Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4

by Melissa Delport

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, unnerved by Drake’s silence. Accustomed to his suggestive sense of humour, she was surprised when he simply picked up her bag and moved it to the bed nearest the bathroom, before flopping back on the one closest to the exit.

  The bathroom door didn’t have a lock. Taking a lightning shower, terrified that Drake might walk in at any second, Quinn emerged from the steaming room to find him exactly as she had left him. His arms were folded behind his head and his eyes were closed. Tiptoeing to her bed she shoved her dirty laundry into her bag and pulled out her stake, placing it on the bedside table between them.

  “Do you ever relax?” Drake asked, making her jump.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  He ignored her, opening his eyes and reaching for the stake.

  “Do you ever feel safe enough to leave this out of reach?” he persisted, turning it over in his hand.

  “No,” she shook her head. “Out of reach is as good as dead.”

  She wasn’t talking about him, and she spoke without resentment or bitterness, but Drake wished he could make her feel safe enough to rest, without fear of attack. He wanted her to trust that he could protect her, because he could. He pressed the point of the stake against his finger and Quinn was reminded of the night he had confronted her about being a Guardian. He had been waiting for her when she got home and he had held her stake exactly the way he was holding it now. Then, he had looked at it with anger, but now there was only sadness in his eyes. The stake was a symbol of the distance between them.

  “Perhaps one day you won’t need it,” he mused eventually, placing it back on the table and rolling over to look at her. Quinn was acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but a nightshirt under her covers.

  “I doubt that.”

  “You doubt a lot of things.”

  “Drake,” she pleaded, “please don’t.” She wasn’t in the mood to get into another argument with him.

  “Sleep, Quinn,” he cut her off. “I will make sure no harm comes to you.”

  Chapter 16

  Quinn woke the following morning after the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long time. Drake was nowhere to be seen so she hastily got ready before hoisting her duffel back over her shoulder and leaving the tiny room.

  Crossing the lot after handing in their key, she found him leaning against Lenora’s Mercedes.

  “I thought you might want to get ready in private,” he explained when she drew near. “Besides, I couldn’t stand another minute of your snoring.”

  “I don’t snore,” she snapped, but a small grin settled in place as she yanked open the driver’s door.

  They drove for a few hours in companionable silence.

  “We’re almost there,” Quinn announced finally. She was surprised at the area where Blair had hidden her crystal, which seemed to be a low-income, farming community, until they turned onto a dusty farm road and she caught sight of the rusted metal sign at the entrance. The sign read “Lindberg” - Blair’s family name.

  As they pulled up in front of a dilapidated farm house an elderly man opened the screen door.

  “Can I help you folks?” he called from the porch steps.

  “I’m so sorry to intrude,” Quinn replied, “but we’re low on gas and I was wondering if you might point us in the direction of the nearest gas station?”

  “The nearest station is over twenty miles away, darlin’. You think you got enough in your tank to get you there?” Quinn shook her head, no.

  “I told you we should have taken a right back there,” Drake intervened. “She’s hopeless with directions,” he added fondly, climbing the steps. “The name’s Christian, this is my wife, Pauline.”

  “Thomas Lindberg,” the man squeezed Drake’s hand in a firm grip. “Look, I keep spare gas out in the barn for the tractor, I’d be happy to fill you up.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I will, of course, reimburse you for the trouble.”

  “No need,” Thomas waved away the courtesy, and then, as Drake remained on the threshold. “Well, come in, I can’t carry that gas myself.” Gratefully, Drake stepped inside, and Quinn followed.

  “You want to wait inside, Miss?”

  “Thank you,” Quinn nodded.

  She paused in the hall to examine the framed photographs above the fireplace, her curiosity getting the better of her. These people were Blair’s distant descendents, and she examined each face, searching for any resemblance. She thought she recognised Blair’s insolent green eyes in a photograph of a young man with a tattoo peeking above the neckline of his white T-shirt.

  “My grandson, Austin.” Thomas had come to stand behind her. “Handsome young man, isn’t he? I’m not wild about that tattoo though.”

  “He looks like you.” It was true. Despite the weather-beaten exterior, Thomas had the same haughty glare and the strong jaw and straight nose were visible even through the lines of time.

  “More like his mother, my daughter, Josephine,” Thomas replied modestly. “She died a few months back. It was a car accident. Austin took it very badly. He was in the Marine Corps, but he quit just after she died. We haven’t seen him since the funeral.”

  “Where is his father?”

  “No idea. He took off before the boy was born. Josephine raised him all on her own, she did, and a fine job she made of it too.”

  Acutely conscious of his heartache and not knowing what to say, Quinn turned away from the fireplace.

  “The barn’s out back,” Thomas continued, pulling himself together. “My wife’s not home or I’d offer you a cup of tea,” he added to Quinn.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Although I would like to use the bathroom if you don’t mind?”

  “Go ahead, there’s one down the hall. Make yourself at home; we’ll have you on your way in no time at all.”

  Smiling politely, Quinn waited until they were gone before sneaking up the stairs. Walking straight into the first bedroom off the landing, she opened the closet, which was filled with old photo albums.

  The crystal was too high, just out of her reach, but she could feel it calling to her. Now that she was so close, the aura it emitted was like a homing beacon leading her directly to it. Quinn grabbed the bedside table and placed it in front of the open doors. Climbing onto it, she groped blindly into the back of the top shelf. Finally, her fingers found a loose board and she pulled it free, exposing a small alcove in the brick behind it. Snatching up the crystal which was nestled in the dust, she felt its warmth in her hand. It was even smaller than Avery’s; the size of a pebble and onyx black. As she gazed at it she heard Drake and Thomas chatting while they walked around the house and she slipped the crystal into her pocket before replacing the table. She shut the closet doors and bolted back downstairs. By the time the men returned she was sitting quietly on the sofa, paging through a faded magazine.

  “All done,” Thomas assured her, “although you might want to have your fuel gauge checked – there was over half a tank of gas in there.”

  “Really?” Quinn feigned surprise, “how strange, I’ll definitely get that checked. I’m sorry we troubled you.”

  “Hardly trouble, it’s just a few gallons of gas,” he scoffed, as he walked them to the front door. “You folks drive safely now.”

  “We will,” Quinn promised, “and thank you again.”

  “People are so incredibly helpful,” Drake mused as they pulled off in a cloud of dust. “Wouldn’t you agree, Pauline, darling?”

  “Knock it off.”

  “You take the fun out of everything,” he drawled. “So, did you get it?” She didn’t reply, coming to a halt at the end of the driveway. “All right, all right! You don’t have to tell me,” Drake was busy checking the map. “So, can we go now?”

  “Sure. Should I just drive straight through him?” Quinn asked, and he looked up to see the real reason she had stopped. A man stood in their path aiming a gun at them through the windscreen.

 
; “Don’t,” Quinn put a restraining hand on Drake’s arm as he reached for his door handle, “he’s a Guardian.” She had recognised the tribal design running up his neck from the photograph on Thomas’s mantel and she had a strong suspicion that this was Blair’s Guardian replacement. The impact of her words was not lost on Drake. A Guardian could sense a vampire and it was the middle of the day. If this man was who Quinn thought he was, Drake’s secret was out.

  Slowly, Quinn opened her door, keeping her hands clearly visible as she stepped out of the car.

  “Austin Lindberg?” she called, her voice steady, and the young man lowered the gun slightly at the sound of his name. His head was shaved to the scalp and he had a livid scar running from the outer corner of his eye down his right cheek that hadn’t been present in the photograph on Thomas Lindberg’s mantel.

  “My name is Quinn,” she continued calmly, “We’ve been looking for you.” She figured it was better to tell a warped version of the truth, rather than explaining she had just robbed his grandfather’s house. Turning her hand so that her wrist faced him, she displayed her Hunter tattoo. Immediately, Austin lowered the gun to his side. “You mind putting that away?” Quinn asked. “It makes me nervous.” After a moment’s hesitation he slipped it into the back waistband of his jeans and started toward her. Quinn moved quickly to intercept him, trying to keep him away from the car. Not about to let her meet this armed assailant alone, and only slightly understanding what was going on, Drake followed her. Too late, Quinn shouted a warning, but Austin had already sensed him. With lightning reflexes, he whipped the gun back out of his jeans, but by the time he took aim, he was pointing it at an empty space.

  “Don’t!” Quinn yelled, not at Austin, but at Drake, who had reappeared behind him. Austin spun around, but Drake jerked the gun from his hands. She rushed forward trying to diffuse the situation. “He’s on our side,” she assured the new Guardian, “things are... complicated.” Until he was trained, Austin would not know that Drake should not be out in the sun, but the second they returned to the others he would learn the truth and it would all come out.

  Checking Austin’s wrist, Quinn saw the white tattoo and her suspicions were confirmed. What she couldn’t figure out was the reason he was here. A new Guardian would report directly to Cliffdale and yet he had come here, to his family home, instead. A small military rucksack lay discarded at his feet.

  “You have something that belongs to me,” Austin spoke finally, his eyes never leaving Drake’s.

  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” Drake replied.

  “Not you. Her,” he jerked his head in Quinn’s direction. Quinn took only a second to process this strange request, and then it dawned on her; the reason he was here. Guardians always retrieve their crystals before setting out for the City. Reaching into her pocket, she felt for the amber crystal that had been in her possession for over three hundred years. It still felt cold to her touch. She held it out and Austin immediately took it from her. Strangely, Quinn felt unmoved by its loss. It no longer belonged to her.

  “I’ve been travelling for days,” Austin explained, seeming more comfortable now that he had what he had been searching for. “Yesterday I could sense it was close, but then it started moving. I followed you, never expecting to end up here. I haven’t been home since I left the Marines.”

  “Like I said,” Quinn lied, “we were looking for you. Things have changed. Summerfeld is gone. It’s a long story,” she added, as his eyes widened in alarm, “and one best told when we reach the others. I’ll take you to them.” She glanced around, trying to figure out how he was travelling. “How did you get here?”

  “My bike is just round the corner. I didn’t know why it was leading me here and I didn’t want to alert my grandparents to my arrival.” Austin explained, his eyes still on Drake. He wasn’t just going to accept her explanation that things were complicated, she realised, as he asked, “What is he doing here?”

  Quinn squirmed. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do when they got back. “He’s helping me. There are a lot of people looking for us.”

  “You mean vampires?”

  “Yes, the very bad kind.” She gazed back in the direction of the house, coming to a decision. “We should get out of here before someone sees us, but, before we do, you should go and see your grandfather.” Austin looked about to argue. “He misses you,” Quinn insisted, not giving him the opportunity. “And where we’re going, you might not get to see him again for a very long time.”

  “I am so sorry!” she turned to Drake the moment Austin was out of earshot. “I never meant for anyone to find out about you.”

  “I know you didn’t.” She had kept his day-walking a secret all this time. Even after what he had done to Blair.

  “This changes everything,” he spoke quietly, as though talking to himself.

  “When we get back you’re going to have to get as far away from us as you can.”

  “No,” he shook his head vehemently.

  “They’ll kill you! Don’t you see... now more than ever! You broke the taboo – they can’t let you live. It’s like Julian all over again.” It was ironic that only a few days ago she had been determined to kill him herself and yet, here she was, concerned for his safety.

  “Let me talk to Daniel.”

  “He won’t listen,” Quinn insisted. “I can’t protect you from him... from any of them.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. I want to talk to him.”

  “You murdered his protégée! He’s the last person who will listen to anything you have to say!”

  At this, Drake gave a harsh hollow laugh. “He started it,” he replied cryptically, bringing Quinn up short. It was the first time she had heard him sound truly bitter.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, in confusion.

  Whether because he knew that his deepest secret – the thing that he had spent years concealing – was finally exposed, or whether it was the desperation in Quinn’s voice, he could not be sure, but Drake had had enough.

  “Your friends are not what you think,” he hissed. “Daniel is not a saint, Quinn, no matter how badly you wish it. You’re so quick to blame my kind for everything that has happened, but maybe you should start looking a little closer to home! If Daniel wants to blame someone for Summerfeld’s demise, perhaps he should take a long hard look in the mirror.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Charlotte,” he replied. “Daniel killed Charlotte. It’s because of him she even exists. If he hadn’t plunged a stake into her chest, I wouldn’t have had to turn her. She would never have become what she is today. She would never have sought the City, and she would never have succeeded where all others had failed.”

  “Daniel killed Charlotte?” Quinn shook her head in denial. She had known that Charlotte had died the night the Slayer attacked the village where she and Drake were hiding, but she had assumed a vampire had wounded her. “No; no! He couldn’t have! We don’t kill humans.”

  “It was an accident,” Drake relented slightly. “But the point I am making is that Daniel is not innocent, either. We have both done things we regret. I want to talk to him.” He was determined, and Quinn was still reeling too greatly from the revelation that Daniel had done the unthinkable, to reason it all out.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she consented.

  Austin was back in an hour. His face was unreadable and Quinn wondered if she had made the right decision encouraging him to visit Tom.

  “I’m ready,” was all he said.

  “You can follow us,” she offered. “I’ll take your bag, if you like?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” He bent over and retrieved the rucksack, then turned and walked away from them.

  Chapter 17

  Melchior’s initial pleasure that he was now in charge of the convoy was fast losing appeal. He had never really appreciated how much effort was required to keep their people in check. Balthazar had made it lo
ok easy, and Melchior had never had to do anything other than the odd supply run. The other gypsies had tired quickly of his habitual drinking and were starting to lose faith in his leadership. The last thing Melchior needed was a revolt on his hands.

  Pulling himself into a sitting position he peered, bleary-eyed, at the sizeable naked figure beside him. He could barely remember anything about last night, but he must have been far drunker than he had thought, if he had bedded that. Disgusted with himself, Melchior retrieved his pants from under the girl’s fat pink legs with much hauling and grunting.

  In a foul temper, he emerged from his tent, noticing the last rays of the sun shining over the horizon. He had slept the day away. Again! The campsite was uncharacteristically subdued, and, as he wandered over to the fire in search of something to eat he felt the accusing eyes of the other gypsies on him. Ignoring them, Melchior ate his fill, washing it down with a carafe of water as the sun finally set. Braver now that the dark hid his bloodshot eyes, he addressed the group at large.

  “Tomorrow we head east.”

  “What for?” Zebulon snapped. Zebulon was a fair few years younger than Melchior, not much of an asset to the community himself, but his wife, Cara, had taken over Rowena’s duties, making her invaluable. Cara’s meteoric rise through the ranks seemed to have an inflatory effect on Zebulon’s balls, Melchior thought.

  “What for, Zebulon?” Melchior rounded on him, his face lit by the dancing flames of the fire. “What do you think? Aren’t we searching for the lost City?”

  “We were,” Zebulon hissed, “when Balthazar was leading us. Now we seem to be going around in circles, starving, and winter is almost upon us.”

  “Well, why don’t you find work?” Melchior barked. “Or better still,” he glared at the women gathered around the fire, “why don’t you whores go and find a fair?”