Guardian's Grace

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “Shit! Col? Got a problem here. Need you, like now.”

  “Little busy here, bro. Problems of my own.”

  As Dov turned to his brother, he loosened his grip on her throat. In an instant she was under his arm and away, but instead of tearing down the alley to freedom, she ran to her friend.

  This was not something they were prepared for. Humans always ran. The brothers watched as she fell to her knees and put her head to the woman’s chest, then placed her ear by the bloodied mouth.

  “She’s alive,” she said, her voice remarkably steady. “Call someone. Please. Don’t let her die.”

  “I thought she was dead. What do we do now?”

  Col snapped, “Just fix it, dammit.” He continued to clear the area. In the distance a siren wailed. “We’re running out of time.”

  Dov pulled the kneeling woman away from her friend. “Go stand over there,” he said, shoving her toward Col. He knelt by the victim, took a deep breath and lowered his lips to the vicious wound in her neck.

  The other woman screamed and threw herself at Dov, but Col caught her around the waist and dragged her down the alley. Dov did what he could for the woman on the ground and followed. He pulled a phone from his pocket as he ran. By the time he made the call and caught up with his twin, Col had the woman thrown over his shoulder. She seemed to have fainted. When they reached the car, he dumped her into the back seat. Dov rode shotgun while Col got behind the wheel.

  “What the fuck did you do to her?”

  “Nothing! She tried to get away, fell and cracked her head on the corner of a step. ”

  “We got to get home, Col. I got her blood in my mouth. It burns, man. I got to rinse it out.” Dov kept running his hands and sleeves over his bloodied mouth.

  “Fine. And what do we do with her?” Col motioned with his thumb. “We can’t keep her. Canaan will turn us. And we can’t dump her off. She saw too much and she’ll remember it all. You didn’t wipe her.”

  “She doesn’t wipe, I tell you. I thumped her twice and nothing happened. Maybe I did screw it up, but what if I didn’t? Who is she? What is she? She’s not one of them. She smells too nice. Can’t we just take her home?”

  “She’s not a puppy, dammit. And how are you going to explain it to Canaan. No, forget Canaan. How are you going to explain Uncle Otto? Sorry, lady, I know it’s 80 degrees, but you have to wear an iron turtleneck because Uncle Otto gets a little thirsty every now and then and to him your neck is going to look like a tall cold one. We can’t do it, Dov. We just can’t.”

  “Shit, fuck, and be damned. We can’t dump her and we can’t bring her home. So what’s your big idea? Huh? Kill her? ‘Cause I ain’t into that, Bro. You’re on your own.”

  “Don’t be an ass. Of course we can’t kill her. But we can’t take her home either.”

  They sat in silence as Col wove his way through back streets to the other side of town. Dov watched as they left the entertainment district behind. They passed high rise office buildings that blended into high rent apartments and condos, through working class neighborhoods, well-kept though old and finally entered an area that had once been prime city real estate, but was now low rent and for the squatters in numerous abandoned buildings, no rent at all.

  Dov sighed and spoke. “We need to bring her home, Col.” Col opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when Dov continued. “No. Wait. Hear me out. I’ve been thinking how we can explain it to Canaan.” He raised his head to forestall comment. “That’s if we need to explain it at all. Maybe nobody needs to know. Just…”

  Col interrupted. “All right, you win. We’ll take her home. Keep her there until we figure out something else. But if this gets screwed up, it’s going to be your nuts in the cracker, not mine.”

  “Don’t give me that it’s-gonna-be-all-your-fault crap. You were gonna bring her home all the time.”

  “Yeah, right. How’d you figure that, shit for brains?”

  “You’re a block away from the house, dumb ass.”

  Both brothers grinned as Col smoothly made the turn onto their street.

  Chapter 3

  Callista ran her finger along Canaan’s sleeve. “Do you like what I’ve done?”

  “Yes, and I appreciate it.” He eyed the hand with the blood red fingernails as it traveled from his arm to his chest. The nails were long and tapered and perfectly manicured, yet they reminded him of the talons he had seen on demons from time to time; predatory. The hand left his shirt to gracefully offer him the room.

  “I could do more, you know. My father has influence with these members and I have influence with him. I know how to go about getting what I want.”

  The room was filled with the most influential of the Paenitentian ruling class. Glasses clinked as cocktails flowed. Hors d’oeuvres were passed on flawlessly presented trays by uniformed staff. Impeccably dressed guests chatted in well-modulated tones occasionally interspersed with light laughter or deep chuckles. They nodded, smiled and moved on to another partner or group in a seamless flow of perfect social interaction. Canaan found himself missing the twins.

  “You’ve done enough, Callista. More than I have a right to expect. I should be making the rounds again.” He disengaged her hands which were straightening his tie. “I wouldn’t want to waste your efforts.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “I never waste my efforts. I brought you over here because you were beginning to look a bit desperate with your pleas.”

  “The Guardians are desperate, Callista, and if someone doesn’t do something within the next few years, there won’t be enough of us left to hold the demons back.”

  Callista laughed quietly as if he’d said something amusing. “Appearances are everything, darling. One may be desperate, but one must never appear so. It’s why you need someone like me. An alliance would prove beneficial to us both. I could help you with your cause, Canaan. I know the right people. As I said before, I have influence. Surely you can’t find the idea too repugnant,” she purred seductively. Her finger drew tiny circles along the skin behind his ear. “You’ve enjoyed my bed in the past without complaint.” She leaned closer and caressed his ear with her breath. “We would make beautiful children, Canaan.”

  Canaan stiffened slightly and took a step away. Only mated pairs could produce children. Callista was hinting about something more than an casual alliance.

  “Where would be the benefit to you, Callista? You’d be left alone most of the time. You’d miss all this.” He nodded to the room.

  Callista laughed again, the tone so low that only he could hear. “That’s the beauty of it, darling. I wouldn’t miss a thing. I’d leave my father’s house and establish a home of my own. I’d be free.” She looked at him curiously. “Where have you been living?” She patted his arm affectionately. “We women may not have achieved the same independence as our human cousins, but times have changed. Look at your sister, she raised those twins alone after Tiern passed and I hear she’s found profitable employment through the internet. A widow no longer needs to rely on her male relatives and a mated woman no longer has to stay at home waiting for her man. Odd numbers at dinner are perfectly acceptable.” She patted his arm affectionately and winked. “You’re an absolute dear for being so concerned, but you needn’t be. I’d have my own circle of friends and find my own entertainment.”

  “Including other men?”

  “Why Canaan, do I detect a note of jealousy?” She sighed as if explaining to a naïve child. “When you’re in town, you’ll have my total devotion. I won’t object to your satisfying your needs while attending to your House and of course, the children are guaranteed to be yours.”

  Callista was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with both money and position. She could have her pick of mates which begged the question, “Why me?”

  “Why Canaan, what a foolish thing to ask. Our parents planned this years ago.” She smiled coyly and frowned when Canaan failed to respond. “Fine. You meet my criteria. You have a
position in society as a Liege Lord. You’re handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and you show quite well when you’re properly dressed. You come from admirable stock, have a great deal of money in your own right, will no doubt sire beautiful children and, this is very important, darling,” she whispered invitingly, “I won’t cringe when you notify me you’re coming for a visit. You’ve always been a most inventive and entertaining lover.” She huffed at his lack of response. “Alliances of this sort are nothing new and you’ll profit from it as much as I. What I’m offering, Canaan, is well within the bounds of tradition.”

  He had spent his life upholding the traditions of the Guardians, atoning for the sins of his forefathers. Did it really fall within those traditions to sell his heart and soul for profit?

  “I’m flattered by your offer, Callista. It’s certainly a temptation, but I’m not your man.”

  Hours later, Canaan popped his key card into the slot and entered his Tower Deluxe room. He had, for once, avoided the allure of feminine charms and returned to his room alone.

  Over the last few weeks he had wined and dined his share of beautiful women and enjoyed post dinner entertainment with more than a few, but the meat market atmosphere of the clubs and bars that were frequented by the Race was beginning to take its toll. He didn’t like being viewed as money on the hoof as most eligible members of his class inevitably were. This bull had every intention of keeping his hide intact. He didn’t know why Callista’s overtures bothered him so much. At least she was honest about her motives.

  When the party was winding down and he’d made his polite excuses, Callista had pouted, to be sure, but it was more for show than from any real disappointment and he’d seen that knowing smile and speculative look in her eye as if she was letting him know this wasn’t over yet. Did she really think he would bargain away his freedom for whatever influence she might have with the Council? He wouldn’t be the first to fall for the ploy. Matings based on power and influences were fairly common among the elite and he knew of several that worked quite well, but it wasn’t for him.

  He had to admit, though, her power was considerable and if rumor was to be believed, she was about to become the first woman Advisor in the history of the Race. Women of the Paenitentia were making great strides into the twenty-first century it seemed. Why couldn’t the Guardian’s do the same?

  He tossed his card on the table and poured himself two fingers of Talisker 16 year old scotch from the bar. Tastefully appointed in black and gold, his room was a spacious, comfortable living area which afforded the guest every possible amenity including a bed that sat around a corner from the windows and the added comfort of blackout drapes. For a race that thrived on anonymity, the Council tended to throw caution to the wind when it came to the Meeting of Congregants, though he had to admit that Las Vegas was probably the easiest place on earth to hide in plain sight for a group that lived most of their lives in the dark.

  He kicked off the hand sewn Italian leather loafers, thinking that he’d gladly trade them for his Chippewa Apaches. There were asses around here that needed kicking and those steel toes would do the job nicely. The gold Cartier watch and cufflinks he laid carefully on the nightstand. They were his father’s, the legacy of a man who had given him little else. The silk shirt was stuffed in a bag with several others for laundry service to deal with. And last, he stripped off his trousers, folded them neatly over a hanger and placed them back in the closet with all the other custom tailored clothing purchased specifically for this Meeting.

  He hated this crap; dressing to impress the Ruling Council, courting Advisors who gave no useful advice. Some would call it showing respect for tradition or upholding the family honor. He called it bullshit.

  In the not too distant past, the Meeting of Congregants was held to discuss what steps must be taken to insure the survival of the Race, but the days of the vampire hunter were long gone and the demons, at least according to the Council, were being held in check, so the month long Meeting, held every other year at the place of the Council’s choosing –alternately Las Vegas or the Riviera- had become more of a chance to meet with old friends and party than to conduct any real business. Only the wealthiest could afford to attend. Canaan was a Liege Lord, the head of a House of Guardians and all Liege Lords were required to be present at the Meeting of Congregants, even if, as in his case, they had to leave their holdings in the hands of two inexperienced fledglings who at best would probably pickle themselves in beer or overdose on pizza and at worst get themselves killed. Law was law and he must attend or face banishment. Canaan almost laughed out loud at that one. He fingered the golden band that encircled his bicep as a symbol of his leadership.

  If he were banished, who would take his place? The ranks of the Guardians had been seriously depleted over the past one hundred years so that most Houses carried no more than three Guardians where once there were eight or ten with several trainees waiting in the wings. He had worked alone for almost three years before the twins came of age and joined him. Spino, a fellow Liege Lord with a House of Guardians in Panama, had voiced many of the same complaints earlier as they sat together in the bar.

  “The children, they no longer play as my brothers and I once did.” He smiled ruefully at the memory. “We would take up our wooden weapons and fight hordes of imaginary demons for hours in the fields behind our house. We could not wait until we were old enough to join the ranks. We were proud when our time came and our parents were proud that we followed in our father’s footsteps to become Guardians of the Race.” He shrugged. “My sister does not see it so. She has done everything possible to direct her sons’ attention elsewhere. She does not want to lose her sons as we lost our brothers. This I understand. Still, if we do not do this job we were born to do, who will?”

  In a voice heavy with sarcasm, Canaan replied, “There’s no need to do anything. Haven’t you heard? Demons no longer pose a threat. We live in a civilized society ergo the demons have evolved with us. You and I, my friend, are remnants of the past.”

  “My brothers, both taken within the last ten years by those ‘civilized’ demons, would disagree with our Ruling Council, as do I, having seen to their cremations. To change the Council’s opinion, Canaan, we will do what we can. And when the demons rise, we remnants of the past will do what we must.”

  Chapter 4

  It was probably another symptom of the creeping insanity she’d been fighting off for years. It definitely wasn’t a dream. This thing had been showing up in her head every morning for the last two weeks. It was like watching a movie run on the backs of her eyelids and it was always the same rerun. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the swirling bits and pieces made no visual sense until they could be interlocked to compose the whole. When it first showed up, she’d been frustrated by it. She wanted to see the whole composition, yet every time she tried to force a clearer picture, the image popped like a cartoon bubble and she was left with a feeling of loneliness and a headache that lasted for hours.

  Now, Grace allowed herself to relax and let the movie run. She smiled when the lilies appeared, the only part of this picture where the bits and pieces had coalesced into something recognizable. There they were, sharply outlined and nestled in their midst something black. A face? No. Almost. Those tear drops, blood red teardrops falling from the eyes on to a band of ribbon below. The colors swirled, formed and splintered into the bits and pieces that were always a part of the morning movie. Relax. Let it come. A flash of gold, a band of gold with darkened letters, not English, and was that skin? Yes! It was a man’s arm with a sparse coating of golden hair. This was new. More gold, different from the other, not metallic, soft like…yes, eyes. Eyes that caressed her then turned to red. The movie popped, as it always did, leaving her now with a tingling feeling of warmth.

  Suddenly remembering her circumstances, Grace kept her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. She wasn’t sure where she was except that it wasn’t home. There was no buzzing in her head, but she wanted to be sure that she
was alone. Her head hurt and she could feel the knot on her temple against the pillow. Other than a few bruises on her legs and arms, she was in one piece.

  The events of the night before began replaying in her head. She remembered almost everything up to the point of trying to kick her way free of the brutal blonde who was dragging her down the alley. How much of her memory was tainted by horror and how much was real? She couldn’t decide but when she thought of Alice lying bloodied and broken, her breath hitched and she issued a small cry. Poor Alice! She squeezed her eyes tight to keep the tears at bay and took a deep breath. She needed to deal with the here and now, remain calm and think clearly.

  Step one. Take stock of your surroundings. Okay, she was lying on her back in a bed, a really soft and comfortable bed. Cautiously, she stretched her leg out to the side and breathed a sigh of relief. She was alone in this really big bed. The sheets were obviously expensive. Silk? Or was it finely woven cotton? Like she would know. The pillow smelled faintly of pine and leather and for no reason that she could think of, she found it comforting. She opened her eyes and quickly checked the room. She was indeed alone.

  She sat up to find a very large, tastefully decorated bedroom, a man’s room, judging by the amount of leather and the neutral colors. To the right of the bed was a night stand that held a lamp and a digital clock reading 4:06 PM. Alice’s necklace and earrings were carefully placed in a small tray. Beyond the nightstand was a tall window reaching almost from the floor to the very high ceiling. Heavy brown drapes framed the window and the window itself was covered by what appeared to be a blackout shade. Across from the foot of the bed was a tall, antique chest of drawers flanked by two doors. The door to the right was opened to a bathroom. The other she assumed was a closet. To the left of the bed stood a comfortable looking chair and a reading lamp. Sharing the wall with the chair and lamp was another door, wider than the others that must lead to the rest of the house.