The 7th Lie Read online

  Table of Contents

  PRAISE FOR TAMARA GRANTHAM

  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

  Afterword

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Tamara Grantham

  About the Publisher

  Sign up for Tamara Grantham's Mailing List

  PRAISE FOR TAMARA GRANTHAM

  “Part Twilight, part Beauty and the Beast, readers will eat up the lush settings, mystery, and romance of Never Call Me Vampire. Tamara Grantham has created a high-stakes story rich with history, myth, and legend.”

  Angela Larkin, co-author of the Beyond series

  “[T]he plot is suspense-laden, delivering the perfect adrenaline-filled cocktail for an entertaining and exciting read. The characters display a near-perfect balance between normal and paranormal traits....Readers will love the delightful ending...”

  JM Lareen, InD’tale Magazine (for Never Call Me Vampire)

  “I found Never Call Me Vampire mesmerizing and worth reading in one sitting. Tamara Grantham takes the enchanting theme of vampires and builds on their reputation and thrilling mystique to create a novel that will haunt you until it is finished...I could not put this book down and look forward to seeing what could happen next at Crimson Hollow.”

  Peggy Jo Wipf, Readers Favorite

  “Never Call Me Vampire...is the amazing start of a promising paranormal series. If you've been longing for a good vampire novel with a new spin, your search ends here....Grantham throws off the shackles of traditional vampire stories and gives us one that we can sink our teeth into....This author is exceptionally skilled at building a world we can believe in...”

  Tammy Ruggles

  “[T]his story works well because of the value that Tamara Grantham adds to the theme, which makes it hard to put down once you start reading.”

  Vincent Dublado (for Never Call Me Vampire)

  “A sparkling fantasy.”

  Kirkus Reviews (for The Witch’s Tower)

  “Grantham is prepared to make her mark in the urban fantasy scene with this one.”

  Readers' Favorite Reviews (for Dreamthief)

  “Springs to life from the very first sentence.”

  InD'tale Magazine (for Silverwitch)

  Copyright © 2021 by Tamara Hanks Grantham

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Bridger

  Thank you for always being there when I need you most.

  Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.

  Norman Vincent Peale

  Chapter 1

  Synthetic sunlight warmed my skin. I stood in the field running my hand over the ripened wheat stalk, spikes tickling my fingers, until I plucked off the plant’s top and ground it between my hands. When the kernels detached, five grains sat on my palm.

  My eidetic memory took over, opening like the pages of a book.

  Scientific name: Triticum. Family Poaceae. Order: Poales. Kingdom...

  Shaking my head, I clamped my hand around the kernels. On the horizon, miles of golden wheat fluttered like waves on an ocean.

  If I’d really been here, I would’ve smelled the sweet scent of fresh growth. Still, I breathed deeply, imagining the air to be something other than the recycled, metallic oxygen they pumped through the facility’s vents.

  Tossing the seeds aside, I noticed how uniform they looked as they tumbled to the ground, each one the same shape and size. No variations in color or diameter. Most people wouldn’t have noticed such minute details, but I wasn’t most people.

  Doctors had a name for my extra perceptiveness. They called it ECP. I tried my best not to read too much into the label. Being different meant social isolation in high school. It wasn’t a trait I hoped to carry with me.

  “Agent Sabine Harper,” Fifteen’s voice came through my earpiece. “Is the simulation working?”

  I pressed my finger to the earbud. “Yes. I’m in the field by my old house.” My gaze wandered to the two-story homestead. Paint peeled from hundred-year-old boards. “What’s my target?”

  “A needle,” he answered, his voice hinting at a British accent.

  “A needle?” I asked. “Like a sewing needle?”

  “Yes,” he answered stiffly, his voice emotionless.

  I almost laughed. “A needle in a wheat field. Got it.”

  A butterfly fluttered past in a dazzling array of turquoise and copper, its wings more vibrant than any common land insect.

  A distraction.

  Focus. The target.

  They would have used the wheat to their advantage and camouflaged the needle. I ran my hands over the stalks once again, training my eye on any inconsistencies. Rows of gold passed me by as I walked. It wouldn’t be among the spikes, which would have been the best place to hide it, where a silver needle would have been almost indiscernible from the gold.

  But I would have looked there first.

  And they knew it.

  No. It wouldn’t be with the spikes.

  They would have put it somewhere they didn’t expect me to look.

  I paced from one row to the next. A tractor’s engine rumbled in the distance. My heart ached at the thought of Dad out there somewhere.

  Was he okay?

  Even in a simulation, the reminder of him distracted me, and I found myself looking out across the field, hoping to spot him somewhere. I shook my head and kept going, cataloging each plant, mentally checking them off, until a glint near my feet stopped me.

  I paused, then crouched by the plant. A snail’s shell reflected the sunlight.

  Standing, I continued, using all my senses to train on a single silver needle. I spent another fifteen minutes wandering from one row to the next, looking for anything out of place, until I spotted the roots of a plant peeking from the soil.

  Strange. Winter wheat roots grew deep. Seeing them near the surface wasn’t a good sign. Dad would have never allowed a plant to grow like that. Then again, this wasn’t Dad’s field.

  I knelt. Cold dirt dampened the knees of my cargo pants. When I spread the roots apart, something sharp pricked me.

  “Ouch,” I mumbled, still pulling the shoots apart, until a thin piece of metal stood out against the brown soil. I picked the needle out of the tangle of roots, then I stood, holding it up to the light. The sliver of stainless steel glinted. A tiny speck of my blood tipped it.

  “Got it,” I said to Agent Fifteen. “What was my time?”

  “Seventeen minutes, six seconds.”

  “Hmm.” I pursed my lips.

  “Did the distractions slow you?” he asked.

  “The butterfly? No. But the tractor...” I trailed off, looking once again at the house, then tucked the needle in my pocket. Wind gusted. Long strands of my dark hair brushed my cheeks. When I reached to brush it back, the sun d
renched my skin, chasing away my chills.

  This place seems so real sometimes.

  I shook my head. It wasn’t real. Virtual reality and computer code couldn’t replace home. Still, with the cameras functioning inside the house, maybe I would get to see Dad and Mima June—the real them, and not holograms—that was, if I could convince Agent Fifteen to let me.

  “Can we switch the VR to the indoor cameras? I’d like to see inside my house if that’s okay.”

  The line went silent.

  “Agent Fifteen?” I asked.

  Only a phantom wind answered. Had a solar flare cut him off?

  The line crackled. “I’m here,” he finally said.

  “Good. What happened? Another flare?”

  “Not a flare, Agent Harper, but we do have a problem. Seeing familial relations puts you in danger as well as them.”

  “Why?”

  “If they made you lose focus now, they’ll do it again.”

  “No. That won’t happen. I promise,” I said, determination in my voice. “They’ll be in no danger. You saw how the tractor slowed me down. Let me see them, and maybe the interruption will be minimized if I can see them before I go through the dome.”

  The line went silent again. “If that’s your wish, Agent Harper.”

  “It is.”

  “Very well,” he replied.

  The field broke apart in pixelated cubes. Sleek mirrored walls of the VR sphere appeared around me until another scene formed.

  I stood in my living room.

  The box fan hummed in the corner. Pictures of generations of Harpers hung on the wall. Great Grandpa standing by the fence. Great-Grandma Blue sitting in her chair, wearing her thick-framed glasses, her crochet in her lap as a smile made her eyes squint. When I’d been younger, there were times I’d thought I’d heard the laughter of the children who’d lived here. Heard the pattering of tiny footsteps on the stairs.

  I looked to the recliner where Mima June usually sat, but I saw only an empty seat. Still, my memory served to show her there, sitting where yellow foam peeked from the cushion, beside the table with the box of UNO cards, magnifying glass, and folded newspaper. The last time I’d sat with her, she’d held my hand and asked if I had a boyfriend.

  I laughed at her comment. Told her I’d never met anyone worth dating. A few casual relationships, sure. But most men were little more than children more interested in partying and acting like idiots. I wasn’t sure there was a single mature male left in the world. No. If I ever met someone intelligent, someone who cared more about helping others than his own personal pleasure, then maybe I’d consider dating again.

  She’d told me to give it time. I just needed to find the right person.

  I didn’t share her confidence.

  Before I left, she told me to give her one last kiss goodbye.

  That was six months ago.

  I took a step toward the chair, staring around the empty room. The quiet noise of the TV blended with the whir of the fan. Mima June’s picture sat on the coffee table. She was seventeen, maybe, standing by a fence post with her knife tucked in her belt. She had a willowy frame. Her long lashes shuttered almond-shaped eyes, and her wisps of raven-black hair framed her angular face.

  I stiffened as I stood staring at the empty recliner. Where was she?

  A chair in the dining room creaked, and I turned my attention to Dad.

  He sat at the table with his head in his hands, a stack of papers strewn around him.

  “Transfer to the dining room camera,” I said to Agent Fifteen.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go there now.”

  “Of course,” he said with a sigh.

  The scene shifted. I stood over Dad. He filled out a form, and I peeked over his shoulder to get a better look.

  Application for Certificate of Death

  Name: June Amelia Harper

  Panic gripped me.

  I reread the paper. Something was wrong. This couldn’t be right.

  “Fifteen,” I said, my voice calm, though my heart had stopped. “What’s happening? Is something wrong with the VR?”

  “The VR is functioning properly, although I can run a diagnostic—”

  “No.” I stopped him. “Did something happen to Mima June?”

  “I can check.” He paused. “Checking... I’m sorry. There’s no information available in Vortech’s database.”

  “None? Check again.” Did he hear the desperation in my voice? “Search outside Vortech’s database if you have to.”

  Another pause. My mind raced, and my stomach felt queasy.

  “I found something in the Independence Daily Reporter,” he said. “It’s in the obituary section.”

  Oh no. “Read it to me.” I spoke calmly, though my heart raced so fast, I thought it might beat a hole through my chest.

  “It says June Amelia Harper recently passed away from complications of cancer. She is survived by a son, Thomas James Harper, a granddaughter, Sabine Amelia—”

  “Stop,” I said. “That’s enough.”

  My gaze stayed on Daddy.

  Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to ask.

  I exhaled a long, shaky breath. Closing my eyes, I tried to process my new reality, but how could this be? She’d been fine when I left.

  “Fifteen, do I have any recent emails from Dad?”

  “Let me check.” Static crackled as I waited. “No new emails, Agent Harper.”

  “None?” I questioned. “Did you check all the folders?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “All but one.”

  “One?” I asked. “Which one?”

  “The restricted file.”

  “There’s a restricted file?” I fisted my hands. Anger and grief warred within me. “Why wasn’t I told about it?”

  “Vortech’s privacy policy,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Override it. I’m going on my last mission, and if my father had a message for me, I need to know what it says,” I said. “Please,” I added.

  “I’ll have to get this approve—”

  “No. Keeping my own messages from me is unethical and questionably legal. If Vortech wants me on the next mission, you’ll read that email to me, or I’ll walk. I’ll leave the mission right now, Fifteen,” I challenged. “Let me have access to that email.”

  “Understood,” he said after a pause. “I’m opening the email now. Would you like me to read it to you?”

  What do you think? “Yes. Please.”

  “The email says: ‘Beanie Girl, I hope you’re doing well. I hate to bring sad news, but your grandmother passed away this morning in her sleep at home. Her health started going downhill after the flare. Losing access to her treatments took its toll. When she finally got access to chemo again, the doctor said her cancer had spread too far to control it. But she’s no longer in pain. Thank the Lord for that. And my own cancer is in remission. We’re holding a small service next week. I don’t expect you to attend as I know how busy you are. I can’t believe you’re at the top of the world. Who would’ve thought a Harper would’ve traveled so far from home on such an important mission? Mima was so proud of you.

  Keep fighting the good fight.

  -Dad’”

  A stone dropped to the pit of my stomach.

  I stood over Dad, unable to speak to him.

  Taking a step back, I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. I prayed something was glitching with the VR. This was all some stupid joke. Mima was fine and sitting in her chair as usual watching Price is Right.

  “Fifteen, take me out. I’ve got to talk to Logan. I have to go home. I can’t stay here anymore.”

  “Harper, I would advise against such an action.”

  “I don’t care,” I bit out. “I’m going home. Dad needs me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I stood looking at the image of Dad through the cameras. If I could’ve hugged him, he would’ve smelled of Zest soap and engine grease. Laugh lines creased his
careworn skin, and if I could’ve sat at the table with him, he would’ve grabbed my hand and told me how proud he was of me. How I’d joined Vortech and was the youngest to be picked for the elite program. How he knew I would change the world someday.

  Harpers never quit, he’d tell me. They finish with honor.

  He folded the paper and placed it in an envelope. A hole opened at the bottom of my heart.

  We’d never have the money to pay for his chemo if his cancer came back. He’d end up just like Mima.

  He looked up and, though I knew he couldn’t see me, why did it seem recognition lit his eyes?

  He didn’t want me to abandon my mission, and he didn’t want Mima June’s death to be a distraction. I had nothing in Kansas. No future. No prospects.

  Wind whispered through the open window, ruffling the curtains.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and squared my shoulders.

  I would finish my assignment with Vortech, and I would come home.

  “Fifteen, take me out,” I said.

  I cast one last glance at Dad, then at the wall filled with photos of my ancestors, and the empty Lazy Boy with the worn cushion, yellow foam peeking through the torn fabric.

  In a blink, it seemed as if Mima June sat there once again, smiling as she always did, and though I was on a tiny island north of the Russia mainland, so very far away, I swore I heard her words whispering on the wind.

  Give me one last kiss goodbye...

  Chapter 2

  Freezing wind gusted as I stepped outside the facility. I pulled my hood over my head and followed Agent Logan through the snow.

  “You ready?” he called, his frame hidden under bulky layers of clothing and a gray overcoat, a red-letter V stitched over the breast pocket.

  I hesitated before answering. I’d spent half my night wondering if I’d made the right decision by staying. Finally, I’d sent off a quick message to Dad, telling him I loved him, I would come back. I was sorry about Mima June. My emotions were too raw to know what else to say.

  “I’m ready,” I called back.

  “You got everything?”

  I straightened my backpack’s straps. If he was asking if I had all my material things, then the answer was probably not, as I was famously lousy at remembering everyday things like a toothbrush and underwear. If he was asking if I had everything in my head—all the knowledge of Champ Island, the Bering Sea, the weather patterns, the gateway cave, the dome and the little information we knew of what was under it—then the answer was yes. I hadn’t spent the last six months of my life in training for nothing.