The Eos Key

  THE EOS KEY

  WYNTER BLOOD BOOK 1

  D.M. LEWRY

  Copyright © 2021

  Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2021 Ash City Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages in the form of a review.

  PRINT ISBN: 978-1-7774804-2-4

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-7774804-1-7

  AUDIOBOOK ISBN: 978-1-7774804-0-0

  D.M. Lewry

  The Eos Key: Wynter Blood Book #1

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. D.M. Lewry is not a medical professional. The content within this novel is fictional and not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.

  Edited by:

  Clovis Editorial

  Sydney Blondell

  Front Cover by:

  Rieno Monterona

  D.M. Lewry

  Published by:

  Ash City Press

  41024 Amberlea PO

  Pickering, ON, L1V 0G3

  WARNING

  THIS STORY CONTAINS content that might be troubling to some readers, including, but not limited to, depictions of and references to death, assault, suicide, cutting and self-harm, vivid nightmare imagery, childhood trauma, depression, and anxiety. Please be mindful of these and other triggers and seek assistance if needed from the resources below.

  IN CANADA

  Crisis and support services are listed below. If you or someone you know has suicide-related concerns, please call the

  Canada Suicide Prevention Helpline:

  1-833-456-4566 (phone)

  45645 (text)

  https://www.camh.ca

  Services Offered: Phone support available 24/7 and text support from 4:00 p.m. to midnight, EST.

  IN U.S.A.

  If you or someone you know is suicidal or in emotional distress, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Trained crisis workers are available to talk 24/7. Your confidential and toll-free call goes to the nearest crisis centre in the Lifeline national network. These centres provide crisis counselling and mental health referrals.

  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

  1-800-273-TALK (8255)

  https://www.mentalhealth.gov

  To my family and friends who encouraged me to see this through when I couldn’t see the end for myself;

  and to all the Black women looking for their reflection in fantasy,

  This is for you.

  The most common way people give up their power is thinking they don’t have any.

  — Alice Walker

  Prologue

  NO OTHER WAY

  Alia

  “Run!”

  Alia Carter heard her mother Grace’s agonizing cry. She ran as fast as her five-year-old legs would carry her out the door and toward the forest as smoke billowed from the windows of her home.

  Alia stopped short of the tree line to see her mother fall down the stairs into the front foyer. Her head cracked off the wall as she tumbled head over feet.

  “Mama!” Alia screamed. She ran back across the field toward the house as her mother struggled to rise.

  It was then she saw it. Its dark skin pulled tight around its monstrous frame. Shaggy black hair shone bright in the light of the flames as it stalked down the stairs. It snarled, a low rumbling sound, as the thick trails of blood dripped from its jowls onto her mother’s sobbing face.

  “Mama!” Alia took a single step. The beast picked her mother up between its jaws and slammed her against the wall.

  An instant later, her father appeared. His clothing torn and bloody, he fought to pull the creature away from her mother. Roaring flames worked tirelessly to engulf their home. A bone chilling howl caused Alia’s hair to stand on end. The beast stumbled backward. Grace fell limp to the floor, convulsing as blood gushed from the gaping hole in her throat.

  “Run, Toad!” her father called from out of view. He’d called her Toad for as long as she could remember; telling her she had green eyes because she was once a frog princess.

  “Daddy!” Alia cried. Thick smoke obstructed her view. There was a flash of movement, and her father knelt next to her mother. He cut into his flesh, took her mother’s head into his hands, and put his wrist to her mouth.

  “Go Alia, now!”

  She locked eyes with her father for a second, just as the creature appeared over him.

  “Run…” His voice was a whisper on the wind before the front door slammed shut. The crack of the door set Alia’s feet running. She dashed into the forest and followed the river downstream to where the guest house stood hidden amongst the thick brush and trees.

  “If ever anything happens, run there and find the bunker. Hide until we come to get you.” Alia’s mother repeated this to her almost every day. Her parents would take her day and night to memorize the path to the hidden property.

  When she reached the house, Alia pushed the side window open and climbed through. She quickly found the pantry and shut the door behind her. With tears streaming down her face, she shoved the wicker potato basket aside and pulled at the metal hoop in the floor. Alia climbed down, pulling the heavy door closed and leaping the rest of the way to the dirt floor.

  She found the tiny card table in the corner and hid underneath. Alia hugged her knees to her chest, crying into the skirt of her dress. Time drifted, and the adrenalin wore off, allowing her small, tired body to rest.

  “Alia, sweetheart?”

  Something grabbed hold of her, and she jolted from sleep. Alia screamed and lashed out as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the single bulb overhead.

  “Toad?”

  She opened her eyes and found him standing before her. Her mother stood next to him, trembling.

  “Mama?” Alia wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and cried into her fleece sweater.

  “Sweetheart, are you okay?” her mother asked, as she pat down her dirty dress.

  “Mama!”

  “We’re okay, Toad.” Her father rubbed her back. “We have to go.” Her father picked her up from the floor and climbed the ladder to the pantry.

  “Is the monster gone?” Alia peered over his shoulder as they ran toward the main house.

  “There’s no more monster, baby. He’s gone.” Grace panted as the burning house came into view. Her father led them around the flames and toward the forest-green Range Rover parked near the front gate.

  “Are the bags in the car?” Grace asked as her father opened the door and placed Alia inside.

  “In the trunk from last week. I packed everything I could think of, and then some.” He presented Alia with her favourite stuffed animal. Next to her parents, it was her best friend. Her father’s quiet eyes met hers, still laden with tears, and she refused to surrender her grasp around his neck.

  “Can you hold on to Mrs. Fox for just a moment? She missed you.” He separated her enough so Alia could drape herself around the plush orange toy. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. He wiped the dust and tears from her face. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.” She sniffled.

  “Roman will meet us at the house. He’s expecting us.” Her mother hopped in. Her father climbed into the driver’s seat and put a hand to her mother’s cheek.

  “I love you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” Turmoil spilled out onto his face.

  Her mother held his hand in hers and leaned over to kiss him. “We felt something like this might happen. We had an advantage.”

&
nbsp; Her father’s head fell as he started the car. “Your brother will not accept this as much as you try to convince him. Roman will try to kill me.” Alia’s mother brought a hand to the back of his head and caressed his dark hair as they drove.

  “I love you,” she sighed, “but, we have to do this. There’s no other way.”

  SUPPORT

  Alia

  Alia’s stomach churned as she twisted a small black braid around her index finger. She relaxed into the flimsy chair and faced the stage to see a young girl reach the podium. Miranda, Alia’s best friend and roommate, sat next to her.

  The girl at the podium cleared her throat. After a slow, deliberate breath, she began. “It’s been four years. I woke up every day preoccupied with the thought of it; consumed with the idea of not being. I couldn’t look in the mirror; I couldn’t bring myself to visit friends or talk to my family. I lost my job, my boyfriend; my friends stopped calling. I didn’t have the energy to do any of it. All I wanted was to not exist.”

  Alia’s gaze fell. She hadn’t planned to end her life the night she set off for the bluffs near her uncle’s home. Just days after her sixteenth birthday, she found out her parents had died. When Roman told her their death had happened shortly after dropping her off, the news had crushed her. The one thing that sustained Alia was the belief her parents would return and never leave her again. When she realized that wasn’t the case, she stormed out of the house to get as far from her uncle as possible.

  Her uncle never shared how they passed. He said he didn’t know. Alia knew that was a lie. Whatever had ambushed them and set their house ablaze somehow returned and finished the job.

  Every time she recalled the fuzzy image of her parent’s faces, her heart seized, and tears threatened her composure. Guilt welled within her. She quickly blinked the tears away and stretched the stiffness out of her neck and shoulders as the girl on stage continued.

  “Are you okay?” Miranda asked. She gave her arm a comforting squeeze.

  “Hmm?”

  “You good?”

  “Yeah.” Alia shifted her attention to the speaker, not wanting Miranda to catch her on the brink of tears again. Miranda had been Alia’s advocate and support system ever since she had asked Alia to move in. When Alia left her uncle in Eramosa to escape to the state’s capital, Ash City, she found work as a server at the infamous Wynter Hotel and Night Club.

  “It was a Tuesday afternoon when I fixed a hose to the exhaust of my van and climbed inside.” The girl stopped and inhaled. She held it, nodded three times, and let it out again. It was a calming exercise Alia knew well from their earlier group discussions. “I could smell the exhaust filling the car, but… I didn’t panic. It didn’t hurt. I closed my eyes and continued to breathe.”

  The memory of the icy wind roaring over the cliff edge still caused the hairs on Alia’s arms to stand on end. When she’d peered down at the river raging over jagged rocks below, she wasn’t exactly scared. She knew what would happen. After a few moments, it would all be over.

  A quiet, childlike voice pleaded for her to step back, but the need for an end overpowered that voice. One slight move of her foot would end her uncle’s constant anger, lift her from the world, and reunite her with her parents.

  “I don’t recall when I fell asleep,” the girl continued. “All I remember is waking up in the emergency room with my family. I thought how disappointed they must be.” Tears rolled down the girl’s face, sending cascades of mascara down her cheeks. She drew a tissue from her pocket and mopped her eyes. “They knew what I’d tried to do. They would never understand.”

  Roman was the only person in the room when Alia woke up in the hospital days later. It was the worst pain she’d ever experienced. Her body ached from fractured bones and gashes covering her skin. She couldn’t remember stepping off the edge, or how she got to the hospital. Only one thing was absolutely clear. Alia remembered her dead father’s face briefly hovering over her before it faded into the unfamiliar faces of doctors and nurses scrambling to save her life.

  The girl removed the last tear from her eye and smiled. “It was after meeting all of you that I felt like I wasn’t alone, like I wasn’t the only one going through this kind of thing. Four years later, and I’m still here. Four years later and I’m ready to talk about it. My name is Michelle, and I promise to keep fighting.”

  The session came to a close with an address from Lavern, the group’s director. She reminded everyone that every day is a fresh opportunity to find more reasons to live. It was the same way she concluded every session since Miranda first brought Alia to the group two years earlier. Miranda cared enough to seek a means to help her. She even offered to drive Alia from her work to the meetings every other Thursday.

  “I’m going to snag a coffee before we leave.” Alia turned to Miranda, who put on her coat. “Did you want a drink or something?” She pointed to the group quickly forming around the array of refreshments.

  “I’m okay.” Miranda waved; her attention focused elsewhere. “I’m going to talk to Darnell for a sec. Be right back.” Miranda smiled at a guy across the room. His cheeks twisted into a grin, and he shoved his fists into his pockets. Alia went to join the line.

  She reached for the stack of paper cups and a set of long pallid fingers nearly collided with hers before they quickly drew back.

  “Sorry!” Alia said quickly. She looked up at the guy beside her with his narrowed eyes glued to his phone. He hadn’t even turned his head to glance in her direction. His nostrils flared and his eyes closed. Frustration flashed across his sharp features. He inhaled deeply and let out a loud, exasperated groan.

  “Are you going to put a drink in it?” His English accent dripped with impatience when his eyes opened and his thumb swiped across the screen.

  “Sorry,” she repeated. Alia filled the cup with tepid coffee and left the line.

  Miranda met her near the exit. “You good?”

  “Yeah… I’m fine.” Alia gestured toward the door and peered over at the man who sat in solitude. He looked like the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders. With his back angled toward her, he hunched over the phone in one hand with a cup of coffee in the other. Alia wished he would find peace from whatever storm he faced as she sipped her own drink and left with Miranda.

  HOTEL WYNTER

  Alia

  “Is that everything, sir?” Alia forced a smile at the scowling man sitting before her. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw it on the half-eaten chicken pomodoro. His wife, a petite woman with weathered features, let out a soft burp.

  Alia prayed neither of them would order dessert. They were the last customers, and she couldn’t wait to close. She had been on her feet for the last ten hours, and the restaurant had been busier than usual. A prominent film festival was about to take place in town, and every person and their dog stayed at Wynter Hotel.

  Michael, a fellow server, walked behind their table with a look of agonizing frustration. He dramatically rolled his eyes and made his way to the bar.

  “That will be all. Thank you.” The man raised an eyebrow and assessed her, as if he could determine whether to leave a tip based on her looks at that very moment.

  She hoped that wasn’t the case. Any time her anxiety piqued; her mind spun through every possible outcome in order to prepare for the worst. When someone mentioned her appearance, the self-doubt weighed even heavier. Alia mentally prepared an onslaught of responses about why her appearance was lacking as the muscles in her chest tightened.

  There was nothing special about her. In black flats, she stood at average height and average weight—though she had more curves than could fit into a size six. With wide hips and a narrow waist, her black cotton work dress accentuated her body in ways she wished it wouldn’t. Most days, Alia wore her hair pinned back in long, thin braids. She went out of her way to blend in, but there was no hiding her green eyes; a trait inherited from her mother and a long line of Carter women.

&nb
sp; Michael appeared out of nowhere and handed her the debit machine.

  “Thanks, Mikey.” She passed it to the customer, who pulled a thick leather wallet from his pocket. The man touched a black AMEX to the machine, gathered his things and led his wife to the exit. She watched them leave; her prepared comebacks trailing silently behind them.

  Alia took the tray of dirty dishes to the back while Michael lurked behind the bar. As soon as the customers were out the door, he jumped out and locked the exit behind them.

  “You sounded great, Lia.” Raj, a busboy, sheepishly grinned from ear to ear. Alia performed for the patrons with a live band ever since a scheduled performer had called in sick, and Jack, her manager, volunteered her services. Now, she performed once a week, though she still wasn’t completely comfortable with it. Over a year later, she had yet to see the raise he’d offered that first night.

  Michael burst into the back room as Alia, Doreen, and Sasha cleaned up. “Pedro leaves tomorrow!”

  “Has it been a month already?” Doreen, the oldest and only part-timer, sat on a stool filling condiment containers. “I feel like it was just yesterday you were telling us he had planned a trip to visit his family.”

  “I know.” Michael pouted. “His mother is sick, and he wants to spend as much time with her as possible.”

  “I just want to be with him before he goes.” Michael put on his deepest, most pathetic frown. He took Alia’s hand. “Please, Lia?”

  They all turned to face her, and she shrugged. As shift leader, she had to decide. “I don’t mind, so long as Jack doesn’t find out.” Jack was unaccommodating with staff requests for time off, and she didn't want to get in trouble.