I slugged the last of my coffee, refilled my cup, and then made my way outside.
The light of dawn streaked the sky and cast a warm glow on the grounds of the Institute. From the direction of the parking area came the low hum of car engines and wheels crunching gravel as my fellow Keepers arrived for their shifts. Not for the first time, I was grateful for my lack of commute.
Not that I’d had much choice. As the only student in the Institute’s history to have ever been raised to Keeper before turning eighteen, I had also become the only Keeper to have ever lived in the dorm housing reserved for Guardians and Keepers-in-Training.
Living with my mother had been deemed out of the question. Not because she was bi-polar, I was used to that, but because it would put both of our lives in danger. Whatever had caused a Red—a human who’d fallen so deeply under the mental control of demons that their eyes glowed crimson—to attack me in a nightclub a couple of months prior could still be lurking. The safest place for me was within the confines of the Institute.
So, while the other Keepers lived wherever they chose—some braving the drive from the beach, others preferring the heart of Hollywood—I simply walked up the hill.
Truthfully, the arrangement suited me just fine. Within the Sanctuary, I felt as safe as I was ever going to, and I’d grown to care deeply for my dorm mates. Some of them, anyway; I still wasn’t exactly a “people person.” And as much as I loved my mother, living with her was anything but the peaceful state that Master Dogan had been teaching me to cultivate.
For Mom’s part, she didn’t like me living away from home, but the liberal visitation she was allowed seemed to help. Whatever else her flaws, my safety wasn’t something she was willing to gamble with. The Guardians assigned to protect her both agitated and comforted her, and she alternated between expressing frustration and gratitude for their existence. Whatever her feelings, the Guards were necessary, so I weathered both her complaints and compliments with the same response: “I know, Mom.”
A few more steps and I felt the change that always accompanied leaving the Sanctuary. Stepping over the invisible boundary always caused my stomach to roil, albeit less than it once had. Much of the Institute’s grounds had been enchanted millennia ago to create a sort of haven, free from demonic influence. However, the land immediately surrounding the Gateway had resisted the process, which meant that while at the Gateway, Keepers had to be especially vigilant. Thankfully, I’d never been bothered by the cacophony of lesser demons that hounded the other Keepers and trainees. Of course, they never had to deal with the Root, so I felt confident in saying that they had the better end of the bargain.
An older Guardian held the door for me as I entered the mansion. I took one last swig of coffee and set the empty mug in my cubbyhole.
I padded down the hall, the early hour and the perma-hush that surrounded this area causing me to all but tiptoe.
Another Guardian, closer to my age—Marissa?—opened one of the massive doors that led into the circular room that held the Gate. All but demolished when the Root had broken free, it had recently been reconstructed. The long wooden staircase that wound its way up to the observation deck shone with polish, the floor tiles gleamed.
Regardless of my commute, I was the last to arrive. Eight other Keepers, each with a Mark that corresponded to a section of the Gateway symbol, stood silently, waiting for me.
Once I’d joined them we moved in unison, coming to kneel atop the Gateway next to the Keeper we would be relieving. I positioned myself next to Manuel at the center.
I, myself, wasn’t actually a Center, born with a Mark that matched the midpoint I stood atop. In fact, I wasn’t born Marked at all—instead doing the job myself, with a little help from Fat Tony at All Night Ink.
Not that I’d known what it meant to be Marked back then. How it would set in motion a series of events that would irrevocably alter the course of my life.
First had come the Voice. It knew me inside and out; always saying just the right thing to make me trust It. Until the night It convinced me the only way out of the pain of my life was to end it.
Then came the mental hospital. Windsor had proven to be a turning point: It was there I’d learned not only that demons were real, but that they wanted to kill me. It was also at Windsor that I’d met Taren, who had changed my life in every conceivable way.
He was the one who’d figured out I was part Daemon, knowing the signs because his own mother, Gretchen, was also Daemon—the only other one known to exist. “Known” being the operative word; I was sure there must be others of us out there.
Being what I was enabled me to channel any segment of the symbol, but with only six Centers currently active at the L.A. Institute—the fewest in history—it was the position I most often held. It was also the most difficult to maintain. Though all nine Keepers held the link, it was the Center who was responsible for keeping the energies balanced, making it possible for Keepers of different skill levels to work together. And it was the Center who was charged with making sure there were no points of weakness, energetically filling in gaps as needed.
A chime sounded, signaling it was time for the transfer. A moment later, Manuel placed the thin strands of energy he held into my virtual hands. He handled them skillfully, like the old pro he was. He might not be Daemon, but he’d been a Keeper for over twenty years and never bungled the transfer.
I felt the Gateway pulse beneath me, and not for the first time I was reminded of a heartbeat, as though the symbol were alive. More and more I became convinced that in some way, it was. My ancestors hadn’t just created the Gateway, they had birthed it. There was a piece of them, of their magic, in it. And now, because of what I’d done, this Gateway held a piece of me.
Diving into the Root hadn’t just burned my flesh, it had melted the stone tiles of the Gateway, turning them into a solid slab of thick glass. Where once there had been nine segments, now was one fluid symbol, a direct match to the one on my left shoulder. The one I no longer had to cover up—at least not at the Institute—which meant, welcome back, tank tops; you’ve been missed.
Others at the Institute were still skittish around me, which irked me to no end given the risk I’d taken to save their lives. Flaunting my tattoo didn’t help, and might even be perceived as a not-so-subtle “eff you,” but the sooner they got used to what I was the better. I considered it immersion therapy.
I settled into a cross-legged position and went deeper into meditation. Someone—the upper left corner?—wasn’t pulling their weight. I sent a flow of energy to strengthen the link. A shift at the Gate was akin to balancing on the tip of a sword: always shifting, struggling to remain balanced. Not that I was complaining. However arduous, it certainly beat the alternative.
It might appear that demons had already taken over the City of Angels—a casual glance around the average party taking place in the hills of Hollywood was proof enough—but hard as it was to believe, there were creatures more predatory than a producer, more dangerous than an agent.
At least two types of those creatures—Dahraks, with their clawed hands and double rows of jagged teeth, and Monkeys with their cunning minds and razor-sharp bite—had managed to escape during the breach, and were multiplying at an ever-increasing rate.
Without opening my eyes, I knew it was Gina who stood next to me, ready to take over. It was as though each person had their own resonance, a way of imprinting on the space around them. Gina’s energy was warm and bright, like a sunny day at the beach.
Master Dogan, my mentor and the wisest person I knew, praised me for the skill, saying it was akin to the telepathy inherent in Daemons. Though it was kind of cool, it hardly seemed as useful a skill as, say, being able to levitate something. Or nothing, as had been the case when I fought the Root. I’d flung… air, or energy… something. Almost as disturbing as not knowing how to do it again, was the fact that no one, not even the Elders seemed to know how I’d done it in the first place.
With a
careful delicacy I transferred the energy to Gina. I always felt both a sense of loss and freedom being relieved of duty. Loss at the lack of connection, and free from the responsibility inherent with a shift at the Gate.
I opened my eyes and saw that next to each of the other Keepers knelt their replacement. I waited until the entire transfer was complete before rising in unison with my co-workers and exiting the room silently.
I collected my coffee mug and made my way to the front door.
“Ember?”
I turned to see a Guardian-in-Training, his eyes bright and cheeks rosy. They seemed to be getting younger every week as of late.
“Annys would like a word with you,” the boy said.
Words to strike fear in the bravest of Guards, and I was no Guard, as Taren had grown fond of reminding me.
I knew better than to ask what she wanted; instead I followed the boy without comment. On our way we passed a large picture window that overlooked the practice yard and I was surprised to see men hard at work, even on a Saturday.
Must be the retirees.
Far more palatable than the decreasing age of students was the policy allowing former Guardians to return to their posts. Until recently, demons had never crossed over to our dimension, leaving Guardians charged solely with protecting Keepers and fighting the occasional Red. Now, with Dahraks and Monkeys running loose, the Institute had put out the call asking all former employees to return. By a large margin they’d done just that, even those too old to wield a weapon. Their knowledge was invaluable Taren said, and they often sat in on strategy sessions.
We reached Annys’s office and the boy knocked tentatively.
“I’ve brought Ember Lyons,” he said, blushing when his voice cracked.
How soon would he be sent to die?
Both the thought and the bitter truth of it were jarring and I pushed them aside. “Deal with what’s in front you,” Master Dogan would say. Annys gave the word and I stepped into the office.
“Hello, Annys,” I said.
“Ember, sit. Thank you, David. You may go.”
She was as regal as ever. I wasn’t as unnerved by her as I had been when we first met, but whatever guilt she’d felt about plotting to expel me seemed to have abated; once again Annys was very clearly the boss. I took a seat, her hawk-like eyes watching me from across the mahogany desk.
“Are you prepared for your trip?” she asked.
I and a small group of others, were about to embark on a trip to the other Gateways. With the one in Los Angeles seemingly well in hand, we were needed at the others. Though it hadn’t been stated outright, I knew they hoped I could work my Daemon magic and remake the remaining Gates. The demons were growing bolder; it was only a matter of time before another breach occurred. It was a race to see whether we could beat them to the punch.
“All set,” I said.
Her expression told me she might know I hadn’t even started packing.
What she said was, “Excellent. Of course, you are missing one very necessary item.”
Ah, that’s what this was about.
“She still hasn’t given it to you?” I said.
My mother had agreed to get me a passport and had taken all the steps necessary to obtain one, but she still hadn’t actually handed it over. With me scheduled to leave the country in less than a week, it was a problem.
“No,” she said, clearly displeased. Annys was not a woman used to being denied.
“She will,” I said. “I know she will. She’s just being dramatic.”
Annys’s expression told me she was well aware of my mother’s penchant for drama. But she wasn’t, not really. For the past two months Mom had been taking her medication consistently, for the most part alleviating her bi-polar symptoms, meaning Annys had no idea just how dramatic she could be. I kept the thought to myself.
“You know that I cannot allow her to come,” she said, folding her arms in front of her and leaning on the desk.
That had been the sticking point. Mom said she wouldn’t give the Institute permission to “haul me all over the world” unless she was allowed to come with me. But while six weeks was a long time to go without seeing her, I knew it would be problematic bordering on impossible to have her along. She knew the truth of the Institute, but that didn’t make her any less of a liability. On the other hand, without my mother’s permission—or my passport—I wasn’t going anywhere.
Not that the Institute wasn’t fully capable of acquiring a fake passport, but the attention my mother would turn on them was a risk they’d prefer not to take.
“What would you like me to do?” I said. Up until now I’d avoided getting in the middle, allowing them to hash out the details, but it was clear Annys now wanted me to take a more active role in the negotiations.
“I want you to get the passport,” she said.
My mouth dropped open in surprise. How was I supposed to do what Annys herself couldn’t?
“She is scheduled to come up tomorrow, correct?” she said, glancing at a copy of the visitor’s log.
“Yes.” She was coming to celebrate my seventeenth birthday, but I saw no reason to bother Annys with that information.
“Then I need you to make this happen. We are simply out of time. We have been extremely fortunate that both you and Gretchen have remained unfazed...”
I killed It, It can’t come back, I’m fine, totally fine...
She continued as if my thoughts weren’t deafening, “But with the rise in incidents of Retrievals—even in the most senior of Keepers, the demon population growing at an alarming rate, the increase in skirmishes with Reds coupled with the decrease in finding Marked ones who haven’t already become Reds... We are out of options, Ember. If you are going to make this journey—and you must—it needs to be now, before we can no longer spare you.”
Even as I pushed the terrifying memory of the Root Demon to the recesses of my mind, I was aware that everything she said was true. Not only were the other Gateways starting to show signs of weakness, but both Gretchen and I needed access to more training. Master Dogan was doing his best, but he wasn’t a Daemon, and had no firsthand knowledge of how to train us.
There was also the little matter of how I’d killed the Root. Not just how, but what. Yes, Daemons could levitate, but I’d done something else. I’d somehow flung nothing at It—except maybe air—yet managed to do damage. It remained a mystery and was the subject of much debate.
Logic told me that it was unlikely I’d receive better instruction at one of the other Institutes, but I couldn’t stop myself from hoping that maybe something an Elder might say or do would trigger something in me. Something to wake up the power that lay dormant, locked somewhere deep inside.
When it became clear that the only way Annys was going to dismiss me from her office was for me to agree to her demand, I did so, promising I’d get the passport from my mother.
My steps were heavy as I made my way down the hill to the dorm, until I saw the one person who always lightened my load. Taren.
His eyes lit up at my approach and I smiled broadly.
“What are you doing here?” I said when I reached him. “I thought you had to work.”
“What? Can’t a guy visit his girl?” he said, his smile too innocent to be trusted.
I was about to question him further, but then he kissed me and all rational thought disappeared, dissolving in a warm pool that started in my belly and spread throughout my whole body. My fingertips pressed against his chest, I could actually feel his heartbeat, the rhythmic pulse growing quicker the deeper our kiss became. Balanced on the precipice of an exquisite oblivion, I felt myself falling—
Taren pulled back, and a rush of air filled the space where he’d just been.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, tilting his forehead so it touched mine. “Sometimes when I’m with you, I forget where I am.”
“I’m not complaining,” I said, still breathless.
“No, but Mae might,” he said.
Mae, the dorm supervisor, had busted us more than once for “inappropriate PDA.”
I made a point of looking around and said, “I don’t see Mae.”
I leaned in for another kiss, but Taren stopped me with the shake of his head.
“We can’t risk it,” he said. “Not with your birthday tomorrow.”
He’d been hinting at a birthday surprise for the past couple of weeks, but I’d been keeping my expectations low. With more and more Reds cropping up and demons running loose, I hadn't been allowed to leave the Institute since the night I'd killed the Root, which meant I was fairly certain his surprise would entail a long walk and a nice picnic.
I'd been pleading with Annys, emphasizing both my mental state and Taren's expertise as my personal Guardian, to let me venture outside for a day trip. In full daylight, in a crowded place, who would dare to try anything? But thus far, my pleas had fallen on deaf ears and I continued to gnash my teeth.
“OK, OK,” I said, humoring him. A birthday stuck at the Institute with Taren was still better than a birthday anywhere else without him. “What time should I be ready?”
“How about noon?” he said with a grin.
My smile matched his. I'd traded my shift at the Gateway to get my birthday off, so if Taren didn’t pick me up until noon I was free to sleep in, which was a gift in and of itself. I could roll out of bed at ten and still have plenty of time to meditate and get ready.
For the past several years I'd dreaded my birthday; it only served to make me painfully aware of how many friends I didn't have. And Mom never understood why I didn't want to have those non-existent friends over for a "pizza party." Now, my cheeks barely contained my smile.
The Gateway Trilogy: Complete Series: (Books 1-3) Page 20
