Page 1 of Torn Between Two Worlds

Prologue

11 years ago, age 14

He snarledlow in his throat. It was the same battle. Every fucking time, it was the same with his brother. He ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his khaki trench coat off the couch and slammed the door behind him.

For longer than he could remember, the battle had waged between the two of them. A Word Speaker would come into the world, and they would fight for control of them. He for the side of good, and his brother for, well, the side of himself. Word Speakers were the bane of his existence.

The Speakers were humans with the unique ability to unleash book characters of their choosing into the mortal realm, the real world, once they were twenty-seven. However, until that time, they were also prey to all book characters, good or evil, using them to try to gain release.

Long before the written word had even existed, his brother and he had been approached by a deity—Huracan, a lighting god, believed to be one of the world creators. Huracan had shown them two futures. One, ruled by man, that was not necessarily a perfect world, but a good world. The other, ruled by demons, and full of chaos, fires and screams. He had been shocked to learn that the musings of his tribal elder were real, demons and gods existed.

They had been told by Huracan that neither future was right, but neither was wrong. They had to choose a side, and they would be granted immortality in order to keep watch over their sides and keep them on the path to the prophesied war.

People with special talents would be born from time to time and unleash both Heaven and Hell onto Earth by letting story creations come to life. The released beings would fight in the great war that was to come, with their Word Speakers fighting alongside them. Stories would control their destinies, just as the Stories controlled how they lived during his time.

It would seem his elder hadn't had it all right, the war had no set date. Yet, in a planning meeting, he had overheard speakings that the gods would take back their creations in a very distant future, 2012. However, Huracan had made no such claims and had only told them their lives would be long and full of trials.

It had torn them apart. Brother against brother made for a war that none would truly win, and over the years, he had grown to know that. The rules that bound them as watchmen still baffled even him at times. For reasons they had never been told, the Word Speakers could only pull one character from a story at a time, one character to help. However, when a character was pulled, be they good or evil, their opposition also had access to the Word Speaker, to gain their own freedom. Both sides were approached by a brother when the time was right, and the time to train them was there.

When they had asked Huracan why it was so, he had only told them it was for balance. An equilibrium that put him and his brother constantly at odds, fighting for control over the Word Speakers because, once the gifted humans turned twenty-seven, they had to choose which side to fight for, and only characters who represented that side could be released to fight alongside them. For their part, the characters became Guardians, beings connected to their Word Speaker in intimate ways, especially once released.

His brother was twisted, dark, and frankly not playing by the damn rules. Sometimes, he took a Word Speaker for himself by force, rather than allowing the characters on his side to influence the choice. He had found ways to cheat the system. Ways to warp Word Speaker’s minds and make the dark seem all too appealing. Because humans were weak, easily influenced and at times he was disgusted he ever had been one.

Four thousand years later, and his brother was darker than ever. More dangerous than ever. He longed to know what would happen should his side win. There were always multiple Word Speakers waiting to reach their birthday. Some were strong enough to sustain their gift and choose a side. Others were too weak and ultimately killed by him or his brother to get them out of the way. The sides were unbalanced, mostly in his favor, and it made his brother ruthless, aggressive.

When Ciara Miller's existence as a Word Speaker pinged onto his radar, indicating she was ready to begin, he had known it was time. So there he was, waiting to give his song and dance of the rules, first to whatever character she had inadvertently chosen to be her Guardian, and then to her.

“Well, you're running a little late to the party, Brother.”

The last word was sneered, and he turned to face his brother. They were identical, supposedly part in parcel to why they had been chosen. Minus their jackets, it would be impossible to tell them apart—his was khaki and his brother’s dark leather. Light to dark.

“I don't have time for you right now. This isn't your fucking claim.”

It wasn't. Part of the deal was they took turns in explaining the rules, and they had to be unbiased. But over the years, his brother had learned to spit in the face of more than one of the rules.

“I'm not interested in a fight today. Go home and leave Ciara to me.”

“What kind of a brother would I be if I didn't give you hell sometimes? And boy can I give you hell, Brother.”

For a second, he feared the demons were going to join them, but his brother only smirked.

“As I thought. So easily shaken, Brother. Don't worry, this one feels powerful to me. Strong enough to know which path will win. Mine.”

There was no time to respond, his brother just disappeared. Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and opened up the doorway between the heavens where they resided and the world of man. He stepped through and went to see just what Ciara Miller could handle.

1

Present

The manacross from her quite literally began to disappear from sight. Well, more like he was becoming opaque. His darker blond hair seemed thinner, his green eyes less intense. His arms looked less than solid, but he did not look alarmed. It was almost as if he didn't realize what was happening to him.

Ciara's breath caught in her throat. This was how he had come to her, randomly and without warning. She wanted desperately to talk to him, but she couldn't do that, not sitting in a room with eleven other people. Though she supposed if she could pull off saying, “I was talking to my characters,”anywhere, it would be a writing seminar.

No one else could see Alcott anyway, no one would for two more years. Her gift didn't allow anyone but her to see the things she drew from books. Not yet. For the time being, the only way to communicate with him without anyone thinking she was really losing her hold on reality would be to slip between the veil into the place where characters existed, their books. To do that was to drop into a coma-like state, something she normally only did when she desperately needed Alcott and couldn't get to a Bluetooth device. Which was also not an option in a room full of people.

So she sat and watched. Stared, to be honest. Alcott slipped away, little by little. He knew she was staring at him. He even smiled back at her a few times and said witty things like, “Hey, pay attention, can't bridge two worlds if you can't focus in a writing seminar,” or, “I know I'm attractive, little one, but as your Guardian, I have no time for sexual adventures. So stop trying to stare a hole in me.”

“Ciara, you're going to have to do more than fantasize in this room,” said Burke, a well-known published author, who was leading the writing seminar she sat in.

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