Seeing Light (The Seraphina Parrish Trilogy)

Note to
the Reader

This is book three in a trilogy. Though there is some recapping of the first two books, it is strongly recommended that you read them in order because this book does not stand alone.

::1::
The Pit

No one has ever returned from Nocturna. The thought chills me as I examine its entrance, an ugly gash in the earth before me that resembles an enormous square pit. Stone stairways slash its walls, forming crude zigzags as they descend into the belly of the earth. When I lean slightly to peek over the edge, seeking the bottom and unable to discern it, a sickly tingle forms in my feet and shoots up my calves. An answering nervous flutter pools in my belly, leaving me ill and light-headed, so I step back a pace to compose myself.

“You don’t have to do this, Sera,” Bishop says, his British-accented voice plying me with tenderness as he tries to reason with me, but his efforts are wasted. Max Bishop—known to all simply as Bishop—is my Protector, an integral part of our three-person Wandering team. Samantha James is our Seer, and I, Seraphina Parrish, round out the team as its Wanderer.

“There’s no other way.” I frown and look over my shoulder. With our recent history, he’s upset for many reasons, and my trip to Nocturna to find Terease, the now exiled former Harvester for the Academy of Wanderers, is just one of them.

“Stay with me.” His brow furrows as he pleads with me, the familiar expression tugging at my heart. He makes it sound so simple, as if I could move forward in this life of Wandering without choosing who I love, who my family is, or even what I dream at night.

“If we could find Mum, we can talk to her.” He looks away and clears his throat. “Maybe she can give you the answers you need.” When he turns back to me, his eyes glisten in the darkness.

Bishop’s parents, Mona and Joe, fled taking his little sister, Charlotte, probably fearing for their safety. In a cryptic phone call to Bishop, Mona claimed the Society knew she’d given me secret information about the Oaths’ sacrifices and feared retaliation. She begged for Bishop to run away with them, but he refused. He claimed he needed to stay with me, to protect me.

“Even if we could find her, I won’t involve her anymore,” I say, my voice steely with resolve. “Who knows what the Society will do to her, to you, or to the rest of your family.” I can barely live with the knowledge that Turner, Bishop’s twin brother, died trying to protect me. Since that day a lurid shadow has been cast across my heart, leaving me nothing more than a shell. But no matter how I feel, I can’t hurt their family any more than I already have. My eyes prick with dampness but I push the emotions away, shoving them deep into my soul where I lock them down with my guilt.

“I’ll be back. I promise.” A smile grazes my lips, but I don’t know if I can really keep this promise. I reach back and grab Bishop’s hand; his grasp is desperate and warm. It’s the only time I’ve allowed him to touch me since that day in Turner’s apartment, when I realized Turner knew he would sacrifice his life and role as my Protector to save me from my nemesis, Cece, head of the Underground. After I blew up at Bishop, I told him we needed to take a break from each other, but staying away from him has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Bishop gives my hand a strong tug and pulls me into an embrace, wrapping his firm arms securely around my waist. As he nuzzles his face into the curve of my neck, his feathery hair brushes my skin, and he breathes heavily. If I let him, he’d never release me.

Resisting the desperate urge to relax into his warmth, I sigh because I still want his love. Despite all his lies, I want every part of his generous soul swaddling me, my fingers tangled in his thick hair and my head resting on his chest, feeling his wild heart beating beneath my ear. I want to smell his aftershave, let the aroma of oiled leather and citrus consume me. I want to stretch up on tippy toes to kiss him the way I used to—before I learned the truth. But I can’t.

Emotions surge into my chest, threatening another rush of tears. Instead of giving in to my feelings, I shut them down, then summon the anger that brought me to this point in the first place and focus on it, absorbing it, honing it to a dangerous weapon. I need to control myself and force everything within not to hug him back. So I arch my upper body away, still locked in his arms. When I look at his eyes, squinted in upside-down smiles, I can’t deny my love for him; it twitches and flutters, lodged deep inside, irremovable from my Wandering heart. Our connection as team members, Protector and Wanderer, make us a perfect match, but I don’t want to live in a world where I have no choice whom I love.

With nothing else to say, I drop my shoulders and heave another inward sigh, then tear my gaze away from Bishop to survey the distant glittering buildings of the secret Wandering city of Gibeon. It’s night, very late, and the perfect time to sneak past the Nocturna guards. If we don’t hurry, one may find us on their security rounds.

Samantha James, my Seer, stands in the distance, allowing us a moment alone. I give her a beckoning nod and she walks over, rejoining us.

“Here.” She hands me a set of goggles and a backpack tightly stuffed with a parachute. Sam’s job as Seer is to use objects, or “relics,” to help us transport, or “Wander,” to distant places and times. Unfortunately, there are no relics that can take you to Nocturna. It may not even be possible because no one has ever returned with one. With guards patrolling the vicinity of the pit, I can’t simply walk down the stairs, so breaching the perimeter in a surprise attack and parachuting into the pit is the only option.

“For someone who’s afraid of heights, you sure are brave.” She smirks at me, a signal of the new respect between us. A sisterly and patronizing one, but respect nonetheless.

“Thanks.” I grasp the strap and swing the backpack over my shoulder before shrugging into the harness. After I’ve snapped myself in, Bishop stands in front of me, tugging on the buckles and checking them over.

What I’m about to do is crazy. Beyond crazy. There’s a tightening in my chest at the thought of jumping into the pit, and a shiver of a nervous tremor crawls over my skin.

“Are you okay?” Bishop tips my chin back with his finger, seeking my eyes.

“Of course,” I snap, but he knows better.

“You understand how to repack the parachute, right? You’ll probably need it to return to Gibeon because chances are you won’t be able to Wander back.”

“Yes.”

He tries to engage my eyes again as though he could talk me out of what I’m about to do with his handsome looks alone, but I avert my face, knowing full well that he could.

I turn to Sam. “So what else do I need to know about this place?”

“We know little of Nocturna through our mythology, so my information may or may not be credible. As you know, Nocturna is the mirror city of Gibeon, so it literally sits upside down beneath us. When you reach the bottom of the pit entering the other city, the world will flip upright for you,” Sam explains.

“Nocturna is a historical graveyard for everything,” she goes on. “When a building burns or wastes away in one of the cities of time, it reappears there until it crumbles and dies a final death. That’s what keeps the city growing. To say it’s huge would be a gross understatement. The inhabitants are few, mostly the Wanderers exiled there from the Society, and some other awful creatures.” She doesn’t elaborate on the “awful creatures.”

“In Nocturna, all Wanderers’ lives are set on fast-forward; they age incredibly fast. Being exiled to the city is a literal death sentence. It’s only been two weeks, but if Terease is still alive, she won’t be easy to track down. You must find her quickly, acquire the information you need, and escape before the city claims your soul as an inhabitant.”

“How long do I have?”

“It’s not exactly a matter of how long.” Sam shifts uncomfortably and crosses her arms.

Bishop tenses next to me, his Protector nature obviously ratcheting into high gear. “What does that even mean, Sam?”

Sam’s eyes lock with mine, and her features shift for a microsecond before settling into an apologetic mask. “The Time Reaper will be looking for you from the moment you arrive. He’ll smell your life essence the instant your feet hit the ground. If he finds you and sucks the soul from your body, it’s too late. You’ll never be able to leave.”

“Great!” I bark out a tight laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it sucks. Literally.

“Sera, let me go with you.” Bishop grips my arm tightly, clearly communicating his growing alarm. “Sam might be able to use our telepathic connection to keep us up-to-the-minute with the Time Reaper’s location. I could keep you safe.”

Sam grimaces and mumbles, “If it works, which is highly unlikely since we can’t connect in Gibeon.”

“No, absolutely not.” I set my jaw. After everything that Bishop’s done, there’s still a fierce need in my heart to protect him from danger. I could never intentionally put him in harm’s way.

Sam reaches in and hugs me good-bye. I hesitate for a second, surprised by her uncharacteristic show of affection, then hug her back fiercely. After all, she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real sister.

“You there! Step away from the edge!” a guard yells.

Collectively we jerk our heads toward the sound. In the distance, a flashlight’s beam cuts the darkness, bobbing up and down as the man carrying it rushes forward. A barking and snapping dog lopes just ahead of him, frantically tugging at its leash and urging him on.

Bishop, Sam, and I take off sprinting far away from the edge, back to the safety of a nearby line of trees. When I’m certain they are free from danger, hidden to my satisfaction by dense bushes, I give them one last lingering glance, knowing that this may be the last time I’ll ever see them. I drop my goggles over my eyes to hide my rising tears, and without another word, I dash back toward the pit of Nocturna.

Floodlights snap on, illuminating every inch of the field, and then an alarm sounds, wailing and alerting the guards on duty. More and more silhouettes appear in my line of sight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in the middle of a jailbreak. But instead of breaking out, I’m attempting to break in.

The original guard and his dog zero in on me, which will allow for Bishop and Sam’s escape, so I open up my stride, extending my legs. My arms swing madly as I dig deep, pumping them like pistons at my sides as I speed across the empty field.

Fifty feet.

Forty.

Thirty.

The guard races in at an angle, on a collision course with me. He reaches for the dog’s collar and releases it from the chain.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Five.

The dog lunges the final feet and snaps at my leg. His teeth graze my calf, ripping the seam of my pants at the same moment my feet leave the earth and take one final push from the edge of the pit. I launch like a bird and dive into the endless pit of Nocturna below.

::2::
Nocturna

In this moment, with my arms stretched out wide and surrounded by complete and utter darkness, I’m terrified beyond words. And though I have almost nothing to lose anymore, my heart pounds in my chest, ramming against my ribcage. I turn my face away from the punishing wind that meets me, but it doesn’t help. My skin, my lips, my cheeks all ripple fiercely, blasted by the force of the air current that pushes with tremendous force against my body, making my clothing snap and whip like a flag on a windy day.

With one hand, I reach in and fumble around my chest, searching for the ripcord. When I find it, I wrap my fingers around the pilot and tug hard. The parachute slips out of the backpack with a whoosh and snaps open, yanking me to a violent, suspended halt. The whiplash shocks me, but it gives my heart a moment of ease because I’m no longer in an uncontrolled free fall. I relax my shoulders, tilt my head back, and sigh with relief in the sudden quiet.

I did it.

As I glide to the bottom, the light above shrinks into the distance, swallowing me in the pit’s darkness. How long will it take to reach the city? In this world, the answer could be anything: an hour, a day, a month. I should have researched that more. Sometimes it’s impossible to think of all the scenarios. Luckily Mr. Tash, our mythology teacher, was a wealth of knowledge on Nocturna. Thank goodness he never questioned Sam’s interest.

A hazy blue light appears in the distance below me. As I drift closer, its glow ripples as though I’m looking up from underneath the ocean in the dark, with moonbeams dancing on the surface.

A moment too late, I realize the light actually is water, and quickly take a huge gulp of air before I plunge into the oval pond. Water pressure engulfs and consumes my body. Twisting and turning with confusion, the parachute’s lines tangle and bind my legs, making it impossible to kick each separately. But kick in what direction? Up? Down? I’m disoriented. Has Nocturna turned right side up yet?

In a panic, I let out a scream, allowing salty water to flood my lungs in painful stabs. As I choke and start to panic that I’m drowning, bubbles release from my mouth, floating upward. In a flash of insight I move with them, snapping my restrained legs and undulating my body like a mermaid, carving out a path with my strokes toward what I pray is the surface.

I erupt through the surface to fresh air, gasping and violently expelling thick water. Flailing about, my arms beat the water faster than hummingbird wings. There’s a strange resistance to my movement, and the activity quickly exhausts me.

For relief, I float on my back. The salt-dense water allows me to lie here effortlessly, so I turn my head and cough, attempting to clear my lungs and expel the lingering briny taste from my mouth.

Several large waves lap over me and I roll forward, floating upright as I blink against the water blurring my eyes to see sparse lights twinkling in the dark distance. They dot a crumbling skyline of blue-tinged buildings on land that’s maybe a quarter of a mile away.

Despite the lines that hamper me I begin to swim, eventually settling into a modified breaststroke to compensate for my bound legs. Since I’m tiring easily, I stop at intervals to float and rest, but the surf at the beach is the worst part. Foamy froth sticks to my face, its saltiness bringing tears to my eyes, making it hard to see. I tumble and roll relentlessly in the angry surf until I finally grip the sand with my fingers and awkwardly crawl to shore with only the strength of my biceps. I’m grateful to Miss Swift, my defense arts teacher, for forcing me to lift weights even when I protested. Without that training, I surely would have drowned.

Drained of energy, I collapse on the wet sand with the unforgiving waves crashing around me. Yes, I should be rushing to find Terease, but I need a moment to recover.

I roll over on my back, breathing heavily. The velvety midnight sky casts the same blue tone on everything, and four hazy halos surround an enormous moon. The three inside rings are white; the outside band, black. According to legend, the moon never concedes to the daylight. That’s how Nocturna received its name.

I sit up and inspect the parachute that’s washed up on shore with me. I’d hoped to use it in some way, but there’s a large gaping rip in one of the seams. I remove a pocketknife from my boot and go to work, sawing at the tangled suspension lines still binding my legs. Even if I could use it to return to Gibeon, which I now realize that I can’t, I fear the Time Reaper would find me before I could repair it, anyway.

Finally free, I stand and brush the gritty sand from my hands and face before surveying my surroundings. A small beach wraps the inlet. Skyscrapers, some barely standing, line the shore. Beyond the waves, I hear a wall crumble and turn toward the sound to see a series of splashes as chunks of concrete plummet into the ocean.

Heading in the direction of the city, I take off in an awkward jog, slipping and sinking in the dry sand as I make my
way to an embankment of rocks. The uneven wall is high, maybe eight feet. I lean in to climb the rocks, reaching for a sturdy handhold, but pull back and stifle a scream when the cold, rough rock I expect to feel is instead smooth and neither warm nor cold. Staggering back a step, I take a closer look, realizing that what I mistook for rocks are really bones and skulls, thousands of them, stacked in heaps to form a wall that snakes its way around the beach. How many years of Wandering lives do these awful remains represent?

Though horrified, I fight to compose myself. I’m angry that my fear slows me because, according to Sam, the Time Reaper’s already tracking me. So I grit my teeth and force myself to climb the hill of skulls, which is no easy task. They dislodge when I dig my foot into the crevices or grab for a sturdy grip, but somehow I reach the top. Loose bones clank and clatter, rolling with me as I slide down the opposite side. When my feet hit solid ground, I stand and take off running up an inclined cobblestone street that appears to lead to the heart of the city.

A dark maze of buildings engulfs me as I run. Enormous mutant rats scurry in the shadows. Several times a shadowy motion on the edge of my vision startles me but when I look, I see only decaying bodies crumpled in heaps. Some are dead, some barely alive, but it’s the stench that’s overwhelming. In my hurry, I accidentally kick a pile of bones. A skull dislodges and rolls back down the hill toward the wall at the sea. This puts me on edge so I run faster, pumping my arms as I lengthen my stride.

When I come to a corner, I round the bend at full speed and collide hard with a man. He clenches my arms with bony fingers, and I jump back, aghast at his eyes. They’re glossed over with a blackness that appears infinite in its depth, and telegraph unmistakable despair. He stumbles and sways, collapsing against a wall. On impact, his brittle bones crack and crumple into a pile on the ground.

Under normal circumstances, I would run to his aid. But here in this twisted place of evil, I turn away and take off instead. Sickening guilt instantly consumes me even though I know nothing can be done because I’ve literally landed in Wandering hell.

The sounds of my ragged breathing and the squishing of my soaked boots slapping against the cobblestones are my only companions as I sprint another mile. When I turn another corner and enter a town square, an old concrete fountain stands at the center. Water trickles from the top, pooling into a circular basin. Caution demands that I slow down and take stock before blindly rushing into the open, so I duck my head down and slow to a walk, surreptitiously scanning the square.

Several people, old and broken, drift around; some moan, heads tilted back, mouths hanging low, toothless, and slack like zombies.

A woman near me with her head wrapped in a dark covering leans into the fountain and dips a bucket into the water. She draws it out and staggers under its weight, spilling most of the contents and soaking her clothes. She huffs with frustration and squats down.

“Here, I’ll help you.” I grab the bucket and help her stand, intent on pumping her for information about Terease. I hope that when I find her, she can finally give me answers to the questions that torture me: Why my mom was still alive when I believed she was dead, why she was part of the Underground, and why this information was kept from me. I always believed that Terease was just the Harvester and the administrator, enforcer of the rules at the Academy, but when she was arrested as a traitor to the Society of Wanderers, it shocked me. Obviously she had more layers than I knew.

“Oh, thank you.” The woman pulls back her head covering.

“Mona?” I gasp with disbelief.

Her lips tremble as she reaches out blindly; her wide, soulless black eyes can’t see. “Seraphina?” She places a hand on either side of my face. “What are you doing here?”

Before I can answer, another voice calls out. “Mummy, are you okay?”

My head whips around at the sound. Small Charlotte, just slightly older than she should be, stands in a nearby doorway. Her father, Joe, standing behind with one hand protectively on her shoulder, pulls her close. Each holds the door frame, feeling their way through their blindness.

“Go back inside and shut the door, Charlotte, quickly!” Mona commands. Joe pulls his daughter back into the darkness and slams the door.

“No, no, no! Why are you all here? What’s happened?” My
heart seizes for a moment, despair washing over me at the realization that Bishop’s family members aren’t safe at all, but instead are trapped here in this hell.

“Sera, darling, listen very closely.” The woman I’d once known and loved as my aunt releases my face, then grasps my hands and squeezes. “You must remain strong and leave this instant. I can feel the life in you; you still own your soul. You don’t belong here.” Her haggard face pinches as her brow furrows deeply, her words spilling out rapidly as she anxiously clutches my hands.

“Neither do you.” Tears fill my eyes, spilling over to run in warm rivulets down my cheeks. “Come back with me, I can save all of you.” I tug at her arms to leave, but she stands her ground.

Mona shakes her head sharply. “Without our souls, we’re stuck. But there’s still a chance for you. Please, I’m begging you!” She presses my face between her palms and kisses my forehead.

“Youth!” a woman cries out.

At the accusation, Mona and I turn our heads to the sound.

A woman with a body as crooked as an old tree sniffs the air in a peculiar way. “Youth,” she shouts again, pointing in our direction.

At her words, the zombies of the plaza react and screech. There’s instant chaos, and I look around the square, confused. For some reason, everyone scurries away like I carry the plague.

“Run!” Mona pushes me away with her palms. “Go home!” she screams and hits me again, swatting me like an unwanted animal.

Before I can argue any more, she drops to the ground, covers her ears, and shrieks, “No! They’re already here.”

I drop down beside her to help her if I can, but that’s when I hear it, what everyone else must be hearing, why everyone else is freaking out. It’s not me that causes their terror; it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Everyone in the plaza rushes into dark doorways, alleys, and shadows—everyone except a wrinkled man sitting on a nearby bench. In the bedlam, he remains calm, chanting like he is possessed. “When the briny wind blows upon a moonlit sky, the Time Reapers come to veil your eyes. Blackness, death, despair, no one can withstand their evil glare.”

As if on cue, a menacing black apparition, a ghost of a human-like form with a single crooked horn protruding from his head, appears on the opposite side of the square. The beast he rides, a terrible horse-beast rippling with overdeveloped muscles, bucks and writhes beneath him.

The Time Reaper.