Authors: Christine Warren
Ella, though, wasn’t like that. She had magic inside her—huge, glowing, reservoirs of it—but she had shown herself ignorant of not only how to mold it, but even where it came from or what purpose it served. It made Kees want to protect her and educate her, to show her how special she could be compared to those surrounding her.
And therein lay the root of his problem.
Kees reacted to the little human in ways he had never before imagined, let alone experienced. Just being in her presence made him feel protective and possessive and alive with an intensity he had never previously felt. His mind told him she was simply one of many of her race, perhaps distinguished somewhat by her magical talents, but in the end, human through and through. The instinct to protect her race was logical, natural; but to want to protect her, specifically—Ella of the ordinary brown hair and extraordinary gray eyes—made no sense whatsoever.
Neither did the surge of electricity that pulsed through him when their bodies touched.
Guardians were summoned, not made or born. They numbered only in the dozens, as far as he knew. He and his six brothers, the largest and strongest of their kind, existed to protect against the Seven, but there were others—smaller, less powerful—who battled the minor demons and fiends that occasionally escaped into the human realm.
The lesser guards spent more time among humans, never confined in the sort of slumber Kees had known, sleeping only during daylight hours and patrolling each night against the smaller threats of evil. Their kind came in both male and female forms and reproduced with each other, but as far as Kees knew, his kind could come into existence only when summoned by a full circle of Wardens. They did not mate, since no females of their kind existed. They had no need to mate, and should feel no desire for it.
So why did desire for the little human Ella threaten to set his stone on fire?
The question both intrigued and terrified him. Desire was an emotion, something Kees had always assumed belonged to the weak and fallible human race. Guardians needed no emotion. They served one purpose in this plane, and that was to battle against the forces of the Darkness. To do that required no emotion, only power and brute strength. Emotion, in fact, could be a weakness. Fear might lead to mistakes, pride in victory to arrogance and conceit, also a certain path to defeat.
Guardians could not afford to feel, and before he had laid eyes on Ella, Kees never had.
He tried to recall the other awakenings of his long existence, and he realized with a jolt that not one of them had felt anything like this. During none of them had he ever really experienced emotion. Again and again, he was discovering that something about this time differed from all the others. He only hoped Gregory could help him understand.
Kees had little opportunity to brood on the situation. Only fifteen or twenty minutes outside the small town of Lions Bay, Ella steered the car between two tall gate posts. Lamps of glass and wrought iron arched from the top of each over the gravel drive, and against the worn brick of one, weathered brass numbers indicated an address.
“This is it,” Ella murmured. “Good thing the gates are open.”
At this point, Kees wouldn’t have allowed the tall bars of iron to stop him, but he admitted it was easier not to have to rip them off their hinges. They stood wide, pushed back on either side of the lane against the thick trees that blocked any view beyond the bend ahead of them. Kees glanced at the gate on his side of the car and felt a jolt of satisfaction.
“That’s a Guild symbol.”
Ella shot him a sideways glance. “What’s a what?”
Kees nodded toward the right-hand gate. “The medallion in the center of the gate, with the sun rising over the mountain peak. That’s a symbol used by the Guild. We’re in the right place.”
Ella blew out a breath and steered the vehicle slowly down the narrow drive. “Well, that’s something, I guess.”
Her words were noncommittal, but Kees felt the surge of energy from her hidden excitement. He just wished he could tell if she felt excitement over successfully moving forward toward their goal of locating Gregory, or if it was excitement over the prospect of washing her hands of his company.
Damn it. His existence had been much easier before he’d begun to care about the answers to such questions.
It took several minutes to leave the thick woods of the gate area behind and to pull forward into a lush green expanse of lawn and garden. Surrounded by more forest and capped by breathtaking views of the mountains beyond, the cleared pocket of open space encompassed an enormous, intriguing house of wood and stone.
Kees heard Ella murmur in appreciation when she caught sight of the building. He didn’t recall this place, felt a twinge of worry that perhaps he’d never been here before, but then he pushed it aside and surveyed the scene with fresh eyes.
The house somehow managed to appear both rustic and elegant. Huge wooden beams ran in heavy lines along the eaves and through the walls, and rough slabs of stone called to mind both the fortresses of Kees’s first home and the untouched mountains in the background. Not quite a chalet, and a long way from a manor house, the impressive dwelling seemed to create an architectural style all its own, one that could very well have grown from the earth exactly where it stood.
“It’s gorgeous,” Ella murmured, opening her door and sliding from the vehicle. “I was expecting a big house, if the person who lives here used to own you, but this is … this is amazing.”
Kees climbed from the car, his own pleasure at seeing the structure somewhat soured by the woman’s choice of words. “No one has ever owned me, human. I was Warded, not owned.”
“Right. Sorry.”
She didn’t even bother to tear her gaze away from the house to deliver the apology, which made Kees doubt its sincerity. He resisted the urge to sniff and folded his arms across his chest.
Finally, she turned to him and gestured toward the front porch. “Come on. Let’s go see what we can find out.”
Still stinging, Kees followed her up the wide steps to a front porch large enough to host a cotillion. Hell, you could practically quarter an army on the huge expanse of weathered cedar. Ella glanced around her, soaking in every last detail on their way to the ornately carved oak doors. Again, Kees noticed the sun and mountain symbol, along with several other subtle references to the Guild cunningly worked into the details of the carving. His sense of anticipation slowly built.
Ella pressed a small button next to the doorframe and stepped back. Kees heard the faint sound of chimes from inside. A bell. She had rung the doorbell.
They waited in silence for several minutes. As the time slipped past, he noticed signs of Ella’s growing impatience. She first shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then back. Then she tapped her fingertips against her legs and began to look around for a window to peer through into the front hall.
When she raised her hand to press the button a second time, Kees reached out to stop her. He could hear quiet footsteps growing louder.
“Don’t. Someone is coming.”
Ella frowned at him but dropped her hand. A few seconds later, the left-hand door opened, and a woman of middle height and middle years frowned out at them.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
Kees eyed the woman from head to toe and scowled. He could detect not the faintest trace of magic on her person. She clearly was not connected to the Guild. Had the journey here been just a waste of time?
Ella smiled at the woman and held out her hand. “I hope so,” she said, her tone friendly and confident. “My name is Ella. Ella Harrow. I’m with the Vancouver Museum of Art and History.”
The woman’s frown cleared, though she continued to appear slightly confused. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Greta Mikaelsen, the housekeeper. Did you come about the paperwork?”
The two women shook hands.
“The paperwork?” Ella asked, confusion clear in her words. “Actually, I was hoping I could speak with, ah, Gregory.”
Greta looked startled and shook her head. “Now I don’t know who’s more confused, you or me. Come on inside.”
She ushered them into a large wood-paneled hallway and picked up a rag from a round table, clutching it familiarly. She didn’t fit the stereotypical notion of a Scandinavian housekeeper of the kind Kees remembered from his past. Her hair was short and curled, not pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore no apron or large ring of keys dangling from her belt. Instead, she was dressed in a simple cotton T-shirt and a pair of faded denim jeans. Only the dust rag in her hand indicated she might engage in domestic work.
Ella appeared nervous as she looked around at the richly detailed architecture and gleaming expanses of walnut. A wide, heavy staircase hugged the left-hand wall, then turned to climb the rear before opening into a balustraded hallway along the second floor. In the corner of the stair, a pedestal held an exquisite marble nude draped in diaphanous fabric. On the high wall below the hallway railings, three small but masterful landscapes showcased the mountains and countryside of Europe in summer, autumn, and the depths of night.
For someone who worked in an art museum, Ella appeared nearly awestruck before she mustered another smile and turned back to the housekeeper. “This is such a beautiful house. Who lives here now?”
“No one. Not since Mr. Gregory died. It’s been almost three years now, and the lawyers still can’t decide if the estate can be sold, whether it can go in pieces or has to stay all together. Who knows when they’ll finally make a decision. But until they do, at least I have a job.”
Kees stiffened when he heard Gregory’s name. Dead? Was the woman referring to the same Gregory they had been searching for? Was Kees’s Warden really dead?
Ella tilted her head to the side, her smile turning quizzical. “Mr. Gregory? Sorry, when I said I was from the museum, I should have mentioned I was just a minion.”
“Mr. Gregory Lascaux. This was his house.”
Damn. The same Gregory, then. Kees wondered how he could not have known of his old friend’s death, not have been introduced to the other man’s replacement, as was customary.
“He owned that sculpture the museum purchased a couple of years ago,” Greta continued. “He was quite an art collector. I thought that’s why you came. I left a message for the director of the museum a few days ago that I had located some additional paperwork related to the statue and offered to mail it to him. I never expected someone to show up to collect it in person.”
“Oh, right.” Ella nodded as if all her questions had just been answered, and Kees found himself admiring his little human’s dramatic talents. “Honestly, it was kind of my idea to come out here. The statue is one of my favorites, and I always wanted to see where it came from. I guess I was expecting a house more like some medieval castle or something, with more just like it lurking in the battlements.”
Her laugh invited the housekeeper to join in. “No battlements, I’m afraid, but Mr. Gregory did have quite a collection. That was the only gargoyle that I know of, but there are plenty of other sculptures and paintings that haven’t been sold off yet.”
“Sold off?”
“Mr. Gregory never had children. I know he was married at one time, but from what I know, she died years and years ago. I never met her. When he died, there was quite a bit of confusion because no one could locate a will, so no one knew what to do with the house or the art or anything. It finally turned out that everything had been left to Mr. Gregory’s nephew. Well, great-nephew, I think. His sister’s son’s boy, or something like that. I’ve never met the man, personally.”
“What is his name?”
Both women looked at Kees, startled, as if they had forgotten he was there. Ella recovered first and gestured from him to the housekeeper.
“I’m so sorry, Greta. This is my friend who agreed to keep me company on the drive today. Kees, uh—”
“Kees Livingston.” He cut in smoothly, extending his hand for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Greta murmured, her gaze skimming appreciatively over his tall human form. “I’m sorry, but what was your question?”
“The name of Mr. Lascaux’s heir. Do you know it?”
“Actually, I can never remember it,” the housekeeper admitted, covering her obvious embarrassment with a half laugh. “Like I said, I’ve never met him, and I’m not that good with names. I have it written down somewhere, but he’s never visited, and we don’t speak. My paychecks come from Mr. Gregory’s lawyers, which I guess the nephew must be using now, too, so there’s really no need for us to talk. Frankly, I’m good with that. If he did want to speak with me, I’d assume it was to let me go. If he winds up selling the house, there won’t be any reason to keep me around.”
Ella nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Hopefully, he’s forgotten all about you. Although—” She paused and looked around her. “—I don’t see how anyone could forget about a place like this. Especially with this amazing artwork. It’s like another kind of museum. How much of the original collection is still here?”
“Oh, almost all of it.”
Kees could almost feel the way Ella’s ears pricked up at that answer.
“Really?”
Greta nodded. “Like I said, the lawyers are still trying to sort out what pieces of the estate go together and that sort of thing. I imagine it has to do with the misunderstanding of not locating the will right away. But in any case, the only pieces the nephew was able to sell were the gargoyle statue and a few bits of antique jewelry. Those were the only things the will mentioned outright.”
A few pieces of jewelry and a statue of a gargoyle. Those sounded to Kees very much like himself and the ritual accoutrements of a Guild Warden. Something about this situation didn’t sit well with him.
“Well, the museum was very lucky to acquire the statue,” Ella said. “I hope those papers you found don’t call the purchase of it into question, or anything. I think that would give our director a heart attack.”
“Oh, no—not at all. It’s just some bits and pieces Mr. Gregory had jumbled up with the other paperwork on that junk pile he called his desk. Some journal pages he wrote about it, a few photos, and some bits about where it came from and who had it before him. I just thought the museum might like to have it. I know sometimes they tell stories about the history of paintings and things like that.”