“Aim your contraption at the floor,” Ash snapped at him. “It interferes with my vision.”
Drum gaped at her. “You can see in this?”
“Many of the evils against which a Guardian fights are more comfortable in the darkness.”
His heartbeat sped up, and he obediently pointed his light down before stepping closer to her. “And, ah, are any of those evils here right now?”
“Relax, human. Were a creature of the Darkness lurking in the shadows, we would already be engaged in combat.” She sounded almost as if she were laughing at him.
“No need for rudeness,” he said, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t exactly put on his best manners around her since their initial meeting. “My name is Drum, not human. Especially not the way you say it. Like an insult.”
She didn’t respond. She prowled forward in the darkness as if she expected to stumble on some sort of lost treasure, or a neatly written summary of the cause of current events.
“I do not understand,” she muttered, running her hand across the rough face of the cavern wall. “There must be something here, something I am meant to find. It is the only explanation, both for your vision and for this place being revealed to us.”
He could see her frustration as well as her confusion in the dim glow of his averted light. Her brows drew together, wrinkling her pale gray skin, and the way she chewed on her lip made him wonder how she managed not to pierce herself with her own fangs. She stared into the shadows as if waiting for the secrets of the universe to be revealed.
Instead, what revealed itself was more bloody darkness. Drum felt fecking well sick of it. He could see no more than a few steps in front of him even though the echo of their voices told him the cavern around them must be huge. He had fallen an estimated sixty feet through a hole in the earth that shouldn’t have existed, and even though his companion had softened his landing, he still felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Figuratively, if not literally. Said companion also appeared to have about as much respect for him as he had for the soccer hooligans who occasionally stumbled into his pub before realizing it wasn’t their sort of establishment.
And to top the whole thing off, it almost looked as if the blackness beyond the circle of his flashlight was moving, sort of throbbing and shimmering like a heat mirage over the Sahara. Drum blinked and shook his head and peered a little closer.
As it turned out, that may have been a mistake.
If the odd motion of the air had provided him with advanced warning, as far as Drum was concerned, it did a piss-poor job. His eyes might have seen the shadows coalesce into a hulking, slavering form with eyes like burning coals and grotesquely long arms tipped with claws like shards of obsidian, but his brain almost fried itself trying to make sense of the picture.
The shadow creature leaped forward, somehow managing to travel at roughly twice the speed of sound while still investing its movements with the unnerving, sinuous quality of a serpent. It reached for him with those glittering talons, and Drum reacted on pure instinct. His hands flew up, one arm covering his face while the hand holding the flashlight pointed straight at the monster. He opened his mouth to release another girly, wordless scream and heard instead his own voice bellow in an unfamiliar tone of command.
“Get back!”
The words accompanied a blinding flare of light, a warm, golden tone that provided sharp contrast to the pale beam of his flashlight. It emerged not from the tiny clear bulb of the device, but from the palm of Drum’s hand. It crashed into the shadow figure as if both possessed actual mass. Drum swore he could hear the impact. The creature howled, a wordless combination of pain and outrage. It flew backward away from the golden light, then spiraled toward the ceiling of the cavern before splintering into a million tiny shards of darkness and dissolving into the atmosphere.
Drum watched with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. What the fuck had just happened? One moment he had seen his own death staring him in the face, and the next he had done a fair impression of a character straight out of a Marvel Studios film. Maybe he really had lost his mind outside the abbey last night, and this was all a hallucination he was experiencing in a hospital mental ward. It sounded a more reasonable explanation than anything else he could think of.
He heard Ash stirring beside him and turned to stare at her. If anything, her eyes appeared even wider than his felt. She looked at him as if he had just revealed himself to be a Hollywood version of a leprechaun, complete with green suit, red hair, and obligatory pot of gold. He nearly caught himself looking around for a bowl of sugary American cereal.
“You,” she whispered, and he couldn’t decide if her breathless tone held an accusation, or utter disbelief. “It was you all along.”
Drum dropped his hands to his sides and rubbed the palm of the one that had blasted the shadow creature against the leg of his jeans. “What are you talking about?” he asked uncomfortably.
“You are my Warden.”
Chapter Nine
Drum shook his head in startled denial, but Ash felt the truth of her statement all the way down to the talon on her rearmost claw. The moment she had seen the magic pour from the human man’s hand and dispatch the shadeling, she had felt as if a veil had been ripped from before her eyes. Michael Drummond was her Warden, and now her summoning made even less sense than it had when she had first burst free from the nothing.
The knowledge that Ash had inherited from the memory archive of her kind made her certain that she alone had been woken to a female form. It told her with equal certainty that a Warden should never be ignorant of his calling. Men—and rarely women—of talent came to the attention of the Wardens Guild early in their lives, soon after puberty, when evidence of their abilities first began to emerge. The Guild immediately took them under its wing and instructed them in the use of magic and their role in using it to defend against the Darkness. No potential Warden should be left to his own devices, let alone one destined to provide personal service to a Guardian. Not ever.
So how could she explain Drum?
“You’re having me on.” His tone of near panic did not make the task any easier. “You said this Warden buck was somewhat different. You bleedin’ asked me to find him for you. I can’t be him.”
Ash drew a breath to steady herself. “I know what I said, but I was mistaken. I should have seen it sooner, but I ignored what stood in front of me, and instead attempted to blindly follow the traditions of my kind.”
“Traditions are fine old things.” He jerked his chin in a desperate nod. “My mother adores them, thinks they’re vitally important. You shouldn’t abandon yours. We’ll keep looking.”
“It is futile to search for what has already been found.”
“You haven’t found a fucking thing,” he snarled. His shaking hand sent the beam of his flashlight bouncing wildly about the cavern. “I’m not your fucking Warden.”
“Denial of the truth does not change it.”
Ash could almost have felt sympathy for Drum’s obvious distress. Never before had she stopped to consider how the discovery of a Warden’s calling might prove itself more of a burden than an honor. The war against the Seven and the Order of Eternal Darkness had raged beneath the noses of humanity for millennia and would likely last for many more. To be drafted against one’s will into either side’s army would change that life forever. Not everyone embraced change.
Unfortunately, Drum had as little choice in the matter as Ash herself. From what she understood, although he had been born with his talent for remote viewing, the event she had just witnessed marked the first time he had come into his Warden’s ability to wield magical energy. He could deny the truth, and resolve never again to perform such an action, but he could not change the past. He was a Warden, and now any agent of Darkness could gaze upon him and know it. Sooner or later, they would come for him, and without Guild training or the protection of a Guardian, they would kill him.
Ash felt something inside her recoil
at the thought. Michael Drummond’s life would not be cut short by the enemy. She would not allow it, no matter what powers they threw in his path. Ash would destroy them all.
The violence of her thoughts took her by surprise, and she stuffed them away in the back of her mind. At the moment, she had more important things to worry about. Like convincing Drum that she was not the thing that had just ruined his life.
Ignoring his attempts to evade her, Ash wrapped her arms around the man and flew both of them up and out of the underground cavern. The moment their feet touched the solid surface of the earth, she shifted back to her human form and released him, holding her hands up beside her. Drum cursed a blue streak in two languages, spun on his heel, and stalked out of the ruined tower.
Ash hurried in his wake and tried to give him some time to think as he led her back down the hill and onto the path through the surrounding fields. She thought she understood his anger, but she only had so many moments to spare before they would be back at his mother’s house, surrounded by other humans.
After fifteen minutes of tense silence, she ventured a careful prod. They were halfway to their destination, and both of them had run out of time. “Drum, while I do not understand the emotion you must be feeling—”
“Really?” His mouth curled up in a sneer. “You think that a thing made of stone that didn’t exist before last night might not understand my emotional reaction to having the bloody rug of my entire fucking life yanked out from under my feet? I’m gobsmacked.”
His sarcasm had teeth, and they bit deep, even through Ash’s tough hide. She felt herself stiffen and had to beat back the impulse to respond with cutting words of her own. Arguing would only make things worse.
She kept her tone even as she made another attempt to penetrate the bubble of anger surrounding him. “Becoming a Warden is something no one chooses, Drum, any more than they choose to become a Guardian. But someone must stand and protect the world from evil.”
“I don’t doubt you’re right, Guardian.” He spat her title like an epithet. “I just don’t see that it has to be me.” He didn’t look at her and didn’t slow down, just continued trudging across the muddy field toward the home of his boyhood.
“Who else should it be?” She tried to keep her voice gentle, because the question was not. “The Darkness cannot be fought by ordinary human soldiers with tanks and guns and bombs. Such weapons are useless against it. Only humans gifted with powers beyond the ordinary can hope to cause it harm. You have those powers. Even you cannot deny that.”
“So what? I’m not the only bugger in the world with a touch of the Sight. Shite, I doubt I’m the only one in County Kildare.”
“You would suggest someone take your place? It would need to be someone else with power. Your sister, perhaps?”
He rounded on her so quickly and with such fury that she had her hand up to deflect the blow. It never struck. Drum merely stood before her, trembling with rage, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“Don’t even think it, gargoyle,” he hissed. “I don’t care if you can put that axe of yours through twenty feet of solid steel. If you even try to drag Maeve any deeper into this epic fucking nightmare than she’s already gotten herself, I will find a way to end you.”
“And I am attempting to explain that if you do not accept your place in the nightmare, as you call it, you will be putting yourself, Maeve, and your entire family at risk. You cannot ignore the Darkness, Drum, any more than you can hide from it. You can either prepare to face it on your own terms, or you can allow it to catch you unprepared. Only one of those choices gives you any chance of survival.”
He watched her, his entire frame still vibrating with a combination of rage and frustration. Something inside her wanted to reach out, to offer him comfort and reassurance, but neither of those things would help him.
After a moment he spoke, his voice still tight and clipped. “As soon as you woke, you said you needed to find your Warden. You said if you did, he could tell you why you were here and what you needed to do. I can’t do any of that. Neither can my sister, or anyone else in my family. We’re no use to you. You should find a Warden somewhere else.”
She shook her head. “It is not so simple. You are the Warden who is meant to work at my side. I know this. I realize you have no training, no way of knowing the things another Warden might tell me, but it changes nothing. You feel you have no choice, that I am trying to rob you of it, but I have no more than you.”
Drum opened his mouth, and Ash didn’t know how long they might have stood in that empty field arguing back and forth had they not been interrupted by a boy of eleven or twelve years who ran up to them at a dead sprint. He came from the direction of Drum’s family home. When he reached them, he relayed his message in breathless pants, his brown eyes wide in his pale face.
“Mr. Drummond,” he gasped. “Your ma sent me. I was bringing by some lamb for my da when it happened. You gotta get home quick. Something’s wrong with Maeve. We was all in the kitchen havin’ the craic when she turned white as chalk and toppled over like Mr. McGinty did at Christmas. Only she wasn’t fluthered like him, I’m sure of it.”
Drum didn’t wait to hear about Mr. McGinty’s drinking habits. He had taken off running before his sister’s name had finished falling from the young boy’s lips. Ash followed close on his heels.
They reached the house in minutes. Drum burst into the kitchen like an avenging angel and found his sister stretched across the vinyl floor with her head cradled in their mother’s lap. He sank to his knees beside them while Ash hovered behind, unsure what to do.
“Did she hurt herself?” Drum asked in a rough voice. He didn’t sound panicked, though. Just concerned.
Maddie Drummond shook her head. “No. We were standing side by side when I saw her knees start to go, so I helped her down. Johnny Evers jumped so high, though, I thought he might knock his empty skull on the ceiling. I sent him out to fetch you just to keep him from doing himself a caution.”
Drum blew out a breath. “He gave me a fright. He said something was wrong with her, and I just bolted home.”
“He’s a daft chiseler,” his mother said with a sound of exasperation. “She’ll be fine in a moment, but it was a fast one, and it took her hard.”
Understanding finally dawned on Ash. Maeve had been struck with a vision and lost consciousness, which had frightened the young boy, and Maddie had sent him after Drum not because the young woman was in any danger, but simply to get Johnny out of the way. Drum’s panic had likely resulted from his own state of heightened tension. There had been no reason to fear for Maeve’s safety. Other than the ones Ash herself had pointed out.
Drum looked up, and Ash followed his gaze over her shoulder to find Johnny returned and watching from the open door, his expression at once sheepish and interested. Drum shot the boy a level gaze and used his chin to gesture outside.
“Thank your da for the lamb, Johnny,” he said, “and thanks to you for chasing after me, but you can be off now. Maeve has had a little spell, but she’ll be fine now. She just needs a bit of a lie-down.”
The boy’s eyes remained wide and curious, but he nodded and departed reluctantly, pushing the door closed behind him. Ash rested her back against it and watched as Drum got his feet beneath him into a crouch. He reached for his sister.
“Give her to me, Ma,” he said. “Let’s get her off the floor before she takes a chill.” He scooped Maeve’s limp form into his arms and rose, turning toward the kitchen’s other door.
Maddie darted in front of him to turn the lever, and then repeated the process at the living room entry. Ash trailed behind, stepping in last and pulling the panel shut. Drum deposited his burden on the fluffy cushions of a flowered sofa, while his mother opened the lid of a stamped tin box and began to stack bricks of peat in the fire grate. She soon had a neat blaze going, and she bustled back toward them, wiping her hands on her embroidered apron.
Maeve remaine
d pale and unmoving as her family fussed around her. Drum pulled a chair close up beside the sofa, then unfolded a knitted blanket and draped it over his sister’s legs. Maddie settled into the chair and took her daughter’s hand between her own.
Ash estimated that the girl had lain unconscious for at least ten minutes. She frowned as she considered the ramifications. The gift of prophecy was a rare and powerful one, but if the visions always affected Maeve this way, it was also a dangerous one. To lose consciousness for even a second or two left one open to enemy attack. A nocturni could strike while Maeve was helpless, injuring or killing her while she lay oblivious to the peril. It made her unsuitable for training as a Warden and vulnerable to anyone who knew the truth. No wonder Drum acted so protectively.
Edging closer, Ash asked, “Is it always like this for her?”
Drum nodded. He half sat on the arm of the sofa and braced his hands on his thigh. “Sometimes it only lasts a minute or two. Once, she stayed out for almost four hours. We’ve tried waking her, but nothing works. We just have to wait until she can tell us what she’s seen.”
“That’s right.” Maddie hummed her agreement. “Whatever questions you have will hold a few more minutes. Maeve will answer just as soon as she wakes up, Guardian.”
Chapter Ten
She really had to stop underestimating the Drummond family, Ash noted as her mind reeled. Every time she did, one of them managed to surprise her. First Maeve, then Drum, and now even sweet, maternal Maddie, who called her Guardian as if she had done so from the very beginning.
“How did you know?” she croaked out after a minute.
The older woman smiled. “I come from a long line of very special women, young lady. It only stands to reason that one or two of the men along the line have had a little something extra of their own.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Drum demanded, a note of shock coloring his words.
Maddie met her son’s gaze calmly. “Your great-great-great-uncle Daibhí was a Warden, Michael. Of course, it was well before my time, but I heard the stories right enough.”
Hard to Handle--A Beauty and Beast Novel Page 10