The Tynder Crown Chronicles, Season One: Episode One: The Tynder Crown Chronicles (The Tynder Crown Chronicles, A Novella Series Book 1) (2 page)

Tossing back the tiny white pills of forgiveness, I take a quick swig of the merlot, wincing.
Damn, that’s some cheap-ass wine.
The steam fills the air around me as I fill my bath. I close my eyes and allow a calm to settle over me. I know the more relaxed I am, the sooner this headache will pass.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, my fingertips dangling over the edge, all I can think about is Joe.
Why was he calling me so many times? What do we need to talk about?
I’ve been avoiding him lately. If I’m absolutely honest with myself, it’s probably because I’m starting to realize he’s right.
What am I doing with my life? Partying every night just to wake up feeling like this? Some months I can’t even keep the power turned on in my place. Is this really the freedom I’m searching for?

I grew up working for Joe—well, not officially, I suppose. I guess it was more like earning my keep; I was a glorified errand girl. He handles cases for the well-to-do families of the city. It always seems like there is lot of ceremony involved, and, let’s be real, that’s just not me. I suppose important people need to have someone available to investigate their issues, and it takes a level of discretion. One thing you can always say about Joe is that he is discreet.

The water tickles my fingertips, and I open my eyes. Leaning over, I crank the handles until they’re off, I slip one foot in and then another, sliding down and submerging my body into the hot liquid. I watch as my skin develops a nice pink hue from the heat.

Leaning my head back against the hard surface of the tub, I exhale all the air from my lungs, and sink a couple inches lower.
What I need is to find a job that will pay me to lie around all day and soak in long, hot baths.
The only ones that come close require having sex with random strangers, who are willing to pay, which, again, is not my bag. Well, having sex with strangers seems fine, but getting paid for it, I guess I’m just not ready to say I’ve sunk that low. Besides, the process of becoming a certified companion is far too much paperwork for someone like me.

Perhaps Joe’s right; maybe it is time we have that talk I’ve been trying so desperately to avoid.

I’m tired. I mean tired all the way down into my core. My soul shouldn’t feel this exhausted at twenty-two. I’m sick of feeling like death every morning. I’m sick of my hair reeking like stale cigarettes from the bars. I’m especially sick and tired of feeling like if I disappear off the face of this earth, absolutely nobody will notice—well, except for Joe.

Suddenly the water feels warmer.
What the hell?
I twitch; something isn’t right. My eyes widen.
What’s going on?
I can feel the temperature of the water increasing with each passing second. I sit up, my flesh now glowing a vibrant shade of red.

“What the—?” I gasp in disbelief, running my fingers against my arm.
I’m hot to the touch—burning hot.
I feel my scalp pulsating with the heat; sweat is beginning to pour down into my eyes. My heart’s racing, and I have no idea what’s happening to me. I’m terrified.
Is this what spontaneous combustion feels like?

Before I can take another breath, there is a searing pain in my gut. I double over, water splashing everywhere as I jerk wildly. It’s like no pain I’ve ever felt before, as if five thousand hot coals have been shoved into my belly and are about to melt me from the inside out.

“Oh God!” I cry out in agony.
This is it. I’m going to die, right here, right now. I’m going to die in my bathtub, in my tiny pathetic apartment, and when the paramedics find me, I’ll look like a freaking lobster.

I begin to convulse wildly, no longer in control of my body, vibrating as the water evaporates into steam all around me. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, fire might actually come out. My stomach begins to heave in and out as I struggle to breathe through the searing heat. I imagine the only thing keeping my body from burning the apartment down around me is the fact that I’m in water. What do I do when the water is gone, consumed by my heat?

Thoughts race through my mind in a chaotic blur.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why won’t I just die already? Damn it, why didn’t I pick up the phone when Joe called? Josiah. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better granddaughter.
Then everything goes black.

THERE’S NOTHING BUT DARKNESS ALL around me. I’m swimming through it, like an endless ocean. I can see nothing, and, though my arms swing and feet kick, I’m unsure if I’m making any progress with my movements. I pause, believing I see something at last.
I do.
In the distance I see the slightest flicker of color. A hint that something else exists in the darkness with me.
Where am I? How did I get here?

I squint my eyes; I can make out the color orange. The flicker I saw is growing—it’s now a sphere—bright oranges and yellows dancing together. The intricate movements mesmerize me. Suddenly I realize I’ve stopped moving my feet, but I do not sink. I haven’t been swimming. I’m floating—floating in nothingness.
Am I dead?

There’s no panic inside of me. Somehow this feels right, and I feel safe. Like this is somewhere I have been trying to get to my entire life. I glance back up as I see the sphere has quadrupled in size. Now the fear creeps in as I realize it’s not growing, but getting closer, and fast. I wave my arms wildly, trying to move in the darkness, to propel myself out of the path of the object, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t move. I’m stuck on a direct collision path with …
What is that thing? A fireball!

I squeeze my eyes shut.
A fireball?
This has to be a dream. I must have passed out in the tub.
All of this, it has to be a dream.
The heat is now blazing against my face. From the other side of my eyelids, the glow comes closer. I’m no longer in a pitch-black chamber of nothingness; now it’s more like I’m on the sun. Everything in me is telling me not to open my eyes. If I keep them closed, when the massive fireball hits me, it has to jolt me awake,
right?

I fight the urge for as long as I can, but the heat against my skin is so intense now, I simply have to look. I can feel my eyelashes starting to singe. Opening my eyes, shock washes over me. Directly in front of me is a massive bird-like creature, standing six feet tall. Its wingspan must be at least twelve feet, and where there should be feathers are instead dancing flames. There is a large halo around its head with seven rays of light beaming from it. The brilliance of it nearly blinds me, but I can’t bring myself to look away.

Its legs are covered in scales that look like they are made out of pure gold. I reach out, wanting to touch the shimmering material, but quickly pull my hand back when the gigantic creature flaps its wings of fire. I look up; my eyes are caught in the bird’s gaze. Those eyes—like sapphires—have me in a trance. In an instant, it’s as if our feelings are fused together.

What are you?

From nowhere, a clear thought forms in my mind:
I was him, and now I’m you.

I shake my head, but I can’t break the connection between the bird and myself.

Why am I here?
I’m unable to stop myself from thinking the words.

You are here to be born.
The animal shifts its head as the thought silently solidifies in my mind.
It’s talking to me. I’ve either gone mad or … yes, that’s it, I must be dead.

One must die to be reborn.

I don’t want this thing in my head anymore. “Stop it!” I demand.

Heat spreads across my body as the bird flaps its wings again.

“What do you want from me?” I shout.

No thoughts appear. The bird is just staring now, as though I am the one who makes no sense in this reality. As though I am the one who must be a dream. And before I can react, the creature spreads it wings to their farthest point and moves in close to me. The heat is so intense now, I have no choice but to close my eyes and curl into a ball. The intensity only grows when I feel the fire wrap around me as the bird’s wings scoop me in and cradle me in its grasp.

I can’t fight it … I can’t even move. The heat is so overwhelming I assume if I’m not dead, I will be at any moment.
Perhaps this is hell.
It sears through every inch of my body.
Please, let it stop.
I can’t tell if it’s only seconds or days that I experience this pain because each moment feels like an eternity.

Alas, I can take no more, and my naked, limp figure releases its muscles, the tight fetal ball I was in coming undone. In that second, the flames penetrate me to my core, and with a cry, I am thrust back in the darkness. What I feel blazing inside me is greater than any pain I could have ever imagined. It’s burning fiercely in the pit of my stomach, and I pray it will consume me, putting me out of my unbelievably horrific misery.

It doesn’t end, though. My prayers fall on deaf ears, and I’m left to suffer. I can’t move my limbs … it hurts too much. No part of me is responding to the messages my mind is trying to send.
At what point will the pain be so much that my body goes numb?
But there is no relief.

Then, there is nothing—no burning, no pain, no light—nothing but a pulsing of warmth filtering throughout my body, all the way to my fingertips. I open my mouth and attempt to lick my lips, but there is no moisture, only the scaly texture of my tongue rubbing against my cracked lips. With a deep breath I squeeze my eyes closed.
This can’t be real. It’s not real.

I wait, and then continue to wait even longer. Finally, I open my eyes, terrified I might see the winged beast, ready to swallow me again in its fiery embrace. But I don’t see the bright glowing wings, or the piercing blue eyes of the bird; no, all I see is the ceiling of my apartment bathroom. I’m lying at the bottom of my bathtub, there is no water around me, and the air in the room is thick and moist, the steam nearly choking me.

I must have fallen asleep. Yes, that has to be it. I fell asleep in the bathtub, and I must have kicked out the drain stop.
I groan as I shift my body against the hard surface.
At least my hangover’s gone
. I place my hands on the edge of the tub and carefully push myself to a standing position.

The security buzzer to the apartment entrance sounds from the other room. I step out and run into the main area. I’m not expecting anyone. I’m never expecting anyone. I fall to my bare knees and peek under my bed. Reaching out, I grab hold of my favorite leather leggings.

Frantically, I rush over to a laundry basket in the corner and slip on a pair of red satin panties. Even though I’m never expecting company, it doesn’t mean I don’t like to be prepared in case I ever get a visitor from someone who is tall, dark, and handsome.

The pants resist my efforts at pulling them up against my sticky flesh. Rushing over to the side table, I pull out a drawer and grab a fresh black tank top and stretch it over my head, sliding and securing it over my ample curves. I’m about to respond to the door buzzer when I hear my phone ringing.

I leap up and make my way over to the kitchen counter, scooping the device up into my hands. Lifting it, I peer down at the number. It’s once again my grandfather. An uneasy feeling settles over me.
This is more than Joe’s persistence. Something must be wrong.

I slide my finger across the face of the phone, clear my throat, and answer, “Joe? Is everything all right?”

The other end is silent at first. There is a slight hitch in someone’s breath, and then a voice that is not my grandfather’s answers me. “Tynder, it’s Desmond. Are you at home?”

Desmond has been Joe’s personal assistant for as long as I can remember. He used to entertain me as a child with simple magic tricks. It’s rare to see Joe without Desmond close behind. I used to think perhaps they were a couple, but after walking in on Joe and a lady friend, I learned my assumptions about them were incorrect. Nonetheless, Desmond is my grandfather’s right-hand man, and the closest thing he has to a real friend.

“Yeah, I’m home, what’s up?” I ask, sensing the hesitation in his voice.

“I need you to come to Joe’s office,” he instructs me.

“What? Why?” I huff, annoyed Joe is now having Desmond do his dirty work when it comes to our relationship.

“Please, just do as I ask.” His voice is shaky. “And Tynder, don’t speak to anyone. Come straight here.”

I’m about to ask why when I hear the phone click. I’m alone in this conversation now. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever has Desmond acting this way can’t be good. I stumble forward and grab my favorite pair of black, knee-high boots and shove my feet into them, one after the other. Grabbing my jacket, I slip my arms in and then shove my phone into my pocket.
A quick cab ride and I’ll have this sorted out
.
As soon as I can find my keys.

The door buzzer sounds again.
Oh hell! I totally forgot someone was at the door.
The damn intercom has been broken since the second day I moved into the apartment, and the good-for-nothing landlord has never bothered to fix it. I rush over to the box near the front door and press the button to allow the mystery guest entry into the building. I know this is something Joe would hate. After all, he would point out I could be letting a killer into my building. I’m pretty confident, though, I can take care of myself. I’ve tossed more than a few drunks into the street at my job.