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

by Christina Garner

  “Present time,” Kat said between bites of cake. “Mine first.”

  I opened the package she slid me to find her brand of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. I was disappointed, knowing I’d never be able to pull off that strawberry scent, until I noticed the label.

  “Zen Garden?” I said and took a sniff.

  “Jasmine and green tea,” Kat said as the heavenly aroma filled my nostrils. “I thought even Master Dogan would approve.”

  “Since when do you care about smelling good?” Mom asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

  Her incredulity was warranted; I had always protested when she tried to douse me with her latest scent.

  I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m evolving,” I said, then added, “I guess I’m your daughter after all.”

  “You better believe it,” she said. Her tone was light, but I’d a feeling the statement was as much for Gretchen as for me.

  “But I thought the day pass was the gift,” I said when Taren presented me with a small box.

  “A gift,” he said, “not the gift.”

  I opened the box and saw a silver pendant attached to a delicate chain. Etched into the pendant was a rudimentary arrow.

  “It’s an ancient rune,” he explained. “It means Warrior. It’s so that you’ll always have a piece of me with you. And to remind you that I’m your Guardian—your warrior—which means there is nowhere you can go that I won’t follow.”

  A small thrill shot up my spine and I blushed, suddenly aware that we weren’t alone. How did he always make me feel like I was the only one in the room?

  I lifted the necklace from the box and clasped it around my neck. I had never been one for jewelry, but being a gift from Taren and what it represented made the cool metal felt natural against my skin.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I love it.”

  He smiled, pleased with himself at having chosen so well.

  “Alright, mine next,” Mom said.

  She handed me a bundle wrapped in newspaper comics; even when we could afford real wrapping paper we used the funnies—it was tradition.

  I opened the package carefully—Mom would be disappointed if I didn’t save them to read later—and found a thick black unlined journal and a pocket moleskin version.

  “I know you like to sketch everything you see,” she said. “I figured the smaller one could fit in your purse.”

  “They’re perfect, Mom. Thanks.”

  New journals always held the promise of what was to come, and I always got a small thrill at getting one. There was a Gateway in Italy, and I couldn’t wait to sketch Michelangelo’s David.

  “We had a similar idea,” Gretchen said, placing a box on the table.

  Inside was a high-end digital camera.

  “No way,” I said. “This is awesome.”

  “We thought that way you could take lots of pictures and send them back to your mother,” Richard said.

  “That was very thoughtful,” my mother said, her jaw tight.

  Right, the passport. Taren knew about the tense negotiations between my mother and the Institute but I’d asked him not to tell his parents. I had hoped it would work itself out, but here I was, supposed to ruin my birthday lunch by asking her for my passport. Damn Annys—she’d known. When she called me into her office the night before, of course she’d known—she was the one who’d given me permission to leave.

  Gretchen’s smile had slipped a fraction and my thoughts spun, looking for something to break the tension. It was the waiter who saved me.

  “Anything else for you?” he asked, approaching with the check.

  “No, thank you. I’ll take that,” Mom said, reaching for both the check and her purse.

  A moment later the waiter returned, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, ma’am, your card has been declined. Do you have another?”

  “Why don’t you let us take care of this?” Richard said, reaching for his wallet.

  I stared at the floor, not wanting to see the heat blaze in my mother’s cheeks.

  “Thank you, Richard,” my mom said as though spitting nails. “But I can pay for my daughter’s birthday lunch. Here, split it between these two.”

  The waiter took the additional card, and we endured the awkward silence until the waiter returned and, thankfully, presented my mother with two slips to sign.

  “We’ll meet you outside,” Mom said when we all stood to leave.

  Taren looked apprehensive, but the presence of Guardians at a nearby table appeased him enough that he followed the rest of our party out the door.

  Once they’d left, Mom pulled me into a tight embrace.

  She released me enough to hold my face in her hands. “You know that woman is not your mother, right?”

  “Of course I do, Mom.”

  “The way both of them flaunt their money, and—”

  “Mom, they’re good people. And they’re Taren’s parents so you need to learn to be nice. But you’re my mother.”

  Her shoulders relaxed, but I still noticed a tightness in her eyes.

  “I just worry,” she said. “They have so much more to offer, and Gretchen is part...you know...”

  “Her being ‘you know’ doesn’t mean she could take your place. Ever. I admit, it’s nice to have someone else to talk with about...certain stuff. But that makes her a good co-worker. It doesn’t make her my mother. Besides, aren’t you glad I finally feel like less of a freak?”

  She nodded, her eyes moist. “Yes, baby, I’m very glad. You’re become an amazing young woman and I’m so proud of you. I’m glad you have Taren and Kat to look out for you and even Gretchen to help you feel less alone.”

  This time I hugged her. “Love you, Mom.”

  When we released each other I gathered my courage. “So, um... Annys wants me to ask you about my passport...”

  “I bet she does,” Mom said evenly.

  I waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t I said, “So...can I have it?”

  “It’s not fair that they ask so much of you,” she said.

  “Maybe,” I said. She didn’t know the half of it. “But you know I have to go, right?”

  She gave me a wry smile. “You know I have to hate it, right?”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then opened her purse. She withdrew the passport slowly, as if she might reconsider before placing it in my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, unwilling to give her the chance. I closed my fingers around it greedily. “I mean it—thanks a lot.”

  I stuffed the passport in my purse and felt the knot in my stomach unwind.

  Outside we waited for the valet to bring the car around. Taren, though he resembled his mother, looked every inch his father’s son as they managed to survey our surroundings while simultaneously appearing nonchalant. I was reminded of a cat—eyes in slits—seemingly sleeping until you make a move toward the treat cupboard.

  A few minutes later I gave Mom one final hug, and the Harts and I climbed into the SUV and began the drive back to the Institute.

  I drank in the sights as we eased down Ventura Blvd. What a few short months ago had struck me as tacky and cliché, now stimulated my senses in a good way. Who’d have thought I’d miss the Valley? But a prisoner will miss any sort of home when it’s denied them. Did I really feel like that? It was the first time the word ‘prisoner’ had popped into my mind with regards to my confinement at the Institute, but I wondered. I believed in what we did there, and I knew they needed me. And I liked being needed—having a purpose that put my usual angst in perspective. In truth, I’m sure they’d let me leave if I demanded to. One call to my mother and she’d have the cops there busting me out, in fact. But then I’d be expelled. And there would be no more protection for my mother or me. And I would go back to regular high school. For that and countless other reasons, quitting wasn’t an option. Which meant I was resigned to be under guard for as long as the Elders deemed necessary. As confinement went, you couldn’t beat the view. Or the
coffee, thanks to my friends. I looked over at Taren and thought the company wasn’t so bad, either.

  “Did you have a nice time?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

  “A great time,” I said. “That was the best present you could have gotten me.”

  He smiled, pleased with himself.

  “Oh, and get this,” I said, fishing out my passport, “Mom forked it over.”

  “Now that’s a good present,” he said. “What made her change her mind? Did Annys beat her into submission?”

  “I can’t think of any other reason,” I said. “Can you?”

  Taren was about to reply when Richard slammed on the brakes, causing us all to be thrown forward then slammed back by our seat belts.

  I looked up and my veins turned to ice. Two Hummers blocked the road in front of us.

  “What the—”

  Instead of finishing his question, Richard threw the car in reverse.

  We careened backward for only seconds before two more Hummers barred our way.

  “Dad...” Taren was scanning, looking for a way out.

  Richard broke sharply to the left, jumped the median, and took off in the opposite direction.

  “Jack!” Richard yelled. “Jack, where the hell are you? We’re under attack.”

  The four Hummers were now in pursuit and gaining on us. Richard broke right, up a side street.

  “Dad, comm is down!” Taren said, scrambling to get to the luggage area. “Mom, Ember, get down!”

  We did as he commanded, flattening ourselves as much as possible. Squished as I was between the seats, I could no longer see what was happening, just felt the car careening from side to side.

  Taren now held the largest handgun I’d ever seen. Guardians were trained in a variety of weapons, each for a different purpose. Guns were only to be used as a last resort—when no other weapon would do. He slammed in the ammo cartridge and spun to point it out the back window. Before he could fire, a bullet pierced the window, shattering it and lodging into the headrest of the seat in front of me. Gretchen’s seat.

  “One is breaking off,” Taren yelled.

  Then he fired and I heard the squeal of tires—not ours. Another hard turn. Taren was thrown, but recovered and fired again.

  “Taren—”

  “I know, Dad. I’m trying.” Taren fired again, then ducked just in time to avoid another bullet that sailed through the car, shattering the front windshield on its way out.

  “Dammit!” Richard slammed on the brakes.

  Taren was flung forward and cursed. He looked up to see what had made his father stop and cursed again.

  “Take Ember and run,” Richard said, his voice never more commanding.

  He didn’t wait for a response, just flung open his door and pulled Gretchen after him.

  Taren fired again then grabbed my hand, yanking me from my crouch. As we fled the vehicle I realized what had forced Richard to stop. We were on a narrow side street, cars parked on either side. A garbage truck blocked the lane completely. Two black Hummers screeched to a halt just behind us. Through her shattered windshield, a woman with cropped platinum hair and black sunglasses fired at us. Instinctively I threw myself to the pavement between two cars. A split-second later I was yanked to my feet, Taren returning fire as we ran. I scanned wildly.

  “There!” I said, “Your parents went that way!”

  Richard and Gretchen had slipped into the walkway between two buildings and were gone.

  But Taren was pulling me in the opposite direction. For a moment there was a respite from the gunshots as we broke left and darted down an apartment complex driveway.

  “Dammit,” Taren said, inspecting the gun and finding it out of bullets. His eyes darted to the chain link fence on our left that separated this parking area from the one next door.

  Taren wouldn’t climb until I was over, which I was, mostly, when a man dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses rounded the corner, his gun leveled at Taren.

  “I don’t have to kill him, Ember. Come with me now and I won’t.”

  “Go,” Taren said under his breath, his hands still poised to catch me if I fell.

  But I couldn’t. If the only chance I had to save Taren was to—

  With a hard shove from Taren I was launched over the chain link. The closed dumpster, while not a soft landing, broke my fall and I bounced off, rolling to the pavement below. I scrambled to the fence in time to see Taren kicking the gun from the attacker’s hand. With unnatural speed he drew a dagger from his jacket. Taren’s was already out and he struck first. The Red (he had to be a Red, didn’t he?) dodged the attack and ended up with only a slice in his jacket.

  The Red thrust with his blade, and Taren spun away just in time, but the Red must have anticipated his move because his other fist crashed into Taren’s jaw and sent him reeling. A second later Taren sprang back to his feet and the deadly dance continued.

  The knife—I could make the knife fly from the Red’s hand.

  With great difficulty I withdrew myself from the immediacy of the battle and forced myself to focus solely on the knife.

  You can do this, Ember. How much can it weigh? Eight ounces? You can so do this. Concentrate. All it has to do is slip from his grip, Taren will do the rest.

  A kick to his ribs made Taren double over and I winced.

  I shut my eyes—I couldn’t focus with so much movement, so much danger to Taren.

  The knife, move the knife.

  A tidal wave—that was what it felt like—cresting above me. I was flooded with memories: The Root Demon emerging from the Gateway, its mouth dripping with black tar, me jumping into it, my flesh being burned away in layers, each one more agonizing to lose.

  No, dammit! Not now.

  I pushed back against the tsunami threatening to engulf me, but it crashed down, frothing with evil, with pain, with guilt. Fighting for my sanity, I struggled against the powerful tide.

  In frustration and despair I let out an animalistic scream that vibrated my every cell and severed the powerful grip of my memories.

  I inhaled sharply and opened my eyes in time to see Taren’s knife cutting a swath across the length of the Red’s abdomen. And it was a Red, there was no doubt. His sunglasses had been lost in battle and his eyes, wide with surprise, glowed crimson. He dropped to his knees, clutching his belly in a useless attempt to staunch the flow of blood, and Taren plunged the knife into his neck. When he jerked it free, blood spurted from the Red’s jugular, and then there was no light in his eyes at all. I felt a twinge of pity. True, Reds were lost causes—the Institute had never successfully rehabilitated one—but they had been fully human once.

  Three slow claps turned my veins to ice and caused me to turn my head.

  The platinum-haired woman had a gun trained on me. I heard Taren rush forward, but the woman held up her free hand.

  “Not one step further, Mr. Hart.”

  Her voice could cut glass, with a tone that said she was used to being obeyed.

  I didn’t hear Taren make another move, but I couldn’t even turn my head to look. My vision had warped and it was as though I was seeing through a fish-eyed lens. Everything surrounding the gun receded to the background, leaving nothing but the barrel.

  So, this is how it ends.

  But then she gasped and a sword point bloomed from the middle of her chest. When it disappeared, she fell, revealing Richard standing behind her, his sword dripping blood.

  There was a moment of suspended animation and then Taren spoke.

  “Mom...?” he made no attempt to hide the fear in his voice.

  “If I’m alive, she’s alive,” Richard said, wiping his blade. “Our lead SUV found us. I didn’t want to leave her, but she refused to get in the car unless I promised to find both of you.”

  If Taren took offense to Richard’s confession that he’d have rather stayed with Gretchen than save us, he didn’t show it.

  “Thank God,” Taren said, “for both.”

 
; I was still crouched, clutching the chain link and trying not to hyperventilate, when Taren vaulted over the fence.

  “It’s OK, Em, it’s OK,” he said, now at my side. “You can let go.”

  I didn’t mean to fight him, but my hands refused to cooperate. I was frozen, both physically and somewhere deep inside, too.

  “Please, let go. Let me take you home. You’re safe there. Please, Ember.”

  The gentle urgency of his tone was just enough to thaw my fingertips, and one by one he gently unwrapped them from the wire.

  5

  But of course it wasn’t as easy as just going. It was beyond hoping that no one had witnessed either killing—not with dozens of apartment balconies overlooking us—and the sirens started almost immediately. All we could hope was that whoever had called the cops hadn’t thought to take video.

  We scrambled over two more fences and by the time we heard the LAPD chopper approaching overhead, we were exiting the driveway of a building on an adjoining street. A silver SUV halted just in front of us and I turned to bolt, but Taren held me fast.

  “It’s OK, it’s our people,” he said, and quickly led me by the hand into the now open backseat.

  With two turns we merged onto the heavy flow of Ventura Boulevard traffic.

  As we drove, my state of shock faded to numbness.

  “You’re hurt,” I said, when Taren’s injuries finally registered.

  I reached up, though I didn’t dare touch his swelling jaw or split lip.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, pulling my hand down.

  He didn’t let it go, in fact continued to squeeze it as tightly as he was my other hand, which is to say, almost too tightly, but didn’t say anything else.

  He was angry. His jaw might be too swollen to clench, but his spine was rigid and he stared out the window, never really looking at me.

  He’s mad because I didn’t run when he told me to, I thought. He’s pissed off because it was unbearable for me to leave him to die. Though I might as well have for all the good it did for me to stay.