The Legacy: A Custodes Noctis Book (2 page)

“Yes?” He looked up at the medium-sized man standing in front of the counter.

“I heard…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I heard about you the other day and I was wondering…”

Galen smiled encouragingly. “Yes?”

“I’ve tried other people, you know. No one can actually help, they say they can , but they’re just snake-oil salesmen, you know?”

 
“Yeah,” Galen said, stopping a shrug.

“But then I heard about you, a friend said you might be able to help me.” He glanced nervously around the shop.

“Maybe,” Galen said, sliding his hand across the counter and letting his thumb brush the man’s hand. Pain seeped through the contact, but it was something other than illness that Galen sensed. The pull of the moon, the hunger for flesh flowed into him from that touch. He met the man’s eyes. “How long?”

The man chuckled, a bitter note in the laughter. “Just like that? No judgment, no ‘kill the werewolf’, just ‘how long’?” He shook his head. “They said you were different. It’s been years. I didn’t even know at first that I’d been infected. I just thought it was a dog bite, then I thought nothing could be done.” He frowned. “Can you cure me?”

“No,” Galen said gently. “I can’t cure it.” The man turned to leave, Galen grabbed his arm. “I can help.”

Hope flared in golden eyes. “You can?”

“Yes. I can give you a spell to help, and you need to come in on the days before the full moon. I think with the spell, and some healing, we can control it.”

“It doesn’t bother you? What I am?” the man said as Galen led him to the back of the shop.

“If we’d met under different circumstances, maybe. I’ll be honest, I’ve killed your kind, but I’ll help if you ask. I have more than a few non-human clients.” Galen smiled and gestured to the chair. “Sit down and we’ll get started.”

The day had gone by quickly. At closing time, Galen locked the front door and put the till in the small safe in the back of the shop. After double-checking the door, he headed up to the apartment. The sun was down and the large room was dark when he opened the  door. A noise from the kitchen made him stop. He stood still, listening. The heater gave its little knocking sound again. Galen relaxed and laughed at himself, wondering if he should go out at all, considering his heater had made him jump.

He threw some leftovers in the microwave and headed to the closet to pick out what he would take with him tonight, pausing by the small shelf on the living room wall. He looked at the picture of his father and uncle and then glanced up at the plaque on the wall, ancient, heraldic, with the words
Custodes Noctis
on the coat of arms. At the end of a long list of names were his father’s and uncle’s, Paracelsus and Robert Emrys.

“Going out tonight, Dad,” he said to the photo, to the room at large, in case his father had decided to haunt the place after all. “Rhiannon came by. Asked me to go along. I think she’s worried, considering what’s coming up, you know. Gods, I miss you two.” He smiled sadly at the picture. “I know, it’s not enough, is it? But you agreed when it happened, Dad. You thought it was for the best, too.”

He sighed, walked into his bedroom and opened the closet. It served as a weapons locker of sorts. Galen ran his eyes over his collection, wondering what to take with him. Swords, a bow, several guns and a large super soaker water gun were on shelves.
Oh, that’ll look great, sword, gun and purple-and-blue water gun, still if it works.
He ran a hand over the two swords at the front of the closet, moving down the cool leather of the scabbards, lovingly repaired over many centuries. The gentle hum of the swords resonated against his palm. The lines of the ancient ritual played in his head.
Hand to hand…
He stopped himself, then with a sigh, he grabbed the falcata—his favorite sword—the 9mm and the water gun. He’d just closed the doors when he heard someone on the stairs, he froze for an instant, senses reaching outwards until he recognized the tread on the stairs.
He walked back into the living room as Rhiannon opened the door.

“You about ready?” She smiled when she noticed the weapons in his hands. “Don’t forget that all-purpose first aid kit of yours.”

“Never,” he said with a laugh, the exhilaration that always hit him before a “party” already brewing. Galen walked into the bedroom and grabbed the satchel with the first aid kit. Bandages, sutures, antibiotic creams, herbs and a few magical items to treat the kind of wounds the things they played with could inflict. He picked up the small knife from the bedside table. It had a small blade and a sterling silver hilt, more a ritual knife than practical in any way, but it had been a gift. And he always carried it as a token of the giver. He had received it the day it all began, nine days before it all ended.
“Do you like it?” Questioning eyes met his, unsure. “I saved up for a long time to get it.” Galen remembered smiling. “It’s perfect.”  An exaggerated sigh met that statement. “Oh, good.”

“Galen? What are you doing in there?” Rhiannon’s voice broke into the memory.

“Coming,” he said, shoving the knife in his pocket. He threw the satchel over his shoulder and walked back into the living room. “Are you eating my dinner?”

“It was just getting cold in the microwave,” she said, spooning another mouthful of chili out of the bowl.

“I did plan on eating that before we left.”

“Oh, sure.” She took one last spoonful and handed the bowl to Galen.

He looked down at it, then back at her. She was grinning. “Sometimes I swear, Rhiannon.” He laughed, then with a shrug finished the chili. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

The park was quiet, the trees casting odd shadows in the light from the streetlamps. A soft whisper of wind rustled the leaves on the bushes as Galen and Rhiannon walked silently along the trail. A dark shadow separated itself from a tree. Galen nodded at the large man who slipped quietly up beside them.

“Good to have you join us,” Greg Alexander said solemnly, nodding at Galen. “It’s always a pleasure when you come along to play.”

“Thanks,” Galen said by way of greeting.
Always he is so reverent, so aware of who I should be, not who I am.
 

“I heard something down by the gardens,” Greg said.

“Okay, how do we handle it?” Rhiannon said, settling down to business.

“There are four main paths,” Galen said. “Two from up here, two from below. If one of us comes from below we might be able to cut off whatever it is.” He looked through the shifting shadows towards the gardens, full of empty branches. “I’ll head down there.”

“Be careful,” Rhiannon said.

“Always.” Galen walked silently down the path, sticking to the shadows, instincts honed in his youth serving him well. His senses were alert to every sound, shift of light and scent. He paused for a moment, something had moved off the trail to his left. A fat raccoon crossed the path in front of him, stopping to look at him for a moment before moving on.

Galen reached the lower paths to the gardens, glancing up the hill, he saw Rhiannon moving, ghostlike, down the hill. He was getting ready to move when someone screamed. Galen ran towards the sound, towards the back of the gardens where the leafless bushes were thick, obscuring his view. It was there, whatever it was, dragging a woman through the rosebushes. A shrill whistle let him know Rhiannon was behind him and to his right, the barking cough was Greg up and to his left.

Not a werewolf.
Galen slowed down, drawing the falcata. “Let her go,” he said quietly. The thing turned black eyes in graying flesh towards him. It hissed at him. He smiled. “Okay, time to play, then,” he said, excitement buzzing through his hand
.
He caught sight of Rhiannon out of the corner of his eye and nodded slightly as she moved up behind the thing. Galen took a step forward, swinging the blade in front of him.

It let go of the woman and stood, looking at Galen for a moment. It reached a bony hand towards him. “Keeper,” it hissed.

“Not anymore,” Galen said.

“Yes, you are Keeper. Always Keeper.” It took a step towards him and paused. It sniffed the air, breath rasping into its lungs. Without warning it dove for him, knocking him off balance. Galen recovered, dancing away and brought the falcata up in an arcing swing. It launched itself at him again, one gray hand closing over Galen’s wrist. It let out a harsh sigh. “You’re
that
Keeper?” Galen ignored it and sliced down, cutting the arm off at its wrist, the hand still clinging to his arm. He shook it off with a grimace. It came for him again, diving, the one claw-shaped hand outstretched towards his throat. It laughed, the odd dead voice full of glee. “Good,” it hissed. “
That
Keeper, here. The time is coming. The echoes build.”

“No.” Rage boiled out of Galen mixing with the exhilaration of the moment. He lashed out with the sword. The thing ducked, the blade swung through empty air. Galen shifted his balance, preparing for another swing. It came at him again, a knife in its remaining hand.
He dodged the blade as it stabbed towards his abdomen. The movement unbalanced him enough for the body-blow of the thing to carry him down to the ground. “Shit!”
he said, pushing himself out of the way as it brought its blade down towards his throat.

“Galen!” Rhiannon hit the thing, carrying it away from Galen. She didn’t move out from under it fast enough, he saw the blade sink into her flesh. She cried out, shoving it off of her. Galen saw a crossbow bolt shoot out the back of the thing. It screamed and stood, clawing at its back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greg grappling with another one of the creatures.
Well, if you can call turning it into hash grappling.
Galen pushed up off the ground and launched at the creature in the same movement. He caught it that time, neatly severing the head from the neck. It dropped to the ground and after a huge convulsion lay still.

Galen ran to Rhiannon. She was trying to push herself up, one hand covering the bloody wound high on her shoulder. He pushed her hand away to get a better look at the wound. Black tendrils had already moved out from the wound. “Hold still,” he told her firmly. She stopped moving and looked at him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“What?” she said.

“Just don’t move until I tell you, okay?” He focused on the wound, “feeling” it carefully. Galen was still aware of the end of Greg’s fight, still aware of the thing he had killed on the ground. He dug through his first aid satchel and pulled out bandages and an herbal cream. Galen smeared a liberal amount of the cream on the wound before pressing the bandages in place.

“What’s that?” Rhiannon asked, her nose twitching as she caught a whiff of the cream.

“Clover, St. John’s Wort, vervain, betony and dill. It should stop the spread of the poison until I can deal with it at home.”

“Not here?”

“No,” he said, looking at the wound again. “It might be a little rough, I need to know we’re safe before I heal it.”

She nodded, understanding. “How’d we do?”

“All finished,” Greg said, coming up behind Galen. “Although the woman’s dead. The one I killed grabbed her before she got away. Throat’s ripped completely open.” Galen glanced up at the other man, Greg had splatters of the thing’s black blood on him.

“Damn,” Galen sighed, then grinned at Greg. “Nice work finishing it.”

“A little messy, I know. Not like you.” Greg grinned back. “One swing. Nice, neat. Takes a bit of skill.” He laughed and Galen laughed with him. He always felt a little drunk after a successful party. Regret flowed on the heels of the exhilaration so quickly he barely had time to catch his breath. He shoved the memories away.

“Give me a hand with Rhiannon,” Galen said, pulling her to her feet. He and Greg half-carried her back to the parking lot and slid her into the passenger seat of her pickup. She mumbled a little as they buckled the belt around her.

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to get her home to finish treatment.” Galen slapped the other man on the shoulder. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Any chance to party with a Keeper,” Greg said.

“I’m not a Keeper,” Galen snapped.

“Yes, you are, and it’s an honor when you come out with us. A Keeper helping us?” the older man said kindly. “I know why you always say that, I understand. But it’s really who you are.”

“Who I was, Greg, not anymore.” Galen smiled and walked around to get into the truck. “I’ll give you a call and let you know how she is.”

“Thanks, and I’ll call you for play-time again really soon,” Greg said, grinning.

“Sure.” Galen turned the engine over and put the truck in gear. “How are you doing?” he asked Rhiannon, she smiled without opening her eyes. “Pain?” he said. She nodded. “We’ll be home soon.”

He pulled the truck out onto the dark road, the streetlights making glaring stripes on the hood of the pickup.
It’s nearly midnight. It’s nearly…five years since Dad and Uncle Bobby, ten since… I wonder if Rhiannon is right, that I should be worried. I have wondered about it. I thought I felt… and the scar has been acting up, twisting at night. Ten years, it might mean something, but what…?
He shook his head and glanced at Rhiannon. Her eyes were open, watching him. He smiled. “Almost home.”