“I’m looking for Daniel,” Agares says and addresses the petite blonde who spotted him first, the older of the two women. “You,” he points to her. “Speak!” he commands, releasing the freeze he holds on her vocal cords.
“Danny? What about Danny?” she demands.
“Just tell me where he is!” Agares booms, reaching out with his energy and coaxing an answer from her brain.
The woman swallows hard, resisting the surge of power that has infiltrated her defenses. “We haven’t seen Danny in a year.” Her voice is tremulous, laced with sadness and worry. “What do you know? Is he alright?” Her eyes plead and search. He’d almost feel bad for her, that is, if he were capable of empathy. “Who are you? Why are you looking for him?”
“Why I need to find him is not your concern,” he says with finality.
“He didn’t kill Sarah. He was in love with her. You people are wrong if you think that!” the woman protests.
“I care nothing about this Sarah person or her death. I just need to find Daniel.” He silences the older woman and frees the voice of the younger. “What do you know?” he asks her.
“I don’t know anything. I want to find my brother more than you do.” A fat tear, blackened my makeup, rolls down her cheek.
Agares suppresses a chuckle. She couldn’t possibly want to find Daniel as much as he does. He inhales deeply. “Well, I guess the two of you are going to help bring him to me,” he says.
The women look at each other and then at him. “What do you mean?” the younger one asks.
“You’re coming with me, and when he realizes I have you, he will come for you.” Agares can see the young man’s likeness in his mind’s eye, see the righteous indignation surrounding the kidnapping of his sister and mother motivating him to walk right into a trap.
“We aren’t going anywhere with you!” the girl shouts.
This time Agares chuckles. “Do you honestly think you have a choice?” he asks as he descends on them, grabbing a handful of the back of her hair. He then closes his eyes and envisions himself at the farmhouse. And when he does, a burst of brilliant light fills his field of vision before blues meld to greens and oranges meld to gold. He’s thrust into a swirl of blinding colors, a dizzying kaleidoscope that turns pitch black before his body, and the women he’s collared, dissolve into the ether.
Chapter 12
̴ Daniel ̴
Sunlight filters in through the windows of Luke’s car, bathing me in brilliant, buttery light. I awaken to it, my eyes opening slowly to a glow so blinding they water. I don’t know where we are or how long I’ve been sleeping. All I do know is that prior to this nap I’m waking from, it’s been days since I had any sleep at all. The last memory I have is of tipping my chin and leaning my head against the headrest of the back seat and feeling complete exhaustion claim me. I closed my eyes and felt as if I were being rocked, the movement of the car conspiring with fatigue, and enveloped me in a dark embrace. Every muscle yielded. Every cell in my body surrendered to sleep. And now, I wake to a flood of light pouring over every inch of me, warming me and disorienting me simultaneously.
Yawning, I attempt to move. My entire body aches. “What time is it?” I ask.
“Four thirty,” Luke answers without taking his eyes off the road.
Squinting, I lean forward and look out the driver’s side window and scrunch my features. “It’s way too bright for four thirty in the morning.” My gaze shifts from the window to the windshield where I catch sight of Luke regarding me curiously in the rearview mirror. One brow is raised high while the other one is a thick slash. “What?” I can’t help but ask.
“It’s four thirty in the afternoon, genius,” Scarlett says without masking the exasperation in her tone, and though I don’t see it, I swear I can hear her roll her eyes by the way she blows out a huffy breath.
“I slept for twelve hours?” I ask incredulously. The thought of sleeping in a bed for twelve hours seems hard to believe. The idea of sleeping in the cramped back seat of a sports car for twelve hours seems preposterous. Yet I managed to do so.
Scarlett turns in her seat, her lips parted to say something I assume will be snarky. Her expression is marked by aggravation: lips thin, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. But as soon as our gazes clash she inhales and her head rears so subtly most would miss it. But I don’t. The annoyance leaks from her. “You needed it,” she says. Her voice is soft, devoid of frustration or sarcasm. For a second, I’m lost in her eyes, in the color of them warmer and richer than a sunset. I have to shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re just about there,” Luke replies absently.
“Ok, but where’s there?” I want to ask if he’s kidding me at this point, then I promptly remember when I led us to the abandoned warehouse.
“You’ll see,” Luke responds without glancing back at me.
“What’s going on anyway? Why can they sense us? Why are they hunting us now?” The questions fire from me, peppering from my mouth like automatic weapon fire ahead of my brain.
“They sense us and are hunting us because he’s back.” Luke’s brow dips low and his expression hardens. “It’s shifted everything.” He looks up into the rearview mirror so he can see me, his eyes fire-lit malachite. “It’s also why you’re back. Gideon is the only one who can stop him.”
I am Gideon. And I’m the only one who can stop him. Who is this person? “Stop who?” I have an enemy. At the very least, I need to know his name.
“Agares,” Luke spits the word with disgust.
“Agares,” I repeat the name as awareness crawls along the length of my spine, the sensation akin to the spindly legs of a spider scuttling across my skin. Images flash in my mind. Images of death and destruction, of evil in its truest form. Slain bodies with limbs torn from them littered across burning fields, their lifeless, hollow gazes along with the state of their corpses so macabre I shutter involuntarily. “Oh my gosh,” I mumble to myself and feel as though I’ve just been knocked in the chest with a sledgehammer.
“You remember?” Scarlett turns in her seat to face me, her voice just slightly louder than a whisper.
“No, well yes. I mean, I see what he’s done. I see so many dead, their bodies just torn to shreds.” I close my eyes and recount what I saw. “I don’t see him, this Agares person, but I see what he’s done, what he’s capable of doing.”
“You see what he will do if he’s not stopped,” Scarlett adds.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I nod. I see all too well what he’ll do if he isn’t stopped, if I don’t stop him.
Scarlett nods at me somberly then turns to face forward once again. When she does, my eyes are drawn to the windshield, to where Luke turns onto a narrow road flanked on either side by woods. Hostile looking thorn bushes mingle with weeds, wildflowers and bushes, all of which give way to small trees that grow so close together the area looks too dense to navigate. Straight ahead and in the distance, however, a large house sits. Made of brick and with a gabled roof trimmed in white so pristine it lends the structure the look of an oversized gingerbread house, it waits at the end of the road, where the bramble has been tamed in some spots and cleared in others. A high, solid panel fence separates it from the surrounding woods, which, as aggressively as they grow, appear determined to find a way over the fence someday soon. Regardless of the fence or the woods, I sense a pull to the place, but it’s unlike any I’ve ever sensed before. I don’t feel enraged. I don’t feel the burgeoning need for vengeance.
“What’s going on, Luke? Why are we here? I don’t sense Servants of the Underworld.” Scarlett steals the words from my mouth, asking exactly what’s on my mind.
“I’m not really sure to be honest,” Luke replies. “I haven’t been here in seventy years. And I don’t remember a fence like this.” His tone is bewildered, unlike I’ve ever heard it. Still, a draw to the place, new and unfamiliar, grows stronger. As soon as he opens his
door, I slip out and immediately head for the fence. Lifting my leg and hooking my toes onto the lip that divides the panel in half horizontally, I pull myself up. I then lift my leg again, placing my foot on top of the fence then push off, letting go and dropping to the group inside the perimeter of the fence.
“What’re you doing?” Luke whispers loudly, his voice bordering on an angry hiss.
“We have to get in, right?” I call from the other side.
I don’t get a response. My answer comes when Luke drops to the ground beside me followed by Scarlett. We each exchange wordless glances then head toward the house. The sound of our shoes swishing through the grass is the only sound I hear in an otherwise unnaturally still setting. The fine hairs on my body rise and quiver. I sense a presence other than ours and am about to say as much when a shrill whistle slices through the air. Both of my arms launch out to either side, halting Luke and Scarlett just in time to watch an arrow sink into the grass I front of us. The thwacking sound as it lands is followed by another dozen landing at our feet seconds later.
“Don’t move!” a commanding voice rings out, and at the sound of her voice, the swish of tall trees.
“Ok,” I say and freeze where I stand. While I don’t pick up the threat of Servants of the Underworld, I do sense weapons trained on me. Looking left then right, pale light beams from the dark niches of the corners of the property. It comes from the gazes of those holding bows stretched taut and loaded with arrows, all poised and ready to fire upon us. “What the heck?” I mutter. I count fifteen in all. And while they are prepared to strike in the space of a breath, they are like us. They are Hunters. “What’re you doing? We’re like you? Don’t you sense it?” All are silent then the commanding voice rings out again, and a woman appears before us.
Ethereal in appearance she strides forward from behind the line of fifteen. Strange, luminescent eyes the color of liquid mercury hook mine. Her pants and shirt, a white as pure as her hair, are as bright as the light that radiates from her, haloing her. The scent of frost replaces the scent of soil and spring. Pale brows gather into sharp slashes and her skin gleams, glowing almost like moonlight against a navy sky. She glides toward us, each step as purposeful as it is effortless. Her face is stern.
“We aren’t the enemy,” I say, my tone more argumentative than I intended it to be.
As soon as the words leave my lips, I am shoved from behind, the distinct prick of an arrow at my back. “Watch your tone and don’t even think about trying anything,” a male voice warns.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the woman demands, her voice shivering with raw power.
“We’re Hunters, just like you. Why do you even ask?” This time it is Scarlett who speaks, only instead of sounding agitated, she sounds perplexed.
A prim smile curves the woman’s lips, her silver eyes widening. “Things have changed. Dwellers of the Underworld can now hide themselves. Disguising themselves as our kind certainly isn’t out of the question. The melodiousness of her tone is pure steel wrapped in velvet. I feel an immediate connection to her, a respect so deeply rooted it could span centuries. I struggle to comprehend it. Her gaze bores into me, searching my intent, my very soul, and I swear for a split second she recognizes the kinship I feel toward her, that perhaps she even shares it. I can’t be sure, her face remains impassive save for the faintest of tics in her left eyebrow.
“We’ve traveled a great distance to bring him to you.” Luke gestures to me then dips his head differentially.
“Hmm,” is all the woman says, her eyes examining me from head to toe before recognition registers on her face and a broad smile carves features that were icy seconds earlier. “Come closer.” Her words are not as forceful as before.
I look to Luke, unsure for a fleeting moment, before I look to the woman before me whose glacial gaze has warmed. “Go,” Luke whispers. I take three steps forward, and with each step I advance chills race over my flesh, raising goosebumps.
When little more than an arm’s length separates us, her cheeks round and her eyes dance with joy, twinkling like glitter. “Gideon, it’s really you,” she breathes, emotion snagging her voice.
“Lillian.” The name bursts forth from my brain like a seedling sprout through rich, black soil. “I’m back.” My heart swells and feels two sizes too large for my ribs, and I realize in the seconds before she throws both arms around my neck that the woman before me is my sister.
Chapter 13
̴ Daniel ̴
Mind tilting and swirling like an amusement park ride, snippets of a previous life take shape. Vague and tenuous at first, the images make little sense. All I know is that the woman before me is my sister. I don’t know why or how I know that, just that I do. My brain resists that knowledge. How could Lillian be my sister? I already have a sister. Her name is Kiera. She lives in Patterson with my mother. Inexplicably, however, the woman standing before me causes a flood of memories to surround me, familial memories I don’t recall being a part of, but ones I certainly participated in. They are more of the same, pieces of a vast riddle I must decode.
“Come,” Lillian says. She splays one arm to the side, sweeping it toward the house. “Come with me.” Her words are an invitation that seems absurd given the fact that Luke, Scarlett and I are surrounded and with arrows trained on us. I arch a brow and she nods, clipping her chin so slightly I almost miss the movement. But at her small movement, the Hunters surrounding us lower their weapons. I turn and look at Luke then Scarlett. Neither is fazed by what’s happened. And neither seems bothered by the fact that fifteen sets of eyes are now on me. Shifting my weight from one leg to the next, I allow my gaze to bounce from person to person. No one flinches. They stare at me unabashedly, their eyes filled with equal parts awe and wonder as well as threads of something else, an emotion similar to doubt. Heat slinks up from my chest to my neck. The press of their gazes weigh on me.
“This boy is Gideon?” a voice asks softly as it addresses Lillian.
More heat snaps from my neck to my cheeks. I bristle at the question, folding my arms across my chest and tapping my fingers against my biceps. Though my role in all that’s going on is brand new, I’m insulted to be referred to as a boy, and to have my identity questioned. I’m not even comfortable with my new identity yet and I have no idea of all that Gideon is capable of. Everything I’ve experienced and continue to experience is foreign to me. Still, I defend it with every cell in my body. I start to speak up, but Lillian commands attention. She nods confidently, the air around her thick with power, like getting caught outside during an electrical storm. Waves of ice combat the heat I feel, the two colliding and nearly smothering me. Her power, whatever it is, balances what I’m experiencing, it tempers it. It also causes veins of panic to tremble through me. I will myself to be calm, to not be intimidated by this woman I know is my sister, and who I suspect is capable of producing a bright bolt of power crackling from her palm.
“Are you sure?” another asks.
“Of course I’m sure,” Lillian replies, her voice like a clap of thunder, rich and resounding with certainty. Her posture is ramrod straight, regal and self-assured. She exudes confidence. She exudes power. And I am as intimidated by her as I’ve ever been by any being in this life. I turn to Luke and search his face for answers, but all he does is offer a small smile and a head shake. Scarlett’s eyes are riveted to Lillian so she offers nothing in the way of answers either. I’m left to turn my attention to my sister, who promptly turns on her heels and walks toward the house. I’m powerless to do anything but follow, so I do, watching her glide so silently and so swiftly, the only evidence I see that her feet are even touching the grass comes in the form of a trail of flattened blades behind her. She makes her way to the garage of a Gothic Victoria style house painted a crisp cream color with dark-brown trim. The house, positioned against the now waning light of day, looks surreal. Its many striking edges are softened by the warm shades of gold and orange. Slopes and angles are
softened. What could be viewed as a cold, unwelcoming structure is warmed by a fairytale-hued backdrop. We enter a meticulously arranged garage, walking over freshly painted concrete floors. She opens a door that leads to a flight of stairs. We reach the top where another door waits, and when we open it and pass through, we are in a hallway that leads to a living room to the left and a bathroom to the right.
Unnatural silence blankets the house like a layer of freshly fallen snow. I turn and look behind me at Luke. His eyes reveal nothing. Not fear. Not apprehension. Not any anxiety in the least. He is completely calm. We follow the hallway to the left and a living room is before us. To the left is the kitchen, a well-appointed space with rich cherry wood cabinets, black granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. An island with a small sink and four barstools sits in the middle of the large open space and four Hunters fill the stools. They each turn and look directly at me. I eye each of them, not breaking eye contact first, before allowing my gaze to examine the living room. Deep brown furniture, all made of distressed leather, are positioned around a grand fireplace. A sofa, loveseat and two overstuffed chairs sit on an area rug that incorporates all of the soft earth tones that comprise the color scheme of the open floor plan of the rooms. At the center of the arrangement of furniture is a mahogany coffee table that matches the two walls on either side of the fireplace, both mahogany bookcases that extend from floor to ceiling. The remaining walls are painted a soft shade of tan and trimmed with white crown molding. Impressive, but not ostentatious, the room is breathtaking. Male and female Hunters are seated on the couches and in the chairs. They lean in and are deep in discussion until Lillian’s presence becomes apparent. When they notice her, the conversation stops and each nods deferentially before their eyes rest on me. I want to squirm under the weight of their gazes, but I force myself to be still, to at the very least, pretend that I’m calm and comfortable when in fact I’m anything but.
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