02 Eternity - Guardian

by Laury Falter

  “Feeling better?” Eran asked into my ear.

  “Slightly,” I said, enjoying the feeling of him close to me despite my mood.

  We were high enough now to see the entire city, its streets dotted with obscure yellow halos where streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, its cars moving like ants along the roadways.

  We lifted higher still; breaking through a patch of clouds, into a land illuminated by the moon’s light.

  That was when I realized we weren’t alone.

  In the distance, directly in front of us, was another pair of wings.

  The body was hovering; its arms and legs curling out as if it were floating in water; its wings pumping slowly and just enough to keep it from dropping. It seemed to be facing us, possibly watching us.

  “Eran,” I whispered unable to entirely finish calling out his name before we suddenly plummeted towards earth.

  Eran’s wings moved rapidly now, drawing up far above us to nearly touch at the tips and plunging down – working to gain as much speed as possible.

  Impulsively, I turned to look back and wished I hadn’t.

  It was coming after us…and gaining ground.

  Despite the wind in my ears sounding like I’d stuck my head out of an airliner’s window and the feel of my cheeks flapping against the pressure, I told Eran, “It’s almost caught us. We need to go faster.”

  “We can’t,” he called out to me. “Your body won’t take the force.”

  I groaned. Once again, my human body was holding us back. “Do it anyways.”

  Though I couldn’t be sure, I think I heard him sigh in frustration at me.

  We were descending so quickly that I could make out people walking along the sidewalks now.

  “Hold on,” he warned and I braced myself against the bike and Eran’s solid torso.

  The next moment we were swerving through rows of tombs and statues made of concrete. The cemetery was vacant, thankfully, because at this speed a collision would have resulted in serious injury. I guessed that this was the reason Eran had chosen this particular location to lose our pursuer.

  My attention was drawn to my right and I found that it had reached us, keeping pace one row away. The darkness hid its features, but I could discern that it was similar in size to Eran and with equally powerful wings.

  Then it was gone, fallen away, and out of sight.

  Its disappearance was followed by a resounding crash as it collided with the side of a tomb. I peered over my shoulder just in time to see crumbles of concrete roll into the aisle behind us.

  I giggled, unable to contain it.

  However, I sensed that Eran didn’t share my enthusiasm over his victory. When we had safely landed at the back door to our house, he stepped off the bike, reserved and in thought.

  It was oddly quiet now with the wind no longer in my ears.

  Campion opened the back door in his typical fashionable attire. He saw Eran’s demeanor and instantly stood straighter and more attentive. “Sir,” he declared, appearing to wait for instructions.

  “Magdalene, I will see you in the morning,” said Eran firmly.

  I hesitated, wanting to kiss him before we left each other. Knowing this was not going to happen, I settled for a meek, “Thank you…for tonight.”

  The sternness in him eased a little, though it was almost undetectable.

  I entered the house and closed the door behind me, but I did not leave the kitchen. The other housemates were in their respective rooms so voices from outside could travel a good distance – even behind a closed door.

  “There was an attack on Magdalene tonight,” Eran notified Campion, going in to details about the assailant.

  “Do you know who attacked her?” asked Campion with the same grave tone as Eran.

  “I’m going back to survey the area. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Do you want me to accompany you?” Campion offered.

  “No, just keep her safe.”

  “You know I will,” replied Campion resolute.

  I heard the leaves outside stir across the yard and then Campion opened the kitchen door.

  My arms were crossed against my chest and I didn’t bother to hide the discontent on my face. “You should be going with him. He’ll need another set of eyes on his back.”

  “He’s instructed me to stay with you.”

  “We’ll go together than,” I said, starting for the back door. “I know right where we left-“

  “Magdalene,” Campion said, moving to block me. “He also instructed me to keep you safe. Returning to the cemetery is not what he had in mind.”

  “How do you know?” I countered.

  He gave me a face that told me not to be ridiculous.

  I met his stare.

  “Your dinner with Mr. Hamilton starts in an hour. You should prepare yourself.”

  I knew he was trying to divert my attention.

  “I am prepared.”

  Campion glanced at me from head to toes, frowning.

  I sighed and turned away, feeling helpless.

  “Let’s see what we can scrounge up from your closet,” Campion proposed, laying his arm across my shoulders and spinning me to face the door, the one that led towards the staircase. “You’ll go to dinner and in the morning you’ll wake up to find Eran at your bedside…just as you did this morning…just as you had the morning’s previous.”

  Campion prompted me up the stairs to my bedroom where he dug deep into my closet for something he thought would be more suitable to wear.

  Yet, as I sat on the edge of my bed, uninterested in Campion’s criticism of my wardrobe, I couldn’t take my mind off Eran.

  He was returning to the site where we’d last seen our attacker make a volatile attempt to harm us…and he was doing it alone.

  It left me incredibly uneasy.

  The irony was I had no idea that my acceptance to Mr. Hamilton’s dinner invitation would turn out to be more treacherous than Eran’s nightly mission.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: THE RUSE

  Campion and I arrived promptly at the time Mr. Hamilton was expecting me, stopping in front of what looked to be one of the oldest mansions on the street. It had been remodeled, of course, so that its columns appeared sturdy, its stained glass windows were no longer warped, and its paint looked as if it had been applied yesterday. The hedges lining the house and the grass around the estate appeared to have just been put in as well. It struck me as odd that he’d replace them all at once but I ended up shrugging it off. Maybe Mr. Hamilton was trying to give it curb appeal so that whoever inherited the house would have an easier time selling it.

  Campion assessed it openly. “How much did he say he’d offer for a private session?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “You should ask for at least twice your going rate.”

  “Campion,” I hissed. “I don’t use my ability to fleece my customers. I take this very seriously-”

  “I know…I know…I was playing around. Sheesh…” He rolled his eyes at me.

  I sighed lightly at myself. “Sorry, I’m…I’m just a little on edge.”

  Campion surprised me by taking my elbow. “He’ll be just fine, Magdalene. You’ll see.”

  I gave him a wavering smile of appreciation, thankful that Eran’s commendation was coming from someone who’d known him for centuries.

  We took the steps to the main entrance but before we reached it the door opened. Alfred stood just inside the cavernous foyer, soft light illuminating his stately butler uniform. Beyond him, two sweeping staircases curved along the side of the opposing walls, seeming to hug the elaborately designed chandelier hanging from the center of the foyer. The tile was imported black and white checkered Italian marble and the busts set on individual shelves along the staircase walls were carved from pure marble. Jazz music played from somewhere in the house.

  “Mr. Hamilton is eagerly awaiting your arrival,” said Alfred. “Please follow me.”

  Alfred took us
through the first floor to a luxuriously appointed library. We found ourselves surrounded by shelves of books so that not the smallest bit of wall space could be seen. I noticed that oversized leather and velvet sofas were placed strategically around the room and that one of them was already occupied.

  “Your guests, sir,” said Alfred before leaving and closing the doors behind him.

  Mr. Hamilton stood and turned towards us, welcoming us with a beaming smile. He could be described in a single word: debonair. His striking silver hair was immaculately groomed, his fair skin gleamed brightly, and his choice of clothes told me that he spent a good amount of money on his wardrobe. I could already sense that Campion was impressed.

  Something did stand out to me regarding Mr. Hamilton though. He didn’t appear to be the least bit ill, which caused me to instantly wonder why he was in such a hurry to meet me.

  “Ms. Magdalene Tanner, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” he greeted me, taking my hand into both of his as a sign of deep respect.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “And you…” he turned his attention to Campion. “I haven’t made your acquaintance.”

  “Campion. I’m Ms. Tanner’s escort.”

  “Well…welcome, both of you…” he said graciously. “It is a late hour so I imagine you are hungry…”

  Campion shook his head, attempting to be polite. I discarded that option right away.

  “Starved,” I declared without any hesitation.

  Not a second passed when a door leading elsewhere in the house opened and Alfred emerged, pushing in a silver tray with matching plate covers. I noticed that he set four plates on a small table prepared for us by the lit fireplace.

  “Will someone else be joining us?” I asked, as we made our way to the table.

  Mr. Hamilton glanced at me, impressed. “You are astute.” He said this in a way that made me think someone had foretold him. “Yes, one additional guest.” He turned to Alfred and asked, “Would you mind informing Bronte,” he asked and received a brief, silent nod in response. Alfred then quickly left the room.

  “I understand that you perform your services in Jackson Square,” Mr. Hamilton stated.

  “Yes, it makes it easy for my customers to find me.”

  “But you also have repeat customers living here in New Orleans as well, I assume.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “But I gather that this is your first house call,” he surmised.

  “It is.”

  He smiled as if he already knew the answer to that question. Then the door opened and we turned to see who was entering.

  “And I believe you already know Bronte…” he hinted, a grin lingering beneath the surface.

  I turned and my mouth fell open in surprise.

  I did know Bronte but by a different name.

  “Ms. Beedinwigg,” I said, bewildered.

  She crossed the room looking very much the way I’ve seen her at school. Her dress had been changed to a deeper colored floral print but her bun was still in place, her glasses hung to rest against her chest, and her combat boots were still protruding from beneath her dress. As always, her entire demeanor reflected a self-assured, warm welcome.

  “Maggie,” she said affectionately. “I am so glad you could come.”

  “So glad you’re here too,” I retorted with a laugh. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes, for…about a week now.”

  I tilted my head, more dumbfounded now. “Then, that means, you moved here just before classes started.”

  She and Mr. Hamilton glanced at each other, sending an unspoken message between them. I would discover what this message was a few minutes later.

  “Eran wasn’t able to make it to dinner?” she asked, changing the subject and addressing Campion.

  I introduced her and Campion, explaining, “He’s my escort for the night.”

  She seemed surprised by this but replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She then clapped her hands lightly and offered, “Shall we eat before it gets cold?” She was already taking her seat before anyone could answer.

  I noticed that the covers had been removed and that on each plate the meal was different. Ms. Beedinwigg had a traditional jambalaya while Mr. Hamilton chose a pair of Cornish hens. Campion had been given Eran’s meal which was prepared as a succulent steak. My meal was a hamburger and fries and it was perfect. It made me realize that somehow, Alfred had known what we’d each prefer.

  At that point, I began to feel as if Mr. Hamilton and Ms. Beedinwigg knew more about me than I assumed.

  Despite my feelings, dinner conversation was casual, centering on school and whether I enjoyed it. While giving them an honest answer, I refrained from elaborating on my feelings for Mr. Warden and Bridgette Madison.

  Towards the end of dinner, I began to question whether Mr. Hamilton had actually called me here to deliver messages to someone on the other side. In an effort to imply this, I asked, “Mr. Hamilton…I’m curious…Did you learn of my ability to deliver messages to those who have passed on through Ms. Beedinwigg or by passing me in Jackson Square.”

  Again, a glance was shared between Mr. Hamilton and Ms. Beedinwigg before he answered, “I’m glad you asked the question, Magdalene.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin and set it at the side of his plate before leaning back in his chair and continuing. “I too have just arrived in New Orleans. Previously, I traveled, alongside Ms. Beedinwigg. In fact, it wasn’t until I purchased a necklace…a very rare necklace…in a black market antiquities trade did I consider making myself a more permanent resident. The necklace is renowned, diamond, and had been missing since the American Revolution.”

  He paused, waiting for my reaction.

  “Eran’s necklace?” I asked more to myself than to him…and suddenly I was standing and my guard was up.

  Campion, who had been listening intently, was standing too, positioning himself between me and Mr. Hamilton and Ms. Beedinwigg. His back was arched, ready to release his wings. I deduced that the only reason his wings remained hidden was because our hosts stayed seated and calm, despite our reaction.

  “The necklace, Maggie,” Mr. Hamilton hinted. “A necklace like that does not go unnoticed. When I found it on the antiquities market I knew where to find you. It’s probably how everyone else is finding you.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  While my question was to both of them, Mr. Hamilton answered. “We aren’t here to harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact. Allow me the chance to explain and you can decide for yourself.”

  I then focused in on my body’s reaction, sensing whether the hair on the back of my neck was standing up.

  Recognizing this, Mr. Hamilton confirmed, “You’ll find no Fallen Ones here.” He seemed almost insulted at the idea.

  More than anything else, it was his choice of words that made me consider staying to listen. He had used the words Fallen Ones and he should have no knowledge that Fallen Ones even existed. “All right…but I’m edgy so you’ll need to make it quick.” I knew I was being uncouth but it wasn’t as if they had been entirely honest with me.

  “We’ve been looking for you for quite some time,” said Mr. Hamilton. “Your traveling with your aunt for her photography business made it challenging. We’ve always seemed to be a bit late in catching up to you. It wasn’t until Eran’s necklace landed on the black market here in New Orleans did we know where you could be found.”

  “Why were you trying to find me?” I asked pensive.

  “Well, to put a fine point on it…to train you.”

  My eyebrows rose in astonishment.

  “That’s correct…” he confirmed, noting my surprise. “We would like to train you in your pursuit against the Fallen Ones.”

  “We?”

  “Myself and Ms. Beedinwigg. I have the financial resources needed to do so. Ms. Beedinwigg is an expert in all forms of combat and weaponry. She hails fro
m a line of experienced trainers. Our families have dedicated themselves to these purposes for many centuries.”

  It dawned on me then who these people were. They were descendants of the families I had trained to teach messengers how to defend themselves against Fallen Ones.

  Mystified, I asked, “So you knew who Eran and I were all along, didn’t you?”

  Ms. Beedinwigg grinned mischievously, stood, and pulled a photo album from one of the bookshelves lining the walls. Carrying it to us, she opened it to an archive of newspaper articles. Some were written in English, some in French, but each one had a drawing encircled by the text. Looking closely, I found myself and Eran in each of these articles. The resemblance was striking, with the same face and body structure as we did today. The only difference was our clothes and hairstyles, which reflected the fashion of that period.

  “You…You collected all the articles throughout each of our lifetimes on earth?”

  “My family did. I simply try to preserve them now.”

  “The articles were published without your permission and often times without your participation,” Mr. Hamilton explained. “You’ve done a fairly adequate job staying hidden and thus out of the sights of Fallen Ones over the centuries. However, your unique ability hasn’t gone unnoticed and the printed records of you have always been against your will and were commonly fabricated.”

  I stood there, unable to speak. Gershom had mentioned that I’d been revealed in articles and other documents throughout my lifetimes. It just never occurred to me that I would have the chance to run across them.

  “You know, no one but the high school editor has approached me for a news article…” I reflected.

  “She’ll be the last,” Mr. Hamilton reassured me. “I keep myself well informed of the media’s intentions and have been successful in diverting the attention of news organizations.”

  I stared blankly at him, having had no idea.

  “And you’ve done a fine job of it,” commended Ms. Beedinwigg. “Keeping Maggie’s ability hidden is no small feat.”

  “Yes.” I was compelled to agree with her. Then it unexpectedly dawned on me that I made a spectacle of myself in The Square offering my service to complete strangers. “I won’t stop my work in Jackson Square,” I informed him.