The Light Keeper

by Gabriella Lepore

Bernard.

  Or what was left of him, anyway. The shapeshifter had stolen him, drained his life-force and left a crumpled, near-unrecognizable shell in its place.

  My eyelids dropped for a moment. Not again. I can’t go through this again.

  A rush of memories flooded back to me about my first encounter with Bernard and his wife, Marjorie. I was young—thirteen, maybe—and I’d been sent on a job in Whitestone Point. After taking a pretty severe beating from a particularly vicious vampire that had been terrorizing the town, I’d been left for dead.

  Bernard had found me lying in the road within inches of my life. The vampire had been staked, done and dusted, but at the cost of a few too many broken bones and lacerations on my part. I would have bled to death there on the pavement, making a nice snack for passing flesh-eaters, if my savior hadn’t come along.

  Bernard had shone his torch over me, then helped me to my feet and virtually carried me indoors to Seraphim’s. I’d read the shop sign as I passed beneath it. I’d thought Bernard was an angel come to take me from this world, and that perhaps I’d made it into heaven after all.

  No such luck, eh. But what I experienced over the days that followed had been as close to heaven as I’d ever come.

  Bernard and Marjorie lived in the apartment above the shop, and I had stayed there with them while I got my strength back. They had made me feel welcome and wanted. Marjorie had fed me every chance she got; she’d cooked stew, and steak, and meatballs—the whole nine yards. For those few days, I’d felt like part of a family again. They hadn’t had any kids, and perhaps they’d liked me filling that void. And, in all truth, I hadn’t minded it either.

  Of course, I’d recovered and life had gone on. I’d soon been set another mission and it was business as usual. But I’d never forgotten Bernard and Marjorie. Every few months I’d return to Whitestone Point and drop by to see them. Each time, I’d buy something from Seraphim’s—even if I really didn’t need anything—and Marjorie would pack me a lunch for the road. She’d kiss me on both cheeks as she said goodbye, and Bernard would pat my back.

  When I’d heard the news about Marjorie’s death, it had felt like my heart was breaking. Most of all, though, I had been sad for Bernard.

  Now, with Bernard gone too, I suppose I was sad for me.

  “Is it Bernard?” Elana whispered from across the shop.

  Her soft voice startled me back into the moment.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  She remained silent. Was she scared? Respectful? Both?

  “Don’t come too close,” I warned her. “I don’t want you to see him this way.”

  She clasped her hands together and ventured tentatively into the shop. As she began gingerly picking up the fragments of glass, I set to work, going through the motions, following procedure. I found some hallowed water on one of the shelves and sprinkled an entire bottle over Bernard’s body. No more demons would go near him tonight—I could make sure of that much, at least.

  Elana found a blanket and I covered him. Again I warned her to stay back. The sight would put even her most gruesome of nightmares to shame.

  There was only one thing left to do: notify the council. Once that had been done, it was final. Bernard would go down on record as another demon victim. He would join the list with Marjorie and so many others.

  In the past few months, the body count had been higher than I’d ever known it. The attacks were reckless and ceaseless, and now apparently they were happening in the daylight, too. The demons were waging war upon humans, and even the most experienced of eastern mountain men were falling. What hope was there?

  The new Light Keeper, I reminded myself, glancing at Elana. Brining order back to the mountains, that’s the only hope. It’s the whole reason I’m here.

  Had the shapeshifter known who Elana was? It had undoubtedly sensed her as a witch–but had it known she was the next Light Keeper? If it was merely a random attack, then it was a pretty huge coincidence. I thought about the old lady who’d tricked Elana at the diner in Fallows Edge. Would she have had the chance to spread the word about the arrival of the new Light Keeper already?

  I stiffened. Now was not the time to worry about that. I had a job to do.

  Heaving a sigh, I patted down my pockets, searching for my phone…which I’d left in the car. There was a phone in the apartment upstairs, though.

  I began towards the apartment access door in the far corner of the shop. In the shadowy nook, I signaled to Elana to follow me. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her.

  She was standing by the window in a stream of gentle light spilling over from the streetlamp outside. At that moment, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn she was an angel come to rescue me.

  I stopped in my tracks. That’s twice I’d seen an angel in this very shop.

  “Jake?” she whispered.

  I shook myself out of the trance. “I’m here.”

  She found me in the darkened corner. As she approached, I tore my gaze away from her and returned my attention to the locked door.

  The lock was flimsy and poorly assembled. I’d reproached Bernard for this time and time again, warning him that anyone could break in. He never did get around to fixing it. Times like this made me glad for his procrastination. I forced my shoulder against the door and it busted open. The chain drooped down from its hinges.

  We were in.

  A staircase led to the first floor apartment. I hadn’t been up there in years. As my feet touched the carpeted stairs I was overcome by a sense of familiarity. I was immediately taken back to the young boy I’d been when they’d found me.

  A lifetime had passed since then.

  I led Elana up the stairs and we emerged into the living area. It wasn’t how I remembered it; this wasn’t the home I’d known. It was plain to see that Marjorie had been the domestic one. She’d prided herself in keeping the place neat and tidy, with woven rugs and colorful fresh flowers. Now, the dining table was piled high with plates of moldy food and discarded overdue payment reminders. The open-plan kitchen was cluttered with unwashed dishes, and the floor was thick with grime.

  Far be it from me to advocate for good housekeeping, but this got to me. It made me feel as though I should have stuck around to help Bernard more after Marjorie died.

  I winced. Why didn’t I stick around?

  It was too late for regrets—just as it was too late for helpful gestures. All the same, I started straightening the place up with what little cleaning smarts I had. When the council came for Bernard’s body, I didn’t want them to see his home this way. I didn’t want them judging him. So I got to work, scouring the surfaces and scrubbing furiously at pots and pans as best I could.

  Elana didn’t question it. She simply picked up a broom and joined me.

  “There’s no hot water,” I called to her from the kitchen.

  “No electricity, either,” she called back.

  Evidently Bernard hadn’t paid his bills. How long had he been living like this? He should have told me. If he’d needed money, I would have helped. I’d have given him everything I had.

  I ran the cold water and swilled off the dishes, stacking them on the draining board. On the windowsill above the sink there was a small heart-shaped frame with a photo of Bernard and Marjorie in it. They were happy, smiling, knotted together in love.

  I let the cold water pour from the faucet over my hands as I scrubbed another plate, trying not to look at the photo.

  All of a sudden I felt a sharp stab and the plate crumbled from my grasp and shattered into the sink.

  “What happened?” Elana cried, rushing into the kitchen.

  I stared at the shards of china in the sink as a torrent of water cascaded over them.

  “It broke.” I washed away a spatter of blood from my finger. “I broke it.” I must have been holding onto it tighter than I realized.

  She stepped up behind me and put her hand on my arm.

  I couldn’t look at her. In fact, I was
running out of places I could look.

  “Jake,” she murmured.

  I bristled. I could feel her touch melting through my sleeve. Melting through what little armor I had left.

  “Jake,” she whispered again. “It’s okay to be sad.” She reached forward and took my hands, turning me around on the spot. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Not this,” she said, gesturing to the unwashed plates. “I meant this.” She pointed to me now. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”

  “I’m not trying to be.”

  She was watching my eyes, disarming me. But I wouldn’t let her.

  She touched my arm again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I swallowed hard. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  She looked to the kitchen floor tiles, then back up at me. “Bernard was like family to you, wasn’t he—”

  “No, of course not. I don’t have a family, I don’t need one either. He was just a… a shopkeeper.” The cruelty of the words on my lips hit me harder than any demon could.

  For a long moment, we fell silent.

  Then, at last, Elana spoke. “Let me do this,” she said, glancing at the broken plate in the sink. “Go sit down for a while.”

  “No, I–”

  “Please, Jake.”

  I found myself gazing into her eyes, wondering if she really was an angel after all. She was as good as, anyway.

  Surrendering, I retreated back into the living room, where I sat down numbly on the cluttered sofa. In a haze, I made the call to the council, identifying Bernard’s body. They arranged to collect him at first light, as was procedure. It was all very sterile—very by the book.

  I scrubbed my hands through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut. Could I have saved him? If I’d done things differently, could this have been avoided?

  I looked down at the dot of blood on my thumb, the spot where the broken china had pricked my skin, and my thoughts wandered back to a time, long ago, before I’d even met Bernard. Before I’d become like this.

  Lifers, Flip had called us. In it for life.

  I remembered the first time he’d used that term, lifers. We’d been in our den, a hideout amongst a tangled mass of trees in the grounds of the training facility. Our den was our sanctuary, and back then we’d been the only ones small enough to crawl into it. The den was our safe haven, away from the elders. Away from the world. Just us.

  On that particular day, Billy had fidgeted awkwardly over the roots of an ancient oak. He was a year older than me and Flip, and a fair bit bigger than us too. Even at twelve years old he was built like a house. But he was as soft as putty underneath—I figured that’s why he didn’t make it past thirteen.

  “Lifers,” Flip said. “The elders can go to hell for all I care. As long as we’ve got each other, everyone else can go jump.” He smirked. We all did. It made us strong, the simple knowledge that we had each other. In fact, I’ve never felt stronger than I felt back then.

  I felt a surge of pride upon hearing Flip’s words. Yeah, I thought. Nothing will break us. The world is ours—for life.

  It had been arrogant to think, but I hadn’t cared. I’d believed it. I’d believed that we would, and could, take on the world together. Forever.

  At the time, I’d been toying with a pocket knife, idly carving patterns into the tree bark while we wasted the afternoon. At that point, though, I turned the blade onto myself and pierced the skin on my thumb with a quick, sharp jab. A bubble of blood rose to the surface.

  Flip caught on and followed my lead, picking at a scab on his knuckle until the skin broke and spilled with fresh blood. He formed a fist and offered his knuckle to me.

  I leaned across the web of branches in the den and pressed my cut to his. Our blood merged.

  “My blood’s your blood,” I told him. I’d meant it back then, and I mean it now too. My blood was his blood.

  Billy took my pocket knife and joined his hand to ours.

  “My blood’s your blood,” he echoed.

  “Done,” Flip declared. “Blood brothers.”

  “For life,” I agreed.

  “Lifers.” Flip’s eyes were hard, determined.

  Lifers, I mused now. Flip was killed later that week.

  “Hey.” I heard Elana’s voice and opened my eyes. She planted herself beside me on Bernard’s sofa.

  “You look miles away,” she said gently.

  I blinked a couple of times, bringing myself back to the present. Bringing myself back to her.

  “I’m not,” I said, as much for my benefit as hers. “I’m here.”

  She gave me a heart-melting smile. “Good, because I have something for you.” Her hands were behind her back, hiding something.

  I pressed my lips together. “It’s not hot chocolate, is it?” I kind of hoped it was.

  “If only,” she replied dreamily. “Pass me your wallet.”

  Not bothering to ask why, I reached into my back pocket and tossed it to her. She opened the leather slip and tucked a small photograph into one of the compartments. It was the picture from above the sink. The one of Bernard and Marjorie.

  I eyed her, awaiting an explanation.

  “One day,” she said, “you’ll be ready to look at it.” She paused and grinned at me. “Then you’ll be glad I stole it.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “About earlier…” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry I…uh… you know…”

  “Forgiven,” she told me, still grinning. “And I’m sorry I… uh… you know, too.”

  I laughed quietly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Neither do you.” She took my hand.

  My rational side told me to pull away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it this time. “What are you doing?” I asked, letting my fingers fall against hers.

  With her free hand she held up a sticky bandage. “You have a cut.”

  “I don’t need that.”

  “You’re cut.”

  “It’s nothing. It’s just a scratch.”

  She secured the adhesive material around my thumb. “It needs a band-aid.”

  I rolled my eyes. Here I sat with broken ribs, a lump on the back of my head the size of a watermelon, and a tiny polka dot bandage on my thumb.

  “There,” she said proudly, rubbing the smooth bandage around my skin. “You’ll heal faster now.”

  As long as you’re here, I will, I thought. I did heal faster with her around. Or, at least, the pain wasn’t so bad any more. It was a shame I would eventually lose her too. In my sentimental moment, I briefly toyed with the idea of keeping her away from the High Peak—of keeping her safe and by my side.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a crazy idea.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to see inside Bernard’s unlit apartment. I cast a glance out the window. It was officially nightfall now. Not a practical time to roam the streets of Whitestone Point.

  “Do you think we can still get to the car?” Elana asked, preempting my thoughts.

  I held up my hands indifferently.

  “We could stay here for the night and leave first thing tomorrow morning?” she suggested.

  I groaned inwardly. What a proposal! If only she knew...

  If I said yes, we’d never make it to the High Peak with enough time to perform whatever ritual was needed for Elana to take over from the old Light Keeper—according to Cedric’s calculations we only had until tomorrow evening. And in that case, I really would be able to keep her forever. Or some less-psychotic variation of that, anyway.

  Alright, so the demons would overrun everything and we’d be facing an apocalyptic world. But surely that was a small price to pay for what could form between Elana and me, wasn’t it? Screw the greater good. I’d have enough knowhow to keep us both safe. What did I owe the rest of the human race, anyway? I’d done my part—I’d served my duty since I was eight years old. Let the rest of them fend for themselves fo
r once.

  To hell with the world.

  “Well?” Elana prompted. “What do you think?”

  I sighed, looked at her face, at all she was meant to become. “No,” I murmured. “We have to get on the road tonight.”

  And that was that. We left the apartment and walked out of Seraphim’s side by side. I closed the door behind me. I knew right then that I’d never be back inside that building, and I was gripped by the sentiment.

  Goodbye, I thought as I walked across the stretch of cobbled road where Bernard had first found me. I’d swear I could still see specs of my blood in the spot I’d laid five years earlier. The spot where I’d realized that I was about to die, just moments before I was saved. Thank you. I inhaled deeply. Thank you for saving me. And for the first time, I realized that Bernard had not only saved my body that day, he’d saved my soul, too.

  I bowed my head and kept walking.

  The brisk mountain wind funneled through the streets. In silence, we retraced our steps from earlier that day, heading out of town and back towards the suburbs.

  I had expected to come across some disturbance, one way or another—only I hadn’t expected it to cross our path so soon. We’d barely crossed town before I heard something up ahead.

  I stopped walking and listened.

  Something was coming.

  I guided Elana to a wall where we were concealed by shadows. Motionless and silent, I listened to the footsteps and voices—voices too loud to belong to cautious humans. As I watched, a group of men emerged from a side street. They were moving confidently and sinuously as they crossed the street. Even from a distance I could smell the alcohol on them.

  Great. Nothing better than wasted vampires.

  Maybe this would have been a better time to test out Cedric’s vampire repellent—which was now resentfully buried in the depths of the El Camino’s glove box.

  I kept still, tirelessly practiced in the art of becoming invisible. Only my eyes tracked their course as they walked across the road, away from us.

  Elana breathed quietly in short, quick rasps. I slipped my hand over her mouth; the smallest of sounds could give us away.