The Evanescence (Fallen Soul Series) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,1

the water, and just like that the land was clear and the world looked so much happier. I wished there was an evanescence of Sprites clearing the land.

Unfortunately, there’s not, so I’m stuck listening to them bang their heads against the window over and over again. It’d be the most annoying thing, except for the fact that I have thousands of other problems. Like my sister, Aislin, who’s trapped in the Faerie Realm, trying to save our half-sister Aleesa, who’s being held a prisoner by the Fey.

Then, there’s my biggest problem of all; Laylen and Gemma, and the fact that they’re both tied up upstairs because they’re possessed by a couple of lunatics; Queen Helena—ruler of the Lost Souls and the Afterlife—and Alexander—one of my dead relatives. It’s one of the strangest things I’ve ever come across, which is saying a lot because I’ve come across a lot of damn strange things.

The castle has been lonely and filled with hollowness over the last few days. I’ve been trying to keep my cool and my emotions under control, but it’s becoming more of a battle each day. The anger I’ve continually felt for most of my life is starting to creep in again and it’s making me worried. What if I turn into my father? He was always so angry all the time and so was I at one point. In fact, I was pretty much a clone of him.

I kick my feet up onto a small table in front of the red chair I’ve been sitting in for way too many flippin’ hours. Evan, an old childhood friend of mine, who happens to be an Omnia, is in the chair across from me, fiddling with a gold chain he always has on his jeans. A fire crackles from the stone fireplace and the sun shines through the window, along with the lull of the lake’s waves. I pretend that everything is natural, even though the damn Sprites outside keep singing and whistling, waiting for someone to open the door so they can come in.

“They aren’t the brightest creatures, are they?” Evan glances up at the skylight where a Sprite is ramming his head against the glass. They are beady, little creatures with nubby legs, colorful skin, and brittle wings.

I shrug and drag the blade of my sword down the sharpener. “Not really. We’re actually lucky that none of the Fey wanted to hang around.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky,” he says, tracing one of the marks on his forearm with his fingertip as he turns the page of the book opened up on his lap. “But the rest of the world really isn’t, considering all the Fey and Luna have pretty much taken over every street in the world.”

“Yeah.” I sigh and drop the sword and sharpener onto the table next to my feet.

It grows silent. Evan moves his finger to his other arm and begins outlining a jagged, golden leaf mark on his skin. Omnias have many marks due to their many powers; telekinesis, telepathy, pyrokinesis, the list is endless. It’s part of the reason why I brought him here. I figured with his variety of powers, he could help me get Helena out of Gemma, but so far, we haven’t had much luck. We haven’t had much luck with anything lately.

A slow breath eases from my lips as I recollect my last visit with Gemma. I can still hear the evil laughter inside my head as Helena told us that if we tried to remove her from Gemma’s body that Gemma would die. That she was part of her now, and that technically, Gemma no longer exists and we should give up our rescue mission. But I won’t. I’ll never stop trying. I’ll never give up. Gemma is my soul mate, my other half, the only girl I’ve ever loved. We’ve been through hell together. Hell, we’ve died and then came back to life because of our love.

I stand up and start pacing the length of the floor, unable to sit still. “There’s got to be something we’re not thinking of.”

Evan watches me walk back and forth between the sofa and the bookshelf, his eyes shaded by his black hair hanging over his forehead. “I’m sure there’s a lot of things we’re not thinking of and probably never will. The mind is a vast place, my friend, and we never do get a full insight to every single speck of knowledge we have.”

“You sometimes speak in riddles,” I say, shooting him