“Actually, it is,” Quinn pointed out. “Honestly, Camille, if the dragons wanted to harm her Monique would have been burnt to a crisp.” Seeing Camille’s expression, she quickly continued, “A small burn is probably just a result of nuzzling. You know how when a horse nuzzles your neck you sometimes end up with a trail of slime across your shoulder?” Camille nodded, but it was clear that she didn’t consider the comparison a very good one. “Well, it’s kind of like that... only instead of slime, there’s fire,” Quinn finished lamely.
“What Quinn is trying to say,” Kellan interrupted, “is that they won’t hurt Monique. In fact, just the opposite – they’ll protect her – and I can prove it, if it makes you feel any better.”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Tristan grumbled over an hour later, shaking out his arms and legs as if he were about to compete in a professional sprint.
“Your sister needs to see it,” Quinn reminded him. She was looking forward to seeing it for herself, actually, but she didn’t relish the imminent dragon attack. “Besides, this is going to work.”
“Are you ready?” Kellan called from where he stood with Camille, a few feet away. Quinn squinted up at the mountain. She could only barely discern Monique, who was still climbing. A loud flapping sound reached them as a monstrous Orochian, fiercest of all the dragon species, landed on the ledge just above her. Quinn thought Camille might black out right there and then.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Tristan groaned. Quinn would also have preferred a less aggressive adversary, but she was too enchanted by what she was seeing to really mind. The Orochian gazed down at Monique as she climbed, completely unconcerned by the Guardian’s close proximity. Monique pulled herself up onto the ledge, sitting right beside the giant beast.
“Is she talking to it?” Camille squeaked, and, sure enough, Quinn could see Monique’s antics as she gestured with her hands, no doubt having an animated, one-sided conversation with the most dangerous dragon on Earth. As they watched she shifted closer and then, unbelievably, Monique rested her head against the Orochian’s powerful back leg. The ugly black head dipped down, and Quinn stared, enthralled, as the blunt snout butted against Monique’s head in a sign of obvious affection.
“Ready?” Kellan asked again, breaking the spell, and both Quinn and Tristan nodded.
“If this doesn’t work, you get out of there,” Kellan warned.
“Really, Kellan? I thought maybe we’d hang around and let it set our asses on fire,” Tristan retorted.
“Go,” the Faery grinned and Quinn shot forward, Tristan right behind her. They ran towards the ledge where Monique sat and, just before they passed underneath it, Monique let out a bloodcurdling scream. Even though it was part of the plan, the terrified sound made the hairs on Quinn’s neck stand on end.
The screech that followed made Monique’s cry sound like a whisper. It reverberated off the rock around them and filled Quinn’s head, the sound seeming to go right through her entire body. The Orochian dived straight off the ledge, rocketing down towards them with single-minded purpose. Quinn and Tristan dived to the left only just in time as a jet of fire blasted the rock where they had stood just a second before.
“Son of a bitch!” Tristan cursed, patting his left sleeve which had caught alight. “If she can’t call it off, we’re in serious trouble!” They had reached the edge of the plateau and there was nowhere left to run. The Orochian had swooped and was now climbing again, its great wings flapping rhythmically. Quinn and Tristan watched as it passed where Monique sat perched on the ledge. As it rose above her, the ugly black body turning in mid-air to attack again, Monique let out a low, melodious whistle, as if calling a dog. The Orochian’s response was immediate. Dropping down slowly, it came to settle back on the ledge beside her, looking for all the world as if it had never left.
Tristan and Quinn beamed at one another.
“That was amazing,” Quinn quipped.
“Unbelievable,” he agreed, craning his neck to look up at Monique, who was climbing down the rock face again, the hideous beast above watching over her.
Having proven a point to her traumatised mother, Monique went straight back to Kellan’s shed to check on the Chumana egg. It looked exactly the same as when she had left it.
“It takes days to fully emerge,” Kellan explained. “If it hatches at all.” Secretly he wondered if the hatchling hadn’t already died. It was a tragic loss, but all he could do now was focus on the remaining seven precious eggs. He had moved them closer to the burner, and was keeping it lit day and night, trying to ensure that the eggs stayed as warm as possible, and he was setting them one by one in the fire itself, twice a day. The breeding mother would frequently breathe fire over the cluster, and this was the closest he could get to replicating that natural scenario.
“Quinn,” Monique caught up to her as she was heading back towards the fountain. She would not put off her conversation with Isaiah again.
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering,” Monique began hesitantly. “Do you think we could go into town tomorrow afternoon? I’d like to do some online research on the dragon eggs.” The Cathedral had no internet. Piper, the Guardian’s official researcher, spent most of her days outside of the City’s magical enchantments, connecting to various secure servers that they had set up.
“Monique, you do know that everything you find online will be a load of hogwash, don’t you? If it’s reliable dragon information you’re after you should look in the record room.”
“I know, but I also want to check my emails,” Monique admitted sheepishly.
“Ah,” Quinn nodded. “You can’t let anyone know where you are, though.”
“I know. Mom contacted everyone when we first arrived – she said we moved out of town. I promise I’ll stick to that story.”
“Monique,” Quinn wasn’t sure how to broach the topic, Monique being so young, but she had to hear it sometime. “You know your friends are going to get older... they’re going to age and get sick. And you’re going to be like this for a very long time. Maybe it's better that you just forget about the people you knew before.” Monique’s lip quivered and Quinn felt rotten. “Look, you don’t have to cut all ties right away,” she offered, “just keep it in mind.” Monique nodded tremulously.
“So, you’ll take me, then? Tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Quinn agreed, seeing no reason not to.
“Are you going to the Cathedral now?” Monique asked as they reached the fountain.
“Yes.”
“I’ll come with you. I’d like to visit the record room anyway – there might be something in there that could help the hatchling.”
Ten minutes later Monique was ensconced in the record room surrounded by all the books that Isaiah had fetched for her. Closing the record room door behind him, he took a seat opposite Quinn at the council table.
“What is it you wanted to see me about, Quinn?” he asked politely. There was no easy way to say it, so Quinn cut straight to the chase before she had a change of heart.
“I want you to exhume Avery’s body.”
If Isaiah was surprised he didn’t show it.
“That’s a very big request. Can I ask why you would want to do such a thing?” Guardians were laid to rest in a small cemetery just outside the north entrance of the Cathedral, although their graves were seldom visited. Guardians preferred to remember how their friends had lived, as opposed to how they had died. They celebrated their lives and did not dwell on the past. Avery’s body, however, was there – in a shallow grave with a humble headstone that read only “Until we meet again”. Tristan had chosen the inscription and Quinn had reluctantly approved.
“I have reason to believe that Avery may not have been killed by a vampire,” she admitted.
“Do you know something I don’t?” Isaiah asked, his liquid amber eyes never leaving her face.
“I’m not sure,” she replied, “but I need to know for certain.”
“Quin
n, I examined Avery’s body the night Tristan brought it back here. She was bitten. Vampires killed your sister.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Quinn began, “but I’m asking you to do this anyway.” She knew what she was asking him to do and it pained her. Exhuming Avery’s decomposed remains was not for the faint-hearted. It gave Quinn the chills just considering it, but she had to know. Steeling herself, she continued – her request not done yet, “And I want you to keep it between us.”
Isaiah drew in a stunned breath.
“Quinn, Tristan and your father have a right to know. Avery was just as much a part of their lives as she was yours.”
“I understand that,” Quinn agreed, wholeheartedly, “but I don’t want to cause them unnecessary heartache. If nothing comes of it, I would prefer them to remain blissfully unaware.”
“And, of course, you are concerned that they will deny your request?”
“I’m absolutely certain that they would,” she admitted. “But what if I’m right?” she leaned across the table, her eyes meeting his with no compunction. “Don’t you think we need to know the truth?”
Isaiah had always admired and respected Quinn – more so than any other Guardian, save for Daniel. She was fierce and didn’t conform to the rules, but she had more passion, more intuition than any of the others, himself included, and her tenacity was inspiring.
“All right,” he nodded eventually, breaking the silence. “I’ll do it myself.”
“I can help,” she offered immediately. “I don’t expect you to do this alone.”
“And I don’t expect you to witness your sister’s unearthed remains,” he replied grimly. “Thank you for the offer, but as I said... I’ll do it myself.”
Chapter 11
Jonas stared at the screen before him, seeing nothing. He had been coming every day hoping that Monique would show, but so far there had been no sign of her. Jonas couldn’t believe his dumb luck. Of all the people in the world he had made a connection with a Guardian. His father would throw a fit if he knew, as if things between them weren’t strained enough already.
Despite Balthazar’s confidence, Jonas had asked Rowena to leave the camp, but she had declined.
“I can’t leave him,” she had murmured under her breath, “and I certainly can’t leave you.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jonas had offered, prepared to make the sacrifice if it meant she was okay. Even if it meant leaving Monique, much as the thought pained him.
“That’s sweet of you, Jonas,” Rowena had smiled indulgently, “but this is my home. This is our family.”
“How can you say that after what he’s done to you?”
“Your father was provoked,” she admitted. “I hurt him very deeply. I am as much to blame as he is.”
“What did you do?” he demanded, but she would say nothing further.
“Hey,” Monique’s voice interrupted, and Jonas started in his chair, gazing up at her in delight.
“You came!”
“I did.”
“Are you alone?”
“Not really,” she gestured through the window. Across the street, Jonas picked out her mother, and a startlingly attractive brunette who Jonas assumed was another Guardian. “They said I have an hour,” Monique explained. She took a seat beside him and he turned his chair to face her. Jonas was content simply to watch her, but Monique’s natural chattiness soon surfaced and they fell into an easy, natural conversation.
All too soon Monique glanced at her watch, which conveniently covered her tattoo.
“I better go before they come looking for me,” she sighed. Her obvious disappointment filled Jonas with hope.
“We’re having our monthly bonfire tomorrow,” he said. “Please come.”
“Tomorrow?” Monique frowned. “I don’t know... I don’t think I’ll be able to...”
“Just try, please. I can meet you here, show you the way.”
“I’m not allowed out after dark.”
“That’s not a problem, it starts at noon. You can stay a couple of hours and be gone before sundown. Please,” he repeated.
“I can try,” Monique would not make a promise she couldn’t keep. Jonas considered this, and then his face lit up as another idea struck him.
“What if I...”
“Monique?” Too late, they realised that Camille was standing right beside them. Surprisingly she didn’t look angry - in fact, she looked almost amused.
“Mom!” Monique blushed, “What are you doing here?”
“More to the point, what are you doing here?” Camille teased. “I’m Camille,” she added, extending her hand towards Jonas, “Monique’s mother.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jonas shook her proffered hand, “my name is Jonas.”
Camille looked between the two of them, her face alight with curiosity.
“Are you done?” Quinn’s voice intruded as she punched something into her phone and Monique cringed.
Finishing her message, Quinn slipped the phone into her jacket pocket and glanced up. Her eyes swept over Monique and came to rest on Jonas. She took in the shabby clothes and the overlong hair and in a split second she recognised him for what he was. The look that she gave him would have intimidated a lesser man, but, to Jonas’s credit, he met her gaze unflinchingly.
“Hello,” he got to his feet, respectfully, and extended his hand. “I’m Jonas.”
“Quinn,” she replied softly, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he knew what she was.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonas kept his voice steady, determined not to give her any reason to distrust him. “I was just inviting Monique to a get-together tomorrow. Of course, you’re both more than welcome to attend, too.”
“A party?” Camille’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline. “How exciting!”
Monique wanted to crawl under the table in mortification.
“Camille,” Quinn smiled, “could you take Monique outside and wait for me there?” Monique stalked out before Camille could answer and she hastened after her daughter, banging into a desk near the door in the process.
“How do you know Monique?” Quinn asked pleasantly when she and Jonas were alone.
“We met at a gas station a few weeks ago and then again here.”
“And this party... where is it?”
“In the woods, not far from here. I’m happy to meet you here and I can direct you.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think Monique will be able to make it.”
“Why not?” His disappointment was genuine. “Please, I’d really like her to be there. She’s the only person my age I’ve met here. I’m sure it’s the same for her. It’s nothing untoward – it’s just a bonfire.”
“You’re a gypsy, right?”
“Yes,” he set his jaw stubbornly, as if waiting to defend himself.
“What are you doing here, in New Haven?”
“Just passing through,” he offered the standard gypsy reply.
“Hmmm,” Quinn mused. Either Jonas was exceptionally good at hiding his feelings or he honestly didn’t know who she was. She was inclined to believe the latter – a gypsy could not detect a Guardian.
The Guardians believed that the gypsy convoy had moved on but Jonas had confirmed this was not the case. Instead, they were right here, on Summerfeld’s doorstep. As much as Quinn didn’t want Monique anywhere near them, this was an opportunity to find out how much they knew and why they were hanging around.
“I’ll think about it,” Quinn relented eventually.
“I’ll be here from eleven,” he promised, trying and failing to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“I really want to go,” Monique implored. Camille had gone to fetch Jack and Ava from Tristan and Quinn was walking Monique back to Kellan’s.
“You know he’s a gypsy?” Quinn suspected that Monique did, but she wouldn’t necessarily know what it meant. Isaiah hadn’t gotten that far with her studies yet.
“Yeah,” Monique confirmed, “so what?”
“Monique, the gypsies have always searched for Summerfeld. They are a threat to every creature that we are sworn to protect.”
“Jonas isn’t like that,” Monique insisted, “he’s... nice.”
“He likes you,” Quinn acceded, “that’s plain to see and he seems like a nice boy, but the fact remains that he is an enemy of Summerfeld.”
“I thought vampires were our only enemies.”
“The gypsies are not as dangerous and certainly not as cunning, but they cannot be allowed to find the City.”
Monique stared at her feet, terrified that Quinn would read the truth in her face, that the gypsies had already found Summerfeld. Monique was torn between her allegiance to the Guardians and wanting to protect her friend.
“I won’t tell him if that’s what you’re worried about,” she mumbled, crossing her fingers behind her back. Quinn didn’t answer.
“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” Camille gushed when she and Tristan returned with the children. This was exactly what she had wanted – for Monique to have normal teenage experiences.
“It’s a terrible idea!” Tristan argued. “You want to take your daughter into a gypsy camp... complete with no running water and love potions and all that other voodoo nonsense.”
“It’s not voodoo,” Camille laughed, “it’s just herbs and natural remedies.”
“Not to mention the fact that these people are looking for Summerfeld. They’re basically looking for us.”
“Quinn said that they won’t know,” Camille sobered instantly at his ominous tone. “You said they wouldn’t know,” she insisted, turning to Quinn.
“They won’t,” Quinn assured her. “There’s no way they would suspect anything and no way for them to identify us so long as we keep our tattoos covered.” She held up her arm, complete with a thick silver bracelet that completely hid any trace of her tattoo. Seeing the expectant, hopeful faces staring back at her she heaved a sigh.
“I’ll speak to Isaiah.”
Chapter 12
Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4 Page 35