Keira looked around at the people preparing to leave. Justin sat with Chloe, holding her hand, while Rafael rummaged in a crate. Adam helped Zina adjust her backpack. Simone, Yoshi and Chetan stood waiting, ready to leave.
All of their lives were uprooted, devastated. They were going back to their Families, not knowing what to expect. Had Daemon’s allies struck at them the same time as his attack on the Council? There was no way of knowing, at least not until they got out of the forest. Keira’s stomach clenched at the thought of her parents and Alison and Sammy being in danger. But surely not? They were not magickal and had no knowledge about the Guardians. Would that be enough to keep them safe?
An image of a tall, thin man, laughing over Victoria’s body in the castle courtyard flashed through her mind.
“One more thing,” she addressed Marco’s back.
“Yes, what is it?” He turned around, clearly irritated by the interruption.
“Is Daemon the one who killed Victoria? The one who was laughing, at the end?” Keira asked.
The irritation disappeared from his voice and eyes. “Yes, that was him,” he answered.
“Thank you. That is all I needed,” Keira said. Her voice was controlled and even, but with an undercurrent of steel.
At that moment, she made a vow to herself, and to the Guardians: No one would ever harm someone she cared for again.
*****
Marco caught a quick flash of brilliant green eyes filled with fury, as Keira bent down to pick up her pack and slung it over her shoulder. He suddenly remembered when Victoria told him that there was much more to Keira than anyone suspected. For some reason, in this moment, the idea didn’t seem as farfetched as it had back then.
The Draaken grouped around him and Keira as he spread a map out on the cave floor. “We are here, just east of the border between the Czech Republic and Germany.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “You have to travel west and cross over into Germany. Move fast, but stay safe. Avoid confrontation; the goal is to get news to your Families and not get killed.”
“But Marco,” Rafael interrupted. “The Elders were at the castle. The Families are now leaderless. Who is going to make decisions for them?”
Marco was silent for a moment, then answered: “In the entire history of the Guardians, it has never been necessary to put this into practice. But the law states that, in the event that the entire Council is unable to govern, the Draaken steps in.”
A shocked silence greeted his words.
“Holy shit!” Adam exclaimed. “That means—us?” The big Australian looked dumbfounded.
“Marco, are you sure? The Council members might still be alive. Daemon might not have killed them,” Zina said.
“I don’t believe Daemon would leave any of them alive. But even if he did, they are not in a position to help us—to make decisions for the Guardians,” Marco answered. “As members of the Draaken, you all knew that you were being trained to take over from your Family Leaders.”
“Yes, but that was going to happen years from now, when they retired…or something,” Adam said.
“Well, the ‘something’ has just happened,” Marco said, “and we have to step up. Your duty is to get to your Families, get those who can fight organised. Move the rest to your safe houses. Then come to Argentina. We will spearhead our attack from there.”
“What if Daemon has attacked our families already, or if the locations of our safe houses have been compromised?” Chetan voiced everyone’s silent concern.
“We can only hope that he hasn’t, that he’s been too busy scheming to overthrow the Council to pay attention to the Families. But it will be your decision. If your Family doesn’t have enough fighters, or if there is any indication that the Watchers have been sniffing around the safe houses, you bring your people to Argentina.”
Marco looked each of the Draaken in the eye. “Now go,” he said. “Go and do what you have to.”
Two by two, they took leave of each other, turned around and slipped out of the cave’s entrance, into the forest below.
Soon, only Rafael and Chloe, Marco, Keira, and Justin were left. The brothers looked at each other.
“Are you going ahead with it?” Rafael asked.
“Yes, there is no other way,” Marco replied.
Keira had stayed unnoticed off to one side until then. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
Chloe frowned at her partner. “Rafael?” she questioned.
Marco looked down at Justin. “You have to go with Rafael and Chloe. Keira and I have somewhere else to go,” he said and put his hand on the young boy’s shoulder.
“What-?” Keira and Justin cried out simultaneously.
“I want to stay with you! I can help, I won’t be in the way!” Justin begged, distressed at the thought of leaving his hero and new friend behind.
“You said we have to get across the border; that the Draaken has to reach their Families,” Keira argued.
“I never said that you and I would join them,” Marco replied. “I was wondering how to convince them we had to split up. Your plan made it possible.”
“No—that’s—what are you saying!” Keira spluttered.
“Keira,” Marco said. “Victoria made me promise that if something should—if for some reason she was unable to continue with your training, I would take you to someone else who could.”
She could only stare at him in shock.
“No,” she found her voice. “I must go home. I have plans. I can’t go off with you just because you say so!”
Marco stepped closer to her. He reached out a hand as if to brush her cheek, but she flinched back. Anger radiated from her and a determined frown furrowed her brows.
“I think I know what your plans are. You want revenge, don’t you? So do I. But for now, we have no choice.” Marco folded up the map, put it in his pocket and swung a heavy-looking backpack over his shoulders with ease.
The brothers gripped each other’s right forearms in a tight parting. “Good luck,” each said, and Rafael turned to go. Justin and Chloe followed him out with last concerned looks at Keira.
Keira watched them go and then turned on Marco, fists on her hips. “Take me home!” she demanded.
“That is not possible,” he answered calmly.
“Then I’ll find my own way. I don’t need you. I’ve been in woods before.” She picked up the bag he had packed for her and walked to the cave’s entrance.
“Woods filled with magick shields and traps? Moving as fast as possible while you have the army of an enemy more powerful than you can imagine on your heels? Even if you do get out of the woods, how will you get home? And most importantly, are you willing to put your parents and friends at risk?” He fired the questions at her in rapid succession.
The last question stopped her in her tracks.
“What do you mean, ‘put my family and friends at risk?’”
“By now Daemon knows everything there is to know about you. Where you live, who your parents are, the names and addresses of your friends. They will be under constant surveillance and the moment you show your face, everyone will be in danger,” he continued in a softer voice.
Keira stared at him in stunned silence. The magnitude of the situation finally began to sink in. Earlier, everything had passed in a blur and a part of her held onto the belief—the hope—that she’d be able to pick up her life in London where she’d left it, after she had taken revenge on Daemon, of course. She had the vague idea that, once he’d been taken care of, she’d have that talk with her parents and then travel the world with her camera in hand. She’d use Alison’s apartment as her base, visiting her friends from time to time, and then be off again to the next exotic destination.
Now, that hope seemed beyond naïve, even stupid. She shook her head in mute despair. If Victoria couldn’t defeat Daemon, how did she ever think she’d be able to? Besides that, the thought of Alison and Sammy being threatened because of her—the thought of her parents in dan
ger—robbed Keira of her breath and ability to think.
Marco watched her in silent sympathy. “Keira,” he said.
“Yes?” she asked, forlorn.
“The only way to keep them safe is for you to disappear for a while. Let Daemon think he has won, that he has chased you into hiding.”
“Which would be true,” she answered.
“Yes, but then you can return on your own terms, not his. And you will return, Keira, when you are ready and able to deal with him. When we have all regrouped and are together again. Keira, he may have won the battle, but he has not won the war!”
She looked up. His eyes were filled with determination and compassion. Underlying that was a deep sadness, and Keira realised she had been unfair to him. She had let him carry the burden of her safety while he hadn’t yet grieved for Victoria and his friends.
“You miss her, too,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “And the best way to honour her memory is for me to keep my promise to her, do my duty, and keep you safe.”
“Victoria…how will you…”
He understood, without her having to say more.
“We will wait a while and then announce that there was an accident. It is unfortunate, but we’ve had to do this before, for other Guardians,” his voice was businesslike but she heard the pain.
“My friends—parents—they expect me back. They will be worried,” Keira murmured the last of her objections.
“They don’t expect you back for a few days, right? They know you’re in the Czech Republic, but not exactly where. After about a week, they will be contacted. We’ll convince them that you need more time alone, especially in light of Victoria’s death.”
She could only nod her acceptance of the inevitable.
He held out his hand. “Now, let’s go.”
She hesitated, then took his hand in hers and together they left the cave.
Chapter 17
The faint drip-dripping of water had long since failed to register with the old man; so had the soft rustling of the rats’ claws on the dank stone floor. He didn’t know where they came in. He had given up trying to find a crack in the wall. The small room had no windows and the heavy, solid wood door, no bars.
He didn’t know how long he had been in the cell; it could have been hours, or days. Time had a curious way of slipping away when you are surrounded by unrelenting, solid darkness, with only fear and the screams of fellow prisoners for company. He knew those voices even though terror robbed them of all humanity. Those voices had belonged to life-long colleagues and friends. They had been silent for a while now, and he feared that he was the last one.
The stomping of heavy boots approached from the distance, then stopped in front of his cell. Keys rattled and the door was kicked open. Two pairs of arms grabbed him roughly and pulled him to his feet.
“Shit, he stinks,” a voice rasped.
“The boss ain’t said nothin’ about cleaning him up, just to bring him,” another replied.
The old man squinted against the sudden glare of light as he was dragged up a seemingly endless spiral staircase. Eventually, the stairs levelled out and they passed through rooms getting progressively richer in décor while his guards muttered and complained about his redolence.
At last they stopped. The old man dropped to his knees as his legs were too weak to support even his frail body. He could only stare at the plush, red carpet in front of him. A pair of gleaming, black leather shoes came into view.
“Gentlemen, please help our guest to a seat.” The tone was pleasant but it left the old man with a growing dread.
The handlers jerked him up and pushed him into a chair. It wasn’t one he recognised, Victoria didn’t like this style, so he didn’t feel bad when his filthy clothes left brown streaks on the velvet upholstery.
The black shoes moved to a chair opposite him; a pair of soft white hands with carefully groomed nails rested on a knee.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Mr Savelli.”
The old man finally looked up and met his nemesis’ eyes. “Bastardo!” He tried to spit out of his dry mouth.
“Now, now,” Daemon tut-tutted. “There is no need for name calling. Look around, old man; do you like what I’ve done with the place?”
They were in the Great Hall of the Guardians’ castle. All the embroidered family crests were gone from the walls and above the fireplace, where the Wilde family crest used to be, a huge painting of Daemon surveyed the room. Gilded and stuffed French furniture replaced the comfortable couches and big wooden table around which the Council used to gather.
“This place will never be yours!” Savelli croaked in disgust.
“Well, possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Daemon smiled congenially. “But come, let’s not waste more time. The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner you can get out of here and go back to your villa in Italy.”
Savelli merely cackled with glee. “So! My friends didn’t give you what you want, eccellente!”
The blow that struck the old man’s head lifted him out of the chair and left him sprawling on the red carpet. He lay, gasping for air, desperately trying to hang on to consciousness.
Daemon bent over him, rubbing his knuckles, all traces of civility gone from his face. “Your friends are all dead!” he hissed. He turned away and tugged the sleeves of his suit down. From his breast pocket, he took a snow-white handkerchief and polished the blood off of the heavy silver signet ring on his right hand.
“Some of your friends put up a brave fight, they were quite feisty. I could almost admire that. Of course their struggles only prolonged the inevitable and caused them so much more pain than what was strictly necessary. But, alas, it became clear that none of them had the information I required,” Daemon continued while slowly walking up and down past the old man, his hands clasped behind his back.
“However, your most recent expired colleague did mention that you and the old crone had a—liaison—in your younger days. During your pillow talk, she didn’t, by any chance, mention something about an old book, did she?” Daemon stopped in front of the prone figure on the floor, his cruel eyes fixed intently on the haggard face below him.
“Book? What book?” The old man gasped.
“Oh, you know, the one with the accumulated knowledge of all the Leaders of the Guardians over the past eons—that book,” Daemon said in a pleasant, casual voice.
“No…book…”
“Don’t tell me ‘no Book.’ I know about the Book and I want it. Now tell me where…it…is!” Daemon punctuated his last words with a vicious kick to the old man’s ribs with the sharp point of his expensive leather shoes.
When he got no reply, he stretched his arms out over the body on the floor and hissed an incantation in an ancient language. Savelli gasped and opened his eyes.
“You can bring me back, bastardo, but you cannot keep me here for long!”
“I can keep you here long enough to find out what I need to know. Now. TALK!”
At the command, Savelli’s eyes rolled back in his head and he answered in a deep and commanding voice:
“Earth, fire, water, air.
The Akasha condemns those who dare.
Deep within, the wisdom concealed.
To the One, it be revealed.”
With that, Savelli’s eyes refocused on Daemon. He breathed a shuddering breath and in a tired voice he said, “You will keep me no longer, spawn of the devil. I curse you and your horde to everlasting banishment to the deepest reaches of the Void.” Then, his head lolled to the side and his eyes saw no more.
“Bloody useless sack of shit!” Daemon swore in frustrated rage. Soft mutters from his two handlers made him turn on them in fury. “What are you whispering about?” he snarled.
“Sir…” one spoke up hesitantly. “The old man’s curse, he is—was a member of Council. They could do those things, I mean, banish us—“
A shape, unseen till now, detached itself from a sh
adowy corner and slinked closer.
“Curses made with dying breaths are matters of concern, Sir,” Julius said.
“Don’t you start acting like a coward as well, Julius,” Daemon snapped. “Get rid of that,” he pointed to the body on the floor and dismissed the two handlers.
Julius watched Daemon from under heavy, hooded eyes. “Sir, if word of this gets out it could affect morale around here. Most of the Families only pledged allegiance because you promised them everlasting glory, etcetera, etcetera. You’ve just killed the last Council member and we are no closer to the Book.”
Daemon lost his last remaining shred of patience, pounced on Julius and grabbed his throat in a claw-like grip.
“I am getting slightly annoyed with your attitude, Julius,” he spat in his subordinate’s face. “Please remember: no one is irreplaceable.”
He pushed Julius away and pulled at his sleeves. His lieutenant was bent over and gasping for breath.
“The morale of our troops is your problem, Julius. That is why I put you in charge. Leave the Book to me. Savelli might not have told me where exactly it is, but he pointed me in the right direction. It is now clear that we need to find this Keira, at any cost. How we do that, I will leave to your twisted mind to figure out. And Julius, I did mean any cost!”
“Yes, Sir!” Julius rasped through his burning throat.
“Now, you go and take care of the rabble. I will be in the library. That old man’s riddle might have given us an extra clue. And I don’t want to be disturbed,” Daemon commanded and stalked off.
“Yes, Sir,” Julius whispered, an uncharacteristic, thoughtful expression on his face. “You go sit with your dusty manuscripts. There is more than one way to skin a cat, and once that book is found, there is more than one person who can use it.”
Chapter 18
Keira watched as Marco took out a small, camouflaged tent from his bag. Nightfall was approaching and, when they came upon a slight dip in the terrain, he suggested they stop for the night. Keira was grateful to put her backpack down and flex her shoulders. She suppressed a grimace as her back spasmed. There was no way she was letting Marco see her discomfort.
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