The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1) by Aral Bereux Page B
Authors: Aral Bereux
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situation, chaos broke loose.
She swung the pole again, bringing herself close to the stage’s edge. Taris nodded to the man sitting, now trying to stand. His seat stuck to his legs like glue and with every struggled move, he sent his table tilting and drinks tumbling. Unable to maneuver from his seat no matter the chants he cursed, the watcher knocked the last standing drink and beer poured into his lap, staining his crotch. Laughter roared across the club, drowning the music with its echo.
Everyone focused on the new entertainment and away from Julianna, including Taris and his company. The tables beside him shared their hysteria as they pointed their fingers at the joke in the seat caked in beer and ash, and Taris lapped it up. Lapped it up like the narcissistic animal that he was. She’d dealt with the first problem. Taris wouldn’t humor the interruptions tonight. Not this time.
She smiled.
He returned his gaze to the stage.
Julianna Rae was gone.
* * * *
The moon slipped behind a low cloud and she stumbled over an old wooden crate in the center of the alleyway. Julianna hurried to reach her bike. Parking it to the back to avoid the looters seemed a good idea at the time, but now, as she jumped the awkward pile of rubbish in front of her, she regretted the simple plan. The comms in her back pocket clumsily collided with each other on her jump and their sound resonated more in the style of fragile glass screens breaking. She overstepped a puddle and the glass chinked again. She prayed that it wasn’t Caden’s as she checked over her shoulder to see if she was still alone.
Julianna’s bike was in reach under the dim flicker of a fire escape light. It winked its fluorescent beam at her. She sprinted the last thirty meters and her breath hung on the air with the curse she uttered. Last time, she found her bike racked with no wheels and it had taken three days to track another set. Sourcing anything in the New World Order was difficult, finding bike parts near impossible. Factories closing across the city, unable to compete in an economy driven with a universal dollar, made it impossible to source anything of a mechanical nature. There were simply no free factories left to produce commodities.
The alleyway widened and puddles splashed underfoot as she galloped. She needed to hurry. Her paranoia sensed him closing in. She had no ability to block his attempts, no way to cut the invisible rope tethering her to his pull, and she cursed the moment she’d given herself to him out of fear. The songs she sang worked on the younger, more inexperienced watchers in the club. The alcohol she drank would dull others. Taris always found a way around her attempts to block their connection.
Just get to the safe house. We’re all good at the safe house. Why didn’t I say, ‘Yes, Caden, wouldn’t that be a trip’?
She reached her bike. The bass of the music pumped through the thick walls as she straddled it; she hoped the boss man wouldn’t do her out a night’s pay for leaving early. She kicked the stand and the bike bounced down as she turned the key mid-action.
It refused to turn over.
Trying again, she didn’t hear the others lurking, covered in long shadows created from the tall buildings. She lowered the kickstand quickly and crouched beside the engine, cursing what she saw.
‘Missing something, Julianna?’
Her head flicked in the direction of the familiar voice cutting through the darkness. She moved her lips, but words fell silent when she eyed the single sparkplug he teased between his fingers. He ambled casually, his Militia boots falling heavily into the puddles left by yesterday’s rain. The gold medallion he wore around his neck caught the moonlight as it swayed beneath his open collar.
He stopped short of the bike. ‘You could greet an old acquaintance,’ he said, ‘It’s the only polite thing left to do.’
She blinked, her breathing halted. There was
She swung the pole again, bringing herself close to the stage’s edge. Taris nodded to the man sitting, now trying to stand. His seat stuck to his legs like glue and with every struggled move, he sent his table tilting and drinks tumbling. Unable to maneuver from his seat no matter the chants he cursed, the watcher knocked the last standing drink and beer poured into his lap, staining his crotch. Laughter roared across the club, drowning the music with its echo.
Everyone focused on the new entertainment and away from Julianna, including Taris and his company. The tables beside him shared their hysteria as they pointed their fingers at the joke in the seat caked in beer and ash, and Taris lapped it up. Lapped it up like the narcissistic animal that he was. She’d dealt with the first problem. Taris wouldn’t humor the interruptions tonight. Not this time.
She smiled.
He returned his gaze to the stage.
Julianna Rae was gone.
* * * *
The moon slipped behind a low cloud and she stumbled over an old wooden crate in the center of the alleyway. Julianna hurried to reach her bike. Parking it to the back to avoid the looters seemed a good idea at the time, but now, as she jumped the awkward pile of rubbish in front of her, she regretted the simple plan. The comms in her back pocket clumsily collided with each other on her jump and their sound resonated more in the style of fragile glass screens breaking. She overstepped a puddle and the glass chinked again. She prayed that it wasn’t Caden’s as she checked over her shoulder to see if she was still alone.
Julianna’s bike was in reach under the dim flicker of a fire escape light. It winked its fluorescent beam at her. She sprinted the last thirty meters and her breath hung on the air with the curse she uttered. Last time, she found her bike racked with no wheels and it had taken three days to track another set. Sourcing anything in the New World Order was difficult, finding bike parts near impossible. Factories closing across the city, unable to compete in an economy driven with a universal dollar, made it impossible to source anything of a mechanical nature. There were simply no free factories left to produce commodities.
The alleyway widened and puddles splashed underfoot as she galloped. She needed to hurry. Her paranoia sensed him closing in. She had no ability to block his attempts, no way to cut the invisible rope tethering her to his pull, and she cursed the moment she’d given herself to him out of fear. The songs she sang worked on the younger, more inexperienced watchers in the club. The alcohol she drank would dull others. Taris always found a way around her attempts to block their connection.
Just get to the safe house. We’re all good at the safe house. Why didn’t I say, ‘Yes, Caden, wouldn’t that be a trip’?
She reached her bike. The bass of the music pumped through the thick walls as she straddled it; she hoped the boss man wouldn’t do her out a night’s pay for leaving early. She kicked the stand and the bike bounced down as she turned the key mid-action.
It refused to turn over.
Trying again, she didn’t hear the others lurking, covered in long shadows created from the tall buildings. She lowered the kickstand quickly and crouched beside the engine, cursing what she saw.
‘Missing something, Julianna?’
Her head flicked in the direction of the familiar voice cutting through the darkness. She moved her lips, but words fell silent when she eyed the single sparkplug he teased between his fingers. He ambled casually, his Militia boots falling heavily into the puddles left by yesterday’s rain. The gold medallion he wore around his neck caught the moonlight as it swayed beneath his open collar.
He stopped short of the bike. ‘You could greet an old acquaintance,’ he said, ‘It’s the only polite thing left to do.’
She blinked, her breathing halted. There was
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