My Name Is Not Alexa Pearce Read online

  Book One Of The Search For Hope Trilogy

  MY

  NAME

  IS

  NOT

  ALEXA

  PEARCE

  KERRI McLOONE

  Copyright © 2018-19 Kerri McLoone

  Library of Congress Registration Number:

  TXu 2-084-682

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7323133-0-9 (Kindle)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7323133-2-3 (Paperback)

  Cover design by Kerri McLoone

  Author photograph courtesy of Kerri McLoone

  Contact:

  [email protected]

  DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any names, dates, likenesses or events described herein matching actual persons or instances is entirely coincidental.

  For My Love,

  Without Who I Could Not Have Done This

  PROLOGUE

  Ever since I was little, my parents would tell me stories about good versus evil. How good was made up of love and light, and evil of hate and darkness. While my friends were hearing bedtime stories about princesses being saved from the tall towers of a nasty queen’s castle, I was told stories about a princess who saves the world.

  The story went that over twelve hundred years ago, a ferocious demon named Darius, created a small portal from the fiery depths of a hellish world allowing himself and a few other less powerful demons to escape into the human world. He walked the earth leaving nothing but death and destruction in his wake, vowing that he would continue to destroy all forms of good, including magic, and kill anything that got in his way. When he was finished, he would then open the portal forever, allowing demons free reign on the people of earth.

  Magical creatures like witches, sorcerers, fairies, gypsies, elves, shamans, and leprechauns came together to figure out what to do. Their strongest leaders pooled their powers and put a curse on Darius. He would be forced to wait until such a time that an all-powerful magical heir was born, one stronger than anyone had ever seen. The heir, a princess of sorts, would be all the best of good magic, a culmination of their collective strengths. If Darius could defeat the princess and steal her powers, only then could he open the portal completely.

  My family told me stories of the powers this princess would have: the ability to move things with her mind, to throw fire from her hands, to make anything she thought real, to transport herself wherever she wanted, superior senses, to see the future, and to read other people’s minds.

  The princess could also change her most trusted friends into her soldiers and bestow her power to move things with her mind on them. They were called Extensios. But the wicked Darius could do that too and with the same power. He could force innocent people or choose the worst of people to be his soldiers, called Victus.

  As a child, my grandfather would play out the role of the evil Darius, and my brothers and I would act out the battle scenes from the story. I would lead my older brothers and my army of Extensios to war to defeat Darius and his Victus. Using my “powers” we would triumph, ridding the world of Darius and closing the portal to that infernal place, trapping all demons there permanently.

  I didn’t know then that it wasn’t just a story. I didn’t know then that it was both my past and my future.

  I didn’t know then that I am the princess from the story. I am the culmination of 1200 years of good magic on earth.

  I didn’t know then that when I was born my parents bound my powers, cloaking me from Darius to protect both me and my family. I grew up knowing of magic and seeing it was real, but without having any abilities of my own. My grandfather used to say I’d grow into them.

  On my eighteenth birthday, my powers were released and my whole world changed. In order to protect my family, I’ve had to leave my home, using powers I never knew I actually had, and then change my identity and cease to use magic all together, without the assistance of a binding spell.

  I have traveled from place to place across America looking for the one thing I need, the key to defeating Darius. I landed in Portland, Oregon fifteen months ago because I now know that the significantly important, essential thing I need is here. Something I have been searching for for the last five years. Something that has been hidden from Darius for centuries.

  I must continue to hide until I find it. Until the time is right. Until I am ready.

  PART

  ONE

  ● 1 ●

  “Alexa”

  The clock on my nightstand reads 6:59 AM. I open my eyes in time to see it change to 7:00 AM and hear the alarm go off. The new me, “Alexa,” is a morning person. The radio is set to a raunchy morning show and today’s topic is whether or not it’s okay for the interns to all sleep with each other.

  A head appears out of a black mound of fur at the foot of my bed. Milo, my six-year-old chow-labrador retriever mix, must’ve felt me roll over to turn off the alarm. He yawns and sticks out his pink tongue that has blue spots on it, a tell-tale mark of his chow heritage. Milo stands and stretches, first with both front legs stretched out and his rear end in the air, then both hind legs straight out backward, one at a time. He shakes his stocky, sixty-five-pound frame from nose to tail and plops right back down on top of my feet, jostling my whole bed in the process.

  Milo was a gift from my grandfather on my seventeenth birthday. “He’s a special dog,” Grandpa told me. “Always keep him with you no matter what. He will keep you safe.”

  Milo’s had the same collar since he was a puppy, lime green with a red crystal hanging from it. “Never take his collar off, he’ll grow into it.” Another of my grandfather’s instructions.

  My grandfather and I trained Milo together. Grandpa actually spent extra time with Milo and taught him some very special and specific commands. Milo has always been a very good dog. Right from a puppy, it’s always been as if he can understand every word I say to him — I know now that that’s exactly the case.

  I pull the warm covers back up to my chin and rub the sleep away from my face. As my eyes clear slightly, I catch a blurry Milo throwing some serious side-eye at me.

  “Don’t give me that look, Milo, the alarm woke me up too,” I laugh at the dog. Regardless of who I’ve been, I have always been an animal lover. Other than a small box, Milo is the only thing from my previous life that I got to bring with me. Laughing at his expression allows me a rare moment of open freedom from my otherwise heavily guarded existence.

  I throw the comforter over my head and say, “You at least have the luxury of curling up and going back to sleep, while I have to go to work.”

  Hearing my muffled voice say “work” and choosing to hear it as “walk,” Milo’s beefy frame leaps off of the bed, jostling me around again, and bounds to the bedroom door. His curled tail is waving like a flag in a hurricane. I let out a groan as Milo starts to whimper and scratch at the door to get out.

  “I said work, not walk, you fuzzball.”

  Trying to get any additional sleep before my second alarm is useless now with Milo up. I know he won’t stop whining until we go around the block, at least twice, so I grab my glasses from my night table and put on the first pair of sweatpants I see. As I open my bedroom door, Milo bolts to the front door of my apartment, and continues to whimper, turning in circles. He’s so excited that he’s quivering, I can barely get his harness on. I stand up and take my jacket off its hook; a faded rust color canvas jacket with a plethora of pockets that I’ve had for what feels like forever. It’s actually a little ugly, but it’s comfor
table and practical.

  “We go for two walks every day. Sometimes three! How do you still get this excited?”

  “Ah, the pleasures of being a dog with no cares in the world except which tree to pee on and what squeaky toy to chew.”

  I’m startled by the voice behind me and whip around with one of my arms in its sleeve to see my roommate, Cali Jacobs, sitting cross-legged on our living room coffee table balancing a large bowl of Cap’n Crunch on her left knee while the newspaper and remote sit on her right knee. She’s holding the cereal box and a pen, doing one of the mazes on the back.

  I didn’t even know she was there, I think. I must be overtired or something. Or I’m getting too comfortable here. Either way, not good “Alexa.”

  Cali owns the apartment we live in. Her grandmother bought the top floor apartment of a three-story building thirty years ago. She rented it out when Cali was little, and they lived in a small home. While Cali was in college, her grandmother sold their small house and moved back into the apartment. When she died two years ago, the last of Cali’s family, she willed it to her, along with a decent inheritance.

  Since it’s a two-bedroom, Cali rents out the second bedroom to me for a very reasonable price and lives off of that. She’s lucky enough she doesn’t have to work right now while figuring out exactly what she wants to do with her life.

  Before I know it, Milo has gone over and is eating her cereal right out of the bowl on her knee.

  “Milo no! That’s not yours!” I stride over and gently tug Milo away from Cali’s bowl and peak at the box in her hand. “Using pen? A little adventurous for you, wouldn’t you say?” Cali just rolls her eyes in response. I walk back to the door and say “Come on pup, want to go for a walk?”

  The upward inflection in my voice and the word “walk” sends him into another tizzy of excitement, and he trots back to me quickly, tail swinging happily. In this moment I could be just any twenty-three-year-old trying to walk their crazy dog before work.

  Cali lets out a little cheer as she finishes the maze and picks up her cereal bowl, pours more in to replace what Milo took, and continues eating. I scrunch my nose in disgust, but Cali either doesn’t see or doesn’t care. I love my dog but would never do that. I’ve seen what Milo has put in his mouth.

  With a mouthful, she says, “Come on Lex, watch Wake Up Portland with me. He can wait, can’t you Dog Man?” In a baby voice, she adds, “Who’s a good boy!” Milo goes back over and flops down onto his back in front of Cali. “Ooh, he wants a belly rub!”

  “I would love to Cal, believe me. But I have to walk him and shower and get to work. That pup ain’t cheap you know. And for that matter neither are you.” She feigns offense by clutching her chest and we both laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Joking’s okay but, you can’t let your guard all the way down just yet, I remind myself.

  “Suit yourself,” Cali responds.

  Tired of the ping pong Milo keeps doing and wanting just to get the day started, I snap my fingers and say, “Milo, side.” The black dog is immediately by my side, alert at my left knee. Thank you, Grandpa.

  “What are your plans today, Cal?” I ask as I clip Milo’s leash to his harness.

  Around another mouthful of cereal Cali says, “Oh my day is packed. Probably spend most of the day in exactly what I’m wearing right now, may hit the gym, haven’t decided yet. But first, I’m going to finish this box of Cap’n Crunch while I watch my show. Players from the Portland Thorns and the new NWSL commissioner are going to be on to talk about the upcoming season.”

  “Huh, I’m partial to Reign FC,” I say to bait her.

  “You bite your tongue. This is a Thorns household. Rose City ’til I die, baby!”

  “No, ma’am. Fortune favors the bold.” We stare each other down for a few seconds before simultaneously throwing our hands up in a silent truce.“So I’m guessing that’s why you’re awake this early?”

  Cali just nods at me while chewing her cereal. A dribble of milk is trailing down the middle of her chin. She wipes it away with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll probably hit Roast on the way back from Milo’s walk, do you want anything?”

  “No thanks, I’m going to stop by later. Hey, we should definitely go to a game or two this season.”

  “Sure that sounds like fun,” I voice my agreement as I finally corral Milo out of the door. I hear Cali call after me, but missed what she said, so I catch the door with my foot before it closes.

  I stick my head back in and ask, “What’d you say?”

  “I said be nice to him on your walk.” She pauses, wiggling her eyebrows as she adds, “Maybe the pup can snag you a boyfriend or two.”

  I know Cali is expecting a response, so I just scoff and say, “I’m always nice, and no thank you.”

  I close the door behind me and think, definitely do not need Milo to get me a boyfriend. Milo’s job is primarily to keep the wrong people away.

  ● 2 ●

  It is shaping up to be a beautiful, early April day in Portland. As we’re walking, Milo lifts his head and sniffs the still cool breeze that blows in his face. It is such a nice day I decide to walk a little further than usual.

  “What do you say, big guy? Another lap around the block?”

  Milo turns his head around to me as I talk and gives me a snort in agreement. As he turns to face front, a gust of wind comes by and pushes his floppy ears straight up surprising him. My dog stops in his tracks and shakes himself out from nose to tail. As I watch, I find myself chuckling at him. This is nice, it almost feels... Before the thoughtfully forms in my head, I immediately chastise myself. You and Milo still need to be careful, “Alexa.”

  I shake my head and give a command, “Milo, casual.”

  To anyone watching us, we’re just strolling along. But I can tell by Milo’s pricked ears and how he’s puffed out his chest, that he’s now just as alert as I am, taking in every ounce of our surroundings and memorizing it.

  Casual is another one of the commands my grandpa taught him. Milo is not only alert to his surroundings, but he’s also scanning for any evil person or threat. That special collar of his with the crystal acts as a one-way barrier; he can sense if evil is around, but evil cannot detect that Milo is himself a magical creature. His magical ability, in combination with his natural dog intuition, has helped me out of a couple jams along our way.

  Before going home, Milo and I stop at Roast, a little coffee and pastry shop right around the corner. Dogs usually aren’t allowed in but Milo is so well trained, he’s one of the few exceptions. Honestly, everyone he hasn’t sensed evil from — or been ordered to attack for that matter — loves him. His tail is always wagging and he has a sweet face. Plus he’s kind of chunky, which only adds to his appeal.

  I get Milo a pup-cup as a treat, which is basically just a dollop of whipped cream in a small cup. For myself, I get a sesame bagel with cream cheese and a hot chocolate. I am not a coffee person, that’s something that hasn’t changed no matter where, or who, I’ve been.

  As I enter the lobby of my apartment building, I unhook Milo’s leash from his harness. Right before we climb the stairs, I say “Milo, side.” From the first step to the last, he stays in sync with my left knee. I unlock the door and walk in with Milo still at my side.

  I lean down to take off his harness and say “Good job Milo. Good boy, pound it.” I hold my fist out and Milo bumps it with his nose. I praise him again as I hang up the leash and harness with my keys next to the door. I take a few bites of my bagel and put the rest down on the counter, pushing it far enough back out of Milo’s reach. He may be really well trained, but he’s still a dog.

  I pour my hot chocolate into a travel mug, rinse the paper cup and plastic top, and put them both in the recycling bin. Milo goes right to his bowls so I give him his own breakfast, fresh water, and pat his head.

  I walk back through the living room toward a short hallway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom.

 
“Don’t eat the rest of my bagel. I’m going to take a shower.” I say as I pass Cali who has moved from the coffee table to laying on the couch.

  Cali raises her head and asks “You talking to me or Dog Man?”

  “Both,” I respond. I hear Cali laughing as I go down the hall to my bedroom.

  I close and quietly lock my bedroom door. I close the curtains and turn off all the lights. I make it as dark as possible in the room so that no person who is innocently, or intentionally, glancing at my window can see what I’m doing. By feel and memory, I lift the top left corner of my full-size mattress, closest to the nightstand and the door, and feel for the flap in the fabric of the box spring.

  I reach my hand in and take out an ornately carved, mahogany box from its hidden spot between the slats. It has a keyhole on the front. The top has an etched saying painted in silver, “Hope will heal the world.”