The Gateway Trilogy: Complete Series: (Books 1-3)

by Christina Garner

  “That it missed me. That I needed to come see it more often.” It no longer felt like a violation to share its words. If anything, I wanted to purge myself of them.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “That must have been really frightening.”

  “Leave it to me to have a demonic admirer,” I said, trying to play it cool. “I wonder what it will get me for Valentine's Day.”

  “Black roses?” Taren said.

  “Ugh, I hope not. Who wants the demon presence in their head to be that cliché?”

  “Yes,” Taren said, “that would be the worst part—the cliché-ness.”

  Taren rose and extended a hand to help me to my feet. When our hands touched, a tiny jolt of electricity passed between us. I wasn't the only one to notice. For a moment his gaze settled upon me. Then he dropped my hand and cleared his throat.

  “It's dinner time,” he said, “I'll walk you back to the dorm.”

  I longed to feel his touch again, to know why it penetrated to my core. Twice I'd felt it, and twice he'd pulled away. Was it me? For all his seeming acceptance of my Daemon-ness, was that what kept him from kissing me? There wasn't a rule against Guardians dating students—I knew that much from Crystle's relationship with Michael. I knew I should just ask Taren what was up, but the mere thought was mortifying.

  We reached the back door of the dormitory and he turned to face me.

  “You should know, I'm headed on assignment to another mental hospital tomorrow,” he said, his eyes on the ground.

  My heart sank. “Oh. How long will you be gone?”

  “Depends on what I find,” he said, looking up. “But I won't be around to check on you, so you have to promise me you'll be careful. No more walking in the woods.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

  I knew I wasn't succeeding in keeping the disappointment from my voice.

  “I mean it, Ember.” Taren's eyes matched the intensity of his tone. “It's very important you not expose yourself to any demons—not yet. Promise me you won't cross the boundary without permission.”

  “I promise,” I said. “I'm not eager for a repeat of tonight's pants-wetting.”

  Nice. Nothing hotter than a joke about peeing your pants. Wait, he knows I'm kidding, right?

  “Good,” he said with a small smile. “Fear is the right response. It will keep you from doing anything stupid.”

  He opened the door, but didn't follow me inside.

  “So I guess I'll see you around, then,” I said, trying to salvage a scrap of casualness.

  “Yeah,” he said, “see you around.”

  He let the door swing shut, and by the time it did, he was gone.

  I was quiet during dinner, mentally replaying my conversation with Taren. The other girls were happy to chat without my input.

  As I scraped the remains of my mostly untouched dinner into a trash bin, Mae approached me.

  “Master Dogan has requested you be granted phone privileges this evening,” she said. “Would you like to go now?”

  I told her I would and followed her to a room off of the common area. Three cubicles held students talking on telephones, a fourth stood empty.

  “Dial nine to get out,” Mae said, handing me the receiver. “The call will cut off after fifteen minutes, so plan accordingly.”

  I thanked her and sat down. I dialed my mother's cell and waited—both anxious and excited—while it rang.

  “Hello?” It had only been a day, but so much had changed since I'd last heard her voice.

  “Mom, it's me,” I said.

  “Ember, baby.” Her smile traveled through the phone line. “How are you? I was so worried when you disappeared after that gas leak at Windsor.”

  Gas leak? I guess any story would fly when the only witnesses were mental patients and a handful of nurses traumatized enough to believe anything.

  “I'm sorry, Mom. Things got pretty crazy that night, but I'm safe now. Did someone from here call you?”

  Master Dogan had assured me that things would be squared away with her.

  “Yes, a woman named Annys called yesterday to tell me where you've been transferred to, but it's so good to hear your voice and know you're safe. You are safe, right, baby?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. I like it here. Did they tell you when you would be allowed to visit?”

  I surprised myself with how eager I was to see her. It wasn't just because I missed her—I was anxious to see if being on the Sanctuary grounds did anything for her mental health. If being a Daemon was hereditary, did that mean that she was one, too? I'd have to ask Master Dogan.

  “Not this Saturday, but next. And I won't embarrass you, I promise. I…I started taking the meds again.”

  I had figured as much. Her voice sounded even, her thoughts cohesive. I was glad for her, but we'd been down this road before. I wondered how long it would be until she was sure she was cured and stopped taking them. All the same, I gave her the response she was hoping for.

  “That's great, Mom, I'm really proud of you.”

  “No, Ember, I'm proud of you. Just follow the program there—do everything they tell you—so you can come home. Things will be different, I swear.”

  The earnestness in her voice broke me. What would she do when she realized I wasn't coming home? She'd had me at nineteen and had never been on her own before. I struggled to keep the worry from my voice.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, Em.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes, me telling her what I could about life at the Institute—the grounds were beautiful, the food a huge improvement over Windsor, the education top notch. I was in mid-sentence when the line went dead. Mae hadn’t been kidding when she said to plan accordingly.

  I left the phone room and entered the bustling living area. I found I recognized many of the faces. I'd met several new students in class, and it felt nice to be less of an outsider. One of the plush recliners was empty, so I pulled Catcher in the Rye from the bookshelf and settled in.

  An hour passed, and I found myself nodding off as I read. It was only eight o’clock—that was usually the time I got my second wind. I wondered if, after years of insomnia, I was making up for lost sleep. I reminded myself that I’d been up since five in the morning, and was going to be again, so I made my way upstairs, took a shower, and went to bed.

  Before drifting off, my thoughts returned to Taren. His hazel eyes, his just-crooked-enough-to-be-perfect smile. I told myself he wouldn't be gone long, and then we could pick up where we'd left off. I fell asleep wondering where that was.

  12

  No matter when you fall asleep, five a.m. comes way too soon. I was groggy as I pulled on cargo pants and a vintage sweater I'd bought at a thrift store. By the time I brushed my teeth and made it downstairs, the cobwebs were clearing and I found myself saying hello to some students I'd met the day before. I wondered what had changed—even before my own personal demon invasion, I hadn't been much of a people person—and I realized it was hope. I had hope in myself, and hope in the Institute. I believed in what we were doing and wanted to be a part of it.

  Meditation began, and instead of fidgeting, I looked down at a freckle on my calf. A tiny, brown freckle… I attempted to ease in, as Master Dogan had instructed. I reminded myself that for once I wasn't trying to escape anything. I was safe here; I could enter slowly. But after a brief struggle, I was unable to keep myself from falling as I always did—pulled into the void. I drifted until a chime sounded, indicating the end of the session, and I pulled myself back into the room. I waved to Master Dogan as I filed out with the rest of the students on our way to breakfast.

  The rest of that week passed in a blur of classes, meals, and private sessions with Master Dogan. I was living an accelerated reality where there was something new to learn every day. Every hour, at times. Mistress Bowen's class was a wealth of information. Her lecture on Reds and those only temporarily overtaken by demons explained so much about Callie's attack
on me, including her strength. Crystle might have thought the stories of Reds were exaggerated, but I knew better. At the end of that class, Callie had again apologized. I wished I could tell her that she had never meant to kill me, no matter what the voices had told her. It had been a ruse, just as everything that had led to my escape to the Institute had been.

  I found myself thinking of the string-pulling the Demon had done and how sure it must be that I could be brought over to its side. I was determined not to let that happen. My desire fueled my studies, and for once in my academic career, I paid attention in every class.

  My teachers marveled at my progress, but it was Master Dogan's praise that meant the most. For the first time, I looked forward to sessions with a therapist. I found myself opening up and telling the truth about what I was thinking and feeling. In return, he answered me honestly, which was also a first. When I asked him if being part Daemon might account for my mother being bipolar, he hedged, saying that she didn't display the signs, including not recognizing the symbol when she'd seen it either on my skin or on my wall. I was saddened by that, having been holding out hope that the Institute might be able to cure her, as well. He then asked me about my father, but, as usual, that discussion went nowhere.

  I often thought of Taren, wondering how he was, what mental hospital he was in. It was hard to fathom the sacrifice it took to spend so much time in and out of institutions, just on the hope of finding another would-be Keeper. But whenever I noticed my thoughts drifting in his direction I brought myself back, bent on not losing focus. By the end of each day I was spent, my normal nighttime brooding giving way to dreamless sleep.

  The following week, my class in linking with others became more than just theory. Mr. Conrad brought us outside to one of the boundaries that marked the consecrated ground. My stomach twisted at the thought of stepping beyond the threshold. It had been less than two weeks since I'd heard the Demon and gone fleeing back to the Sanctuary. Mr. Conrad stepped past the marker, then turned to instruct us.

  “You will each step past the boundary one at a time and stay for as long as you are able, up to one minute. There is no shame in crossing back to the other side before the minute is up. This is not a contest. The purpose is to simply expose you to the forces that lay beyond the marker. It takes time to master holding your center, and we will do it over and over for the next few weeks in preparation for forming links.”

  His explanation did little to calm my nerves. I imagined myself leaping back over the line after half a second. So much for my stellar progress.

  “The first step before you cross is to relax,” Mr. Conrad said. “Use your meditation training to become still and focused. Indicate you are ready by raising your hand, then wait for me to call you forward.”

  “I hate this part,” Crystle muttered. “I think my record is forty-five seconds.”

  “What happens to you?” I whispered back.

  “The voices, the darkness. An all around symphony of badness. I can't handle it and bail. That's why I'm still in first year.”

  I sympathized; it would be upsetting to never progress to the point of freedom.

  The others settled down, and Crystle and I followed suit. I still wasn't able to meditate with my eyes closed—the concept of entering light was foreign to me—so I stared at a leaf on the ground. It was mottled with dark spots, and I chose one to focus my awareness on.

  I was getting better at approaching slowly, and I felt myself inching inward. My stomach unclenched. I was aware of my fear, but it was muted. I took a few more breaths and raised my hand. Another student was across the boundary, but before his minute was up, he crossed back, dripping with sweat.

  “Ember, you're next,” Mr. Conrad called, his voice drifting down a well to reach me.

  I took a hesitant step forward and then another. One more and I would be across. I forced myself to take the step, coming face to face with Mr. Conrad.

  “Just keep breathing, stay focused,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

  I gave a slight nod, still holding his gaze. Queasiness seeped through my wall of concentration. My vision dimmed, but I held fast.

  You're learning, Ember.

  I blinked. Mr. Conrad noticed and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Steady, you're doing fine,” he said.

  A bead of sweat trickled past my brow and down my cheek. I was on the verge of vomiting, and I swallowed hard. I can do this. I can—

  Of course you can. That's why I brought you here.

  I dove back into the Sanctuary. I tumbled, coming to a stop on my hands and knees. My focus broken, I was hit with a tidal wave of nausea and proceeded to retch noisily. Once the contents of my stomach had been expelled, I slumped back on my heels and noticed the entire class watching me. I flushed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Crystle rushed to my side.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  I nodded weakly.

  “Come on, then, let's get you cleaned up,” she said, and helped me to my feet.

  My legs felt like those of a new doe, ready to buckle at any second. Mr. Conrad gave me a concerned look, but allowed Crystle to lead me away.

  Once out of earshot, she grinned and said, “And I thought I was bad at that.”

  An hour later, I was physically recovered but still shaken as I sat talking with Master Dogan.

  “What do you think it meant?” I asked when I'd relayed the story. “What does the Demon want me to do?”

  Master Dogan was seated on his usual cushion, gazing at me from across the table. “I suspect it wants to use you to open the Gateway.”

  I bit my lip to keep from telling him I already knew the Gate had been breached, and I hadn't been necessary to accomplish it.

  “But I'm here learning to fight it,” I said instead, “and am only exposed to it when I choose to be.” Or when I wander off paths in the woods.

  “True, and you are doing remarkably well. You must not look at today as a failure in any way. This demon you hear is more powerful, more cunning, and much higher functioning than the lesser demons that invade the thoughts of other Keepers. It will require greater vigilance on your part to block it out, but if your current progress is any indication, I have faith you will succeed.”

  His words were a soothing balm to my wounded ego. I drank them in along with the jasmine tea he served me.

  13

  From then on, each time I crossed the boundary, both the nausea and the Demon’s voice became more and more distant and my time got longer. By the following week, I was able to stay still for the full minute before Mr. Conrad instructed me to cross back over, which I did, stepping calmly. That night at dinner, Crystle asked if I'd be willing to give her pointers, and I happily obliged.

  Later, as I was gathering my things for my nightly shower, movement from outside my window caught my eye.

  Taren.

  I could tell by the posture, the set of his shoulders. Taren was back? Was he coming to see me? My pulse quickened. But instead of entering the dormitory, he kept walking, past all of the buildings and toward the path that led into the woods. I didn't stop to think about it. I threw on a jacket and raced downstairs. Curfew wasn't for another half hour, I could at least say hello. A nagging voice told me that if he'd wanted to see me, he would have, but I shoved it into the background.

  The sky was streaked with golden hues, the L.A. air pollution putting on a spectacular sunset. I hastened down the path that Taren had taken. In the two weeks since I had last seen him, I hadn't allowed myself to indulge in longing, but seeing him again brought it all back. His expressive eyes, the strong angles of his face.

  I reached the tree line and quickened my pace even more. With the leaves filtering out the last of the sunlight, I couldn't make out anything more than a few yards in front of me. My feet were still on the path, but an eerie feeling settled over me.

  “Taren?” My voice drifted into the darkness. I took a few more steps and called again, louder this time, “Taren, w
here are you?”

  I heard his footsteps first; a moment later, he came into view.

  “What are you doing out here?” he said.

  I hadn't thought about what I'd say when I actually caught up with him. “Oh, well, I saw that you were back…”

  “I thought we agreed you wouldn't go walking in the woods again,” he said, his mouth set in the firm line I'd come to know meant he was angry or annoyed.

  Was it me? Or had something gone wrong on his mission?

  “Is everything OK?” I asked. “You seem…different.”

  “I'm fine,” he said in a way that let me know that he was anything but.

  “If you need to talk—”

  “Actually, I just need to be left alone,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling very small.

  It wasn't that I couldn't understand the need to be alone, but why wasn't he as happy to see me as I was to see him?

  “Did I…did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  Taren looked me square in the eye and said, “Not everything is about you.”

  “I-I know that,” I said, “I just thought…”

  My pride wouldn't let me finish. I was grateful the waning light hid the embarrassment rising on my cheeks.

  “Look, Ember, you're a cool girl. But I think you might have gotten the wrong idea. Once I realized what you were, it became my job to get you here safely. And you are safe, as long as you stay where you're supposed to. That's the end of it. You're not my responsibility anymore.”

  Taren's words hit harder than if he'd struck me. I stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow me whole. Had I really misread every signal?

  “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice softening a fraction, “I just think it would be best if you made other friends.”

  “So…we're not even friends, then?” I thought he was saying he didn't like me in a romantic way, but he was really saying that he didn't like me at all.

  “I can't be who you need me to be,” he said quietly.