“It’s nice to see you again,” he expressed.
I eyed him carefully. “Umm . . . not sure I can say the same just yet.”
His chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “I understand. Maybe we can get off to a better start this time.” He took a step in my direction and extended his hand. “I’m Ruman.”
I stepped forward to meet him halfway and took his hand. “Aish, but you seem t’ know that.”
“I do.”
“How exactly do you know that?” I asked bluntly, settling back in a stance, and crossing my arms over my chest.
A satisfied smile took over his face. “They weren’t kidding when they said you were no nonsense. I have informants in exceedingly high places,” he touted.
My eyes tightened. “How high?”
“You can’t possibly get any higher.”
“That’s pretty high,” I countered.
“Yes. It is.”
I glanced around the room, trying to take in my surroundings and memorize them. The entire room glowed with the light of candles burning. They lined a ledge that flanked the perimeter of the room about two feet from the ceiling. Shelves filled with potentially rare books and powerful artifacts occupied two walls, and a table rested near a third. But my attention was drawn to the book that was still resting on the small table surrounded by what seemed like a hundred lit candles and beside which Ruman stood quietly.
“So, I feel like I should be asking questions or taking notes or something. It’s strange, but I have this sense I’m here for a specific reason, and it feels like that book is part of that reason,” I nodded to the closed tome on the table.
“Intuitive,” he uttered. “Okay, let’s just get down to business. I’m sure you prefer it that way.” He moved to a position directly in front of the book and motioned for me to join him.
Standing beside him, I had never felt smaller in my entire life. I glanced up at him. “What are you?” I asked before I thought about it.
He smiled down at me. “I’m a Guardian of the highest power. A member of The Elect,” he stated like I should have known what he was talking about.
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means.”
He offered me a half-cocked grin. “No. I supposed you don’t.” He pondered for a moment like he was trying to decide what he should tell me . . . if anything.
“Do you believe in a Higher Power, Aisling?” he asked point blank.
Grams and Mom brought me up with the understanding that there was always a higher power at work. That we each had a purpose and a calling given to us by that authority. They warned me that many gods roamed the earth with aspirations of becoming more powerful than they were, ambitions they could never attain—"little g” gods Grams had called them—but only one had the power to give life as well as take it. That was the authority we were meant to answer to. That was the “big G” God.
“Aye,” I responded.
“Good. Then I can give the short explanation.”
“And if I’m partial to having all the information?” I asked.
“You can ask whatever questions you’d like,” he assured.
“Okay then. Please tell me about The Elect.”
“Well, the short version is, there are various factions of heavenly beings. The Elect are the highest level of angelic protectors.”
“Guardians?” I posed for clarification.
“Yes.”
“And what do you guard? People?”
A smirk emerged on his lips. “Secrets.”
“Of course you do,” I chided. “And that is why I’m here.”
His smirk grew into a smile. “You’re as smart as I expected. So, no need to waste time.” He turned back toward the book on the table and waved his hand over it. A warm, yellowish glow softly encompassed it and the cover sprang open. Pages began to flip one by one, slowly at first, then faster, before instantly coming to a stop.
I approached the table in an effort to see what secrets might be hidden within the pages, but they appeared blank. As I moved closer, the pendant Grams had given me began to shine with the same soft, warm glow, and faint images of a scroll and a dagger materialized on the page. I reached my hand toward the page to trace a finger over the red blade of the dagger. But I never got the chance.
I was jolted awake by an earsplitting shriek echoing through the house.
Someone was trying to infiltrate my protective barrier.
They wouldn’t have heard the interior alarm. I had made that mistake only once. It’s nearly impossible to catch someone trying to break in when the alarm notifies them that they’ve been compromised, encouraging them to immediately flee the scene. I whispered the command to silence the alarm.
Knowing that without the proper sequence and magic, my protection spell couldn’t be broken, I eased out of the bed and over to the glass wall of my bedroom. That side of the cottage would be the most vulnerable since it was out of view of any neighboring houses. Unfortunately, the upper balcony hid the door below it, and I couldn’t see a thing. So, I made my way to the stairs and tiptoed down. When I was close enough to peak around the side of the stairwell, I held my breath and eased to the edge of the wall. And there he was . . . a tall, shadowed figure just outside the door leading onto the back deck.
My immediate reaction was to whisper a command that would stop him in his tracks, but that would require me taking down the protection spell. I couldn’t penetrate my own barrier and I couldn’t remove it and leave every other entry point into the house vulnerable. My best bet was to try to get close enough to identify my would-be intruder without alerting him to my presence.
And so the challenge began.
I sat my butt on the stair tread I had been crouched on and leaned back. If I remained upright, my neon white locks would have been a beacon that screamed look at me as if I were the star on a Christmas tree. And so, I slinked down the stairs, gently bumping my rear over one tread at a time. On the final tread, I crouched again and judged the distance between the last step and the safety of the island that separated the kitchen from the living area. There was a short window between the two areas through which I could be seen, and I was just going to have to rely on luck.
As I cautiously peeked around the edge of the half wall hiding the stairs from view, it looked as though his back was turned. I watched for a moment, hoping to decipher what exactly he was doing facing away from the door. When it looked like he was about to move, I took my chance and darted across—as much as you can dart in a hunched over position. Only, I miscalculated my own speed and nearly overshot my target. I lost my balance as I tried to stop and had to grab the granite countertop to keep from tumbling into the open. It was a close call, but I managed to recover.
Trying to slink from the cabinet to a hidden position at the end of the couch was another story. My foot got caught in the lamp cord and knocked over a trinket on the sofa table, alerting my perp to the fact he wasn’t alone. He immediately made a dash for the steps off the back of the deck. I swirled my hand to release the protection as I sprinted for the door to follow him. He jumped from the rain-slicked deck, completely bypassing the steps, tumbling when he landed and plummeting into a pile of something I couldn’t quite make out. He quickly recovered and took off running.
I knew I’d never catch him, and, even if I could, I didn’t want to leave the cottage unattended just in case he wasn’t working alone. I flipped on the light and surveyed the immediate surroundings, looking for anything out of place. I checked around the door on the deck attempting to determine what he might have been doing there, but even with extra light, I saw nothing that provided any clues. After one more quick survey, I stepped back inside and reestablished the protection barrier around the house.
So much for feeling safe in Pyreshore.
Ten
It’s always quiet, confessional-quiet, just before the sun breaches the darkness and fills the heavens with a blend of oranges, reds, and yel
lows—colors that I’m not even sure exist other than in the early morning sky. There’s magic in the silvery shimmer that dances across the horizon as darkness loses its battle with light. Watching the night evaporate into day is a reminder than nothing stays forever.
I have always felt closest to Grams and Mom in those moments. Like a rift between this world and heaven has cracked open and I can sense their presence. But it only lasts for a moment.
Coffee in hand, I sat on the deck and listened to the waves ebb and flow against the shore, slowly tracing the steam as it swirled into the cool morning air above the warm liquid. With every taste of the dark roast, I silently thanked whoever’d had enough foresight to make sure the coffee and creamer were stocked even if there was nothing else to be found in the cupboards.
I sipped in solace, relatively confident my nighttime visitor was long gone. Honestly, he was the least of my current worries as I was unable to shake the dreams I’d had over the previous few days. They were certainly unlike any dreams I’d experienced before—unusual even for me. Normally, during dreaming, I was a bystander simply watching it all unfold before me. And after waking, I would find myself constantly scanning my surroundings for some sign that the dream was about to become a reality for some unsuspecting soul. There had been times I managed to change the outcome. Other times, though, I had tried with all I had, and it wasn’t enough.
Grams consoled me the first time I failed to save someone, saying some things were just out of our control and meant to be. She believed God had his reasons for allowing certain heartaches. I never understood what reasons they could be.
Then there were thoughts of how much had happened in my life in a matter of seventy-two hours. Being an agent with Natra, I had grown accustomed to things getting chaotic and changing fast, that’s just part of the job. Those things rarely had any impact on me personally. Well, aside from the time I started a personal war with Lazlo when I accidentally used his favorite coffee mug not knowing he was super OCD about it . . . the first time. I may have purposefully used it every time after that. In turn, he created a false identity for me using my actual home address and signed me up for every religious newsletter and magazine delivery in existence. That felt pretty personal.
But for nearly eight years, I had managed to maintain a hard line between the job and my personal life. This felt different. Even though becoming a Keeper wasn’t technically my job until I completed training, it had already shaken things up in my world just by bringing me to Pyreshore, and I hadn’t even checked in at the office yet.
On top of all that, there was Cian. Definitely more shaking up than I had expected when I arrived in Pyreshore. He wanted an ally against The Saiad. And while taking down The Saiad had never been personal for me, the idea of joining forces with Cian McCallister felt incredibly personal for reasons I couldn’t begin to comprehend. And being unable to comprehend left me feeling unsettled. I needed something more to go on where he was concerned, and if I couldn’t get it from Kara, Uncle Lachlan was next on my list of sources. Just as soon as I finished my coffee.
Apparently, being an early riser ran in the family. As did being a workaholic. When I called Uncle Lachlan, he was at his office . . . at half past seven. . . on a Saturday morning. He offered me a quick tour around the office and the Library when I arrived. What he didn’t tell me was that Nira Garrison would be the one giving me the tour.
When I arrived, Nira stood on the front steps of an intricately detailed three-story structure—a sandstone building that was not only sophisticated but awe-inspiring. My thoughts immediately turned to the history and stories it would share if the walls could talk.
“Good morning, Aisling.” Nira greeted me dressed in a smartly tailored navy pant suit. By the looks of her, you never would have guessed it was a weekend. I suddenly felt underdressed in jeans, a thin V-neck sweater, and lace-up ankle boots. I was certain my fitted leather jacket was not considered business casual.
“G’mornin’, Nira,” I replied cheerfully.
“I know you’re here to see your uncle, but he’s asked me to show you around while he finishes up a call with an Indian heiress. He’s trying to secure the acquisition of a triglyph that belongs in the Fae artifact archives,” she explained.
“Well, that does sound a wee bit important,” I chuckled.
“No doubt it is,” she offered. “Please, come with me, I’ll give you the tour.”
I followed her through a green arched doorway framed by elaborately carved stone. Something about it gave me the feeling we were stepping into another world. Once inside, I understood.
Though the sun shone brightly on the sandstone exterior, the inside glowed with a warmth you would expect from candles on a dark evening. Near the middle of the open space, directly in front of a winding, iron staircase, a welcome desk sat as though poised to protect the entrance to the floor above. My attention moved to the comfy chairs and large desks situated on the left side of the room where a wall lined with sconces illuminated the area further.
The repetitive click-clack of Nira’s heels against the dark, hardwood floor resonated from the high ceilings as we made our way toward a hallway near the back of the room. I was admiring the architecture around me when I sensed Nira slowing her pace to a halt. I looked to see why and promptly spotted the source of our delay.
Dex Long.
I didn’t know him personally, but I knew who he was. Most anyone with a television or social media account knew who he was. It’s hard to hide when you’re a millionaire playboy living on family money.
Before he was halfway to us, I locked eyes and studied him as he made his way over. He ran a hand over his long wavy hair, as if he were making certain no wayward strands had escaped the leather tie he had used to cinch it back. I stifled my amusement at his attempt to play it cool.
“Aw, Dex,” Nira crooned as she gave him the once over.
“Nira,” he flashed a devilish grin. “And who is this?” His gaze transferred to me.
I stepped forward before Nira had the chance to say anything. “Aisling O’Cléirigh,” I offered. “But everyone just calls me Aish.”
He was a Dragon shifter, a pureblood at that. And there was light within the Dragon’s soul and a mischievous kindness within his eyes. I liked him immediately.
He held his hand out toward me, introducing himself. “Dex Long.”
“Aye, I’ve read about ye.”
He cocked his head a touch. “All good things?”
I shrugged with feigned disinterest. “I rarely believe what they say in the media. But the article in Esque Magazine did say you are secretive. Now I know why. Although, I am still surprised t’ see you here. I never would have guessed you t’ be a shifter based on your interviews,” I paused and gave him the once over. “You’re much cuter in person though. Your pictures don’t do ya justice.”
“But you did read it,” he said with a smirk.
“Aye, Captain Sparrow. I read it. I needed something t’ kill the five-hour flight. And . . . t’ be honest—” I glanced around and leaned in close as if what I was about to tell him was confidential and just between us. “I’m still not much impressed.”
I radiated just a touch of diversion magic in his direction to be safe. I’d noticed the attraction in his stare, and it would only have ended badly. Fae and Dragons could be great friends, but nothing more.
“How about a tour with the most eligible bachelor of Pyreshore?” he offered.
I glanced at Nira who was suppressing her amusement.
I scoffed a short laugh and beamed a bright smile. “Oh, Dragon, I am too hot fer the likes of you.”
I had to admit, giving him a little grief was fun. I was certain he was used to charming most any woman, so a little challenge was probably refreshing. Besides, I had no doubt he could take it and dish it back.
He faked a painful cringe. “Burned by a . . . what exactly are you?” he asked.
“Fae,” I o
ffered.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Aish. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.”
I rolled my eyes playfully and waved, sending him on his way. But he was right, I was certain we’d cross paths again. Pyreshore was, after all, a small town.
“He seemed to take to you,” Nira said once he was out of earshot and we began making our way back toward the promised tour of the Library.
“Is that unusual?”
“To someone who simply meets him casually, he will seem quite charming and outgoing. But Dex is . . . selective with who he actually considers a friend. For a variety of reasons,” she explained.
“I assume being ridiculously rich and in the public eye is high on that list of reasons.”
Nira smiled over at me. “You would be correct. And I’m sure you can relate to the other reasons.”
“Aye. That I can.”
“So, how do you find your accommodations?” she inquired changing the topic. “The Lighthouse Cottage, that’s how most everyone in town refers to it, was my first choice when I made the move to Pyreshore. Only, it was occupied at the time.”
“It’s absolutely perfect. And I want to thank whoever made sure I had coffee this morning. I really need to hit the grocers this afternoon.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Coffee is always a necessity. But I’m afraid no one person can be given credit. We make sure all quarters for incoming Keepers are stocked with the necessities. Condiments, dishes, coffee . . . anything at all you would need aside from personal items such as clothes and foods you prefer. If you check the tall cupboard next to the refrigerator, you’ll find there are some staples there, too. Pastas, sauces, rice. Foods that keep.”
“That is great information t’ have. Thank you,” I replied as I took in the architecture and internally swooned over the fascinating history I was certain lingered in every stone, carved wooden detail, and book that lined the shelves.
Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Page 8
