Jeremy Chikalto and the Demon Trace (Book III of The Hazy Souls) Read Free Page B

Jeremy's finger. His nail began to melt
and he yelped. "Okay! I'll talk!"
    "I overestimated my opponent," said the
soldier, disappointed with Jeremy's anti-climactic submission, and
traded his rod for a hammer. He bludgeoned Jeremy's knee. Jeremy
cried out.
    "Okay! Let him talk!" Another soldier
stepped in to cool things down.
    Jeremy was reeling now,
but held back his electricity. "I'll tell you everything. But
first, let me see Maren. I know you've got her.
Please — "
    At this, the soldiers began to guffaw and
slap each other on the back. "She's a bit busy with our Captain at
the moment, if you know what I mean."
    Jeremy tensed in his restraints.
    But just then Maren rounded the corner,
escorted by three soldiers.
    "Maren!" shouted Jeremy.
    "Jeremy!" Maren's eyes widened and she
smiled with relief.
    The guard nearest Jeremy sneered. "Okay,
you've seen your precious, now talk."
    "I want to... touch her one last time."
    "How romantic! I'm getting choked up,
fellas!" said the peanut gallery. The soldiers snickered.
    Now Maren piped up, sensing Jeremy's plan.
"If I could just hold his hand for a second? Please?"
    "What a couple of disgusting saps!" One of
Maren's guards spat on the ground. "Come on then, graze fingertips
or whatever the hell you need to do." He led her to Jeremy's cell
and everyone waited for the show. Maren's fingers slipped through
the bars and made contact. Jeremy locked eyes with her, smiled, and
a second later, she was floating unconscious in the Haze. The
wounds on his arm shrank away and the electric throbbing of his
knee vanished. He exhaled slowly and pulled Maren through again to
a better spot on Watico.
    They were in a dusky forest of dismow trees
with an underbrush of ferns and moss. Maren drowsily came to while
Jeremy stroked her cheeks.
    "I'm invincible, Maren."
    "No one is invincible," said Maren. "I need
to sleep."
    Jeremy wrapped his arms around her and they
drifted off under the stars.
     
    The next morning, Jeremy woke up early and
began gathering suitable wood to build a makeshift shelter. He used
a small tree with a sturdy branch as one of his anchors, and then
leaned the other pieces of wood up against it, creating a nook.
Then, he covered it in ferns. Maren smiled at their hut.
    "I'm going to leave you again. I need you to
hide in here until I get back." Jeremy held his hand up at Maren's
protest. "I'm getting some supplies. We need water, food, that sort
of thing. I want to minimize the Haze; it's taking a toll on your
health. Lyrna will stay with you until I get back."
    And Jeremy was gone. Maren waited for a time
in silent repose, but then rose and began to pace. She had spent
the better part of her youth in the Farmoore Galaxy studying to be
an Earth Studies scholar. She knew that the University of Gilk had
an extensive collection of Earthen religious texts. Maybe the
answers were already in books, somewhere. How would they live out
the remainder of their days? Was that something they could even
control?
    Jeremy appeared in front of her with two
backpacks and handed her one. She opened it up and saw a new outfit
folded on top. "Thanks." Maren reached past the black studded
leggings and tan tunic and grabbed a bottled water.
    “So I found a place,” said Jeremy. “It's
just through there.” He pointed behind him through the thick of the
forest.
    Maren finished her water
bottle and then squirreled it away inside her backpack. “I can't
throw this onto the beautiful forest floor. Where we're
going — does it
have recycling?”
    “It does.” Jeremy laughed and then led Maren
to a recently abandoned house. Though compact, it stood three
stories high, and looked as pretty as the flowering trees beside
it. It was painted a soft yellow and the shutters were mint green.
Vespian engravings on the front door meant that it was an old
house, possibly built during the reign of Vor Paul Chikalto II.
Jeremy ran inside and then gestured with an air of coolness,
leaning nonchalantly against a