Matt Archer: Redemption

By Kendra C. Highley

“There’s more to me than you know...”

When Matt Archer’s sister, Mamie, said those words to him three years ago, he had no idea how prophetic they were, or what this would mean for his family.

Now, he knows. And it changes everything, bringing the war right to Matt’s doorstep.

In the epic conclusion to the Matt Archer series, the endgame is near. Betrayed by an enemy, the wielders have been called off the hunt by their own government, despite increasing reports of paranormal activity—and deaths—worldwide. Matt is forced to sit on the sidelines, knowing that proving monsters exist means revealing who—and what—he is. Soon the world will know his name...which will only make his job harder.

Matt’s only hope resides with a man he barely knows—his father. If Erik Archer can put together the final puzzle before the monsters do, maybe they’ll have a chance. Maybe.

Mystery, tragedy and the power of family combine as Matt races to win the war and save the people he loves. There’s just one thing he’s afraid of...

It might already be too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendra C. Highley
• Release date: Jul 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310840418

Kendra C. Highley

Kendra C. Highley lives in north Texas with her husband and two children. She also serves as staff to two self-important and high-powered cats. This, according to the cats, is her most important job. She believes chocolate is a basic human right, running a 10k is harder than it sounds, and that everyone should learn to drive a stickshift. She loves monsters, vacations, baking and listening to bad electronica. If she's not writing, she's reading. If she's not writing or reading, she's likely a little cranky.

Book preview

PART ONE

Darkness Falls

Born of the Ground, Tied to the Heavens

The Blades of Redemption Will Meet their Brothers

in Unearthly Combat to fight for Men’s Souls

—Legend of the Blades

Chapter One

When I was fourteen, I picked up a knife, ignorant of the destiny that awaited me. That night seems like a lifetime ago, even if it’s only been three years.

A lot of things can change in three years.

A boy can become a man. A man can become a soldier. And that soldier can witness things he’ll never forget. Earn scars that won’t fade. Cut down enemies. Save lives.

Lose them, too.

Through it all, I’ve tried to remember who I am, where the legend ends and the man begins. Not to lose myself to my blade-spirit and become a monster. Some days are harder than others. I’ve seen friends die in this war, injured myself, and nearly lost the girl I love more than anyone, all for the cause. The price for being named the guardian of humanity is high, especially when my own government is calling me a criminal.

Despite all the obstacles, despite the pain, one thing remains true: it’s still worth the fight.

My name is Matt Archer. And I’m going to save the world.

Or die trying.

* * *

Packed into a black government SUV with five other people on the way to a Congressional hearing wasn’t my idea of fun.

That it was my reality made it even worse. Especially since riding with these particular men gave me a migraine of epic proportions. Being in close contact with the other knife-wielders always caused me pain. It was better than usual—I’d gotten used to the sensation of overwhelming power somewhat. Still, not the best way to start this day.

My new suit wasn’t heavy, but a trickle of sweat ran down my back the closer we got to the Capitol and my tie felt like it was trying to strangle me slowly. If I’d had my way, I’d be going to the hearing in bloodstained BDUs and my oldest combat boots—the ones with African sand still on them. The House Armed Services Committee wanted to call me a hardened juvenile delinquent? Fine, at least let me look the part.

Everybody else—except Will—told me that was a terrible idea. So Mom and Aunt Julie took me shopping and wrangled me into the suit. Complete with shiny new wingtips.

I felt, and probably looked, very stupid.

I heard CNN was going to carry C-SPAN live during the hearings, Will said. He stared out the window with his shoulders bunched up around his ears. Everyone in the world will know who we are after today.

Everyone in the world would know, but how we’d be judged was the question. Would our accusers accept that everything we’d done was to protect and defend the defenseless? Or would we go down in flames, remembered by history as the very worst of violent offenders?

What worried me most was that the world wouldn’t learn the truth until it was too late: that the war wasn’t over. Pentagram Strike Force had been pulled off of active duty to participate in this political circus. Meanwhile, the Dark Master had gained a toehold in our world. The search for the Chinese shaman, our final lead—along with hunting the last two prime monsters—should’ve been our priority, and necessary to putting an end to the Master’s reign of terror. Instead we were here, sold out to Congress by the enemy’s favorite human servant.

As we made our way through the streets of D.C., Tink made a sullen noise in my head. I’ve never liked this place. Too many skeptics.

Insulted some people don’t believe in you? I asked, biting back a nervous smile. Do we need to clap and bring you back to life?

Will laughed, while Tink growled. The nickname is bad enough without the jokes, thank you very much.

The other wielders didn’t react. Parker was more pale than usual, and his freckles stood out like measles on his face. Ramirez glared out the window. Jorge had his hands folded in his lap and his eyes were closed, almost like he was praying.

Anybody else coming to the party? I asked.

This is it, far as I know, Parker said, the faintest hint of Alabama twang coming through. We brought a couple of our guys as character witnesses, but they aren’t allowed to testify unless they’re called. So it’s just us.

Ramirez flashed me a rare smile. Murphy’s here.

I heard, I said. He’s driving my family over to the hearing.

He can’t wait to see you. Now Ramirez was chuckling. Said he’d watch as we do the walk of shame through the crowds at the Capitol.

Wait—crowds? I asked. What crowds?

Haven’t you been watching the news? Parker raised an eyebrow. That’s why we’re taking a caravan with draconian seating arrangements. They wanted the wielders to be the first out.

We gave up on watching the news a few days ago when that anchor on MSNBC called me and Matt ‘budding psychopaths,’ who’ve become trained killers, Will said.

You’re in for treat, then, Parker said.

He wasn’t kidding. As we turned down First Street leading past the Capitol steps, people choked the sidewalks. Some had signs saying we were saviors. Some yelled that we worshiped Satan. Every single one of them watched the cars pass. We were sacrificial lambs, going to the slaughter, and it would all play out on television.

This is gonna suck, Will said as an egg splattered against the SUV’s window.

They can’t get near the entrance, Johnson told him. They have barriers holding everyone back.

Yeah, because a little bit of plywood would be an excellent deterrent against mob violence.

We turned the corner on Independence, heading for the Sam Rayburn building. It was one of the House’s office buildings and where we’d have the hearing. You’d think the President was coming to visit, because we were led by a police car and followed by two motorcycle cops.

More people crowded the mall around the Capitol building and lined the streets all the way to our destination. Tink was jumpy, twitching around my skull. Instinctively, I reached for my knife handle, sheathed in my thigh pocket.

Ramirez’s eyes tracked the movement. The knives have to stay in the car.

I thought they’d demand to see them, I said.

We don’t want members of Congress to get a hand on them, so the plan is to lock them up and leave them with Johnson.

Being without my knife in tense situations usually caused me physical pain and leaving it behind sounded like torture. But—

This is the only way we’ll be certain to get them back, Ramirez said as he handed his knife to Johnson, looking as if it hurt to loosen the handle from his fingers. General’s orders.

We followed his lead. I set the blade in its metal box and locked it in. My head ached the instant contact was broken.

I’ll be nearby no matter what. You aren’t forsaken just because you aren’t wearing the knife, Tink said. All the same, don’t do anything stupid.

Okay, I murmured. Will whispered something similar and Captain Parker smiled at us. Instructions were universal sometimes.

A rap on the window announced the MPs’ arrival—military escort from the SUV to the hearing rooms. I didn’t know if that was for our protection, or to make us look more like criminals.

We slid out of the vehicle, all of us steely-eyed and standing erect. The MPs led us along the barricaded street. Cameras pointed our direction and reporters screamed questions. As of now, anonymity wasn’t a luxury I had anymore. Everywhere I turned, people were staring at us. I could almost hear the gasps of surprise zooming through Billings as our faces started showing up on television. Greenhill High was on fall break, but that only meant the news would travel faster.

The building itself was white stone, with two massive statues guarding the front door. Crowds of people surrounded them, pressed against the blue police barriers and jostling to get a better look.

As we headed for the stairs, someone shouted my name and the voice sent a shock wave through my chest. I stopped dead in my tracks and searched the crowd for the source, finding who I was searching for when I spotted a flash of auburn hair. I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten here, but I was sure she would be grounded for six months for coming.

Ella stood at the edge of the barrier, scowling at the MPs. I knew how she’d gotten such prime real estate—by holding a sign that read "No more monsters under your bed, courtesy of my boyfriend!"

Penn stood next to her, directing the crowd in a chant. Something about stupid politicians.

What are they doing here? I asked.

No idea, Will said.

Before the MPs could react, I ran for Ella. I heard Will pounding the pavement behind me, but she was all I saw. Ella dropped her sign and flung out her arms. We got in one long kiss before one my escorts put a hand on my arm.

I can’t believe you came, I told her in a rush.

She lifted her chin. There’s no way I wouldn’t be here for you today.

The MP’s grip tightened around my bicep. I dug my heels in. I love you.

A second MP had joined the first, tugging at my arms. As they dragged me away, she yelled, I love you, too!

The frenzy from the press got more chaotic, jostling to shove microphones in Ella’s face. The last thing I saw as the guards pushed me into the building was her granting interviews, looking like the queen of all she surveyed.

Our handlers led us to a small room off the hearing chambers. A few minutes later, my family showed up. My uncle and his wife, Colonel and Captain Tannen, came in first, followed by General Richardson. Not long after, Mom, Mamie and Brent arrived. Mamie seemed anxious, twirling a pigtail around her finger, but Mom was angry. The night she’d found out about the hearings—well, I’d never seen her that pissed off, and her mood hadn’t improved much over the last few weeks. She paced the room, acting like she wanted to punch something really hard.

Once we were all settled, Army counsel gave us last minute pointers. Mom glared at him several times, finally saying, Enough. You’re making them nervous. She put her hand on my shoulder. Tell the truth. That’s all you can do. Don’t let them twist your words.

I would do my best, because I needed to focus on getting through the proceedings without slipping up. If I did, Uncle Mike, Badass Aunt Julie and General Richardson could lose their jobs. Or go to jail for endangering minors. Take your pick.

The general and Uncle Mike talked quietly in one corner, wearing their Class As. It was the first time since his wedding that I’d seen my uncle in full dress uniform. The large section of commendation ribbons on his jacket made him look impressive and I stared longingly at the uniform. I hated being in this suit. I belonged in uniform, but when I begged to enlist with Mom’s permission, no one had gone for it.

You wouldn’t complete basic in time for the hearings, Captain Johnson had said.

Mike had ground his teeth a full minute before adding, Before he died, you promised Colonel Black you’d go to West Point. Stay the course and we’ll get you there.

Mom’s answer was even simpler. No.

So here Will and I were, awkward in coat and tie, as if this was some joke of a graduation ceremony instead of a moment that would decide the fates of every single person in this room. I tugged at my collar, wondering if it would suffocate me before the hearing was over.

Mamie touched my hand. Brent loomed behind her, an ever present watchman to keep our sister out of harm’s way. Despite the gravity of our situation, she smiled. Go get ‘em, Tiger.

And so I was laughing when someone knocked. A House page about Mamie’s age stuck his head in. The guy eyed Will and me warily, then said, I’m here to escort you to the proceedings.

The general stood. All right, gentlemen. Time to go.

Chapter Two

We gathered up our things and followed the page into the marble-floored hallway. I kept checking my pockets, thinking I’d forgotten something, before I realized what I missed was my knife. I wanted to ask Tink if everything was okay outside, but I bet every move we made was being caught by security cameras and talking to myself wouldn’t help our cause much.

I also kept worrying about Ella and Penn surrounded by that crush of people. If the crowd got ugly for some reason, if a fight broke out, I hoped they would decide to go sit in Johnson’s SUV until we were finished here.

The page stopped at a set of wooden double doors and indicated that we should go in. He looked relieved to be rid of us. Maybe it was the uniforms. Or maybe it was the I feel like killing something expressions we all wore. Either way, the dude backed away and hurried up the hall as soon as our attorney pulled the door opened and waved us inside.

Row upon row of people—mostly journalists—were seated in an arc around a long conference table facing a raised dais, like the ones you see in hearing rooms on C-SPAN. As we made our way down front, members of Congress, led by a democrat from Rhode Island named Joseph Patrick, stared down at us with disdain. The only friendly face was the congressman with a nameplate that read Topher Tarantino—our man inside the Armed Services committee.

Ramirez stood at attention, and we followed his lead as General Richardson took a seat next to us. The general’s face was gray. Small wonder, given that he might be run out of the military on a rail for his frivolous use of taxpayer money on a suspicious mission with no real outcomes that also happened to endanger children. What a joke.

Congressman Patrick welcomed everyone and gave a long speech about the sanctity of the proceedings, how the military had to have checks and balances from the government and how reckless behavior could be curbed—and lives saved—through Congress’s noble function in ensuring the military didn’t become too powerful.

Gentlemen, Patrick said, once he’d finished being self-righteous, "let’s start with the, um, evidence you’ve requested to show."

I clenched my fists under the table. What a condescending jackass. Well, we’d see how he looked after we started the show.

General Richardson sat up straight. Members of Congress, we would like to begin with an account of the worldwide threat we’re all facing. This isn’t a question of country or government. This is a case of protecting the human race from extinction, which is a very real threat at this stage. To prove our point, we’d like to share some mission footage, as well as photographic evidence, we’ve collected. Since the good congressman from Rhode Island declined to allow military officers from other countries testify—

"General, I’m giving you a chance to explain before we ask our questions, Patrick said. But you need to move along."

The general glared, but continued with his report. We have video accounts of some of the assailants we’ve been able to catch. The footage will show how most conventional weapons have no impact on the creatures, but the knives are one hundred percent effective.

There were shocked murmurs when part of our Afghanistan Op, shot by incoming Apaches, filled the screen. The Takers looked even more horrible on film, turned this graveyard-dirt color with their wings outstretched like ragged bats. They swooped down to grab a soldier, and dropped him from forty feet up. He landed in a broken heap. Then the scene cut and you could see my blurry outline, sparring with another Taker near a tent. The camera shot every frame as I caught a Taker in the wing with my knife and dragged it against the burning tent, where it burst into flame.

Murmurs of special effects and faked filled the room. My blood boiled—they were watching soldiers get killed and they thought it was a camera trick?

But then I started to realize my agitation wasn’t only because of the doubters in the room. As the footage switched to a Humvee-cam video of the massacre in Australia, where we lost Colonel Black, a lump swelled in my throat, even as more heads turned my way. The segment being shown was when Will and I had mowed through a huge crowd of Dingoes and Quills, and we looked like death incarnate. I’d only ever seen photographs of myself while possessed by Tink.

Seeing it live was terrifying.

Will and I looked exactly the way our accusers saw us—as stone-cold killers. Our expressions were iron-hard, our movements unnaturally fast and efficient. Blood arced in every direction as we laid waste to the onslaught.

God almighty, someone murmured. What’s wrong with those young men?

Turn it off, barked Patrick.

When the lights came back up it was clear the file footage hadn’t been any help with most of the committee, no matter the shocked whispers and awed stares coming from the press. So-called experts came forward and said the monsters we managed to catch on tape were poorly conceived, photo-shopped special effects. Neither the Takers, nor the Quills, nor cell-phone pics confiscated by the FBI from victims during the time of Bears 1.0, moved a single person. Even the sight of me beheading a Kali demon with a knife was claimed to be green-screened.

Tell that to the scars on my body. Tell it to all the dead kids I couldn’t save in time.

Congressman Patrick cleared his throat, wearing a patronizing smirk. "So, General Richardson, do you think the American people are so stupid that they’d believe an illegal usage of funds for clandestine efforts could be covered up by this kind of magic show? My fourteen-year-old daughter could make a better alien sighting video than this. The fact that not a single news outlet covered any of these situations makes it even more suspect. How can there be monsters and no one knows? The cover-up required would be impossible, which is why we’re here today. You don’t even have a body to show as evidence."

Sir, the general said, "The creatures’ bodies were burned after battle because we discovered some could regenerate, so the wielders are here to back up our claims. Militaries around the world are in on the fight, each assuring the others of the highest top secret clearance. We have affidavits to that effect—affidavits you refused to read. As to a cover-up, there was no cover-up. This was a ultra-classified mission. Knowledge of U.S. military involvement was limited to a need to know basis. General Richardson matched Patrick’s smirk. And you simply didn’t need to know."

Explain that to the families whose loved ones died under your command, Patrick said. And for what? Some hocus pocus act to cover up arms deals?

All of us tensed up. In my opinion, he didn’t get to talk about our fallen. Hearing him spit on their deaths to prove a point made me sick, especially since his point was completely wrong.

Every one of those families understood the risks their loved ones took when they put on the uniform. The general looked murderous. And since you’ve never worn one, I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.

Congressman Tarantino leaned into his microphone, probably to stop the general from digging himself into a hole. Mr. Patrick, we’re under attack from forces we don’t understand. When I saw the first video of the monsters in Peru, I authorized this program on the spot. These things are otherworldly and exceptionally dangerous. They have to be stopped. And to your point about news outlets, haven’t you been watching CNN for the last several months? Reports of delusions of mythical creatures? Strange mass murders? Cult suicides? The world is under siege. Every minute we waste here—

Waste? Patrick snapped. Sir, may I remind you this is a formal proceeding. And we have no credible proof of these so called ‘attacks.’ They certainly haven’t happened here.

But they have, the general boomed out. One happened a few months ago. Two of our wielders were involved.

Were they? Patrick said. Do tell. What kind of ‘attack’—yeah, he actually made air quotes, the bastard—are we talking about?

General Richardson conferred briefly with counsel, who leaned back to ask Mom a question. She nodded, and the general said, I’ll let one of the wielders describe it.

He pointed at me. Great. Why did I have to be the first guy on deck?

Patrick’s smile was crafty, like he’d been given the best birthday present ever—I was the youngest wielder, but had been fighting for three years. By making me testify, the general was flaunting the fact he’d employed minors for the program.

Patrick said, "Rise, state your name, age and occupation for the record, young man."

It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from going off on him. Instead, I drew in a deep breath and stood. Mom had drilled the answer to the occupation question into my head relentlessly over the last few weeks: I was a student. A home-schooled high school senior.

But that wasn’t true anymore—I’d passed my GED last week. In reality, I hadn’t been a student for a very long time.

Straightening up to my full height, I gave Patrick a slow, cold smile, feeling some satisfaction when worry creased the skin around his eyes.

My name is Matthew Jonathon Archer. I’m seventeen. I paused, giving him time to regret asking me the question. And I hunt monsters.

For a brief second, shocked silence filled the chamber before it exploded into murmurs and, in a few cases, applause.

Order! Patrick’s face was purple with rage. Young man, you will respect the authority of these proceedings by telling the truth.

Mom shot me a warning glance to keep my mouth shut and Colonel Tannen’s glare could’ve frozen my balls, but Tink approved of the show of backbone and her enthusiasm fed my own. It is the truth, whether you want to believe it or not.

The crowd broke out into whispers again and Patrick pounded his gavel on the table. General, you will instruct Mr. Archer to answer honestly, or the consequences will be dire. He will respect me!

He sounded like a whiny kid, mad that I stole his toy truck, and I choked on a laugh. Ramirez kicked me under the table. He was right; we were in a tight corner. Being flip wouldn’t help get us out of here intact, but I wasn’t going to roll over and let this man call me a liar.

The general must have felt the same way, because he went off.

Sir, you will respect Mr. Archer! He’s bled and lost friends to keep this country safe, General Richardson boomed. The threat we face is beyond anything you can comprehend. Extraordinary measures were required to combat that threat.

The congressman glared at us. "And that makes it okay to send children into battle? What kind of sick mind believes that to be true?"

Stop right there, the general barked. Mr. Archer and Mr. Cruessan have not been children for some time. Something about being chosen—by supernatural forces, for God’s sake—forged them into men. Men of honor, integrity and courage. I had my doubts when Mr. Archer showed up in my program at fourteen, then Mr. Cruessan at seventeen. My doubts were quickly laid to rest. The knives knew these two could handle the burden, a burden most people twice their age couldn’t. You owe your life to these men. He swept an arm to wave at Ramirez, Parker, Jorge, Will and me. You should be thanking them on bended knee, not accusing them of underhanded dealings.

Man, General Richardson was in fine form today. His big voice boomed through the chamber with the power of Patton on a tear. Even better, most of the press looked like they believed him.

Congressman Patrick drew up in his chair, mouth open to argue, but an earthquake hit. The room rumbled so hard, plaster fell from the ceiling and the light fixtures rattled. People screamed, some fighting to crawl under the tables or chairs. Lights flickered on and off.

Tink sounded the alert. Attack!

What? I asked, gripping the side of the table as a dizziness swept over me. Where?

The Congressman banged his gavel. Mr. Archer, may I remind you—

The building shuddered again, and even the MPs guarding us looked afraid.

Congressman Patrick, with all due respect, sir, I said, Shut the hell up for a minute.

A shocked gasp ran through the room. I hardly cared. There’d be more than gasps soon enough.

Tink, what’s going on?

Something it’ll take all five of you to handle. Find the knives. Johnson is pulling the vehicle close to the stairs out front, but humans are dying all around him. He’ll be surrounded before long.

I grabbed Will’s arm. We gotta go.

His face was grim. I know.

I motioned for the other wielders to come, but Patrick yelled over the growing panic in the room, You are not dismissed!

A long, horrified scream rang out in the hallway beyond the chamber doors. It ended in a sobbing gurgle. Everyone fell silent except for a few reporters whimpering in fear in a corner.

The general rose, pointing at the MPs lining the walls. Escort everyone to the bunker. Take back routes as much as possible. And no matter what you hear or see, do not deviate or open the doors until I—or one of my men—give command.

Patrick waved his gavel, like he was going to belay the order, but more screams tore through the air. The MPs leapt into action, herding people toward the dais to take the back door out of the room.

I turned to Mom and Mamie. "Go with them. Do not leave the bunker until it’s clear."

Baby. Mom’s eyes filled with tears. She’d never been this close to a fight and I knew it had her rattled.

I kissed her cheek. It’ll be okay. Just go. I turned to Brent. Make sure they’re safe.

I always do. Brent took Mamie’s arm and tugged her toward the back door. Come on. We need to get under cover.

The last thing I heard before running out was Congressman Tarantino saying into his microphone, Godspeed, men. And thank you. Dismissed.

Chapter Three

The hallways were chaos. People scrambled over each other in a mad race to get away from something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.

A trail of bodies littered the marble, crimson stains seeping from what appeared to be gouge marks in their chests, legs or guts. Okay, whatever we were dealing with had sharp, powerful claws.