Evermore (The Night Watchmen Series Book 5)

by Candace Knoebel

  I can simply be… me.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I’M STANDING in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door.

  I know without turning that it’s Weldon. I felt it the moment they released him… his ambition to find me. He’s doing exactly what I would do if the roles were reversed—coming to tell me he’s glad I’m alive.

  Also, he’s dodging the very awkward, two-headed bullet named Jezi and Claire.

  I hear the door swing open, followed by a light gust of fall-scented air careening through the hallway. “It’s Weldon,” Jaxen says a second later.

  “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be? My evil twin?” Weldon says as he makes his way across the living room toward the kitchen. “And what’s with the stone-faced brigade outside? It took a little weaseling on my part to get them to let me pass so I could get in here.”

  I scowl at Jaxen, trying to figure out what Weldon is talking about. Jaxen turns to the window and parts the curtain, a sliver of golden light cutting across the living room.

  “Faye… maybe you should come see this for yourself,” Jaxen says a second later, the confusion in his tone pulling my interest.

  I put the last dish from breakfast in the drainer and wipe my hands on a rag before making my way across the room, passing by Weldon’s smug look. Jaxen steps aside, handing me the edge of the curtain. I peer through the opening and feel my mouth form into an upside-down crescent as an odd sensation creeps up the back of my spine. Sure enough, there are seven men lined up in a neat row like toy soldiers right outside the gate.

  “I don’t understand.” I step away from the window.

  Jaxen crosses his arms against his chest. “Mack must want you heavily protected.”

  I peek back through the sliver of curtain. “But… who are they?”

  A few citizens walk by, staring strangely at them, but the men never move. Not even to scratch or shift their stance.

  “I don’t know,” Weldon says as he reaches for an apple. He takes a bite and adds, “They didn’t speak a word. Didn’t even crack a smile. Not even when I spared them a good joke. I mean, I know not every joke I tell is my best, but even at my worst I’m freaking hilarious.”

  I stare blankly at him.

  “What?” he says mid-bite.

  “They don’t look like Watchmen,” Jaxen says, still peeking out the window from behind me. “They must have been privately hired.”

  “I don’t know why Mack would think I need that kind of protection.” But even with saying that, I know exactly why—because my powers are taking a momentary hiatus.

  The air in the room suddenly feels like a sauna. Like all the walls are moving in, swallowing space and air and time. I head into the kitchen for some juice. My hands shake when I reach for a glass and it slips, shattering against the edge of the counter. “Shit,” I say as I grab the small broom from under the sink and begin cleaning up the scattered shards.

  Jaxen kneels beside me, helping grab the bigger chunks. “You okay?”

  “I just feel lightheaded for some reason.” I stand so I can dump the glass, but the moment I do, everything goes dark and I have to grip the counter.

  Jaxen holds me by the waist and then guides me to a chair, taking the dustpan from me.

  “Here,” Weldon says, setting a glass of orange juice in front of me. “It’s probably just the lingering effects of returning from the brink of death. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  My eyebrows draw together, lips pinched.

  He rolls his eyes at me and exhales, arms flying up in the air. “What? You did just die, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t you have women troubles you should be dealing with?” I shoot back with a half-attempt at a glare.

  His face drops, and I know I’ve hit a nerve I shouldn’t have.

  I bite my lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. You’re right. I should be dealing with it,” he says as he sits next to me, air whooshing out of him. “Despite what everyone seems to think about me and my so-called ‘cold heart,’ I do give a damn. Lots of them actually. You could call me a charity of feelings. I just… I need a minute, you know? This reunion… it’s been a long time coming. What if she isn’t who she once was? What if she hates me now? What if—”

  I grab his hand to silence him. “What if she is just as nervous as you?”

  He stares at me for a moment, digesting my words. “I don’t… I don’t feel her in here anymore,” he says, pointing to his heart and his head.

  I squeeze his hand. “That doesn’t mean you can’t find her again.”

  The monitor on the wall buzzes and flashes, alerting us that a call is coming in.

  Weldon rolls his eyes and takes his exit from a conversation too heavy for him. “Bet it’s my annoying other half,” he says as he races over to it. He turns to Jaxen, who’s a step behind him. “Please, allow me.” He presses the call button, a sinister grin on his face and a snide opening remark rolling off his lips, but it isn’t Mack.

  It’s a face I’ve only seen once or twice before. In a history book and on a painting.

  “Good morning. May I please speak with Faye Middleton?” the Divine Wistar asks.

  Weldon stumbles over his words. Turns and looks to me. “Of course,” he says as he steps to the side.

  I stand, the juice giving a little strength back to my legs. “Sir?”

  “Ah, there you are. How are you feeling?” he asks in a tone that sounds like we’ve had many conversations before this.

  It takes me a second to answer. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m nervous, or if it’s the overwhelming sense of realizing that the man on the screen looks like just that… a man. With gold-streaked chestnut hair resting against his shoulders, and a golden-brown beard covering his smiling lips, he looks like someone plucked straight from the plains of the Wild West.

  Weldon nudges me.

  “Better,” I say, finally finding my voice.

  Wistar smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel safe. “That’s good to hear. We were very worried about you.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine… really,” I assure, grabbing the back of the chair.

  His smile settles. “I’m glad to hear it. So, you wouldn’t mind some company then?”

  I fumble over my words until I find the right answer. “Of course not.”

  “Good. We will be right over then.”

  The screen goes dark.

  I stare at Weldon and Jaxen with an open mouth.

  “They’re coming here,” Jaxen says, dazed.

  “Yes,” I reply, just as spaced out.

  “To our home. Here. To sit with us. The Divine.” Jaxen’s words are broken up into short bursts of disbelief. “But it’s so… so…”

  “Human-like,” I finish for him. I shake it off and look to Weldon, who’s peering through the curtain down to the men outside my door. “I can shadow walk us out if you’re not ready for this, mouse. You know I’m totally game for breaking the rules.”

  “No,” I say quickly, catching my breath. Thoughts pulling in order, one by one, under my command. “I want to meet them.” I stand up, strength returning to my limbs. “I’m ready to meet them.”

  “They might want to continue to use you, Faye. And without your powers…” Jaxen says, a war of emotion raging in his gaze.

  I lift my chin, shoulders straightening. “Whatever they may or may not ask of me, I can handle it,” I say, my voice calm and clear.

  Weldon snorts. “And you know this how?”

  I slice a look in his direction. “Because I destroyed myself. And only in the process of rebuilding who I was did I find who I really am. I can face whatever task they ask of me because I’m stronger than everyone thinks. I can do this.”

  Weldon crosses his arms against his chest, dropping his gaze on me. “And it took dying for you to figure that out?”

  My glare is the only thing stopping the smirk brewing on his lips.

  “I’m just say
ing,” he quickly adds. “I knew how great you were the whole time. I just think it’s a little nuts that you had to die to see what everyone else already sees in you.”

  I laugh, despite not wanting to. “I suppose it does sound a little crazy.”

  “A little extreme,” Weldon corrects. “But then again, when did you ever do anything the normal way?”

  He had me at that.

  “WHERE DO I PUT THIS?” Weldon asks as he holds up a small dollhouse that was tucked in the corner of the living room.

  “Back where you found it,” I say, moving to the photos on the bookshelf.

  “But… they don’t live here anymore, mouse. I mean, I can move it to the kid’s room if you’re that attached to the idea of not settling in.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I want it kept how they left it. And I don’t plan to settle in. When this is all over, I won’t live here, not in this city.”

  “Oh? And just where do you plan to go?”

  I turn to face him. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “They’re here,” Jaxen says as he shuffles down the steps, two at a time. I quickly pull all the sheets off the couches and toss them inside the ottoman as Jaxen opens the door. Wistar had his fist lifted in the air as if to knock.

  “Please, come in,” Jaxen says, extending a welcoming hand.

  “Thank you,” Wistar says, stepping through with Alesteria on his arm. Cecilia follows, holding Garrick’s arm, and then Mack and Seamus. There’s an air of power and agedness that follows them that aligns our spines into stiff poles. A sweeping charge that draws you in their undercurrent, washing away everything else but the need to hear them speak.

  They don’t waste time taking seats around the living room, fitting in as if we have done this many times. Jaxen opens the curtains, light highlighting the dust glittering around the room. I quickly hide the duster behind a book and move to stand near the fireplace, waiting, fingers tapping in a repetitive wave against the mantle.

  “It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” Alesteria says as she settles into the couch, her eyes shrewd and familiar. For a second, I forget where I am. Her voice takes me back to the dwelling, back to my room and to the feeling of being sucked away from it. “All thanks to you and your sacrifice, of course,” she adds with a small wink.

  “It was nothing,” I quickly say, feeling like the air has shifted by a few degrees. Like a huge spotlight has been placed on me.

  Cecilia stands. Crosses the area rug until she’s standing directly in front of me, her orbed, bright eyes making me think of how my cat Midnight used to look at me, almost pleadingly, before he turned into a demon… literally. “It’s good to finally meet you,” she says, taking my hand in hers. Her skin is warm and soft, unlike what I imagined it would feel like. Like age never touched her. The smile she wears flickers, wavers, as she holds on a little tighter.

  “Same to you,” I say, bowing my head. Praying my palms stop clamming up.

  Even though I’ve seen her picture before, it doesn’t do justice to the person standing before me. She must be centuries old, but she doesn’t look a day over twenty. There’s a regal air to the way she holds herself. Her shoulders perfectly straight and her elongated neck heightened by the golden, tousled locks she’s pinned to the top of her head.

  “I know this must be odd for you, but I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she says, her tone warm and inviting. “I’d just stepped foot in this city for the very first time when I had my first premonition about you, and then, from there, you kept coming to me in waves as this prodigal being that would protect what we’ve tried to build here and would go further than we ever could… past the hands of time.”

  My cheeks feel like they’ve been dipped in fire.

  “Don’t be bashful,” she says, reaching her hand to touch my cheek. “Your existence is the very reason we are here today, breathing this wonderful Ethryeal air once again.” She turns and smiles at Garrick, who’s watching me closely, as if he isn’t sure whether I’m who I’ve been made out to be. For a moment, it makes me think of Clara and how she used to stand over me with her hands on her hips, scrutinizing my abilities. I have to look away from him and tell myself that I don’t care. That was the old me. The scared me.

  The old me is dead.

  She died in the Exanimator so a new, more courageous me could emerge.

  “Yes, we can only give our thanks,” Garrick says, his English accent heavier than the other Divine. Strands of coiled hair have broken free from the sides of his bun, reminding me of the golden hue wild grass takes while swaying in the breeze on a late summer afternoon. He’s tall and lean with a slight hunch that suggests he spends a lot of time curled over a desk with his nose buried in books.

  Cecilia reaches for my hand again and says, “When we laid ourselves to rest, I wasn’t sure this day would ever come. It was all bound to a choice that would be made centuries into the future. A sacrifice that a young woman would have to make willingly.” Her head tilts as a smile blooms across her lips. “And you did it.”

  I take the compliment, stashing it deep in the pocket of my heart. “And I’d do it all over again to protect those I love,” I admit as my eyes find Jaxen’s, and then Weldon’s.

  Jaxen keeps stealing glances in Alesteria’s direction. I know this must be the most surreal feeling for him, because he’s in the same room as the woman he’s descended from—Alesteria. The woman responsible for the curse placed on his family… the woman who played a small part in Cassie’s death.

  “Jaxen,” Alesteria says after she catches him glancing at her. “Jaxen Gramm, is it? You are a descendant from my beloved Starria’s bloodline, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says with a nod. If he is nervous, he does well hiding it. He’s straight lines and tight eyes.

  “I’m so sorry to hear what’s happened to your family because of Mourdyn’s curse. I can’t imagine the suffering you and your brother have gone through, and I want to apologize for being the cause of that.”

  Wistar nods with her, memories and pain that I can’t even begin to decipher swirling in his eyes.

  Jaxen shifts in his stance. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s Mourdyn who placed the curse, not you.”

  Her gaze softens, and in that moment, I see the resemblance between them. The fierceness every Gramm I’ve come to know has always worn so well in their eyes and that is only ever set aside for those they love.

  Wistar places his large hands on Alesteria’s shoulders. “Call me biased, but I’d say we created a strong line of hunters. I’ve had time to review your records, and you’ve lived up to every inch of the blood that runs through our veins.” He turns so he’s facing everyone. “Though our love was the result of this mess we’ve found ourselves in, I must say that I am proud of the courage you have all had in such extreme times.”

  “We do what we must to protect the city and the humans,” Seamus says with a slight nod of his head.

  There’s a moment of silence as we all try to think of what to say next. There are so many things. Too many that need to be discussed, but finding where to begin is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  Leave it to me, mouse, Weldon says in my mind. A second later, “Hey, uh, what’s with the beef outside?” he asks as he leans against the bookcase.

  Alesteria looks at me. “They are yours,” she says, as if those three words have some form of meaning I should know about.

  I can feel the puzzlement slide over my face.

  “They are the hunters hired by Wistar and me ages ago. They secretly served outside of the Watchmen order on missions to help us secure the ingredients needed to create the Dagger of Retribution. This was during the dark days that followed Mourdyn’s corruption and the rise of the Darkyns. And, after Mourdyn was put to sleep, they willingly bound themselves to the one who would help us vanquish Mourdyn once and for all, only to wake when she gave her life the same way.” Her smile brightens as her eyes peer in
to my soul. “You broke the sleep spell, and now they humbly and dutifully serve to protect you.”

  “Not that you need it,” Wistar says, winking at me as if we share some hidden knowledge. “We’ve heard nothing but good things about your capabilities.”

  Bewilderment takes over every thought in my brain like a morning fog rolling in. I don’t know what to say. My words are blurred, sludged over with expectations and unheard truths. My mouth opens and shuts. I’m still trying to piece together why on earth she still assumes I have enough power to end Mourdyn.

  I feel like I’m split down the middle between being the scared, unsure girl who never asked to be the Everlasting, and the courageous, determined woman I so desperately need to be. They coexist but do not touch, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be both.

  She’s watching me, waiting, and my words struggle to break free.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, the concern in her voice shadowing the v carved between her eyebrows.

  “Faye? You look a little pale,” Seamus says as his gaze pins me to the spot.

  I think I’m nodding my head. Think I’m wiping the cold sweat that’s lined across my forehead. An entire lifetime of fears pump hard from my heart. “Would anyone like something to drink?” I ask, but I don’t wait for them to answer. I make my way around the coffee table, only to knock my shin against it, causing me to stumble forward. I hear a few feet shuffle behind me, probably Jaxen or Weldon standing to catch me, but I right myself and beeline for the refrigerator, out of eyesight.

  After grabbing a handful of glasses, I open the freezer and rest my head against the edge. Let the cool air wash over me, calming my nerves. It’s fine, Faye, I tell myself, taking cubes of ice and placing them in the glasses. Just tell them. Get it out. Then you won’t have to hide anymore.

  I glance down at my forearm. At the names of my friends who died that I carved in with magic. Cassie. Ava. Jonathon. My mom. They weren’t scared to fight for this cause, even when the odds were stacked against them. Even when they knew death was standing right outside their door. I must live for them. Fight for them, with or without my powers, because it’s what they would have done.