Guardians (Seers Trilogy Book 3) Page 2

  “Sean . . .” I spoke warningly.

  The eldest McCarthy grinned at my brother. “Is he always this pathetic? Or is this a special occasion?”

  I don’t know if those words snapped him, or if it was a combination of all the others and he’d just been pausing a second to catch his breath; regardless, he was charging the largest McCarthy before I had a chance to grab him. His head was lowered into the brutal shove, and his unexpectedly powerful impact sent them both sprawling to the ground.

  “Sean!” I yelled, rooted to the earth for a horrible second.

  I watched as the brave Colin Doyle turned and bolted, dashing for the nearest corner of the church. I then saw the other McCarthys moving to converge on my brother, meaty fists raised expectantly.

  A side of me I never knew existed burst forth, and I was running for the two McCarthy brothers before I quite realized what I was doing.

  The middle McCarthy saw me coming, and he braced himself to hopefully absorb my sudden thrust of weight. I slammed into him, and we both staggered back a step before I was cuffed on my right ear by the younger McCarthy. I let my fist sail, feeling my knuckles bruise against the middle McCarthy’s jaw. My fingers popped on impact, and I was grabbed from behind by the marginally shorter McCarthy behind me. The middle McCarthy shook free of me and began to pound his fists in my unguarded face as his younger brother clutched me tightly, pinning my arms to my sides.

  Though my face was exploding in a pain I’d never before experienced, I was aware of Sean’s struggle nearby. He was still on the ground, the large McCarthy on top of him. Both were letting out grunts of pain, and it wasn’t until Sean cried out that I feared my brother was truly losing the fight.

  “Sean!” I gulped, blood trickling from my nose into my mouth. I tasted it on my lips, on my tongue, and the horrible taste made me feel sick. I struggled more desperately to get free, but I was held too tightly.

  Locked in this world of brutal pain, I didn’t realize pounding footsteps were coming toward us until my father’s voice assaulted my ears. “Patrick! Sean!”

  The fists beating against my pulverized face stopped, thankfully, and I was released. I shook and fell to my knees, my trembling fingers moving up to press delicately against my throbbing skin.

  “Patrick!” my mother cried, having seen me fall to the ground. Her skirts whipped briskly around me as she sank into a crouch before me. I felt her cold hands cover mine, tilt my head up, and she let out a wounded cry. “Patrick,” she gasped, eyes tortured. I blinked heavily, trying to smile, to reassure her; the effect was more of a flinch, and when I tried to speak the words clogged in my throat.

  She pulled out her small white handkerchief and set it against my nose and mouth. It was immediately soaked. She looked over her shoulder and I followed her gaze with my eyes.

  Sean was propped up in my father’s arms, his legs sprawled out over the grass. He wasn’t as bloody as me, but he was already swollen. Father was looking up at Mr. O’Brien, who was apologizing profusely. “They shall be punished, Pastor O’Donnell, you have my word.” The balding man glared toward his nephews. “Home! The lot of you!” He waited until they responded before turning back to my father. “Their father’s just passed, and their mother—poor soul—she’s had her hands full with them.”

  Father nodded grimly, balancing Sean’s head on one straining arm. “Of course. I don’t believe any lasting damage has been done.”

  I felt more than heard my mother whimper, as if she disagreed with my father’s assessment.

  Colin Doyle cast us pale glances, but his parents were directing the rest of the crowd to fall back, that there was nothing more to be done here. So he followed the retreat until the crowd had all disappeared around the corner of the church.

  My mother stroked my hair with her free hand, tears forming in her eyes. “Patrick, whatever happened? You’ll tell me this instant!”

  I swallowed roughly while Sean began speaking. “Not much, Mam. Just playing.” He cast me a deep look, meant to coerce me into silence.

  Unfortunately, my mother could see the look more clearly than I could, and Sean realized this belatedly. Mother’s voice quivered with emotion—not all of it fear. “Boys of mine, fighting. I can hardly stand the thought.” She looked to my father. “Patrick? Say something!”

  He stared at Sean for a moment, then looked to me. “Patrick, who began this?”

  I answered honestly. “It takes two to quarrel, Da.”

  He didn’t seem to appreciate his own proverb in the present circumstances. “Who threw the first blow?” he refined his question.

  Sean sighed loudly. “That would be me, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” Mother’s voice was quietly shrill. “Did you attack one of those boys, or didn’t you?”

  “I did. But they were being rude.”

  “I don’t care if they were being insufferable!” she nearly snapped. “I never want to see a drop of blood on either of your faces again. Do you hear me?”

  “Aileen, please,” Father spoke suddenly. She glanced to him quickly, and I wished I could see her face. I’d never seen her so impassioned before. It was a little disturbing, but inspiring too. I was like her in so many other ways—did this mean that when I needed to be fierce and vocal, I would be able to be so? Feeling the bruises on my face, I decided my chances were good.

  My parents finished exchanging their long glance, then my father’s voice was surprisingly quiet. “Patrick, Sean—are you well enough to walk with me to the house?”

  We both nodded humbly, demonstrating our capability by standing. My mother held my arm until Father gave her a look. She released me with a sigh. “I’ll return to the social. But, Patrick, please let the boys go inside and rest. No undue lectures tonight.”

  Father nodded once, and mother planted a kiss first on my forehead and then Sean’s, before wandering back through the cemetery. Once she’d disappeared from view, Father pulled out his own handkerchief and handed it to Sean, who pressed it to his bloody lip. I continued to hold my mother’s soiled cloth to my bleeding nose as my brother and I shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder, facing my father.

  His face was harder than usual, and I knew Sean was sharing my same thoughts: Was he going to yell? He rarely did, although that only made those rare occasions of raised voice much more powerful and intimidating.

  We waited tensely, until finally his tight lips parted. “Tell me everything. Spare nothing—your mother will never hear of this. You have my word.”

  So we told him, Sean remembering each insult with impressive clarity. I made sure Father understood I’d had no intention of jumping with Sean from the tree—that it had been a ruse to get him to come down.

  Sean summed things up with these words and a simple shrug. “I couldn’t let them call Patrick those things. I’ve never felt so angry, Da.”

  “Anger should never dictate our actions,” Da warned severely, though his eyes were no longer burning. He was looking at us with a new light—as if seeing us clearly for the first time. “Not all brothers have this strong loyalty,” he continued slowly. “I am relieved to see that, despite your differences, you have this connection. It brings me great comfort.”

  “What about mother?” Sean asked. “Does it bring her comfort?”

  I sniffed loudly against the blood falling from my nose, and Father winced. “Perhaps comfort isn’t the best word,” he admitted. “But I’m sure she’ll someday recognize the importance of your bond. Because, someday, your mother and I will be gone. You’ll only have each other then.”

  Sean coughed, spitting out a bloody tooth into his palm.

  Father grimaced. “Come, let’s get you two inside. And Sean . . . just toss that anywhere. If your mother sees, you’ll be lucky to survive her wrath.”

  I know my eyes bulged. Wrath? Mother? Still, seeing Father’s face, I decided there must be something he knew about her that I didn’t.

  Sean must have felt the same, because as we sta
rted to follow Father to the house, he let the small tooth slip through his fingers, leaving it to rest in the long grass.

  ***

  Present Day

  Far Darrig

  Nevada, United States

  I stood looking out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor of the Illusion Hotel and Casino. I was alone at the window, as was my way: aloof, always on the edge of vision. But always right where I needed to be. I gazed down at the Strip, watching as the cars below swerved impatiently around each other. Humans were always so impatient. It was actually quite amazing what humans would do to save themselves a few seconds. Risk death, even. Like some Demons.

  Across the room, far behind me, Selena Avalos was speaking too loudly. “I just don’t see the point,” she was saying, her voice approaching a whine. “Why do we just stand here? Kate Bennett needs to die. After her insult to us, she doesn’t deserve to live. There are more of us united than any of the Guardians realize; we would meet little resistance, even with their dramatic show of guarding her. Far Darrig alone would be able to penetrate their feeble defenses.”

  I was relieved once again that Avalos was too intimidated by me to address me personally—that held true for most everyone who served the Demon Lord. I preferred things that way; I wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

  One of the Dmitriev brothers grunted, appreciating her words. Without turning, I would have to guess it was Viktor—he was the more aggressive of the two.

  Takao Kiyota spoke, his voice thin and dangerous. It matched his appearance and personality perfectly. “You Demons are too impulsive. We must stop and think.”

  Exactly, I agreed internally.

  “What good is she to us, anyway?” Mei Li muttered. “She finished her unique task. Surely we have enough gifted Seers. What is one more?”

  “Fine!” Avalos said. “Let me take care of her, my lord. It would be my pleasure. You would then be free to focus on distributing the virus to our allies.”

  I cast a long look at an insignificant white SUV as it darted through the traffic. I saw it come upon the slowing black car too quickly and knew an accident was imminent. I closed my eyes before impact, wishing the Demon Lord would finally speak and restore order to his ranks; give me an order, something to do so I wouldn’t become impatient. Since O’Donnell’s narrow escape last night, I’d been aching to snap his neck. Even better, snap her neck and make him watch. He needed to suffer. As I suffered.

  Music—Chopin—filled the room. The intricate notes grated on my nerves. I opened my eyes, saw the wreckage on the street below. A tangle of metal, a littering of broken glass. That was all that remained of the colliding cars, all because of impatience. I gritted my teeth and swallowed back my rush of anger.

  I needed to be patient. I couldn’t rush my revenge. I couldn’t afford for O’Donnell to escape me again.

  Your brother, the thought flashed through my mind. I easily resisted the urge to wince. No. Not my brother. My enemy.

  Yuri’s voice was low, his words slow. “She did what was most required of her. She secured Far Darrig. Anything else she could do for us could be done by another.”

  “Far Darrig?” My master’s voice was politely inquiring.

  I turned at once, fists tight at my sides.

  The white room was occupied by only a handful, the Demon Lord’s inner circle. My master had his back to a window, his questioning eyes on me. Takao was standing nearest to him, with Mei Li still close at hand; both were overprotective bodyguards. Avalos was wearing a green evening gown, though it was still morning, and beside her the Dmitrievs looked all the more weathered and ugly.

  They were all watching me, waiting for my answer.

  I focused on my master, my mouth barely moving. “We need to be cautious. Revenge is only possible with patience.”

  Avalos rolled her eyes, hands moving to rest against her curving hips. “Patience? That’s what you suggest?”

  “Now, now.” The Demon Lord smiled at me, though his comments were directed to Avalos. “Far Darrig has a valid point. Of course we have the forces necessary to kill Kate. Despite the Guardians’ efforts, she could be dead before tomorrow if we wished.”

  “Well, don’t we want her dead?” Avalos griped.

  Yuri spoke. “Master, she’s insulted you by escaping. Your enemies, your more tentative allies . . . they will hear of this. They will think you incapable of handling the Guardians if you can’t manage a single Seer.”

  The Demon Lord ignored them, eyes on me. “Far Darrig, do you have a specific plan in mind?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing specific. But I know how to stalk prey most effectively, if it’s a point you’re trying to make. This is your opportunity to show the world—Guardians, Demons, and Seers—that you have the upper hand. Let the Guardians think they’re winning and then crush them. Let them bring forth their best efforts to stop you, and then destroy them. Let O’Donnell think he’s keeping her safe, and then strike. Let Kate Bennett think she’s escaped and then end her.”

  The Demon Lord nodded leisurely, considering the idea. “We can’t afford to let them go unpunished,” he mused aloud. “Kate must die. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use this situation to our advantage.”

  “How?” Avalos asked. She shook her head. “Waiting would be a mistake, I think. Let us attack when they are weakest, before they have time to fully prepare for our—”

  “No.” The Demon Lord smiled. “I will use Kate Bennett as an example. We will give the Guardians time to scramble, time to panic. Kate Bennett hasn’t escaped, and her Guardians at least know as much. I have an idea . . . It will keep them entertained. In the meantime, we’ll see what epic plan the Guardians will devise to stop us. This revenge will be sweet, because it will be well earned. Far Darrig?”

  I looked up. “Yes, Master?”

  “How would you like to oversee O’Donnell’s downfall?”

  I felt my eyes sharpen. “I want nothing more.”

  One

  One Month Later

  Kate Bennett

  New Mexico, United States

  I was standing in the parking lot of the Illusion Hotel and Casino. I’d been here before, but it hadn’t been like this. Last time, the darkness hadn’t seemed this black. The lights of Vegas had kept everything lit up, and last time, I hadn’t been alone. Patrick’s strong arm had been wrapped protectively around my shoulders, and I’d been surrounded by other Guardians and Seers who cared about me.

  Not this time.

  I was alone. But not without company.

  I was staring into the piercing blue eyes of Far Darrig, and just below my line of sight I knew he was pointing a gun at me. He had no expression on his face, and his black aura told me nothing. We simply gazed at each other, neither of us moving, not even breathing. His eyes were familiar to me—almost a perfect copy of Patrick’s. But there was a hate inside of them I had no experience with. That hate was all his own.

  Suddenly his lips moved. He was speaking to me, his voice low and muted. “He told you to save me, didn’t he?”

  I swallowed hard—my heart was pounding. “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes firmly on his. “He promised everything would be all right.”

  Far Darrig’s expressionless face twitched, the change too quick to interpret; he was back to a blank stare in a split second. “My father is a fool. As you are, if you believe you can change me.”

  “I believe him.” I wasn’t sure why I insisted on arguing with this dangerous enemy. What compelled me to ignite that spark of loathing hiding just beneath his carefully crafted mask?

  He blinked at last, though only once. I drew in a sharp breath, as if that insignificant action had somehow freed me from this trance. His voice was wooden. “Don’t. Faith is for the unrealistic. Only the weak trust in the empty words of others.”

  I pressed my lips tightly together and tried to make my expression as calming as possible. “I trust him, Sean. Call me weak or unrealistic—but I trust him. I trust i
n you, your good side.”

  His eyes closed again, longer this time, and when they opened, I knew something had changed. I knew I’d lost the fight.

  A chilling smile climbed his cheeks. “I have no good side.”

  I heard a gunshot. I waited for the painful bite of the discharged bullet, but it never came. I could see the thin trail of smoke curling up from the end of Far Darrig’s gun, but it didn’t make sense. If the bullet wasn’t in me, where had it gone?

  In a second, I had my answer. The revelation had only been waiting this long to build suspense. A body collapsed next to me, and I turned to see my grandpa on the warm asphalt. His aura was gone; he was dead. I screamed, but no sound came out.

  All I heard was Far Darrig’s low, horrible laugh. “Hold on to your faith if you wish, Kate. But you’ll be disappointed in the end. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I fell to my knees, as if predestined to do so. I crawled to my grandpa’s side, saw his wide and gaping eyes, and I screamed again. Still no sound, aside from Far Darrig’s unhurriedly building chuckle.

  Grandpa’s lifeless mouth suddenly moved, while his eyes and body remained dead. “Kate. Bring me back. You can bring me back.”

  I tried to speak—to tell him it was impossible. Yes, I could travel through memories. I could stop that bullet from stealing his life. But if I did, I would die. Special Seers weren’t allowed to roam around the years in their own lifetime. I might have enough time to change this one event, but then I would be dead. And I knew he didn’t want that exchange. He would never want me to give up my life for his. Although knowing it and then having to tell him that I valued my life more than his . . .

  I couldn’t tell him. No sound could escape me.

  I felt something in my closed fist. Something I’d been clinging to this whole time, though I hadn’t realized it until now. I glanced down at my uncurling fingers and saw the knife balanced on my open palm.

  I couldn’t bring my grandfather back, despite his pleas. But I could avenge him. I could kill Far Darrig.

  Kill him or save him . . .