Demon Guard

by Samantha Britt

  Seeing my raised brow, he says, “The Headmistress likes to ensure the library is as silent as possible. Students are supposed to keep the door closed.”

  I only nod. I don’t know if the rule is an unspoken one, or if it’d been explicitly told to me but I’d missed it. Both options are equally probable.

  I wait for Trevor to leave me on my own, but that moment never comes. He faces me, and I note the color is gone from his cheeks. “What’re you looking for?”

  I swallow.

  Should I tell him?

  What’s the harm in being honest? It’s just Trevor, after all. I’ve known him for years.

  “Shadowguard family lines,” I reply.

  If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Any name in particular?” It’s subtle, but I see him suck in a breath. As Lex’s best friend, he knows I’m not a real Van der Klay. He must know what I’m interested in looking for, but he doesn’t press the issue. Trevor is willing to stand by as I dictate the situation.

  I take a deep breath, deciding I will trust him. “Jones.” No one outside of Charles, Vivian, and Lex knows my given surname.

  “Follow me.” He heads down the third aisle to our right. His hands run over the spines of several volumes until it lands on the one he’s obviously searching for. I squint my eyes and see the title, printed in thick, bold letters: “Shadowguard Ancestry: It – Kr”.

  This might seem silly, but I’m disappointed that the title is so unoriginal. It’s like an encyclopedia. I’d expected flowery script or for the title to be written in Latin or something. But the book Trevor holds out to me is ordinary and unimpressive.

  “Thanks.” I take the book.

  Trevor points to the back of the room. “There are tables back there if you want to sit while you look through it.”

  I nod. “Great.” I start to walk that direction but pause when I notice Trevor isn’t following me.

  I look over my shoulder. His eyes are intentionally focused on the volume in his hands.

  “You can join me if you want.” I’m not sure what possesses me to extend the invitation. The old Aspen would’ve never been so cordial. Damn Cortney. She’s making me soft.

  Trevor looks up and blinks, just as surprised as I am. We’ve seen each other many times over the years, and I’ve never invited him to do anything with me. Ever.

  “Sure,” he finally manages with a shrug. “Cool.”

  I turn back around without another word. I drop the book on a table, pull back the wooden chair, and sit down. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Trevor move around the table and take the seat across from me. I tell myself I invited him to join me in case I need help finding another book. That’s it. Totally logical. I’m not becoming a softy who makes friends with everyone she meets. Nope. Definitely not.

  Grabbing the edge of the leather cover, I open the book. My heartbeat picks up speed as anticipation builds. My fingers tremble as I flip through the book until I reach the “J” section.

  James

  Jameson

  Each last name is printed in large font. Underneath, there are four columns, each with ten to twenty lines of names typed in a much smaller size.

  I flip the page.

  Jester

  Jerry

  I flip again, and scan over each of the bolded surnames until, at last, my eyes land on the one I’m searching for.

  Jones

  I suck in a breath. My vision goes blurry. I squeeze my eyes closed and breathe deeply.

  Finally.

  Finally, I will be able to learn something about my mom. It’s been so long. I can barely remember what she looks like, and that admission is painful. I don’t want to forget my mother. Maybe, if I find out more about her, I’ll be able to find a picture of her somewhere. Maybe in an old academy yearbook or something. The one I used to have was left in the warehouse in Chicago. After I was taken into the Shadowguard’s care.

  I swallow back my emotion and slowly open my eyes. I look down at the text, running my fingers over the ink.

  Then, I begin to read the names underneath.

  Adam, George, Patricia, Luke, Lauren, Ida…

  Dozens of names are listed. I see “Kevin”, and I assume that represents my grouchy demonology teacher. Pegging him as close to my mother’s age, I look around his name to try and find hers. But I don’t see it. My mom’s name isn’t there.

  Just like I suspected.

  My eyes blur again, and a different emotion consumes me. I turn the book over and look at the publication date.

  2010. Definitely recent enough to have my mother’s name in it, as well as mine. But I find neither name printed under Jones.

  I drop the open book and stare at the taunting page. One disappointed and frustrated tear leaks out the corner of my eye. I don’t wipe it away.

  The Shadowguard’s numbers are few. They document every member, and though I knew there was a chance she’d lied about our last name, it’s the only thing I know about her. It’s the one piece of information I could use to find out more about the woman who raised me.

  And now I have nothing.

  Through the haze of my misery, I hear a chair scoot across the wood floor. A hand lands on my shoulder, but then it is swiftly pulled back. “Aspen?” Trevor asks cautiously. “Are you alright?”

  I’d forgotten he’s here. I try to pull myself together, but another traitorous tear leaks out and plops against the table. I lift my head and wipe my eyes. “I’m fine.”

  I expect Trevor to let the matter drop and walk away. That’s what I would’ve done. But he surprises me.

  “No luck finding her name?” He doesn’t call her my mom, and that separation is the only reason I find myself able to reply.

  “No.” I bite my lip to keep the rest of my tears at bay. It’s bad enough he’s seen two tears, I don’t need to start the waterworks. “I think she used a fake name.”

  He shifts forward to look down at the book, then confirms, “Jones?”

  I swallow and nod. I’ll need to detach myself from feeling anything when I hear that name. It’s not mine. But neither is Van der Klay. I don’t have a name.

  Trevor whistles low. The sound is unexpected. I look up at him questioningly.

  He wears an awkward grin. I can tell he’s trying to make me feel better. “Thank God that’s not your real last name. You could’ve been related to Instructor Jones.”

  I bark out a laugh. It’s a strangled, pathetic sound, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

  “You’re right,” I admit. At least there’s one good thing about learning my given name had been a lie.

  Trevor’s smile steadies after seeing my reaction. “That guy’s the worst.”

  “He hates me,” I admit, glad for the change of topic.

  He pulls back the chair next to me and sits down so I’m not looking up at him. “That’s surprising. He usually kisses the ass of ministers’ kids.”

  “I’m not really Mr. Van der Klay’s kid,” I remind him, but there’s no bite to the words.

  Trevor eyes me for a long moment. “Lex treats you like a sister. And Mrs. Vivian treats you like a daughter.”

  “I know.” I sigh and close the book in front of me. I don’t want to look at the disappointing page any longer. “But not everyone is as accepting as Lex and Vivian.”

  It’s Trevor’s turn to sigh. “You’re right.” I wonder if he’s thinking about his dad.

  I’d heard Minister Welsh question Charles’s decision to include me in his household on several visits. I don’t like the older man with his thinning gray hair and beady, disapproving eyes. And he clearly doesn’t like me either.

  “But they’re wrong,” Trevor finishes. “I’ve seen you fight, and Lex brags about how smart you are. You’re going to make one kick ass Guardian and anyone who’s ever doubted you will regret it, I’m sure.”

  I know Trevor’s just trying to make me feel better, but he couldn’t have chosen more comforting words. I’m stunned by his kindness. />
  “Thanks.” My lips turn up in genuine appreciation. Seriously, I’m getting soft. I’ll let myself be mad about that later. For now, I’m okay letting Trevor know his words made me feel better, and that I’m glad I asked him to sit with me. “You know, you’re not as stuck up as I thought.”

  He laughs at the same time his cheeks color… again. “You thought I was stuck up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I guess I just assumed.”

  “Ah. Well, you know what they say about assuming?”

  I grin. “Yup. But everyone already thinks I’m an ass. So that’s not too surprising.”

  “I don’t think you’re an ass,” he says, catching me off guard when he abandons our joking tone. His expression is serious.

  I give a half chuckle, back to acting a little awkward. “I know. I was just joking.”

  Trevor doesn’t relax. “I know you didn’t ask for it, but I have some advice. Don’t let what others think impact how you think about yourself. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Van der Klay. You’re skilled. You know. I know it. Soon, everyone else will know it, too.”

  I open my mouth to protest his accusation. I don’t let people’s opinions affect me. Not in the way he’s thinking. I’d just been joking.

  But Trevor cuts me off before I can say anything, “Find out about your birth parents for the sake of knowing who they are, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you have to know who they are to know who you are.”

  With that, Trevor gets up, walks around the table to grab his book, then walks away from me. I hear the library door open and close with his exit.

  I sit there in stunned silence as I mull over his words, unnerved by how a guy I’ve spent so little time with seems to think he knows me so freaking well. And annoyed that I’m wondering if he has a point.

  Ten

  By Wednesday afternoon, I’m ready to punch something. Trevor’s words have been running through my head nonstop, accompanied by the head-throbbing replay of Headmistress Meyer’s warning to not expect special treatment because of who my foster family is. Peter and Cortney barely said a word to me during lunch. They could tell I wasn’t in the chatting mood.

  Now, the three of us stand in the state-of-the-art gymnasium, warming up for Combatives class. We’d attended the class on Monday, but our teacher, Adrik Petrov, hadn’t let us spar. Instead, we’d been educated on the different types of martial arts we’d be practicing, as well as the sparring rules for the class. It’d been my most boring class by far. But not anymore. Because today, we’re going to fight. And I can’t freaking wait.

  Enthusiastic chatter and boisterous laughter fill the air. I’m not the only one excited to fight. We’ve been trained for this moment. Some of us longer than others.

  Cortney stands beside me, swinging her arms in wide circles as she assesses the other students. “I wonder how Instructor Petrov will pair us up.”

  “By similar height and weight would be my guess,” Peter offers, pulling his knee up to his chest in a stretch.

  I agree with him. Instructor Petrov doesn’t know the level of our skill yet. At least for the first fight, he will assign us opponents who are a physical match to make the fight as fair as possible. Once he gets to know each of our abilities, he will match us based on skill.

  “Think it will be group A students versus group B students?” Cortney asks. She’s looking at me. I wonder if she’s hoping we get paired together. I have to admit, that does sound kind of fun.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “But we’re about to find out,” Peter chimes right as the gym doors open. In walks Instructor Petrov holding a clipboard. He’s the youngest of our instructors, and he’s definitely the most fit. Muscular pecs and abs press against the fabric of his plain black shirt. His corded legs are covered by matching workout shorts. I hear more than one girl sigh in appreciation of the male specimen walking into the room. Not only is Instructor Petrov fit, but he’s hot as hell. With messy brown hair and intense brown eyes, Adrian Petrov looks every ounce the menacing bad boy in a girl’s darkest dream.

  Beside me, Cortney swoons. “I wish there wasn’t an even number of students to spar. I’d love to have a reason to get my hands all over him.”

  I nearly choke on my spit. I force back a laugh and look at Cortney from the corner of my eye. She’s practically drooling after our instructor. Miss bubbly sweetheart has a little bit of a feisty side, I see.

  “Me too, girl,” Peter says with equal appreciation of our instructor.

  This time, I can’t hide my snicker. Cortney and Peter join in, and my mood continues to improve.

  “Good afternoon everyone,” Instructor Petrov greets with the hint of an Eastern European accent.

  “Good afternoon,” we reply back.

  “Today, you will participate in your first sparring tournament. Each of you will have at least one fight. The winners of the first round will then face one another, the winner will move on to the next. And so on and so on.” I bounce with excitement. Cortney gives me a bright smile, sharing my enthusiasm.

  “The numbers will be uneven after the third round, so we will have to improvise once we reach that point. But don’t worry about that right now.”

  “Maybe I’ll get the chance to spar with the instructor after all,” Cortney murmurs under her breath, fanning herself. I bite my lip to hide my smile.

  Instructor Petrov begins to walk among us. “Continue to warm up for the next few minutes, and be sure to put on your padded gloves. I will walk around and reveal your sparring partners. Begin.” Motivated by his authority, each of us immediately begins to feign some sort of stretch or warmup.

  I roll my wrists in circles, adjusting the straps of my gloves, and watch Instructor Petrov approach a group of vaguely familiar girls. Each of them stands up straighter when he arrives. He looks down at the clipboard and spouts off the names of their opponents. I wait to see if one of them looks my way, but none do. I won’t be facing any of them.

  “I’ve heard through the grapevine you’re a pretty good fighter.” Peter’s words pull my attention from our instructor. He’s looking at me. So is Cortney.

  “Who told you that?” I ask. None of my classmates have seen me fight.

  “Locker room talk,” he says.

  I scrunch my nose. “Why are guys talking about me in the locker room? Wait.” I immediately hold up my hand, stopping whatever reply is about to come out of Peter’s mouth. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” I went to high school. I know how crude and gross guys can be, especially in a testosterone-filled environment.

  During my junior year of high school, I’d been shocked when the school’s star lacrosse player had asked me out. I said yes without thinking of the consequences. We had a perfectly innocuous date. We ate, barely talked, and then he dropped me off at home and I ducked out of the car before he could even try to give me a kiss. But, of course, that’s not what he told his teammates. Needless to say, his lie earned him a swift black eye the moment I heard about it. The best part? The loser was too embarrassed to tell anyone he got beaten up by a girl, so I got away with redeeming my honor completely unscathed.

  “Relax. It’s not what you think,” Peter tells me. “Someone was ranking girls by hottness. Both of you are at the top by the way,” he gestures between me and Cortney.

  I shove him in the arm. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to know.”

  Peter holds his hands up. “It wasn’t gross, I swear. Just light convo about who’s pretty, but then it switched to who is probably the best fighter.” That’s not really all that surprising. Not when you’re talking about Guardians. Combat skills are just as enticing as looks. At least to me.

  I cross my arms. “Who told you I’m a good fighter?”

  “Freddy Legrand.”

  I blink. “Freddy Legrand?”

  Peter nods.

  I curse under my breath. I had no idea Lex’s mentor has a younger
brother, much less that he’s in my year at the academy. I’d been hoping to have the element of surprise when it came time to reveal my skill, but if Andrew told his brother about me, then the secret’s out.

  “Do you know him?” Cortney asks, confused by my reaction.

  “His brother is Lex’s mentor,” I explain. Damn Andrew Legrand for having a big mouth.

  Cortney’s lips form the shape of an O.

  Peter grimaces, wearing a commiserating look. “If it makes you feel any better, a lot of the guys didn’t really believe him. They think you’re too small to be a good fighter.”

  Well, thank the good lord for that. Five feet, six inches isn’t small in the normal world, but among the Shadowguard, it’s on the shorter side.

  Instructor Petrov appears in front of us, effectively ending our conversation. “Mr. Michael, you will be sparring Henry Burns. Ms. Van der Klay and Ms. Welsh, you will spar each other.”

  “Yes!” Cortney hollers, grabbing onto my arm and giving me an excited shake. I don’t try to fight off my own grin. Instructor Petrov gives us an indulgent smirk, and then he’s off to tell the rest of the students who they’re fighting.

  Minutes later, half of the class is standing along the side of the gym while the rest of us take our positions on the ten mats spread across the room. Cortney and I face one another outside of the red circle in the middle of our mat. We won’t step inside until Instructor Petrov blows the whistle around his neck, beginning the fight.

  My heartbeat is steady. I can hear my pulse in my ears. I’m focused on the upcoming fight, eager for the chance to blow off some steam. I won’t hurt Cortney, of course. I plan to take it easy on my roommate and save the brunt of my pent-up frustration for my next opponent.

  The gym door opens, and I spare a glance to see a group of second-year students has entered the gym. They climb up the stairs and begin doing laps around the overhead track. I think I see Lex, but Instructor Petrov blows the whistle.

  It’s go time.

  I step inside the circle and drop into my fighting stance. Cortney does the same. I assess her. She’s taller than me by at least four inches. I’ll need to watch her reach. She’s slender, as most of us are, but my shorter height affords me better balance. I can use that to my advantage.