The First Book of the Pure

Book One in the Pure Series

by

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 D.K. Dewey

All rights reserved.

Dear Reader,

This is a journey into the lives of a very
few, very special, long-lived people. Be warned that their stories
are addictive; they are called Pures, but are as likely to be pure
evil as pure good. They do not see you as others see you, or as you
see yourself. To some of them you live too brief span of time to be
significant, and therefore seem less than they - useful for awhile
perhaps, but not always necessary. In the long run, as they see it,
you are not even particularly necessary. Even though your flame may
burn brightly, as the idiom goes, in their estimate your flame will
be too brief to have a meaningful impact.

They live for centuries, changing identities
at need. They skip periods of time in a unique way, and they might
skip your lifetime entirely as they travel forward in time by way
of these skips.

The journey will be a series of several
books. In this one you will meet some of the Pure and see the
beginning of their conflict.

Chapter
1
Sir, Host and Story Teller

Chapter
2
Gheret, First and Eldest

Chapter
3
The Host Continues

Chapter
4
Session 2

Chapter
5
Ruby, the First Woman

Chapter
6
Session 3

Chapter
7
Maximus, Rome and Beyond

Chapter
8
Gheret’s Return

Chapter
9
Gheret’s Fall

Chapter
10
The Return of Maximus

Chapter
11
Session 4

Chapter
12
Mary Parker (Ruby) Condemned Witch

Chapter
13
Accusation

Chapter
14
Conviction

Chapter
15
Execution

Chapter
16
Session 5

Chapter
17
Karl: Duke, King, and Killer

Chapter
18
Death

Chapter
19
Max Meets Robert

Chapter
20
Session 6

Chapter
21
Ruby’s Return

Chapter
22
Session 7

Chapter
23
Gheret’s Second Return

Chapter
24
M & R, Inc.

Chapter
25
Treachery While We Skipped

Chapter
26
Session 8

Chapter
27
Goyahkla

Chapter
28
Goyahkla’s Death

Chapter
29
Goyahkla’s Return

Chapter
30
Session 9

Chapter
31
Ruby and An’Kahar

Chapter
32
Session 10

Chapter
33
Gheret in Love

Chapter
34
Session 11

Chapter
35
Intimacy and Family

Chapter
36
Session 12

Chapter
37
History Repeats Itself

Chapter
38
Elihas, Son of Geronimo

Chapter
39
Maximus and Robert Return

Chapter
40
Session 13

Chapter
41
Karl Returns, and Returns

Chapter
42
Interruption and Eruption

Chapter
43
The Conflict Begins

Chapter
44
Session 14

Chapter
45
The Conflict Escalates

Chapter
46
Blood Is Thicker than Water

Chapter
47
Pures Are Getting as Thick as Fleas

Chapter
48
Attack!

Chapter
49
Counter Attack

Chapter
50
The Beginning and the End

Chapter
51
Always Plan Ahead

Fact and Fiction

Acknowledgements

Group Discussion Guide

The
first three chapters of the Sequel:
Pure Power, the
Second Book of the Pure
.

List of Main Characters

Sir, Host and Story Teller

“I count my life in centuries, not years or
decades. Those like me are very, very rare. Let me call us by our
chosen designation: the ‘Pure.’

Because we are exactly that.”

The Host

Kenneth was a reporter with a good
reputation, and he was very well known. His career had made him
more than a few enemies through the years, but by and large his
stories had made him a good living and hadn’t brought him any death
threats. He stopped to get his coffee just as he did every day,
walking in with his brilliant blue running shoes, his Cincinnati
Reds cap pulled rakishly low, with his khaki pants and polo shirt
both some shade of universal beige. For all his desire to look
different than the average human in the herd, he did not. He
inhaled deeply as he walked in, savoring the aroma of various
coffees brewing and being enjoyed.

He waited, ordered, chatted up the pretty
young Barista, sipped his brew, and started out. He was just
walking out of the Starbucks with his triple shot caramel latte,
when two large men wearing dark suits lifted him and kept walking
like he was a paperweight. He kicked, trying to reach the ground
but to no avail. He looked a bit like a cartoon character running
on air, getting nowhere, except he was real and this was really
happening to him. One man grabbed him under his left arm, lifted
his coffee from his grasp and casually dropped it, while the other
grabbed his right arm, immobilizing it. Then they simply lifted him
into the side door of the van that was already open.

His silence, other than the startled, “Hey!”
was due purely to surprise. As the van gathered speed he determined
to be silent no longer. He opened his mouth to yell but couldn’t
fail to see the gun leveled at his face. The man holding it looked
like he might chew the legs off children before breakfast, and then
get
really
mean. He looked more dangerous than mysterious.
He looked like a man who did what he set out to do, no matter what.
Since Kenneth was the “what” in this case, he felt panic rise to
the surface, which had not been too far under it. The man said very
firmly but softly, “Keep your mouth shut and you might live through
the day. Unfortunately for you, I’ve done this before, all of it.”
His cold smile showed his teeth, off color and somewhat twisted.
Kenneth, a good and therefore sometimes pushy reporter, was fairly
certain the deadly looking man meant every word he said. Kenneth’s
immediate reaction was a fast, unthinking retort of, “Not your
first time, huh?”

At that point the man pointed the silenced
9mm at Kenneth’s foot, and said, very low and clearly, “I’m not
supposed to kill you unless you fight us. Nothin’ was said ‘bout
pain or injuries. Next word, got it?” So in a completely un-Kenneth
like fashion, he kept his mouth shut and tried not to tremble and
show his fear in front of these men. He was sure that they, like
most predators, could smell fear.

The van drove through the city and eventually
sounded like it was in the country, although he couldn’t see
because the panels on the sides and back had no windows, and there
was a dark barrier just behind the front bucket seats. He stared at
the mustached man with the gun, glad the gun was no longer pointing
at him, and asked the question with his eyes. The gunman lifted his
bushy eyebrows, which also moved the long scar from his left
eyebrow down to the bottom of his ear. “Kenny” he said, “my
employer won’t harm you if you cooperate with him completely. We’ll
arrive in another fifteen or twenty minutes, so just relax.”
Kenneth nodded, as if to agree, but his pasty complexion and
terrified, darting eyes denied that he could really relax. Oddly
enough, he most wanted to correct the man and tell him to call him
“Kenneth.” He hadn’t gone by “Kenny” since he was twelve.

As they traveled, Kenneth tried to mentally
label his immediate tormentor, the man with the gun. His cold,
sweat producing terror was such that he came up with almost
nothing. Scarface wasn’t too helpful, instilling even more fear in
him. But Scarface it was. He couldn’t stop thinking of him that
way. The further they drove, the more restless he became. He had no
trouble mentally labeling the other two men, and decided on
“Tweedle Dee” for the driver, who said nothing, and “Tweedle Dum”
for the guy next to him.

Once the van had stopped moving, Tweedle Dum
jumped out and opened the side door. The man with the gun, Bertram
he later found his name to be, simply sat looking at him and waved
the gun to indicate he should step out of the door. Kenneth was no
fool, and had covered some fairly dangerous events in the past for
his stories. He followed directions without giving the men any
trouble.

As he looked at the estate before him he saw
a home that implied great wealth. Truly palatial, surrounded by
high walls and beautiful landscaping, it was more castle-like than
homey.
So
,
we’re fifty minutes outside of Washington DC.
Where are there mansions like this?
He was escorted into the
main house and into what seemed to be a very well-stocked library.
The walls were covered with a rich mahogany, with stained glass
lamps and a magnificent chandelier. He was made to sit in a very
comfortable, deep leather chair. It was the kind of leather chair
that he hadn’t splurged on, even with his better than average
income, the kind he imagined might be in high class country clubs
or exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. As that thought went through his
mind, he was suddenly sorry he’d never accepted an invitation to
such a club for an evening on leather such as this, minus the thugs
escorting him, of course. In fact, he was wishing he was in exactly
that kind of club, casually sharing quips with associates, right
now. He rubbed the leather on the chair arms again; it was so warm
and supple it felt like the steer might still be wearing it. He
inhaled the rich scent and let it ease his fear some. He was an
olfactory kind of guy. At that point Scarface said to him, again
very gently, “Sit still, and wait for my employer. You don’t need
to know his name or nothin’ about him that he don’t offer to tell
you. I can’t stress this enough. Don’t ask questions or pressure
him. I would hate to have to dump your body and start this over
with another reporter.” He narrowed his eyes as he looked at
Kenneth. “It’s too much extra work.” Just before he turned and
walked out of the study, the man gave Kenneth a smile so cold and
filled with threatening implications that Kenneth felt a chill as
he gripped the chair arms. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t be
asked to give as much as the steer he was sitting on had given.

***

About ten minutes later a tall, dignified
looking man entered the room with the very blond hair of a
Norwegian, maybe a Swede. He looked about thirty five, Kenneth
thought, but it was really hard to gauge for some reason. While he
was fair skinned, he also had the darkest eyes the reporter had
ever seen. The smile he offered to Kenneth was quite the opposite
of the one he had just gotten from Scarface. It exuded warmth and
almost relaxed Kenneth, who had never been escorted anywhere before
at gun point. He sincerely hoped this kind of thing wouldn’t become
a habit.

“I want to make this simple for you, and as
clear as possible. You may refer to me simply as Sir, because
that’s all I’ll answer to. There’s no reason for you to know my
name. You are in considerable danger here, young man, so take
nothing for granted. This is going to take a few days, I expect, so
we’ve made arrangements with your employer. It’s been made clear
that you’re chasing an undercover story that you just had to have.”
He gave that radiant smile again and continued. “You know how you
irrepressible young reporters are, always chasing after the next
big story. Your ex-wife and mother of your two young children
seemed to think the explanation was plausible. Trust me when I tell
you that what she was told was very believable.