Atlantean

E.N. J.D. Watkins

Description

Amadeus Angel knows there must be more to life than suffering at the hands of his so-called parents. He also knows there must be some explanation for the lines on his hands forming knots, his crystalline tears, and his lavender eyes. But he never expects that an invitation to attend Eden Prep will unravel these mysteries, providing the catalyst for a plan thousands of years in the making.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Romance fantastique
• Romance paranormale
• Paranormal
• Fiction
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456607203
• Langue: English

Extrait

Atlantean
 
by
E.N. Watkins
 


 
 
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
 
ATLANTEAN. Copyright © 2012 by E.N Watkins. All rights reserved.
For information address Ryujin Publishing
2885 Sanford Ave SW #18271, Grandville MI 49418
 
www.ryujinbooks.com
 
Cover illustration copyright © 2011 by Graphics-Manufacture.com
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0720-3
 
First Ebook Edition: February 2012
 
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 author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 


 
 
 
To Alena
Whose constant support and enthusiasm made this
book a reality
 


 
 
 
W e carry within us the wonders we seek without us.
Sir Thomas Browne
 
PROLOGUE
Do you ever wonder why we are born into certain families? Why, more often than not, it seems the most undeserving are born into a loving family while those of us who are worthy of such love are born into a cruel family?
Why is that?
If you’re a human looking for answers to this question, I can’t help you.
However if you’re like me, more than human, you have a decision to make. You can either A: read on, and find the answers you’ve been searching for all your life; B: close this book right now and walk away; or C: find a way to remove yourself from this world.
If you want my advice go with C—especially if your eyes are lavender and your palm lines form an intricate knot on your hand. Because chances are you are not with your soul mate, and are in the hands of beings that have every intention of making your life a living hell.
However, if suicide isn’t your particular cup of tea, go with A, because at least you will be somewhat prepared for what’s ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
My name is Amadeus. Well, actually it’s Amadeus Angel. But I don’t like to use my surname unless absolutely necessary.
Anyway, I’m fifteen years old, and several months ago I was like you: completely in the dark.
But all that changed when a mysterious man arrived at my house claiming to be a courier from Eden Prep, a prestigious high school in Pebble Beach California.
This man—whoever he was—presented my parents with a letter that instructed them to send me to this school straightaway.
You’d think my parents would be happy, right? Give me some sort of praise?
Wrong.
After the man had delivered his letter, my parents saw fit to punish me. As if it was my fault or something.
Okay, yeah, it was a little weird that I should get an invitation to a school to which I never even applied. But was that cause enough to beat me?
It was for my evil parents.
Truth-be-told, I was hardly surprised. I was always getting beaten for something or other. And sometimes, for no reason at all.
Between you and me, I think my parents enjoyed it.
So I was hardly surprised when my father knocked me to the floor upon seeing the letter. Nor was I much surprised when both my parents vented their frustration by kicking me while I was hunched over in pain.
From their disgruntled mutterings I was able to deduce that one couldn’t simply refuse an invitation to Eden Prep without suffering serious repercussions.
Now, I was in quite a bit of pain so I might have imagined it, but I was almost certain that there was fear in my parents’ voices: something about Eden Prep frightened my parents.
I could learn to like anything that caused my parents fear.
I had never prayed before. Suffering so much pain in the last fifteen years had made me question God’s existence. But I was praying now. I prayed that my parents would accept the invitation. And as luck or divine intervention would have it, my parents accepted!
But apparently there was more to the invitation than I realized, because the very next day my parents informed me that we were moving to Pebble Beach.
 
CHAPTER ONE
Moving wasn’t hard for me. I wasn’t really fond of New York City; it was much too cramped for my liking. Being homeschooled all my life made my social life nonexistent, so I didn’t have any friends and there were no sad goodbyes.
Though easy, my homeschooling was nothing more than a farce for me; it was just a way for my parents to show the world that we were a normal family—while in actuality we were anything but.
In only a few days, I was sitting in a limousine with my parents being driven to the airport. Packing takes little time when your family has several servants succumbent to your every desire.
While on the way, my mother thought it amusing to jab a knife completely through my hand. It wasn’t a large, just a simple pocket knife.
Of course that didn’t make it any less painful.
It was excruciating. So much so that I cried all the way to the airport. And as weird as it sounds, my crying was exactly what my parents were after.
You see, when I cry my eyes don’t shed normal tears. They shed crystals. And for reasons I cannot fathom my parents enjoy ingesting these crystals. It’s almost as if it gives them some weird sort of high.
But maybe that’s just my imagination.
When we arrived at the airport, my mother removed the knife. Causing me more pain and bringing about more tears. While my parents ate these tears, I watched my hand heal itself.
This was another phenomenon that I could not explain: whenever my parents would brutalize me, my body would rapidly heal itself. This is why I couldn’t tell anyone what my parents were doing to me.
My body removed all the evidence! And I do mean all the evidence; both physical and emotional. For all intents and purposes I was perfectly normal. Well . . . almost normal anyways.
“Come along, Amadeus,” called my mother in her annoyingly beautiful voice.
That was it.
There was no love in her voice, just command. All my parents ever gave me were commands. Short and simple. Like I was their pet or something. Even when we were in public, we never conversed. After all, it wasn’t my voice they wanted to hear—only my sobs.
Not wanting to give my parents an excuse to punish me some more I flexed my hand once and hurriedly joined them outside of the limousine.
We didn’t have to wait long before another one of our servants came to greet us. I knew, before he opened his mouth, that he was here to expedite our navigation through the airport. My parents hardly did anything without the aid of a servant or two.
Before walking inside, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the glass doors of the airport. To the onlookers we probably looked more like siblings. For my parents were very youthful in appearance. In fact, both of my parents didn’t look a day over twenty one. Though I knew they were much older, I could not for the life of me figure out why they never aged. All three of us were dressed in the very latest designer fashion. The figure in front was a tall, inhumanly handsome man with dark hair and silver eyes; He was my father, William Angel. Standing next to him was my mother, Catherine Angel. She was a stunningly beautiful woman whose hair was golden blonde and eyes just as silver. But unlike the man standing next to her, this woman had pointed ears and slit pupils in her silver eyes, giving her an almost demonic appearance. Stranger still was the peculiar marking that covered the right side of her face. Then there was me.
There wasn’t anything significantly noticeable about me. Though I was constantly told how good looking I was, I didn’t think much of my appearance. I was tall and slender. I had long blonde hair that was pulled back with a ribbon at the nape of my neck. You couldn’t see the ribbon in the reflection but I knew it was there. My eyes were also silver. But it wasn’t my natural color. My natural color was lavender.
My parents never told me why they made me where contacts. I figured it was so people would think we were related.
Secretly I hoped we weren’t.
The door opened and the reflection disappeared.
It took us no time at all to pass through security. And soon we were on the plane—first class of course.
 
Six hours later our plane touched down on the tarmac in San Francisco, California. We could’ve flown to a closer city but my parents wanted to use the trip to extract more tears from me.
They didn’t tell me this, but I knew. I could always tell when my parents were about to pump me for tears because their harshness toward me would always increase.
So I wasn’t surprised when, after I had gotten into the limo, my parents pulled out their favorite torture tools. For my mom it was the pocket knife she pierced my hand with. For my dad it was a shock collar.
It was going to be a long trip.
 
A few painful hours later we arrived at Pebble Beach. My wounds were gone but the blood wasn’t.
My “loving” mom had gone a bit overboard with her knife.
There was no reason to hope that the limo driver would come to my aid. After all I learned long ago that the servants of this family did whatever my parents told them to do. And as none of these sniveling maggots had ever tried to assist me, I could only assume that they were told not to interfere. The effect my parents had on them was sickening. As soon as they laid eyes on my parents it was like love at first sight. Like they had been struck by Cupid’s arrow or something.
While we were waiting in the limousine for the driver to open the door—my parents being too proud to do it themselves—something very strange happened. My father actually spoke to me, rather than at me. His tone wasn’t even commanding. It sounded— worried.
“Now, son . . .”
Son?
That was a first. Never in the fifteen years of my existence d