Charged Read online

  Charged

  The Grounded Trilogy Book Two

  G. P. Ching

  Charged, The Grounded Trilogy Book Two

  Published by Carpe Luna, Ltd., PO Box 5932, Bloomington, IL 61704

  www.carpeluna.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: December 2014

  Cover art by Christa Holland

  www.paperandsage.com

  v2.3

  ISBN: 978-1-940675-13-8

  Contents

  Books by G.P. Ching

  Join VIP List

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Wired (Excerpt)

  Join VIP List

  Books by G.P. Ching

  About the Author

  Books by G.P. Ching

  The Soulkeepers Series

  The Soulkeepers, Book 1

  Weaving Destiny, Book 2

  Return to Eden, Book 3

  Soul Catcher, Book 4

  Lost Eden, Book 5

  The Last Soulkeeper, Book 6

  * * *

  The Grounded Trilogy

  Grounded, Book 1

  Charged, Book 2

  Wired, Book 3

  Soulkeepers Reborn

  Wager’s Price

  Hope’s Promise

  Lucifer’s Pride

  Join My VIP List

  Enjoy a free story when you enroll

  Never miss a new release

  Get access to exclusive content

  Enjoy select offers and giveaways

  Sign Me Up!

  Discover more magic. Join G.P.’s VIP list!

  Prologue

  Dr. Emile Konrad was fascinated by pain. The delicious exhilaration as sharp silver approached unmarked flesh was one no drug could emulate. Was it the patient’s widened eyes that made him sigh in contentment? Or something more? Fear, perhaps. He prided himself on the horrors within his black bag, capable of eliciting a response by sight alone. An increase in respirations, pallor, a bounding pulse. One must be careful at this stage not to cause hyperventilation. Nothing was as disappointing as a plaything lost to unconsciousness.

  The Green Republic wanted information and therefore it was only natural Konrad not gag his patient, but in truth the doctor wouldn’t have it any other way. He needed to hear the results of his handiwork, to see the bunching muscles and breathless torque of his subject. It was a disappointment when the patient gave up the goods too quickly. To do so would deny him the ultimate high—the scream.

  Unfortunately, this patient had the spineless and weedy quality of a traitor. He’d have to savor the moment. The man’s mouth hung open for one… two… three seconds before the shrill screech pierced the room. The corners of Konrad’s mouth pulled toward his ears, and he inhaled deeply, the scent of blood enhancing the thrill. What a rush.

  “Where is the girl?”

  “I t-told you, I d-don’t know.” The man writhed against his bonds in a vain attempt at comfort, but the steel examination table was unforgiving.

  “Let us review,” Konrad said. “We have established that you are a member of the Liberty Party. Through an act of treason, you attacked CGEF in an attempt to gain control of the energy hub and overthrow the Green Republic. You did this in collusion with Korwin Stuart and Lydia Lane, who are now missing. Given the considerable talents of these two, I find it difficult to believe that you are unaware of their whereabouts.”

  “She came from nowhere,” the man babbled in a rush. “Maxwell raised Korwin in the manor. We all knew him. But Lydia appeared one day. I don’t know where she’s from or where they are now. Maybe she took him back to wherever she came from.”

  “Hmmm.” Konrad contemplated the revelation, stroking one stubbled cheek. According to the probes hooked up to the man, he was telling the truth. At least his chemistry said he was, and Konrad’s equipment was nearly impossible to fool. Lydia’s identification claimed she was from Willow’s Province, yet there was no record of her birth and only a minimal paper trail linking her to a Lakehurst address in the middle of nowhere. Green soldiers had searched every inch of Willow’s Province as well as Stuart Manor without gaining a clue to their whereabouts. They’d released flasher drones over the Outlands and in the most remote regions of habitable land. Nothing.

  He must find Lydia and Korwin. Operation Source Code, his life’s work and greatest accomplishment, was permanently halted until he did. The loss of the beta specimens was intolerable, as unacceptable as the loss of the Alpha Eight. The deaths of David and Natasha had been a particularly hard blow, their bodies found burned beyond recognition in the wreckage of Lydia and Korwin’s escape.

  No, he must not allow this loss. Dr. Konrad selected a new tool from his black bag, a twisted, clamping implement that glinted in the overhead light. He lowered his thin lips to the man’s ear. “You don’t know the whereabouts of Lydia and Korwin, but you must know where the Liberty Party is currently organizing. Where should I look for the one who would know?”

  The man gulped air in panic, staring at the sharp implement in Konrad’s hand as it hovered over his breastbone. “A-all of the information about the Liberty Party—all of the members’ names and addresses, the organizational charts—all of it is in a vaulted basement in Stuart Manor. Maxwell called it the Compound. The place was rigged to lock down if the manor was infiltrated.”

  Well now, finally a useful tidbit, although Konrad wondered how David had missed this fact while undercover. Certainly, as the butler, he would have been privy to such knowledge. Yet, what the patient said explained a vexing anomaly. When the Green Republic had arrested Korwin and Maxwell and taken control of Stuart Manor, Konrad thought it odd that Maxwell, a well-known albeit retired scientist, had no office or laboratory. A man of his many scientific pursuits would be expected to have a modest workshop for tinkering. A hidden compound made sense of the omission.

  “Very good,” Konrad said. “Your honesty will be rewarded.”

  The man blew out a painful breath. “You’ll let me go?”

  Konrad lifted an eyebrow. “In one way or another.” Dr. Emile Konrad was fascinated by pain, but he could be merciful when a patient earned his mercy. Reverently, he returned the tool in his hand to his black bag before reaching for an oxygen mask beside the examination table. He strapped the mask on the man’s face and turned the dial on the attached canister. It did not contain oxygen. The foggy mustard-colored contents flowed into the tube with a hiss. Slowly, the patient calmed, then closed his eyes, and eventually stopped breathing altogether
.

  “As promised,” Konrad told the dead man. “An easy exit, I am sure you would agree.” He patted the man’s shoulder, then stood and reached for his phone.

  Protocol demanded he call Pierce directly with any new information. Stuart Manor was now evidence and property of the Green Republic. But Pierce would want to follow procedure. Pierce would request the proper channels be followed to investigate the possibility of a hidden chamber. The man was becoming a bottleneck, too powerful for the Republic’s good.

  No. This job called for a special set of skills. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to break a few rules to get the job done. Someone who was properly motivated to succeed.

  The phone rang against his ear. Seven times. It always rang seven times. As expected, when the call connected, no greeting whatsoever was offered.

  Konrad didn’t hesitate to speak into the void. “I have a job for you.”

  1

  Lydia

  I am closest to God when I’m singing. Sometimes, when I’m at the Sunday Singing and all lined up with Mary and the other girls, a lightness bubbles within, a kind of hopefulness about the world. All I think about is the warmth and joy in that barn, between my friends and me, my community.

  “Lydia,” Mary whispers. “I think Nathaniel is going to ask to drive me home.”

  I grin. A ride home from the Sunday Singing is a gesture of romantic intention, the start of courtship in our Amish community. “Will you accept?”

  “Most definitely.”

  Reflexively my eyes drift to Korwin. He sits across from me, as is tradition in Hemlock Hollow. Girls on one side, boys on the other.

  “You’ll let me drive you home again tonight?” he whispers with a grin, folding his hands on the long wooden table.

  “Of course,” I say. It’s expected at this point. We date every Sunday night, although I think Korwin prefers the Sundays we don’t have service, which in Hemlock Hollow is every other week. On those nights, he comes to see me after my father goes to bed, and it’s just us, sitting on the porch swing, talking about everything under the sun and moon. That’s easier than this, where people still notice he’s different. He still forgets words to the songs the rest of us have been singing our entire lives and makes the occasional faux pas, like calling someone’s mother Mrs. or saying someone looks gorgeous when our deepest desire is to be plain.

  Still, I’m proud of how far he’s come. At first, he could barely stay awake through the three-hour service on Sunday morning. Waiting to eat lunch until the second seating, while the older members ate first, was a foreign concept to him. But he’s stuck with it, even when the other boys haven’t exactly made it easy for him. There’s still a lot of people taking sides, thinking Korwin stole me from Jeremiah or some equally silly false sense of loyalty. It’s made it harder than necessary, but still he persists.

  “How did things go this week?” I ask him.

  “Good. Threshing. I think I’m used to it now. No more blisters.” He flashes his palms. “Working on my Pennsylvania German with Nathaniel. He’s very patient.”

  “What about your baptism? Has Deacon Lapp mentioned a date?”

  He doesn’t answer me. Nathaniel leads off a tune from his end of the table and the others join in. It’s a sloppy start. Laughter breaks out as we all try to sing the first verse. Korwin tries his best to sing along, but he doesn’t know this one. When I glance in his direction, he smiles weakly at me.

  During the next break, I take up talking with Mary about the Samuels’ sick cow and miss talking to Korwin, who is in conversation with Jacob Bender. The Benders have always been progressive, and I hope the polite friendship grows deeper, for Korwin’s sake. I can’t remain the only one in his corner. Not forever.

  It’s after midnight by the time we finish the singing, and I say my goodbyes as all of us herd out to the buggies. Mary waves to me as she climbs into Nathaniel’s buggy, face beaming. Next to them, Jeremiah is alone in his. He meets my eyes through the glass front, his horse waiting restlessly. Even in the inadequate moonlight, I can make out the silvery scar that runs from the outside of his left eye to his jaw. My fault, as are the scars I’ve left on the inside. I flash him a half smile, and he nods before clucking the horse into motion.

  “Everything okay?” Korwin asks.

  I stir from my guilt-ridden reverie and hop into the seat next to him. “Yes. Sorry. I’m tired, I guess. Can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  His mouth tightens as if he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue. Instead, he slaps the reins. The Lapps’ horse breaks into a trot.

  “I know this is hard for you, but if you keep participating, it will get easier,” I say to Korwin. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “I think it’s getting better. Jacob’s been going out of his way to include me in things… conversations with the others. He even invited me hunting next weekend.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “I’m good at threshing. Lots of folks say I’m a hard worker. Most folks.”

  “You are a hard worker,” I say.

  “Just a matter of time,” he says.

  “So, when does Deacon Lapp say you can be baptized?” Abram Lapp had been kind enough to take Korwin in when he came to Hemlock Hollow after escaping the Green Republic. But Abram had never been particularly warm with his charity. Most of the other candidates for baptism have already set dates, but Korwin is still waiting for the deacon’s blessing, as if Abram holds him to a higher standard.

  Korwin takes a deep breath. “He won’t give me an answer. Honestly, he seems skeptical that I’m going to stay.”

  I scoff. “It’s been almost a year! You’ve done everything he’s asked you to, haven’t you?”

  “I have.” He glances in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. Jacob told me tonight that Abram is ultraconservative. He thinks he’s probably testing my faith. I won’t give up. I’ll stick with it for as long as it takes.”

  “Maybe I could have Dad talk to him?”

  “It’s fine, Lydia. I don’t want to be a whiner.”

  “It’s me who’s whining.” I laugh. “We can’t be married until you’re baptized. I’m not sure I can wait.”

  “You?” He groans and looks at me mischievously.

  We’ve done nothing more than kiss since returning to Hemlock Hollow. Physical relationships before marriage are considered sinful here. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to follow the rules. The attraction I feel for Korwin is more than hormones and chemistry. Our electrokinetic physiology draws us to each other like magnets. The force of it is difficult to refuse.

  “The fireflies are exceptionally active this year,” I say, changing the subject. Out the window, I watch a dance of blinking lights swirl above a freshly threshed field.

  “My father always called them lightning bugs.” His voice is soft, almost reverent.

  “You miss him.”

  “Of course I do.”

  I don’t like to think about Korwin’s father. Inevitably, when I do, it brings up memories of the English world and how the Green Republic murdered Maxwell Stuart. I wasn’t myself there. Everything good and pure about me was changed, used, abused by their way of life. I thank God for getting me out of there alive.

  “It’s a mating ritual,” I say to lighten the mood. “The male firefly lights up his backside to attract a female.”

  Korwin grins. “Smart bugs. Does it work on humans?” He turns toward me and an electric blue glow fills the cab, beaming from his face and exposed forearms.

  “Stop,” I stage whisper, slapping his shoulder. “Someone could see.” I search out the window to make sure there is no one behind us.

  “Relax. We’ve been alone on this road for miles.” He’s barely got the words out when the buggy stops abruptly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Daisy just stopped.” Korwin snaps the reins, but the Lapps’ horse only stomps her feet. He raises the
reins again, but I place my fingers on his wrist.

  “Wait.” I jump out and walk to the horse’s side. “Easy,” I say as I place a hand gently on her flank. She bobs her head and snorts. The dappled gray mare cocks one foot off the packed dirt road.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Korwin asks, joining me at her side.

  “I’m not sure. Something’s bothering her though. She’s not putting weight on this foot.” I run a hand down her leg, and she picks up her hoof for me. Silver glints in the moonlight. “Korwin, do you have a hoof pick?”

  “Yeah. The Lapps keep one under the seat.” He jogs to the cab and returns a moment later, pick in hand. I take it from him and gently wedge the tip under the item, careful not to scrape the frog, the soft vee-shaped segment of the hoof, too aggressively. The offending object pops out and lands between us.

  FLASH. Light blinds me. Daisy screams and rears. I scramble out of the way, arms wide. “Whoa! Whoa, Daisy.”

  Before I’ve registered what’s happened, Korwin curses. I smell burning chemicals. When my eyes adjust, he’s holding a mangled and melted piece of machinery in his hand. The thing looks like a dead spider—a scorched plastic body and eight jointed metal legs melted and curled into the abdomen.

  “What is that?” I ask.