Initium (Nocte Trilogy (2.5)) by Courtney Cole Read Free Book Online Page A

is left is Finn’s soft voice, and it seems to come from nowhere, yet everywhere.
    “If you have to live for both us, then do it,” he whispers. “But live.”
    “Finn?” I ask hesitantly, but there is no answer.
    He’s truly gone.
    The room is empty and cold and stark.
    My entire life, my brother has been my other half. He’s loved me unconditionally, completely, with everything he has.
    And now he’s dead, and he’s asking me to do something.
    Something hard.
    To exist without him.
    To figure out, once and for all, what is true,
    What is real.
    I have to do it.
    And to do that, I have to re-trace my steps.
    If Finn is gone,
    There’s only one thing in my life that is true.
    One true point of reference.
    One important thing.
    Dare.
    With shaking hands, I close my eyes,
    and try to think about Dare.
    Because it’s always been about Dare.
    I try to focus on his dark eyes, and his bright smile, and his swaying shoulders…but thoughts of him won’t form. They’re stubborn and elusive, and all I can think of is the beginning.
    The beginning
    The beginning.
    With a start, I remember scratched words from Finn’s journal.
    Mars solum initium est. Death is the beginning.
    The beginning, the beginning.
    I NEED TO START.
    My breathing catches then quickens, because maybe once again, like always, Finn is telling me where to go.
    Maybe the beginning is exactly where I need to be.

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    C hapter Two

    T he smell of the school gym permeates my nose. The dust motes float in the air, the floor scuffed and hot. Around me, the other kindergartners screech and run because Capture the Flag is our favorite game. Our skin smells like sweat, our breath is heavy and hot in our chests, and the sense of competition is so thick I can taste it.
    I look up to find my brother Finn grabbing the other team’s flag. He’s as surprised by this turn of events as I am because one thing about my brother… he’s not athletic. It’s not his thing. His smile is beatific as he sprints toward our side, because if he can just manage this, he’ll be the hero of the day. We’ll win, and it will be because of him.
    I wave my arms and motion for him to run harder, as if he weren’t already. His skinny arms are pumping, his legs scrambling. But he needs to run faster because I want everyone else to know how amazing he is.
    “Calla!” Finn shrieks, and for a second, I think it’s from the excitement. “Calla!”
    The tone of his voice is anxious or desperate and his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he’s not excited. He’s terrified. His eyes are wide and focused on something behind me, on the wall, on nothing.
    I’m confused, but panicked, because something in me is triggered. The age-old innate instinct to protect my twin. Fight or Flight. Protect him.
    I sprint to catch him, to try and shield him from the kids trying to bombard him for the scrap of material in his hand. I’m not sure what is wrong with him, but he’s no longer trying to play the game. He’s trying to escape it.
    When I reach him, his eyes are sightless and he’s screaming in terror. Around me, I hear other kids snickering and see them staring and I want to punch them all, but I don’t have the chance.
    Finn drops the flag and it flutters to the ground like an orange ribbon.
    Before I can stop him, he shimmies up the old creaking rope, the one that goes to the ceiling. He hovers by the stained ceiling tiles, looking down at me, but not really seeing me.
    “It’s here, Calla!” he screams. “It’s here. The demon. The demon. It’s eyes are black.” His eyes widen, and he shrieks again, shirking away as if something unseen is chasing him. He tries to climb higher, but there’s nowhere else to go. He’s at the top, next to the ceiling and something imaginary is chasing him and I can’t breathe.
    What is happening?
    My heart pounds and I grab the rope, climbing it as quickly as I can to get to my brother.
    One hand after the other, I push with my feet. The