The Keepers: Declan

by Rae Rivers

  Her knees came up, immediately hindered, and she lashed out against the cramped space.

  A box? A coffin! Oh, my God!

  It was then that fear took flight.

  Raw, ice-cold terror.

  And it was so dark.

  “Let me out,” she whispered, pushing against the roof. “No! Oh, God, this can’t be happening.”

  Her words came out in short gasps of air, panic chasing away all rational thought.

  Hysteria ruled and she kicked, twisted, and shoved with all her might.

  Realising it was hopeless, her anguished cry ripped through the blackness.

  “Let me out!” she yelled, slamming her palms against the roof but coughing as dust swept over her.

  Crying, she reached for the calm that would keep her alive.

  Her body was shaking violently, her heart thrashing, and air evaded her.

  Calm down. Breathe. Oh, my God.

  She closed her eyes, coughing, and focused on steadying her breathing, her thoughts.

  She reached for the energy she kept buried within, needing its reassuring strength, but her eyes flew open when all she found was emptiness.

  They’d bound her powers.

  Hands shaking, she felt around, trying to make sense of where she was, what had happened, and groaned as everything went crashing into place.

  Rose Thorn. Max.

  The drug had crippled her immediately, engulfing her in the familiar blackness. She’d tried to claw her way out, but the drug had been too powerful. She’d screamed as loud as she could when Max had shifted his form, taking on her appearance. A Mimic at work. But her words had been merely a whisper, her voice lost to the power of the Rose Thorn.

  Declan! Fear rushed through her veins. He had no idea where she was or that she was even missing!

  Biting down the fear before it overwhelmed her again, she forced herself into stillness and focused on calming her breathing.

  Filtering. Without it, you’ll go mad.

  Declan’s voice sprang to mind, triggering a wave of loneliness that gave way to steely determination.

  Closing her eyes, she listened, and when silence greeted her, she began poking around the soft padding that lined the coffin.

  Lifting her knees again, she pushed against the roof, the hinges groaning in protest.

  She felt inside her pockets, patting herself down for anything useful, and cried out when her fingers closed around the torch Declan had given her earlier.

  Her hands were shaking so badly that it took three attempts to flip the switch. Air gushed out of her as light flooded her tiny prison.

  The fear lessened, just a fraction, and she slipped into autopilot, knowing it was the only way she’d find freedom.

  Fingering along the side of the box, she scratched through the padding, tugging away the frail material until she found the hinges.

  Although the confined space allowed only small movements, she lined up the back of the torch to the first hinge and hit with all the strength she could muster.

  Still weak from the Rose Thorn, it took a few tries before the hinge gave way. Without stopping to revel in her achievement, she went to work on the other one.

  The second hinge fell apart on the first whack. She shoved against the roof, the sound of splintering wood breaking the silence, followed by the crash of the lid on the floor.

  Sucking in a gulp of air, she bolted upright and shone the torch around her.

  She was in a tiny room. Old, dilapidated. The walls and roof consisted of mismatched rocks cemented together, a wooden door the only exit.

  A tomb?

  Her movements shaky, she scrambled out of the coffin and headed for the door, surprised when one solid kick was all it took to pop the top hinge.

  Shoving the door aside, she burst outside, engulfed by darkness and cool air that she gulped greedily.

  Despite the lack of light, instinct had her turning off the torch, leaving her at the mercy of the light offered by the near-full moon.

  She was surrounded by tombs made of cement and brick, similar to the one she’d just escaped.

  Where had they taken her?

  She glanced down the endless paths on either side of her, both lined with old tombs. Some were more dilapidated than others, only one garnished with a fresh bunch of flowers. Some were decorated with crosses, statues, wrought-iron enclosures, or plaques etched with final messages.

  Her shallow breathing steamy against the cold air, she stepped to the closest grave to read the inscription.

  Lafayette Cemetery.

  “New Orleans,” she whispered, confusion mingling with her horror.

  Oh, my God. They’d taken her back to New Orleans! Had she been out that long?

  Whirling around, she began to run.

  And screamed when a figure dressed in a black cloak and a skull mask stepped out from behind a grave three doors down.

  He didn’t move, simply stared, his expression emotionless.

  She dashed down a side path, not looking back, and screamed again when another figure stepped into her path, identical to the first. Frantic, backing away, her head snapped from side to side as she tracked them both, but they followed like angels of death about to devour her.

  She bolted in another direction – long alleyways of graves that served as a maze and every path she opted for was blocked by another cloaked figure.

  She cried out and ran, snatching air and trying not to give in to the panic nipping at her heels.

  She bolted left but as she rounded the corner, she collided with a solid body, the black eyes of another skeleton searing into her.

  Her scream echoed through the darkness, the sound more chilling than the icy air itself. Shoving him off her, she bolted back the way she’d come, sensing them closing in.

  She ran into a clearing, a circle surrounded by a choice of alleyways. It was lined with cauldrons and lanterns, angel statues peering down from their perches. The silhouettes of tall trees loomed in the distance, their quiet stillness mocking her hysteria. Spinning around, she searched for a way out, unsurprised to find every path blocked by stalking figures. A few had taken to the roofs, crouching above her in cat-like poses.

  God, she swore she heard them growling.

  Even though no one spoke, their masks shielding their expressions, they were bristling with excitement.

  And suddenly, in an explosion of air, flames burst to life in the cauldrons, shedding the darkness.

  She cried out at the sudden intensity of heat, her hand shielding her face, and watched in horror as an arrow of flames chased along the ground to form a perfect circle around her.

  As though someone had punched her, she collapsed to her knees, breathless.

  Looking around, everything became quiet. The fires burned furiously around her, the centre of the cemetery a glow of orange as her enemies moved in.

  They surrounded her, dozens and dozens of identical cloaked skeletons that came to a stop around her circle.

  And simply stared.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  Kate had known terror, but this was something entirely different. They were tormenting her.

  Energised and eager, they began to whisper, the sound magnifying around her.

  Kate glanced at the moon. Not completely full but it wouldn’t be long until its peak.

  What that meant for her sent her protective instincts and fear soaring.

  A movement in the distance parted the crowd with ease as a red cloaked figure headed toward Kate.

  It was a woman, tall and slender, her face concealed beneath a hood. She walked with a determined stride, her unwavering gaze on Kate. Her cloak flared behind her, brushing against the bodies of the warriors that moved out her way.

  Their leader.

  She stopped in front of Kate, keeping her distance from the circle. Kate caught a glimpse of two silver beaded scorpion bracelets wrapped around each forearm as she raised her arms to push back the hood of her cloak.

  A
nother tattooed face stared back at her – an intricate skull. Her long dark hair streamed behind her; her eyes were dark and hollow, full of malice. She stared at Kate for a long while, her skeleton teeth drawn together in a tight line. Despite their rings of ink, there was something in the woman’s eyes that sparked recognition.

  Kate staggered to her feet, looking away. Against her will, tears prickled as the old grief of her mother’s loss ached anew – now soured by betrayal. Furious with herself for being so human – so vulnerable – she swiped at her eyes and lifted her head.

  “Hazel,” Kate whispered, her voice sounding very small and very young.

  The line of skeletal teeth cracked a smile. “Tell me. What does it feel like to know you’ve been fooled?”

  “How could you? The Hazel I knew was nothing like this.” Still trembling, she motioned a finger at Hazel’s face. “What did you do to yourself?”

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “It’s awful!”

  Hazel rolled her eyes. “What a relief it’s been to drop the old look and get out of that dreadful store. It’s about time you figured this all out. My spell was wearing rather thin.”

  “Spell?”

  She waved a hand at her face. “You think this is new? I’ve looked like this for years. I’ve simply mastered the art of disguise. But it’s been so dreary.” She scrunched her nose as if the idea disgusted her. “And now that you’ve connected the dots, there’s no need for it, is there?”

  Oh, she was connecting the dots, alright. So fast and furiously that her head was spinning. And all the while, Kate tried to stamp down the sick feeling that came with the betrayal. She’d been lied to, tricked, manipulated and she hadn’t seen it coming.

  Fool.

  “Oh, don’t feel bad that you never knew,” Hazel said, “I’m excellent at the art of deception.”

  “And awful at the art of friendship. You were like a mother to me!”

  “Do I look like I could be a mother?” Her laugh was brief and loud but her smile was quick to thin. “We were never friends, Kate. Since Sienna and her Keepers murdered one of my nephews, and stuck the other in a tomb for eternity, I’ve only had room for dark witches.”

  “Nephews?” Kate took in Hazel’s words, absorbing their meaning. Her jaw fell. “You’re Mason and Warrick’s aunt?”

  “Now you understand my determination to free Mason,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness. “We share mutual goals.”

  “So that’s why you sought me out? Took me under your wing?” Anger fired as Kate recalled all the times they’d shared – the coffee chats, laughs and advice. All lies.

  “I was biding my time, getting to know you, developing my plan.” Hazel glanced at the sky. “Crafty witch business that needed the moon.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “After what Sienna and her Keepers did to Mason, I began scouring every Grimoire I could find for another way to break the spell. And I did,” she added, the corners of her tattooed teeth hitching into a grin. “You. There’d only been whispers of your existence but an enticement spell was all it took for you to detour to New Orleans.”

  Which meant that Hazel had orchestrated everything that had happened in Kate’s life during the past year. The trips to New Orleans, searching out Declan’s key three months ago, going after the daggers …

  Nausea washed over her as folly set in.

  “But of course, we had to work around your mother,” Hazel added in a bored tone that grated Kate’s nerves. “So Harper was given the task of removing that obstacle while I sought you out.”

  Kate quietly inhaled, reaching for strength, despite the pain that pounded inside. “So you killed her – and then talked rubbish to me for a year, waiting for the Blue Moon and my blood?”

  “It’s not just your blood I’m after, Kate.”

  Kate didn’t reply but kept her gaze on Hazel.

  “In order to break Sienna’s spell, we need three things. The Blue Moon, the daggers, and your blood. But we’re scavengers and you’re a Null. That’d be a shame to waste.”

  Which meant things wouldn’t end well for Kate. She kept her gaze steady. Her insides were a mess, so much rage and fear churning within that she felt as though she’d explode. Instead, she focused on reeling in her emotions as the puzzle pieces shifted into place.

  “That’s why you encouraged me to follow my mother’s advice and track down the daggers?”

  She made a tsk-tsk sound. “Only hitch was, you never returned with them.”

  “You may think you’ve won, Hazel, but there are two snags to your plan.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite.”

  “The moon is at least a full day away from its peak.”

  “It still has a bundle of energy as it is. I’ll have to improvise.”

  “You don’t have the daggers.”

  Hazel grinned, her tattooed teeth spreading across her face, and she nodded to the warrior beside her.

  A hand snaked out from beneath the cloak to reveal the three daggers.

  Kate’s eyes rounded. “How did you get those?”

  Hazel waved a dismissive hand. “A little spell casting, some trickery. Poor Lora had no option in the end.”

  Oh, God.

  “What did you do to her?” Kate yelled as a bolt of fury landed in her gut. She raced forward, rearing back as the flames blazed higher. The heat was unbearable and she edged to the middle of the circle, shielding her face with her hands.

  “A few things,” Hazel shot back with a shrug, “but in the end it was a Behesting spell that did the trick.”

  Designed to make the victim do the caster’s bidding, it belonged to an ancient black magic that hadn’t been used for decades. A bigger evil was at play.

  Kate glanced around. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Ah, the city of the dead. My ancestors are buried here and I need their energy. So this is me, improvising.”

  “How did we get here?”

  Hazel hesitated, a smug smile breaking free. “A portal.”

  Kate felt her universe shift.

  Portals served as instant doorways to anywhere in the world, but their ancestors believed that they opened doorways to other worlds too. And anything could emerge.

  According to an ancient legend, the spell for opening a portal had been bound centuries ago but stolen by a dark witch caster – a rare lineage of witches who thrived on black magic.

  They were vessels of pure evil. They remained hidden and had harboured its secret ever since. Only a female born to that lineage would have access to the spell.

  Or so the legend said.

  Kate shifted her gaze to the bracelets on Hazel’s arm – two silver scorpions wrapped around each wrist. Icy horror trickled down her spine.

  Their gazes met above the flames of the circle and the fire reared higher in a powerful force that had Kate shrinking back.

  The heat was unbearable and she feared that any moment, the fire would devour her.

  There was an eruption of glass as lanterns exploded, shattering everywhere.

  A thick black smoke rose up between the flames, higher and higher, gaining speed as it swirled through the crowd.

  Hazel lowered one hand, Kate’s prison of flames fading away in response.

  Sensing a chance at freedom, Kate rushed forward but Hazel flung out her other hand and sent the bolt of smoke straight to Kate. The blackness engulfed and blinded her, snatching her breath away. Coughing, she tried to claw her way out.

  Dizziness overtook her and she dropped to her knees.

  As she slipped into unconsciousness, she thought of the blackness etched on her mother’s scroll and realised they’d been wrong. It wasn’t Harper they should’ve been watching out for. Or the Brogan brothers.

  It was Hazel.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Torture wasn’t a method the Keepers had used before. But there was so much at stake that desperation had taken over. The safety of innocent people, th
eir secret, the balance they fought so hard to maintain.

  And Kate.

  Strapped to a chair in the Bennett basement, Max finally relented, his words an anguished whisper against Declan’s ear that sent a renewed flash of fury through the Keeper.

  Straightening, Declan reached for the warlock and snapped his neck.

  “DECLAN!” Archer roared, walking into the basement, and bolted forward to pull Declan off Max. He checked for a pulse and glared at Declan. “What did you do that for?”

  “He told me how to find Kate,” Declan said, shoving past Archer.

  Archer was in the doorway in a burst of speed, a barricade of rigid anger. “So you killed him?”

  “They took Kate!” Declan yelled, pointing at the dead warlock, despising the sound of those words and what they meant. “And he helped them!”

  “Doesn’t mean you could kill him.”

  Adrenaline in overdrive and patience wearing thin, Declan tried to shove Archer aside, but his brother refused to budge. “Get out of my way.”

  “He’s bound to a chair!”

  “Didn’t stop him from starting to spew some warlock crap in my ear!”

  Ethan was suddenly between them, tugging them apart. “Enough!” he bellowed, grabbing each brother by the shoulder, separating them. “Get a grip, dammit.”

  “Declan’s the one who needs the grip. He just killed Max!” Archer yelled, shoving a finger at Declan.

  Ethan smacked his hand away. “Who the fuck cares if the Mimic is dead?”

  “We don’t kill people just because we can,” Archer snapped.

  “No, we don’t, but maybe we should!”

  They stared at each other, heated silence prickling between them as they all absorbed the blow of Ethan’s words.

  Ethan spoke first, his voice a rumble of anger, his body rigid. “Maybe that’s why we’re fighting a war that won’t die. We’re too noble. We defend. We protect. Even when attacked, we maim, but rarely kill.”

  “We’re Keepers, Ethan. We took a vow. We don’t have the luxury of being anything but noble.”

  “But right now we’re erring on the side of caution, losing everyone we’ve ever loved, and watching innocent people die. I don’t think noble applies anymore.”