STELLAR: The Portal Connection Book 1, page 1
STELLAR
The Portal Connection Book 1
JADE THORN
Readers may also find some scenes distressing. Trigger warnings contain but are not limited to:
Gun violence.
Copyright © June 2021 Jade Thorn. All rights reserved.
* * *
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
* * *
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
* * *
ASIN: B0882VB6VX
* * *
Cover design by: Natasha Williams of DAZED Designs
https://dazed-designs.com/
* * *
Edited by: CB Editing Services
https://www.facebook.com/CBlackEdits/
* * *
Please note that due to its content this book is not meant for readers under the age of 18.
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
Also by JADE THORN
Acknowledgments
I have a small clan of people who help me with my books. Editing, cover design, alpha reading, beta reading, ARC reading, a street team who promote me, and an amazing author promoter and her team.
* * *
Without them all, I could not possibly do what I do.
* * *
To my editor, Charlotte Black (aka secret agent Noir! lol). Thank you for taking my crazy process in stride. No matter what I throw at you, you just dig in there, get it done, and ask what’s next. Your diligence, loyalty and professionalism set you apart. In you I have found not only an amazing editor, but a friend for life.
* * *
To all my amazing volunteers — many of you span more than one activity. You ladies ROCK! You share the word, boost my confidence when the trolls go to town on Amazon, and encourage me to keep trying. Your positivity keeps me going. Thank you for all that you do!
* * *
To Tash — the new covers look amazing. Thank you for “covering my ass” lol. You rock lady, and I’m privileged to work with and for you.
* * *
To Alicia — thank you for keeping track of the details. Without you, there would be a million and one plot holes in my books. Thank you for knowing my universes better than I do, lol.
* * *
To Andrea and the team at AMR Author Promotions — thank you for all that you do to get the word out there, and to take the organisation of “things” out of my hands. We all know if it were left to me, nothing would get done, lol. I’m deeply in your debt and highly recommend AMR.
* * *
Finally, to you, who are reading this. Thank you. For without readers, there is no point to all of this.
Jade
xoxo
Prologue
There was a surreal vibe in the clinic.
Shoes squeaking on linoleum, phones ringing endlessly, people coughing nearby while a small child sat with a basket of broken toys that were well past their use-by date.
Life was going on. Nothing to see here. Everything was business as usual.
Except it wasn’t.
The two soldiers walked either side of Jacinta, people looking up and staring as the three of them processed past the front desk, not bothering to pay the bill. Her medical expenses were now the property of the government. Just like she was.
Bewildered, Jacinta let them usher her into the back of a black car of some sort. The windows were tinted, there was a glass panel between the front seat and the back, and it wasn’t until the door closed that she saw it for what it was.
Prisoner transport.
When she tried the doors, they were locked, and banging on the glass bought no response. The two men got in the front and the engine started. They didn’t check whether she was wearing a belt, they simply pulled out into the traffic and took her away.
Her life as she knew it was over, and there wasn’t a damn thing Jacinta could do about it.
Chapter One
Jacinta
The new apartment was small, although not as dingy as the one she’d been living in before, so there was that. It was also dark, the bars on the windows were thick enough to prevent half the light coming through, and the windows were small to start with. It would mean running a higher electrical bill, something she’d have to be careful about. The government had moved her here against her will, but they still expected Jacinta to pay for her food and utilities.
Another soldier walked in with a box of her life, dumping it in the corner with everything else. He turned and grimaced at her. She supposed it might have been a smile, but like so many others, he was uncomfortable in the presence of a portal.
“That’s the last one, ma’am. Good luck unpacking.”
He turned and left before she could reply, which was a good thing, because Jacinta had nothing to say to him anyway.
Bland. It was the best description she could give to the place. The walls were beige, the carpet was tan with several stains, and the furniture was drab, but functional. The coffee table had rings from hot cups, and the tv had a brick under one side. Jacinta didn’t want to look at the lounges too closely. Something told her that a black light search would reveal a little too much history.
Still, she couldn’t complain. At least not too much. It could have been worse. This place might have been in the downtown warehouse district, but at least Jacinta wouldn’t have to put up with neighbours all hours of the night, and if she could get a job, she could save up her money.
For what, Jacinta didn’t know. She’d never be allowed to travel, college was out of the question and a social life was going to be nigh on impossible. Clothing maybe? Better fucking furniture?
Therapy?
Fuck knew she needed it.
The surrealness of Jacinta’s situation haunted her. She dragged a random box onto the bench that divided the kitchen from the living space and ripped the tape off. She should have held onto a knife or a pair of scissors or something. The tape was going to get old, fast.
This whole fucking mess had started so innocuously. A headache that just wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone got headaches, right? It wasn’t so bad at first either, just a dull ache. Easily solved with paracetamol and some first class ignoring.
After the first week, though, it got worse, dark spots appeared in front of her eyes, and shooting pains ran up and down her back. Then the nausea and the intermittent hot flashes.
It was only when her boss yelled at her for zoning out while dealing with a customer, she knew it was a little more serious. Jacinta had lost a patch of time. Some ten minutes according to the customer. Mike, her boss, had softened when she burst into tears and said she didn’t understand what was happening. He had sent her home and told her to go to the doctor.
That was her first mistake. Although if she were being honest, the rest of this fucking shitshow was inevitable.
She slammed a cup away with a little too much force, fragments flying past her, skittering across the bench and onto the floor. Of course the fucking thing had to be safety glass, so instead of four or five nice big shards, easy to pick up, it was five hundred of the fuckers, scattered from one end of the room to the other. There was one problem.
She didn’t know which box the fucking dustpan was in.
Giving up on unpacking the kitchen box, Jacinta moved back into the living room, sooner or later she’d find the box with all her laundry stuff in it.
As she went through the motions of unpacking her life to fit into a new mold, her mind began to wander again to the more subtle yet highly important nuances of her life.
A portal. She was a fucking portal.
The indignity of it lent her enough strength to tear into the next box, unpacking linen for her bed and bathroom. The one after it was clothes, and the one after that was cushions for the threadbare lounge. On second thought—she covered the threadbare and stained piece of furniture with a light cotton blanket first—then put the cushions on top. Not only was it brighter, but now she wouldn’t have to worry about whatever it was that she might catch from the dingy fabric.
How could her life be so easily packed away into a bunch of boxes? It was all so pathetic.
Jacinta might not have had all that much stuff to start with, but it was kind of disheartening to see she didn’t have much to show for the years she’d lived. Some clothes, books, dvd’s and a pot plant. Nothing that cou
There were no knicknacks from far off places she’d travelled to, no detritus that showed a well lived life. The books and dvd’s didn’t even fill half the bookshelf. It was more disheartening unpacking the frugal boxes, than it had been watching the soldiers pack it all up in the first place. It was her one act of rebellion. Jacinta had refused to pack up her life and move in the first place.
Fucking government. Fucking doctors. Fucking weird ass powers in her head.
One out of every hundred thousand people had this ability.
Unlike the doctor explaining it all to her, Jacinta refused to call it a fucking gift. Neither was it a talent, because she couldn’t wield it. No portal could. It was an ability. Untameable, uncontrollable, and in some cases downright fucking dangerous.
She upended a box onto the dining table, grabbed a bunch of towels and shoved them into the linen press. The box caught her eye on the way back, and Jacinta launched it across the room with a swift kick. It wasn’t like she had anything to break.
Apparently she was a threat. Not a deliberate threat, of course, no portal was, but an event, a seizure in a public area could result in numerous people becoming irradiated. Their very lack of control over their abilities was what made portals so potentially dangerous.
The government couldn’t have that. So, she’d been relocated. Laws regulating the movements, habitation and even occupation of portals had been passed.
Unpacking was certainly helping her burn off some of her frustration, yet in other ways, it was only exacerbating the issue. Still, five boxes later, she found the dustpan. She also found the box of washing powder had split open and spilled through the box.
Asshole soldiers. She’d told them to be careful.
First things first, she needed to clean up the glass so she could unpack her meagre kitchen belongings and locate a plastic container to put the spilled powder in. Her life was so pathetic, it was almost funny.
Jacinta swept up every grain of glass she could find. Of course her bare feet would find the rest at the most awkward fucking times, but at least she’d tried to get it all.
She found the rhythmic work soothing, calming. Everything had changed so quickly, and now here she was, five hundred kilometers away from her old life.
A new town. A new flat. A new life. What was left of it, anyway. Her freedoms would be few and far between and dutifully monitored and controlled by the government for ‘the greater good’.
There was a knock at the door just as she tipped the last of the glass into a plastic bowl. Having found no sign of the bin liners yet, or the little garbage bin she used in the kitchen either, Jacinta had made do until the things turned up. There were only three boxes left labelled ‘kitchen’ so it shouldn’t be too hard to locate them.
The knock came again, a little louder.
“Keep your fucking pants on,” Jacinta yelled, making her way over.
The flat really was tiny. An open plan kitchen/living/dining area, a bathroom and a bedroom.
That was it. She didn’t need more, but still, it felt like she could put her arms out and touch both walls. It was only five steps from the kitchen to the front door, one with several safety chains and numerous locks. It was also reinforced, not exactly a soothing thought.
Making sure she had all the safety chains in place, because she’d forgotten when the soldiers had left, Jacinta put her foot and shoulder behind the door, opening it a scant inch. Her baseball bat was in her right hand and her left one rested on the handle. Nobody knew she was there, other than the army, so she wasn’t being paranoid. Nobody should be knocking on her door.
Jacinta was counting on it being one of the assholes who had shoved her in there. Maybe they’d forgotten their cigarettes or phone or something equally inane.
An olive green shirt was her first impression, followed by a matching low cap and mirrored wraparound sunglasses.
Seriously? Who the hell wore them anymore?
“Who the fuck are you?” she snarled at him.
It was definitely a man.
“Major Thomas Marshall, Ma’am. I’m head of the regional on-call team. This is a courtesy visit to introduce myself. I’ve been informed that you’ll experience your first event soon. I want to go over the protocol with you.”
She chewed on that for a moment. On one hand, Jacinta wanted to slam the door in his face, crawl into her new bed—at least the government had forked out for that—and pull the covers over her head.
The reality was, however, she’d probably need this asshole when this event-thing finally happened. To go into that half-cocked was just asking for trouble.
“Can I see some identification please?”
The man took a step back, reaching behind him for his wallet. Only the black thing in his hand when he brought it forward again, wasn’t leather.
She dropped to the ground, shoving the door closed and allowing all the locks to snap back into place. Then Jacinta crawled behind the lounge, making her way to the kitchen where her phone was, while shots rang out and the door thudded.
Jacinta grabbed her phone and knelt behind the kitchen bench, wincing as tiny pieces of glass dug into her knees. She knew she hadn’t found all the fuckers.
There weren’t many contacts there, but the portal team was one of them. She punched the call through and held it to her ear, waiting for it to connect, while thuds and shots alternated at the door.
From the bedroom, glass shattered, but Jacinta knew from experience that the bars were too close together to allow more than a slim wrist through them, never mind a body. Still, it made her wonder how they’d broken the glass.
The window above her exploded. Jacinta screamed as even more glass rained down upon her.
“Portal support team, Sergeant—”
“I’m under fucking attack,” she screamed into the phone.
A gun appeared above her, pointing down, and she slid out of the way as shots fired into the space she’d just occupied.
“Ma’am, I have no record of this number, who and where are you?”
“Jacinta Crowe, in the warehouse district. No fucking idea where, they just finished delivering the boxes … ”
An eye appeared over the window ledge and disappeared, the gun replacing it. Screaming like a banshee, she dropped her phone, took the baseball bat in both hands and swung down, smashing the gun to the ground even as it fired. The bullet lodged in the tired linoleum, and the gun skittered away from her.
Unmindful of the broken glass, Jacinta dove after it, grabbing it and clutching it to her chest as she shook uncontrollably.
“I’ve got a fucking gun now, come at me you fucking cowards and see how many holes I put in you before I nuke your fucking asses,” she screamed.
“Hurry up and fucking die, you mutant piece of shit.”
“Ma’am?” came a voice from the floor, and Jacinta’s heart skipped a frantic beat until she realised it was her phone.
The thuds at her door hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d become louder. Over the boom of each one, she could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
