02 Eternity - Guardian

by Laury Falter

  Felix arrived with Rufus in his lime green Camero and began setting up their tables. Felix, being a tarot card reader, was often times quicker than Rufus in setting up, who was a talented caricature artist and needed various drawing instruments laid out. My area consisted of two chairs and a sign that read simply:

  Send & Receive Messages

  to Dead Loved Ones

  Payment Due on Proof of Delivery

  Eran helped us, which made it faster. He then stood in front of me as I took a seat in one of my chairs.

  “I’ll be close by.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. My anger had dissipated by then.

  Eran recognized it and knelt down in front of me. He then waited until our eyes were locked so that he could convey what he wanted me to know: That he was equally as disappointed we were put in this position.

  As quickly as he’d knelt, he stood and moved through the crowd; far enough that I could perform my work undistracted, close enough to keep me in sight.

  New Orleans tourists were beginning to filter into the brick-paved area around Jackson’s Square now. It was mid-morning and yet most of them appeared blurry-eyed, in need of caffeine, and interested mostly in making a beeline for Café du Monde. However, my sign did catch the attention of a few college girls who gave me an inquisitive stare.

  The time passed quickly with most of those stopping by being regular customers. I’d been performing this service for several months and had acquired ‘regulars’ who kept up ongoing conversations with family members and friends on the other side.

  When the daylight began to fade and The Square emptied, I collected my sign and folding chairs, giving them to Felix to drive home. Watching Felix’s lime green Camaro disappear around the corner, I turned and found Eran leaning against the gate behind me. His arms were crossed over his chest again highlighting the curves of his muscles, making my breath catch.

  He broke his typical arrogant grin to ask, “Good day?”

  “Fairly good.” I shrugged. “Most of the messages were about family gossip. Only one is holding a heated argument that doesn’t look like it will end any time soon…about whether their dog should be groomed. ”

  Eran stifled a chuckle and then turned serious. “I have an errand to make before we get you home.”

  “You do?” I was a little suspicious. “Okay, should we use my bike?”

  “We should,” Eran confirmed, handing my helmet to me.

  As we headed through the streets of the French Quarter, I couldn’t deny its magnificence. Passing colorful, weather-beaten buildings decorated with black wrought iron balustrades, neighbors chatting on the sidewalk, and restaurants with lines spilling from their open doorways, I realized that my enamor with this city hadn’t weakened since I’d arrived a few months back. Before that point, I had traveled across the country, staying in each place no longer than three months at a time while my aunt worked on her photography collection. No place before had captivated me like New Orleans.

  Eran took us to a quieter part of town and a narrow street alongside Lake Pontchartrain. I’d never been to this area of the city and could quickly see why. It was made of warehouse stores and I’d never been very interested in shopping.

  By the time we reached our destination, it was nearly dark and the buildings were mostly hidden in shadows. The shopkeepers in this area had long since closed their doors and gone home for the evening.

  Only one window was illuminated.

  We removed our helmets and I followed Eran towards that window. We stopped at the door next to it where a simple wooden sign had been nailed at eye-level.

  “Phillip Howell…Antiquities Dealer…” I read it aloud.

  The door opened then and a quiet, gruff voice replied, “At your service.”

  The voice belonged to a man who looked old enough to be in his nineties. He stooped over a gnarled cane that looked about the same age. His eyes were kind and gleaming as if he had a secret to tell.

  “Mr. Howell,” Eran said, extending his hand.

  “Pish,” was the reply. “I’m an old man and have no time for pleasantries. Come in.”

  We followed him through a small room which may have been a pleasant storefront at one point. Now it was cluttered with statues, paintings, and boxes. Aisles had been cleared to allow us to reach Mr. Howell’s office in the back.

  “Sit.” He pointed to a brown leather couch across from his desk and we did.

  Mr. Howell continued on behind his desk but didn’t sit down. He instead hobbled to a scuffed but sturdy safe in the back corner of his office. After a few brief dials, he opened the door and removed a thin envelope.

  Returning to his desk, he sat down and shoved the envelope toward Eran.

  Eran reached for it, opened the flap, and peered inside. A quick glance told me inside was a cashier’s check from Mr. Howell and written for four million dollars. I gasped. Unfazed, Eran winked confidently at me and closed the flap. He tucked the envelope in his jeans pocket before addressing Mr. Howell.

  Speculatively, he said, “I’m surprised at how quickly it sold. Who bought it?”

  “A new collector…here in town.”

  Eran nodded.

  “Beautiful piece. And with the history behind it…” Mr. Howell exhaled a reflective chuckle. “Bids flew in from around the world once I set up the silent auction. But don’t worry. It’s confidential, just as you wanted. No one knows the name of the seller but me.”

  “Ah…” I mumbled to myself, drawing their interest. “That’s why the check came from Mr. Howell.”

  Mr. Howell smiled, his skin folding over itself as his face lifted. “She’s quick.”

  “You have no idea,” said Eran, and then asked again, “Who was the collector?”

  Mr. Howell appeared slightly perturbed at the question. “Just as you had, he asked to remain anonymous. In fact, he sent an assistant to pick it up.”

  Realizing I was missing much of the story, I asked, “What was the it you are referring to?”

  Mr. Howell smiled like a child in a candy store. “A renowned diamond necklace missing since the American Revolution. I was asked by several bid submitters where it was found but your boyfriend here won’t give that up.”

  Eran grinned and stood up as if on cue. “Mr. Howell, thank you for mediating the sale.”

  “For that piece? My pleasure.” Mr. Howell stood also and escorted us to the door. With a quick, courteous nod, he closed and locked the door behind us. The office went dark a moment later.

  “Renowned necklace missing since the American Revolution?” I said with a curious lift of my eyebrows.

  Eran nodded. “Thought I should store it for a rainy day…That rainy day arrived.”

  “But where did you store it?” I didn’t bother to hide my amazement.

  “There’s a little place in the Appalachians.”

  The realization hit me quickly. “The cabin…”

  Eran nodded again. He didn’t seem interested in sharing information so I figured it was up to me to ask.

  “But how did you get it? You’ve always been here with me. When did you find the time?”

  “Magdalene,” he said, subduing a smile. “Have you forgotten how fast I can move?”

  I rolled my eyes and replied, “Not in the least.” I knew full well that Eran could make it around the world in a single day. A trip to the Appalachian Mountains would be a quick jaunt for him.

  “Still, I had a friend watch over you as you slept.” He paused briefly, struggling to decide whether to disclose more. In the end, he allowed himself a brief reprieve from his typical aloof behavior. “I would never leave you alone. You are far too important to me.” He struggled with those words, releasing them gruffly. Listening to them made me feel an overwhelming sense of compassion for him. Our distance was challenging him too.

  Only a second passed before his expression changed and he grew concerned. “What, Magdalene? What’s wrong?”

  He saw the reaction in me b
efore I recognized it myself. Suddenly my hands were shaking, perspiration broke out across my forehead, and – most distinctly – the hair at the back of my neck stood up as if I’d been shot with electricity.

  A moment later I heard a young, male voice state, “Ah…now isn’t this sweet, boys? Ill-fated lovers meeting again.”

  Eran moved to face the street, his expression changing to stone. I did the same while desperately trying to calm my reaction to those who now stood in front of us.

  A ripping sound began, drawing my awareness towards Eran where I watched as his T-shirt tore away from his body. From the back of his shoulder blades, two gashes opened and from them grew a pair of brilliantly white wings. They expanded until they could easily have surrounded us but remained outstretched and ready for flight.

  A single line of eight men scowled back at us, their stances much like ours – ready for attack. Each one looked to be just older than teenagers, each one was shirtless, and each one had massive grey wings spanning from their thick, brawny backs.

  I looked at Eran and realized that we were alone, we were outnumbered, and we were suddenly facing the enemies that Eran had been trying to warn me were coming.

  CHAPTER TWO: FOREWARNING

  Eran lifted his arm and gently tried to push me behind him as the group of eight winged men took a unified step forward. I swiftly moved around Eran’s barrier.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I called out, almost daring them to advance, so angry I nearly wanted them to attempt it.

  “They know that, Magdalene,” Eran muttered, his voice calm but tense.

  “Still haven’t lost that vigor, I see,” reflected the one who had stepped out in front earlier.

  I noticed he was addressing me, which caught me off guard. Without diverting my gaze, I quietly asked Eran, “Do I know him?”

  “Yes,” Eran replied stiffly and then called out, “What do you want, Marco?”

  Marco appeared to feign offense. “So much time has gone by and this is your greeting? I mean…it has been…what? Three hundred years or so since we’ve last seen each other. We have much to catch up on.”

  Marco’s choice of words seemed peculiar to me at first. Then I realized that he, and most-likely his winged accomplices, had spent several centuries on earth and had become a blend of what they’d experienced. Their language, their mannerisms, even their accents were no longer distinct. They belonged to no culture and could no longer identify any roots. They were wanderers – or more precisely – nomadic hunters.

  “We have nothing to say to each other.” Eran kept his guard up and his stance in place.

  Marco clucked his tongue at us. “Not cordial, Eran,” he said. It seemed to be a warning. “And you, dear sweet Magdalene. Miss me?” He grinned then, an evil, mocking expression that made the hairs on the back of my neck stick straight out.

  To my surprise, Eran growled. It was slight but loud enough to reach me. I’d never heard Eran react that way before.

  Marco was intentionally provoking Eran, and doing it successfully.

  “You’re just as beautiful as I remember, Magdalene.” He paused, reflectively. “When we first met your name was Marie. Do you recall that, Magdalene? When we first met? But, of course you wouldn’t…I heard somewhere that you remember very little of your past lives…You have no recollection of any of us…Do you?” He shook his head in what seemed to be mock pity. “Why ever would you choose to return here as a human? By doing so you’ve left yourself vulnerable, weak…”

  “Marco,” Eran said impatiently, sending an unspoken warning. “What…do…you…want?” he continued through teeth clenched against his rising anger.

  Marco ignored him. “But, dear Magdalene…how I’ve missed the curve of your-”

  Eran immediately stepped forward and in reaction three of the men behind Marco advanced, wings widening their span in preparation for an assault.

  “All right…All right.” Marco brought up a hand in a gesture to calm the situation. “What do we want? Only to watch. We won’t intervene. Promise.”

  I couldn’t tell if Marco was insane or still playing with Eran.

  “Watch what?” Eran asked the same question that was perplexing me.

  Marco’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean to tell me that no one has told you? All mighty, all powerful, all knowing Eran is the last to learn?” He scoffed.

  “Watch what, Marco?”

  “The upcoming battle, of course.” Eran and I glanced at each other, both of us wary. When we didn’t respond Marco went on. “Not with us. No, no. But I do hear that quite a few of us will be arriving shortly as spectators. You’ll have an audience, it sounds…from all over the world. We wouldn’t miss this for…well, for all eternity.” He paused to snigger at his own joke.

  Eran’s patience was thinning and he showed this by sighing loudly. “If the battle isn’t with you, who is it with?”

  Marco opened his mouth to answer the question but he was only toying with us, which became clear with his answer. “Hmmm…No…No. I think you should figure that out for yourselves.” Marco spun around to face the others, chuckling at our expense.

  The remaining men broke in to smiles, relaxing their wings somewhat.

  “Let’s head out, boys,” said Marco and then sent Eran and me another warning. “We’ll be seeing you two around.”

  Almost in unison, each of their wings made a powerful flapping motion, and their bodies were lifted into the inky night sky. They became a single gray line against the black background, a dividing line. One more flap and they faded out of sight.

  Eran’s own wings sunk without a sound into his back as we stood quietly for a moment. Without taking his eyes away from the sky, he did a quick, thoughtful assessment. “Marco’s untruthfulness is legendary. He could be fabricating the possibility of a battle. But the fact that he didn’t engage in an attack tonight makes me slightly leery that he believes one is coming. If he does decide to attack, I can handle him and his cronies. But if more Fallen Ones start flocking here we’ll need to get you out of New Orleans.”

  “You know I won’t leave,” I said, determined.

  Eran frowned. “We’ll discuss your leaving New Orleans if the time comes. For now, I’m going to get you home.”

  Instantly, my thoughts fell back to when I’d been first introduced to the Fallen Ones. Given that I had moved every three months since birth, I’d been able to evade them. Then I landed in New Orleans and they caught up with me. From that point forward, my life had been at risk.

  Fallen Ones for the most part are cold, calculating instigators and equally sinister avengers. Having been shunned from the afterlife for causing a malicious act against humanity, they’ve been committed to an eternity on earth where they’ve subsequently kept up their treachery.

  They especially do not like anyone who assists humans and that included me and any guardians sent to protect us. Because of this, a war has been raging between Fallen Ones and guardians for centuries, a war that I was now embroiled in whether I liked it or not.

  Eran had bent down and was now collecting the remnants of his T-shirt.

  Despite the gravity of what had just happened, I noticed his muscles stretching as he pulled a spare shirt from his book bag and slipped it on. I also noticed that the gashes in his back had completely healed.

  “They’re stunning,” I said.

  He glanced at me. “My appendages? They’re good to have in times like these.”

  “Are they…painful at all?”

  “I barely notice them,” he said sympathetically, knowing I was concerned without having to say it.

  “Good.”

  “Come on…Time to get you back home.”

  Unlike our typical leisurely pace, this ride was fast and sharp. Eran was nervous but he didn’t show it in words. It came through in the maneuvering of the bike.

  We arrived at the house and parked the bike in the shed with neither of us saying a word until we were inside the house. Ou
r other three housemates were playing a fairly heated board game when we entered but they greeted us briefly before returning to it.

  “Dinner’s in the fridge,” Ezra said, her head bowed towards the game.

  “Thanks but I’m…I’m just not hungry,” I said. I didn’t bother adding, not while knowing that my enemies had arrived just as Eran predicted and had threatened a looming battle. For some reason, food just didn’t sound good.

  Eran simply shook his head. Apparently, his appetite was gone too. “I think we’ll call it an early night.”

  Felix snickered, moving a piece on the board, to which Rufus slapped his hand away. “Ain’t your turn,” he said briskly and then fell back in silent contemplation over the board. Felix huffed.

  Ezra was the only apprehensive one. She seemed to have an innate ability to know when something was wrong but allowed you to bring her in on it when you were ready. “Then good night you two.” She paused and added, “Keep the doors open.”

  Since Eran began living with us three weeks ago, Ezra had allowed him to stay on one condition: The bedroom door needed to be left open if Eran and I were in the room alone. She worked with troubled teens so she had a preexisting condition that she acknowledged and called suspicious tendencies. She knew she couldn’t help what happened outside the house but was dedicated to preventing anything from happening inside it. Out of respect we obeyed her one wish.

  At the top of the stairs, I knew that Eran expected that I follow him to his bedroom. Without a word, I deviated and went to my room.

  A warm night like tonight would ordinarily find us on my balcony overlooking Magazine Street, chairs tilted back, our feet propped on the railing. I went directly to the French doors leading to it and opened them wide.

  “What are you doing, Magdalene?” Eran came up behind me, attempting to suppress his irritation.