Rhea groaned. “What did I tell you about knocking. Just come inside, already.”

  A tall, lanky girl crawled under the low beams and into the central room.

  “You weren’t answering your phone,” she said, her voice exasperated. “I called five times.”

  Rhea looked back at her with an amused smile on her face, rolling her eyes back at her friend. “You know I don’t use that thing.”

  “Well, you really should start,” she replied. “How el
se am I going to get hold of you when I need you, huh?”

  Rhea chewed her lower lip, shaking her head. “And how exactly do you expect me to pay for said phone, huh?”

  “Those little prepaid sim cards, like I showed you.” Lanei pulled out her phone, an older, scratched iPhone with faded stickers all over it. She pulled out a little chip from her phone. “You just slide them in and it works, it’s like pay as you go.”

  “I repeat, how exactly do you expect me to pay for those?”

  Lanei rolled her eyes, heaving out a loud sigh. “I’ve showed you, kid. They’re tiny, fit right in your pocket. They’re so cheap, they don’t even notice them being borrowed.”

  Rhea laughed suddenly, crossing her arms. “Borrowed, huh? Well, you know my position on borrowing anything that isn’t food.”

  Lanei groaned and reached into her pocket then tossed a small cardboard card on Rhea’s lap. “Here. Take this one. Save it for a rainy day.” She winked as Rhea picked it up, inspecting the small folded paper with the sim card pinned inside.

  “And how exactly did you get this one?” Rhea eyed her with an eyebrow raised.

  “Bought it, of course,” Lanei said, her tone filled with forced indignation. “I would never steal something like that.” She winked.

  Rhea chose to ignore her sarcasm. “And what about the whole charging thing?”

  Lanei shrugged. “Charge it down in the restaurant when they’re not looking, like you did before. The phone I gave you is ancient, it should last weeks on a charge. Easy peasy.”

  Rhea pulled her phone from her bag and slid in the sim card, pressing the on button to test if it worked. “Huh, still charged. Haven’t turned this thing on in like a month.”

  “See? Told ya. That sim should last you twenty minutes chat time. Don’t waste it on anyone but me.” Lanei grinned and settled cross legged on the floor just across from Rhea’s bed, a broad grin on her face.