Source Born (Half-Blood Chronicles #3) (The Half-Blood Chronicles) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Ivy Baum

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Designs

  All rights reserved.

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  About the Author

  Also by Ivy Baum

  Chapter 1

  Through the grimy window, I watched as the car slowed.

  It was a sleek, newer sedan. Shiny paint and no dents. Far too nice for—

  But then I reminded myself, for the hundredth time, that I wasn’t in my neighborhood. The car would’ve been suspiciously out of place there. Here, though…

  “Why do you keep doing that?”

  I pulled away from the window. Tried to yank the little curtain across the glass, but it barely went halfway.

  “Sorry.” I turned to face the man standing on the other side of the room.

  He was far more out of place than the car. Neatly pressed pants, button-down shirt—he even wore the same wire-rim glasses that he used to complain about.

  Jonathan Adler was not an imposing figure. But his years as a college professor had imbued him with a sort of authoritative impatience.

  “So you’re back in the U.S. now? For good?”

  He frowned at my question. Maybe I’d already asked that. Being here, seeing him in person, made me nervous.

  Even though it seemed to irritate him, he answered. “Yes. People are saying they might close the borders from Europe. I didn’t want to get stuck. And my sabbatical was up…”

  He trailed off. Once again, we’d hit dangerous territory.

  I nearly asked, So what will you do now?

  But that, too, was a dangerous question.

  I studied his face. Once, it had been a comfort, a monument to stability.

  For the past two years, though, it had turned to something else: a mirage. All that remained of the illusion that had been my old life.

  He gestured. “So you live here, now. Chicago, I mean.”

  “Yeah. I live—” I hesitated over the name of my neighborhood.

  Anyone following the news would recognize it as one of the more notorious “magical ghettos.” A place normal people tried to avoid. “I live a few blocks from here.”

  How long, exactly, had it been since I’d left my neighborhood? I couldn’t even remember the last time. Months ago, at least…

  Which would explain the constant urge to look out the window.

  My father—no, Jonathan—frowned. “And Diana’s not with you?”

  I felt a pang of worry—this one of a very different nature. “She’s…traveling.”

  He looked skeptical. People didn’t travel for fun these days. Not unless they were particularly stupid or reckless.

  I added, truthfully, “I haven’t talked to her in awhile.”

  There were a million reasons for the lack of communication from my mother and Vissarion, all of them perfectly plausible. But none of them satisfied me.

  You’ve gone longer without hearing from them. And things were heating up with human law enforcement—ever since the establishment of the Magic Task Force.

  But still.

  “So you’re not going to college?”

  I blinked. He may as well have asked, So you’re not going to Mars?

  “Uh, no.”

  “Why not?”

  For a moment, I was speechless. I nearly blurted out, I didn’t even finish high school.

  Instead, I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Just not the right time, I guess.”

  “You’re eighteen—”

  “Nineteen,” I corrected him—and instantly regretted it. It sounded accusing. Pitiful.

  “Maybe in a few years,” I said.

  The words did not have their intended effect. Now he looked angry.

  “What do you do for money? Do you have a job?”

  I could have told him it was none of his business. And it really wasn’t.

  But I couldn’t make myself say the words.

  Somehow, after all this, he was still my father.

  “I—not at the moment.” I wondered if I should point out that most half-bloods in my neighborhood considered thief and petty thug legitimate occupations. “I was working in my friend’s coffee shop, but…”

  But that was two thousand miles away, and I hadn’t spoken to that particular friend in more than six months.

  “But…surely, you’ve got to pay for food. Rent.” He frowned. “Your mother mentioned that you were living with some young man—”

  I nearly laughed aloud, not least because he’d just called Nash a young man.

  “Oh, we’re not—I mean, he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just roommates.” He was still staring at me like I was speaking some foreign language, so I added, “I, uh, saved up some money. From—from when I was working. Before.”

  “That’s no way to live. You need an education. A career plan.”

  Honestly? He kind of had a point. I couldn’t live like this forever. Between our savings and the money we’d gotten from the Sourceblood Council, we scraped by. But our budget seemed to get tighter every month. Somehow, I hadn’t really thought about how I was going to pay our bills in the long run.

  “What about that friend of yours? Sydney? I see her on those billboards all the time. She’s making an honest living. I mean, I get that it’s her father’s business and all, but still…”

  I felt my jaw go slack. “You want me to work for the Sotheby Foundation?”

  “Well, why not? Just an entry-level position, of course. Something to get you back on your feet. I’m sure they’d help you. If you asked.”

  His tone had grown pointed.

  I felt a sense of vertigo. Sometimes I forgot that there was still a non-magical world out there. A normal world.

  Everything’s changed for me—but his world is basically the same.
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  “Listen, Da—” I broke off, feeling a rush of heat to my cheeks. “I didn’t come here to talk about job prospects. I wanted to talk. About…other stuff. You know. Everything that happened. Before.”

  His expression seemed to snap shut. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  I stared. There was a lot to talk about.

  He shrugged, looking irritable. “Someone sent a paternity test to my office. Good Samaritan, I suppose.” His lip curled. “I confronted Diana about it, and she admitted the truth.”

  The truth. “That I’m not—I mean, we’re not—”

  “I’m not your father, Kestrel.” His voice was heartbreakingly steady. “I’m not saying we don’t have a past. But it’s just that—the past.”

  My heart felt as though it were galloping in my throat. “I’m not saying that things are going to go back to how they were. But I thought that maybe we could have—”

  A future.

  But he was shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That’s just not possible.”

  He walked to the window. I had to resist the urge to wince as he pulled the curtain back.

  “Look, when the truth first came out, I felt like my life was a lie.” His back was to me now. “Do you know what that feels like? No, you couldn’t possibly. I can’t even begin to describe it.”

  He turned to face me. His eyes were dry, his face placid.

  “But…I found a way to keep going. To pick up and get my life in order. A new life. Going backward—well, it wouldn’t be right.”

  I frowned, confused.

  For the first time, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. “I’m getting remarried.”

  I felt my stomach turn inside out—then scolded myself. How could I still be surprised? After all this?

  Somewhere, a police siren wailed. But I barely noticed.

  “Congratulations,” I said at last. “Does Mom know?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No. She’s got her own boyfriend, now.”

  Vissarion. I swallowed. If only he knew the truth…

  He straightened. I realized, then, that he’d been waiting to deliver that news. And now that he had…

  “I think it’s best that we move on. Just…get on with our lives. Both of us. All of us.”

  I stared. How could I mean so little to him? “Dad—”

  This time, I said the word aloud. I didn’t care. I wanted to see him flinch.

  But it only seemed to irritate him. “What do you want from me?”

  I shook my head. “Why did you even invite me here?”

  “Invite you—?” He frowned. “Kes, you were the one who contacted me.” He pulled something from his jacket. A letter. “I figured you had some important news. Maybe about your mother, since I haven’t heard from her in awhile.”

  I stared at the letter, the hair standing up on the back of my neck.

  Numbly, I felt around my pocket and pulled out a letter of my own.

  I passed it to him.

  He took it reluctantly. As he read it, I saw the confusion on his face.

  Finally, he looked up. “I didn’t write this. Where did you—?”

  But I wasn’t listening anymore. My senses had flared to life. I started feeling around in the ether, looking for some magic that might be useful.

  “So this isn’t your friend’s apartment?”

  I forced my attention back to the here and now. Shook my head. “You were here when I got here,” I protested.

  “It was unlocked. Like you said it would be.”

  The letter had suggested meeting on neutral territory. A friend’s apartment.

  Apparently, a friend neither of us knew we had.

  Or more likely—an enemy.

  Jonathan was still confused, but nowhere near as worried as I was. “I don’t understand. If you didn’t send this, then who did?”

  I ran to the door and looked out the peephole. Nothing—no one—in the hall. But that didn’t mean much.

  One thing was certain. I was in trouble.

  The only question was how much.

  Chapter 2

  I turned back to find Jonathan staring at me.

  “I’m sorry. I need to go. This was—a mistake.”

  Then I was out the door.

  He called after me, “What about your friend? Shouldn’t we lock up?”

  But there was no time for pleasantries.

  Out in the hall, I looked left and right. Though it was a brilliant September day outside, very little sunlight penetrated the dim hall. This place wasn’t as run-down as the row-house apartment I shared with Nash, but it was much older, and it showed.

  I started instinctively for the stairs. I was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up. When I’d scoped the place out earlier, that had seemed like an acceptable risk.

  Or maybe you just ignored it.

  I got halfway to the stairs and stopped. If someone was waiting for me, they’d expect that.

  There was a window at the opposite end of the hall. I’d seen a faded “In Case of Fire” sign as I’d come up the stairs earlier. Which gave me an idea…

  Sure enough, when I peered out through the grimy pane of glass, I saw it: a fire escape.

  It was fifty-fifty odds whether the thing was still intact. But it was better than nothing.

  Definitely better than finding out who’s waiting for me on the stairs.

  I yanked the window open and spent the next few minutes awkwardly maneuvering myself out the window—backward.

  Cautiously, I shifted my weight onto the iron balcony beneath my feet.

  Somewhere inside, a door slammed. Someone was coming out of the stairwell.

  Time to get out of here.

  I dropped to the floor of the balcony. The wide gaps in the wrought iron gave me an unpleasant view of the ground three stories below.

  I held my breath and listened.

  Footsteps. At least one pair. And they were definitely coming in my direction.

  I glanced down at the stairs. More than a few of them had been eaten away by rust. I’d have to be careful where I stepped. But it beat staying up here.

  While I climbed, I felt around for nearby Source gifts. It was something I should have been doing all along.

  Sloppy.

  I’d spent far too much time in my little half-blood neighborhood, and I’d forgotten the most basic truth.

  Out here, I was a target.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t fight back.

  I felt around in the ether, expecting to seize on something any moment. This wasn’t a Dead Zone. But I came up with nothing. And so I kept moving, putting one foot after the other, hoping I’d find something.

  Before I was found.

  There was a shout. A man was peering out of the window above me. The way he was looking at me, I knew I was in trouble.

  I knew that look.

  If he was anyone except the human police, he’d be getting ready to blast me with whatever magic he had. Unless he, too, had come up empty.

  “Stop!”

  Not on your life.

  The metal stairs began to shake violently.

  Uh oh. Now he’d climbed out as well. Unless one of us found our magic soon, this was going to turn into an old-fashioned foot-chase.

  Or car chase—if I could get to Nash.

  I heard the staticky squawk of voices and realized he was talking to someone on a handheld radio.

  Great. He had friends.

  He yelled again, “Stop! Task Force!”

  That was doubtful. The MTF wasn’t this aggressive—not unless you were involved in some high-profile case or had pissed off somebody important.

  Even if he was Task Force, I wasn’t going to stop. They were bad news, too.

  I was just starting down the last ladder when I heard a new sound: squealing tires. A car had entered the alleyway.

  No, no, no.

  I detached myself from the ladder and dropped the last dozen feet or so.

  I landed painfully,
scraping my palms on the dirty asphalt. Then I sprinted for the opposite end of the alley.

  More shouting. I scanned the row of buildings as I ran, looking for some door propped open, or better yet, another street I could duck into.

  Behind me, there was the sound of car doors slamming. Multiple doors.

  I started to swear—out loud, this time—when I snagged onto something in the ether.

  Simple Striker magic. Exactly what I needed.

  I stopped just long enough to aim at my pursuers. They were all male, twenty-something, and their outfits screamed downwardly mobile.

  In other words, typical half-bloods.

  I raised a hand. Not strictly necessary with this Source gift, but it helped me aim.

  Plus it just looked cooler that way.

  I took aim at the center of the group—the guy in the middle was a good target, big and bulky with muscle.

  I would have uttered a cool catch-phrase, but I was out of breath.

  Then I let the Striker power fly. I could almost feel the ball of energy emerge from my hands—though it didn’t work that way.

  Boom.

  I don’t know what happened. One minute I was staring at these guys, looking forward to wiping the smug look off their faces—and the next I was caught in an explosion.

  The Striker hit hadn’t just taken them out—it had exploded in all directions. Including mine.

  I blinked, trying to clear the spots from my eyes.

  The guys were in a smoking heap, and I was pretty sure that some of them were in pieces. I could smell burning—singed flesh and hair. Looking down, I realized that the hair on my arms had burned off.