Velocity: The Gravity Series #2 Read online

  Velocity

  Gravity II

  A B Bloom

  Dreamscape Books

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by A B Bloom

  Copyright © 2017 by A B Bloom

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Yasemin Fischer

  BBC News and Weather

  Astronomers are at a loss to explain celestial changes transforming the night sky. At approximately five o’clock yesterday, the sky reverted to it’s original pre-daylight saving lightness.

  The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds are investigating the deadly flu that destroyed the wild birds of the countryside.

  The government has urged people to remain calm. It is essential to stay within the boundaries of curfews set by local authorities until such a time as the safety of the the public can be accounted for. London Zoo is in discussion with it's American counterparts. Talks have begun, considering the possibility of cross breeding wild birds and importing them into Britain. Concern runs high that recent events will destroy the delicate ecology of the British countryside. It is hoped that quick action now will prevent any long-term losses being incurred. A formal investigation into the strain of bird flu will commence

  Darkness swirled around me. Confusion ran through my mind, too many variables, too many scenarios, too many lies.

  There was one thought I held onto. I claimed it for my own. I clutched my fingers into his jacket as I watched his memories unfold. He was laughing, watching me trail over the grass as I followed the invisible chain that connected us. I didn’t know it was there, not then, but he did. He could feel it and I could feel it through his memory. It hummed and sang as we connected. From under the shade of his cap, he watched, his heart beating fast as he saw me change course for his direction. Surrounding me was a violet pulse of light. It twisted and turned, flickering through the cloud filtered morning light. The violet pulse recognised him, reached for him and ultimately lead me to him. Until I fell and landed on the grass. He’d walked away then, but through his memories I felt his resistance, the pull he’d felt in his soul to go to my side. He'd wanted to help me. To offer me a hand. It had cut him more than it had hurt me and my grazed knees.

  I knew that now.

  It was him. And it was I. And destiny pulled us together.

  Leaving his memory, I looked up into his eyes. “I will always find you, Bron,” he said. And I knew he would.

  I knew I could kiss him and resign myself to the fire and that he would find me wherever I went. So, I did.

  And it burned with glorious resolve as our souls met and rejoiced at becoming whole once again.

  A hushed whisper pulled me from my dreams. Tormented, I'd tossed and turned. Ripped apart by white hot flames that had scorched me from the inside out. In the flames, I’d seen a mesmerising violet light. It had called, shouted, but as far as I stretched to reach it, the further away from me it was. It slipped away and my heart bereaved its loss, mourning for the light it couldn’t catch.

  “We will need to tell her something,” one voice whispered.

  I struggled to sit up but my body lay unresponsive. My eyes fused shut in darkness and I couldn’t fight through. It was just endless black. The memory of the violet light, reeling like an old movie, flickering on repeat.

  “She needn't know anything.” The other voice was firmer, sterner. My ears registered a tightened note that scratched beneath the surface of the words. Good thing my ears were still working, even though my eyes weren’t.

  “She will wake soon and the first thing she will ask for is him. You know it. I know you don’t want to, but you do. Anyway, things have changed now. Haven’t they?”

  There was silence, followed by, “I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s a mess, hey, Brother?”

  “That it is.”

  Straining, I tried to hear more, but the voices lapsed into silence. I wondered who they were talking about. What had happened? All I knew was a burning nightmare had held me in it's fiery grasp for what felt like days, maybe even months.

  I could feel myself slipping back into the depths of the fire when one voice, a girl, called me back.

  “She will remember him.”

  “She won’t.”

  “She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” the girl said.

  “Maybe.” There was another beat of silence. “We’ll make sure she can’t remember. It’s safer that way.”

  “Safer for you or for her?”

  “You know he’s going to find a way back.” I wanted to know who they were talking about. I knew I was missing something, someone, but didn’t know who. Maybe these voices knew. No one mentioned a name, so I lay still and continued to listen. “And he will search the ends of the earth until he finds her, he always does.”

  “I know.” There was a sigh.

  “And when she finds out what’s happened . . .” The words broke off before coming back choked. “When she finds out what we've done. It’s going to change everything, change her.”

  There was a pause. “But until she does, I will keep her safe.”

  “You ready?” Dad slid a mug of coffee across the counter of the island in the middle of the kitchen. I raised my eyes and grimaced in his direction.

  “What do you think?” My head thumped and grey smudges lined my eyesight. I’d never suffered from headaches before, but three days in our new home and this inescapable tension was boiling inside my head. It reminded me of an old fashioned pressure cooker, with steam shooting from the top.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad’s gaze flickered over me, concern pinching the few wrinkles around his eyes. “Is it nerves?”

  “No.” I snapped. “It’s this goddamn place. The sea air is giving me a headache.”

  Dad dropped his gaze but I didn’t let it put me off. “Tell me again why we’ve moved already?” This was the millionth time I’d asked this question. Okay, maybe not millionth but very close.

  “Is it just the sea air, or is it something else?” Dad leaned against the counter and folded his arms. I knew there wasn’t much he could say. At no point was he going to turn around and say, “Hell yeah, Tara, let's just pack up and go back.”

  Go back where? For a moment, my brain went frighteningly blank. My eyes widened as I cast about in a dark pool of nothing for any information I may have of where we were before.

  “London was good,” Dad said, his eyes narrowing slightly. Ah, London, that's where we were. “But this will be better. It’s nice here, the air smells fresh, clean. I b
et there will be cool kids at school.” Cool ? ? ?

  I groaned loudly and bashed the teaspoon against the mug as I stirred in three heaped spoons of sugar. My eyes glanced at the bracelet on my wrist. Countless rough cut amethysts dangled from a slender chain. It was very pretty. I just couldn’t remember where I got it from. I’d found it on my wrist this morning when I’d woken in my new bedroom. Every time I looked at it my eyesight tinged grey around the edges. I tested it again now, and sure enough, the faded grey mist seeped into my vision. I snapped my eyes away and refocused on dad. “Uh. You say this every time.” My cheeks coloured and I glared at him. “This constant moving is ridiculous.”

  Dad offered me a small smile and the lift of his shoulder. “Honey, I go where the work is, you know that.”

  Mm. Work.

  My brain went to that deep pool of black again but I tried to ignore it. “Sure.”

  “Dad, did you give me this bracelet?” I tried to keep my question neutral sounding.

  His eyes zoned in on the jewellery and I was convinced I saw a tightening to his lips. “Nope, it’s pretty though.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. With a snap, he straightened. “Want a lift on your first day?”

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Sixteen remember, not six?”

  Laughing, he stepped forward and placed his lips against my hair. “I forget, honey, I’m sorry.” I rolled my eyes again, making him laugh. “I’ve got good feelings about this school, Tara. I think they will be your sort of people.”

  Later, as I walked to school, I wondered what he meant. What are my sort of people? I didn’t even know the answer to that myself.

  I shouldered my bag and glanced at the imposing building. It seemed like the rock had moulded the fortress of solid, dark, grey brick from within itself. Crafting something dark and sinister from the depths of the earth. It loomed tall and proud like a sentry on guard. And this was a school? It wasn’t what you’d call warm, cozy and inviting. More a prison of extreme torture.

  It looked like a prison to me anyway. Dad had assured me it was the best school around. And as he repeatedly told me, money was no object so long as I was happy. Happy and well educated. He said this every time.

  I hated being the new kid. It happened more than I would like. Just when I'd start making a small handful of friends, we would move again. Always moving.

  The gravel of the pathway crunched under my black boots. The uniform had been a hideous adjustment to make—I refused to give up my Doc Martins in the mix. Other students lingered around, they all looked middle class and skinny. I remembered once, my mum had told me, that only posh people could be truly skinny. This was why I had been blessed with extra curves, because I was so far from posh, it was a joke.

  I banged the lid on the memory box containing my mum. It was a box I tried not to open, lest the tormenting memories of saying goodbye to her came back and threw me down. With no notice they could stand down any progress I had made. And progress was good. So they told me.

  I’d just go to class, keep my head down and survive. We would move on again soon. We always did.

  I gripped my stomach, a nauseating pain was twisting my insides—you’d think it was nerves but I didn’t get nervous anymore. My attention was pulled to the bracelet hanging on my wrist. The violet of the stones glimmered. My thumb grazed over the rough edges and the ache in my stomach intensified, as did the glooming darkness around the edges of my vision.

  “Hey, Newbie.” A voice filtered into my consciousness. It cut through the mist and pulled me back into the present. Surprised, I turned to find a girl standing in front of me. She had beautiful silver hair and in my mum’s estimation, a figure that must have made her stinking rich. She stepped over the pathway and held out her hand. The gracefulness with which she moved made a tiny bell in the back of my head ring. I shook it away. It happened all the time. I suffered from permanent Deja vu. It was damn annoying. I spent a reasonable amount of time working out what had actually happened before. Or, what was just the left side of my brain trying to trick me. I never really knew.

  I was sure I couldn't have seen her before. I would have remembered her.

  “You’re new,” she said as she took my hand in hers and gave it a shake.

  “Yep.” I couldn’t rile up much more enthusiasm than that. I knew I would be a new girl, somewhere else, in a matter of weeks.

  “I’m Celeste, and you are, other than Newbie?” She trilled a laugh. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think that might stick.”

  I waved a hand. “Nope, go for it.”

  Celeste’s face, which was pretty and symmetrical in a magazine cover airbrushed way, creased a little. "I'm sensing a childhood trauma, or, at the least, military brat?”

  “Do you have many military brats end up on the furthest edge of England?” I smiled a little. It was hard not to.

  She linked her arm around mine and led me through the huge wooden doors. They looked more Hogwarts then Cornish Independent school. (With boarding facilities should we need them.)

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  I wanted to ask her why she was being so nice. It normally took a day or two for people to acknowledge I was breathing the same air as them. “London.” I replied.

  She smiled. “I love London, it’s such a buzz.”

  I took a last glance outside, casting my eyes back over the frigid landscape. We were on a windswept cliff and I took a moment to absorbed the scenery as we walked into an even cooler lobby. I shivered. It was like the stone walls were consuming the strength of the wind and pumping it right back out into the drafty corners of the building. “Yep. I can imagine, London is a real treat for you.”

  She laughed. “I think I’m going to like you.”

  Really? I wanted to ask but I bit my tongue.

  “Where were you before London?” She steered me towards a room that had a gilded sign on the door announcing it was the office.

  I frowned. “Who said I was anywhere before?”

  “Oh.” She clasped a hand to her mouth and giggled. “Sorry, I did actually assume you were a military brat.”

  I had to smile. “Touché.”

  “So where were you before?” We were loitering outside the school office, and I was wondering if she planned on walking me inside.

  I hesitated at her question. Where were we before? For a moment I couldn’t remember. I could see it, but couldn’t recall it’s name. I laughed and adjusted my crisp white shirt. Why was it so tight around my damn neck? “Yorkshire,” I said, but it sounded more like I was asking a question.

  Celeste giggled and knocked the door with a rat-a-tat far louder than one I would have used myself. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Thanks,” I said, before calling her back. “Hey Celeste?”

  “Yip?”

  “Why are you being so nice?”

  She pulled her hair off her shoulders, giving it a little poof with her fingers and shrugged. “Why not? Everyone deserves a break.” With her words she spun and walked away, leaving me stood outside the office waiting to get “settled in.” I didn’t bother listening to the welcome spiel. I’d heard it all before.

  It was lunch when I next saw Celeste. She was in the dinner hall at a table crowded with other students. They were all laughing at something she was saying. She waved at me as I walked past but there was no way in hell I was going over there. I steered my way to an empty table and sat down, ready to ignore my sandwich for half an hour.

  For the life of me I couldn’t make out what the filling was. You’d think for the amount of money my dad was paying, the sandwiches would come on a gilt plate with cress on the side and a serving of pickles.

  “It won't jump out of the wrapper itself, you know? You actually have to peel the cellophane back.”

  I glanced up and found a boy standing in front of me. I say boy, but I was sure he must have been a sixth former. But then didn’t they wear black blazers, because they were so important, inst
ead of the maroon?

  I fidgeted with the packet. “Mm. I’m really just debating if I need to die today or not?” I tried to avoid making eye contact as I flushed with my words.

  The boy laughed and pulled out a seat. As he sat down a hushed whisper worked it’s way around the dinner hall, and I sunk down in my seat, cringing. Great. I didn’t want to be that new girl. The one who tried to cop off with all the boys within her first week.

  “I don’t think you will die.” He leant in conspiratorially. “The school has a definite anti-death policy. It’s quite important. In fact, it's on the homepage of the website.” He brandished a hand in the air like he was waving a slogan. "We won't allow our students to die." He leant in and covered his mouth with a cupped hand. "Small print: of food poisoning."

  I cracked a smile and slid the sandwich towards him. “Here, you have it if you are so brave.”

  He smiled and grabbed the packet, his face lifting to look at me. He was handsome in a kind of “I’ve just fallen of an aftershave ad” way. His hair was sandy and tousled, the bridge of his nose smattered with freckles below bright blue eyes. “I’m not one to shy away from a death by canteen challenge.”

  I raised an eyebrow as he peeled back the cellophane and gave a little sniff. ‘Why would you pick up sausage and egg?” His face dropped and his lips turned down in disgust.

  “Sausage and Egg? I thought it was tuna!”

  He peered closer and I giggled. It was a noise I hadn’t made in a long time. “Nope. There is definitely meat produce, of the cheapest quality, squished between these two slices of day old bread.” He put the sandwich down and laughed, his eyes dancing. “I would try and impress you, but I don’t think it’s worth it. I might not die, I might become some sandwich mutant that preys around the back of local bakery stores searching for a girl to spend my lonely dark days with.” He wiggled his sandy eyebrows. "Could you be that girl? Would you love a monster of the killer sandwich plague?"