Megan tensed, seeing the seriousness in his face. “What’ll happen?” she asked frightfully as he removed his fingers from her lips.
He shrugged again. “Probably nothing, being spoken by you, since you’re not skilled in dark magic. But nothing good either, I can tell you that.”
“Sorry,” she replied, “I never thought words alone could cause anything bad to happen. I thought it might be Latin or something.”
“Not Latin,” he said. “An ancient, unpublished language that is better left unknown. And I’m not sure anything bad would happen, since you have no evil intentions.”
“Obviously something bad, since you stopped me so quickly.”
He gave her a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “I’m about to use white magic… good magic to try to remove a curse. Speaking words of darkness probably isn’t a good opener for what we’re attempting to do here. It would be like chanting “Bloody Mary” ten times in the bathroom mirror with the lights off, right before you sit at the dinner table and say grace. Nothing bad ever happens when you play that game…”
“But it does kind of conflict with the purpose of saying grace,” she finished for him to show she understood.
“Right,” he acknowledged.
“Anyway,” she continued, “my question is, why did you speak in English, when you were chanting about the Lord of Light shining his grace and all that? Does white magic not have a strange, ancient language too? Like elvish or something?”
Michael let out a short, quiet laugh. “This isn’t a Tolkein story, darlin’. White magic doesn’t require mantras; no use of voice to enhance our abilities, just centering and focusing. And you have to remember that I wasn’t physically speaking anyway. What you heard were my thoughts. Besides, they weren’t part of a spell or anything. I was just praying.”
“Praying?”
“I am Catholic, you know.”
She regarded him curiously. “I thought you were a Keeper of White.”
“I am,” he answered plainly. “A Keeper of White can be Catholic as much as a doctor or a teacher, or a football coach can be. Some members of my prior faction were Jewish. Some Methodist, Lutheran; a few were Agnostic or Atheist. Personal choices, nothing more.”
“So ‘Keeper of White’ is your profession then?”
He laughed again. “More of a way of life. It’s not a paid position. Many of us had regular jobs as well, at one time or another. But for the most part, on-and-off jobs, seasonal or temporary positions, better accommodated to our need for a flexible schedule, and still allowed us to earn a living. Although we can accumulate some rather large funds to support our needs if we have to.”
“And how do you earn your living, Mr. Messenger?”
His smile widened. “Another time, darlin’. For now, I think we should get started. Or are you stalling for time deliberately?”
She smiled back sheepishly. “Sorry. I guess maybe I am. Not really looking forward to going back… there.”
“Yeah. Me neither. But if this works, you’ll never have to again.”
She nodded as she let out a deep breath, then closed her eyes. She instantly felt his grip upon her hands tighten…
Minutes passed. The same vision returned in her mind. The same awful movie played, with the same feelings of terror and despair, accompanied by the same wretched screams followed by horrible laughter. Megan held fast as she focused on Michael’s mental voice inside her. Once again he prayed. She decided to pray as well.
For a moment she thought the vision began to weaken; the effects seemed to almost bounce off her mind as if she were suddenly shielded from the fear she first experienced. But before long, the terror returned to her, as if a wall Michael attempted to create suddenly crumbled in the wake of the force of evil that powered Diana Palmer’s black spell. In the physical world, she could feel his palms growing slippery with sweat.
Michael?
I’m here, Megan.
Don’t let go!
Keep breathing. Just keep…
She sensed that his presence was fading from the scene. His words of prayer in her mind seemed distant, almost inaudible, and she became more afraid that her travel companion in this unnatural plane of existence would soon be gone, and she began to imagine that she would be somehow stuck here with no clear path that would lead her out again.
Michael!
She could no longer hear him. The flames within the vision grew, and she could feel herself burning within them. Her transcendental body began to twitch and writhe as unbearable heat consumed her, until her screams matched those of the dying Ryleigh Darlington before her.
Then, the unexpected happened. Soft lips, from the physical world, planted themselves upon hers, and a cooling sensation began to repel the flames in her mind. Within seconds, Michael appeared in the vision as if literally teleporting from the outside. With eyes of determination and resolve, he faced the horror before them both and held out a hand against it.
Get out! Michael’s voice commanded to the darkness. Leave this woman be, and go back to the hole where you came from!
Once again, the vision began to blur, as if it had a life of its own, and began to cower before the light that invaded its realm, and Megan felt a new strength within as her hope restored.
Just when it seemed that all would be well, that this nightmare would finally end, the vision became clear again. The darkness pushed back with unbelievable force. The flames in the bedroom burst forward and surrounded Michael. She watched him shield his eyes, again calling out with a voice she no longer heard. It was drowned out by Sonny’s laughter, who suddenly broke from his usual script in this play, and he fixed his eyes on Michael’s burning body.
You’re no Keeper of White, boy! Sonny mocked, but the voice was that of the woman’s who had placed this ungodly spell on her. No longer pure!
The psychic vision of Michael exploded violently. Redness shot out in all directions and filled the room, blinding Megan momentarily. When it was gone, Michael was no longer there, and the scene returned to its original form. Ben’s corpse on the floor. Ryleigh’s screams in anguish as she melted in the flames around her. Sonny’s psychotic laughter upstaging everything else she could perceive…
Megan opened her eyes screaming, but quickly silenced herself when she realized she was back in the motel room. She was still standing in the same spot, her entire body shaking. Michael was now sitting on his bed in front of her, hunched over, with his head supported by one hand that covered his eyes.
“The priest was right,” he said in a low, weak voice, not looking up from his defeated position on the bed. “I’m no Keeper. Not anymore. I don’t have the skill to remove this curse.”
Megan stared at him for a moment, unsure what to say. It was the first time she had seen him in such a state; one in which he did not appear to hold himself with the confidence to take on the world, one in which he needed to lean on someone for support. Even after his first failed attempt to dispel Diana’s unwanted gift, he still carried himself with a small ounce of determination left in his core. Now there appeared to be none. Though she felt weak at the knees herself after the ordeal, she realized that falling to pieces would do neither of them any good right now. So, with no words to speak, she simply sat beside him and gently put her hand on his.
“My friend,” Michael spoke again, “waiting for us at the place we’re going; he might be able to help you. He’s not as skilled in the healing arts as I used to be, but he’s probably more apt at this point. More focused. More…”
Pure? she thought he might say, but he never finished his last sentence. “I think it almost worked,” she replied with a small hope to instill hope back in him. “Why don’t we try again? You know what they say. Third time’s a charm.”
He shook his head. “It’s no good. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Megan.”
She regarded him with puzzlement. “Why? What are you so sorry for? It’s not like this is your fault.”
Finally, he raise
d his head and turned to her with heavy eyes. “That’s the thing, though. It is my fault, Megan. All of it.”
Chapter VIII
“I don’t understand,” Megan said, loosening her grip on his hand, a small sense of her own doubt now creeping up her spine. “How is what happened to me your fault?”
Michael looked down again in shame. His demeanor resembled how someone might appear just before confessing to a loved one that he’d been unfaithful. “There are rules,” he started slowly. “A Keeper of White draws his power from a love for humanity and nature. He must stay on a righteous path in order to utilize that power. And he must be at peace with himself. Once he loses sight of the things we as people should all hold dear to us, he loses touch with himself, his inner being, which is where the potential to master what we call the Alpha Magic lies. It’s dormant in most of us, but it’s there. Tapping into it is one of the most challenging feats to accomplish, and it’s far easier to lose your grip on it.
“I’m afraid that, because I broke those rules, the Alpha Magic will not grant me the power needed to lift Diana’s curse. It’s because of my ignoring my code, my own selfish ambition, that caused all of this to happen to you.”
“Michael,” she projected with a tremor in her voice, “you’re still not making sen…”
“I let them take you, Megan,” he blurted out over her.
She stared at him hard, shock and disbelief covering her. “Let them?”
“Generally,” he continued, “when a Faction of Keepers identify the… Virgin Select… the Agency’s target for the next new moon of a Dark Year, it’s their duty to get to her first. To keep her hidden, until the phase of the new moon has passed. Once that happens, she’s no longer any use to the Agents of the Inner Circle. Their window of opportunity would pass. Of course, then the Keepers endanger themselves when they assist the Virgin Select. The Agency immediately suspects their involvement if their intended sacrifice conveniently and coincidentally goes off the radar, but we accept that risk.”
“So,” she commented, “when you rode in my car, you could’ve warned me what was going to happen.” Though she felt the urge to fight back tears, she still wanted to defend him from his own accusations, strangely. “It’s not like I would’ve believed you, you know.”
“As a Keeper of White, I have ways of showing you the danger you were to be in. But instead of doing this and keeping you safe, I took your necklace, because I knew it was sacred to you, and that it would help me to track you. And I waited until the night of the ritual before doing so, because…” He stopped midsentence.
“Because it wasn’t me you really wanted to find,” she whispered, her tremor now one of disgust. “It was more important to you to find all of them.” She gently pulled her hand from his, retreating an inch away from him.
“Every one,” he admitted shamefully. “All members of the two highest circles of the Agency. All in the same place at the same time. I allowed your abduction to happen, because I was so hell-bent on making them pay for what they did. A true Keeper of White would have remained loyal to the more righteous cause, which was you. A true Keeper of White would have expended his energy on protecting the innocent, not avenging the dead.
“I was so consumed by my selfish ambition. Still am. And because of that, because of me, you were forced to endure two weeks of torture and torment. Because of me, your two friends are dead. Because of me, you have a terrible vision of their deaths every time you so much as close your eyes.”
His voice was low and steady. It was not shaking or choked up, he showed no signs of weeping, yet he sounded more of remorse with such stoicism than she thought possible.
“That’s why I’m unable to lift the spell, Megan. Because it’s my fault you have it in the first place. Everything bad that’s happened to you is a result of my self-interests, my impure actions. If I had remained hidden until the night of the new moon, if I had waited until then, and then kept you safe before they could take you, none of those things would have happened to you. And for that, the Alpha Magic will not allow me to undo this curse. I’m to face the consequences of my selfish choices.”
She looked away, wiping a tear from her eye. She didn’t lash out or break into sobs, but a hint of sadness overtook her as she took in the truth of what he had just revealed to her.
Michael took notice of her gestures and kept his eyes lowered, not wanting to look upon her face. “You have every right to hate me, Megan. I’m not worthy of the title Keeper of White. Not worthy of your thinking I’m a hero. Not worthy of you at all.”
There was a silence between them that deadened the motel room. Megan understood now, when he first looked upon her in the cellar earlier that night, why there seemed to be shame and sorrow in his face. Why he apologized to her. That same look was plastered on him now. And did she have a right to judge him for what he’d done? Probably. But would she not have done the same thing if their roles were reversed? Could she claim that she herself would have taken the higher road? She knew that she couldn’t. No one can truly know what they would have done if they were in someone else’s shoes. No one can know unless they actually wear them. His so called selfish ambition was a result of his own tragic past, his own demons he was forced to contend with. Whatever… whomever they took from him, was evidently very dear to him. She couldn’t judge his actions any more than he could justify them.
Furthermore, as she slowly accepted what he had admitted to her, she realized that placing blame would do neither of them any good now. She was still cursed with the horrid vision, and waiting for his friend to make another attempt to remove it would only mean she would have to go much longer depriving herself of sleep, that which she needed imperatively. And she knew that she wasn’t the only one who needed repair from damage. He appeared just as broken.
She closed her eyes for a moment, chancing the internal view of the terrible scene that replayed in her mind, willing herself the strength she would need to help both herself and him. After all, he did save her that night.
“I don’t hate you, Michael,” she finally spoke up, still looking away from him. “I appreciate you coming clean with me. But the fact is, you didn’t abduct me. You didn’t kill Ben and Ryleigh. And you didn’t put this curse on me. That was them.”
“I’m indirectly responsible for all of it,” he replied.
Megan drew in a deep breath. Exhaled. “You said you’re Catholic. Do you believe that confessing your sins to a priest really grants you absolution?”
He turned to her slowly, then quickly brought his eyes back to their lowered position. “I’m… not sure.”
“I don’t,” she admitted. “I’ve always thought that, in order to atone for your sins, you have to repair the damage you’ve done to the person you’ve sinned against.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you have to remove this curse from me. Not your friend.”
He shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t see how I can. I told you, I can’t tap into the Alpha Magic when I…”
“I don’t think that’s it,” she interrupted. “I don’t think this Alpha Magic is punishing you. You’re punishing yourself. Out of guilt.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
She turned back to face him. “Michael,” she said softly. “Look at me. Turn around and look at the result of your selfish ambition.”
He closed his eyes momentarily, but obeyed and gazed upon her with eyes of shame.
“If you’re truly sorry for what you did,” she said with a sudden dominion over him, “then you’ll answer questions I have for you now. No matter how difficult.”
He didn’t respond, but kept his eyes fixed on hers.
“How…” She stopped herself, then took a deep breath. “How long has it been since they sent you that video you mentioned?”
She half-expected him to ignore her, at least take a moment to muster the will to answer, but he replied with little to no hiatus after her question. “A little more than three
years.”
She took his hand again, more to ready herself than him for what she asked next. “Who was she?”
He turned away again. “Someone… very important to me,” was all he would say. After several seconds of silence, she determined he would not go into further detail about it. So she went on: “They threatened you in that message you talked about. That they would go after someone else you’re close to if you interfered with them again. But you didn’t let that stop you tonight. Why?”
She felt his hand stiffen and grow cold as he let out a sigh. “There are people I care about. Ones they would harm for my continued involvement. That’s what they do sometimes. They prefer to hunt down Keepers that they’ve discovered, but there are a small few of us who’ve proved too difficult for them to do away with. Some of us are protected.” He placed a hand against his chest, where the strange symbol hanging by his necklace of rope lay under his shirt. “So they target loved ones, then warn us not to interfere again.”
“That’s cowardice,” Megan remarked.
“Yes, but effective,” he answered.
“Obviously not on you.”
Michael lifted his head, but did not turn toward her. “I just… refused to live in fear. There’s a parable in the Bible about a master who gave three of his servants a certain amount of gold to make a profit with. He gave one man ten thousand pieces, who invested and doubled his earnings. The second man was given five thousand pieces. He basically did the same.”
“But the third man,” Megan cut in, knowing her Bible stories well, “with only two thousand pieces buried the gold for fear of losing it.”
“And the master was displeased with him,” Michael took over again. “He told the servant he would have rather he lost the gold trying to make a profit with it.”
“I’ve heard that gospel reading a few times,” Megan said. “At Sunday Mass. The celebrant priests gave good homilies explaining the meaning behind it, though I don’t really remember what they would say. I’m pretty sure I understood on my own.”
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 9
