Reluctant Guardian (27 page)

I am way in over my head. I can't stop what is about to happen unless I have legions of angels at my back. Helplessness presses against me and more than anything, I feel the need to cry. For this girl, for my brother—who I am sure is about to witness something atrocious—and for myself, powerless to stop it.

Nichole ceases her crying and lies with her head turned away, her sobs almost silent in the hushed, candlelit room.

Andras stands and addresses the audience. “And now we begin.” Taking a silver box from a small table by the bed, he opens it. The red-velvet interior glows in the warm light, surrounding a gleaming set of silver fangs, deadly sharp.

He pulls the fangs from the box and places them in his mouth, moaning with pleasure as they slide into place. He turns to the crowd, his lips stretching over his shining canines. “And now my children, I shall become one with this offering, her essence, her soul. I claim her for my own. There is no act more powerful, more binding, or more exquisite.”

With a low growl, he swirls back toward the bed, his cape whipping out behind him like silken bat wings. He jumps onto the bed, his knees straddling Nichole's waist, his hands pressing her forearms into the soft mattress.

I blink my eyes, because I'm sure I am seeing things. For a split second, dark, leathery wings spread out behind him, and glossy, ebony feathers coat his raven-like head. When I blink again, he is back to his normal self, the Sower of Discord. But the shift happens again when he sinks his teeth into the hollow of Nichole's neck. His arms slither beneath her, pulling her closer, as he drinks with bloody lips.

Nichole arches, her eyes rolling back, but no sound comes from her dying lips.

I search the room frantically, hoping someone will stand up and fight for this poor girl's life. I even look deep into my brother's eyes, but he sits frozen, dismayed at the sight before him. His hands grip the chair's armrest, his eyes filled with terrified, unspilled tears.

Step by step, I back off the stage, never taking my eyes from the horror before me. Andras moves over the girl until she lays completely still, her blue eyes staring from an ashen face. Finally, he raises himself from the bed, a thin stream of crimson trailing down his chin. He roars in triumph, the muscles in his neck taut and stretched to a grotesque limit.

“What happened?” a small voice says beside me.

My eyes shoot back to the bed to find the source of that high, frail voice. Nichole, a mere wisp, a copy of the body that lies dead, looks up at me expectantly.

“What's happening to me?” she asks, looking right at me, her spirit flickering and dim.

Andras turns. “To whom do you speak, child? There's no one here but you and me.” He holds out a hand, looking right at Nichole's tortured soul. “Come.”

I look from Nichole to Andras. He can't see me, but he can see her. She steps forward, unsure, and reaches out to Andras, as though she can't refuse even if she wants to. I watch, completely in shock. Where is her family? Where is the light? Isn't she supposed to walk toward the light?

As soon as she takes his hand, his mouth opens wide—to an inhuman degree—his silver, gleaming teeth appearing even more deadly in this demonic orifice. Her clothes, which are mere rags instead of gleaming robes, whip about in an invisible storm. Her hair flaps wildly about her face as her eyes dart toward mine. She reaches for me, but before I can grasp her hand, her spirit spirals with tornado swiftness into Andras's dark maw.

He inhales slowly, his chest expanding, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his arms out wide. “It is done!”

 

~Trapped~

Alisa

 

A collective sigh fills the room.

Jill leans forward in her seat with anticipation, her eyes filled with excitement. I search the auditorium and find the same expression on nearly every person there. But my brother doesn't wear it. He recoils in his chair, repulsed. I make a flash appearance beside him and grab his hand, willing him to erase his open-book reaction. If there is one thing I know, it's that he can't reveal himself without consequences.

“Relax, Derek. Soften your face. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath,” I whisper in his ear. “Don't let them know your true feelings.”

Immediately he complies, taking a deep breath.

The guy next to him turns and shoots Derek a smile. “Have you ever seen anything like that?” He seems manic, intoxicated, desperate for his turn.

It sickens me.

“Just hang on until we can get you out of here,” I whisper, smoothing the stress lines along Derek's brow.

Lamia and Andras stand at the front of the room, smiling and triumphant. They move through the audience with steady, confident steps, shaking hands and receiving congratulations.

When they reach Derek, he takes Andras' hand with a blank stare.

“Smile,” I say.

Andras hesitates, and then murmurs, “Yes, indeed. Smile. You mustn't show your true feelings.”

Derek's eyes slowly rise to meet Andras' deep, black holes, which stare down at him.

“Who's your friend?” Andras asks without releasing Derek's hand.

“Uh,” Derek starts. “My friend? I don't know what you mean.” Derek glances at the kid beside him. “I don't know him.”

Andras' eyes narrow and his lips pull back into a snarl. Derek's eyes dart back and forth, then meet Lamia's who has just come over.

Andras turns to her. “This acolyte has a tag-along,” he says, a snarl in his voice. “The same spirit who was on the bed with Nichole. I can smell her still,” he hisses.

“Really?” Lamia's eyebrows rise to a high, thin line. “Now that's interesting. I haven't sensed it.”

Derek pulls back on his hand, which is locked in Andras' grip. “Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't bring anyone. I haven't told anyone about these meetings.” He glances back and forth between them.

“Take him to a cell,” Lamia commands, her arms folded over her chest, her ice-blue eyes, hard and unforgiving.

“Wait! I haven't done anything!” Derek screams as two neanderthals grasp him by the arms and drag him out of the auditorium.

They throw him in a room identical to Brecken's and shut the door with a loud bang. The lock turns from the outside. I stay by his side.

Derek stares at the door, then turns and thrusts his hands through his hair, his breath hissing out. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” He paces the floor, sweating like he's run a marathon, his eyes rolling like a dying animal's.

“Oh, Derek. I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of here if I can,” I say, trying to send a message of calm, although it flies far from the mark. He continues to panic. He can't hear me. Natty was right. I need help. Even if it means humbling myself and admitting I broke the rules, I'll do it to make things right.

Closing my eyes, I take in the silence, the quiet of this haunted death chamber. I hate leaving Derek and Brecken here, but I have to. I have to go straight to Raphael. I know he'll help.

I picture his face and his office, willing myself to appear there.

I open my eyes.

I'm still in the vampire's death den.

Please no.

I try again with the same results. With a sinking heart and an awful dread, I realize I'm trapped. Hurrying out of Derek's cell and over to a back door that surely leads to freedom, I run my hand over the handle, but of course, I can't turn it, and it isn't even locked. Without thinking, I bang on the door in frustration. My hand
doesn't
slip through like it should have. It stops at an invisible barrier, like the one at the bridge to
Elysium.

Leaning my head against the solid wood, I ponder my situation. I'm trapped, like always... on the wrong side, making stupid choices. Just like my brother.

But this time it isn't about me. I've come to save Brecken. He is my whole reason for being here. With a blink of my eyes, I appear inside his cell. At least I'm not trapped from moving between rooms.

Brecken still lies on the stained, bare, sheetless cot, but he has woken up. Kind of. His arm lies over his eyes and he moans softly, as though having a bad dream.

“Brecken, can you hear me?”

He turns toward the sound of my voice, squinting. “I feel like I'm gonna puke.”

I kneel at his side so our faces are only inches apart. “I'm here.”

“Where am I?”

Placing my hand on his cheek, I say, “You're in the basement of some really fancy house. A mansion. Some really bad stuff is going on here.”

He rolls away from me and faces the wall, holding his stomach. “I don't feel good. Let me sleep.”

“Brecken, no. You need to get up. We need to get out of here. We can leave right now if you do. There's no one in the hall. All you have to do is open a door.” I put all the urgency I can into my pleading, hoping he'll pull out of his drug-induced stupor.

With a long sigh, he rolls over to face me. His bloodshot eyes find mine, and he blinks slowly. “Why can't I sleep for a little while?”

“Because you'll miss all the fun,” a voice says from the door.

I whirl around to face Andras in all his demon glory.

“So we meet again,” he says, stepping into the darkened room, his eyes darting from corner to corner.

“Do I know you?” Brecken asks, gazing sloppily at Andras.

“You used to,” Andras answers. “Who were you speaking to?”

“My guardian,” Brecken says, turning over again. “This is a terrible mattress,” he mumbles into its bumpy filthiness.

“Ah, yes. But you won't be here long, so don't worry.” Andras steps forward and lays his hand on Brecken's arm. “I've waited a long time to see you again, Undoer. A very long time.”

At the strange title, Brecken sits up, a frown on his face. He stares at Andras and shakes his head. “Who are you?”

“Ah, you don't remember?”

“Should I?” Brecken rubs his eyes and peers at Andras. “Dude, I've never seen you before in my life.”

“We're old friends,” Andras answers with a lazy smile.

“I don't remember your face,” Brecken says, sitting up straighter, his expression still confused.

Andras takes a step back and cocks his head. “Really? That surprises me.”

I'm frozen by the door, observing the exchange. It's like watching an old black and white movie where I expect Vincent Price to step into the scene, and I can't shake the feeling I've missed something.

“You don't remember. I can fix that.” Andras begins a slow chant as he moves forward. His lips pull back into a snarl, his words, undecipherable. Before Brecken can react, Andras grabs him around the neck and shoves him hard against the cement wall, breathing heavily into his face. “You know me now, don't you? I see it in your eyes. Or at least the beginning of recognition.”

Brecken jumps up, but struggles against Andras' strength, his face growing red as he gasps for air. He presses against the fist at his neck. Andras squeezes tighter, and then his leg rises swiftly, kneeing Brecken in the groin.

The reaction is immediate. Brecken falls to the floor, curled into the fetal position, moaning, and rolling back and forth, his breath coming in ragged hitches. Andras rubs his hand and watches Brecken with unbridled hatred. “You're time is over, Bretariel. You're done. Do you hear me? Done!”

Brecken looks up into Andras' eyes, agony glazing his features. Then Andras flees the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

 

~Lost and Confused~

Brecken

 

Brecken lies crumpled on the cold, cement floor, writhing in agony. Never has he felt such white-hot pain. It fills his belly and spreads out with fierceness to his arms and legs. His whole body feels shattered and broken. He wants to die, just to have the pain end.

When the pain does finally subside, the name Bretariel repeats in his mind, as if he should know it. The familiar cadence of the name wiggles through his brain, but he can't quite remember, can't pull the memory out—like distant answers to forgotten questions on an impending exam.

The man's face floats beneath Brecken's eyelids, a dark phantom that won't disappear. The enraged eyes glowing with hatred.

That face. He knows that face.

But from where? Everything around him feels off, like a nightmare. He can't grasp how he even got here. The last thing he remembers is Jill sitting on his bed, crying. Had Alisa shown up? He can't remember that either.

Brecken begins to relax enough to take a breath. He looks around and doesn't know where he is, or why he's here, but a dark foreboding condenses inside him, coating him from the inside out.

Something terrible is about to happen. He feels it deep in his bones. That man who was here hates Brecken with an intensity he's never felt before. He can't imagine why, but he has a feeling he is about to find out.

 

~A Bad B Movie~

Alisa

 

“Wha—what was that all about?” I say, still leaning against the wall, staring into Brecken's luminous blue eyes. I listened to the whole exchange between him and Andras in complete confusion.

Brecken doesn't answer me, but after a few moments, he rolls over and stands up on shaky legs.

“He called you Bretariel.”

He falls onto the cot, pulls his legs up, and rolls toward the wall.

“Brecken?”

“Wait... a second,” he answers, his breath catching.

“He acted like he knew you.” I stare down at him, waiting. This whole situation is too bizarre. “Brecken. Do you know him?”

“I don't know!” He sits up, his eyes watery pools of suffering. The vein in his forehead throbs as his jaw clenches. “You don't know how terrible I feel,” he says, blinking his eyes, and then wiping his face with his arm.

“So...”

“So? What do you want me to say? I have no idea who these people are or what they want.”

“Jill's here,” I say, frustrated.