Daughter of Gods and Shadows

by Jayde Brooks

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one run off and disappear into the woods. One remained, limping away from Paul as he stalked toward it, and gradually shifting back into a human-looking form. He was young, no more than twenty, twenty-five. Paul could’ve snapped his little ass like a twig, but he needed him.

  Paul hurt all over, but he wasn’t even out of breath. The scent of his own blood was sour, foul, like something spoiled. The boy put up his hands in surrender.

  “Where is the Guardian?” Paul blurted out, still coming at the boy.

  He looked up at Paul and shook his head. “What?”

  The little bitch had taken a bite out of Paul at some point. He was sure of it, and looking at him now, it took everything inside him not to break his scrawny little neck. “The Guardian!” he yelled. “Where’s the fuckin’ Guardian!”

  “I don’t know,” the boy cried, and fell helplessly to his knees. “I don’t…”

  Paul stopped and stood over him and then reached down, grabbed a handful of dark curly hair, and pulled the kid up until he dangled a foot off the ground.

  “The reborn has a Guardian,” he spat in the boy’s face. “Where do I find this Guardian?”

  The boy couldn’t tell him anything except where he could go to find someone else who could. The Were boy had pointed Paul in the direction of “that way” before Paul punched his fist through his chest. That way ended up being north, less than ten miles from where he’d found these dudes on a back road that led him to a clearing where an old trailer sat on cinder blocks. Paul didn’t bother to knock. Vincent Larimer had pretended to be a teacher throughout the centuries. A learned man, he shined a whole new light on the term “Ancient History,” even filling Paul in on the legend of this reborn. Unlike the Vamp or the Were boy, it was obvious to Paul that this Vincent was an elitist, trembling behind his desk, wearing a tailored button-down shirt, cuff links, designer jeans, and old, weathered Air Jordans.

  “I’m looking for the Guardian,” Paul said without the courtesy of a formal introduction.

  “W-what?”

  Paul decided that there was no need to repeat himself. Eventually, Larimer figured that stalling was wasted on Chapman.

  “H-he lives in Vermont,” he finally volunteered.

  Again, Paul waited for this pissant to finally realize that he needed to narrow the scope a little.

  Vincent swallowed. “I’d have to show you.”

  Paul took one step toward the Ancient, and the fool wet his pants.

  * * *

  The next night, Chapman pulled up into the circular driveway of the house Larimer had led him to. Paul kicked in the front door and dragged Vincent Larimer in behind him by the collar and dropped his pathetic body on the hardwood floors. The place was dark. He cautiously searched each room, finding signs that the place had been recently inhabited. There were dishes in the sink and food still fresh in the refrigerator. He stepped over Vincent, still lying there and moaning on the floor, and went upstairs. The bed in the master bedroom was unmade, and on it lay a small tank top. Paul picked it up, raised it to his nose, and inhaled. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that she had worn this. And now he had her scent committed to memory and finding her would be a piece of cake.

  SERPENTINE FIRE

  Prophet stuck to the back roads as he drove, but even the smaller towns hadn’t been spared the devastation caused by the Demon. Most of them were abandoned, or at least they looked that way on the surface. They’d been shot at twice, and on several occasions, people would scurry from their hiding places like roaches, rushing toward the car, begging for them to stop and help them.

  “Prophet,” Eden whispered, staring at a family carrying children chasing behind them on foot.

  “We can’t stop, Eden,” he told her. “It’s not safe.”

  It was one thing to see it on the news, but to actually be a part of a world that had changed so much in so short a time, like this, was overwhelming. Prophet drove like he knew exactly where they needed to go. The weight of despair and of the part Eden was supposed to play in all of this was draining, and all she wanted to do was to close her eyes, and each time she did, her thoughts drifted back to the same dark place.

  The fire was still burning. Eden sat on the cold floor with her knees drawn to her chest, fixated on that flame, as it seemed to dance at the sound of his voice. The Demon could hardly take his eyes off of it long enough to even notice that she was still there. She couldn’t get out. If Eden could have left this place, she would have, but the door she’d come in through was nowhere to be found.

  Eden didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself out of fear that it would provoke him. Her eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness. She studied him and his fire, watching everything from the way he moved to the way it responded to him. It was lonely here and quiet except for the sound of his occasional sigh.

  “You watch me too closely,” he said, slowly turning his head toward her. “Too intently.”

  The sound of his voice caused her to tremble, but Eden pulled herself into an even tighter ball and tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked, standing up slowly. The hood still fell over half of his face and kept it hidden from her. “What do you hope to see?”

  Eden buried her face in her knees and shook her head. Stay away! she wanted to scream but didn’t dare to say a word. Eden could hear his footsteps crossing the room and coming closer and closer to her, and in her panic, she pushed herself up off the floor and stood trembling.

  He walked slow circles around her, staring down on top of her, the weight of his gaze trying to push her to her knees, but Eden refused to give in to the pressure. If she sat or knelt, then she would be nothing more than a bug to him. He would squash her under his foot. Eden squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself awake from this nightmare.

  “What is your name?” The heat of his breath rained down on her.

  She pressed her lips together to keep her words from escaping. She couldn’t tell him! He couldn’t know who she was, because if he did …

  He stopped in front of her. Eden felt his hand under her chin, and her whole body tightened. She clenched her fists, and curled her toes. The sensation of his touch sent shockwaves through her body. He raised her chin.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to open her eyes.

  “Look—at—me.”

  It was like he had power over her eyelids, and all of a sudden Eden couldn’t help herself. She opened her eyes and looked up at his shadowed face and piercing emerald-green eyes burning into her.

  “What is your name?”

  The word swelled on her tongue until she had no choice but to answer him. Eden opened her mouth to tell him her name, but something else came out of it instead. It was her voice, but it wasn’t.

  “I see you, Demon. Peeeeee-cuuuu-leeeeee-aaaaaarrrrr!”

  Eden opened her eyes. Prophet was driving along just as he had been before she’d drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  They were in Jersey, or maybe Delaware now. She couldn’t tell, but it was late when he pulled his SUV up in a lot filled with other cars parked on the sand surrounding a beach house on stilts and facing the water.

  He came over to her side and held the door open for her. “You all right?” he asked, closing the door and kissing the top of her head.

  She nodded. Anxiety churned like butter in her stomach, but she worked hard not to let him see her sweat. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing here, it was another step in this journey of hers to wherever the hell she was going. Eden wasn’t ready to know, so she made up her mind not to ask any questions. He held her hand and led her to the entrance.

  “None of us can deny him any longer. Sakarabru is back, and he has pulled us into a war, just as he did before our world fell.”

  Khale stood in the center of the room, surrounded by Ancie
nts of every different species that Theia had to offer, more than Eden had ever seen at any one time in any one place.

  She still insisted on keeping that small-girl-bug-eyed-glasses-nerd thing going, though. Khale stopped when she saw Eden step out from behind Prophet. Every eye in the room shifted to Eden.

  Khale looked at Eden and sighed. Her features softened, and she looked genuinely glad to see her. “Please…” She motioned for the two of them to sit down.

  “Take a seat, love,” Prophet whispered. “I’ll stand here.”

  Eden found her way to a place on the sofa. Other Ancients made room for her, but it was pretty obvious that they weren’t as happy to see her as Khale was.

  “He is as determined to rule here as he was to rule Theia,” Khale continued. “The humans have no idea how to combat a foe like Sakarabru.”

  “And we don’t have the numbers anymore, Khale,” someone shouted. “He is pulling resources for his army from the seven billion humans of this world. We can’t compete with that.”

  “We can fight a different kind of war, Aelia,” Khale argued. “What we lack in numbers we can make up for in our strategy and cunning. We have fate on our side.”

  “You mean her?”

  A tall shapely raven-haired woman stood up. She was so beautiful that Eden’s chin dropped just looking at her.

  “Isis, please,” Khale protested

  Isis? The Isis?

  “You know how we feel about this, Khale. Prophecy or no prophecy, we’re not all willing to put our fate in her hands again. She nearly destroyed all of us.”

  “I didn’t destroy you,” Eden murmured under her breath, shocked that this gorgeous woman would accuse her of being responsible for what happened to their world. No one heard her.

  “It’s not for any of us to decide, Isis,” Khale argued. “It’s fate and that means it’s done.”

  “What is? The Demon? Us? This world? Or all of the above?” Isis shot back.

  Suddenly there was a commotion in the back of the room.

  “Hold up,” Prophet said, stopping a man from bursting in. “Who are you?”

  Breathless, the man said, “I need to see Khale. It’s about the reborn.”

  “Let him in, Guardian.”

  Eden sat frozen on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her heart was racing as the man stumbled into the room and dropped to his knees at Khale’s feet.

  “Who are you, Were?” Khale asked.

  Another man weeded his way through the crowd to get to the one who had just crashed the party.

  “Argos?” he said, kneeling next to him. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  Blood dripped down the side of the man’s face. “He’s coming for her,” he said, finally managing to catch his breath.

  “Who? What are you talking about?” Khale asked.

  The other man put his hand up to quiet the Shifter.

  “A big-ass Brood, man! He came into the colony.” He swallowed. “We tried to fight him off—six of us. I’m the only one who got away, Jarrod.” He said, panicked. “He killed the rest.… But I heard him ask Donovan … I heard him ask about the Guardian. The reborn’s Guardian.”

  Eden didn’t know when Prophet had showed up next to her. She didn’t even remember getting up from that couch, and she knew for a fact that no one in that room had told Argos who she was. He looked right at her.

  “He’s coming for you. He’s coming for her.”

  WHO YOU ARE

  “Six of us went at him,” Argos explained, sipping on a beer that Jarrod had given him. “Six male Weres in full regalia”—he shook his head in disbelief—“and he handled us like we were rodents.”

  “How’d you get away, Argos?” Jarrod asked.

  “I ran, man,” he shrugged. “I saw what he was doing to the others, and I knew … that at least one of us needed to escape so that we could tell you about it.” The shame he felt was evident in his eyes. The Were were proud and loyal creatures, albeit stubborn and defiant. They looked after their own with the kind of conviction that was envied among other Ancients. Leaving his brother behind had not been an easy decision.

  “Human Brood aren’t like Theian Brood,” he said anxiously. “I get that. But this dude”—he glanced up at Jarrod, standing over him—“he was, Jarrod. He was as fierce a fighter as any Theian Brood I’d ever come up against, and you know that I know what I’m talking about. His strength and his skills were the shit that legends are made of.” He shrugged. “He made it look so fuckin’ easy.”

  While Argos spoke, Khale studied Eden for a reaction. A few weeks ago the girl would’ve gone running and screaming from the room, but now she just stood there, stone-faced and rigid. She had changed more than even she probably realized in a very short period of time.

  “Why don’t you go get some rest, Argos?” Jarrod said, patting him on the back and escorting him out of the room.

  Prophet closed the door behind the Were as he left. “So what the fuck does this mean, Khale?” He glared at her as if she’d been the one to send the Brood into the Were colony.

  “It means that the Demon is determined not to let history repeat itself,” Khale said, not taking her eyes off of Eden, who was staring back at her. “Would you two gentlemen leave us alone, please?”

  Jarrod left without hesitating, but Prophet lingered until Eden smiled at him and nodded.

  “Ever the Guardian, I see,” Khale chuckled as he closed the door behind him. “Even where I’m concerned.”

  “Or especially?” Eden murmured.

  She liked this new Eden, this one so filled with confidence and certainty, who hadn’t burst out in tears once since she’d first walked through that door.

  “I can see in your eyes that you now understand the gravity of these times.”

  Eden dropped her gaze and nodded.

  “This is bigger than you, Eden. It’s bigger than me. The damage that Sakarabru has done can never be undone. Even if he is defeated, the people of this world will suffer from this deep and terrible scar he’s inflicted upon them for generation after generation, and the word ‘normal’ will evolve to mean something totally different than what it once meant.”

  “So he’s trying to kill me before I bond with the other Omens?” Eden asked apprehensively.

  “He had heard of the legends of the Redeemer just like we all had. He had heard the stories of how she was to be our savior and his demise, but the legends were nothing more than stories to him. Fairytales. He ignored them, and it wasn’t until after she’d made the last bond that Sakarabru had no choice but to come face-to-face with the only creature alive who could put an end to him.”

  Tears flooded Eden’s eyes, but she impressively blinked them away.

  “My guess is that he’s not going to make that mistake again. And yes, Eden, it seems that he is trying to get to you before you can make the final bond.”

  Khale was careful not to say the word “kill,” but that didn’t stop it from being the elephant in the room.

  They had never had the kind of relationship that Khale had imagined they’d have when Eden was first born—or reborn. Rose had quickly stepped in as her mother, and Khale sort of hovered around the perimeter, waiting for the day to come when she could step in and be the mother to Eden that she had been to Mkombozi, but that day never really came. Looking at her now, it was impossible not to see Mkombozi in Eden.

  Most of the similarities were subtle, and they always had been, but Eden had come to possess a regalness about her, a stature that had never been there before. Khale wondered how much of this change had come about because of the bond with the first Omen, how much had come from her relationship with the Guardian, and how much of it had come from seeing her world fall apart around her and knowing that she alone could save it.

  Khale wanted so badly to reach out to her and to hold her and whisper to her that everything was going to be all right and that Eden could do this. She was the one who had been chosen to do it becau
se she was the only one who could. But she knew that Eden would shun any such show of affection from the Shifter.

  “Does anyone know where the second Omen is?” Eden eventually asked, glancing back at Khale.

  “I had hoped that somehow you would know. I had hoped that the first Omen would lead you to the others.”

  “The first Omen shows me the Demon’s mind,” she explained, reluctantly. “I’m worried that it might show him mine,” she admitted. “He doesn’t know who I am, but he’s curious,” she said introspectively.

  “Are you curious?” Khale asked.

  Eden thought long and hard before answering her. “Yes.” Did she really just admit that out loud? And more importantly, did she mean it? “But I don’t want him to know me, Khale. I don’t want him to pull me in.”

  That’s the part that frightened her the most. It was the feeling she had that he could somehow trap her and make her want to stay in that place with him, almost as if he had the power to change her or make her like him.

  Khale walked over to her. “But in is where you must go, Eden,” she said, gently.

  Instead of arguing, Eden nodded. “I know, Khale. It’s just…” Eden shrugged. “How much of me will be lost when I do?”

  She said when—not if—but when. Khale couldn’t help herself, and she reached out and took hold of Eden’s hands. If history was not to repeat itself, then Khale had to do her part to see that it wouldn’t. She had to be open with Eden and tell her the truth.

  “The mind of Sakarabru is a trap,” she admitted. This time, it was the Shifter who was struggling not to cry. “Mkombozi fell victim to it in the end, Eden, and that’s why I…” She swallowed. “That’s what destroyed her.”

  “Then it’s going to destroy me too,” Eden added quickly.

  “It doesn’t have to.” Khale raised her hand to Eden’s cheek. Of course, that was a lie, the one that Khale had to keep until the end. “The Redeemer is born for this because she is the one who has the ability to resist the trap of what the Omens hold. The Demon’s mind, his power, his destruction—Mkombozi held those things back for a time, but eventually they took her.”