by Krystal Wade
Mark’s breath blew hot against my ear, and I shuddered. He murdered his mom and dad, people who protected me, who sang at my parents’ funeral. “Yes. The book, Derick. You see, you don’t have History of Kalós—which isn’t any book’s actual name—you’ve toted around the Book of Red.”
Mr. and Mrs. Crawford jolted at this, but kept their gazes on the advancing Boredas, Ruckus, and Carl.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping no one else was paying attention to Derick slipping into the shadows behind the tall grasses. “The Book of Red?”
“It’s what the Guardians stole from the Destroyers during the last Originals battle, like when our grandparents weren’t even a thought yet. It’s their connection to the Taker; he writes it.”
“What?” Mr. Crawford stalked our way, jumping over the lounge chair, his gaze lingering on the book in my hand. “That book told me to communicate the location of Guardians I worked for to your parents. You mean to tell me”—he wiped his palm over his face, then clutched a dagger at his chest—“that’s it. Your parents were traitors, along with you.”
Tension rippled through Mark’s arms, making the muscles look ten times larger than I knew them to be. Salty water slickened his skin, and his hold on me loosened a little as he took another step away. “My parents weren’t traitors. They were stupid, like you and your wife, and trusted in technology. You played an online game to trade confidential info. How stupid could you be?”
“Seriously? You’re telling me that game wasn’t protected by some sort of magic?” I almost laughed but remembered a psychopath had his arms around me and seemed to get angrier with every passing second, a psychopath I grew up with, played on the swings with. I shuddered, my brain struggling to align the two versions of Mark. “Everything has security.”
“Security is meant to be cracked.” He took one arm off me, gripping tighter with his left, and pointed at Ruckus. “The Fávlosi you see there, he’s befriended a very intelligent human. Do you know what that human’s job is?”
I swallowed hard, heart pounding against Mark’s arm wrapped around my chest.
“Figured it out, huh? Ruckus’ very good friend… well, he’s an official government hacker.”
Mr. Crawford spun on his heel and launched his dagger at Ruckus. He ducked just as the metal flew past him and impaled Carl Banaan with a sickening thud.
Carl glanced at the dagger, eyes wide, and fell to his knees. Blood trickled down his white dress shirt.
“Dad!” Will ran for him, then pulled the blade from his dad’s chest and pressed his hands against the wound. He shook his head back and forth, over and over, and mumbled “No, no, no.” Face pale, eyes wide. “No, no, no. Megan, call 9-1-1.”
“No use, kid. The good guys killed Daddy dearest.” Ruckus laughed and charged Mr. Crawford just as his wife did the same, pulling a knife from a holster strapped to her waist and aiming it at the spirit.
She swiped Ruckus’ shoulder, and he spun away.
Mr. Crawford attacked from the left and punched Ruckus then pulled another blade, a tactical knife, and slashed the air, tearing a hole in his shirt—
Boredas looked our direction and nodded at Mark.
“Desired effect achieved.” He laughed again. “That’s our cue.”
If my heart raced any faster, I’d die of a heart attack before ever landing a blow to any of Mark’s sensitive spots. “You’re going to kill me now?”
The bushes rustled, and Derick barreled down the dune, gaze fixed on Mark.
“Great,” Mark said. “Not what we need right now.”
I took this distraction to stomp on his toe. He dropped his hold on me, then I turned around and kicked him in the groin. He fell to his knees, and Derick pushed me out of the way, toward the tall mound of sand.
“Run!”
Mark held up a hand. “Wait!”
I didn’t move. I wanted to run, but then I’d have to leave Derick and his parents and Will and Megan. No, idiots run. Dad had taught me to fight, to never abandon soldiers—okay, that’s what they taught him in the Marine Corps, but those rules applied to everything. Instead of deserting my only family, I grabbed a piece of driftwood and tossed it to Derick. “I’d hit him myself, but I have to protect this book.”
The spirits needed a connection to their leader, to be stronger, deadlier. They’d have to pry it from my fingers, after rigor mortis set in.
“That could be arranged, you know.” Boredas tapped my shoulder, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Your boyfriend’s father isn’t doing so well, neither is his mother. Give me the book and I’ll let you live.”
“You killed my mom and dad. Why would I give you anything?”
Boredas shook his head, pain revealing itself in his downturned eyes. “That wasn’t me. Their murder is on the hands of my brother. Give me the book, and you’re more than welcome to seek your revenge. I’ll let you go.”
“No, Boredas!” Ruckus kicked Mr. Crawford in the gut then elbowed his back, knocking him face first to the sand.
Mrs. Crawford pulled a stake from a leg holster and drove it into Ruckus’ thigh. He paled but kept moving forward, kept fighting to get near us—superhuman. She ran at him again and sunk a blade into his back.
“Son of a bitch, woman, just go down already.” He shoved her to the side and took a step forward, only for Mr. Crawford to grab his ankles and trip him. Ruckus landed on the stake and wheezed.
Derick’s parents jumped up and stood over Ruckus, weapons raised above their heads, each with a boot on his back. Several strands of hair fell out of the French braid and around Mrs. Crawford’s face, and she heaved to catch her breath. Mr. Crawford had a long gash under his left eye but otherwise appeared unharmed.
“No way will I ever go down to the likes of you.” Mrs. Crawford put her boot on the back of his head and forced his face down.
He let out a muffled scream and tossed his weight side to side until she allowed him air. “Let me die, but you cannot let Abigail live.”
“Oh, relax, brother.” Boredas smiled at Ruckus as he spit out a mouthful of sand. “She’s the last of the Guardians. If we kill her, then she’ll never know what it’s like to be trapped. Kalós isn’t her home; this is. Just think of what her life will be like when they never allow her to leave.”
“Give him the book, Abby.”
Derick swung at Mark, clocking him cold in the jaw. “Don’t speak to her. Ever.”
Mark laughed, rubbing the splotchy red mark left on his skin. “There used to be a time that would hurt. Not anymore. I’m stronger now.”
“I’d love to keep trying.”
“They really do love you, Abigail Doran, as everyone who’s known you has.” Boredas stared at Mark and Derick for a moment. “I definitely shared my blood with the wrong boy, though, because it’s quite obvious who you love and listen to. For my plan to work, a plan where your life remained intact, I needed someone close to you and me.”
Ruckus arched his eyebrows. “Brother?”
“See you on the other side.” Mr. Crawford drove a knife straight through Ruckus’ shoulder blades, directly into his heart.
His head fell, and a bright white orb rose from his mouth, surrounded by red swirling smoke. The orb traveled farther into the air until it was out of sight.
Mr. Crawford turned his attention to Boredas. “Now, your turn.”
Sirens blared in the distance.
“I’m on your side, Adam.” Boredas held up his hands, surrendering, then glanced sideways at me. “I tried telling you before.”
“You did?”
The Crawfords inched closer to him, weapons drawn.
“’I’m tired of fighting for evil’—don’t you remember? I had many opportunities to kill you, but I didn’t act upon them. Nor would I. If she died while the doors were closed, none of us would ever see our homes again.”
“What?” I asked.
“Who else would be around to open them?” Boredas huffed. “Not like they’d
magically do it on their own.”
“How do you know of this?” Mrs. Crawford yanked her stake from Ruckus’ thigh, replaced it in the holster on her leg, then stepped toward Boredas.
He smiled and shrugged. “I have my ways.”
“So all of this was for nothing? Hiding, running, losing my mom and dad?”
“I would not say ‘for nothing’. You see, my brother and I knew your boyfriends were coming and let them rescue you. And I scared you in that restaurant on purpose, so these people would tell you the truth. All I wanted was for you to have the book, to separate you from your protectors so you could wake up, then take what belongs to me back to its rightful place. I wanted to return our lives to normal—all our lives.”
Our ideas of normal were far from each other, but oh how I wanted back everything he took away.
“How did you know we had your book?” Mr. Crawford asked.
“Call it a hunch based on all your self-destruction.”
Car doors slammed, and the sounds of hurried voices over two-way radios and jingling of keys filled the night.
“You have two seconds to trust me before an army of my kind arrive.” Boredas tipped his head toward the house. “Will’s girlfriend called death to this place when she dialed 9-1-1.”
“Trust him, Abby.” Mark stumbled to his feet, but Derick knocked him right back down. “Please. I was supposed to get the book away from you then get you away.”
“And you couldn’t even get that right.” Boredas spit. “I told you to keep your emotions controlled, but you’re no better than my brother. You’re far darker than any Kalóan I’ve encountered.”
Megan screamed, raising all the hairs on the back of my neck. A paramedic squeezed his hands around her throat, effectively ending her cry for help and warbling it into something sickening, a sound that didn’t belong to my friend. Will ran from his dad’s side, then shoved the possessed man away, only to have a second paramedic, a woman, yank his arm so hard he fell backward.
“Too late,” Boredas said, turning and heading down the beach. “They’ll want the book and your life. I only wanted the book. I’ll have no direct part in murdering for it, though.”
Mr. and Mrs. Crawford advanced on the crowd of EMTs and officers, but I didn’t follow. Not yet. There was something I had to know first.
“Wait!” I jogged after Boredas, Derick right behind me. “If I opened the planes, why are only spirits here? Where are the good guys?”
Boredas shrugged. “Best guess?”
“Any guess is good at this point.” Derick clenched his fists, his body rigid, ready to lunge if Boredas said the wrong thing, sparing only one glance at the fight in the background.
“You only opened one door.” And with that, he glanced at the fight going on behind us, cringed, then sprinted away.
erick and I stared after Boredas for a moment. How could we ever compete with Fávlosi when they seemed aware of every step we took before we took it?
“Were there two doors?” Derick stood motionless, his shoulders squared, still focusing on something in the distance.
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the thumps and thuds of people punching each other so I could picture the doors. “I just remember the one. It was beautiful, all warm breezes, covered in ivy and surrounded by birds and trees and flowers.”
“You didn’t notice a war-ravaged wall, did you?”
“Nope. Just a pretty one.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“I didn’t say it was.” I jabbed his side. “Why do you ask?”
“Because in the game, a dragon asked me to tell him which door I liked better, and I picked one that looked more like death hit it—to which he said good choice. I’m thinking things aren’t exactly as they appeared. Can you go back?”
“I can try, but the book had to help me get there in the first place.” I stared at the cover, the title now replaced with Book of Red in long, scrawling print, as if someone wanted it to look creepy. “You know, it told me I was going to regret opening the planes. I think it knew I’d decided to do everything opposite of what it said.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Seems like we’re always being tricked, like the whole world’s been Romanced—or something.” Derick pointed at the dunes. “Sit in there and work on the plane doors. I have to help my parents.”
“I’ll go with her.” Mark hooked his arm through mine and pulled me away.
“Not a chance, moron.”
“You stabbed your parents!” I yanked my arm free and edged closer to Derick, but he pushed me toward the dune. I stood my ground, not willing to move while they squared off.
“Not on purpose.” Mark held his arms out to the side, palms facing forward, not nearly as upset about becoming a murderer as he should have been. “I’ve made so many mistakes, things I’d love to take back, but how? How do I change? I didn’t do this to myself. I didn’t ask for this. I need help!”
Derick glared at Mark. “You’re not walking away with her, and if you want to walk away with your life, you better keep your distance.”
“Come on. You’re alive because Boredas wanted you to be, because he came to me and asked for help.”
Derick inched closer to Mark. “Tell me something. Did it feel good?”
Mark growled, all tense muscles and clenched fists.
Only a few inches separated them, and a ton of testosterone, but Derick looked at me when he spoke, “If Mark really wants to help, he’ll fight with me. If he doesn’t, he’ll leave. Go now, Abby.”
“Fine.” I climbed up the dune, occasionally slipping in the cold sand, then finally made it to the top. I sat between two tall grass plants and opened the Book of Red. “I know who you are now.”
Finally.
“I opened the planes, but the Kalóans aren’t here.”
Do you have a question?
Jerk. “Why didn’t they come when I opened the door?”
Maybe they don’t want to be here. Maybe Aedan prefers watching the last Guardian die, so he doesn’t have to kill you.
“Maybe, but maybe that’s all a lie.” Like the whole world has been Romanced, like we’ve all been played. What did Mark say? That the Crawfords and my real dad brought death to all the Guardians. The book connected all of us. We’d all touched it, read it, learned from it. “Who told Brendan that Aedan was going to kill all the Guardians?”
Disrespectful of you to call the man who gave you life by his first name. This world has been bad for you.
“Okay, then, who told my dad Aedan was going to kill all the Guardians?”
Better. I did.
“Who told Mr. Crawford my dad wanted me to live a normal life?”
Your father.
“Who inspired him?”
I did. I’m impressed with how well you catch on. You’re much brighter than all the rest who’ve read these pages.
Gee thanks. “What’s the Order of the Guardian’s Secret, the thing that was so important we had to be kept away from it?”
So after all the other lies, you still believe there is a secret?
“Yes.” Though I doubted the hidden truth was as dangerous as the Taker made it seem when I’d read about it the other day.
Intelligent, indeed. But the real question should be ‘What is the Order of the Guardian’.
“Are you going to make me ask again?”
No. During the last Originals battle, your precious Guardians slaughtered my Destroyers and stole the Book of Red from them. They even put it in the same saddlebag as the Book of White. When they returned home with their treasure, ready to celebrate in the streets, they discovered both books appeared with the same title. They knew not which was which and were too ashamed to tell the people they lost their connection to the Maker. So the four men instated a pact, swearing never to reveal how lost they truly were, and to pass that information on to their children. But those four men met an untimely death upon their next visit to this plane, leaving the knowle
dge of the Order to turn to ash. The books weren’t discovered again until your father roamed the halls of the great library, during his Guardian studies. There, he found History of Kalós, and the very first thing I told him to do was keep the book to himself, to never share the knowledge of my existence until I said the time was right. He was young and so very, very foolish.
I wanted to tear the pages to shreds, make the Taker bleed paper dust, rip apart his harmful words, his poisonous ways, but I had one more question first. Then I’d burn the thing. That way he couldn’t help or hurt anyone ever again. “How many doors are there?”
Two, but I won’t help you open the other one. And you’re already too late. Look around you, Abigail Doran. The world is burning.
“What are you talking about?” I glanced out at the horizon, but didn’t see much of anything. But looking behind me, I nearly choked.
Fire.
Everywhere.
Will’s house and everything around it burned. Bright orange flames lapped the sides of the house and ripped through the once beautiful and calming palm trees, sending a steady stream of smoke billowing into the sky.
A sudden gust of wind picked up the sand and whipped it against my skin. I looked up and spotted two SWAT helicopters. Their doors opened, and two men hung out of the sides, armed with machine guns. A bright white light shined down on me. “Hold it right there.”
I shielded my eyes with my hand and tried to find the person speaking. I couldn’t see anything. Sirens blared in the distance, but the sound of the propellers nearly drowned them out.
“Put your hands in the air, and wait for an officer to approach you.”
I slowly raised my hands and put them on my head. Then I looked down at the book, the spine open and the thin pages flipping all around in the wind. I scooted my toes toward it and held the paper still.
They aren’t just here on this tropical paradise, Abigail Doran. Every city, every small or vast stretch of land, every corner, every crevice of this earth is burning—at least on this plane. Enjoy my show.
“Derick!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, afraid to move. The humans were possessed; they could shoot me before I ever made it down the dune to the others. We’d been tricked. My dad. The Crawfords. The Snellings. All of us. Aedan and everyone on Kalós probably thought we were stupid, disconnecting ourselves from reality and living in a scam created by a brilliant artist.