by Vicki Keire
He stared at me then, and lifted a trembling hand to brush my wet hair off my cheek. A hint of a smile crept back, and he rolled with me until he was above me. He held himself there, perfectly still, until his breathing slowed into a rhythm that matched mine.
“Only us,” he echoed, reaching down to trace the skin at the top of my towel. It loosened under his touch. His legs tangled with mine, the denim of his jeans rough against my soft, damp skin.
He blocked out most of the light, hovering above me like that, but the shadows in my room seemed deep and inviting rather than frightening with him there. I cupped my palm and slowly slid it across the back of his neck, easing him down until the whole of my existence was full of nothing but Ethan: his mouth, his warm breath, his cheek rubbing against mine.
“Human, together,” I whispered.
I pressed myself against him, the towel gone from between us, and felt him melt into me. Then his lips came crashing down, fierce and greedy. I pulled him against me, twining my fingers in his hair, conscious only of our breathing and the beating of our hearts.
awoke to find Ethan’s arm stretched out across my chest. One of his legs draped over mine. The weight of him felt so delicious I dared not breathe, let alone move. I never wanted this feeling to end. My mismatched pillows and blankets formed a cocoon around me. I felt safe, secure, and completely at home for the first time in what seemed like years, even though intellectually, I knew it had only been a matter of weeks.
I spared a minute to study the long, graceful curves that sculpted Ethan’s back, letting my fingers hover as close to his skin as I dared without waking him. Tracing lines in the air that followed the bend of his spine, the outline of his muscles, I buried my face in his hair and inhaled the scents of citrus, juniper, and something else that was uniquely Ethan. Pausing a moment to revel in our closeness, I slipped out of the bed.
The weak sunlight streaming in through my long cotton curtains indicated that it was very early in the morning. Everything in my room seemed washed out and gray. The house was quiet around me, except for Ethan’s slow and regular breathing.
I padded, barefoot, across the room to my much-missed closet. A mismatched pair of socks and my crumpled up favorite pair of jeans spilled out, keeping the door from fully closing. Inside, clean laundry was organized into piles. I smiled at this evidence of my slovenly ways and dug for a pair of clean jeans and my favorite band’s t-shirt.
In the living room, Jack lay stretched out across the sofa, one arm thrown across his eyes, and the other clenched into a tight fist against his stomach. Even asleep, he looked ready to jump up and fight off whatever might find its way into the apartment. His mouth hung open, soft snores escaping. It was cute. But then I realized that his presence on the couch meant that Cassandra must have slept… with my brother? I frowned; I liked Cassandra. A lot, actually. But the thought of Logan having someone with powerful supernatural abilities in his life made me uneasy. It would draw him deeper and deeper into this conflict, and I wanted to shield him from that as much as possible.
I tiptoed into the kitchen area, trying to be as quiet as possible. I smiled a little when I saw my favorite mug with a teabag still in it, sitting on the edge of the counter. It had been a sweet gesture, but I couldn’t pretend that I’d actually wanted to drink the tea. I dumped it out and set about brewing coffee. The scent of the beans almost overwhelmed me with emotion. They were the Coffee Shop’s special Fair Trade Colombian Blend, one of my favorites. I thought again of the boarded-up, burned out store, and wondered when, or if, I would ever be able to get more. God forbid if I had to start using Starbucks.
While I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I snuck past a sleeping Jack and slipped out onto the balcony. The creeping ivy was deep green in the weak morning rays, and a light sheen of dew still clung to it, waiting to be burned off by the full force of the Southern sun. I sat down and propped my feet up on the ledge, burying my toes in the greenery.
Home. I had missed it so much.
The door opened behind me, and the smell of coffee assaulted my nose. A hand appeared at my elbow, sliding my mug across the glass topped table until it rested, steaming, within grabbing distance. I chugged it gratefully, noticing the intricate whorls and symbols on the hand that had provided it. By daylight, they looked like ordinary tattoos. They had none of the special blue glow they gave off in the Dreamtime. I wondered if they would shine again if Jack used his powers.
When Jack used his powers, I self-corrected. And me too, I supposed. I was past thinking there was any way we were getting out of this without fighting together. I thought of the electric-hued column of fire we generated with our combined abilities, and wasn’t surprised to feel the Shadows forming in my palms. I clenched my hands into fists to stop their shaking.
Jack noticed, of course. “Hey now,” he said, leaning against the balcony. “If I’d known coffee was going to upset you, I would have kept it all for myself.” His easy smile told me he was joking, but his eyes carried unmistakable concern.
“It’s not that.” I took another sip. Plenty of sugar, but no milk. It must have gone bad by now. “I can’t help thinking about the two of us, and what we can do.” I could see my reflection in the surface of the liquid. I frowned at myself, and my reflection frowned back. “About how we’re going to have to fight, and… kill people.” I scowled.
“They’re not people,” Jack said. He spun around so he could lean out over the stone railing. “We’re talking about different Realms here, Caspia. We’re talking about Hunters and demons. About angels and a Nephilim army. All those so-called ‘people’ will crush us just because we’re in the way.”
“But what about people like Caroline Bedford? Or Miranda? Nephilim like us, who don’t fight because they want to, but because they were kidnapped and blackmailed? They’re every bit in the middle as we are.” I studied the tattoos along his back, watching his muscles bunch as he leaned out even farther. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said softly.
Jack turned to face me and dropped to one knee. He reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. “Hopefully we won’t have to. I’ll do everything in my power to keep from hurting other Nephilim, Caspia.” Then his face hardened with resolve. “But if we have no other choice, better them than us.”
I wanted to protest, to shout at him that we had no right hurting anyone who was there against their will, but I couldn’t find the words. Some deeply buried part of me was afraid he was right. I settled for squeezing his hand instead.
The door swung open, revealing a shirtless, tousle-haired Ethan. He blinked sleepily at the sun and stretched on his tip toes. The he saw Jack and me holding hands, and froze.
I disengaged and scooted back like I’d been burned. I was sick of the tension between us. Last night we’d let our walls down, and I didn’t want to risk our recovered closeness over a meaningless gesture. Jack’s eyes were hooded as he rose up and returned to looking at the square. Ethan’s expression was hidden as well as he slipped into the chair next to mine.
“Good morning,” I said. Memories of the night before made my face flush. Talking, kissing… I stopped that thought progression right in its tracks before I turned beet red. Then I turned to Ethan and brushed my lips gently across his cheek. “There’s coffee.”
“Mmm,” was his ingenious reply. His eyes closed to half-slits. He looked golden in the rising sun’s light, and I couldn’t believe this gorgeous creature was mine. “I was disappointed to find you gone,” he said at last, a contented smile playing across his lips.
“Coffee called,” I shrugged.
“Mmm,” he said again, and then slid his hand up behind my neck, pulling me closer to him. His lips found mine and kissed me deeply. I returned it eagerly.
Jack, rigid now, kept his back toward us.
After a moment, I disengaged. “So, does anybody know what the plan is now?” I asked, draining my mug dry.
“We meet up with the others. The other Guardians, I m
ean,” Ethan said.
Everyone took turns eating dry cereal straight from the box as they rushed around getting ready. Cassandra raided my closet, which was only fair because she’d already lent me clothes. I wanted to laugh when she emerged from my room. She’d managed to make an ordinary long cotton skirt and matching blouse look hippyish. I don’t know why I was surprised; everything she touched soaked up her Earth Mother vibe. Jack borrowed a plain t-shirt from Logan. It stretched tight across his upper body, accentuating muscles my lanky brother didn’t possess.
Just before leaving, I slipped into my room to pack a small bag. I had no idea when I’d be back, and I knew I would miss having my own things. A clean change of clothes, some toiletries, and a night shirt went into a rugged canvas knapsack. I folded my leather jacket and shoved it in, too. I hesitated, feeling incomplete, but unsure of what to add. Then I saw my half-full sketchbook, gathering dust on my dresser. I let my fingers caress it for a moment before sliding it into my bag along with a case full of graphite and drawing pencils.
Last of all, I slipped my twin daggers in between the folds of my clothes. It was probably my imagination, but I could have sworn they sparked blue when I had held them up to the light.
It was an effort, but I didn’t even look behind me as we left my apartment and piled back into Logan’s car.
“Where are we meeting up?” I asked as I stared at the changing landscape.
The destruction on the square gave way to the graceful mansions of Old Town’s Historic District. Some of the houses dated back to the town’s founding. Logan and I had lived in a house like these until our parents died and we were forced to sell.
As if reading my mind, Ethan slipped his hand over mine.
“The Guardians are all gathering in the North.” Logan slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Bain’s territory.” He almost snarled the name.
“What’s the deal with Bain?” I was a little startled at the level of animosity I was picking up.
“Bain cares about nothing but himself,” Cassandra said. “If he weren’t so powerful, and we didn’t need someone else affiliated with the Dark to keep the balance, then we’d never in a million years have him as a Guardian. But the spot came open, and wouldn’t you know, he was right there to fill it.” I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was fuming by the way she held herself.
“But being Dark doesn’t mean you’re bad, does it?” I asked. “Mrs. Alice is affiliated with the Dark, and she’s one of the most selfless people I know.”
“True,” Cassandra acknowledged. “What makes her Dark is the way she draws energy for her power. In her case, it’s through blood magic and rituals. But Bain is just… bad. There’s no other word for it. He’s always trying to manipulate the town council into policies that favor him, or his flunkies. And it’s easier to keep an eye on him as a Guardian. He knows the rest of us could neutralize him, should the need ever arise.”
Silence descended for the next several miles. Old Town gave way to the newer part of Whitfield where chain stores and strip malls clogged the sides of the road. I had always found this part of town to be kind of soulless, and tended to avoid it whenever possible. “‘North’ is really pretty vague,” I said at last. “Just where, specifically, are we headed?”
“The Northern Gate is at the very edge of town like all the others,” Ethan said, tightening his grip on my hand. “It’s just beyond the newer gated communities.” Two―and three―storied McMansions stood together on postage stamp sized lots, crowding out the possibilities of green spaces or gardens or parks.
“I hate this part of town,” Cassandra said. Her voice sounded strained, taut with worry. “So many of the Dark supernaturals live here. The bad kind.”
We passed the last of the intimidating, pre-fabricated homes. The road narrowed and got bumpy while huge, ancient-looking trees sprang up to line the road. They were so tall and thick that they blocked out the sun, and the light changed from bright to almost-dusk. I figured it was now or never, so I asked the question that had been hanging over me ever since Jack and I escaped the Dark Realms.
“What about the Southern Guardian?” I could barely make myself say his name, the memories were so painful. I missed the crazy bastard so much it hurt. “With… Asheroth… gone?”
Images of him confronting Belial slammed into me; the way he’d continued fighting back even when he couldn’t win. Sacrificing himself to save me, to give Jack and me a chance to fight for Whitfield. My eyes stung as I blinked back tears.
For a few long moments, silence reigned. The atmosphere in the car turned heavy, charged with anxiety. Finally, Cassandra spoke just as Logan pulled the car off the road, carrying us down a narrow winding drive. He stopped in front of a pair of wrought iron gates. They had been shaped to look like thorns, complete with sharp, shiny barbs.
No one would be climbing over that gate unharmed.
“Asheroth can’t be here,” Cassandra said, turning around to give me a look of deep compassion. “I hope we find a way to get him back; we need him and he doesn’t deserve to be left behind.” She took a deep breath. “But we still need a Guardian, Caspia. There are safeguards to invoke and power to access that require all four Guardians.”
“So what are we going to do, then?” I demanded. Everyone in the car got very still.
Ethan reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. He stroked my hand with his thumb. “Asheroth made you his heir,” he said with the sorrow of someone imparting the news of a dead pet. “That means you have to take his place.”
ny reply I might have had was swallowed by the forest looming over us.
As we piled out from the car, I pushed my fear for Asheroth and my shock at Ethan’s revelation into a deep corner of my mind. Massive, iron gates stood sentinel in front of us. There was something compelling about their sinuous beauty―the way the metal bars twisted, in and around themselves; the way the iron barbs snaked out, just like thorns; the top so tall I was sure none of us could reach it, even standing on each other’s shoulders. The massive gate bled into long sections of fence that stretched through the tress until I could no longer see them. They looked as though they were a single piece of metal, although I knew that couldn’t be true. Not if they were man-made. It was both grotesque and attractive at the same time. For the first time in ages my palms itched with something other than Shadows. I wanted badly to draw it, gloomy or not.
But there was no time. I would just have to commit it to memory and hope to capture it later at some other, safer, location. Because I couldn’t deny the feeling that we weren’t safe, even though we were expected guests. The others must have felt it, too. We gathered together in front of the gate, looking around with varying degrees of interest and fear. The setting reminded me of a very dark and twisted fairy tale.
I reached out and stroked the iron bars. They were ice-cold to the touch. “No handle,” I whispered. It seemed wrong to use a normal tone of voice.
“How do we get in, then?” Cassandra asked. She had wrapped her arms around herself as if she was trying to disappear. If there was an environment that was the complete opposite of her normally sunny disposition, this was it, and she seemed to be taking it hard.
Logan smoothed her blonde hair down her back.
“Do you remember the first time we all went to Asheroth’s compound?” Ethan asked. “It was Logan, Caspia, and me, and we tripped a bunch of alarms.”
“But we’re… supposed to be expected,” Cassandra said. She was shivering now.
“Mmm hmm,” Jack agreed. “And this seems exactly like Bain’s idea of hospitality. He’d have been quite at home in the Dark Realms.” He turned to Ethan. “What did you do to get into Asheroth’s compound before?”
“Blood,” Ethan said at last. He very obviously didn’t want to answer. “The blood of a Nephilim. Logan, specifically.”
“No!” Cassandra shouted, grabbing my brother roughly by the shoulder as he started toward the gate. Her shout commanded the attent
ion of the entire forest; there was a long pause after her outburst as if the wilderness itself was listening to us now. “Bain won’t care about a Nephilim, or any other supernatural,” she said, more calmly now. “He will have keyed the gate to respond to another Guardian.”
“Whatever happened to good old fashioned cell phones?” Logan grumbled.
“Well, we don’t have another Guardian,” Ethan countered, avoiding my eyes. “If we did, he could just make a portal and bring us through.”
Ethan hadn’t said “his” name, but it stung anyway. I was the reason Asheroth wasn’t here. I hoped I would be enough to get us into Bain’s territory. I pulled away from everyone and found myself facing the gate alone.
“It has to be me, then,” I said. No one countered me, although they didn’t seem happy about it, either.
I took a step forward to the towering iron thorns. In lieu of a handle, they had barbs several inches long sticking out. I traced their outlines with my fingers, trying to get a sense of how sharp they were, and discovered to my surprise that unlike the rest of them, the tips of these particular thorns were hollow at the very end.
Hollow, but still very sharp. And long. Too long.
Ethan’s warm hand settled across the top of my shoulders, his thumb rubbing the back of my neck in a singular stroke. I took a deep breath, and impaled my hands, palms first, on the hungry metal. The pain was deep and piercing. I choked back a scream.
The fake thorns seemed to come alive as soon as they tasted my blood. They twisted and writhed, resembling fingers now, holding me tight in their grasp as the whole gate in front of me started to move. Two metal thorns grew even longer than the rest and snaked toward the vein in my wrist, plunging into my flesh with a sharp, darting bite. The very air around us came awake, the trees swaying in a sudden rising wind as if wanting to get as close to us as possible. And all the while the barbs stayed buried in my skin, sucking out my blood as the iron doors slowly swung open.
