Chapter 1

 

August

 

The smell of smoke is enough to wake anyone from a deep sleep.

     “Talli! Get up!”

     Opening my eyes, I find Greer, my adopted sister, hovering over me. The air in the room is hazy, and the smell is strong. The siren starts blaring outside, and I note the sword clenched in her hand.

     The Brethren are here.

     Fear crawls up my throat as I throw off my covers, grab my phone and small dagger from my nightstand, and follow her out of our shared room and down the stairs to Dad’s office.

     “Get in, girls, quick,” Dad says, motioning toward the hidden room behind his floor-to-ceiling bookcase. His eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion, the amber irises dull with sleep, and his bulletproof vest is haphazardly thrown over a white t-shirt. Mom grabs my arm from inside, and Greer and I quickly get in with her. Dad shuts the bookcase door behind us, locking us safely inside the hidden room and himself outside with the danger at our front door.

     The adrenaline coursing through the three of us eases only slightly as the seconds tick by. Mom goes to the small brown leather couch that takes up half of the space in the cramped room and gently lowers herself to it. Her green fleece robe billows out around her as she sinks in. I join her, pressing my shaking hands into my lap and laying my head on her shoulder as we both breathe through the moment's stress. Her hair is a mess of dark-brown waves that spread out almost as much as her robe, and it cushions her shoulder underneath my head.

     She turns her face toward me, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we’ll be able to return to bed soon.”

     I return her smile and agree, “Dad will make sure of it. Otherwise, he’ll have three sleep-deprived women in the house tomorrow.” That’s the least of Dad’s concerns and we all know it, but I say it anyway.

     It’s hard to be positive in times like these, but I always find a way. It’s the Hoffman specialty. Dad always finds a way to deliver hope to our people in the toughest of times. Mom always knows how to make people feel better. Greer has a much harder time being positive given her lack of Hoffman blood, but she is good at finding ways to take people’s minds off of the negativity.

Then there is me. I enjoy making light jokes until people laugh and the mood lightens—definitely the most awkward out of the four of us.

     Greer snorts at my joke and leans back against the door, sword still in her hand, but not clenched quite as tightly as before. Her mismatched oversized t-shirt and lounge shorts make the sword look out of place. She reaches her hand to her hair and tucks the long, raven-black strands behind her ears, while her pewter-gray eyes stay alert.

     But that’s my sister—a soldier guarding the door, ready to take on any threat even though the chances of danger reaching us here are minimal. I can tell Mom is fighting against the urge to ask her to stand down, but she has asked her that a hundred times before, and the result is always the same: Greer refusing to move. So instead, we all settle into our chosen positions, waiting for the siren to stop and for Dad to tell us it's safe again.

     This room can’t be considered a safe room, per se, but it’s definitely more secure than sitting out in the open during an attack. The couch is pressed up against the far wall with a metal shelf next to it loaded with gallons of water and fire extinguishers. My feet are gently resting over top of a trap door that opens up into the crawl space under the house, which leads to the backyard in case the house catches on fire while we are trapped in here.

     The need to break the silence in the room is overwhelming, but I push it down like I always do. These situations would be much easier and would go by faster if we did talk, but staying quiet and alert is paramount to our safety. We need to be able to hear if someone enters the house and ensure they cannot hear us. I trust Dad already has an officer outside the house to watch out for the Brethren, but we have to prepare for the worst.

     My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look at it to see a text:

                 Trey: Are you safe?

     A sense of relief floods through me and I reply:

                 Me: Yes. In the hidden room. You?

                 Trey: Yes. Currently watching over Ash. He’s still asleep. These upgraded soundproof tiles really make a difference.

                 Me: Good! Stay safe.

                 Trey: Always. Love you.

                 Me: Love you.

     My chest flutters, knowing he is worried about me. I have no doubt he would be sprinting down the road to get to me in the middle of an attack if he thought I wasn’t safe. Treyton and I have been together for only three blissful months, but already, I know he would run into a burning house to get me if necessary. Unfortunately, in our community, the likelihood of the house over my head being set on fire is at a seventy percent chance, and that’s being optimistic. I wish I could keep texting him, but I know he needs to stay focused on keeping himself and Ash safe.

     An hour passes in agonizing silence and heightened nerves. The siren outside has long since blended into the background in my head until it stops suddenly. We all sit up straighter and wait another moment before we hear a distinct click.

     The door opens, Greer ready with her sword just in case, and Dad appears. His face and light-brown hair are coated in black soot. Greer lowers her sword, and Mom and I stand up together.

     “All is safe now,” he announces.

     “Who?” Mom asks, worry lacing her tone.

     “The Brooks.” A family who live only two houses down, and we are considered the middle of the community. The furthest away from all the gates and fences.

     Greer’s words echo my thoughts as she says, “They made it far this time.”

     “I suspect it was a test for them to see how far they could make it without us catching them. Our cameras caught them going over the fence, but by the time emergency services got there, they were hiding in the sea of houses. The officers on duty assumed they wouldn’t stray far from the fence because they usually have some sense of self-preservation, but not tonight apparently.” Dad runs his hand down his face and through his closely trimmed beard. Then he looks at his hand, realizing it's now black.

     “Casualties?” Mom asks, getting his attention again.

     Dad grimaces. “John is dead. Tarra and the kids are safe, but being treated for smoke inhalation. And two of our officers are also being treated for injuries.”

     My heart constricts knowing a neighbor died tonight, but I also feel relieved it was only one. The number is typically higher. Not all houses have hidden rooms, and a fire can catch fast on dry nights, trapping people before they can get out.

     Greer and I make our way out of the room and toward our own again when Dad calls out to us, “Love you, girls.”

     We both say in unison, somewhat solemnly, “Love you too,” and climb up the stairs.

     Placing my dagger back in my drawer, I climb into bed and slide under my purple duvet. The smell of smoke has faded slightly, but it still lingers in the space.

     “Greer?” I call out quietly.

     “Way ahead of you.” I hear her blankets rustle as she climbs out of bed, and then I hear the ceiling fan turn on, pushing the smell out of the air.

     “Thank you.”

     I close my eyes, attempting the difficult task of trying to go back to sleep. How does someone sleep after a tragedy like what happened tonight? They either don’t, or they sleep with nightmares plaguing them.

***

The next morning, Mom and I are hard at work doing what we can for the Brooks.

     Luckily, their house is not a total loss, but there is enough damage that they are forced to move out until the house can be fixed and is considered safe again. Our community is set up so that in cases like these, we have a few empty houses for a family to move into until we can fix or rebuild.

     A crew is already working on collecting any remaining undamaged items and bringing them to the new temporary house. Another one is clearing out the mess left behind, and a third is assessing the damage to make a plan for repair. Mom and I and two other women from the community are collectively working on making meals, stocking their refrigerator with groceries, and buying or looking for donations for anything they lost in the fire that is an immediate necessity.

     Whenever Mom and I help out like this after a fire, it still feels like we aren’t doing enough, like there is more we should be doing to help. But to a family not only mourning the loss of a husband and father but also the loss of their home, every little bit of help counts. At least, I choose to see it that way.

     Mom and I carry the last bit of groceries into the new house, and we’ve officially done as much as we can. On our way out, Mrs. Brooks catches us at the door. “Rose, I can’t thank you enough for everything. You always go above and beyond for the people here. You too, Talliana.” She smiles warmly at me, and I return it the best I can. Despite her soft words and warm smile, I can sense sorrow and heartbreak behind them. I quickly pull my senses back, not meaning to have pried into her emotions.

     “Tarra, you and the rest of the community are not just people to me. You are all my neighbors and my friends. If there is anything you need, knock on our door anytime. Aaron and I will ensure it is taken care of,” Mom tells her.

     “You are truly the light of this community. May the Great Hawk bless you.”

     Mom lowers her head slightly in acknowledgment and then smiles genuinely at Tarra, her cornflower-blue eyes turning up at the corners.

     I’m Mom’s twin in so many ways. I have her thick and wavy hair, though mine still carries the red hues that have mostly faded from hers. My face is the same round shape, littered with almost as many freckles. But my eyes are a deep ocean blue instead of her bright color. Dad always jokes that he didn’t know when I was born that he was getting a carbon copy of his wife. I don’t share any of his physical features, but I did inherit aspects of his personality. Stubbornness and determination to always be right are the usual culprits.

     We leave the house, and, looking up at the sky, I can tell it’s already early-afternoon. Mom leans in next to me as we walk home and says, “You have worked hard today, Talli. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off and relax for a while? Take a dip in the lake or read. You’ll feel better once you do.”

     “Really? Today is the last day of my internship, though. I don’t mind going back to the medical center with you to finish.”

     Greer and I have spent the entire summer, minus the first and last week, interning at our prospective careers before our senior year of high school. Our whole class had to, as this is standard practice for our community to help us find the right fit. Greer has been at the police station working under one of the officers, while I have been at the medical center working under nurses like Mom and shadowing the doctors.

     “Really. You’re exhausted, and you’ve done enough.”

     “Thanks, Mom.”

     We get a few paces closer to the house when Ms. Molly, our mail delivery woman, approaches us. She greets us with a cheery smile framed by her short brown hair and says, “Rose. Talli. It’s such a joy to see both of your faces out and about after the night we had.”

     “It’s good to see you well, Molly. Talli and I were just on our way home from helping Tarra and the kids get settled,” Mom replies.

     Ms. Molly smiles brightly at me. “No doubt Talli is getting some valuable experience for her future as an elder’s wife, as well.”

     My cheeks flush, but I answer, “Only time will tell.”

     “Oh yes, of course. I don’t have foresight, but I have a good feeling that I will hear wedding bells before the end of next year.” She winks at me and then continues, “Your mother is the best teacher you could have. I have never known anyone to match her grace and kindness. I’m sure you will do just as well when you and Treyton step into those shoes.”

     Her words are kind, but I can’t help but feel self-conscious at the notion. Being an elder’s wife like Mom was never a role I saw myself in before three months ago. Not that there is anything wrong with it. I just always planned to pursue my education, become a doctor for the community, and live a simple life—or, as simple as is possible for our people. But with Trey…It’s a long way out, and he still has a lot of learning and aging to go, but it’s clear he will be an elder one day, just like both our fathers, and I’ll be the wife at his side. A role I realize now that I would be honored to have. As long as I have him.

     “You are very sweet, Molly. I just do the best I can, and I’m sure Talli will do the same,” Mom replies for both of us.

     Ms. Molly either misses or completely disregards Mom’s attempt to wrap up the conversation by saying, “You know, I saw Treyton following Aaron last week when I brought him his mail. I hate leaving it with the people downstairs because I don’t like passing up the opportunity to say a quick hello.” She lets out a laugh and continues, “Is he shadowing him now instead of Orsen?”

     “Well, given his classification, taking over the mayor role from Aaron would make more sense for Treyton, rather than director of education from his own father. But I believe he is splitting his time between them both to learn different things,” Mom answers.

     Ms. Molly nods her head dramatically. “He is a smart young man. Well, I have to go! Nice seeing you both!” She bustles around us, her large messenger bag swinging wildly as she goes.

     Mom and I continue walking, and when I am sure Ms. Molly is out of earshot, I ask, “Has anyone considered that having the worst gossip and biggest busybody as our mail person might not be a good idea?”

     Mom laughs. “That is exactly why your dad likes her in that role. She tells him everything when she delivers his mail in the morning. He doesn’t even have to ask.”

     Now I laugh. It’s a clever and easy way to keep up with the community gossip.

     “And Talli?” I look up at her again. “I trust you will follow whatever path the light leads you down, but you would make a great elder’s wife one day.”

     Her comment warms me and I give Mom a side hug as we walk the rest of the way home together.

​

​

Chapter 2

 

The fireflies light up the night sky like tiny symbols of hope. 
     That is why I love them so much. Nature created this beautiful insect to remind us that there is always hope where there is light. Light guides us out of the darkness and shows us where to go. It is warmth and safety. It is kind hands and a loving heart. It is the reason we are here, and it is the reason we fight. But we aren’t called to follow the light. We are called to be the light, just like these fireflies. We are the Order of the Hawk.
     Our community in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and all its people are part of a hidden world spread out across the globe. Our ancestors date back to the fifteenth century, when the Great Hawk, nature's messenger, called our people into the Black Forest in Germany. There, It granted us our connection to nature, which allows us to protect it with the help of magic. 
     This magic gives us the ability to sense others’ emotions. That is the fundamental skill that each member of the Order has, but depending on bloodlines—and, as some say, the intentions of our hearts—many of us manifest unique, specialized skills that range from mental to physical abilities. 
     “Hey,” a familiar voice calls out from the darkened trail ahead. 
     My eyes work overtime to find him in the shadows of the large oak trees. There. Trey emerges from the path ahead, his brown eyes locking on mine as he crosses my backyard to where I am sitting on the edge of our back deck.  
     “Hey,” I reply. He braces both hands on either side of me and leans in to press his lips to mine. Lips that are always soft and gentle, his kisses unhurried and savoring. He pulls back enough to ask, “Ready?” 
     I nod, the only response he needs before grasping my hips and pulling me off the deck to my feet. His hand encompasses mine as he leads me down the dark path to our spot. The one where we have spent most of our summer nights when he wasn’t away on a mission. Now, we only have a week left before summer break ends and reality is knocking at the door again. 
     Trey adeptly leads me over every tree stump and rock in the path, his night vision impeccable. I know this path like the back of my hand, but when there is little to no moonlight peeking through the dense trees, it’s easy to get tripped up. Thankfully, I can always rely on Trey to keep me safe in times like these. 
     In the back of our community is a large forest comprised of hundreds of acres of trees and wildlife. My house backs right up to it, and a mile north of the backyard is a large lake surrounded by willow trees. The drooping trees are uncommon in this area, and no one knows how they got there, making it a magical spot—our spot.
     We emerge from the path and find the lake in front of us and our tree to the left of us. Under the tree, a blanket is already spread out with a lantern in one corner to illuminate the small space under it. The branches of the tree hang low, many brushing the ground, but there is one spot facing the lake where they are a bit higher, giving the illusion that you are in a cave when you are underneath it. 
     Trey and I settle in as I find a comfortable spot on his chest to rest my head and he wraps his arms securely around me. The calluses on his fingers brush up against the bare skin of my side, where my shirt is pulled up a little, and my body warms. Nothing is more comforting than being wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 
     Breaking the quiet night, I say, “I had a nightmare last night after the attack.” 
     “What was it?” He asks.
     “Well, nightmare and memory. It was when some of the forest caught on fire when I was a little girl, but it happened again, and this time, the entire forest went up in flames,” I explain. 
     “Nightmares have a way of bringing to light our biggest worries and I understand why that would worry you, Talli, but you know that it would take a lot for that to happen. The magic in this forest protects it. A small section may burn, but then the fire stops. That’s what happens anytime the Brethren try to burn it down.”
     I know he is right, but I have a hard time shaking the fear that torments me anytime there is an attack like last night. 
     Trey sits us both up and takes my hand, placing it against the tree trunk behind us. 
     “Close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”
     I do as he says and concentrate. “I feel the tree…like it’s a body beneath my fingers…There are layers of wood, like the tree’s skin…There is water pulsing through it, like blood in veins…I feel life.” 
     Opening my eyes again, I find his golden-brown skin glowing under the lamp light, while his thick, black hair absorbs it entirely. His smile is soft and perfect and…
     “Exactly. Each tree is alive and full of magic. I know it’s our job to protect it, but in reality, nature did a decent enough job protecting itself before we ever came along.” He places his hand against the tree next to mine. 
     “What do you feel?” I ask him.
     “Bark.” He laughs. 
     “Why can’t you feel what I feel?”
     “Because you’re a Healer. Your ability allows you to sense the inside state of a living being’s body. You only need a touch, and you know if something is broken. It doesn’t matter what it is—a human, an animal, or a tree—you can sense life in it. Me? I’m just an Intelligence Officer. I can’t sense what’s happening inside of a tree’s body.”
     I smile at him. Knowing how much he admires what I can do warms my spirit, and he is always vocal about it. Trey knows how to make me feel seen and special when everyone else discounts Healers because we aren’t a line of defense in this war. The war with the Brethren of the Flaming Sword, an organization built with the sole purpose of destroying the Order and burning us all to ash. 
     Deciding to change the subject, I ask, “What did you do all day? I barely saw you.” 
     Trey’s body tenses, not enough to be visible, but enough for me to feel it underneath my hand resting on his. I straighten my back and look at him, searching his eyes. “What is it?”
     He scoots himself backward to rest against the tree trunk. 
     “They are sending me out again in the morning,” he answers solemnly.
     “No! Another mission? It’s the final week of summer,” I whine.
     “I know. If I could control it, I would stay right here with you and never leave.”
     My cheeks flush, but it's not enough to rid me of the frustration I feel at his news. “Where are you going this time?”
     “This one is classified. I don’t even have all the details yet myself,” he explains.
     “This will be the third classified mission this summer, not to mention the other two non-classified ones you have been on. They don’t have someone else they can send?”
     “It’s not that simple. All I can say is that it requires my ability. That’s why it has to be me.”
     “Why do they need a Dream-walker?” I ask, confused. Before he can say it, I answer for him, “Classified, right?” 
     Trey nods in confirmation. 
     Trey’s ability is dream-walking. This means he can consciously enter people’s dreams and observe, manipulate them in small ways, or even fully take over and have a conversation with someone’s mind. Old folklore about a “sandman” was created based on an Order’s Dream-walker who attempted to help children sleep peacefully after a sickness came over the village. As weird or even as sinister as some stories can become over time, many are born from some level of truth. Unfortunately, our people are the cause of some, despite our efforts to stay hidden. 
     “How long will you be gone?” 
     “I’ll be back before school starts, I promise.” His eyes lock onto mine and I know he means it.
     “I’ll hold you to that,” I threaten mildly. 
     He laughs, the sound full and wonderful and belonging solely to the man I love. “I don’t doubt it.”
     Grinning at him, I turn, giving him my back, and then scoot until I am resting up against him. His warmth envelops me again. I spy one lone firefly dancing around in front of the tree before disappearing. Another reminder that feels sent just for me. One to be grateful for in this moment and maintain hope of a bright future with this man.
     I feel Trey’s fingers twirling around a strand of my hair, and I close my eyes, mentally letting go of my worries and fears.
     “Mahogany,” Trey says quietly to himself.
     “Huh?” 
     “Your hair has so many different shades of brown and red in it. I’m trying to guess at them.” 
     I giggle and feel him pick up another wavy strand. “This one almost looks like copper.”
     “I’m pretty sure it's all just considered auburn hair,” I tell him.
     “Auburn overall, sure. But there is much more to it than that.”
     His hand shifts again, and I let myself fade while I listen to him murmur random names of colors that quickly lose meaning.

 

 

I hope you enjoyed your preview of Blind Thoughts!