“You said he wanted details about Ember. What did you tell him about her?” Taren asked.
Clyde shrugged. “Nothing. Not much, anyway. Said you were a regular but that you hadn't been by in over a week. He got your name, of course; that was on the card next to the painting. He took that with him, too. Did I do something wrong, Em? You did want to sell it, right?”
“Yeah, Clyde, I did. You didn't do anything wrong, don't worry.”
“We've gotta go,” Taren said, taking a firm hold of my arm.
“Hey, is everything OK?” Clyde wasn't the kind of guy to let a girl be even remotely manhandled. He straightened, showing his full height and bulk.
If Taren was intimidated, he didn't show it. He pulled me along without a backwards glance.
“Everything's fine, it's just been a really weird night,” I said over my shoulder, trying to diffuse the situation that Taren wasn't even aware was developing. “I'll see you soon, OK?”
Clyde's response was cut off by the swing of the door. I yanked my arm from Taren's grip.
“You need to start telling me what is going on, like now,” I said. My head buzzed with the effort of trying to put all the pieces of the evening together—pieces that Taren seemed convinced included me.
“I will. Get in,” he said.
“Not until you start talking. And something tells me that this time, you're not going to threaten to leave me behind.” I folded my arms in front of my chest, daring him to call my bluff.
Headlights flashed in our eyes as a car rumbled to life behind us. The windows were tinted, and in the dark of the alley I couldn't make out a shape behind the wheel. I wondered if someone had been sitting in the car when we'd pulled up. The thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Slowly, the car backed up and swung wide as if to leave, but instead came to a stop, blocking the only way out.
Taren and I exchanged a look over the roof of the car and simultaneously got in.
“What do they want?” I said.
“I'm beginning to think they want you,” he said quietly.
I knew better than to ask why—that would have to come later—so instead I asked, “How do we get out of here?”
“We're about to find out,” he replied, gunning the engine.
He fastened his seatbelt and I quickly did the same.
Taren threw the car in reverse and hit the gas. It skittered wildly for a second and then came to a screeching stop, the other car dead ahead about a hundred feet away.
“Hang on,” was all the warning I got. With a burst of speed we barreled ahead—straight at the other car.
I knew I was screaming, but the sound of the engine drowned out the noise. The impact was sudden and violent. Despite bracing myself against the dashboard, my neck snapped painfully forward and then slammed back against the headrest. I coughed, choking on the acrid smoke that poured from the beneath the hood. Taren continued to gun the engine, tires squealing, the car in front of us only budging by inches.
A hulking man with glowing red eyes, calmly exited the driver's side and strode toward us. In one motion, he punched through the glass of Taren's window and grabbed him around the neck.
Taren's eyes bulged as he struggled for air, but he stayed focused on moving the other car. I clawed frantically at the man's hands, trying desperately to loosen their hold.
With a jolt, our car broke free of the blockade, then barreled down the alley. Astonishingly, the man held fast, allowing himself to be dragged along with us. His hands no longer around Taren's throat, he clung to the door. Shards of glass had made a bloody mess of his hands—their crimson color an exact match of his terrifying eyes.
Taren held the wheel with one hand, while the other jerked open the glove box, revealing an impressive cache of blades. He grabbed a knife and sliced it across our attacker's hands, severing most of his fingers. Even then he didn’t scream, just crashed to the pavement. Through the rear window, I watched in horror and disbelief as he continued to crawl after us.
I was panting, taking in air in huge gulps. I was beginning to suspect that this was somehow a normal day at the office for Taren, but it wasn't for me. I felt cold, icy fingers wrapping themselves around my spine, my teeth chattering violently.
“You're going into shock,” Taren informed me. “Put your head here and elevate your legs.”
The aforementioned shock kept embarrassment from getting the best of me, and I did as instructed, resting my head on his thigh. I propped my legs against the door and stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it. Taren drove with one hand, the other rubbing my arms briskly, trying to warm me.
“Hang on, Ember. It's not too far,” he said.
I wasn't sure if I should be comforted or scared that he was finally treating me like he did Callie.
The minutes stretched, and eventually I stopped seeing streetlights zip by in a blur. Whatever road we were on was sparsely lit. Taren drove at a more reasonable speed and my shaking began to ease.
We came to a stop and I sat up too quickly, causing my head to swim. We were parked in the driveway of a modern two-storey house jutting out from a hillside.
“Do you need help walking?” Taren asked.
Although I was still struggling for composure, I eyed Callie's limp form and said, “Not as much as she does.”
Callie had made it through the crash intact, and I envied her lack of awareness. If I could have, I would have erased the entire night from my memory. I felt changed, soiled by the brutality of all I'd witnessed. Something had finally replaced teenage girls on my list of things most heinous, and I didn't even know what to call it.
I followed Taren as he carried Callie up the stairs that led to the house.
He opened the door, revealing the most exquisite living room I'd ever seen.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“This is where I live,” he said, for the first time seeming self-conscious.
Even with the lights off, the room was bathed in an ethereal glow. I looked up and saw two skylights letting in the rays of a full moon. For a long moment, I stared at the giant orb, and as I often did, felt as though I was falling up, being pulled by its rays—right into the moon itself. I knew I wasn’t really, of course, but something about it soothed me, and soon my memories of the night had receded enough that I was breathing deeply.
When I looked away, I found Taren watching me intently, a curious expression on his face. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, I stepped toward the wall of glass that looked out over the city. The lights of Los Angeles glittered below.
“Wow,” I said, taking in the sight, “this is better than the view at Griffith Park. You live here?”
“When I'm not in mental institutions,” he replied, a hint of wryness in his voice. “I don't get to enjoy it much anymore.”
“You've been in more than one?” I said, surprised.
He nodded. “It's part of the story I have to tell you, although I have no idea where to start.”
Taren laid Callie on a sleek designer sofa.
“What about her?” I asked. “Is someone coming to help?”
“Soon,” he said. “They're on their way.”
I studied him then—his eyes tight with worry, his shoulders finally sagging under the weight of all that had happened. What had been black slime now encrusted his pants, and his shirt was stained with the blood of the red-eyed man. In that moment, empathy trumped my need for answers.
“I'm beat,” I said, knowing Taren would never give in to his own exhaustion, but might acquiesce to mine. “And I reek. If you think we're safe here, and if your parents wouldn't mind, would it be all right if I took a shower?”
Taren exhaled, relieved. I couldn't be sure if it was because he wanted to clean up, or because he was eager to delay having to explain the horrors of the evening.
“Yeah,” he said, “my parents are out of town. You can use their room.”
He led me down a hallway and into a room large enough for a king-sized b
ed and sitting area. Off of that was a bathroom the size of my bedroom at home.
“You should have everything you need,” he said, and shut the door behind him.
Once I spied the luxury tub, I decided to forgo the shower and opted instead for a bath. The jets were strong and the water hurt at first, but soon they were softening all the parts of my body I'd been clenching for hours. Thick bubbles surrounded me and smelled delicious—Asian pear, maybe. I scrubbed the grime off my body with a fresh loofah and globs of mandarin body wash, delighted for once to smell like a fruit cup. I wasn’t sure how long I languished, but it was only when I realized I was nodding off that I forced myself to leave the water. The towels were thick and luxurious, not like the ones I'd grown up with, which felt like they'd been hung on a line even when we used the dryer. I chose a robe from the linen closet and wrapped its plushness around me.
I stepped from the bathroom to the bedroom and sat on the edge of bed. My hand ran along the silky smoothness of the duvet and I lay down just to feel its softness against my cheek. It reminded me of the smoothness of Taren's hand when I'd thought he was kissing me. I sighed. I needed to rest a minute. Just a minute before I acknowledged that my life had completely changed.
I couldn't afford the luxury. Not when Taren thought something was after me. Not when I'd seen that something and it scared the hell out of me. I left the comfort of the bed, determined to get some answers.
The rest of the house was dark, and I hoped Taren hadn't taken advantage of my lengthy bath to turn in for the night. I was startled by a female voice coming from two doorways down.
“How long has she been gone?”
It was Taren's voice that answered. “About two hours.”
I crept forward and looked through the crack in the door. The room was lit with candles. Callie lay motionless on the bed, Taren in a chair beside her. He was in fresh clothing, looking as weary as I felt. An older woman with gray hair stood on the other side of the bed, studying her. A second female stood with her back to me, auburn hair cascading down her back.
“Not good, but not impossible.” The dark-haired woman's tone was all business. “What's her tether?”
“Her cat, Dexter,” Taren said.
There was no more talking. Taren and the redhead stayed where they were, but the older woman knelt beside the bed and closed her eyes. What had Taren said on the phone? Something about needing a Retriever for Callie. Is that what she’s trying to do? ‘Retrive’ Callie from wherever she is?
I wondered how it worked; the woman was just kneeling there. The minutes stretched, and my worry deepened. What if she didn’t succeed? Would Callie just stay comatose forever?
Eventually my eyelids drooped, and I slumped down against the wall. I tried digging my fingernails into my palms, determined not to sleep until I knew Callie had come back to herself. When that wasn't enough, I stared at the cream-colored wall and noticed a small chip in the paint. So small, but it felt like I could slip right in…
“Taren?” Callie's voice cut through the silence.
“Hey there,” came Taren's reply. “Glad to have you back, Cal.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, but then stood, and padded back down the hall. Something told me that Taren wouldn’t appreciate being spied on, and I was too exhausted to fight any more that night.
The bed looked even more inviting now, and I slipped under the covers, letting their comfort envelop me, drowning out the need for anything else but sleep.
8
The light of morning filtered through the curtains and came to rest gently on my eyelids. For a moment, my only awareness was of how safe I felt. Then came memory.
My eyes snapped open. One thing I knew for certain: after the previous evening, I would never really feel safe again. I'd seen things that shouldn’t even exist, and as comfortable as I was with things that didn't fit in, this was very different. Something inside me had shifted, and an innocence I never knew I'd possessed was lost to me forever. I shuddered.
“You're awake.”
The voice startled me, and I whipped my head to see Taren stretched out on a chair, his feet propped up on an ottoman. His gaze was soft, a feather on my skin, and I clutched the robe to make sure I wasn't exposing myself.
“Have you been there all night?” I said.
“Most of it,” he replied, “after I indulged in a shower of my own. And then we had to perform the Retrieval.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I didn't let on what I'd witnessed.
“It's what we do when someone gets lost,” he replied. He seemed to be searching for words. “Callie was in… a dark place. She couldn't find her way back, so we needed to send someone in after her.”
“And did it work? Is Callie OK now?”
“We got her back. It took longer than it should have, but the important thing is that she's back.” Taren paused for a moment, then continued. “I know you have a lot of questions…”
“Don't even try to put me off any longer.” My patience for his evasions was no longer thin; it was non-existent.
“I'm not,” he said. “I'll tell you what I can, but I need a favor. You can't tell anyone about your tattoo, aside from the two people I'm going to take you to see later today. Not anyone. And you can't draw it. Or even parts of it. Promise me.”
Before I could answer, the door burst open and a stunning girl entered the room. The redhead I'd seen last night. Her skin was creamy perfection. A smattering of freckles only served to make her more appealing. Her mouth was a plump berry, just short of looking petulant.
“I thought I heard voices,” she said brightly, coming to sit on the arm of Taren's chair. “Figured I should say ‘hi’ to the newbie.”
She was the kind of girl that made me involuntarily shrink back, feeling unworthy to exist in the same space. I struggled not to dislike her on sight and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering what condition it was in.
“Ember, this is Kat. She works with me. Right now she's supposed to be watching over Callie so she doesn't wake up alone.” He gave Kat a pointed look.
If Kat was bothered by his scrutiny, she didn't show it. Instead she shrugged and took the chair next to Taren. “After how long she was gone, she'll sleep for at least a few more hours. Besides, watching someone sleep is boring.”
Their children would be supermodels. They had to be dating—they owed it to the gene pool. Maybe that was why Taren always ignored Lauren's advances when most guys would have jumped to respond.
“Well, we can't have you bored,” Taren said dryly. “Fine, you can stay, but you'll have to keep checking on her.”
Kat saluted him and turned to me. “Isn't he insufferable? Typical guy. He's probably been barking orders at you all night and refusing to answer even the simplest of questions.”
Taren’s only response was to roll his eyes.
“Well, there was a lot going on,” I said, surprising myself by defending him.
“Well, there’s absolutely nothing going on right now,” she said, “so fire away.”
Taren gave me a warning look—clearly Kat wasn’t one of the people I could mention my tattoo around.
“I guess the first thing I want to know, is what that thing in the hospital was. I've been trying to convince myself it was a rabid bear, or someone in a really good costume, but it's just not working,” I said.
Taren and Kat exchanged looks.
“It was a demon,” Taren said finally. “A Dahrak demon, to be exact. Slow moving and not very intelligent, but if one ever caught you, it would be a very painful death.”
“A demon?” I said, my eyebrows climbing. “Like from Hell?”
“Not Hell, exactly, although it would feel that way to us,” he said. “It's an alternate reality.”
“Well, that makes much more sense.” I was Alice, falling farther down the rabbit hole.
“I know it sounds crazy, and if you aren't ready to hear this…”
“No, keep going.” Now that I had him
giving me answers, I wasn't about to let him stop, no matter how terrifying they might be.
“There's a Gateway that separates our world from theirs. A Gateway that those with certain birthmarks, like you,” he said, his eyes flashing with intensity, “are charged with keeping closed.”
Why does he want the supermodel to think I have this magical birthmark? I wondered.
“I see,” I said, although I was more confused than ever. “And what does my birthmark do, exactly?”
“There isn't just one birthmark,” he said. “There are nine. Nine markings that combine to form the symbol that keeps this world safe from demons.”
My breath caught in my throat. “And what does this symbol look like?”
The look Taren gave me made my hair stand on end. I knew it must be a trick of the mind that caused my tattoo to suddenly burn as badly as it had when I'd first gotten it. I had a demonic symbol? On my shoulder?
“Well, at least tell her why you can't answer that one,” Kat said, cutting the tense silence. She turned to me. “You're not ready yet. It's too dangerous until you've had training.”
Taren's incredulity at my tattoo and my artwork was finally making sense. In a way that still made no sense at all.
“What I want to know,” Kat said, “is how old you are.”
“Huh?” The mundaneness of the question broke the cycle of my spinning thoughts. “I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen in a few months. Why?”
“Because you should be dead by now. Or, at the very least, completely nuts,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Damn, Kat, a little tact?” Taren said.
“Tact is a luxury we can't afford. The truth is,” she said, “that if we don't discover a Keeper by the time they’re twelve or thirteen, we lose them. Sometimes one will survive until they are fourteen, but that's rare. To find you at sixteen, seemingly sane… Well, I doubt it's ever happened before.”
Despite my desire for answers, they were coming too quickly. I struggled to absorb them. “Lose them how?”
Taren continued to look uncomfortable, but Kat barreled on. “To madness, to catatonia—like with Callie, pulled into the demon world, unable to escape…”
The Gateway Trilogy: Complete Series: (Books 1-3) Page 6
