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  My FAMILIAR STRANGER: The Order of the Black Swan, Book 1

  Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2012 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House at Smashwords

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  Smashwords License

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  ***

  PROLOGUE

  “If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” the Mad Hatter, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

  He was talking fast, but her brain just couldn't process. On some level she may have known she was in shock. She'd just witnessed the murder of her family and that alone would be enough to disorient anybody. But now there was also this swirling vortex that had just opened up in the wall.

  Catalonius Monq, tutor to the royal children, had opened a safe and produced a device that looked like a common remote control. When he pointed it at the blank wall, there appeared a cylindrical tunnel of violet blue light that seemed to stretch to infinity.

  Slowly it began to rotate like a tumbler. As it gained speed, turning faster, the optical illusion of spirals going round and round became hypnotic so that it was hard to look away.

  Elora Laiken tried to focus on what Monq was saying. As he hurried around the lab, his waist long, white hair swayed in time with his agitated movements. “I’m sending you off world where you’ll be safe.”

  In a moment of clarity she shook her head and whispered, “Off world? No,” just on the improbable chance that such a thing was possible.

  If Monq heard the barely audible protest, he didn't acknowledge it. “Your destination has been calibrated to find the nearest life pattern matching my own.” His gaze swept over her frozen pose and glazed eyes, but there was no time for sympathy. He embraced her with the affection of a father. “Look for someone very like me. When you find him…” He removed the locket he always wore around his neck. “… give him this and tell him to retrieve the data within.”

  He ripped and pulled the heavy costume away leaving her in street clothes. Luckily, her black pants had a watch pocket. He stuffed the locket and chain inside.

  Normally Monq would have no chance of overpowering Elora. She was young, strong, at her athletic peak while he was an old scientist and sometime sorcerer who spent his days puttering back and forth between lab and study. Two things were on his side: the element of surprise and the absolute trust of his favorite student. Using that advantage, he summoned what strength he could gather and pushed her through the opening.

  “Be happy!”

  In less than a second she had disappeared from view. He turned the device off and the portal resumed its disguise as a plain, stone and mortar wall. Hearing pounding at the door, he rushed to put the handheld control in the blender he used to make smoothies and turned it on, thereby destroying any chance of assassins following her escape. There was just enough time to get to the other side of the room and wipe the hard drive before the ramming post broke through the door. He faced the intruders with a smile knowing that his life’s work and prize pupil were far, far away.

  ***

  CHAPTER 1

  The room known as the Chamber was stark, masculine and suggested medieval fortress. Cement block walls formed a perfect square. Gas lit torches were spaced at regular intervals and their flames reflected on smooth gray flagstone floors. It was anachronistic, but served as symbol and reminder that The Order of the Black Swan had a long, long history.

  The three remaining members of B Team were there recounting the circumstances of their teammate's death to their supervisor, Sovereign Sol Nemamiah.

  Sol was no longer field active, but he'd paid his dues and collected honors when he was younger and was now well-respected by everyone in the organization. His signature buzz cut was out of date, but fashion was probably last on his list of priorities. A little gray was showing around the temples and ears as were deep lines around the eyes. They might have been laugh lines on somebody else, but his were squint or scowl lines. He wasn’t known for being gregarious.

  It was impossible to tell if he was forties or fifties, largely because he stuck to a punishing daily workout and had a muscle to fat ratio that would have been the envy of a twenty-something athlete.

  The mood was somber as Sir Landsdowne had been far more than a coworker. How do you describe how you feel about a guy who watches your back in live or die situations? Family maybe. Brothers.

  The three survivors were aware that they were being observed and evaluated by the unit’s psychiatrist. He sat a few feet away on one of the bench seats pretending to be invisible, but fooling no one.

  They were near the end of the grim formality when there was a sudden, upward shift in temperature, like a hot, sirocco wind blasting a door open. That was followed by a flash of light and a pop as something the size of a person rolled into the fetal position materialized above the floor at waist height. It did not hover, but fell instantly to the stone floor, making a sickening, plopping noise on impact. It appeared to be a bloody, quivering mass of scored meat partially covered by shreds of fabric that were either black or blackened by blood.

  The five men stared at the thing. Even in their line of work, being accustomed to highly unusual phenomena, this was astonishing. There they were. The scientist, the administrator, and three battle hardened knights of The Order of the Black Swan, members of the elite B Team, frozen in indecision, a development that is foreign to men whose lives depend on quick thinking.

  Being in charge and presumably wisest, Sovereign Sol was first to speak. “What the fuck?”

  “What is that?” Ram asked with an Irish lilt. To punctuate his revulsion, his face was screwed up the way it might be if something smelled very, very bad. He shook his gorgeous head of hair and leaned forward just a little for a closer look with laser sharp blue eyes. Rammel Hawking was the smallest member of B Team, or Bad Company as their peers like to call them, at just about six feet one. He had a thick head of multi-hued, blond hair that was at once a mess and a miracle. It waved, curled, stuck out in random places, and hung to just short of his shoulders.

  Kay cocked his head then glanced toward Storm. “Shaped like a human.”

  Sol sniffed and took a step to his right as if he could learn more from a different angle and answered for Storm. “Not much of a recommendation. So are lots of things that aren’t.”

  While the five continued to speculate, the blob on the floor began to move and moan softly.

  Ram was slammed with an acute case of gut in
stinct. His solar plexus was throbbing, sending off signals he couldn’t begin to interpret. He didn’t know whether to feel alarmed or intrigued. Moreover, he was disturbed by getting an autoerotic hard-on which was, at the very least disgusting, and, at the very worst, perverted. In a completely out of character moment, he went contrary to his usual impulsive, risk-taking behavior deciding to err on the side of caution. “I have a bad feelin’. I think we should kill it. Kill it now.”

  The man standing closest to the thing, Engel Storm, looked down at its face, into thin slits of eyes - greenish blue maybe - recessed behind gruesome, protrusions of swelling that could make the most calloused warrior a little squeamish. It was then that the thing seemed to reach out to him. He hesitated for a heartbeat then knelt down, almost compulsively, trying to sort out the best way to gather it into a shape that he could lift and carry.

  Sol stepped in. “Don’t touch it! We don’t know what it is. It could be anything… a disguised machine or a suicide mission carrying explosives or toxic chemicals or a spell.”

  Storm ignored Sol’s comments not even bothering with the courtesy of a glance in his direction and continued rearranging the mess as gently as possible. Whatever it was, it was hurt. Badly. It groaned and whimpered in pain with every touch or movement, opening and closing its mouth in agony. It needed help. It had asked for help when it reached out to him and it was neither Storm’s style nor job description to stand around debating precautions and policy when someone, or some thing, was in desperate need of assistance.

  “Call the infirmary. Get them ready for an incoming emergency,” he said it calmly, but the teammates who knew him so well heard the underlying resolve.

  Ram started toward the wall phone.

  “Ignore that!” The older man said more forcefully. He was starting to sound exasperated and was glaring at Storm. “Are you not hearing me?” He wheeled on Ram, “Hawking, don’t you move another step!”

  Ram hesitated for two seconds, looking back and forth between Storm and Sol, before saying to the older man, “Sorry. You know we do no’ do orders.”

  “I’m not joking!” Sol gaped at him. “Two minutes ago you were voting to kill it now.”

  Ram looked over his shoulder and shrugged as he punched in the infirmary code. “Stormy’s call.”

  Engel Storm was six feet four with shoulders as wide as a doorway, but he still struggled to get to his feet with the thing in his arms. It was heavier than it looked. A lot heavier. Plus all the blood and oozing made it slippery. On top of that his sympathetic nature made him wince internally every time it tried to cry out in pain.

  Seeing that Storm needed assistance, Kay had squatted down on the other side of it to help with the lifting. He pinned Storm with a pointed look and lowered his voice. “Might be better to have them send a gurney. You could be causing more damage.” He looked down at the unidentifiable mass. “If that’s possible.”

  Storm shook his head to get dark locks away from his eyes and turned that familiar, piercing, no nonsense gaze on his friend. “No time.”

  Kay nodded and tried to help lift the whatever-it-was so that Storm could get a good enough grip to carry. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Once Storm and Kay had it up and balanced in Storm’s arms, the thing’s head lolled onto his chest and stayed there. He walked as fast as he could. The infirmary wasn’t far, but he was carrying what felt like his own weight. Fluids were leaking so fast that rivulets were running down his pants, onto his boots and under the soles making for slick footing. A couple of times he had to jerk an upright correction to keep from going into a skid on the polished marble flooring.

  He was breathing heavy, but speaking quiet assurances, words of encouragement delivered in short sentences. “Hang in there now. It’ll be okay. We’re almost there. Almost there.”

  Ram and Kay, passing him on either side, went ahead, crashing through the infirmary double doors a second before he arrived. “Where do you want us?” Ram shouted at the med staff that ran to meet them.

  Within seconds the med team had taken Storm’s burden and moved it onto a gurney. The team hustled toward the operating theater firing questions about the nature of the injury on the way. Then the three remaining members of B Team found themselves standing side by side staring at the blank side of a door.

  Ram looked at his teammates. “What the fuck just happened?”

  “I guess they’re pretty good at their job. At least they’re fast,” said Kay.

  Ram nudged Storm on the shoulder. “Stormy. Good call. Let’s go get a drink.”

  Kay snorted. “Is there ever a time you don’t want to get a drink?”

  Ram looked thoughtful as if he was trying to formulate a serious answer to that question.

  Kay just shook his head smiling, “Never mind. You can’t help being Irish, but sometimes I think it’s your answer to the meaning of life.”

  The two started away. Looking down at the front of his clothes, Kay realized he was wearing a lot of gore. “We might want to grab a shower and a change first.”

  After a few steps they noticed Storm hadn’t moved. “You coming?” He continued to stand motionless, looking at the closed door. Kay eased back to Storm’s side and spoke in hushed tones. “Hey. What’s up? You’ve seen stranger stuff than this.”

  Ram had come up on the other side. “Lots stranger.”

  Storm blinked and looked down at the bloody mess that used to be his clothes. “These are gonna have to be burned.”

  “Yeah. Probably. Let’s get cleaned up and grab a whiskey.” Kay nodded and glanced at Ram like he was projecting telepathically. He was thinking they’d been through a lot and that it might be showing on Storm.

  Storm looked at Kay and focused in. He could see that, from their point of view, this would appear to be odd behavior. Truth told, he had been trying to cover up a little depression since Lan’s death. Intellectually he knew he wasn’t responsible, but his heart wasn’t in complete agreement.

  “Thanks for the back up.” He looked between Kay and Ram and even managed a little smile.

  Kay raised an eyebrow that said, "I’m not buyin’ it", but let it pass. He was a couple of inches taller than Storm with sandy brown hair that streaked blond in summer and Northmen blue eyes. He was a poster child for split personality. At times such as these he was the essence of reason, the counsel you would seek if your life depended on good advice.

  Then, there was the other side. Kay was a full blooded berserker from a legendary line that had immigrated to south Texas in the late nineteenth century and settled there. His name was actually Chaos Caelian. When he first landed on B Team, Ram started calling him Sir Kay, after the round table knight who was King Arthur’s foster brother, thinking the play on words was pretty funny. Ram has a talent for keeping himself entertained. It caught on. Pretty soon everybody else was calling him Kay and it stuck.

  Ram gave Storm a grin that showed off teeth so white and even you would swear they were veneers. But they weren’t. “Anytime.”

  Storm had to admire Ram’s ability to stay upbeat no matter what. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call easy going. In fact, he was downright excitable, but he was also optimistic and fun. Sure, people got mad about the practical joking.

  One time he hired a big Rottweiler from a guard dog service and left it in Geoff's pride and joy Porsche on his wedding day. Geoff wasn't especially amused about being late to the altar not to mention the poop. the claw scratches on the leather seats, or the drool marks all over the insides of his windows.

  Another time Ram photo shopped Bran’s head onto a porn shot of a guy with a fifteen inch dick and sexted it to the somewhat reserved girl Bran was wooing on MatchMe.com. The fact that the only way Bran could prove he didn’t do it was to offer a nude meet-and-greet didn’t help his case with the prim bachelorette.

  Yeah. There were a lot of guys lying awake at night plotting payback. Somewhere in his future was a truckload of revenge coming down the road
with a bead on that pretty, peaches and cream forehead. But, if the world was coming to an end, Ram would find a way to make it sound like an adventure and bring his own party. Kay and Storm had decided long ago that he was worth every sweat drop of maintenance.

  “I’m gonna hang out here awhile and see what happens,” Storm said. He looked back at the door. “You know. Curious.”

  Ram leaned his shoulder into the wall thinking he might as well get comfortable, but Kay surprised him by saying, “Okay. Call if you need us. We’ll be close.” They started away.

  “Stop right there!” The door to emergency was swinging closed behind Sol as he stalked toward them.

  Ram rolled his eyes. “Uh oh. Stepped in it.” He looked at Sol. “Again.”

  Sol motioned them into the waiting room which was empty to avoid a public disciplining of knights.

  “Look. I know you three are going through a rough patch. I’ve been there. Lan meant something to you. I understand that better than you think. Teammates always feel that way, but you just took it upon yourselves to make a decision that could endanger everybody in this unit.”

  He paused to shift his weight to a less aggressive stance and raked a hand over his nearly shaved head. “I know you’ve got problems with authority. Hell. That’s half the reason why you’re here. But you either compromise with the management - that would be me - or you’re no good to this organization.” He looked pointedly at all three, one at a time. “Is there any chance I’m making myself clear?” They nodded and tried to look sincere. “We have to finish the inquiry.” Seeing their faces fall and shoulders slump he said, “But we can do it another day.” They murmured thanks to Sol.

  Kay and Ram slipped away. Storm went back to staring at the door. Sol left instructions at the nurses’ station to call him as soon as they had something to tell about the new arrival. Anything at all. She responded that, based on what she’d seen as the gurney passed, it could be a very long time. Sol returned to Storm’s imaginary post outside the O.T. door and suggested he go clean up and change. Storm thought that it was a small concession he could make to appease the rift he’d caused by disobeying orders and agreed.