This place looked like it was torn out of the pages of a history book. Everything was old and not in a good way. None of the street lights worked. The sidewalks were broken and crumbling. In the bank of empty shops that lined the street only one had a light on and the big display window provided a view of a fancy desk piled high with catalogues and a matching chair, both surrounded by boxes and sealed paper packages.
A man was sorting through the packages against one wall while a woman waited patiently.
Lucien had yet to speak. All he could think of was what had once been. The last time he was here, the shops were open and the streets were busy. Not as busy as they were before the massacre, but there were people on the street. No one was out there now.
After the massacre, the enclave had made a great effort to regroup and move on. They buried their dead, made the repairs and life went on. Looking back, it seemed to Lucien that there had been even more parties and dances and dinners than there had been before. They threw themselves back into their old lives with the same dedication he'd devoted to being the Liege Lord of his father's House.
He'd tired quickly of the almost frenzied happiness displayed by the surviving Paenitentia, but he continued to attend because he felt it was good for Marisol to be among people who laughed and played, many of whom had witnessed and suffered as much as she had.
At the time, many families were moving on, finding homes in other enclaves where the memories of the massacre weren't so close. No one seemed to miss them, nor did they miss his presence when he accepted fewer and fewer invitations until eventually he ceased to attend. With Marisol gone, there was no reason to go. His life revolved around his duty as Liege Lord.
The enclave grew smaller and eventually homes were torn down and the surrounding wall was built from the brick. Lucien had not been inside since its construction. He was shocked by what he found.
They waited until the woman had finished her business before going inside.
"Ah, Lucien my boy, how nice to see you." He waved his hands at the boxes and bags as if he was showing them a fine array of goods. "What can I do for you? You have something you wish to order?"
"It's been a long time," Lucien said easily and looked around, "What's all this? Where are the shops? The people?"
"Oh, this?" the man laughed unsteadily, "We're renovating. There are big plans in the works. New people will be coming in droves once it's finished. The enclave will be what it once was."
"How long have these plans been in the works?" Lucien asked. These buildings looked like they'd been empty a long, long time.
"That's the enclave's business," The man said, suddenly angry. "We don't need any interference from the outside. Evrard ad Gautier has returned and his father assures us others will follow. The situation is well in hand."
Lucien changed tactics. "Evrard? How wonderful for you and for his family. He's been staying with us, temporarily of course."
While Lucien was holding his odd conversation, Lalo strolled around the room. He was bored leafing through the catalogues and he was disappointed in the enclave. He'd expected to see a place where he and Adam could meet others like them. Humans were fine for a night of dancing and fun, but no Paenitentia would think of building a life with one. Humans were fragile. They grew old too soon.
He strolled about the room, reading the names on the packages and randomly checking the return addresses.
"This place gives me the creeps," he said when they were back out on the street.
"If by 'the creeps' you mean it makes you uncomfortable, I fully agree." The houses looked no better than the shops. "Where are the people?"
"There are only ten, twelve families here, my Lord, and I'd bet that only makes twenty, thirty people. In the whole place." Lalo leaned forward to look around the corner of a side street and pointed. "What's that building down there?"
"It used to be the counting house. I don't know what you'd call it nowadays." Lucien shrugged. "How do you know how many Paenitentia are here?"
"You do know. Think boy. Observe!" Lalo mimicked his Liege Lord. "You told me that the first night we were here." He nodded, satisfied.
"So-o-o?" Lucien rolled his hand in a motion to move things along.
"So I did. I observed. I thought. And now I know. Those packages are all from catalogues. There are only ten different family names on them, but I figure some of them are related. No kid catalogues on the desk, so no kids. This place is weird, boss, uh, my Lord."
"It's going to get weirder I'm afraid. Did you happen to get any addresses with those names?" Lucien kept walking.
"Yeah, but I didn't think you wanted them."
"You're right, I don't. I just wanted to know if you had them." Lucien stopped on the crumbling sidewalk and turned to the trainee. "Do you know why I chose you, Lalo?"
"No," Lalo said and looked like he was expecting a blow. "And I'm not sure I want to." He'd said or done the wrong thing and was going to be sent home. "If it's about calling you boss, Sir, I'll be real careful not to in the future and if it's about killing demons, I promise I'll get over it. I'll do my job, Sir. I swear it."
Lucien shook his head. Was he ever so young and naïve? He didn't think so and yet he was the one who'd been blind to what was going on around him. Lalo would never be blind.
"I chose you, Lalo, because I saw someone who wanted to be a Guardian more than anything else in the world. I saw how you watched your trainers. I saw how you listened when they spoke. You're a diamond in the rough, Trainee, and I wanted to see the polished gem."
Lalo laughed with relief. "A diamond, huh? That's funny because my dad used to say I was like a book. You don't know what's inside until you take the time to read it."
"Your father was a wise man, Lalo." Lucien continued on to an iron gate that led to the front door of another run down house. "I want you to do exactly what you did back there. Observe, think and tell me what you know."
Lalo straightened his shoulders and brought his fist to his heart in the Guardian salute. "I serve at my Liege Lord's command," he said and he meant it.
A woman from the village answered the door. She stared at Lucien without greeting.
"I've come to see Baptiste ad Gautier. Is he at home?"
"Louisa? Is someone at the door?"
Lucien remembered her as beautiful, but Eloise ad Gautier was a drastically changed woman from the one she once was. As a Paenitentia, Eloise should have been in her prime. This woman looked old. Worry lines creased a forehead that should have been unlined. Her skin was pallid and pasty as if she'd been ill. Her hair was streaked with gray and her eyes looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
"Evrard? Is he all right?" she asked as soon as she saw who it was.
"He's fine, Eloise," Lucien said as they were finally allowed in by the woman at the door. "He's back at the House. I've come to see your mate."
The creases in her face became more prominent. "Baptiste is ill, Lucien. He has been for some time. He can be…," She hesitated looking for the right word. "…difficult."
She led them down a dark hallway and stopped at the last door where she knocked and called, "Baptiste! Lucien ad Toussaint has come to see you."
"Well show him in, you fool woman. Don't make him stand like a servant at the door."
The room they entered had once been a library. A heavy bed now stood in the corner along with an armoire blocking the shelves of books behind it. The bedclothes were rumpled. The armoire doors were open, clothing tossed on the floor beneath it. The place smelled of stale smoke and urine. The drapes remained closed and a fire blazed in the hearth. While a chill permeated the rest of the house, this room was too hot.
"Baptiste." Lucien nodded his head in greeting.
"Come in, boy, come in," Baptiste motioned with his hand.
Lucien's father had never cared for the man, but Lucien always thought his father's opinion was colored by the fact that Baptiste ignored the tear he was born with and chose to go into business instead of pu
rsuing the skull and tears. It wasn't until after the massacre that Lucien began to see what his father meant.
Baptiste was too hearty to be real. He was all toothy smiles and claps on the back. He was everybody's friend, but that was only true until you got in his way. Once that happened, he would stab you in the back to get you out of it. By the time of the massacre, nobody got in his way.
He and his father were the driving forces behind the enclave; his father taking it from a wilderness outpost to a thriving community, Baptiste building it into an enclave of wealth. If he saw a need, he filled it. Of course, he also owned it, but to be fair, everybody benefited from it and the Paenitentia didn't seem to mind.
Lucien wondered how many of the closed shops had belonged to Baptiste.
"Well? What are you standing there for? Come in, take a seat. You'll have to excuse the mess. Eloise is redoing the bedrooms." His laugh turned into a choking cough. When he recovered from it, he went on. "I swear most of my money goes to pay that woman's bills. Buys a chair and the next thing you know she's making the whole room over to go with it. I'd be a billionaire if it weren't for that woman, but let me tell you, a good woman is worth it. Yes sir, a good woman is worth it." He beamed at the woman by the door.
Eloise sniffed and blew him a kiss before she started out the door. Lucien gave Lalo a nudge and the trainee followed her. Baptiste's demeanor changed as soon as the door closed.
"Where's my son? As your Second, he should be with you."
"He's only just arrived, Baptiste. Give it time." Lucien hadn't accepted Evrard into his House yet, much less made him Second. He wasn't sure if he ever would, but he wasn't going to argue with the father over the son.
"I don't have time!" Baptiste slapped the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "I'm dying and my boy must be in place before I go. You owe us that, since you took my brother's place."
"Your brother died, Baptiste," Lucien said gently. "I didn't take anything from him. He'd turned and I did what had to be done."
"No! You tried to kill him and take what was rightfully his. He worked for it. He earned it. The House of Guardians should have been his, the House and everything that went with it." Spittle flew from the man's mouth as he spoke. "You took it from him. You've become wealthy by what was stolen from us. We want it back."
The man was sick. He looked healthy enough, but something was wrong with his mind. The original House of Guardians still stood when the massacre occurred. Nothing went with it except the stipend paid by the Ruling Council which was generous enough to live comfortably, but no one was going to get rich without careful planning and long term investment.
Lucien's money came from the ranch, though there was little enough left over by the time expenses were paid. There was family money, too, most of which was set aside and invested to see to his sister's care and pay for village improvements. None of that was attached to the House of Guardians.
And what did he mean by saying Lucien tried to kill his brother? The man was as mad as the proverbial hatter and nothing he said could be trusted. Lucien made his farewells and exited as quickly as he could.
*****
After eavesdropping on his eldest son's visit with Lucien ad Toussaint, Meriton ad Gautier debated entering the library and strangling his worthless son or continuing on to his original destination, the counting house.
This was his family home and the tunnel connecting it to the counting house had been dug when the house's foundation was laid. Business couldn't always be conducted in the dark and someone had to be there to take deliveries. The offices were empty now, but he still visited the counting house at least twice a day and always through the tunnels. His current business was conducted in the basement.
The counting house won the debate. Batiste's mind was muddled, but the Liege Lord's was not. If he thought too hard about Batiste's ramblings, he would put them together and….
Meriton went directly to the old mirror leaning against the wall, careful to stay outside the markings on the floor. It had taken him years to find this mirror and years more to learn how to use it.
It had started with his discovery of a small hand mirror in a shipment of furniture. A small table had broken apart in transit and during its repair, Meriton discovered a secret drawer and in it, the mirror.
Unlike anything he'd ever seen, the mirror intrigued him. Sometimes he could see scenes within it that were not reflections of the room he was in. Eventually, faces appeared. Although he suspected they weren't human, several more years passed before he discovered what they were. Each face was more forthcoming about the power of certain mirrors until one human-faced demon told him about larger mirrors and what could be done with them. More years and hundreds of mirrors later, he found one that worked.
Around the same time Apollinaire, now vampire, made himself known to his father, Meriton had both the mirror and the key to using it. He gave his son the smaller mirror as a gesture of goodwill.
"Abyar Adoriedes Mendeliadum," he called now and the demon who looked like a man stepped through the glass.
"Good evening, Meriton," Abyar said as he gracefully took the chair that had been placed within the circle for his comfort. "I was hoping you'd call. I was getting bored over there and our conversation is always so stimulating."
"The Liege Lord is within the enclave," Meriton told him without preamble. "I want you to kill him, twice. I don't want any vampires running around. Can you do it?"
Abyar laughed. "Why, of course I can, my dear friend. Your wish, after all, is my command." He stood, brushed the dust from the front of his coat and shot his cuffs. "All you have to do is let me out."
Meriton smiled. They said history repeated itself. What they didn't say is that the outcome isn't always the same. This time, he would do it right.
He said the words and released Abyar Adoriedes Mendeliadum from the circle.
Chapter 35
"No!"
The force and clarity of Faith's voice startled her as much as it did those around her, but she didn't have time to think about where it came from or how it sounded. Her warning was shouted to Álvaro as he knelt with his long knife poised above the throat of the trainee, Adam. She skidded to a stop and fell to her knees.
"He's almost gone. I can't take chances," Álvaro said without moving his eyes from the barely moving chest. His hand shook. "It is my duty."
"I know," Faith said quietly.
Her hands were already moving over the prone body, sensing the severity of his wounds and the movement of his heart and lungs. Her rapid evaluation told her exactly where she needed to begin. This was different from anything she'd ever done. Before, her golden light would defuse through the body, randomly healing whatever it could find.
"Use that knife to cut away the rest of the cloth," she ordered as she ripped the slashed tee shirt away from the wound.
She didn't hesitate to lay her hands across the deep wound that gaped across his abdomen. She should have been repulsed by the exposure of a man's insides, particularly on this crude operating table of stone. Instead, she was fascinated. As part of her mind controlled the golden light passing through her fingers, another part watched the process of minute repairs being made to damaged organs.
When Adam's pulse began to falter, she moved her right hand to his chest, sending a surge of power into him. He'd lost so much blood, there was little to pump, but under her direction, the heart continued to do its job.
Her own abdomen was riddled with pinpricks from the repairs to the young Paenitentia body. This, too, was different. She should have felt real and excruciating pain from such a wound instead of this mild discomfort. As the power of the light ebbed and flowed from her body to his, she was surrounded by a feeling of peace and wellbeing. She drew that into her, too, and passed it along to Adam.
"Help me turn him over," she said when she'd done all she could.
She was surprised to find the helping hands weren't Álvaro's. She hadn't felt him rise or leave. She smiled and n
odded to the stranger who now knelt in Adam's blood on the other side of his body.
The wound across his back was nasty looking, but shallow compared to its twin on the other side. Faith knitted the flesh back together and stretched her shoulders forward and back to ease the annoying pinpricks that tingled along her back. One last check told her that the trainee's heart was beating regularly and his breathing was normal. Adam would live.
"Can you help my friend?" the man assisting her asked when she sat back on her knees. He lifted his chin toward someone behind him leaning up against the wall of the fountain.
It was then Faith noticed the gathered crowd and the line of women who stood between her and it. Some in the crowd stood with their hands folded, their heads bowed in prayer, but others had their fists raised in anger. They were shouting angry things and those things were aimed at her.
Agdta stood at the center of the line of women who had earlier formed her circle. Here, in the place where Engracia's circle had failed her, these women were taking a stand. They held hands and repeated the same humming chant as before, but the twelve women weren't standing alone. Other women had joined, creating an arc of protection around Faith.
The women weren't alone in her defense. Álvaro was there, too, flanked by his father and little Diego. Diego's father was there and men from the ranch. Others she didn't know stood beside them. One by one, others joined the ranks of the defenders. The village was splitting into those for and against.
Evrard ad Gautier stood to the side, waiting and watching the drama unfold.
Briza looked back over her shoulder at the staring Faith, winked and mouthed the word, "Go", before turning back to face the angry shouters.
As Faith turned back to the injured man, she looked up at the old, unused church and caught a glimpse of the wavering misty light she'd seen in the hills. It faded away before her eyes.
Faith smiled as she went back to work.
Guardian's Faith Page 31
