Kissed by Shadows (Kissed by Shadows Series, Book 1) Read online

  Also by Lola StVil

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  Child Of Mist: Dark Days (Child Of Mist, Book 2) (Coming Soon)

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  Guardians: The Shoma (Book 6, Pt.1)

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  Guardians: Short Stories (Book 1)

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  Isle Of Midnight: Darkness Rising (Isle Of Midnight Series, Book 3)

  Isle Of Midnight: Last of the Lost Souls (Isle Of Midnight Series, Book 4)

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  Ruined By Shadows

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  Bound By Shadows (Kissed By Shadows Series, Book 2)

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  The Hunter Brothers

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  Anything For Her (The Hunter Brothers Book 2)

  Anything For Us (The Hunter Brothers, Book 3)

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  The Noru

  The Noru 2: The Last Akon (The Noru Series, Book 2)

  The Noru 6: Rise of the Alago

  The Noru 7: Rage Of Angels

  The Noru: Blue Rose (The Noru Series, Book 1)

  The Noru: Fall Of The Chosen (The Noru Series, Book 3)

  The Noru : When Angels Break (The Noru Series, Book 4)

  The Noru : Ways Of The Wicked (The Noru Series, Book 5)

  The Toren

  The Toren: Shattered Souls (The Toren Series, Book 1)

  The Toren: Cruel Mercy (Book 2)

  The Toren: Blood Of Shadows (The Toren Series, Book 3)

  The Toren: Wrath OF The Righteous (The Toren Series, Book 4)

  The Toren: Fate & Fury (The Toren Series, Book 5)

  Standalone

  Dangerous Distractions (A Guardians Novella part 1)

  Kissed By Shadows

  (Book 1)

  Lola StVil

  ALSO BY LOLA STVIL

  GUARDIANS SERIES:

  GUARDIANS: THE GIRL (BOOK 1)

  GUARDIANS: THE FALLOUT (BOOK 2)

  GUARDIANS: THE TURN (BOOK 3)

  GUARDIANS: THE TRIPLEX (BOOK 4)

  GUARDIANS: THE QUO (BOOK 5)

  GUARDIANS: THE LYRIS (BOOK 5 PART 2)

  GUARDIANS: THE SHOMA (BOOK 6)

  GUARDIANS: THE NYCREN (BOOK 6 PART 2)

  NOTE: The “Guardians” story is complete after Book 6 part 2. The saga continues with the next generation in the “Noru” series

  NORU SERIES:

  NORU: BLUE ROSE (BOOK 1)

  NORU: THE LAST AKON (BOOK 2)

  NORU: FALL OF THE CHOSEN (BOOK 3)

  NORU: WHEN ANGELS BREAK (BOOK 4)

  NORU: WAYS OF THE WICKED (BOOK 5)

  NORU: RISE OF THE ALAGO (BOOK 6)

  NORU: RAGE OF ANGELS (BOOK 7)

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  Copyright © 2017 by Lola StVil

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Book I: Atlas “Lissy” Morgan Chapter One: How Could You?

  Chapter Two: It’s A Joke (mostly)

  Chapter Three: Alona

  Chapter Four: Kissed By Shadows

  Chapter Five: You Die Too

  Chapter Six: Pest

  Chapter Seven: Ella

  Chapter Eight: Fun

  Chapter Nine: Hard To Take

  Chapter Ten: Idris

  Chapter Eleven: Because I Can

  Chapter Twelve: Feel Nothing

  Book II: Kane Speaks Chapter Thirteen: Wave Point

  Chapter Fourteen: Sorry

  Chapter Fifteen: The House That Wouldn’t Burn

  Chapter Sixteen: All I Have

  Chapter Seventeen: I Am The Danger

  Chapter Eighteen: Akio’s Daughter

  Chapter Nineteen; Cuts To The Bone

  Chapter Twenty: The Break

  Chapter Twenty-one: Dama

  Chapter Twenty-two: Brothers

  Epilogue: (atlas Morgan Speaks)

  Author’s Note

  “Between the idea and the reality

  Between the motion and the act

  Falls the Shadow…”

  —T.S. Eliot

  The bank will be closing in ten minutes, and Mr. Porter wants to be done with me quickly so he can get to the last five remaining customers. But as eager as he is to move on, our business is far from over. I lean forward and look over at him from across the desk. I remind myself to stay calm, as I’m certain there has been some kind of mistake.

  “I don’t understand. Can you please repeat that?” I instruct.

  “Certainly. Your mother, a long-time customer here at Federal Star Bank, did set aside a college fund for you as you said. However, over time, there were withdrawals made,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know. After my mom died, my dad lost his job. We went through a really rough time financially. So we agreed that he would withdraw a total of two thousand dollars, for two months’ rent. That was back in January. Since then, I’ve found a job in a café slash bookstore downtown. It’s called Time Enough At Last. Do you know it?” I ask.

  “Oh, I love that place. It’s named after my favorite Twilight Zone episode. It’s the one about the guy who loved books more than people. And he hated everyone around him because they got in the way of his reading. Then a nuclear bomb goes off and the world ends. He’s in a bunker, so he wasn’t harmed.

  “He’s thrilled when he comes out of the bunker and finds that he’s alone in the world and has all the time in the world to read. But then he accidently steps on his glasses and is left in a world full of books he can’t read. Then he shouts out in total despair, ‘That’s not fair! That’s not fair!’” Mr. Porter says with his fist in the air, clearly lost in the moment.

  I look over at him, not sure what to say. He looks around as if he’s forgotten where he is. He then composes himself and goes back to “banking” mode.

  “I’m sorry. I just loved that show,” he admits.

  “Yeah, I got that. Anyway, I’ve been working there for six months now, and my dad got a job at the new construction site on Atlantic Ave.,” I reply.

  “Yes, that’s very nice.”

  “All of that is to say, Mr. Porter, you are mistaken. There hasn’t been seventy-seven withdrawals from that account; there’s only been two,” I reply, determined to keep my voice steady.

  “Ms. Morgan—”

  “Atlas,” I reply.

  “Atlas. Your father did make the two withdrawals you spoke of; I see it here on my screen. But he continued to make withdrawals. Sevent
y-seven of them,” he says sadly. A violent chill rips through me and causes me to shiver. My mouth is dry, my heart is racing, and someone is sucking all the air out of the room.

  I look at my reflection in the surface of Mr. Porter’s shiny nameplate. My blue-gray eyes are wide with worry. My lips part in an attempt to get more air inside my lungs. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, causing strands of my long blonde hair to stick to the side of my face. I’m only sixteen, but I swear I’ve aged a thousand times in the past few minutes.

  My dad had a gambling problem when my mom met him; he eventually gave it up for her. He wouldn’t go back to that life; it nearly destroyed his marriage.

  He’s not married anymore. His wife is gone.

  Dad’s fallen apart since Mom died. He’s gone from social drinking to pass out drunk at ten in the morning. Could his drinking have led him back to his old vice?

  No, Dad knows how hard Mom worked to help me pay for college. He’d never gamble the money away.

  Maybe he took out a few hundred because he needs money and couldn’t bring himself to come and talk to me. That’s not so bad. Yeah, I’ll have to work a few double shifts at the bookshop and struggle to buy books for the first semester, but that’s not the end of the world.

  “Alright. There’s supposed to be fifty-three thousand in the account. How much is there?” I ask, trying my best to sound polite and in control.

  Please, tell me there is at least fifty thousand left in the account. I can even deal with a balance of forty-nine thousand. What if it’s lower? Forty-eight thousand? That would suck, but I can deal all the same. Yes, I can deal with that.

  “Mr. Porter, please. How much money is left in the account?” I push, unable to stop the ringing in my ears.

  “I can print out the balance for you,” he says.

  “NO!” I shout as I jump out of my chair. Everyone at the bank turns to look at me. My outburst even catches the attention of the security guards at the door. He starts to walk over to us. Mr. Porter signals to him that everything is okay, then the banker silently warns me to control myself. I sit back down, inhale deeply, and try again.

  “Mr. Porter, I can’t wait for you to click the button and then walk all the way over to the other side of the bank to fetch it from the printer. Please, just tell me. How much money is left in my college fund?”

  “Ms. Morgan, you have a remaining balance of one hundred and twenty-three dollars and forty-seven cents.”

  ***

  Getting air into my lungs has become an impossible task. It’s as if someone has clamped my chest with a steel grip claw and is squeezing the life out of me. My head begins to spin. Mr. Porter and everyone around me are now going around in a circle. I stand up only to learn that my knees are no longer willing to hold me up. I grab hold of the table seconds before I fall down.

  Air, I just need air.

  I tell my knees that everything will be okay if they just gather up enough strength to get me to the exit. I just need to get outside because someone has taken all the air from the bank. Mr. Porter is saying something, but I can no longer hear him. He’s been put on mute in my head. In fact, the whole world has been silenced. All I can hear is my heart pounding as I try once again to stand upright. I’m wobbling, but at least I’m standing. I head to the exit, push past the heavy glass door, and make it to the outside.

  Air, yes!

  I lean on the side of the building as air fills my lungs. The crisp, cold New York City wind blows past my face and whips my hair around in every direction. It’s February, and downtown Brooklyn has been invaded by dark and murky skies. It’s only six in the evening, but night is already headed for us.

  New Yorkers walk past me quickly, with their thick coats, scarves, and hats. But I can’t stand anything thick and heavy on me right now. So, I take off my coat and scarf and let them fall to the ground. I need to feel the air rushing through me. I need to feel the bitter cold to know that I’m still alive. But as the air revives me, it also allows me to focus on what Mr. Porter said. I hear his voice over and over again.

  “Ms. Morgan, you have a remaining balance of one hundred and twenty-three dollars and forty-seven cents.”

  Suddenly, I know what I have to do. I have to run from Mr. Porter and his numbers—run far and run fast. That’s the only way to make Mr. Porter’s voice fade away. I grab my coat and scarf off the ground and flee. I could run home, but the thought of confronting my father right now is too much. I am so beside myself I don’t know what I would do. I can’t go home. So, I head the opposite direction, towards the bookshop.

  Time Enough At Last is the oldest bookshop in Brooklyn. It’s located at 1 Water St., in an area of Brooklyn called DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). It’s nestled right on the river. It has panoramic views of the New York City skyline and the Statue of Liberty. This location is so sought after, the owner, Maxine Corbin, turns down offers every other day. She refuses to sell because the bookshop has been in her family since the 1800’s. Back then it was called “Words & Wisdom.” And they sold all sorts of books. But when Maxine’s mother passed it on to her, she changed the name.

  It’s not just the location that keeps customers coming by; it’s the atmosphere. The shop has a warm cozy feel to it, thanks to the rich dark-colored chairs and soft leather sofas. The large worn area rugs, soft lighting, and various trinkets from Maxine’s travels, all help to give the shop a very homey feel.

  It’s a specialty bookshop that deals with science fiction and fantasy books. And while our inventory isn’t as large as other booksellers, we have some real treasures. We have a first edition of “Fellowship of the Rings” signed by Tolkien. It’s worth over five grand, so we keep it in a locked glass case. We have a first edition of A Wrinkle in Time and Carrie by Stephen King.

  The books aren’t the only things that make us popular. We also have a bar where we serve an extensive collection of teas and coffee from around the world. The drinks are pricy, but we serve them in mugs that are so huge, you can crawl into them and swim. And if you get hungry, we’ve got you covered; we serve sandwiches, breads, and pastries.

  Just beyond the bar is a black wall that customers can write on with colorful chalk. Sometimes while waiting for their drinks customers will write a quote from a book or movie. Sometimes they write random thoughts; some are sweet, some are racy, and some make no sense. I applied to a bunch of places when I was looking for work, and I really don’t recall applying to the bookshop, but I must have because they called me in.

  Normally, I love walking in and seeing customers milling around, sipping tea and coffee while they dive into a new book or, better yet, into a book they’ve read a hundred times before. But today I want to be alone. I don’t want to serve anyone or answer any questions. That’s why I’m relieved to see the sign on the glass door as I place the key in the lock.

  “Closed early for inventory.”

  I had completely forgotten it was inventory time. Normally, I hate it because Maxine refuses to use the app we got her to help her keep track of all the books. She insists that we check everything by hand. It takes days to finish. The two other staff members and I try to change her mind, but she’s old and hates change. So, we all take turns going through the inventory, and today it’s my turn. So, I’m relieved to say, the shop is empty.

  As soon as I enter and close the door behind me, it begins to rain. The thunder outside seems to be shouting angrily at someone. The wind has picked up and is now sending debris flying past the window. The rain is so heavy the people running by are hardly visible as they run towards Clark Street Subway station. I throw my stuff onto the nearest sofa and burst into tears.

  “The money’s gone. It’s all gone,” I say out loud to the white rabbit sitting in the cage across the room. Her name is Alice. I know it’s silly, but sometimes, when no one is around, I talk to her. I confess stupid things like having eaten an entire pizza pie when I’m depressed. Or sometimes I’ll tell her a secret like how sometim
es I miss my mom so much I take her favorite bottle of perfume to school with me.

  “I worked so hard to make Mom proud. If I keep my grades up, I’ll be graduating early, just like she wanted. And I’ll get into NYU, just like she did. How could he do this to me? How could my dad take all the money? You know what’s the worst part? It was all I had left of her. It’s like he took my mom from me all over again,” I blubber as tears fall down my face. I don’t like to cry, but if I do, it is never in front of anyone. I held in my tears at my mom’s funeral, and everyone kept saying “it’s okay to cry.” And I remember thinking my tears are for my mom, not for you or anyone else.

  My cell phones rings—it’s my father. I send him to voicemail. But then I call him back. Actually, my anger calls him back.

  “Hi, honey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay in the shop by yourself,” he says like we’re in some kind of 1950s’ movie and everything is just fine.

  Bastard!

  “Well, Dad, I’m actually not okay,” I inform him bitterly.

  “What’s wrong, Lissy?”

  “Are you gambling again?” I ask.

  There is a small gasp on the other end of the phone. He’s silent.

  “What’s wrong, Dad, can’t think of a good lie?” I demand.

  “Honey, I can explain…” he says.

  “Explain why you stole fifty-five thousand dollars from my account? Explain how you wasted all of Mom’s hard work? Do you have any idea how many adult diapers she had to change to be able to save up that kind of money? How many backbreaking nights she spent at the nursing home pulling double shifts so she could help me go to college? How long did it take you to spend the money she spent a lifetime saving?”

  “I know, honey, I know. But the situation isn’t really that bad. I can fix it,” he begs.