[Insight 01.0] Crown of Insight: Godly Games Read online

  Insight

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2009 Jamie Magee

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the right to resell, distribute, print or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload this book to a file sharing program. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  BISAC Category: Young Adult / Fantasy

  For Chancey, Amanda, Cynthia, and Emma ~ Thank you for never allowing me to settle.

  WHERE TO FIND JAMIE ONLINE

  authorjamiemagee.com

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Welcome to the entangled web of Jamie Magee’s vast imagination. This Novel is part of the “Web of Hearts and Souls,” a massive story where more than one series connect. The series can be read separately or together.

  COMBINED WEB OF HEARTS AND SOULS READING ORDER: Insight, Embody, Image, Whispers of the Damned, Witness, Vital, Vindicate, Synergy, Enflame, Redefined, Rivulet, Imperial, Blakeshire, Derive, Emanate, Exaltation, Disavow, The Witches, Revolt, Scorched Souls.

  *If you are a fan of Adult Paranormal, Edge (Season 1&2) can be read with the Web of Hearts, before or after Exaltation--the stories share the same characters.

  INSIGHT READING ORDER: Insight, Embody, Image, Vital, Vindicate, Enflame, Rivulet, Imperial, Blakeshire (Drake's Story), Emanate, Exaltation, Disavow.

  SEE READING ORDER: Whispers of the Damned, Witness of a Broken Heart, Synergy of Souls, Redefined Love Affair, Derive (Aden's Beginning), A Lovers Revolt, Scorched Souls.

  EDGE SERIES READING ORDER Alphas Rise, Dark Lure, Sacred Betrayal, Risen Lovers, Fall of Kings, Queens Rise, Stolen Son, Disloyal Souls, Aftermath.

  Chapter One

  The stars dot out the plans of God. ~ James Lendall Basford

  I lay here staring at the ominous sky thinking about her...Some people wonder what their purpose is. They question their dreams—the desire in their heart. Not me. I’ve always known. I’ve known from the first time I saw the questioning gaze of my soul mate, the girl who haunts my dreams.

  I ache for her touch, one not masked by dreams.

  Eight new moons have passed since I’ve seen her in our shared world. The absence only made the dreams of our past lives more vivid. The universe, along with this creator-forsaken dimension, is yearning for me to bring my queen home. Waiting for us to rule a golden age.

  Misery drapes my kingdom.

  My mother hasn’t looked me in the eye for days, my father is anxious. Donalt, the most powerful ruler I’ve ever known, is always preaching his prophecies. He told me that I’d succeed him. His throne will be mine...when I have her, not a moment before.

  I doubt him.

  He’s a demon who has ruled for over four million years. He’ll never fall. He has a sinister plan. I can feel it. Sometimes, I swear, I hear him in my mind telling me what to do, what to say.

  I fight him with the thought of her.

  We will be unstoppable.

  Willow Haywood

  I was terrified...Humid summer air blew through my open window as I tossed and turned in my sweat-soaked sheets. My nightmare had trapped me again. I couldn’t sense the people around me, at least, I couldn’t sense their emotions—I knew they were there. I could see them. But. I wasn't me in this dream. The sixth sense I'd grown to both depend on and hate was missing.

  Nightmares like this had haunted me since I was a kid. The dense weight on my chest was unbearable. I couldn’t breathe. Adrenaline hissing through my body gave way to hair-raising chills. Hot. Cold. Panting. My anxious mind was in control. No matter how many times I told myself to relax, I only became worse.

  Going unnoticed by the people in this dream was normal. Lines defined their pained expressions as they gazed at the hell around them. I wanted out. I knew the only way to wake up was to find the one person I would be able to sense. They'd be a beacon calling me closer. It could be anyone, a teen like me, kid, grown-ups. I'd helped them all. I'd feel their emotion like it was my own, then do what I could to change it as I changed my own. It was harder than it sounds--to feel a good emotion when I'm trapped here with them.

  I have no choice, this is the only way I'd found to wake up, and I'd tried everything.

  I pushed my way through the desolate streets crowded with souls draped in disdain. I could hear the sound of arguing growing louder. It had to be my way out. The weight on my chest grew stronger, promising I was right. My fear is almost paralyzing. I have to push through it by telling myself they can't see me, I'm a ghost to them.

  Small windows lined the high, gray walls. Darkness lingered behind most, while soft orbs of light illuminated others. I walked closer.

  The weight on my chest was unbearable. Why did it have to hurt?

  The arguing was coming from one of the small windows on the first level. A man was yelling at a woman. On the front steps, I saw a little boy. He was the first one I’d seen here that gave me pause, a sense a familiarity. It was his eyes—they were blue, almost transparent.

  His hair was long and messy, tattered clothes hung from his tiny body. Every instinct I had told me to grab him and run—wake us both up in my safe world. But that was nothing short of impossible. Putting my resentment for this dream aside, I sat down next to him and placed my hand on the small of his back.

  I had no idea how I did what I did. It was like breathing, letting my heartbeat. It wasn’t fun feeling emotions of others. It made me feel out of control, like I didn’t have permission to be myself. In real life, I couldn't change anyone's emotion. Here I could, with a touch.

  As my hand rested on his back, I thought of how happy he should be in his childhood. How abundant he would feel if he could be the center of some lucky parents’ world. The little boy dropped his eyes as he felt me. I drew my brow in question when his emotion shifted, not to happiness, but to regret and sorrow.

  Silence came.

  The little boy vanished, as the people on the street did. The wind whistled through the barren, cold walls. I could only hear my thrashing heartbeat. I stood, bracing myself for what I knew would happen.

  A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows. He’s been in every nightmare I’ve had. Darkness always hid his face, but not the dragon tattooed on the inside of his arm. Th
is figure was once a child, but now, both teens, we played the game that got him off and terrified me.

  He crept closer to me, laughing under his breath, then reached for me. This is always when a burning, white light comes. I crossed my hands in front of my face to block the pain it would bring.

  When the light didn’t come, I lowered my hands. I still couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his eyes searching over me. He grasped my wrist, where I have a tattoo of an Ankh, a beautiful cross that opens at the top with a loop. My instinct was to pull away, but I could not make my mind and body agree. With his touch, I felt a hypnotizing sensation that eased through my wrist, up my arm, and circle through my body. The weight on my chest vanished.

  His thumb traced over the cross. I sensed him smirk. “This is true; I will find you now,” he said in a deep, meticulous voice. He pressed his thumb in the center of the loop. The warm sensation turned into a scorching burn. I screamed through the pain as I thrashed and fought to get away.

  My eyes flew open—I’d made it back to reality. My screams brought my father into my room. He’s always the first person to respond when I wake up screaming.

  “Willow, wake up,” my father said in the same serene tone that never let me feel fear for long.

  Most people have a signature emotion. My dad's baseline had always been soothing. Hardly anything would rattle his cage.

  I sat up and grabbed my wrist. I could still feel the pain of the burn.

  “You haven’t had one of those dreams in a while,” Dad said turning on the lamp.

  The last one I’d had came on the eve of my eighteenth birthday in November. It was now August.

  “I don’t understand... The new moon was two days ago,” Dad said.

  As a kid, I had nightmares with each new moon. Knowing when they were coming didn’t make them any easier to face them.

  “I’m all right. Really.”

  Fear spiked in his emotion. I glanced at him; his hazel eyes had turned to a shade of brown. They tend to shift when he’s concerned about something.

  “Let me see your wrist.”

  My father, Dr. Jason Haywood, has always seemed to know if I’m hurting more than I let on. I’ve never been able to fake myself well, or sick, for that matter.

  When I got the tattoo of the ankh, my mother, Grace, was furious. She grounded me for the first time in my life. My father only asked why I’d chosen this symbol. I didn’t know. The symbol stood for eternal life, something I’ve always found fascinating. I always thought if people believed in such a thing, then they wouldn’t be afraid. If they were not afraid, then I wouldn’t have to feel their fear.

  I uncovered my wrist, expecting to see a burn. Instead, inside the loop at the top of the ankh was a small star. I felt my father’s shock, fear, and disbelief. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to understand how that dream chased me into the sanctuary of my life. In a panic, I pushed past my father.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, standing to follow me.

  “To wash my face, Dad. I’m fine. Go back to bed,” I said as I charged into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I rushed to the sink and tried to scrub away the star. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t understand what I’d done to deserve this.

  Why do I have to be so freaking different?

  Feeling emotions of others isn’t my only freak trait. I see images of the people who are not here. They’re not dead; I don’t think, at least. They’re not here, in my world.

  They need my help, like the soul who calls out to me in my nightmare. What’s different when I’m awake is that each touch takes me to wherever they are. When I release them, I’m pulled back into my reality. It’s not fun. What happens if one day I don’t come back?

  Not helping isn’t an option. I can’t deal. I can’t watch and feel someone suffer and do nothing—especially if I know I can do something.

  When the nightmares stopped a few months back, the images seemed to be few and far between as well.

  I missed them for selfish reasons.

  I’m an artist or something like that. I channel what I go through by sketching. I haven’t doodled on a napkin lately. No images, no nightmares—no muse.

  My mother believes I have a creative block. She’s an artist, too, and sees my painting as a rare talent. I never had the nerve to tell her that my art was a crutch. What I used to cope with the immoral war my soul fights with each breath I take.

  In a couple of weeks, she's sending me to an art school in New York. The thought of having a nightmare so far from home is mortifying. Fear swelled in my chest as random, unlikely scenarios played out in my mind. What made it all worse was I didn’t want to go to art school.

  I splashed water on my face then stared into the mirror, trying to look past my haunted green stare. I wanted to see the answers somewhere inside of me. All I saw was a girl trying to get from one breath to the next. I hated that. I should be stronger than this.

  An instinct I hated to listen to but knew was rarely wrong, told me that the time for me to hide from this was ending. There’s nothing worse than knowing that hell is charging toward you and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

  I sensed the warring emotions of my parents downstairs. Urgency. Panic. I’d done this to them. I’d spotlighted a weakness that made me self-conscious as hell.

  I took a deep breath, wishing that I could change the emotions of the ones around me. If I could, I would go down there and move them back to the peace and excitement that belonged to them.

  I dried my face off and put lotion on my tattoo, trying to ease the burn. I turned off the light and opened the door, wanting to go to my room and hide. I heard my parents whispering at the bottom of the stairs. I looked over the banister to see my father dressed. He was trying to calm my mother down. He grabbed his keys and kissed her before opening the front door to leave.

  “Mom?” I said with a crack in my voice as I walked to the stairs.

  She jumped as she glanced up at me.

  “Where’s Dad going?”

  She glanced down then up at me, searching for words that wouldn’t be a complete lie.

  “Um, he, well, you see, he had to go meet someone. At the, at the hospital.”

  “It’s, like, two in the morning,” I protested, halting halfway down the stairs.

  Mom’s eyes fell to my tattoo. I felt a surge of fear as she saw the new addition. Not feeling like trying to explain it, I moved my arm behind my back.

  “You know how good a doctor he is. They need him. It’s nothing."

  My father is an amazing doctor. He hardly prescribes medicine or has to run painful tests to find a cure. He seems to know what’s wrong and how to heal it. People come from every state to see him. So, I almost believed her until I felt a dread rise inside her.

  Before I could bother to push her for the truth, I heard my baby sister’s bedroom door open at the other end of the hall. Only six, Libby is a lot like my mother. They both live with a constant child-like excitement rushing through them. Squinting her dark eyes in the light of the hall, Libby pushed her long, dark, tangled hair out of her face.

  “Is it time to get up?” she asked me.

  Seeing her way out of having to answer any more of my questions, my mother climbed the stairs.

  “No, baby girl, Daddy had to go help someone,” she said in the sweet tone she always used with Libby.

  I felt Libby’s confusion. Even she knew this was odd.

  My mother reached Libby and took her hand. “Come on, sweetie.”

  Libby glanced back at me. I shrugged my shoulders, letting her know that I didn’t understand either.

  I stood in sleepy confusion for a moment before going back to my room. Leaving the light, on I climbed under my covers. Immediately my mind went back to the words that the figure had said: “I will find you now.”

  I’d needed to find a way to tell my parents, at least my dad, about all the weird things I can do. For the first time, I felt vulnerabl
e in my real life.

  Nightmares came with a new moon, but every single night I dreamt of another place. There I always found the same person. I cannot recall a single day of my life that I have not seen him.

  His intoxicating blue eyes mesmerized me. His lips, highlighted by heart-stopping dimples, come to life when he smiles at me.

  His entire demeanor was playful but stoic at the same time. I had a lot of friends, good ones, but this boy knew me better than them. This one saw what I hid from everyone, even myself. I closed my eyes. Holding his image in my mind, I drifted to sleep again.

  Deep breathes later I opened my eyes to a bright sunlit field. I wished every second of every day for this dream to come to life.

  A smile beamed across my face as I started to search for him.

  It felt like I belonged in this dream world and it belonged to me. There was only one flaw—utter silence. I had never heard this guys voice.

  Everything seemed pure, innocent. A small creek led into a larger waterway that fell into a gentle waterfall. He was there, watching the water, waiting for me. Feeling my approach, he turned and grinned as he brushed his dark, wavy hair out of his eyes. I felt the air leave my lungs as I took him in, a life force. It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen him butterflies still filled my stomach. My heart still beat a little bit faster, my soul hummed.

  When my nightmare came before our dream, he could see it in my face. His unease and anger for whoever had hurt me would wave down his body. Stepping closer to me, he saw the traces of fear in my eyes. His smile faded. I glanced away, ashamed that I let the nightmare win—I let it follow me into the heaven my life had given me.

  He held out his arms, and I fell into his embrace. His hands eased down my back as he pressed us together and swayed. His lips landed on my brow; the sensation sent a quake through my entire body. I craved this boy. I needed him to be real.

  I know it’s crazy, but I loved him so much that it hurt. His absence from my waking life was agony.