by Janene Wood
Lena continued as if she hadn't spoken. “The Dragoman could delay his journey no longer, but he left Lieutenant Tevrat and his four best men to escort us the rest of the way. And a note.” Lena indicated a sealed missive on the mantelpiece above the fire.
Too many thoughts were running through Katryn’s head to put into words; the last thing she wanted to think about was Hayri. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Lena busied herself tidying the room, giving her time to think.
The strangest thing was how well she was beginning to feel, both physically and emotionally. Fleeing Muntbalaur had left her depressed and angry, until four days later, she was laid low by a mystery illness that seemed intent on killing her. Then just as she resigned herself to her fate, God’s mighty wrath pierced the night sky and struck her down, as if confirming His desire to obliterate her from His sight once and for all. Yet it seemed that the opposite had occurred! The lightning seemed to have cleansed her body of all malaise. She felt stronger and healthier than ever before.
Yet she found it hard to accept such a thing, which was so obviously against the laws of nature. She sat up again and sidled across the enormous bed. “Lena, I need you to help me understand. Did you recall some miraculous concoction that previously eluded you? Or perhaps you discovered some wonderful new physic?” Having had her fill of arcane practices, she desperately wanted to be assured it was not the work of unnatural forces.
Lena returned to her chair beside the bed and picked up the stocking she had been darning. Keeping her eyes downcast as she worked, she spoke in the calm voice Katryn knew so well. “It was nothing I did, Dragă. This is God's handiwork. He is not yet finished with you, that much is clear.”
Katryn sighed, wondering what she could possibly have done to draw the attention of the Almighty. “And do I have no say in the matter?”
“You plan to argue with God?” smiled Lena indulgently, clearly amused. Expertly finishing off the last few stitches, she snipped the remainder of the thread and began packing her sewing kit away.
“While you slept, sister, I had a great deal of time to consider everything you’ve endured over the past weeks, and I believe it is all part of God's great plan, leading you to this particular point in time.”
Stiffening her shoulders, Katryn pursed her lips defiantly. “Do you mean this point right now, where my husband is dead, my only son is lost to me forever, I have been evicted from my home and almost murdered in the process, have lost everything I own except the clothes on my back, and for good measure, have come under the influence of a man I barely know, who is taking me to a foreign land where I won't even have the dubious comfort of speaking the language! And all before Gheorghe is even cold in his grave! Is that the point you're referring to, sister?” demanded Katryn bitterly.
“I believe that covers everything,” said Lena evenly, her eyes not leaving Katryn's face.
Katryn observed Lena's carefully blank expression and her lips twitched briefly before a sudden peal of laughter spilled out of her mouth. “Oh, Lena, forgive me! I shouldn't take my frustration out on you, not even for a moment. You have been nothing but a pillar of strength. I would never have made it this far without you. Neither of us has been left unscathed by the horrors of these last few weeks.”
Seemingly mollified, Lena patted Katryn's hand. “But we survived! And we must move forward if we are to continue to do so.”
“You are quite right, sister dear,” acknowledged Katryn, reaching out and clasping Lena's hand. “Though it is–”
Katryn snatched her hand away, as though stung. She stared first at Lena, then at her hands, turning them over and over, as if she didn't recognise them. They were the hands of a much younger woman. “Unblemished as a newborn babe” was how Lena had described her body, but that wasn't what spooked her just now.
“What is it?” asked Lena in mild alarm.
“Did you feel that?” whispered Katryn, clearly shaken. “When I touched you, I felt...”
“What? Tell me what you felt,” demanded Lena urgently.
“I felt...you. What it was like to be you. I saw myself through your eyes. I saw myself lying here, burning with fever, and I could feel how worried you were.”
“Touch me again,” insisted Lena, holding out her hand. Katryn obeyed uncertainly as Lena closed her eyes, shutting herself off from the distractions around her. After a few seconds, Katryn tried to pull away, but Lena held on tightly for a few moments longer.
“What did you see?” asked Lena expectantly.
“You were holding a newborn babe, gazing down at him in wonder. He looked very much like Nicolae,” she said wistfully, “but I knew it wasn't him; it was your child. You were so happy, and at the same time filled with such deep sadness.”
Katryn gave Lena a searching look; to the best of her knowledge her near-sister had never borne a child. “Was it truly your son?”
“It doesn't matter,” replied Lena firmly, dismissing the question. “What matters is that you saw it. Kat, you're not the same person you were when you left Muntbalaur. You have been transformed. Such things happen only rarely, so to see it with my own eyes, it's…it’s incredible! Truly, we are sisters now.”
It was hard to deny the truth of Lena's words. Katryn felt different. Not only stronger and healthier, but more aware of her body and more clear-headed than ever before. “Are you telling me I'm like you now? Are you sure I'm not just hallucinating?”
Lena gave her a sympathetic smile. “It's not insanity, dear one, it's God's blessing. You have been chosen to help stop the spread of evil in the world.”
Katryn frowned, not understanding.
“Let me tell you what my father told me, when I asked him what that meant.”
“Very well,” agreed Katryn cautiously. Lena and Ion's father had died in mysterious circumstances, long before Katryn’s marriage to Ion. Lena spoke of him only rarely.
“'Our family, and others like us,' my Papa explained, 'have been favoured by the one true God, who made the heavens and the earth and breathed life into man. He gave us gifts to strengthen us, to help us fight the shadows that seek to weaken mankind in order for evil to flourish. Your life will not be easy,' he told me, 'but it will be rewarding.'
“Syeira used to say I was God's little joke,” Lena went on. “That He was just fooling around when He made me what I am; that I would never be strong enough or disciplined enough to make a difference. While my father was alive, I was able to ignore her taunts, but when he died, I started thinking she was right.”
“You poor thing,” said Katryn sympathetically. “I don't think I ever heard Syeira utter one kind word to you in all the time I was married to your brother.”
“Things were better after you came. I loved my brother and was heart-broken when he died, but the day you married Gheorghe and took me with you to Muntbalaur was the second happiest day of my life.”
Katryn didn't bother asking which was the happiest; she already knew the answer. She was dying to ask Lena what happened to her baby, but it wasn't the right moment. Besides, she was entitled to her secrets. Katryn grasped Lena's hand and squeezed. “You'll always have me, sister, no matter what. The question is, what do we do now? It's all very well to be blessed by God, but what happens next?”
“Dragă, you already know what to do. You proved that back at Muntbalaur when you risked your own life to save Matti and the others. We do what is right and good! If we do that, everything else will fall into place.”
The room grew quiet, with only the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the distant shouts of the innkeeper downstairs to break the silence. “I suppose the right thing would be to follow Hayri to Constantinople. We are married after all.” Katryn swallowed nervously. The thought of seeing him again filled her with trepidation.
Lena nodded her approval. “You are committed to him now. It is the right thing to do. Stay in bed now while I go downstairs and fetch some food. We must build your strength up for the long journey ahead. Al
so, the innkeeper will be glad to hear you have not died and sullied his best room,” said Lena, smiling wickedly. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she stepped out into the hallway, leaving Katryn alone with her thoughts.
Ignoring Lena’s advice, Katryn slipped out of bed and took to her feet. She expected to feel weak and light-headed after lying abed for so long, but there was no dizziness or disorientation, confirming her earlier overwhelming feeling of acute wellness. She poured some water and consumed it greedily. Still thirsty, she refilled the cup and sipped from it more slowly, feeling its goodness spread through her body. The letter from Hayri stared at her from the mantle, daring her to pick it up.
Curiosity finally overcame her dread and she took an experimental step toward it. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the single page and stared at Hayri's strong, masculine hand, his words sending a shiver of something indefinable up her spine. My dearest Kat, the letter began. Katryn quickly scanned the rest of it before folding it and putting it away, thinking to read it again when she was less overwhelmed. For now, it was enough to know she wasn't as alone as she had feared.
The future was an endless mystery. What was important was the attitude with which you faced it, mused Katryn, deciding she had little choice but to trust the one true God to know what He was doing. Surely He didn't go to all this trouble for no good reason.
Declaration of War
Marc barely noticed the chill of rain on his face as he jogged down the front steps of Kate’s apartment building and across the street to his borrowed Range Rover, parked beneath the bare branches of a large elm tree. He could still feel Kate’s lips on his mouth and wondered what was going through her mind right now. His main reason for going to see her had been to show that his temper had cooled, but if it also served to remind her of the love that once bound them, then he would call it a good night's work. The kiss had been a thing of the moment, an irresistible temptation, as much a response to the yearning of the flesh as it was about staking a claim and reminding her of their solemn blood vow.
She was his. He would have her back again.
The fact that she didn’t pull away, nor slap his face and knee him in the ‘nads, gave him hope that perhaps she wasn’t completely averse to seeing him again. Or perhaps he had taken her by surprise and she’d had no chance to react. He chose to believe the former, and in that spirit allowed his mood to lighten and his natural optimism to return. Tomorrow was another day after all.
It was after 10pm but seeing Kate again had re-energised him and he was in no hurry to call it a night. He wasn’t far from the Hulking Giant, an aptly named watering hole a couple of blocks off Shaftsbury Avenue, favoured by off-duty Guardians and the occasional Alete. He thought he might as well drop in and see what was happening.
The chief first brought Marc here the night he committed himself to becoming a Guardian. He so enjoyed the camaraderie and high spirits of his soon-to-be comrades-in-arms that he and Jake returned whenever they had the chance. There was something about the company of like-minded men that was refreshing and inspiring. He had experienced that same sense of brotherhood and solidarity in the army, during his deployment to Northern Ireland, and again with the Scrappers after Kate “died”, though never so intensely as with his brother Guardians. He put it down to the righteousness of their calling and their absolute certainty of purpose.
Music from the jukebox and the hum of friendly conversation welcomed him as he pushed through the double doors of the pub. The place was as busy as ever but Marc was surprised to see there were no Guardians present. They were easy to spot if you knew what to look for: physically imposing specimens who carried themselves with a confidence bordering on arrogance, tempered by compassion and a stark awareness of their own mortality. Less easy to spot with the current trend toward long hair were the angel's wings on the backs of their necks, though many Guardians kept their hair short just so the mark was visible. It was a warning to unwary binders to steer clear, and proved time and again to be an effective chick magnet. A quick glance around the bar room told Marc the evening's patrons were ordinary folk – with the glaring exception of two men sitting at a table in the far corner.
Marc grinned at the unexpected sight of Jake, whom he had thought was still in Paris, and Rick Bellows, a former protege of theirs. His two friends rose to greet him, clapping him on the back in welcome.
“What are you guys doing here?” he demanded. “I didn't think you were coming till next weekend, Jake.”
“Surprise,” said Jake without inflection. “I drove Bessie across this morning – I left her at Belfiore, by the way – and decided to come into town and see what was happening.”
“That's Bonnie,” Marc corrected him. “And thanks. I really appreciate it. She'll be fine there till I get a chance to pick her up.”
“I took the scenic route from Paris to Calais and she handled herself beautifully. You've got a real nice ride there,” said Jake with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
High praise indeed. “So what are you doing in town, Rick?” enquired Marc of their young companion. “I thought you were still in Edinburgh.”
“I am,” replied Rick, “but my brother's getting married on Saturday, so I'm taking some time off to help out. It's going to be a big event.”
“He's a Brother, isn't he? How's that going to work?” asked Marc.
“His fiancée's Alete, and they're Bonding on Saturday as well.”
“Wow. If you ask me, that's a bigger step than getting married,” remarked Jake.
“It is a big deal, but it's kind of a family tradition, so no one was really surprised when they announced what they were planning,” said Rick.
Bonding was a tradition that went back hundreds of years. Less than half all Guardians were unbonded. Statistically and anecdotally, it was universally agreed that the most effective Guardian/Alete dyads were the ones where a bond existed. The bond triggered a unique awareness between both parties that allowed each of them to tap into what the other was feeling and thinking at any given moment. When there was no time or opportunity for speech, it could instantly warn of danger. And if a dyad was separated for any reason, they could use the bond to locate each other. It was a ridiculous invasion of privacy, but when you were outnumbered, outflanked and slowly bleeding to death, the bond became the most formidable weapon in your arsenal. Lack of privacy didn't seem such a great sacrifice after all.
The bond was the most intimate of human connections, a melding of mind, heart and spirit. So intimate that most bonded couples eventually became “close” in ways that far exceeded the parameters of their official duties.
“So no pressure on you to meet and marry the right girl, then?” grinned Jake.
Rick gave a rueful smile. “Maybe a little. Nothing I can't handle.”
After going to the bar and returning with a round of drinks, Marc took a seat and tore open a bag of crisps. He grabbed a handful before pushing the packet into the centre of the table. Despite taking time for a quick bite with Pax after their squash game, he was starving.
“You didn't answer my question before, Jake,” said Marc. “Why are you here now, in the middle of the week?”
“I've been posted to Belfiore. You're looking at the Brotherhood's new Master of Unarmed Combat.”
Marc's eyes widened in surprise. “Really? That's great! You're perfect for the job, but it seems a little sudden, doesn't it?”
“That's because it is,” laughed Jake. “I only got the call last night. The chief is stepping up the recruitment program in response to this new potential threat from the witches. He doesn't want to be caught napping. He said he spoke to you about it this morning.”
“Yeah, he did, but only in a general sense. He didn't mention any new strategies being put in place to deal with it. Not that there's any reason why he would,” added Marc. That was true; despite his family's long and close relationship with the chief, he was just a small cog in a big machine.
“He's extremely w
orried, and rightly so if what he says is true. If Shadowkind really are going on the offensive, we need to prepare for it or we'll be overrun in a month. Did you hear what happened at the Spire this afternoon?”
“No, I've been stuck at the BoJ most of the day.”
“There was an incident involving our friend, Mademoiselle Bouvré. Apparently, she walked in off the street, nice as you please, and attacked Maya's secretary.”
Marc's astonishment was matched only by his disgust. “The same girl she and Wulverov targeted last night?”
“The same one, poor kid. She wasn't hurt physically, but she suffered a complete mental breakdown as a result of something Bouvré did to her. Apparently there was a magical device involved, but Mak wasn't very forthcoming with the details.”
“But what does Bouvré think she accomplished by tormenting this poor Alete?” wondered Marc.
Jake shook his head, as if he had already asked himself that same question and hadn't come up with a satisfactory answer. “I think it was a shot across our bow more than anything. A warning that this is only the beginning. Once she finished with Suzanne, Bouvré used the same device to open a portal, which is how she escaped. Grayson witnessed the entire thing, but she Compelled him so he couldn't interfere. It was pretty full on.”
Marc was quietly furious. “Just like Paris. If Bouvré can appear and disappear at will, she'll be virtually impossible to catch. Have either of you ever heard of a device that powerful?” he asked.
Rick shook his head. Jake said, “I'd be extremely interested to know where she got it. I imagine something like that wouldn't be very common – or easy to make, for that matter.”
Marc was thoughtful. “Which means there's a powerful binder involved somewhere in all of this. Possibly the same one who taught Wulverov that fire spell he used against us in Paris.”
“Yeah, the chief gave us the back story on this Wolf character, and Bouvré too,” said Jake. “Are you any closer to finding them?”