To Faith, the place looked like a prison and no matter how comfortable the cells might be, she wouldn't want to live there. She much preferred the hacienda with its large, open rooms. The deep overhang of the tiled roof kept the windows shaded so they could be left uncovered for most of the day. Even when the heavy drapes were closed against the sun, the place felt light and airy. Having been imprisoned for so long, first by Tyn and later by her own fears, Faith exalted in the feeling of openness and freedom.
She had no trouble finding the turnoff that would take her back to the place she now called home. Another of the enclave's transportation vans was turning out of it and she waited for it to complete the turn before she entered the narrow road. The blue van served to reinforce her determination to learn as much as she could about her new homeland. She'd been under the impression that except for those cowboys working the ranch, everyone lived in the village, but this van was coming from the opposite direction.
The hard packed dirt road showed signs of little use and even less repair and Faith didn't envy the driver or passengers of the big blue van if they had to pass through this obstacle course of bumps, ridges and potholes every day. She also wondered what kind of people would choose to live so close to the Hills of the Dead considering its reputation.
This wasn't the best time of day to get a good look at those hills. The sun had wasted no time in setting and now it was full dark. Seeing no headlights behind her or before, Faith eased off the road and rolled the van to a stop, angling it to illuminate what she could with its high beams.
The sharp contrast of light and dark shadows gave the landscape a sinister look. Tall formations of jagged rock jutted up from the earth like alien towers. Monstrous boulders rounded by wind and time balanced precariously on the dry earthen slope. The sparse vegetation swayed to the constant hum of the wind causing their shadows to appear as figures darting in and out among the rocks. It was no wonder the locals thought the place was haunted.
Faith decided it would be better to take a second look in daylight. She shivered a little at her own timidity and put the van in reverse. Using her rearview mirrors, she backed onto the road, grateful the van was automatic and she didn't have to deal with a clutch. She spun the wheel to send her back in the direction of home. Taking one last glance at the chill inducing hills, she put the van in drive and hit the gas.
A dark robed figure stood spotlighted by her high beams in the middle of the road holding a dark hand out like a cop directing her to stop. The hand signal worked. Faith slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt about ten feet from the unmoving figure.
Chapter 30
Once she got her breath back, Faith recognized him immediately from Diego's description. It was the brujo, the man who took money from Goyo's parents only to accuse them of killing their son. She'd wanted to meet this man, but not on a dark and moonless night and certainly not on a deserted road. She touched the button on the armrest of the door to reassure herself she was safely locked in.
The brujo stood in the middle of the road, hands folded in front of him as if waiting for her to come out to meet him.
"You've got a long wait, buddy," she said to herself as she continued her vehicular stare down. It gave her time to study him.
This guy was the Master of Creep. He was tall, very tall, and by the set of his shoulders, bone thin. His long dark robe reminded her of monk's wear except there was no hint of sandaled feet beneath the robe that swirled subtly in the wind. The hem barely touched the road which created the illusion that he was hovering over it rather than standing on it. The cowl over his head was pulled forward so that his face could not be seen and had the same effect as the Ghost of Christmas Future in the movie version of Dickens' classic. It sent chills up her spine.
This was no ghost, however. This was a man. People had seen him, spoken with him, and paid him hard earned money. What use would a specter have for money?
The brujo blinked first. He began to walk toward the van, keeping his body centered with the hood and Faith got the impression that if she tried to go around him, he would remain centered. Again, he gave the impression of floating across the ground. He was a few feet away. There was a flash of movement and he was suddenly at her driver's side window.
Faith jumped and then settled when she remembered her doors were locked, the windows rolled shut.
He rapped on her window with a leather gloved knuckle and rolled his finger in a circular motion to signal he wanted her to roll her window down. He said something she couldn't hear and then rapped the window again. Faith rolled the window down half an inch.
"More," he insisted, rolling his finger again. His voice sounded like hers, rough and raspy, but an octave deeper.
Faith shook her head no and then spread her hands, hoping he would understand the question, "What? What do you want?"
There was no way to touch him with those heavy leather gloves and she wasn't about to roll down the window far enough to take his arm in to touch exposed skin.
The brujo bent until the lower part of his hood was in front of the opening. "Open the door," he commanded, "I wish to speak with you."
He stepped away from the door as if he expected her to comply
There was something in that deep, raspy voice that urged her to do just that, but she'd learned her lesson the hard way about consorting with strangers on dark moonless nights. She pointed at him and made a motion with her hand that wasn't a proper sign, but one most people understood, then pointed to herself and cupped her ear.
"You talk. I listen." She was nervous, but she was curious, too.
This time he bent low enough to look through the window. Faith still couldn't see his face, but she saw his eyes. They glowed, not with the bright intensity of Lucien's eyes when he was angry and bordering on the Guardian's Rage, but with a glowing red blaze that reminded her of her father's sermons on the fires of Hell. They frightened her, yet she couldn't look away.
"Open the door," he said again and then she felt it, that slight tingle in her brain.
This small display of power shocked her. She'd been under the assumption that the brujo was a charlatan, a fake who extorted money from those who had nowhere else to turn. According to Manon, there were no men who possessed the powers of the Daughters of Man. Daughters begat Daughters, not sons.
She knew she should close her eyes against the brujo's invasion of her mind, but fear kept her eyes open and staring. Panic began to envelop her body and her mind. She couldn't think.
"Open the door."
The night was cool, but suddenly the air inside the van became warm. It warmed her cold fear and peeled back the shroud of mind numbing terror. Her mind began to work again.
Once, when she had finally made her way back to the land of the living, JJ urged her to allow Broadbent to 'thump' her. It was a slang term that also meant fuck, which delighted the twins, but in her case it meant the Guardian's ability to erase memory with the touch of their thumb to the target's forehead. The tingly feeling had sent Faith into a full blown panic attack, for which Broadbent and JJ suffered the full blown wrath attack of Hope.
The other side of erasing the memory was the ability to implant other memories or directions. The brujo had produced that same feeling in her, but now she also remembered that JJ only wanted her to know what it felt like since Daughters of Man couldn't be 'thumped'. The last remnant of her panic subsided.
Her heart was still beating hard enough to put a hole in her chest, but she turned away and hit the button to roll the window closed. Her hands were shaking so badly, she had trouble putting the van in gear, but she did it and carefully stepped on the gas.
High above her, next to a singularly tall outcropping of rock, a translucent cloud of iridescent white appeared and with it came a long, slow, keening wail that tore at Faith's heart. It was a cry of unimaginable loss and pain. Could this be Engracia?
The lustrous glow became a flash of light sweeping down the slope and Faith recognized it for what
it really was, a Guardian travelling in white light. Her first thought was of Lucien and for the second time that night, she slammed on her brakes.
It wasn't Lucien at all. It was Evrard ad Gautier. What was he doing up in the Hills of the Dead and why was he alone? Still unnerved by her encounter with the brujo, she almost stepped on the gas, but reason prevailed. This was someone she knew and as Lucien had said, a Guardian of good standing.
Faith stopped the van and unlocked the doors. The Guardian opened the door and leaned down to talk to her, but didn't enter.
"Faith! Are you all right?" he asked, but as soon as he asked his head was up and he was looking down the road behind the van.
Faith had to slap the seat to get his attention. He wasn't the first person to forget they couldn't 'hear' her unless they watched her hands.
"Can you see him? Is he still there?" She couldn't see the brujo in her mirrors that didn't mean he wasn't standing outside the mirror's field of sight. "He scared the hell out of me." Her hands were still shaking and were icy cold. She rubbed them together, palm to palm, to warm them.
"See who?" he asked, watching her closely.
She was watching him, too. Maybe it was a trick of the eye or the white light was visually deceptive, but she could have sworn that light was moving toward her stopped van and changed its course when the van began to move. Of course, she was shaken and only caught that first glimpse from the corner of her eye.
"The man who was standing by the van."
She'd barely finished the sentence before his head was up and looking over the top of the van scanning the area to either side of the road.
Faith slapped the seat again and when he looked in she poked her chin toward the hills. "Why were you running up there?"
"I saw you stopped in the middle of the road. I thought you might be having car trouble."
Either he misunderstood the question or he was avoiding it. There was something off about this conversation, something that didn't ring true.
"So you saw me, but didn't see the man I was talking to?"
"I guess I wasn't looking. Did you see which way he went?" Again his head went up.
This time, Faith didn't bother slapping the seat. She waited until he stuck his head back through the open door.
"Come on, get in. I'll give you a lift back to the House."
Evrard hesitated and looked once more down the road behind them. Then he shrugged as if he'd made up his mind and climbed in.
"What were you doing up there?" she asked before putting the van in gear.
"Up where?"
Faith gave him a look to tell him what she thought of the answer. "The Hills of the Dead."
"Oh. I'd forgotten that's what they were called. It's been a long time." He smiled at her as if she'd surely understand. "I always run at first dark. It helps keep me in shape."
They drove the next few miles in silence. Hope's need to keep both hands on the wheel prevented her from asking more questions and Evrard seemed preoccupied. They were almost to the hacienda when he finally spoke.
"Lord Lucien's not going to be happy when he finds out you were accosted on the road."
Well that rang true enough. Faith had no driver's license and little driving experience. Lucien might not be happy she was driving at all, particularly after what she'd done to the truck. Meeting the brujo on a road she was unfamiliar with in an area known for demon activity would only increase his concern. He would insist she be accompanied whenever she left the hacienda.
Up until she met the brujo, Faith had enjoyed her solitary time in the van. She was tired of always having someone watching over her as if she was a child who couldn't be trusted on her own. Driving into the village alone had been another step toward independence and she didn't want to step back. Evrard must have been thinking along the same lines.
"Lord Lucien doesn't need to know," he said quietly.
Faith smiled. If he asked, she'd have to tell him. She couldn't lie to Lucien, but that didn't mean she had to tell him unasked. Besides, no harm was done and she wouldn't be driving that way again alone and in the dark.
"C-Y-A?" she signed quickly because it only took one hand.
"Cover your ass? Exactly," Evrard laughed.
It wasn't until much later that Faith realized their sin of omission would cover his ass, too.
Chapter 31
Meriton ad Gautier had two sons. One had lost the family fortune and never recovered. The other had lost his life and been reborn.
Some might say both the lost fortune and the lost life were his fault. Meriton knew that wasn't true. It was fate, pure and simple and that same fate had shown him the error of his ways.
He'd always assumed his younger son, Batiste, was the more intelligent of his sons and he had raised him up in business and finance. For a long time, Batiste did well. He increased their holdings, married a girl who loved him and produced a fine son. Apollinaire, however, showed no aptitude for learning and when he decided to follow the tear on his chest and become a Guardian, Meriton didn't argue.
He'd begun his own adult life as a Guardian, though after a time the rules about honesty and fair dealings became too restrictive and he left the ranks to pursue his fortune. He'd hoped Apollinaire would follow in his footsteps, but his son liked the life and rose to be the local Liege Lord's Second and it was then Meriton decided that Apollinaire should rule the House of Guardians as Batiste ruled the enclave. Their combined power would be enough to subjugate the village putting the People under their control as well.
It wasn't until years after the mishap that Meriton recognized his mistake. Intelligence did not equal strength. The massacre had decimated the enclave's population. Batiste was devastated by the financial crisis that resulted and folded under the pressure. It was Apollinaire who rose to the occasion and survived his turning to become a powerful and fully in control vampire.
It was he who had the strength to revitalize the enclave. With Batiste's son in place to become Liege Lord, fate had come full circle. Meriton had not wasted those intervening years. He'd learned from his mistakes. This time he'd be ready.
*****
Faith sank up to her chin in the deep clawfoot tub and blew a soft stream of air into the bubbles in front of her mouth. Of all the silly things, Lucien had bought her bubble bath. Agdta wasn't kidding when she said Lucien had visited all the shops in the village and bought something from each one. He had, and most of what he bought was for her.
She'd never had a bubble bath before. Such frivolous things were frowned upon in the Community of Saints. She only had money for the barest necessities when she ran away and during her time with Tyn she felt lucky when he allowed her to bathe at all and most of the time that feeling was ruined because he liked to watch. He enjoyed her humiliation while he told her what to wash and how.
Lucien liked to watch, too, but the feeling was entirely different. He was watching her now, leaning back against the sink, arms and ankles comfortably crossed. His eyes held a lustful appreciation for what he saw, and when she scooped up a cloud of bubbles and blew them in his direction, he smiled.
"Happy?" he asked.
"I am, but I'd be happier if you were in here with me."
"So Álvaro could tell me I smell like a garden and Lalo could call me girly?" He uncrossed his ankles and stood over the tub looking down. "I didn't think about the bubbles blocking my view."
"All the more reason to join me," she laughed. "If smelling like flowers is too great a blow to your masculinity, you can rinse off later and scrub yourself down with your manly smelling soap."
"Will you do the scrubbing?" he asked laughing with her, but he was already unbuttoning his shirt.
Faith watched him strip down with her own lustful appreciation. She watched how the muscles in his shoulders rolled as he removed his shirt, how his arms flexed and relaxed. He turned a little away when he slid his trousers and underwear down his long legs, giving her an excellent view of the high, firm cheeks of his
ass.
He wasn't as broad as Canaan or as narrow as Nardo. He didn't have Nico's smooth and easy style or Broadbent's owlish intensity when he looked at you with those big brown eyes. The Guardians of Canaan's House were all attractive in their own way, but she never enjoyed looking at them the way she enjoyed looking at Lucien. He was hers and he was beautiful. She told him so.
Lucien laughed at her. "Another girly attribute to add to the list. I'm beautiful and I smell like flowers. Next you'll be telling me my shorts are pretty."
"Michelangelo's David is beautiful and no one ever called him girly."
She giggled when Lucien struck a pose with one arm curled over his head and the other curled behind him. His knees were partially bent, one leg forward, one leg back. The whole pose was meant to show off his muscular definition.
"David doesn't look like that."
"I was thinking more of Charles Atlas."
"Who's Charles Atlas?"
Lucien shook his head sadly. "Ah, hummingbird, you are such a baby."
"Ah, Guardian, you are such an old man."
"Then scoot yourself up so the old man can sit down."
Lucien stepped into the tub behind her and eased himself down into the steaming water. After adjusting his bent knees to either side of Faith, he lay back against the curved end of the old cast iron tub and pulled her back against him.
Faith lifted the washcloth from the water and ran it over his knee and down his shin, down and back, down and back.
"Rough day?" she asked.
His sigh was answer enough. She leaned forward just enough to catch the underside of his calf with her cloth, down and back, down and back.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No," he said, but then he did, "One of the hands reported a group of travelers just south of the enclave, but headed this way. I sent Lalo and Adam out to watch and follow. When they got to their post, the travelers had already made camp among the rocks so they watched as they were told to do until they realized there wasn't any movement in the camp; no watchman, no one stirring in their sleep."
Guardian's Faith Page 27
