The Lost Imperials, #1
by Sherry D. Ficklin & Tyler Jolley
Publication date: September 8th 2016
Genres: Steampunk, Young Adult
BLURB
Two opposing factions of time
travelers vie for control of the future in this thrilling steampunk series
opener dubbed “Interesting” and “Unexpected” by Kirkus Reviews.
Lex and Ember—two time travelers
with no memories of their lives before being recruited into the time war—are
torn between the factions. When Lex accepts a mission that lands him deep
within the heart of the Telsa Institute, he meets Ember, and the past that was
stolen from them comes flooding back. Now armed with the truth of who they
were, Lex and Ember must work together to save the future before the battle for
time destroys them once again.
My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. I can feel the warmth of
Ethan’s body radiating like a tuning fork against my back. In front of me,
there is only darkness. I strain, listening, waiting for the next wave of
attack. The leather straps holding up my suede harness dig into the skin of my
shoulders, but the ache only sharpens my focus. The urge to turn around is
strong, though I know better. Months of training have taught me exactly what
happens when I turn my back to the darkness. So I listen, honing my senses
until I catch the sound of Ethan taking a small step forward, away from me. My
eyes are useless, so I close them. Knowing my attackers are well paid for their
ability to move in silence, there is little hope that they will give themselves
away. We need another strategy. As if reading my mind, Ethan picks up the
conversation we were having earlier.
“All I’m saying is, maybe you need the extra practice,” Ethan
says, his tone mocking. Even without being able to see him, I can sense him
moving, beginning to circle counterclockwise. I know he’s trying to draw them
out, to bring the fight to him. It seems like a sound strategy, so I jump on
board.
“Oh, yes, because it isn’t like she turned around and kicked the
crap out of you, too.” I’m mimicking his movements now. My voice is flat, free
from emotion, and my words are empty. I can’t see him moving, but I can feel
him, as if we’re connected by a million invisible threads.
“How am I supposed to just punch a girl?” Ethan asks. “And I was
tired from taking the guy out like five seconds earlier.”
“She isn’t a girl. She’s more like a pissed-off kangaroo in a top
hat. She has a nasty right hook, I’ll give you that.”
I hear the sharp whip of air as a bamboo pole cuts through the
darkness, headed toward my face. Even with our phony argument going on, I’m
able to hear it coming before it lands. I bring up my hands and block the blow
with my forearms. The impact stings, bruising the bones there, but better my
arms than my face. With a movement perfected after one too many blows to the
head, I grab the pole and pull it aside, dragging my attacker with it. As he
closes in, I drop the pole and lock arms with Ethan. I flip over his back and
kick out, knocking my attacker to the mat. As he struggles back to his feet,
Ethan spins into my place, delivering a secondary kick that sends the man
flying into the wall with a dull thud. “Yeah, but she’s scrappy,” he says.
“Scrappy? Is that boy code for you couldn’t stop staring at her
rack?”
Behind me, I feel Ethan duck a blow, and then land one of his own
before pressing his back against mine. “I… that’s not… I didn’t even… I mean…”
he sputters.
I smirk. Busted.
Footsteps approach, but we keep sparring. I bend over, using my
attacker’s own momentum against him as I put my shoulder into his gut and
stand, propelling him over my head and onto his back on the mat. I don’t need
to see my victory to realize what the maneuver has cost me. A muscle in my
lower back seizes, and it’s all I can do not to drop to my knees in agony. I
clench my fists until I feel my fingernails cut bloody crescents in my palms.
There is no way I’m going to be the weak link—no way I’m going to let Ethan
fight alone. Back to back, that’s how Rifters are trained to fight. And Ethan
always has my back.
“Don’t feel too bad. She was pretty scrappy after all.”
Ethan mumbles, “It’s a girl thing.”
“Hold up, what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, stiffly regaining
my footing as my back screams in protest.
As usual, Ethan turns to check on me. “Nothing personal, Ember.”
Not wanting him to get slammed for it again, I grab him by the
shoulder and pull, revolving us to our starting positions just as the first
attacker flips back onto his feet and lunges. He would have taken me in the
stomach, but I bring up my knee just in time to block his advance before
kicking him in the face. There is a loud crunch that sounds like breaking bone.
I hear him hit the mat with a groan. The lights flick back on, and Mistress
Catherine blows her whistle.
Normally we spar with off-duty guards, since most of them have
military training of some kind. They know how to take a hit and how to deliver
one without doing too much damage. We might be lowly recruits, but Rifters are
rare, and our lives are precious.
But as the man whose nose I have just broken pulls off his black
ski mask, my heart falls into my shoes. Flynn is staring up at me, and his face
is covered in blood.
“Nice hit, Ember,” he says as blood drips from his nose and onto
his white shirt. Mistress Catherine hands him his horn-rimmed glasses and
shoots me an amused smirk. Behind me, Ethan snickers.
Great. And here I was thinking this day couldn’t get any worse.
Reaching down, I offer Flynn a hand up, which he accepts with a
smile.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, but he waves it off.
“Catherine told me you were really coming along. I wanted to see
for myself.”
The others are shuffling out, so I turn to grab a towel and follow
them, but Mistress Catherine closes the door behind a worried-looking Ethan,
presses her back against it, and narrows her eyes at me. I used to think it was
hard to look menacing in a knee-length pencil skirt and beige brocade top, but
she radiates power. It might be the stern pucker of her thin lips, or the way
her graying hair is knotted tightly at the nape of her neck. She resembles a
librarian except for the long, jagged scar that runs from her left temple to
the cleft in her chin. Well, that and the spider-shaped, iron shoulder harness
permanently affixed to her upper arm.
Not sure what’s going on, I freeze, yellow towel in hand. Before I
can say anything, I feel something moving behind me. I manage to move to the
side just as a wooden staff comes slamming down against the spot where I’d
stood a heartbeat earlier. I turn and see Flynn grinning, blood still dripping
off his chin. He spits before whirling the staff like a windmill in front of
him. “What I don’t understand,” he says, circling to my left, “is how that
Hollow got the best of you. According to Ethan’s report, Kara had no problem
with her. And Catherine here tells me that you mat Kara at almost every practice
now.”
I have no idea what to say. Does he think I let her beat up on me?
Just then, my legs are swept out from under me. I fall to the mat, but, rolling
swiftly backward, I bounce up onto my feet. Catherine has a staff, too, and
comes toward me from the right. I hold up my hands and back up slowly. In the
corner of the room, a vent erupts in a cloud of steam, and Tesla’s image
appears but says nothing.
“Look, I didn’t let her get away,” I say. “If that’s what you’re
implying. She was strong. And fast.”
Catherine shakes her head. “You are strong. And fast. And clever.”
“I’m sorry!” I blurt out when my back hits the corner and they are
still coming at me.
I don’t think Flynn would ever hurt me, not really, but Catherine,
well…
Without another word, they both attack. I manage to duck one blow
but take another in the ribs before I decide to make a break for it. Jumping as
high as possible, I’m able to get a hand on the chain attaching one of the
punching bags to the ceiling and hoist myself up. I leap over Flynn and roll as
I hit the ground behind him. They’re quick, though, and have me surrounded
again in seconds.
It’s easy to forget that they are trained Rifters, too. Catherine
doesn’t rift anymore, but Flynn is still active and in really good shape. They
aren’t holding anything back either. Flynn lands a blow to my lower back, but
when Catherine moves in, I’m able to grab her staff and force it from her bad
arm. Suddenly, time is moving in a blur. I’m not thinking about my next move
anymore. My body is reacting of its own accord. I’m not sure how it happens,
but I blink and Catherine is on her knees. Flynn is standing in front of me,
and I have the two staffs crossed at his neck. He’s holding up his hands and
saying my name.
I drop the sticks and step back. The muscles in my arms and legs
are twitching like I’ve just run ten miles.
“That’s what we mean,” Catherine says, climbing stiffly to her
feet. “You could have taken the Hollow girl. So, why did you hesitate?”
I close my eyes, calling the fight to the front of my memory.
There was something about the girl. She was beautiful, for sure, but that
wasn’t it. There was something else, too. Something I can’t put into words. I
look up to find they’re staring at me, waiting for some kind of answer. I can
feel Tesla glaring holes into my back, watching me like one of his little
science experiments. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Flynn sighs and holds his hands out to me. I take them without
hesitation. “Ember, I know it’s hard. I know you don’t like hurting people.
It’s against your very nature to harm someone or let someone suffer. But you
are too important to risk losing. Understand? Sometimes, you have to put
someone down, let someone get hurt or even die, to save yourself and your team.
You can’t hold anything back.”
I take a deep breath. “And what if someone dies because of me?
Because, for some reason, my life is worth more than theirs?”
Flynn lowers his head, looking me in the eye. “That is a burden
you will have to learn to carry.”
Buy Link:
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Author Info
Sherry D.
Ficklin is a full
time writer from Colorado where she lives with her husband, four kids, two
dogs, and a fluctuating number of chickens and house guests. A former military
brat, she loves to travel and meet new people. She can often be found browsing
her local bookstore with a large white hot chocolate in one hand and a towering
stack of books in the other. That is, unless she’s on deadline at which time
she, like the Loch Ness monster, is only seen in blurry photographs.
--
Tyler H.
Jolley is a
sci-fi/fantasy author and full-time orthodontist, periodontist (see:
Overachiever). He divides his spare time between writing, reading, mountain
biking, and camping with his family.
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