The Gateway Trilogy: Complete Series: (Books 1-3)

by Christina Garner

  I started down the path back to the dorm, heedless as to whether Taren was following. But he was, the crunch of his boots just steps behind.

  “Ember, I'm sorry…” he called after me.

  I turned. “Sorry for what?” I could think of a few things, but I was curious how he would answer.

  “That I can't—” He looked away and then back. “That I didn't tell you about the breach. I was following orders.”

  That wasn't what he had been about to say. But the moment had passed, I could tell by the set of his jaw.

  “How was the Gateway opened?” I asked, seizing the opportunity. “Is it closed now? And why now, after all of this time?”

  A look crossed his face and he was about to say he couldn't tell me, but instead he said, “Demons trying to break through isn't new, and there have been some close calls over the centuries, but we've always managed to stop them before they succeeded. This time we weren't so lucky.”

  “So the Gateway—it's open? Or broken, or something?”

  We were alone, but Taren glanced around before replying. “It's closed again. The Keepers are able to channel the part of the symbol they are marked with. They form a link with each other, and that link reinforces the strength of the seal that holds the demons in their prison. About six weeks ago, the demons were able to break the link. Only a handful got out before the link was reformed, but that's why you saw the Dahrak demon, and why there are extra patrols.”

  “So it's closed again? Other than the few that got out, there's no more danger?”

  I was relieved. For once, something wasn't as bad as I thought.

  “It's closed,” he said, his face grim, “but it's not locked.”

  10

  I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling of my new bedroom. The mattress was firmer than I liked. I giggled at the absurdity of that. The Gateway that kept a pissed off army of demons in check was “unlocked,” and I had complaints about my mattress. At least this new danger superseded my fear that I was something other than human. Which had, incidentally, supplanted my long-standing greatest fear—that deep down I was as crazy as my mother and would end up living like her. Would I, too, have a child just so I'd have someone who couldn't leave me no matter how messed up I got?

  When I'd asked Taren what the plan was to lock the Gate, he’d said they were “working on it.” Well, of course, I thought, clamping my hand over my mouth to stop the peals of hysterical laughter threatening to burst forth. What else would you do but work on it?

  After his admission about the current state of the Gateway, Taren had clammed up, even when I pressed him. He finished walking me the short distance back to the dormitory and left, without a mention of when I would see him again. Inside, the atmosphere was lively, with more than a dozen students in the living area, but I hastened up the stairs to my room. At least I was used to the loner reputation I was sure to be garnering.

  I decided to take a shower, knowing I'd want the extra minutes of sleep the next morning. As I changed into my bathrobe, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my breath caught. My tattoo—the real reason I'd been given my own room. How could I keep my tattoo secret if I were sharing a room with three other girls? Even with my own room, I’d need to be vigilant about what I wore—even to bed. It would be just my luck to use the bathroom in the middle of the night at the same time someone else did.

  I slunk into the shower stall, only disrobing once I'd shut the frosted door behind me. I must have come off as a complete prude to the other girls about to shower, but it was the only way.

  The iciness of the water was shocking, and I pressed myself against the tile to avoid the spray. It warmed quickly, and as I worked the shampoo through my hair, my thoughts drifted to Taren. Why didn't he kiss me? I hadn't realized how much I wanted him to until he'd almost done it. Now it was all I could think about.

  It wasn't like I'd never been kissed before—I’d done more, in fact—it was just that Taren seemed different. My first boyfriend, Corey, had been when I was fourteen. We would hang out for hours, drinking espresso after espresso and talking about music and art. He played guitar, and once during an open mic night, he’d sung a love song right to me.

  And then one night my mom had come home in the middle of an episode. She’d accused Corey of trying to poison her when he’d offered to get her a soda. She’d railed at him for ten minutes until I had shoved him out the door, his eyes as big as saucers. The next day at school I’d found a note in my locker saying things had gotten too serious with us and he thought we should break up. I’d tried to talk to him, to tell him that we didn't have to hang out at my place ever again, but he had just shaken his head and told me it wasn't about my mother, he just needed some space. Three weeks later, he'd had enough space and was dating someone else.

  And then there was Matt, blue-eyed and on the football team. Our relationship had consisted of us making out at parties when he was drunk. That was back when I still went to parties. He was always so sweet when it was just the two of us, but at school he had ignored me completely. Once, I’d asked if he was ever going to hang out with me when he was sober, and he just looked at me, confounded, and said, “Why?”

  I finished my shower and opened the door just enough to stick my arm out and fish around for my towel. I pulled it inside with me and dried off before tugging on my robe and exiting the stall.

  Which was how I found myself stretched out on my new bed counting ceiling tiles and contemplating Taren, demons, Daemons, and Gateways. And the Voice. What was the deal with the Voice? It had encouraged me to kill myself. But It had also told me to trust Taren. Why would a demon want me to trust the one person who could introduce me to a group of people that fought demons? People who had built an institute on the one place I could go and be free from the Voice. I wondered at that. Did I want to be free from it? I wasn't convinced It was demonic. If I heard It here, while on consecrated ground, wouldn't that prove It wasn't? That maybe It was my friend? I mentally reached out, willing the Voice to come to me.

  Please, prove to me you're not evil.

  But there was nothing.

  11

  I woke up grainy-eyed and disoriented. At some point during the night I had crawled under the covers. The robe was bunched up around my waist, evidence of my tossing and turning. And yet, as I rolled over to quiet the alarm clock, I was aware that I actually felt rested in a way I had forgotten was possible. The vague sense of foreboding that usually greeted me upon waking was absent, as well. I was nervous, yes, about my first day of classes, needing to keep track of who knew what about me, and a host of other reasons, but there was an odd sense of calm. I wondered if the consecrated ground was responsible.

  My room was dark, the sun not yet risen. So this is what five in the morning looked like. I had balked when I'd seen the daily schedule posted on the back of my door: morning meditation at five fifteen, breakfast at six, class at seven.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then ran a brush through my hair. I studied myself in the mirror. How often had I done that, wondering who I was? Now I was wondering what I was.

  I exited my room and padded down the hall, a handful of sleepy-eyed girls doing the same. I was glad I wasn't the only one who thought it much too early for conversation. A couple of them smiled, but continued walking in silence. Once downstairs, the group was a mix of boys and girls, some more awake than others. A handful of hushed conversations filled the air.

  I wasn't sure where the meditation hall was, but everyone seemed to be going in the same direction, so I allowed myself to be swept along by the growing tide of people.

  We exited the dormitory and walked a short distance to a large yurt. Once inside, I saw Callie sitting cross-legged next to Bridget and Crystle. The meditation cushions were placed in several rows, forming a semi-circle. Sitting completely still at the head of the room was Master Dogan, his gaze unfocused and soft. I chose an empty seat not far from where Tom was sitting. So the Guardians in
training meditated? Interesting. I supposed that meant that Taren did, too. I stopped myself from looking for him. This hall was filled with students; he was probably fast asleep in his house in the hills.

  Instead, I looked around at the décor, taking in the iconography from multiple religions. A statute of the Virgin Mary had been placed beside Kwan Yin; a Weeping Buddha shared altar space with an alabaster Jesus and a dancing Shiva. In my struggle to make peace with my life, I had studied several faiths, never finding the answers I sought. I did, however, appreciate the art that came out of others’ devotion.

  “All right, everyone,” Master Dogan said a moment later. “Close your eyes and become aware of your breath as it moves in and out of your body.”

  I did as he instructed. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the room growing still. The only sound was that of others inhaling and exhaling. My nose itched. I tried to ignore it, but it only got worse. I lifted the lid of one eye. Master Dogan's eyes were closed, along with everyone else’s. I quickly scratched my nose and went back to stillness. But then my leg was falling asleep. When the tingling became unbearable, I wiggled my toes. When that didn't help, I flexed my ankle just slightly, hoping no one would notice. But it was no use; my leg was on fire—I had to move it. If I just crossed my legs the other way… I did it as discreetly as possible. The relief was overwhelming as blood flowed back into my left calf and foot. OK, now I could concentrate. My breath—just focus on my breath. Was I supposed to be slowing it down? What was the purpose of meditating, anyway? Maybe it helped with the link that Taren said the Keepers formed. But why did Guardians need to do it? You can't fight when you're sitting still.

  Why was I so bad at this? I opened my eyes, exasperated. Master Dogan was looking right at me. I lowered my eyes in shame. Some Daemon I was. Shouldn't that have made me better at this than the others instead of totally inept?

  With my head lowered and my hair falling in front of my eyes, it would have been impossible for him to see that my eyes were still open. I stared at a spot on the carpet where a tuft had been pulled loose, leaving a tiny hole. I became completely absorbed in it, noting its irregular shape, the colors of the loose threads.

  A chime sounded and there was movement among the other students. I looked up and saw that the clock read ten of six. I'd zoned out for thirty minutes. I was a horrible meditator and had cheated my way through my first session. Guess I'll put that in the column of me not being a Daemon.

  I stood and stretched the stiffness out of my legs. I felt eyes upon me and noticed that Master Dogan was studying me intently. He said nothing, though, so I followed the others as they streamed out of the room

  I made my way to the dining hall, where, once again, Callie was already in line. She motioned me over.

  “Morning, did you sleep well?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, surprisingly so. You?”

  “Great. Better than I have in months. Oh, this is Madison, by the way. My third roommate.” Callie gestured to a girl wearing stylish eyeglasses, with curly hair the color of caramel.

  We said hello and I greeted Bridget and Crystle, who were also in line.

  “How did you do during meditation?” I asked Callie as we filled our plates. “I couldn't seem to stop fidgeting.”

  “That's normal,” Madison answered instead. “It takes practice.”

  That was comforting, I supposed. I just had the feeling that my progress was going to be measured using a different scale than the other Keepers in training.

  We got to the beverage line and I was overjoyed to see coffee. I pulled the lever and watched as my cup filled with steaming black goodness. I stirred in two sugar packets and took a sip. Not the best cup I'd ever had, but certainly not the worst.

  We took our seats and I warmed my hands on my coffee mug, content to inhale its aroma before I started on breakfast.

  “So what's going on with you and Taren?” Crystle asked with a sly grin.

  “Ooh, do tell,” Madison chimed in. “I heard you two went for a little stroll last night.”

  I blushed. “Well, yeah, but he was just checking in on me, making sure I got settled.”

  “He didn't check in on me,” Callie said with a frown.

  “Sounds like someone has an admirer,” Crystle said. “So what did you two love birds talk about?”

  “Nothing,” I said, a bit too quickly, “just…stuff. You know, he told me to study hard, make friends. He said to tell you the same, Callie.” It was the least of the lies I was currently perpetrating, and it seemed for the best.

  “And did this ‘nothing’ lead to kissing?” Crystle asked.

  “No, no kissing,” I said. “But if we had…would that have been all right? He's not dating anyone? Like Kat?”

  The three girls erupted in laughter, while Callie and I exchanged a bewildered look.

  “What's so funny?” I asked.

  “Ember,” Bridget said, her smile softening her angular features, “Kat is gay. Like, really, really gay.”

  Heat colored my cheeks, both at my embarrassment for not having known and my relief that Taren wasn't dating the flame-haired goddess. But then why hadn't he kissed me?

  “Don't take it personally if he hasn't made a move,” Bridget said. “He's always been a bit of a loner, but lately you almost never see him with anyone, except maybe Kat and a few others from his Guard set.”

  “Why is that?” I asked

  “It started when his parents left,” Crystle answered. “His mom got called to help at another Gateway and his father went with her.”

  “They're both Keepers?” I should have asked these girls about Taren last night. They were a wealth of information.

  Crystle shook her head. “Just his mom. His dad is a Guardian. But it's not unusual for a Guardian married to a Keeper to request the same post.”

  “So he just misses his parents?” It seemed an odd reason for Kat to be worried about him, or for him to need long walks in the woods.

  Before they could answer, a girl no more than twelve approached our table. Her corn silk hair was pulled back in a French braid.

  “Pardon me, are you Ember Lyons?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “can I help you?”

  “Master Dogan wishes to speak with you,” the girl replied. “Instead of going to first period, you are to follow me to his office.”

  I looked around the table, but was greeted with shrugs.

  “Um, OK, sure.” I looked down at my untouched breakfast. “I can be ready now.” I grabbed my bagel and tore off a piece to eat on the way.

  “Excellent,” the young girl said. “This way.”

  She spoke with an authority beyond her years. I wondered what she was in training for.

  “I'm Sarah, by the way,” she said as she led me through the dining hall and outside to one of the many paths that crisscrossed the property.

  We exchanged pleasantries, but I was too busy wondering what Master Dogan wanted, to put much effort into chatting. Was he going to get on my case for not meditating? I tried to imagine him scolding me, and it was completely incongruous with the man he seemed to be. Maybe he and Annys had realized how unprepared I was for all of the grilling I'd be getting from the other students. I made a mental note to ask him what the appropriate response was to the question about how I had remained sane for so long. Regardless, it was a definite improvement over the usual question of how I'd become so jaded so young.

  Sarah led me back to the meditation yurt. It was empty and eerily silent as we made our way through the center of the room to a door in the back. Sarah gave a gentle knock.

  “You may enter,” came Master Dogan's reply.

  Upon opening the door I was greeted by the scent of sandalwood. Master Dogan's office seemed more like a Zen meditation space. Candles rested in ornate holders throughout the room, many of them lit. Cream-colored shades filtered the harshness of the sunlight, giving the place a feeling of warmth. A small fountain bubbled gently with water that flowed ove
r black river rocks. In the center of the room was a large, low wooden table in the shape of an octagon. Large pillows surrounded the table, and it seemed that Master Dogan used it as a desk, because he was seated on one of the cushions, a stack of papers in front of him, pen in hand. He smiled kindly at me.

  “Good morning, Ember. I hope you slept well. Please, come in and sit down.” He gestured to a cushion across from him. “Thank you, Sarah, that will be all.”

  Sarah made a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  I sat down cross-legged on the cushion he'd indicated.

  “Would you care for some tea?” he asked, already pouring.

  When I declined, he sipped from the steaming cup. “Did you enjoy this morning's meditation?”

  I knew it. Busted.

  “I don't think I'm very good at it,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “On the contrary, Ember, you did very well.”

  Was he making fun of me? “But I couldn't even sit still until…”

  “Until?”

  “Until I zoned out,” I said. “When I was trying to relax and breathe or whatever, I was hopeless.”

  It seemed best to be honest. If I didn't belong here, it would be better to find out sooner rather than later.

  “Tell me about this ‘zoning out.’” He peered at me over his teacup.

  “I'm not sure how to explain it… It's something I started doing when I was a kid,” I said. “My mom gets on these rants sometimes. They can get pretty intense. And long. I needed a way to escape, but I was a kid. There was nowhere for me to go. So, I'd pick a spot—maybe on the ground, or my hand, or the sofa, and I'd just sort of…fall into it.”

  If he thought that was odd, he didn't show it. “And how do you feel when you do that?”

  “I don't,” I said. “That's the point.”

  “When you're in this place, this spot you've chosen, are you aware of what's going on around you?”