Pounding her knuckles on the peeling hunter green paint sent a shock of pain through her hand, but she finally garnered a response.
A male voice called out, “I’m coming, give me a minute.”
The sounds of shuffling, followed by a sharp crash, echoed in the silence. Out of a shadowed doorway, appeared the boy she had once watched with mild annoyance. He looked nothing like the child he had once been. Her heart faltered, and she was sure their hope was lost.
Chapter 4
Blue-Eyed Boy
The young man staggered through the room. Dressed in nothing but a pair of baggy jeans, his tanned skin gleamed in the stray hints of sunlight. His mouth hung slack and red lines marred his glassy blue eyes—still the color of sapphires. Obviously, the same malady that had taken Kira’s life was working its dark claws into Marcus as well.
“What do ya want?” His words were barely legible as he stared down from his advantage point, a foot above her head.
“Marcus?” Amara asked just to make sure. She knew before he answered that she was right.
“That’s right, wha’ ya need? I don’t buy cookies.” He eyed her with suspicion.
She spoke quietly, afraid to alarm him. “Marcus, do you remember Kira?”
“Nu’ huh. Go way, lil’ girl. I got no time for games. You ‘ear me?” Unable to hold his composure, he sagged against the doorframe.
She kept her tone soft, as if speaking to a child, but Amara chose her words to incite fear. Confusing her for a normal human girl, he wouldn’t bother to entertain a conversation with her unless she pulled out the big guns. In order to break through the chemical plethora that ate at his mind, she had to move quickly.
“Marcus, I know you remember her. She was very pretty and she babysat you before she got sick. Only she wasn’t sick, was she Marcus? Your sister was the one who gave her the drugs that killed her. You knew what happened, but no one would have listened, so you never told a soul.”
His face contorted in rapid succession from disbelief, to anger, to fear, and back to anger. The adrenaline helped him to find the strength to stand on his own again, and his speech cleared remarkably as he barked, “Get the hell outa here, kid.”
Amara didn’t back down. Instead, she threw her words at him, “I know, Marcus. I know about your gift. I know you see things before they happen. I know that no one believes you. I can tell you why it happens. I can help you. If you will let me, I can make it stop.”
His eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open. After a long moment of disbelieving silence, he replied, “I’ll listen, but you better not be screwing with me, kid.” He turned his back on her and walked into the shadows.
Amara motioned for Anthony and Desiree to come to the house as she waited on the porch. Keeping one eye on her advancing cohorts and the other on the darkness in the house, she wished they would hurry up instead of sauntering up the driveway holding hands. They finally bounded up the steps, just in time to keep her from screaming curses at them.
Whispering out of the corner of her mouth, Amara told them, “Just stay quiet. He’s not exactly sober.”
Desiree raised an eyebrow, but did not say a word as Amara opened the screen door and stepped inside. The clutter they saw through the mesh was far worse than they had first thought. Stacks of papers lay on the tables, dirty dishes left rings on the wooden furniture, and various items of clothing hung on every available surface.
Amara walked slowly through the dimly lit room, letting her eyes adjust as she followed the sharp clink of ice cubes against glass. The kitchen was no cleaner than the other rooms they had passed. Stacks of filthy plates sat in the sink and a layer of general grime seemed to cling to everything, including the walls, which had faded to a dull ochre color, instead of a pleasant yellow.
Marcus held a glass tumbler filled with dark liquid in one shaking hand as he leaned heavily on the counter behind him. Despite his tough demeanor, Amara could see how hard he was struggling to remain standing as the visible tremors shook his body.
He raised his head, locked eyes with Amara, and pressed himself against the counter as if he could somehow blend into it. The moment stretched out before them in an eerie silence before the sound of shattering glass echoed through the room.
Amara jumped as if a gun had been fired and Desiree screamed. Almost as if he felt shamed, Marcus dropped his gaze to the pool of liquor and ice spreading across the floor. No one moved to clean up the mess, no one moved at all.
His words were a choked whisper, “I remember you.”
She shook her head, knowing it couldn’t be true. No one could see the Keepers. She started to step toward him, but his head snapped up and his gaze nearly burned into her. Afraid to go in closer, Amara waited.
The alcohol no longer affecting his speech, his words became sharp points. “I could see you. At first, I thought you were all angels. No one could know. Emateus, my Keeper, warned me not to tell anyone. I know all about you.”
The name brought up so many memories of her time spent in the neighborhood. Emateus was an old Keeper. He had always seemed timeless and solemn. She had met him many times when she had watched over Kira, but had never wondered what became of the old one after her departure. Amara had assumed he was still with Marcus or had moved on to his next assignment.
The question was redundant, “You can see the Keepers?”
His blue eyes clouded as he explained further. “My Keeper allowed me to live, for whatever reason. Perhaps by the time he realized I could see him, he couldn’t see me destroyed. I honestly don’t know. Maybe he knew someday you would come here and need me. It is one of those things that we do not speak of, and I can’t see it for myself. A thick black cloud hovers over your destinies and obstructs the view. I know you want help, but I can’t see the path we will take clearly. What is it that you need from me?”
“You’re right, we need your help.” She went on to explain all that had happened and that they had little time to save themselves.
“You can make the sight stop? That’s what my grandmother called it, the sight. My mother was the one that passed the cursed blood down to me. A family of alcoholics and drug addicts,” he looked down at the whiskey on the floor with longing, “all because great-granny took a roll with some sort of death angel.”
Amara was astonished, “Your mother didn’t have an affair with a Keeper? This was passed down the bloodline? Whoever fathered your grandmother must have been a very powerful Keeper.”
“So I help you and you fix me?” The wariness in his face aged him, bringing out the years of suffering and pain as he pressed for his answer.
“I think I can. I can’t promise you, but I will try. I will fix you, if I can,” she corrected. “Will you help us?”
He stared at her and then Desiree and Anthony. Finally, he nodded his head and made a noise of confirmation.
There was no time to waste. Ordering Desiree to make coffee and Marcus to stand out of the way and drink what Desiree made him, she opened the kitchen window. The circulating air began to clear out the stale mustiness from the room as she and Anthony cleared the table and mopped the whiskey from the floor. Within twenty minutes, they were all setting around the kitchen table and ready to begin.
Sweat beaded on Marcus’s forehead and the table vibrated from his nervous shaking. His fear was palpable as he spoke, “I have spent most of my life trying to rid myself of the very thing you say might save me from this curse. It is a bit ironic, don’t you think?” His laughter was hollow and his voice bleak.
“We need you to find our destiny or at least a link to where we should go next. There is a place where the Weavers once created the threads of life. Focus your mind and push past the block.” Amara reached out and patted his hand. “I’m not asking for a miracle, Marcus. Just do what you can for us, please.”
Marcus took a deep, shuddering breath and stared into the space between them. His eyes seemed to hang on some unseen focal point in the air, seeing something the ot
hers could not. Seconds ticked by, turning into long minutes, before any change came over him.
At first, his breathing deepened as he sucked air into his lungs and blew it back out again, each new gasp coming quicker than the last. After a moment, the shaking grew more violent and tears streamed from his eyes to trail unabashed down his cheeks. Eyes wide-open and staring blankly into space, he never blinked.
At last his breathing slowed and his hand rose, as if reaching to touch some unseen thing and a sob escaped his full lips. He whispered, low and unintelligible words, over and over again.
Amara wanted to grab the man and shake him. She wanted to rip him from the other side and force him back to where his human mind belonged. The rapid throbbing at the pulse point on his neck and the sweat that poured from his brow made it obvious that, not only was the emotional pain taking him under, the physical pain of his actions was relentless.
As much as she wanted to stop the process, she knew she could not. Marcus had pushed at his gifts until they were distant and faded. Uncontrolled and unmetered, they brutalized the man. He needed to know the pain and accept the power if she were going to save herself, her wards, and help him free himself from the chains of the Keeper blood.
Risking a glance at the others as they sat wide-eyed at the opposite end of the table, Amara saw nothing that surprised her. Desiree stared unblinkingly at Marcus in mute and horrified captivation. Her big brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears, only the dam of sick fascination held them back. Anthony had turned his head down, his shimmering blue eyes locked on their entwined fingers. He held his breath, as if he were afraid to make a sound.
Marcus’s body lurched, slamming Amara’s attention back to him. The trembling turned intense and his muscles seized rapidly. His eyes rolled back and strange sounds erupted from his slackened jaw. Unable to think of any better solution, Amara leaped on top of the table and landed so that her legs went on either side of his convulsing body.
The spell broken, Desiree screamed and Anthony jumped from his chair to grab Marcus just as he started to fall. As blood burst from his nose, Amara wrapped her left fist in the front of his shirt, slapped him hard across his cheek with her right, and screamed his name.
Nothing they did seemed to faze him. Marcus drifted further into the abyss of his visions and his body crumbled under the pressure. Amara felt a presence at her side, the unmistakable feel of a Keeper crept over her. She screamed Marcus’s name again and roughly patted his cheek. When he did not respond, she felt the wetness on her face and knew she was crying.
Human feelings flooded her, and she could not see past the fear that the man would die. Gripping Marcus’s face with her thumb and fore finger, Amara fought to make him focus or respond, but she couldn’t break through. Even as she attempted to help him, her mind fought against her.
Without warning, cold water splashed down on them, causing her to let go. In a fury of self-preservation, his eyes went wide and he gasped for breath. Staring in a pure state of confusion and terror, his body slumped forward against Amara.
She rocked him gently, smoothing her hand over his dark hair as she tried to catch her breath and slow her heartbeat. She had not held another being and offered them comfort in three hundred years. Even in the midst of such trauma, she felt the warmth of emotion fill her. Human instincts took over, and Amara crooned softly to the unconscious mortal in her arms.
In the aftermath, Anthony hugged Desiree tightly and told her what a wonderful job she had done. She still held the empty pitcher in her hand as she buried her face in his chest and wept. Amara felt a stab of pride. Anthony was right, little Desiree had saved Marcus when she, once an immortal being, had been unable to.
Suddenly hating the influx of human feeling, Amara’s voice turned sharp, “Get him off of me already, you two.” Desiree and Anthony looked at her in disbelief. “Well come on. Don’t just stand there. We are wasting time we don’t have. Let’s get him laid down somewhere, so we can figure out how to wake him up and get a move on.”
Chapter 5
The Dogs of Sheol
All attempts to stir Marcus failed, so they waited. Unable to rest, Amara sat on a small table at the end of the couch, watching over Anthony and Desiree as they curled into an old armchair and dozed off in each other’s arms. Her impatience prickled as time passed slowly, forcing her to recognize the irony of a Keeper being subjected to such a thing as time.
“What? What happened to me?” Marcus’s words stirred her from thoughts of certain doom.
His fear and muddled expression pulled at her heartstrings, and she laced her tongue with acid in an attempt to deny humanity. “You took a little nap after nearly gyrating yourself to death, is what happened.”
Marcus pushed himself up, elbows digging into the worn, flowered pattern of the couch, and looked around. He spoke to an unseen persona to his left. “I know I shouldn’t have. Is that why you are here?”
Marcus listened intently, nodded, and spoke in short bursts separated by exasperated silences. “I will thank her. Yes, I will be careful. Damn it, Emateus, don’t you think I know that?”
Sitting the rest of the way up, he swung his legs to the floor. Confusion and exhaustion marred his grimacing features as he ran his hands over his face. He had not been in the best of shape upon their arrival, but after the incident in the kitchen, he looked as if he were the dead resurrected, killed, and revived once more.
Amara grew impatient listening to Marcus speak in chopped sentences to the invisible being. “So, Emateus is here?” Calling out to the space around them, she queried the Keeper, “Have you come to spy on us Old One? Are you, the original traitor, here to deliver news of our failure to the Parcae?”
Marcus looked irritated. “He says to tell you to shut your brash, young mouth. No, don’t argue. To him you are young. Almost a spring chicken, compared to his age. He is not spying for the Parcae. He is doing his job, just like you did yours when you turned the clocks back. He said of all people, you should understand why I am still alive. He also says we have not failed.”
Amara felt ashamed. She had thought badly of Emateus, had judged him for breaking the laws. His words reminded her, she was no better, probably worse. “I apologize, Emateus. My words were impetuous. Forgive my outburst, please. What do you mean, we have not failed?”
Marcus nodded his head and stared upward as if someone were standing next to the couch, just to his left. “He accepts your apology, and says I should tell you of the vision.”
During the conversation, Desiree and Anthony awakened and watched with curious looks as Marcus and Amara talked to a man who wasn’t there. When Marcus mentioned his vision, Desiree flung herself out of Anthony’s lap to sit near Amara’s feet. Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she waited for Marcus to reveal the next step in their journey.
Marcus laughed at the girl’s exuberance and waited for Anthony to come nearer as well. Once they had gathered, he told them of what he’d seen. “At first, I could see nothing but shadows in the darkness. Something pressed against me every time I tried to move forward to see your paths. I tried to search for you, for Desiree, and for Anthony—together and separately. The more I tried, the stronger the force keeping me out became. It wasn’t until I sensed Emateus’s presence that I knew what I was doing wrong.
“He wouldn’t have been present if the moment was not changing my path. He only comes when my destiny shifts. He normally looks at me with sadness and disgust as I destroy my future, but this time, it was different. He looked afraid, but proud. That’s how I knew to search for myself and not any of you.”
Amara understood, but Anthony’s teenage mind instantly shot off his mouth. “What does your future mean to us after today?”
Desiree shushed her boyfriend, smacking him hard on the calf. “Be nice.” Despite her admonishments, the confused way she stared at Amara showed that she didn’t clearly understand either.
Marcus cast a wary look in their direction before turning his fu
ll attention back to Amara. “By coming here and involving me, you entwined my destiny with yours. Yet, I still have a future, unlike you. When I focused, I saw us shackled and chained. The suffering and depravity of the place around us was more horrific than you can imagine. It was like a Nazi concentration camp for Keepers, but with worse tortures.”
“We were torn apart from each other, and a great grief befell us all. I could feel Desiree and Anthony’s pain, but they had been muted somehow. I felt angry and betrayed, but I don’t know why. I saw a shadow of a man, nothing about him was clear other than his blue eyes. He was a wraith in the dark mist, but as I walked by, he whispered a name to me. There was a snow globe between his hands.
“The world around me turned to black. I could see nothing, but I still heard voices. There is a plan Amara, one that will give this man extreme power over time itself, and he will give all who follow him an eternal life. He wants to destroy the Parcae.”
An explosion of noise erupted as the screen door crashed in. Desiree screamed, Anthony cursed, and six soldiers and three menacing hounds filed into the house. Amara was on her feet, spinning around to position herself between the intruders and her wards. Marcus reached behind him and pulled a 9 mm handgun from its hiding spot in the small of his back. Only Amara knew that the bullets wouldn’t stop the beings that were coming for them.
The Apollumi were dressed in the traditional garb of the hunting party. Metal grids over the lower half of their faces gave the unlucky observer the impression of a large grin filled with pointed teeth. They wore black hoods low on their foreheads, only the piercing hate of their eyes and the terrible grills showed. Their full body suits were black as well, resembling a mix of Kevlar and spandex. Defining every rippling muscle while protecting the wearer from attack, the outfits were worn to preserve the human bodies that the Apollumi possessed while hunting the earthly realms.
The Keeper's Heart Page 3
