Evernight (The Night Watchmen Series Book 2)

  The Born in Flames Trilogy

  Born in Flames (Born in Flames Trilogy, #1)

  Embracing the Flames (Born in Flames Trilogy, #2)

  From the Embers (Born in Flames Trilogy, #3)

  The Night Watchmen Series

  The Gramm Curse (Night Watchmen, #0.5)

  Everlasting (Night Watchmen, #1)

  Evernight (Night Watchmen, #2)

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people-living or dead, real locales is entirely coincidental and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Evernight. Copyright © 2014 by Candace Knoebel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  Cover design by Ravven.

  Interior book design by Candace Knoebel.

  The text for this book features Jellyka Castle Queen.

  Edited by Cynthia Shepp.

  ISBN-13: 978-1500887674

  ISBN-10: 1500887676

  First Edition

  Published by Candace Knoebel

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Everlost (Night Watchmen, #3) Preview

  To every reader—a garden isn’t a garden without flowers.

  Thank you for continuing to support every author and their dream of spreading words amongst the pages you find yourself lost in. You’re the reason we write.

  That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

  -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

  PEOPLE LIE. EVERY SINGLE DAY.

  In fact, most of our world was built on the foundation of lies, some with the intent to serve the greater good, and others with the intent to serve one person’s giant ambitions. But the root of every lie is exactly the same. They’re all equally deceitful, treacherous propositions spewed from the mouths of men and woman alike.

  Lies have the power to sound right, yet feel wrong. They have the ability to confuse your heart and twist your mind. The problem is, sometimes these lies become easier to believe than the truth. They become a sort of safety net from reality, a way to avoid what lingers in the back of your mind. And some say that over time, if you believe them long enough, they become real.

  At least, that’s what my mother had hoped would happen in my case. But just like every lie ever told, all it takes is one small crack in that foundation for the whole thing to come crashing down.

  And it did.

  Because everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. A beautiful and heartrending lie. I wasn’t the Defect my parents would regretfully see off to college before turning their backs on me. I wasn’t the weak friend who didn’t have enough backbone to stand up for what’s right, nor was I the loner without a purpose or a chance at real love. And I sure as hell wasn’t the weapon Bael and the members of the Darkyn Coven intended me to be.

  But I am the weapon the Primeval Coven needs me be. Or so they keep saying.

  In my Coven, there are two kinds of people: The Hunters and the Witches. They used to hate each other, even though they were on the same team, back in the old days when cars didn’t exist and time was tracked on a sundial. They hated each other so much that eventually a war was brought on by one of the original Witches—a Divine named Mourdyn.

  The war was known as the Great Battle of the Covens. It was meant to wipe out the existence of every Hunter, and it devastated the population of my people, the Primevals. It annihilated the population of the Darkyns—the Witches who abandoned our Coven to follow the whims of Mourdyn and his persuasive lies.

  But even though a lie can be struck down—imprisoned even—it can’t ever be fully erased. The scars it leaves behind on this earth and in our hearts are eternal, and somewhere along the way, someone will pick that lie back up and breathe life into it once more. Give it the wings it needs to rise again. Only, this time, that lie will be stronger, with an even greater purpose.

  And that’s the part that scares me the most.

  I glance down at my leg. The burn marks left behind from Bael’s wrath still tingle with echoes of the scorching fire he sent after me after I escaped with Weldon, reminding me that I’m nowhere near ready for the fight that’s sure to come.

  And that has to change.

  That’s part of why I agreed to come here to Ethryeal City—to the heart of our Coven. It’s where Hunters and Witches in an affinity bond enter as Night Watchmen and leave as Elites. Where those who have broken our Coven laws go to face the High Priesthood. Where those who need refuge… those like me… come to hide.

  The only thing is, I never agreed to being separated from everyone I know. They call it debriefing, but with every day that passes, I’m beginning to wonder… to question how long it actually takes.

  It’s been seven days and fourteen hours since my unfortunate and unplanned encounter with Bael—the Demon King of the Underground. In these last seven days, I’ve made more promises than I can count on two hands. And in those promises, I think I’ve told more lies than I ever have in my life.

  Honesty seems to have slipped out of her bedroom from inside my integrity and, in her place, deceit has crept in with the offer of survival. If I just nod along with the many blending faces all interviewing me, then maybe somehow, I’ll make it out of this phase in my life alive. I’ll make it back into Jaxen’s arms and back into the graces of the friends I’ve come to trust.

  But what deceit doesn’t offer is solace, because you can’t fool deceit. It knows every trick in the book.

  Every day, twice a day, for the past four days, I’ve recounted in specific order how my friends and I nearly lost our lives in hopes that we’d gain an advantage on the Darkyn Coven and intercept them from taking the Dagger of Retribution. The one that has the power to initiate the removal of the Veil that separates the Underground and all its evil from the humans. The very Dagger that only I have the power to touch.

  I’ve been singularly interviewed by every member on the Priesthood, and then by every general and Elder within the hierarchy of our Coven.

  And I’m so very tired.

  For the past four days, since I left the safe house beneath the church owned by the Night Watchmen, when I haven’t been in a laboratory undergoing strenuous testing, I’ve spent the remaining hours kept in a holding cell stripped of all persona
lity. Chained down by claustrophobia. Shackled to the fears given free rein to destroy my hope.

  I don’t have a home anymore. I have four white walls, one white jumpsuit, a white bed, white sheets… the color was bleached from my life the moment I crossed into the legendary Ethryeal City. I keep trying to remember the last time I saw Jaxen’s face, but my soul has fed so often on the happiness of that memory, I fear it’s disappearing. And I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.

  They took everything away from me just to keep me repressed. Controlled. But what they don’t know is they cannot control what they do not own, and they do not own me. I can’t trust anyone. No one but myself, because all I know is I am more of a threat to them than I thought.

  And the High Priesthood doesn’t know what to do with me.

  PREMONITIONS ARE A TRICKY THING.

  They’re kind of like dreams, a bunch of images and words that jumble together in no particular order, making them hard to place. Difficult to make sense of. They come when you least expect them and, sometimes, when you really don’t want them to, because all premonitions carry the truth, whether you want to see it or not.

  And all premonitions come true.

  I faintly remember Cassie telling me that every Witch has at least one premonition in their lifetime, and it usually happens when something life changing is around the corner. It’s almost like a defense mechanism. A way to prepare themselves for the worst.

  But how can you prepare yourself if you don’t understand it?

  Shortly after my last interview with High Priest Seamus, I start feeling weird. He assured me that I’d see my friends soon. That the debriefing process was almost over, but so did every other member of the Priesthood, and I’ve yet to see the results of those promises.

  After I’m escorted back to my holding cell, I begin to feel faint. My hands shake and my vision wavers in and out. My first thought is that it must be the stress of not knowing what’s going to happen to my friends that’s finally catching up to me.

  I lay down on my cot, thinking that resting will make the feeling go away, but then a cold sweat breaks out across my body and a feverish chill settles beneath my skin. No matter what position I lay in, I can’t get comfortable, and I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s hovering over my shoulder, calling out for me. I can’t tune out the soft, lulling voice that whispers into my ear to close my eyes and open myself up.

  I don’t know at what point I fall asleep, but I do, and the moment my eyes close, images explode behind my lids.

  There’s blood, electricity, and screams that I’ll carry to my grave. There’s Jaxen’s face, and bodies lying in blood, and Weldon’s tears. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a theater, surrounded by screens. I keep spinning and spinning, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing, but the more I spin, the faster the images pass me by until I finally drop to a crouch and tuck my head under, screaming for it to stop.

  “Faye.”

  My heaving chest stills. My heart pounds out one good beat, and then slows. That voice. A voice I never thought I’d hear again. Her voice.

  Slowly, I lift my head, scared that what I heard was a dream. Terrified that by trying to see her, that by being so greedy, she’ll disappear.

  “Faye, you have to pay attention.” It’s my mother’s voice, unmistakably clear this time.

  I stand up and look around and around, searching for her face, but there’s nothing but these horrible images. This dreadful space pressing in on me, suffocating me.

  My heart drops, deserting me when I realize that she’s not really here. My eyes press shut, not wanting to see anymore of what’s around me. I wish the pain would stop, and I wish my brain would shut up.

  But then her voice appears again. “This is important, Faye,” she continues, sounding like she’s all around me. “You have to see what the Goddess is showing you. Open your eyes. Take control.”

  I look up again. “Where are you, Mom?” I call out, tears streaming past my cheeks.

  “I’m in your heart, Faye. I’m with you, always.”

  I can’t explain how, but even though I can’t see her, I feel her. I feel her hand brushing my cheek. I feel the lightness of her smile. I feel her soul.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I say, barely able to choke back the sob that’s clogged up my throat. Scarcely able to contain the confession of all that I’ve done wrong that’s trying so hard to slip past my lips.

  “Don’t be,” she says so softly, so lovingly. “None of this is your doing, but you do have the power to change things. The power of choice. Look closely,” she says.

  I try again without success. “I-I don’t know how. The images… they’re too fast,” I say, blinking to try to keep up with the speed of the images replaying in order over and over again.

  “This is your premonition, Faye. Take control. It’s in your blood. You’re a Middleton. You’re my daughter. Be the Witch you are.”

  There’s strength in her tone that I pull from. Strength she’s always given me when I thought I couldn’t do something. A mother’s words hold more power than the strongest weapon in the world. I just wish I had realized it sooner, back when I had the chance to tell her thank you.

  “It’s your time, Faye,” she says knowingly.

  I nod, pushing away the ache of knowing that she isn’t real, and shut my eyes. Taking in a deep breath, I open them again. One by one, the images slow enough for me to comprehend them.

  The first is of Clara, Mack’s Witch. She’s standing behind a podium before the entire Coven, urging me to come forward. A huge white flag with the Coven symbol burns wildly behind her, and I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure how to put the fire out, or what it even means.

  “Wait!” I say, but the premonition doesn’t listen. The image fades away before I have the chance to figure it out.

  I turn.

  The next is of Jaxen. He’s walking toward me, wearing a bright smile, when I notice a red dot moving across his forehead until it centers itself. I try to tell him to stop, to run, but the words won’t come out of my mouth. There’s a hand pressed over it, keeping it shut, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can’t turn to see who it is.

  The image begins to fade. “No!” I shout out. “Wait!”

  I spin again, and the next image is of me standing in a dark room holding the Dagger of Retribution. I’m looking down at it. Two doors are in front of me. One has an exit sign above it, and the other is a large, white door that belongs to a house I’ve never seen before.

  The image fades.

  “These are your choices, Faye,” my mother says. “These are moments that will come to pass, and the choice you make at that moment will lead you down a new path that is irreversible.”

  I can’t get Jaxen out of my head. The gun aimed at him. The hand wrapped around my mouth.

  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  “Yes,” my mother says firmly. “I made the mistake of choosing to hide your future from you, thinking things would stay that way, but no matter what, destiny will come to pass. I made the wrong choice, Faye. But you, you can do better.”

  When I feel her soft touch on my cheek again, tears form at the corners of my eyes.

  “I’m scared,” I say, watching the images slowly fade. I feel her energy leaving, drifting back to wherever she came from. “Don’t leave!”

  “I must,” she says, her voice growing distant.

  “Where are you? Tell me where you are!”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Faye. Don’t be afraid of who you are. Don’t…”

  And just like that, she’s gone. I feel myself being sucked away, back into reality.

  Back into my holding cell.

  “VISITOR INCOMING.”

  There’s no time to decipher what I just saw. No time to mourn the fact that my mom is still gone. I look to the small screen sitting on the nightstand near my cot and wonder if today will be the day they let me go. The sam
e woman always appears, announcing the news, the weather, and the messages from the many visitors who come to my room. Her eyes are bright blue, and her lips are pale pink. Even though her voice is soft like silk, it bears no emotion—no matter the contents of the messages she delivers.

  I wonder if she’s even real… if anything in this city is even real, but my wondering is cut short by the sounds in the hallway outside my room. The exasperated sigh of the sliding door that leads to my holding cell. The sound of heels clicking against cold marble.

  I jump up, smoothing down the front of my jumpsuit, and quickly push the hair from my face. It’s all for show. To make me look whole, complete, and in control of my emotions.

  But I don’t feel a single thing.

  I haven’t from the moment they lured me away from my friends, telling me that they just needed some answers to the incident at Whiskey Hallow. It was necessary to shut my emotions off just to keep from freaking out and breaking down. To keep from reverting back to the fear I felt when Bael took me from my friends and I realized that I’d probably never see them again, because every time I shut my eyes, it’s his face I see. It’s his anger I feel scarring up my leg.

  It’s his wrath I know I’ll meet again one day soon.

  I explained this to the Elite Intelligence Counselor in hopes that she’d see my need to be reunited with my friends and grant me passage, but her questions turned into blood work, and blood work turned into a few rounds of testing, and that turned into this never-ending waiting game.

  Because of them, I know that my affinity mark is rare. It’s not bound to any one person, as the rest of the Coven is, but by choosing to love a Hunter, I have unknowingly linked myself to him, thus linking myself to Jezi as well.

  The only difference is that I don’t need them to use my power the way they need each other. It was proven during the testing when they made sure that I was moved far away from Jezi and Jaxen.