Drifting Souls (Prologue)

It was just another oncoming Fall by any standard Derriana had ever known. The air was cool, light, and breezy, but the greenery of summer had not yet faded to the oranges, yellows, and reds of an Appalachian Autumn. Derriana was a quiet town—the only town I had ever known—hiding quietly nestled between two mountains just on the outskirts of the Eastern U.S. mountain chain. I wouldn’t even call them mountains at that point, really. They were merely hills, just tall enough to be barriers to the world, the sky, and any other thing most of Derriana’s inhabitants were attempting to avoid by living there. 1

Things were constantly changing in my hometown, although seemingly none of the population wanted to leave, ever, for some ridiculous reason far beyond my comprehension. The babies kept coming and the richest of the rich—those who pretty much owned the town—were constantly seeking out ways to draw more people in and to satisfy those already trapped. That was how I looked at it anyway—trapped—at least from time to time, until I discovered something new to explore that would deliver my mind from its intimidating hill-barricaded cage. I liked to refer to my adventures as “exploring the mysteries of history,” and Derriana was chock full of the like. 2

I personally wasn’t a favorite among the good folks of Derriana, though my parents and siblings soaked up their small-town sovereignty, implicitly bestowed only upon the filthy rich families in town. My family was a band of mindless, unsympathetic, judgmental hypocrites all of whom constantly sought the attention of who or whatever they judged to be beneath them. Luckily, the McKenzie name was the only thing I received from their legacy—which I so passionately refused to uphold. They were quick to label me the black sheep of the family. 3

That was okay with me, though. I liked black.4

In fact, nearly every thing I owned was black, from the accessories in my room, to my hair (a hereditary miracle, might I add), down to my 1969 Chevy Corvette Stingray T-Top Coupe—a gift mostly for show, allowing the members of all classes around to note that no McKenzie does without. I rolled my eyes so many times a day on my family’s account, I forgot to keep track anymore.5

So, I liked black? That was never a crime. However, I almost never heard the end of my lack of morality. To them I was crude, loud, inappropriate, sinful, and it was unacceptable to them. I found comfort in my rebellion, for I wasn’t any more wrong than they. Simply: unique. I was just Jade, and I preferred it just that way. 6

My flair for all things supernatural scared my family witless. It was beyond me to be frightened by history and whatever hold it could have had in the present. They were religious. Hypocrites. Christians. Whatever. I’m sure I was too much of a lost cause for them to remember me in their prayers, if in fact they did that sort of thing at all. I doubt it. Nonetheless, they never failed to make me aware of just how blackened my soul was due to my very own “lack of faith” and my plethora of fleshly sins.7

They needed to believe in something to protect them from the fear of what would happen to them after death. Me, on the other hand, I needed to live while I could. I found it much more significant.8

Despite all of the darkness that seemed to surround my life, I knew of at least one that existed within it that could have only been the most beautiful, pure vision of light I was ever meant to encounter. 9

Olivia Dillon, my best friend. Oy, how my head spun even to think of her. She was the most eloquent, delicate paradigm of wavy, red-headed female perfection any man or woman could ever dare to dream into existence. 10

Liv wasn’t amongst the upper class in Derriana, but I would swear she had twice the class of any one of them. She was dignified, simple, polite, gracious, caring, loving, sweet… I could go on for days singing her praises. I couldn’t help but sigh when I saw her. She had the softest white face; it almost glowed, even in the moonlight, and the most beautiful grey-green eyes I’d ever seen. Even Aphrodite would envy her beauty and Athena, her strength. 11

Life wasn’t easy for Liv. She had moved from home to home, family to family, place to miserable place until she finally found peace with the Richards's on the opposing hill from my own. The actual town was located in the valley between the two hills. On one hill, the working class families were staggered amongst the cemetery-cloven hillside. In between, downtown lived the middle class, and on the other, taller, more secure hillside, the upper class inhabited their thrones with the most beautiful view of the city—which is where I lived: 333 Hillcrest.12

It had always been a dual of wit between us; though, most of my thought was committed to not becoming a drooling nincompoop in her presence. She was everything good and pure left in this world, and I longed to have the privilege of protecting her from its influence. I longed to be her refuge. One look into her mysterious (but no less delicately soft) eyes and everything but my glowing need for her would melt away. People were wrong about me. My soul wasn’t black, nor my heart, nor my mind… everyone else was merely yet to know their completion—for I had not yet received the cure that only Olivia Dillon could provide me. 13

As far as I knew, she hadn’t ever caught on to how I secretly felt about her, nor did she ever really care. One thing was for sure, though: when Liv Dillon smiled, my heart forgot to beat.14