Grabbing four loaves of bread, Jonas turned to scan the store for milk. That’s when he spotted her; a girl, standing only a few feet away, examining a wide variety of colourful bags of crisps as though she couldn’t decide which to choose. She was only a year or two younger than he was, small and slight of frame. She might have been ordinary if it wasn’t for her hair. Fiery red, it seemed to glow as it trailed over her narrow shoulders and down her back, ending only an inch or two above her waist. She hadn’t seen him yet, but he would have to pass her to reach the milk. Suddenly he minded the state of his clothing far more than he had a second ago.
Slouching, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, he moved towards her. Only when he was right beside her, did she become aware of him.
“I’m sorry,” she announced in a high clear voice, “am I in your way?” She turned to look up at him, a small smile playing about her lips. Jonas couldn’t believe the light, luminescent colour of her green eyes, creating a dazzling contrast to the deep red of her hair. She was not beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but Jonas thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and reminded him of peaches and cream, which admittedly, he had only ever tasted once, on his tenth birthday. Rowena had sneaked them to him, making him promise not to tell his father. The girl’s smile faltered under his scrutiny, and Jonas waited for the invariable disdain, but her expression didn’t change. Her kind, open gaze didn’t linger on his drab clothing as he had expected, but instead, held his own unabashedly.
“Not at all,” Jonas replied, “I can wait.” The aisle was too narrow for him to pass unless she turned her body and pressed it against the rows of shelves.
“I don’t know what I’m in the mood for,” she announced, turning back to the crisps. She gnawed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide. “Which are your favourite?”
“Salt and vinegar,” he replied instantly. They were the only ones he had ever had.
“Really? They make my tongue hurt.” She deliberated a little longer and Jonas was content simply to watch her. “I think I’ll go with cheese, just to be safe.” She decided suddenly, snatching up a large bag and moving back along the aisle. Jonas followed, feeling ridiculously tongue-tied.
“What do you need?” she called over her shoulder as they emerged on the other end.
“Milk.” He held up a couple of half-gallon bottles as proof.
“Could you pass me two bottles of water?”
“Sure,” handing them back to her, his fingers brushed against hers.
“I’m Monique, by the way,” she smiled, tucking the bottles under her arm and extending her hand. Jonas glanced down at it – the clean, neatly shaped fingernails such a startling contrast to his own – grubby and bitten to the quick. Hastily rubbing his hand on the back of his jeans, he took hers, noticing the smooth softness of her skin, which was warm and friendly.
“Jonas,” he mumbled, embarrassed. His own hands were rough and calloused from the hardships of a life on the road. Monique didn’t seem to notice, though, and she pumped his arm enthusiastically.
Jonas suddenly found he didn’t want to leave this store – he wanted to stay and chat, like any other normal teenager. Inwardly, he seethed once more over the injustice of it all. The fact that he had no friends; that he could not go to school or lead any semblance of a normal life. Outwardly, he smiled back at the captivating girl before him, holding her hand for a little longer than was necessary.
“So, do you go to school around here?” she asked lightly.
“Jonas!” Melchior’s gruff bark came from the front of the store and Jonas cursed the older man’s impatience.
“There you are!” Another voice – feminine and slightly breathless – announced, and Monique turned to grin sheepishly at a woman standing beside Melchior, who could only be her mother. The older woman’s eyes were blue, not green, but they had the same mouth, and there were red undertones in her dark hair.
“Jonas,” Melchior repeated, his patience wearing thin.
“I’ll see you around,” Jonas muttered awkwardly, turning on his heel and making his way to the counter to pay for his purchases.
“Seventeen-thirty,” the cashier intoned hollowly, not even bothering to look up. Jonas handed over the money, his eyes boring into her forehead. Her dismissive attitude irked him, particularly since Monique and her mother had come to stand in line behind him.
“Here’s your change,” the cashier finally met his gaze and Jonas heard the sharp intake of breath. It had happened countless times before, but it irritated him far more than usual, that someone would suddenly find him more interesting because of his face. He knew he was good-looking, in a dark, brooding way, but it was hardly comforting that someone would take an interest in him when not ten minutes before she had turned up her nose at his dishevelled appearance. Monique hadn’t done that, he thought wryly. She had been nice before she had even looked up at him.
“Thanks for shopping with us,” the cashier continued, her tone far friendlier than before. Jonas heard Melchior’s derisive snort. The cashier’s eyes roamed Jonas’ face, an inviting smile playing about her lips. “Please call again,” she added.
“I’m waiting to pay,” Monique snapped irritably, drawing the teller’s attention, and Jonas grinned as he walked away.
When Jonas and Melchior arrived back at camp, Jonas felt relief that the convoy were showing all the signs of an extended stay. Cooking utensils and make-shift wash lines had been erected, and all the vehicles were parked in a circular formation, with the camp in the centre. They were not far from the road, but would not be seen by any rare traffic, hidden as they were by a rocky outcrop of boulders.
“We’ll stay here until we learn more,” Balthazar announced as Jonas took a seat beside him on the hard ground.
“Here?” Jonas questioned, surveying the harsh, dry territory.
“For now.”
“I want to go to school,” Jonas replied bluntly.
“What?” his father’s frown of confusion would have been comical if Jonas hadn't been so deadly serious.
“School,” he repeated. “If we’re going to be around here for a while, I may as well try and get some semblance of an education.” Jonas had attended a couple of schools when he was much younger, but it had got to the point where saying goodbye was too hard, and then, as he got a little older, the merciless teasing from the other kids had put paid to any further attempts. Rowena home-schooled him - she taught the few kids in their community. It was necessary, given their nomadic lifestyle, and most of the women were either teachers or healers. As if drawn by Jonas’s thoughts, Rowena appeared beside them, a small frown creasing her brow.
“It’s not you,” he murmured, worried he might have hurt her feelings. “I just need to get out of here, even if it’s only for a few hours a day.”
“Jonas,” Balthazar sounded disappointed and angry. “We have work to do here.”
“What work? What can I possible do that someone else can’t? You’re watching the roads – you don’t need me for that. Until you find whatever it is you're looking for, we're all in limbo. At least let me do something constructive with my time. I’ll take evening shifts keeping a look-out, if you want me to.”
Balthazar opened his mouth to deny his son’s wishes but Rowena silenced him with a brisk shake of her dark head, tendrils of her cloudy hair whipping free of her braid.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she interrupted and Jonas turned to her gratefully. “And as to your shifts – if I’m not having to prepare your lessons, I’ll have plenty of time to take them. He needs this,” she continued, casting a meaningful look at Balthazar, “and you have no valid reason for denying him.”
Jonas whooped in glee before Balthazar could say another word, getting to his feet and lifting Rowena off the ground in a bear-hug.
“You're the best!” he grinned, and she was struck once again by how like Balthazar he was. His heavy-lidded slo
e-eyes were so dark it was impossible to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began, unless you looked really closely.
“You need a haircut,” she ruffled his dark curls fondly. Rowena had never had children of her own, but being with Jonas since birth she doubted she could love him any more, even if he was her own flesh and blood. She watched him saunter away, relishing his happiness, before she turned to face Balthazar.
“Don’t,” Rowena held up a hand. “If you keep pushing you’re going to lose him, Balthazar. Just like all the others. Times have changed – the younger generation do not fully understand the gravity of the search and no matter how much you wish it, Jonas will never be as committed as you are. The very least we can hope is that he remains with us. I do not want to lose my son because of your stubborn pigheadedness.”
Balthazar mused over her words. He was angry that she had granted Jonas permission against his will, but there was truth in what she said. And it always thrilled him to hear her refer to Jonas as her son. Rowena was as astute as she was sexy, and, knowing the best way to silence her lover, she climbed across his lap, shifting slightly so that they were as close as possible. Distracted, Balthazar knew he would forgive her anything when her soft, warm body pressed against his like this. Oblivious of the others milling around them, he placed his hand over the curve of her breast, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
“I’ll let him go if you marry me,” he murmured coaxingly.
“You’ll let him go because I will make it worth your while,” she replied wickedly, dropping her head and kissing him.
Chapter 13
It took two days for Quinn to make the journey to Cliffdale – an isolated, deserted place, charmed by the Fae so that humans would never venture anywhere near it. As she drove over the crest of a hill, the Cathedral came into view, nestled in the valley below her and Quinn caught her breath. Despite her ambivalent feelings, she could not help but appreciate the breathtaking view. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. Almost a thousand years old, the Cathedral had been built by King Eldon himself to house the Gateway. Taller than any man-made basilica, enchanted so that neither mankind nor vampire could find it, the Cliffdale Cathedral was so magnificent that to simply lay eyes on it was to feel the magic of the Fae. The towering, stone building sparkled in the rays of the sun. The mortar had been mixed with gemstones which carried the magic of its enchantments and protection.
As she descended the hill, the vast, stained-glass window that adorned the front of the building came into view. The riot of colour portrayed a beautiful young girl weeping at the feet of the Pegasus. King Eldon had created the image of his daughter, repentant, at the feet of one of the first mystical creatures that had been lost due to her actions. Whether or not Princess Enah had truly felt remorse or not, no-one but King Eldon himself had known, as his daughter was never seen again by anyone else once her treachery was discovered, until her death. Princess Enah had never recovered after losing Julian and she had remained in man’s realm with her father after the City was created, only to die of a broken heart.
Quinn parked her car among the trees that ran along the eastern side of the Cathedral. She did not want to alert anyone to her arrival. Making her way through the long grass she heard birds singing all around her and butterflies danced amid the blooming flowers. Although man did not come near this place, fauna were attracted to its enchantments and flora blossomed. Climbing the marble steps in her two-day-old jeans and tank top, Quinn suddenly felt ashamed. This place was sacred – the most sacred place on Earth, other than the City of Summerfeld itself. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and pushed open the enormous wooden double door, its ornate carvings familiar – most of the Guardian’s stakes were engraved with the same symbols.
“Hello Quinn,” a soft voice sounded as she entered the atrium and the doors closed behind her. Quinn turned her head to face the tall, thin man. His eyes were liquid amber and his grey hair appeared in stark contrast to the youthfulness of his face. Isaiah had been only eighteen when King Eldon had made him a Guardian, but his hair had greyed prematurely when he was only a boy.
The tallest of all Guardians, Isaiah, like Daniel, was one of the original two. Unlike Daniel, however, Isaiah was a peaceful man and was the the keeper of the Cliffdale Cathedral, protector of the Gateway to Summerfeld. Daniel was a Hunter. He led the search for vampires in the realm of man and had killed more vampires than any other Guardian. Daniel would not be involved in the search for the Pegasus. Hunters did not seek the lost – their sole purpose was to hunt and destroy the enemies of the Summerfeld’s wards. Daniel, along with the other Hunters – Liam, Garrett and Blair would not have travelled to The Sea of Trees forest. That would no doubt have been Quinn’s father, Braddon’s, charge, along with the others – Lucas, Rourke and Tristan. Piper would be scouring the internet ready to feed them any new information. That left Quinn alone with Isaiah.
“Isaiah,” Quinn returned the greeting, inclining her head slightly out of respect.
“There are a lot of people looking for you,” he pointed out enigmatically.
“I know.”
“Fear not, I will not call them back. A Guardian may lose her way from time to time, as you have done, but I believe you will return to the fold when you are ready.”
Quinn had suspected as much - that Isaiah would not give her up to the other Guardians, which was why she had taken the risk. Isaiah was an honourable and compassionate man.
“Isaiah, you know why I am here. I need to find...” Isaiah held up his hand to silence her, the silver wristband he always wore covering his Guardian tattoo.
“Quinn, please do not mistake my intentions. While I sympathise with your plight I do not deny that it is a fool’s errand. The children are safe. They will be taken care of. Your duty is to those who remain in the City – they need you.”
“My niece and nephew need me.”
“Not as much as we do,” he smiled sadly. “There has always been discord amongst the Guardians.” Quinn refrained from mentioning that her father would disagree. “I have seen it, countless times. We are only human, after all, and it is in our nature to argue and be in conflict with one another. King Eldon may have overlooked this when he so rashly gave us the role of the protectors of the Ark.” Only Daniel and Isaiah ever referred to Summerfeld as the Ark – a direct comparison to the Ark of Christianity, which itself was a safe haven – a vessel for the remainders of all known animal species.
“I’m not asking for much, Isaiah. Just a few years... and then I will return.” He shook his head at her words.
“Sadly, young Guardian, I cannot grant them to you. You will not find the children. You should return and save yourself the disappointment of failure.”
“So you will not help me?”
“I cannot help you,” he corrected. “And neither will Piper,” he added, as though reading her thoughts.
It was nothing less than Quinn had expected, but the blow was still hard to bear. This was why she had come – to appeal to the one Guardian she had thought might help her - might be compassionate enough to understand. Isaiah never left the Cathedral and she had hoped that he would allow her to appeal to Piper, but she had been wrong. Raising her head haughtily, she pushed back her brown hair, her tanzanite eyes flashing with frustration and anger.
“Are the children in Summerfeld?”
“No.”
Her father had said the same.
“I will search the City myself, Isaiah. I don’t believe you.”
“By all means,” he ignored her blatant disrespect and stepped aside, sweeping out his arm and inviting her forward. “The City is your home as well as theirs. You will never be denied access, so long as you wear that mark,” he indicated the white S-Shaped tattoo on her wrist which was hidden beneath her wristwatch. “I assume your crystal is safe?” he continued pleasantly.
“Of course,” she conceded, bowing her head respectfully once again and regretting her earlier accusation.<
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The truth be told, she knew Isaiah wasn’t lying. He was noble and honourable, and he would not stoop so low as to lie to her face. The children weren’t in Summerfeld – of that she was certain, but she still needed to check. She had no other plan, and, if she was honest with herself, she wanted to visit the City. Most Guardians spent the majority of their time in Summerfeld. Quinn had not been back for two years and now that she was so close, she suddenly needed to reconnect with that life.
She walked through the atrium and her gaze slid over the council table to the left of the altar. Twelve seats for twelve Guardians; two of which had been empty for two years – hers, and Avery’s. Her seat was empty by choice, but Avery’s... Quinn shook her head, refusing to allow the sadness to consume her. As she slowly climbed the stairs to the high altar, her eyes swept over each column that she passed. On each of them words had been etched in the white marble, passages from the Sacred Book, a reminder to all Guardians of their purpose and the gravity of their task. No more supernatural blood could be spilled, no more death. The vampires hunted constantly, obsessively determined to carry out King Aleksei’s orders. They wanted every supernatural being eradicated and they would not stop. They would never give up the Quest, not in one thousand, five thousand or a hundred thousand years. The only hope that the Guardians had was to fulfil the prophecy. But the balance would never be restored, Quinn thought bitterly. The Guardians were chasing a literal fairytale.
Quinn approached the altar leaving Isaiah behind her. When she reached the top she turned on the spot, taking in the smaller stained-glass windows which bordered the vast apse. Each depicted one of the remaining supernatural beings, another reminder of what the Guardians stood for. Faery, dragon, werewolf, merman, gryphon, troll, giant, dwarf, firebird and unicorn. The ten surviving supernatural species. Technically, the vampires were the eleventh, but they were not to be protected. Behind her, directly opposite the glass portrait of Princess Enah, stood an enormous statue of King Eldon, the original Slayer, strong and powerful, his arm raised; a bloodied sword clutched in his hand. Following the line of the blade, Quinn’s eyes moved upward, to the very apex of the high-domed ceiling. It was so high that she had to squint to make out the detail etched at the top of the monumental pillars.
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