The Last Guardian Rises (The Last Keeper's Daughter)

by Rebecca Trogner

  He’d told Bartholomew that he’d be back soon. He meant that. As he meant to rebuild his mother’s house which had been destroyed by a hurricane ten years past. Hunter and his father – it hadn’t completely sunk in that he had family – had looked over old photos of the place. He wanted it to look just like it had when his mother was alive. He wanted to take Meirta there, and one day their children. He wanted his children to know Bartholomew. They hadn’t spoken about it, Bartholomew being his father, or why his mother had lied to him. Maybe someday they would, or maybe his mother’s secret was something she’d taken to her grave.

  To keep his mind from pacing over the worn paths he’d already trod, Hunter turned on the radio, choosing a news channel. He listened to the stories of the Middle East, same as usual, one side fighting another side, each demanding justice, neither willing to acknowledge their fault in the argument. Europe was swimming in a sea of debt, Africa mired in corruption, America wondering if they should outlaw Big Macs. A serious sounding newsman announced that their next segment would be uplifting and he’d be right back after the commercials.

  Hunter was only half-listening when the newsman voice began talking about a Good Samaritan.

  “At first glance you wouldn’t think an ex-football player, a homeless man, and a teenage mother would have much in common. But if you talk to them they’ll tell you that they were all visited by a man they call the Good Samaritan. The first reported case of this man’s good work happened to a man named Roy, who prefers to keep his last name private. Roy was a high school football standout everyone thought was destined for the pros. But an injury to his knee ended all dreams of playing under the big lights. That is, until he picked up a stranger and gave him a ride to Virginia Beach. He doesn’t remember much but he believes the man healed him. Albert Sinedomis was living underneath an overpass when he was picked up by an unknown man who took him to a diner off the interstate and bought him a hot meal. Afterwards, he recalls the man asking what he wanted. The next thing he remembers is walking up to his brother’s home and being welcomed inside. Janet Purvis was working two jobs while supporting herself and a four month old baby. She says that he came into the all night convenience store where she was working the night shift and talked to her. She remembers telling him that she’d had to drop out of school, but that she’d always dreamed of being a painter. That same night, a gallery in New York called wanting to see some of her work.

  Each one says they don’t remember what he looked like or exactly what he said, but they all believe that because of him their lives are changed for the better.”

  “Where?” Hunter yelled and slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The first incident happened in Virginia Beach, but they didn’t mention the location of the others. Hunter pulled over at a rest stop and called Meirta again, no answer; he left a message for her to call him back immediately. He called Lily, same, no answer, same message. Finally, he called Liam with the same results. What the hell was going on at Stoke?

  Lily

  Lily felt ridiculous standing in the great hall acknowledging the lords who’d traveled from South America. Krieger had insisted she be there – as his royal consort it was important that his subjects see her. “How many are there?”

  Krieger gave her a sharp glance before speaking with the lord from Peru.

  She stood two steps down from Krieger with Liam by her side. Across the raised platform stood Lucien, looking threatening, the Dragon sword lashed to his back. She was seething, and replayed her argument with Krieger.

  “Did you think I’d let you go see this Dr. Toolley?” Krieger had said on their way to the ceremony.

  “Yes, I did,” she spat back, furious that Lucien had gone alone and retrieved what Dr. Toolley wanted to show Meirta. Which it turned out had been nothing but a ploy to get Meirta alone and attempt to seduce her. Lucien had entered Toolley’s hotel room, the honeymoon suite, no less, and found champagne and roses and Sinatra music playing. “Did your slayer kill him too?”

  Krieger had looked down at her. Something in his eyes made her take a step back. His mood was volatile. “No.” He smiled coldly. “He should be in the safe embrace of his family by now.” He walked around her. “That gown suits you.”

  She ignored his remark and walked over to look out the window. The front entrance was lined with limos dropping off their passengers and moving down the lane. The headlights reminded her of Christmas lights ringing a tree.

  She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she loved the dress. The long skirt was a filmy fabric of the palest blue which flowed up into a tight corseted top that skimmed over the tops of her breasts, leaving her shoulders exposed. Meirta and Cherie had helped her decide, both agreeing that this highlighted her skin, eyes, and hair the best. It would also give the South American delegation a clear view of the king’s mark on her neck.

  Lily acknowledged the lady from Brazil as she approached the king. She assumed that’s what the female version of a lord was called. From what Krieger had said to Lily, he intended to keep his hold light on the newly acquired territories. So far, almost all the lords and ladies seemed very pleased to be under his rule. No one, except perhaps Retribution – and it was hard to tell with her – mourned the loss of the cruel king.

  I should have eaten something, Lily thought, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Liam reached out to steady her. “I’m fine,” she said a little too loudly. A lord walking past her – she thought he was from Argentina – gave her a questioning look.

  Lucien, who’d actively been avoiding her gaze, quickly ran his eyes over her before returning to look out above the heads of the attendees.

  All day she’d felt slightly ill, like she were getting a cold, and now a wave of nausea swept through her. What is wrong with me? She wrapped her arms around her stomach, bending forward and almost stumbling. Please, I can’t throw up here.

  Krieger halted the proceedings and stepped down to speak with her. “You are unwell.”

  There was no point in arguing. She knew she wouldn’t last much longer. “I just need to lie down.”

  “You are pale.” Krieger ran his hand over her shoulder. “And hot. Liam, take her to Doctor Caanan.”

  “No, I don’t need that.” Another wave hit her accompanied by a stomach cramp.

  “Go,” Krieger ordered.

  Liam swept her up in his arms and walked through the guests who stepped aside with curious stares. “My room,” she pleaded. “Hurry.”

  The nausea was growing stronger; it came in waves, making her feel hot and chilled at the same time. The elevator seemed to take forever and, when the doors opened Liam vaulted down the hall and placed her next to the toilet just in time.

  Afterwards, he pulled back the covers and delicately put her to bed. “Thank you.” She felt too weak to be mortified or say more.

  She heard him clean up, and his call to Dr. Caanan. Oh God, she was hit with another wave and rolled off the bed and crawled to the bathroom. Food poisoning, she thought, it must be something I ate.

  “It’s alright, Miss,” Liam said, placing a cool washcloth against her forehead.

  Too weak to care, she closed the lid and laid her head on the porcelain.

  “The doctor is on his way,” she heard Liam say before she closed her eyes.

  “Lily,” an unfamiliar voice called to her. “It will pass soon.”

  “Liam,” Lily croaked, lifting her head. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” He looked around the room.

  “You didn’t call my name?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t the doctor?”

  “No, don’t worry,” Liam reassured her. “He’ll be here soon.”

  “Lily,” the voice called again, a man’s voice. “Only you can hear me, my sweet.”

  Her arms felt like they were weighed down with anchors. She managed to grab Liam’s pant leg. “Someone is calling my name. Can’t you hear him?”

  Liam let out a long low howl, c
alling his pack to protect her. I’m hallucinating. She struggled to keep her eyes open. Liam was kneeling by her side with his arm around her, pressing the surveillance mic under his shirt, informing the king’s guard of a threat.

  Krieger will be here soon, she repeated over and over again in her mind.

  “I have no desire to hurt your wolf friend,” the voice said. “Reach out your hand to mine and I will not harm him.”

  “Who are you?” Lily asked the voice.

  “Miss, hang on,” Liam said. “Secure the hall,” he ordered the vantors who were coming through her bedroom door.

  “I will return you safely home, unharmed,” the voice said.

  “No, I won’t go with you,” she screamed at the voice. “You’re him, aren’t you?”

  “Miss.” Liam yanked her up into his arms like he was carrying a small child. “We’re going to the king’s underground quarters.”

  “Reach for my hand,” the voice said, “or your wolves will die.”

  She believed the voice. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Liam. She managed to slide her hand over his shoulder and reach out. Instantly ghost fingers wrapped around her wrist.

  “No!” Liam roared.

  “I must be dying,” she whispered. An intense wave of nausea ripped through her body.

  “No, my sweet, just purging the impurities.” The voice was stronger now.

  She was drifting, sentience without form, moving along on a strong breeze. When the sickness passed, she lifted her eyelids to see the man from her dreams sitting next to her.

  “There,” he said, smiling at her. “Better already.”

  “Where am I?” she asked, feeling disconnected from her emotions. She knew she should be afraid, but was not.

  “Someplace where we can talk uninterrupted.”

  The lightheadedness had passed, and she sat up to look around. “I’m hallucinating.”

  “I assure you that you are not.”

  “This can’t be real.” It was the landscape of her dreams, the sky a vibrant purple, the mercury waves washing up onto a crimson sand shore. She dipped her fingers into the sand, the warmth seeping into her flesh. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “A walk.” He stood and reached out a hand to her.

  If Martha were here she’d say he was a handsome devil in an expensive suit. She closed her eyes. This is just a dream. When she opened them again, he was still there. “I want to go home.”

  “So soon?” The fingers of his outstretched hand wiggled. “You have questions. I have answers.” She stood without his help and he let his hand fall to the side. “Did you enjoy the dreams I sent you?” He looked past her for a moment, waiting for her answer or thinking. “I’ve waited so long to meet you in person.”

  “I thought...” Actually she wasn’t sure anymore what she thought about the dreams, except that they’d made her feel safe, and her mother was always there, and the dragon. “What is your name, your true name?”

  “Ah, not just a pretty face, are you?”

  “They’ll come looking for me.”

  “They won’t find you here.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. Krieger will find me.” Please let him find me.

  He smiled at her like one would a child who’d said something cute and nonsensical. Lily wanted to slap him and wipe away his smug expression.

  “You love your vampire.”

  She didn’t know if that was a statement or a question. It was hard to tell with her dream man. “Are you Anson?”

  “Anson,” he scoffed. “I know of no Anson.” He reached out to touch her hair, but she sidestepped. “I am the one who sired you.”

  “You mean the one who raped my mother.”

  His features transformed into a mask of rage. “Is that any way to speak to your father?”

  “Azazel.” Lily swallowed. “That’s the name you gave my mother.”

  She blinked and his appearance had transformed back into the handsome man of her dreams.

  “It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “It was a convenient name to give. Strange, the romantic notions it conjures in my followers. Azazel was nothing like what they think.”

  “You’re a rapist and a liar.” She knew this would anger him, but she was altered, left devoid of any filters of self-preservation. Was he doing this to her, suppressing her emotions in some way? No, it’s just the dream.

  “Take care, my daughter.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ve already told you, I am your father.” He smiled at her coldly. “Tell me, did you fight your vampire as you do me?”

  She spun around and walked out into a sea of waist high grass. “This is all a dream. That’s why I’m not afraid of you, because none of this is real. It’s food poisoning, that’s all. I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”

  He caught up with her. “You know that is not true. We’ve walked many times together in your dreams. I’d hoped they would make you more receptive.”

  “Receptive? To what? If you are my father then what is your name?”

  “In time you shall know.”

  She wished she had a gun.

  “Did you enjoy being marked like a slave going to market?”

  She kept walking but turned enough to frown at him. He shouldn’t look like this, she thought. Like an ordinary man with the demeanor of someone who’d never been sad a day in his life.

  Lily stopped. “I want to wake up now. I don’t like this dream anymore.”

  “Humor your poor father a little longer.” He smiled.

  Lily snarled at him.

  “Your vampire’s blood is strong.” He reached out and imprisoned her chin with his hand. “I feel how much you care for him, so I will be a benevolent father and let you keep him.” He shook her head lightly. “On one condition. You will not drink his blood again.” His fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her. “Do you understand? You will obey me. You will keep your blood pure.”

  “Or what?” She tried to push against his chest, but he yanked her closer to him, peering down into her face.

  His image glowed like a neon sign at night. His eyes more than the rest until Lily thought she would go blind from looking into them. The color of his eyes, they are the same as mine.

  “Or you will watch your vampire suffer until I take pity on him and send him to his final death.” Roughly, he shoved her away from him and laughed when she almost fell.

  Still not believing this was real, Lily pinched her arm and closed her eyes. Something had to knock her out of this nightmare. When she opened them he was still standing there, but no longer glowing.

  “I told you I am not a dream.”

  “Fine.” She walked on. “What are you?”

  “I’m your father.”

  “Yes, yes, you’ve said that. What are you?” She didn’t hide her annoyance. Why should she? It was her dream, she told herself, but not as confidently as before.

  “A being of light betrayed by the darkness.”

  “A Watcher?” she asked. “A Dark One?”

  “Covering all bases, aren’t you?”

  “A Guardian?”

  “Guardians.” He stopped. “Don’t insult me. I eviscerated their last hold in the ninth ring.”

  Was she inside the eighth ring? On a hunch, she offered, “They could still be found, the ones left on earth.”

  Her father, for she now believed that he was, tapped his temple. “A facile mind. You can thank me for that. Your mother…a beauty comparable to none but brittle of mind.” He discarded his tie and sloughed off the jacket, lifting his face to the alien sky. “I find it hard not to share with you. What can it hurt now that the Guardians are all gone? Your being here proves they are no more.”

  Her need for information was stronger than the loathing she felt towards him. “Walter was never a father to me.” Lily reached out her hand to him. “I’d like to understand.” She begged with her eyes.

  “You please me greatly.�
�� She let her hand drop as he made no move to take it. “The Guardians were the strongest Strigoi. If one were alive you would have his blood running through your veins.”

  But one was alive and now she knew he would find her because the legends said for each Strigoi there was a Lynea, never one without the other.

  “Then what do you want with me? Why here?” She looked around at the foreign landscape. “Where are we?”

  “You accepted my invitation.”

  “Accepted,” she sputtered. “You threatened to kill the vantors. What did you expect me to do?”

  “Most would have chosen to let them be killed. They are wrong.” He rubbed his palms together. “Not vampire, not werewolf.”

  “Just tell me what you want from me so I can wake up.”

  “You wound me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I expected more from you, maybe some respect. Awe would be nice. Or gratitude for my part in your existence.”

  “Your part in my existence,” she repeated. “I liked you better when you didn’t speak in my dreams.”

  “I was weaker then.”

  Interesting. “Why are you stronger now?”

  “Why would I tell you that?”

  “Because I’m your daughter?” It was worth a try.

  “I have a gift for you.”

  “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Sarcasm does not suit you, my dear.”

  She ignored him, as much as possible, and reached out her hands to feel the blades of grass brush against her palms. She wasn’t sure when the tingling began, but slowly became aware of what felt like static moving through her body. As a girl, she’d run out in lightning storms because she loved the way it made her skin tingle. The pleasant sensation turned hot, and then boiling, until her insides felt like they would escape her body in a stream of lava. She crumpled to the ground and curled up into a ball.