Reluctant Guardian

by Melissa Cunningham

  They're talking about me! But after all I've been through, I'm not about to be erased from time and existence that easily. Without thinking—which is how I do most everything—I raise my hand, palm out, and shove, as though pushing an invisible shot-put.

  Whatever force I possess, I throw toward Lamia. She stumbles forward, her red stilettos tangling in her long, silken robes. An acolyte on the isle catches her as she falls.

  She turns in deadly silence and locks eyes with Brecken. Not a breath is heard in the whole room. “You'll pay for that,” she whispers venomously. “Call off your watch dog, Bretariel, or—”

  “Or what?” he spits. “You'll kill me?”

  “Oh, I'll do more than kill you,” she says, prowling toward the bed where he lies. “I'll rip your soul from your body bit by bit while you live, like you once tried to do to me!”

  Brecken chuckles grimly, pulling on his bindings. “That would be a good memory to have back.”

  With a howl of rage, she springs for him, flying over the edge of the bed on top of him. Her hands grasp his wrists, and her legs wrap around his. When she smiles, it is with the sharp ivory fangs of a monster. Hers are not silver, detachable, or handmade. They are the real thing, the roots embedded deeply into the bones of her face.

  I shrink back in horror, suddenly wanting to hide. Before I can move, she sinks her teeth into Brecken's neck. His back arches and his cry rips through the auditorium. Never have I heard anything so feral, so heartrending.

  I spring for Lamia, my arms wrapping around her waist as I sail past. Surprisingly, I do not slip through her like a ghost without form, but like a boomerang, yanking her away from Brecken.

  With a wild shriek, she grabs at the air.

  “Brecken!” I fight my way toward him, hoping Lamia can't grab me as I grabbed her.

  “Andras! Stop her!” Lamia screams.

  Instead of trying to stop me, Andras, places a white towel against Brecken's wound. “If you want this done right, Lamia, it must be performed according to ceremony. Unless you only want to kill his body?” he asks, gesturing to Brecken, who lies grimacing and groaning in pain.

  Lamia wipes Brecken's blood from her mouth. “Fine. Get the book.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  ~The Big Black Book of Death~

  Alisa

  One of the acolytes brings a large black and gold book forward. Its gilded edges and vellum pages, musty with age. Lamia takes the book, hefting it to a nearby stand, and opens the weighty cover. It falls back with a heavy metallic slap.

  She sifts through the pages slowly, searching for something. I move to her side to see, careful to keep some distance, but close enough to view the devilish pictures and undecipherable words.

  Finally she stops, her fingers tracing the words of an unintelligible language written in crimson. Horrifying caricatures of demons and wailing humans decorate the page. Lamia turns, her eyes wide and bright with arousal. She motions for Jill. “Come!”

  Jill rises from her seat and walks regally up the steps. At the foot of the bed, she stops and waits, a mixture of excitement and apprehension etched on her butt-ugly face. At least, that's my opinion.

  Lamia smiles and motions to Brecken. “Insert your teeth.”

  Jill doesn't look quite as confident as she did a few moments ago, but she nods, takes a box from her pocket, and inserts her silver fangs. She glances over at Brecken, but hurries to look away.

  “As soon as I start reading, you drink. Stop when I tell you,” Lamia commands, her voice hard and grinding behind her pearly white fangs.

  Jill nods and climbs onto the bed next to Brecken. He watches her, her betrayal burning in his eyes.

  “I loved you,” he whispers. “I trusted you.”

  The ache in my chest—when I hear those words—blossoms anew, and I have to look away. How could he have ever given his heart to her?

  Jill won't look him in the eye. “I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to end like this.”

  Brecken turns away, the thick muscles in his neck stretching taut. I can see the pulsing vein beneath his skin, alive, vital. Jill stares at it too. She leans forward and grabs his wrists, then glances again toward Lamia, waiting for the command to begin.

  Lamia commences to read. The words, in a strange tongue, are guttural and harsh and draw goose bumps. Her tone—hate-filled as it is—conducts power throughout the room. Dark demons rise up from their hiding places, moaning and tearing at their ghastly faces. Candles flicker and Jill bends down, her mouth opening.

  With a scream, I thrust all the power inside me toward her, just as I'd done to Lamia, only this time, it has no affect. Because she's human? I'm not sure. Stunned, I nearly fall to my knees. But refusing to give up, I try again, but Jill remains unfazed. Her lips spread wide as she clamps her mouth on Brecken's neck, her silver fangs sinking deep into his skin.

  My soul screams in horror. She'll kill him! How is it possible I can do nothing to stop her?

  Brecken doesn't move... or scream... or struggle. He just lies there, staring straight up, accepting his fate. Jill moves over him, gentle as a lover, when in reality, she is nothing more than a murderous succubus.

  His gaze catches mine.

  Lamia's voice drones on in the background.

  Jill kneels there, unaffected by the torture she induces.

  I close my eyes, picturing Raphael in my mind. Surely he would help, but my way is barred. He can't hear me. I'm only a lesser spirit after all. No one with any real power. My attack on Lamia had been a fluke.

  Unless...

  With renewed determination, I push myself up, vaulting through the air. Once again, I grab Lamia around the neck. Immediately, her words are cut off. Somehow, I have power over her, over the supernatural. When Lamia stops reading, Jill stops sucking and looks up.

  “Get her off me!” Lamia screams at Andras. She tears at her shoulders, trying to rid herself of her invisible opponent, but once I realize I pretty much have free reign, I jab her eyes, pull her hair, and yank her nostrils, anything to disrupt her reading. Just when I begin to feel confident, thinking I can actually prevail, my spirit freezes mid-strike.

  “Finally,” Lamia growls, turning to Andras who moves behind her, his hand outstretched toward me as he chants.

  “Just keep her back,” she orders as she smooths her hair back into place. “Jill, stand aside.” Lamia turns toward the audience and points at a boy in the front corner seat. “You! You're next. Get up here.”

  Surprise fills the boy's face as he fumbles out of his seat and hurries up the steps. He arranges his black robe so it won't hinder him, and slides over the bed. He leans forward and waits, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “No!” I yell, struggling against the invisible force that holds me. Andras stays focused on me and no matter what I do, I can't fight back. In helplessness, I watch Lamia bend over her evil book as the black-robed boy bends over Brecken. As soon as the words pour from her mouth, the boy's lips attach to the thin skin over Brecken's elbow.

  One by one, acolytes from the audience come forward, biting Brecken somewhere on his body and sucking his precious blood. I watch the life drain from him, his face growing ashen.

  I cry out in despair and helplessness.

  Then, when I don't think it can get any worse, the great jaws of hell stretch wide. A large, jagged fissure tears across the room's cement floor with a thundering boom. It widens and the walls shake. A deep black pit looms before us, and Lamia screams in euphoric glee, grabbing the book as a host of dark souls swarm into the room.

  “What's going on?” Jill screams, grabbing the nightstand for balance. “Is this supposed to happen?”

  “Yes! Oh yes!” Lamia cries out in elation.

  The other acolytes in the audience glance around, frightened, and hang onto the seats in front of them, but the floor keeps right on shaking. Andras loses focus for a split second, long enough for me to escape his magnetic grasp, and I run back to Brecken. If I don't speak, maybe I c
an stay hidden from that heinous man's radar. I vow to keep my big mouth shut.

  Close to Brecken's ear, I whisper, “Brecken. Open your eyes. It's me. Please Brecken, wake up.” He doesn't respond.

  I gaze onto his face, the softness of his lashes lying against his pale cheeks, his lips, once so full and warm, are now parted slightly in a last sigh, and his hair, mussed and damp with sweat. Tiny holes cover his body like he's been attacked by snakes. I lay my head on his chest, hoping it will rise just once with the intake of breath.

  It doesn't.

  A cacophony erupts behind me, but I don't turn. I don't care anymore. I've failed my charge, my calling, and my mission.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  ~Saved by an Angel~

  Alisa

  Darkness fills the auditorium. Demons screech occupying every corner. The acolytes who remain seated, now wear terror-filled expressions. I don't care. My heart lies at my feet, smashed and broken. Any hope I held dissolves into nothing.

  Brecken is dead.

  I hold his hand and cradle his fingers. His soul must have risen without me ever seeing it. I can’t help but feel it is a punishment for my failure as his guardian.

  I sit, the darkness overcoming me, until I hear the tinkling of chimes far away. No one else seems to notice. They continue on in their raucous, manic, or frightened behaviors.

  But something has changed, like sparkling water poured into me, bubbling and fizzing out to my fingers, energizing me. I sit up straighter and notice others in the room are finally sensing something different.

  The shadows begin to retreat into the tightest corners, and a brilliant white light, a sparkling brilliance, appears in the center of the auditorium. A man materializes in glistening brilliance.

  And he isn't alone.

  A host of bright white beings stand with him, their glorious countenances cowing the darkness that threatened me only moments before.

  “Enough!” Raphael bellows. He swipes a gleaming sword through the air. Chairs pull from their bolts and fly over the acolytes who cower there. After a moment, a quiet settles in the auditorium, and the last bit of debris comes to rest on the dust-strewn floor. He stands front and center like the avenging angel he is, his dark hair flowing out behind him.

  I stare, awestruck.

  Raphael turns to Lamia. His eyes, like fire, narrow as he gazes at her. “What is it you think you're doing here?”

  She squirms like a mouse caught in a lion's paw. “Only what is deserved.”

  “I thought I made it clear eons ago that Bretariel's soul was taken off the table.” He moves toward her slowly, a predator ready to spring. I've never seen him so calculated, so deadly.

  “I think,” he says, “that you thought you could actually get away with this without anyone knowing. How stupid you've grown over the last ten thousand years.”

  She withers under his gaze, but plants her feet firmly, trying to appear like an undaunted soldier. “You have no authority over me,” she says, her voice shaking with fury. “And no soul is ever taken off the table.”

  “Ah, but that's where you're wrong.” He reaches out, slowly his long white fingers wrap around her narrow neck. “I should destroy you right now.”

  “But you won't, will you?” She smiles. “You especially won't re-nig on an oath.” She steps back, Raphael's hand slipping away.

  Out of the shadows, Andras springs up behind Raphael, a roar of fury bursting from his mouth as he drives his black sword into Raphael's back. Raphael stumbles forward, falls to his knees, and then to the floor. He rolls onto his back groaning, looking as shocked as the rest of us.

  Andras stands over him, his eyes wild, his lips twitching with raw hatred. “You didn't count on me being here, did you, Watcher?”

  Raphael, although clearly in pain, grimaces up at Andras, signaling for his hosts to stand back. “I'll admit, I'm surprised. How... how did you get free? Only a Watcher could set you free.” He pushes back with his feet to a seated position, his hand holding his side. “And I know of none who would.”

  Andras throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, the things I could teach you, great protector.” He leans in close to Raphael, his breath puffing out in a poisonous cloud. “You have a traitor in your midst.” His sword drips acid that hisses and spits on the floor. He raises it to strike Raphael again.

  The angels who arrived with Raphael don't wait for the command. They swarm, their glimmering swords slicing through the ghostly demons who dare counter attack.

  Raphael manages to raise his sword in time to meet Andras. Despite Raphael's injury, he rises to his feet and fights like a wild animal. I watch in dread. How can Raphael possibly prevail when wounded? He holds his side and grimaces at each clang of their swords, yet he seems to overpower the Marquis of Hell, who now has fear etched into the creases of his hawk-like face.

  Raphael's angelic army fights at his back, slicing through the demon soldiers who disintegrate in a gasp, leaving nothing on the ground but dust. The fight seems so one-sided, the outcome obvious, the angels winning. Especially when the next wave of angels appears... led by Anaita. Never have I been so relieved to see her.

  They swarm into the room, their pale shadows trailing behind them. But instead of raising their weapons with Raphael and his glorious army of light, they fight against them. Raphael stares in surprise for only an instant. His shoulders sag, and then he goes back to fighting, resignation marring his features.

  I'm frozen with terror, not understanding any of it. The sound of clanging swords fills the auditorium and screams of pain ring in my ears. Angels with auras as bright as the sun are cut down and killed by their angel brothers, their souls sparkling like fairy dust until they disappear.

  Then it all becomes clear—her hate for me, her icy demeanor. Anaita is the traitor. She released Andras. She planned this all along. But why?

  It doesn't take long before her eyes find mine. She doesn't break her gaze until she stands beside me, a radiant sword hanging from her right hand. “Always the guardian,” she sneers as she circles the bed. “What a valiant effort you've put forward, but all your labors are in vain.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about.” I search for Raphael who is halfway across the room. No one is close enough to help me, and I am no match for Anaita.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ~Angel of Death~

  Alisa

  Anaita leans forward, letting her sword tip rest on the sheets beside Brecken's still form. “Poor thing. He wasn't as strong as I'd thought. I remember a time when nothing could stand in his way.” She glances up and stares deeply into my eyes, just as she did so many times in class. “He played both sides, you know. His heart was as black as that pit you see over there.” She points to the gaping crevasse in the center of the auditorium, which is still vomiting up evil spirits for the angels to cut down.

  “You're lying,” I say, my voice soft, but I know she speaks the truth for it pierces me to the center of my soul.

  “Oh, child, he was terrifying to behold, powerful, unstoppable. A general in hell's army!” Her expression intensifies as she stares into space, lost in her memories. Quickly she looks back to me. “But he was sneaky. A counterfeit. He turned the tables in every battle. Do you understand what I'm saying? Do you?”

  I shake my head. Every second that ticks by leaves me more frightened. She's unstable, consumed with fury, ready to destroy.

  “What a stupid girl you are.” The acid in her heart drenches her words. “That's why you were assigned to Bretariel in the first place, because the great Undoer didn't need a powerful protector. He has powers of his own. Not that he remembered that. All we needed was someone to keep an eye on him. But you went and developed a little crush on one of the most powerful dark souls to ever live.” She steps back and laughs, shaking her head, glaring at my stupidity, my foolishness.

  Her words sting. “Why do you call him that? The Undoer?” I ask, trying to keep her distracted so the sword will stay whe
re it is and not become embedded in me.

  “Because that's what he is! That's what he did! Every battle, every skirmish for souls, every sneak attack to undermine the enemy... Bretariel made it unravel right beneath their feet. No one saw it coming, no one suspected him of duplicity. He betrayed his brothers, his people! He deserves hellfire and damnation!” Her eyes slowly find mine again. “It ends tonight, and I will do the deed myself. There's no forgiveness for creatures like him.”

  She raises her sword over Brecken's body. His head lies turned on the pillow, his arms stretched wide. An open invitation for Anaita to plunge her sword between his ribs.

  “No!” I scream, lunging, both hands aimed at her stomach. The shock of sudden contact stuns me, and blazing pain shoots through my wrists.

  Anaita stumbles back and drops her sword in an effort to correct her balance. It clatters to the stage steps, glowing with pink iridescence. Her eyes narrow, a feral growl raised between her lips. “You'll pay for that.”

  Not waiting for my comeuppance, I dive forward, my fingers closing around the hilt of her sword. Anaita grabs my arm and rolls over me, banging my wrist on the hard stone steps.

  “Raphael!” I scream, hoping he'll come to my rescue. I shove the heel of my hand into her nose and actually hear it crack.

  She whips away, holding her face for a moment. “Well, now. That hurt,” she says with deadly calm.

  I can't believe I injured her, that I am holding this heavenly sword, which she certainly doesn't deserve. I feel its raw power course through my arm, granting me strength I've never had before. Great waves of energy pulse in my hand and up through my shoulder. I swing the sword back and forth testing its weight, and a small smile forms on my lips. “You made a mistake dropping this,” I whisper.

  With one swipe, the sword slides through the red satin tie that holds Brecken's right hand. I leap onto the bed and slice through the other like butter.

  Anaita springs for me. I jump back, my feet unsteady on the unwieldy mattress. We slam against the headboard and roll over Brecken in our fight for the sword. I kick her in the face with my foot; she pummels me with her fist. She will soon overpower me. She is a fighter. A warrior. I am nothing in comparison. I have no idea what I am doing, and at any moment, it will end with me as the loser.