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Jivaja
Copyright © 2018 by Venessa Giunta

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any

form, printed or electronic, without prior written permission from the
author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions
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[email protected]

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purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

E-book ISBN: 978-1-7326860-1-4

Print ISBN: 978-0-9910778-9-2

Cover Artist: The Book Brander

Published in the United States of America by Fictionvale Publishing, LLC.

This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual

historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Jivaja
The Soul Cavern Series
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One: Mecca
Chapter Two: Claude
Chapter Three: Mecca
Chapter Four: Mecca
Chapter Five: David
Chapter Six: Mecca
Chapter Seven: David
Chapter Eight: Mecca
Chapter Nine: David
Chapter Ten: Claude
Chapter Eleven: David
Chapter Twelve: Mecca
Chapter Thirteen: Mecca
Chapter Fourteen: David
Chapter Fifteen: Mecca
Chapter Sixteen: David
Chapter Seventeen: Mecca & David
Chapter Eighteen: David
Chapter Nineteen: Mecca
Chapter Twenty: Claude
Chapter Twenty-One: Mecca
Chapter Twenty-Two: David
Chapter Twenty-Three: Mecca
Chapter Twenty-Four: Claude
Chapter Twenty-Five: Mecca
Chapter Twenty-Six: Victoria
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Maze
Chapter Twenty-Eight: David
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Mecca
Chapter Thirty: Mecca
Chapter Thirty-One: Mecca
Sneak Peek: Blue-Edged Soul
The Soul Cavern Series
Venessa Giunta
 The Soul Cavern Series

Jivaja

Blue-Edged Soul

Visci

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 Dedication
For my husband, my muse.
And all the things.
 Prologue

“You have to be very careful when you touch people, Mecca,” her father
murmurs as he kneels on the warm ground pulling weeds out of the
flowerbed. He brushes the back of his glove-covered hand over his
forehead, wiping away a faint gleam of sweat. “You’re still learning to use
your Gift and you could hurt people.”
She nods. The plastic beads on the ends of her braids click against
each other with a muted sound. “That’s why you don’t want me to touch
Mom.”
He exhales and leans back on his ankles as he looks up at her. She
wishes her eyes were like his. When he looks at her, his love shows in his
bright, dark blue eyes.
“Yes,” he says. “Mom is sick, and she needs all her energy. I know
you’re careful, and I know you love her very much, but you can’t control it
yet. You wouldn’t mean to but could accidentally make her worse. Do you
understand what I mean?”
Even at eleven, she gets how much it hurts him to forbid her to touch
her mother. She understands why too, but she hates it. She hates it more
than peas, more than cleaning her room, and more than cough medicine.
And she hates herself for having the “Gift” that keeps her from her mom.
“Yes, I understand,” she replies. “I get it. I wish — I just wish there
was a way…”
He grabs her arm and pulls her into a bear hug. “I know, baby. I’m so
sorry. I hate doing this to you. When you’re older. When you learn
more…”
Her tears spill onto his thin white T-shirt as she wraps her arms
around his neck and weeps into his shoulder. He smells of earth and sweat.
She stays with him for a while after she stops crying. Watching him work
in the earth, planting new flowers, she can pretend her life isn’t the freak
show it really is. She can imagine running home and hugging her mom
without having to make sure there is something between their skin. In her
thoughts, in her wishes, skin to skin means nothing.
 Later, she wanders behind the house and down to the pond. It’s large
enough to be home to many fish, birds and animals, but not so big that a
bunch of people come to play in it. She never sees boats or even
swimmers, here. That’s why she comes. It is quiet.
An expanse of trees backs up along the pond’s bank, and she catches
sight of a doe with her fawn just as they catch sight of her. They dart into
the safety of the trees, leaving her behind. Where the pathway goes into
the trees, she continues along the water’s edge, until she reaches the flat,
smooth boulder at the water line.
She loves this rock. Surrounded by trees and brush, this is her spot,
her rock. She scrambles to the top and sits, her legs stretched in front of
her. A magnificent bird swoops across the still water, looking for fish, she
guesses. It had rained earlier and her Keds are dirty from the walk through
the woods. With one finger, she flicks a spot of mud from her toe.
“Stupid Gift. Why couldn’t it skip me like it did Dad?” A ladybug
flutters past her nose and lands on the tip of her shoelace. It crawls along
until it comes to the end where her lace leans against her ankle. The bug
hesitates a moment and then creeps onto her soft brown skin, a tiny red
spot moving along her leg.
She watches and feels the tiny tickle from its movement. Her anger at
her life still bubbles below the surface, but she is happy to watch this
small, pretty thing living its life carefree, in a way hers would never be.
She sighs and then a sharp little tingle slips from that tiny bug’s spot
and up through her body, a feeling that reminded her of putting her tongue
on a nine volt battery. The tickle stops and she watches, wide-eyed as the
ladybug slides down her leg, bounces off the tongue of her shoe and falls
to the hard surface of the rock.
It is dead.
She clamps her palm over her mouth and cries into it. She scoots
away on her backside, then draws her knees up to her chest, bends her
head, and sobs.
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 Chapter One: Mecca

Darkness cloaked the back parking lot in Little Five Points. On the
asphalt, the man shuddered and gasped, his dusky blue eyes wide in his
confusion. Mecca Trenow, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, held her
own fear at bay by the need for survival. A confused grimace transformed
the man’s face into an ugly, alabaster mask.
Mecca’s heart thumped hard against her breastbone. Everything had
happened so fast! His attack. Her response. Now, crouched over him, she
found the arm in her grasp thinning, becoming more frail, until she could
feel the actual bone between her fingers. His dark hair greyed and then
wafted to the concrete like so many delicate feathers.
He withered.
Superimposed over his form, like a double-exposed negative, the
Cavern where his soul would have resided spread before her. It should
have been bathed in golden light. Instead, a small ball of gold looked to be
tethered to the walls with thick, silver-grey tendrils.
She closed her eyes to block out the reality behind the image of the
Cavern. She tugged at the golden life force within him. Its colored fringes
had already washed out to a pale pink. The silver tethers which held it
stretched and then popped, one by one. Mecca surrounded the sad little
ball with her own energy, gold with blue fringes, as it began to come away.
The captive energy swung free from its bonds, momentarily bathing
the cold, dank Cavern in light. It hurled into Mecca. Her own life force,
the little part of her soul she'd sent into him, crashed back to her, breaking
her hold on his frail arm. She toppled onto her ass between the cars, sharp
pain vibrating up her spine.
Energy tore through her, mixing with her adrenaline. The red-hot
spike shuddered through her body and along her limbs. It reached her toes
and then bounced back and shot through her entire body again. Her skin
tingled electric.
She had no concept of how long she lay on the gravel lot. The acidic
smell of piss coming from the ground made her queasy. The energy waned
and ebbed until it settled into her and became familiar, became a part of
her own soul. With a long, deep breath, she pulled herself up from between
the cars, leaning against the cool door of a Toyota Camry.
As the energy finally began to level out, she realized that she felt
drunk. Her fuzzy brain had trouble registering things around her, or even
thinking, for that matter. So it took a moment to realize that the blob she
stared at now was actually a man. He stood near the Dumpster, across the
parking lot.
Tall, with dark, tousled hair, he watched her with wide eyes. What
she’d done began to sink in. Panic edged her thoughts. She looked down at
the withered corpse, at herself.
Dark droplets dusted her blouse. She touched the side of her neck and
her fingertips came away bloody. The thump-thump of her pulse pounded
in her ears.
At her feet, the shrunken carcass looked nothing like the sexy man in
the coffee shop who'd approached her so many times over the last few
weeks. His energy had been strange, which had kept her from engaging.
But today, she’d said yes to a chat. And she’d ended up a murderer.
She stared at the dead thing. The fear she'd been holding back crashed
over her like a flood.
She turned on her heel and ran.
 Chapter Two: Claude

The young Visci half-breed male— smelling of a sweet, rotten scent,

much like day-old milk — who showed Claude into Emilia’s quarters had
been more interested in his telephone than in courtesy. But there was no
accounting for manners.
Emilia’s rooms encompassed half of the lowest level of the sub-
basement in her compound. Situated at the end of an extended hallway, it
would be defensible in case of a breach; Claude felt sure that Emilia had
installed escape tunnels leading from her rooms to a safe location. He
would have, in her shoes. Good defense means nothing if one is trapped
like a rat in a corner.
Claude crossed the threshold into Emilia’s quarters and the door
closed behind him with a muted click. Rich moss-green carpet swallowed
his footfalls as he made his way through the small ante-chamber to the
main living area. The scent of cinnamon incense caressed him.
Emilia’s love for all things aged and European showed in her design
tastes. The Queen Anne style writing table that flanked him on the right
held a pale cream colored porcelain pitcher beside a chipped washing
basin, both settled on a lace table runner. A tapestry on the opposite wall
displayed an English fox hunt with braying dogs, noblemen and pretty
women riding side saddle. Claude had always found Emilia’s affection for
European history charming.
Through an open archway, he entered the sitting room. The green on
the floor gave way to a thick, merlot carpet, which accented russet walls
hung with various light colored paintings framed in dark woods. Emilia’s
passion gave way to practicality with the smoke grey, leather sectional in
the corner and the glass-topped desk which faced the room near the far
wall, flanked by two ultra-modern chairs.
Emilia sat at the desk, glow from the LCD computer monitor
highlighting her almond skin tone. When she looked up at him, Claude
saw the girl he’d taken from a battlefield in what is now Cambodia. Her
face, her expression when she smiled, those were the same. But her eyes
had changed. Darker now. Harder, perhaps. Claude supposed he’d done
that to her.
“Thank you for coming,” Emilia said as she rose, a smile spread
across her face. “Things have gotten complicated and I am eager to have
your counsel, if you would stay for a bit.”
Claude affected a short bow. “I am happy to assist.” The conflict
between the pure blood Visci and the half-breeds roiled below the surface
of every interaction these days, in every city he’d visited, so Atlanta
seemed no different. It had only been a matter of time.
Commotion just outside the arched doorway caught both their
attention. A tall, thin man bustled through, followed directly by the rotten-
milk half-breed, who sputtered apologies to Emilia.
“What is going on?” she said, moving from behind her desk.
“James?” She stared the new arrival down, but to his credit, he did not
fluster under her gaze.
“My apologies for bursting in,” James said, tilting a nod in Claude’s
direction.
Claude could detect no scent coming from him, though he was a
distance away. Pure blood? Interesting.
“You need to hear what happened to Hayden.”
Emilia waved a hand of dismissal to the half-breed from the doorway
and he stepped back, a scowl on his face.
“All right,” Emilia said as she leaned against the desk. She crossed
her arms over her chest. “Who did Hayden kill this time?”
Claude didn’t know who this Hayden was, but listened with interest.
James shook his head, but seemed unable to talk for a moment. When he
finally did speak, it came out all in a rush, with barely any breath between
words.
“He didn’t kill anyone. Someone killed him.”
“What?” Emilia rarely showed excessive emotion, but the surprise
traveled across her features for a moment before she regained control.
“Was it Visci? A pure blood killed him?”
James shook his head. “I don’t know what she is. But she isn’t Visci.”
This conversation had gotten exponentially more interesting.
“Then how?” Emilia asked.
“He was at the college campus, down at Little Five Points. He hunts
— hunted there pretty often. He liked the college kids.”
 “Yes, yes, I know.” Emilia waved her hand. “Go on.”
“He was in the coffee shop and had zeroed in on one girl. He’d
targeted her before, several times, actually, but she always shut him
down.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s a student — she’s always in one of the coffee
shops, working on things — light-skinned, African-American, young. I’ve
been in the same room with her too and I get why he wanted her. She
pulled at me, but I have no idea why. I suppose that’s why he kept going
back to her every time he saw her.”
“But this time, she accepted him.” Emilia’s jaw had tightened and set
in a hard line.
“She let him walk her to her car but then… Then…” James looked
down and Claude realized suddenly that although James might have been a
full blood Visci, he was very young. That made him wonder who the boy’s
parents were. Who had been lucky enough to procreate without a human?
Claude would have to make inquiries.
“Enough with the theatrics,” Emilia said. “What happened?”
“He went to feed from her and when he leaned in, he died.”
Emilia caught Claude’s gaze for a moment and the exasperation
evident in her tone flashed through her eyes. She looked back to the young
Visci in front of her. “James, I swear to you, if you don’t tell me what
happened, you’re going to be an offering in the Maze Gathering, rather
than a potential contestant.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. When he went to feed, she grabbed his arm and he
just suddenly started withering. He tried to pull away, but not until he was
too weak to do it. It’s like she was sucking everything out of his body and
he just shriveled up and died.”
Something in the back recesses of Claude’s mind pinged on James’s
words, but he set aside the strange memory-like feeling for now. He’d
search his past later. Now, he wanted more information, and he hoped
Emilia would ask the questions he wanted answers to.
“I don’t understand,” Emilia said. “What actually killed him?”
James shook his head, but didn’t respond immediately. Claude
wondered whether James feared for his own safety because he was unable
to answer. When James did find his voice again, he said, “I don’t know
how she killed him. There was no blood, and I saw no injury when I
retrieved his body.”
“What did you do with it?”
“It’s still in my car. I thought you would want to see it.”
“Yes. Take it to the medical suite and we’ll see what we can make of
things.” Emilia moved behind her desk again. “You can go. You did well,
James. Thank you.”
James furrowed his brow and shifted his weight from one foot to the
other and back again. “There’s something else.”
Emilia looked up from the paper she’d lifted and begun to study.
“What?”
“She saw me.”
Claude could all but feel Emilia’s temper, though her face remained
stoic. She’d always been hot-headed, but it seemed she’d finally learned to
control her immediate outbursts. Likely a skill learned as she solidified
her hold over Atlanta. It’s difficult to govern Visci effectively without a
huge measure of self-control.
“Go on,” Emilia said, her tone quiet and calm.
“She saw me, but I think she was terrified. She ran in the direction of
the university.”
Claude wondered, briefly, whether Emilia had misgivings about
having heard all of this news with him in the room. He had the sort of
feeling that created something like a live wire beneath his skin, as if he
had information that he didn’t yet understand, but that would be indelibly
useful in the future.
“Is there anything else?” Clearly, Emilia was ready to dismiss James.
Her attention returned to the things in front of her eyes, though Claude was
sure that she didn’t even know what she looked at.
“No, Lady.”
“Very well. Please take the body to the medical suite.”
“Yes, Lady.” To his credit, James left on silent feet.
When he closed the door behind him, Emilia raised her gaze to
Claude. “I’d like to postpone our discussion until tomorrow. I have a few
things that I must address.”
Claude tilted his head in a respectful bow. “Of course. As you wish.
Please send for me at your convenience.”
 She gave him a smile and for barely a moment, he saw the girl she
had once been — slow to smile, but with a twinkle when she did. “I’m
glad you’re here,” she said.
“It is my pleasure,” he replied. “Until later, then.”

The death of this Hayden weighed heavy in Claude’s thoughts. There

was something about it…something about how it happened. He knew there
was something in his past — probably in the early part of his life, judging
from the difficulty he had recalling it — that called to him.
It took longer than he expected to find the medical suite. James was
just entering with a black back slung over his shoulder. Not the most
graceful way to transport a body surely.
Claude followed the man into the medical suite and stood near the
door as James dumped the bag onto a flat thin-mattressed gurney. Claude
had expected it to be something like a body bag — though he had no idea
why he would think a Visci traveled around with a body bag in his car —
but it turned out to be a plain black garbage bag. James ripped the plastic,
as if he were unpacking a pound of store-bought beef.
The body inside looked more like a mummy than a recently-dead
man. The memory in Claude’s mind that hadn’t wanted to come forward
before, slammed to the forefront now.
Claude’s uncle — a man named Politus — had been found just like
this in a copse of olive trees a few leagues from where Claude had grown
up. Claude couldn’t remember specifics. He’d only been a boy then. But
he recalled his father organizing a party of Visci — they’d all been full
blood then — to hunt down the…
Claude couldn’t remember the name of the person, or maybe it was a
group name. He would have to think on it for longer.
Claude stepped up silently behind the young full blood. “James.” He
got a bit of satisfaction at the startled jerk and turn when James faced him.
“Yeah…?” Even this close, James had no scent. He must have come
from a strong bloodline.
“You said, in Emilia’s quarters, that this girl only touched him and he
became…” Claude motioned to the corpse.
James narrowed his eyes, obviously suspicious. “Yeah.”
 A man of many and varied words. “Only one small question, if you
please. I see he wears a long-sleeved shirt. Do you recall whether she
touched him over the shirt or on his skin?”
James glanced at the corpse and looked back to Claude. Claude
imagined he was weighing the pros and cons of sharing something now
that he hadn’t shared with Emilia. That’s what Claude would be doing. But
all things considered, this was a seemingly innocuous piece of
information.
“Does it mean something to you?”
Claude didn’t show his surprise, but he hadn’t expected the question.
“Perhaps. But I can’t know without some research. And there’s no need to
do the research without an answer to the question.”
“Did Emilia send you?”
Claude didn’t answer, but didn’t release the man’s gaze.
James licked his lips and pulled in a breath. Then he turned to the
corpse and pointed to what would have been a strong arm. “There. At the
wrist. She grabbed it when he’d leaned in to feed from her.”
“So the clothes weren’t in the way?”
“No.”
“Thank you, James.” Claude left the man to whatever he would be
doing now that he had the body on the slab.
The skin to skin contact meant something. Now Claude just needed to
remember what that was.
 Chapter Three: Mecca

Mecca clutched the steering wheel in two tight fists, her cell phone
pinched between her head and shoulder. On the dashboard, the speed
needle had slipped past eighty. She eased her foot off the gas. The buzzing
ring in her ear stopped as the line clicked on the other end.
“Dad?” The fear in her words scared her even more.
His sleep-roughened voice came across the line. “Mecca? It’s almost
1 a.m. What's wrong?”
She took a deep breath, releasing some of her panic. “Dad, something
really bad's happened. I think I killed someone.” She blurted it before she
chickened out. I know I killed someone. Her words hung in the air like a
heavy winter fog.
“Are you with the police?”
“No. I ran.”
Moments crawled by. A giant black Lincoln Navigator blew past her,
windows open, bass thumping. Her seat vibrated with the beat.
Her father finally responded, his tone tight and clipped. “Come
home.”

She pulled into the driveway and cut the headlights. The foyer's
chandelier dropped a warm glow through the open front door. Her father's
silhouette appeared in the door frame. Relief welled up in her.
She closed the space between them. When he opened his arms,
memories of her childhood overtook her. She fell into his hug and let her
defenses down for the first time since she'd met Hayden at the Brew-haha.
He brushed a hand over her hair. Tall and strong, with broad shoulders
and thick arms, her father made her feel safer than she had all night. When
she looked up at him, she found more comfort in his electric blue eyes
which looked at her now with worry.
The little scar over his left eyebrow twitched, as it always did when
he got stressed out or upset. Her Uncle Ken had nailed him with a baseball
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