03 Reckoning - Guardian Page 8

  Despite my best efforts, I recoiled. François did keep himself well informed.

  “So I’ve informed your kind, the Alterums, of your efforts to annihilate my kind.” He paused and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I believe they understood the consequences of my message.”

  Eran, clearly sensing the danger hidden in François’s discourse, stepped forward then. “Stop speaking in circles, Gerard. Explain yourself.”

  François scoffed, offended by Eran’s tone, but he answered nonetheless. “I’ve informed the Alterums of the dangers in allowing your lover’s hunting to continue. Having delivered the message personally, I can reassure you that it was taken seriously.”

  Eran glanced at me, though I couldn’t be sure why. I refused to move my focus from the hand, still flexed and waiting, at François waist.

  “Since then,” he went on, “I’ve been waiting for your arrival. Although I have to admit, Eran, I’m slightly disappointed. I believed you would know me well enough to bring your army instead of your lover. This battle will be won far too easily.”

  The hand at François’s waist suddenly flew aside, releasing his robe, and exposing a cache of weapons. Taking a saber and a sword from their sheaths, François strode across the room but never completed his advance. Midway across, his appendages appeared from beneath his robe, lifting him into the air and flapping so aggressively they sliced the silk robe to shreds.

  François hung in the air, chest barren, arms extended, weapons readied, a hideous grin stretching across his face.

  “Thank you…for allowing me the honor of killing you,” he stated with genuine sincerity.

  Eran and I were airborne immediately, our own weapons ready. By that point it was too late. The trap had been sprung and we entered it easily.

  At the very moment we reached a certain height, blades flew from opposing sides of the room, slicing through the air and catching both Eran and myself.

  It was all the distraction François needed. He was suddenly on top of me, slamming me against the door I’d just entered. His saber was at my neck just as quickly, the cold steel coming to rest against my skin.

  It didn’t stay there long. He was thrown backwards as Eran took hold of François’s body and hurled him at the window he’d just been peering through.

  It cracked against his weight, remaining intact enough for him to launch from it and back towards Eran.

  Another trigger was released, sliding aside hidden compartments in the ceiling, and blades dropped from above, daggers ready to impale any of us who came too close. One nearly nicked Eran but he caught their movement in time and shifted from its path.

  François still had his arrogant grin when he reached Eran. As they collided, spinning backwards, head over heels, I came up from behind, enraged and ready to end that grin.

  Eran, facing me, sent me a signal, a slight lift of his chin towards the ceiling where the daggers gleamed. I caught his motion and prepared myself.

  Suddenly, Eran’s hips rotated, swinging his leg out and across François’s, causing him to tumble upwards. Picking up the momentum, I grabbed François’s shoulders and shoved him upward impaling him on the daggers designed to protect him.

  He hung there, steel points protruding from various places throughout his body, blood sliding down the points and dripping on the hardwood floors. His head hung limply towards the ground, eyes closed, breathing raspy.

  “Well done…” he exhaled. The last of his breath released just as his appendages slipped back inside his body.

  Eran, drew in a deep breath and turned to me with pride. “He was correct…Well done.”

  “Thanks for the assistance,” I said, turning back to François. “But I’m not looking forward to the clean up…”

  A drip of blood landed on the floor, splattering into the growing pool.

  “Better than having to deal with an international investigation,” Eran commented, already moving in to peel François’s body from the ceiling.

  After the room was put back in order, Eran approached the window that François had been peering from when we’d arrived and the same one his body had slammed against during the fight, leaving a halo of cracks around the center. Without hesitation, Eran broke the glass entirely, allowing varying slivers of it to fall to the ground outside François’s townhouse. Eran then took François’s body and soared out the window to the spiked fence lining the property below. He then impaled François on to it directly below the window.

  His solution was simple, almost elegant: The authorities would deduce his guards were delinquent in their duties while François had committed suicide.

  I met Eran outside.

  “Ready for another?” I asked, recalling the dossier of the next Fallen One.

  “Tomorrow…tomorrow we’ll up the ante to two.”

  “And from there, one additional each night until sunrise,” I proposed.

  Eran simply shook his head and I knew it was because he didn’t know whether to chastise or ignore me. He chose the latter and crouched, ready to spring into the sky.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  I nodded and followed him.

  For the moment, I was fine with returning directly to New Orleans. There was something else plaguing me, an unanswered question. Once we were safely back in my room on Magazine Street I wasn’t going to hesitate to ask.

  New Orleans was damper than Washington, D.C. I recognized this before landing on the banister of my balcony and stepping down to the floorboards. Eran, who followed behind for safety reasons, did the same and came up beside me.

  It was silent on our street, a stark contrast to the wind that had whistled in my ears caused by the speed of flight only moments earlier. The silence was calming and a welcoming part of our night.

  Instead of entering my room, I allowed my appendages to slip back in place and took a seat on one of the plastic chairs at my banister. Eran did the same.

  We watched the night, listening to the Cajun music play down the street and the foghorn on the edge of Lake Pontchartrain, our feet propped on the railing, enjoying the change of pace.

  It was surreal to realize we had just been engaged in a battle with an international diplomat, one that royalty and the elite had relied on for so many years, and one that we had ultimately killed. It was freeing, and odd, to know that his colleagues would no longer be able to rely on his honed skills of manipulation to cause catastrophic outcomes. They would now need to rely on their own inept abilities, reduced in practice by a few hundred years.

  As we were each contemplating the revelation that we had changed the future for the better, I glanced at Eran, who was staring at his hands clasped in his lap. While he didn’t appear to be deep in thought, I still had the uncomfortable feeling I was going to disturb him. I debated it only a moment and then my curiosity won out. “You mentioned earlier…when I asked about why you’d never made an advance towards me again after our wedding night…you said you were frustrated. You also said you’d explain it to me…”

  He grinned to himself. “I was waiting for you to bring it up.”

  “Then you must be ready to answer it,” I implied, although cautiously.

  His head dipped forward in a weak nod. “I am.”

  I waited for him to continue, watching as he prepared himself with a deep inhale before explaining.

  “My ability to regenerate…to heal quickly, has been both a blessing and a curse. It has kept me alive…here in this dimension…long after you had gone and allowed me to hunt our enemies on my own. While I understand this is the way it must be, it is a source of…inconvenience to say the least. I would prefer to…well, you know what I prefer.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I urged him on.

  He blinked in surprise. “To be with you, here or in the afterlife.”

  That simple reassurance caused a swell of warmth to grow in my chest, as if a blanket had been wrapped around me.

  Noting my content smile, he went on. “As you know,
instead, I dwell here until my body grows weary and erodes, until it can no longer sustain life, and I then die and return to the afterlife where I can exist with you again… at least until you choose to return here,” his hand swept absentmindedly out towards the street. “That is how it had always been. Then something changed between us. We admitted our love for each other and we became husband and wife. That night…our night together…” He paused to meet my eyes and I couldn’t deny the intense passion flowing behind his. “That was the most incredible experience of my existence. Nothing else comes close.” His head dipped again and he fell back in to his world of memories. “I was, in fact, hoping to experience it again the night you went missing. The night you were taken and…and tortured by Abaddon and his followers…in the clearing outside Gettysburg.” He drew in a deep breath, waiting until his thoughts cleared before continuing. “And then you were gone, murdered by my own hands-”

  “Eran…stop,” I pleaded but he continued on.

  “Murdered by me.” He grimaced, his body suddenly shaking at the memory. “And when I saw you again in the afterlife-”

  “I remember…I was there waiting for you,” I said, hoping to transition his memories to something positive.

  It didn’t work.

  “There was no ignoring what I’d done. That feeling…the stark awareness…the memory of hurting you was…It was too much.”

  “And you withdrew from me…I remember.” I placed my hand on him, a soft but firm hold that I hoped would be comforting.

  “And so you did something I would never blame you for…you returned here…as a reborn, a human, forgetting your past. Escaping it…and escaping me.”

  “No…never…” I stated, aghast.

  “It is all right. I understand,” he said, his sincerity undeniable.

  “No, you don’t,” I declared softly. “I came back here not to escape, not to forget you. I would never,” I swallowed back the lump that had grown in my throat. “I would never want to leave you, Eran. I came back as a reborn to finally fulfill my need to experience life as a human. Memory loss is simply a side effect of it. And I chose that specific time to return because you needed space…time to recover from me.”

  He spun towards me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “All this time…that’s what you thought? That I needed space?”

  “Yes…” I whispered, confusion washing over me.

  Releasing a quick breath, his shoulders sagged. “Never, Magdalene. You are my life…” His eyes rose to mine then, amazed and perplexed at the same time. “I think…we need to work on our communication…”

  Despite the situation and the bitter reality we’d just unearthed, his response, so understated, caused a tickle, one that quickly turned to laughter. Within seconds, a smile broke through the sorrow etched in the gorgeous contours of his face, and a moment later he was laughing alongside me.

  When our laughter calmed, I drew in a breath and then answered my own question. “So that’s why we have never been together again…There has never been an appropriate time to do it…”

  “Exactly.”

  “So much time…” I mused sadly.

  We fell silent, computing what we could have gained if we could have remained together, if we could have simply acknowledged our feelings with each other.

  Then he stood halfway, rotated, and slid me from my chair on to his lap. Enjoying the feel of his solid body, I hugged him closer before asking, “You’ve been enticed by my presence for…?”

  “Over a century,” he calculated quickly and then shrugged before confessing, “Well, longer than that. I was in love with you well before I announced it. I just wouldn’t admit it to myself.”

  I considered how much time that must feel like and, after understanding it, I was compelled to speak gently when asking my next question. “Any ideas on how to make up for lost time?”

  His eyes were still on the rooftops across the street when he smiled. “I’m working on that…It’s all about finding the perfect moment.”

  “The perfect…” I said, aghast. “How about we forget the perfect moment and take advantage of the time we have?”

  “Breakfast in the morning, folding laundry, grocery shopping. All of these can be rushed. Lovemaking, Magdalene, should not be. The planning of it included.”

  I slumped back in my chair. “Now, you’re being a tease.”

  He pushed himself up with a groan. “And for once, I’m not trying to be.”

  His hand took mine and he guided me to my feet. “At the risk of leaving you enticed,” he smirked at the use of my word, “we need to get to bed. You have a calculus test tomorrow.”

  I didn’t hold back my groan. “How is it we are tasked with saving the world…while still being required to maintain a high grade point average?”

  “Just lucky, I suppose,” he said with a grin.

  We were in the middle of my room by that point. His hands had dropped to my hips, the unspoken desire to simply cast aside Eran’s plan to wait hung in the air. His lopsided grin told me that he was contemplating it too. Only after he leaned in and grazed his lips across my forehead did I know that his better judgment – the one I continually fought against – had won again.

  “Good night, my love.”

  I sighed deeply, trying to express my dissatisfaction. “Good night.”

  He glanced over his shoulder on the way out of the room, his smoldering stare taking me in until we could see each other no longer.

  CHAPTER SIX: SUMMONED

  As the rest of the week passed, Eran allowed me to eliminate an additional Fallen One each night, accumulating to a nightly total of four.

  Oddly, I noticed that while I began each hunt with vigor, a powerful desire to annihilate as many enemies as possible, at the end of the night, on our final flight home, there was no closure. There was no peace. I only secretly noted the thickness of the remaining pages of the book containing the Fallen Ones’ dossiers. Although it slimmed each night, it told me there were multitudes left, and I still craved to find them.

  While this constant reminder weighed on me, I went about my classes with relative ease. Having the ability to recall multiple lifetimes on earth allowed me a certain measure of aptitude during tests. Since I’d never particularly struggled with my grades, scores came back relatively the same (although slightly higher at times) without a single mention from my teachers. The only issues I’d encountered were turning in papers on time.

  In fact, Eran and I were hastily finishing a report on the disintegration of a tribe in South America when a knock came to the front door.

  He and I were at the kitchen table with Ezra in her office down the hall. She was the first to address the fact we had a visitor, entering the hallway and heading for the door. Rufus and Felix came down the stairs just as she passed by the landing. Eran and I, however, stayed at the table.

  The door opened to a quiet, firm voice that reminded me of an old Native American saying: Talk softly, carry big stick.

  The instant that voice drifted into the kitchen, Eran’s head, which had fallen back towards the book in front of him, snapped up.

  “What?” I whispered.

  He shook his head, telling me that it wasn’t safe – or appropriate - to explain now, and continued listening intently.

  Ezra responded kindly to the visitor, as was her usual way. “Please, come in. We have coffee brewed.”

  Heavy footsteps followed shortly after, growing louder until they reached the kitchen door.

  Eran was already facing the entrance, intense concern etched in his features. I had to spin around, however, to get a look at the one of the few guests to ever set foot in our home.

  He towered over the rest of us, Rufus included, having to bend at the waist to avoid hitting the top of the kitchen door frame as he passed by. When he stood to his full height again, his skull barely missed the kitchen ceiling. The rest of him was equally as massive. His jaw, thick and knobby, jutted outward above a neck that rivaled the size of
a horse. His arms hung limply beside him, ones that could have been mistaken for tree trunks if they weren’t clothed in billowing cotton sleeves. Two incisions were made in his shirt directly between the shoulder blades and immediately my curiosity grew.

  He was one of us.

  His eyes stood out too, though not for any of the reasons given.

  They were pinned on me, unwavering and unashamedly evaluating.

  I held his gaze and stood, walking directly up to him. “Maggie,” I announced, extending my hand.

  “Peter,” he said with a European accent I couldn’t place. When he took my hand, it engulfed mine, the entirety of it disappearing all the way to above my wrist.

  Eran was suddenly beside me and I got the sense it was for the purpose of protection, which confused me. Peter wasn’t a Fallen One. My radar was at rest.

  “Peter, it has been a while,” Eran said cordially, though an astute ear would have picked up the fact it was laced with uneasiness. I glanced at him, wondering when Eran could have met this man when I had no recollection of it. It was a rare occasion when Eran left my side. “What brings you to New Orleans?”

  “An assembly,” he replied, coolly.

  The room’s tension suddenly escalated. Glances were exchanged. Breaths were held. Ezra set the mug she’d been pouring coffee in onto the counter, not bothering to finish filling it.

  When Rufus broke the silence, saying what the rest of us were thinking – at least in his own way – the tension rose again. “Ah, bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “Language,” Ezra cautioned.

  “Well, for once, I agree with him,” said Felix.

  It was telling that Rufus didn’t flinch at that acknowledgement.

  Ezra stepped forward, determined to calm the situation with reason. “An assembly to discuss what in particular?”

  “The topic will be unveiled when the assembly commences. Your presence is requested in London.”

  She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “When?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  Ezra’s lifted an eyebrow but still her reply was agreeable. “We’ll be there.”