Guardian

by S.B. Rodgers

  He pulled her back, looking at her face in alarm. “They’re going after Aiden?”

  She nodded “That’s what the pale one said before they attacked me. We have to warn him. Now.”

  He grabbed her wrist securely and gathered his power. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

  Abby stared at the cup of coffee that sat in front of her locker, steam leisurely curling out through the vent in the plastic lid. She glanced around for signs of the person who had left it there. “Where is he?” she murmured.

  This had been happening every day for over a week, ever since Gabriel had broken her heart—no, she thought, giving her head a shake. He hadn’t broken her heart. It was never his to break. It was just a stupid mistake on her part. She knew that, so why didn’t Gabe seem to understand?

  She bent down and picked up the cup, intending to toss it in the nearest garbage bin like she had all the others. The spicy, sweet aroma that greeted her stayed her hand. It didn’t smell like any of the other coffees; in fact, it didn’t smell like coffee at all. Cautiously bringing the hot beverage to her lips, Abby took a sip. The exotic flavour flooded her mouth, all spice and sweet, warm milk. Whatever the drink was, it was nothing short of delicious.

  She held onto it as she opened her locker and shoved her bag inside. Sighing, she stared at the cup, enfolding it in both of her hands. What was he trying to say, bringing her coffee every morning? Was he trying to apologize? Or was he just trying to build her up before bringing her down again? As she turned the questions over, she absentmindedly sipped the spicy beverage, completely draining it before the first bell rang.

  * * *

  Shivering in the cold of the next morning, Abby hurried to get inside. For the beginning of November the weather was ridiculous. It was snowing outside, unseasonably early. Although, she amended grudgingly as she pulled the school’s door open, it was just a few flurries; just enough to stick to her hair and melt into cold little droplets that glittered in the weak early-morning sunlight. She walked quickly to her locker, shaking water from her hair as she went.

  She saw the coffee cup in front of her locker from a long way off, but something was different about this one. She slowed, squinting as she tried to make out what it was. It became clear as she approached; a piece of note paper carefully folded in half rested against the cardboard cup.

  What now? She wondered as she picked up the drink and note. She flipped the paper open and was greeted by a short message written in neat, flowing penmanship. “I had a feeling chai tea latte would be the one.” She read aloud, the same spicy smell coming from the drink as yesterday.

  Abby couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. That was so like him, she thought with a grin. How could he be so nice and so awful at the same time, she wondered, feeling incredibly conflicted. Her face fell. What was she supposed to do? She slumped onto her locker, sliding down to sit on the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest.

  “What do you want from me, Gabe?” she muttered, head resting against the cool metal surface. Predictably, no one answered. She hadn’t seen him since that day; he had even stopped showing up to English class, and was never around her locker anymore.

  She had gone back to the place she was at before he appeared; always alone, always ignored—practically invisible. Abby sat there, lost in thought as the world continued without her, students gradually filling the hallways. The bell rang once without her noticing. It was only at the final bell’s toll that she snapped back to reality, realizing that she was late for class.

  * * *

  Taking a seat opposite from Raph, Abby murmured a reasonably civil hello. Raph arched an eyebrow at her in response. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in. I didn’t think you’d show up today.”

  Abby shot him an angry look “I’m only…” she checked the wall clock “7 minutes late. What do you care? You usually roll in here halfway through class, when you bother showing up at all.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, whatever. Let’s just get down to business. I want to finish this stupid assignment.” Not surprisingly, Raph was running very late on the portrait project, and as his partner, Abby had to pose for him again.

  She rolled her eyes, silently wishing that he would get his act together. The rest of the class had moved onto sculpture days ago, while Raph insisted on ironing out the details of his pencil drawing. “Can’t you just take a photo or something?” she asked, almost desperate to get away from him.

  He was looking over his drawing, erasing stray marks with a grey kneaded eraser. Without looking at her, he answered simply, “The camera is a one-eyed monster. There’s a difference between a drawing done from life and one done from a photograph—mixing the two halfway is a bad idea.”

  He smirked at her surprised expression, his dark eyes meeting hers “That’s what Mudman over there told me when I asked.” He said, indicating Mr. Dupont, whose arms and parts of his sweater-vest were covered in the clay he was vigorously shaping. “So, let’s get down to business. I want to be finished with this almost as much as you do.”

  “I doubt it,” Abby muttered as she reached into her bag and pulled something out.

  Raph watched her carefully as she flipped it open. “What is that?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Abby stared at her reflection in the small mirror that she held in the palm of her hand. “It’s a compact mirror. It was my...my mother’s.” She held it up for him to see. “It’s one of the only things I have of hers.” She was so busy following the familiar twining snake pattern that was embossed into the tarnished silver that she didn’t notice Raph’s expression change, his eyes flashing red.

  She had a mirror. The foolish girl had a mirror, a mirror that, he was certain, had not been sealed by the angel. And wouldn’t be sealed anytime soon; from what he had gathered, the Guardian was lurking about, but not interfering with Abby. After what had happened, Raph was not surprised.

  He allowed himself a small smile; things were finally looking up. He would finally be able to—his train of thought was derailed by that strange feeling in his chest again. That fluttery, flighty feeling that itched. He held his hand over his heart, unsure.

  Aside from the phantom feeling, something else was bothering him. He knew that mirror. He had seen ones like it many times before. “Your mom’s, huh?” he asked quietly, more to himself than her.

  “Yeah.” Abby replied, snapping the compact shut. “Let’s get this over with?” she said, looking at him expectantly.

  “Yeah.” He agreed, taking his pencil in hand. Now he just had to decide exactly what he was going to do with the information he had, and with the mirror. The feeling in his chest rose, fighting fiercely against his thoughts. He squashed the annoying feeling down. Whatever it was, he could not let it interfere with his mission.

   

  Chapter 27

  The door flew open and Abby shuffled wearily into the entrance hall of her father’s house. “Why are there trucks on the lawn? …” she called out, hoping one of the maids would hear her.

  She was startled to hear Kiki’s high, cold voice answer her. “Move out of the way, will you? You’re blocking the movers.”

  Abby looked up to where Kiki stood at the top of the stairs. “Movers?” she asked as she stepped to the side, confusion on her face as a pair of men walked by, carrying a couch between them. Abby glanced over at them; that was the couch from her father’s study! “What are you doing?!” she yelled, reaching out and grabbing onto the piece of furniture.

  The men stopped, looking at Kiki for help. Kiki shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Take it away, please. I’ll clear this matter up with my…daughter.” The two men continued on outside as Kiki descended the steps, eyes on Abby.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Abby asked, anger and confusion taking over. “Where’s all of our stuff? Why are you moving things out?! Wh—“

  “First of all, it’s
not ‘our’ stuff. It’s ‘my’ stuff. When your father neglected to secure a legal will, the entirety of his meagre fortune and estates where awarded to me…his wife. And we all know the only reason I let you stay here is because the neighbours would talk if I kicked out Dr. Seth Shepard’s precious daughter. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because, you see…” Her lips curled into a cruel smile “I’ve found someone else. A man with far more money than your father’s…leftovers.”

  Abby stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. When she finally found her voice, it was choked with emotion. “B-but you…you loved my father!”

  Kiki shook her head slowly. “Don’t you know anything? It was a marriage of convenience. Do you know what that means? He didn’t marry me for love. He married me so that you would have a mother, and I? I married him because he could provide me with the lifestyle I wanted. And then he up and died, leaving me with a tiny bit of cash and this draughty old barn. And the daughter I never wanted in the first place.”

  Abby felt her lower lip trembling as her life started crashing down around her. First her life was in shambles, now her home was being ripped away from her. She swallowed, staring hard at the marble tiles “This is my house too…” she muttered bitterly.

  “What was that?” Kiki asked sharply.

  Abby raised her head, staring at Kiki with eyes filled with defiance and anger. She began to shout. “This is my house too! You can’t take it away from me—“

  Kiki’s hand whistled through the air, delivering a stinging blow to Abby’s cheek that cut off her words abruptly. Abby staggered a bit before regaining her balance, her hand pressed gingerly against the throbbing mark on her face.

  “I’m only going to say this once. I can, I will, and I have taken this house away. I’ve sold it—the new owner will be moving in any day now.”

  Abby stared at her, transfixed in horror “Who…?”

  “Who bought it? The Colonel that that boy who came to the party was talking to. You know, that boy that you like, but could never get your hands on? And that party was an open house, to see if anyone wanted this place. It worked out pretty well, don’t you think?”

  Abby said nothing, looking around the room. All of the furniture was gone, the paintings and lamps missing as well, leaving the place hollow and lifeless. Kiki wandered out of the room for a moment, returning with a small duffel bag swinging loosely from her hand. “Here,” she said with a sneer on her face. “This has all of your things, and a few worthless mementos of your father. Frankly, it’s too good for you, but I’m feeling generous.” She tossed the bag to Abby, who caught it reflexively. “Take it and leave.” Kiki said as she turned and began to walk back up the stairs.

  Abby stared ahead blankly, brokenly for a second. This was all happening so fast “Where am I supposed to go?” she whimpered, on the verge of tears as she clutched the bag to her chest.

  Kiki answered without looking back. “I honestly don’t care. Just get out.” Abby stumbled out the door, her legs barely supporting her weight. She couldn’t understand what had just happened, or why it had happened. She walked halfway down the driveway, trying not to trip over her own feet which felt like they had been encased in lead.

  She turned to take one last look at her father’s house, the home she had grown up in; the only place she had ever known. She fought back the tears that she felt welling up in her green eyes, and stared at the house, trying to soak up every last detail into her memory, everything from the windows to the garden to the stone walls, tinged darker by the rapidly blackening sky. A cold, strong wind blew by her, causing her to shiver and bringing with it the damp smell of rain. A storm was coming.

  She whispered a goodbye to the place she had last been truly happy and turned, walking away and leaving it all behind. Abby was so focused on her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the rain that began to fall one drop at a time, then exponentially faster and faster. Nor did she notice the path her feet were taking. She just kept walking, one foot in front of the other, lost in her own bleak thoughts.

  Chapter 28

  The machine clacked and whirred as the gnarled fingers manipulated it, entering data by tapping at the worn brass keys. The keystrokes grew more erratic as Fong lifted the long paper receipt up, looking over it and muttering to himself about facts and figures and the amount of manna the District angels consumed.

  He paused for a moment, stretching his aching back. Hunching over the tiny machine in the dimly lit storeroom was not good for his spine or eyesight and he knew it. He twisted, felt the vertebrae cracking stiffly. Sighing, he turned back to the machine, laying into it again with renewed vigour. “Almost done…” he murmured, fingers flying over the keys and eyes trained on the order sheets fanned out in front of him.

  He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear the door behind him creak open, nor did he notice the quiet shuffling and rustling as they entered the room. He didn’t notice their presence at all until the hand clamped down on his shoulder, the black leather glove encasing it cold as ice and glistening lightly with scant droplets of water. “Good evening, Fong.” The equally cold voice said.

  Fong turned around, shaking Mammon’s hand off. He squinted up at the tall demon. The single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling lent Mammon a bright halo behind his head, masking his pale eyes entirely. “So you’re the Hunter?” Fong asked, eyeing him as best he could. “Your lot used to be bigger, back in my day.” He squinted harder, wrinkles deepening. “Didn’t need backup, either.”

  Mammon’s face twitched slightly, and he made a quick gesture with one of his hands. Two tall figures materialised on either side of him. Fenris had a look of genuine curiosity on his face, ignoring the pain from the raw, disfiguring slashes that ran the length of his face. “How did he know we were here?” he asked, cocking his head to one side as he studied the old angel.

  “Who cares? He’ll be dead soon, anyway.” His sister pointed out, her usually bored expression tingeing on manic as the desire to kill rose within her.

  “Now, now.” Mammon interrupted, folding his arms against his chest “We’re all getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” He stared at Fong, his voice betraying a touch of intrigue “Don’t you want to know why we’re here, old man?”

  Fong chuckled drily. “Talk is cheap, Hunter. Shut up and fight.”

  Mammon considered him silently for a moment longer, face placid. Wordlessly, he snapped his fingers. Fenris and Freja advanced, tattoos meshing, and came at Fong as one.

  Fong stood still, waiting for them. They came closer, looming over him, and poised to strike. They dove forward and Fong…disappeared. A flash of silvery light, and he was gone. The pair glanced around the dark room, their vision dazzled by the sudden brightness.

  “Over here, beasts.” They turned in unison to see the little old man perched on top of a pile of crates, glaring down at them. He snorted at them in derision. “I thought you came to fight,” he leapt down, landing on his feet behind them “not play.”

  Fenris growled low in his throat. “I’ll play with your bones, old man.”

  Freja snarled. “You will beg for death before we’re through.”

  “Big words for mutts.” They leapt at him again, blind with rage. Once again, Fong disappeared, leaving a bright flash in his wake.

  “Where did he go?!” Freja howled in frustration, eyes roving the room. The old man was gone, leaving no trace behind.

  “He’s in the restaurant. Find him.” Mammon commanded, pointing at the door that lead to the main part of the empty restaurant. Nodding once in affirmation, the pair dashed out of the room, the old metal double doors flapping back and forth in their wake.

  “There!” Freja cried, spotting him. “No, he’s over there!” Fenris shouted, turning in the opposite direction.

  “Actually,” Fong’s calm voice said from the space between the two of them. “I am right here.” Reeling around, the two saw that Fong was, in fact, right in
front of them. And then he wasn’t. He reappeared behind the bar a split second later.

  Freja blinked; something wasn’t right here. The old man was crafty, but he couldn’t be that fast; it was impossible. And she had seen something…”Fenris,” she hissed, beckoning for him to lean down. She began to speak quietly into his ear, glancing from time to time at Fong. “That old man is doing something strange. I think I saw something, but I need to confirm it. Stay here; I’m going to rush him, and whatever you do, don’t take your eyes off of him.”

  Fenris glanced at the old angel, who was watching them with a nearly bored look, and back to him sister. “Alright.”

  Freja dashed forward, eyes narrowed as she focused on her target. A vicious growl ripped from her throat as she launched herself at him, fingers curled into claws. He disappeared, a flash of white light where he had been…and a smaller, fine trail of white light leading to his next stop.

  “Ah,” Fenris gasped. He had seen it too. That was all the confirmation Freja needed, and Fenris jumped right in with her. They rushed him again and Fong dashed away. This time, however, they were ready for him. Fenris leapt to the side and Freja dashed forward. They fell upon him with a vengeance, pinning his legs and arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground. He struggled against their grip with a strength that ignored his age.

  “You thought we wouldn’t notice, old man?” Freja hissed in his ear, her harsh breath stinging his eyes. “Even dogs can follow patterns, with a little practice.”

  “Good work.” Mammon said as he walked into the room, clapping his hands together slowly.

  Fong sighed and ceased his struggles. “Fine. What do you want from me, Hunter? I’m just an Informer.”

  “Then I suppose it’s a very good thing that I want information, isn’t it?” Mammon said, a crooked smile playing across his lips.

  Fong glanced at him suspiciously “What sort of information?”

  “Tell me, Fong, do you know of a Guardian named Aiden? I’ve been looking for him for some time now.” He strode forward, standing over Fong and looking him in the eye. “And, frankly, I’m getting tired of the run-around.”