Guardians (Seers Trilogy Book 3)

by Heather Frost

We were in the warehouse, standing on the main floor. It was a bright Saturday morning and the sunlight filtered through the boarded-up windows. I was feeling more than a little self-conscious, being the center of attention. All the mental notes I’d made over the past couple days seemed to fade now that it was time to speak. I’d never taught anyone how to do anything like this before, and I felt like I was a young kid again, pretending to be a schoolteacher for one of Jenna and Josie’s games.

  Alex was standing next to Ashley, who was standing next to Dr. Radcliffe, who was turned slightly away from Hanif Shenouda. Hanif had been the last Seer to arrive, coming in late last night. Even with the help of his Guardian Hanif had nearly gotten lost twice on his way from Egypt. It was his first time in America, but his English was good, possibly because his mother was British. He was lanky and his skin was deeply tanned. He was twenty years old and extremely cheerful and polite. He had a skinny face and an easy smile, but his Guardian—a worn-out woman named Hanna—warned us to keep a close eye on him. “He’s not as innocent as he looks,” she’d uttered. “His bad luck has caused his village to blame him for the latest drought.”

  “You’re not staying, then?” Jack had asked quickly.

  She shook her head. “As much as I’d love to, I need to get back to my other Seers. There aren’t as many Guardians there as you’ll see in America.”

  I could now see what she’d meant. Hanif had already started the warehouse on fire cooking some eggs this morning. Claire looked especially harried with him.

  Standing behind the Special Seers were the Guardians not currently watching over my family: Patrick, Toni, and Claire. Everyone was watching me closely, but Patrick’s gaze seemed especially heavy.

  I cleared my throat and continued. “The farther back in the past you go, the easier it is to recover.”

  “What do you mean, recover?” Ashley asked, speaking directly to me for perhaps the first time.

  “After you get back to the present, you’ll be really tired. The more time you spend away, the longer you’ll be wiped out. In my experience, passing out can be a side effect, and I was asleep for a few hours.”

  “How far back have you gone?” Alex asked curiously.

  “The late 1700s. I spent over a half hour there.”

  “And did it take you long to recover?” Dr. Radcliffe asked, still scrawling in his notebook.

  “A few hours.”

  Hanif whistled lowly. “That’s it? Amazing. I’ve always dreamed of seeing the construction of the pyramids. All I have to do is find a Guardian who’s old enough, and—”

  Dr. Radcliffe interrupted him easily. “I’m afraid our own personal ambitions will have to wait for another time. Our mission will be taking place in the 1970s. That’s one of the reasons you were each specifically approached—you’re all young enough to be safe there, since we cannot travel into our own lifetimes without risking death.”

  Hanif’s face fell with disappointment.

  Alex looked confused. “May I ask why the 1970s, sir?”

  Dr. Radcliffe flashed me an apologetic look before stepping forward to stand at my side. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to give you a quick briefing. I was contacted by the Guardian Council about a week ago and given a file of all the information they’d managed to gather about the Demon Lord. I was asked to help assess any possible weaknesses he might have, primarily in his past. I was, of course, extremely shocked when I realized that the Demon Lord and I were both in Chicago in the same year—the same night, in fact.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise at that, an action I could see repeated throughout the room. A memory the Demon Lord had told me himself stirred. Chicago, a Christmas Eve, back in the 1970s . . .

  Dr. Radcliffe was still speaking. “But before I get ahead of myself, I should probably tell you that the Demon Lord is not a Demon. He’s not even immortal.”

  “But he’s been influencing evil for two hundred years or more!” Ashley protested.

  Alex had figured it out. “He’s a Seer,” he stated. “A Special one, like us. Isn’t he, sir?”

  “Exactly right, Mr. Perry.” The professor grinned at his quickness. “He is a Special Seer. He was the lead expert on time traveling, back when he worked for the Guardians. A long story cut short, he made alliances with Demons and now aspires to unite them all against Guardians and humans. Obviously, we can’t let that happen.

  “The council of Guardians asked me to help plan this attack against him, which will be taking place in the past, using my memory. I’ve done some extensive research and been aided by the Demon Lord’s own written account of his early life, which he documented when he was with the Guardians. His brush with death occurred on Christmas Eve, 1971, when he was seven years old. That was the night his mother and sister were murdered by his mother’s boyfriend, and the Demon Lord was also shot.”

  “So we’re going back there to stop him from almost dying?” Ashley guessed. “We’re going to save his life so he won’t become a Seer?”

  Dr. Radcliffe shook his head. “No. That won’t be good enough. The Demon Lord might not be able to journey back to his past, if we caused him to lose his Seer abilities, but there’s no telling what evil he still may have grown to do—or what if he nearly suffered death again later, and our mission accomplished nothing?”

  “So what are we doing, then?” Hanif asked.

  Alex answered before Dr. Radcliffe could. “This is an assassination.”

  “Indeed,” the professor confirmed thinly, breaking the abrupt silence. “A horrible thing to resort to, but so many lives are in danger . . . His life is a necessary sacrifice.”

  Ashley spoke hesitantly. “Won’t his death affect the past? So many events wouldn’t have happened. It would untangle so many things. I thought that’s why we couldn’t ask Guardians in the past to help us out—it’s why we’ll be on our own.”

  My own thoughts were spiraling. If the Demon Lord didn’t exist, then . . . would my grandpa somehow still be alive? Would Vegas have ever happened? And Sean . . . Sean had become a Demon, independent of the Demon Lord as far as I knew, but maybe he wouldn’t be quite as evil—maybe he wouldn’t be Far Darrig.

  Could killing the Demon Lord in the past really solve all of these problems? It was too much to imagine. Not to mention a bit disturbing. Despite the necessity, despite the possibility of it solving all our problems, murder seemed extreme.

  Dr. Radcliffe was still speaking. “I’ve thought this through, Miss Grey. Long and hard. And it’s worth the possible risks. The Demon Lord must be stopped.”

  I swallowed hard, grateful I wouldn’t have to worry about the actual assassination part. But I would want to ask Patrick about his ideas on the consequences of what the Seers and Guardians were going to bring about. The Demon Lord hadn’t killed my grandpa, hadn’t fully corrupted Sean—but if he was out of the picture, would those things change? I barely dared to hope.

  Dr. Radcliffe waited for the next question, but when one wasn’t forthcoming he spoke again. “I’ll give you more specific details later. First, we need to learn how to travel and return to our own time. Then we can worry about the actual mission.” He stepped back into the ranks, his pen poised and ready above the page, returning the spotlight to me.

  I pulled in a short breath. “It’s really quite easy. You shouldn’t be nervous.” I nodded toward Patrick. “I’ve asked my Guardian to supply a memory for us to practice with. We’ll be traveling back to Ireland, to the year 1797. Patrick?” I held out a hand, gesturing for him to come stand beside me. He shouldered smoothly through the small knot of people, his eyes on mine. He stopped in front of me, and if our every move wasn’t being closely monitored he might have said something. In the end, he just turned to look back at the group.

  I continued hastily, disliking the fact that my words were almost exact copies of the instructions the Demon Lord had once given to me. “When the aura is revealed, Patrick will focus on the specific memory, isolating a single dominant e
motion. All you do is look into that prominent emotion. Try to channel it into yourself. You’ll be drawn to where you need to go. Getting back is even simpler. The longer you’re away from your time, the more obvious the pull to come back will be. It will guide you back with little concentration to the exact second you left in. To those you leave behind, the whole thing is instantaneous.”

  “Incredible!” Dr. Radcliffe muttered to himself, still writing madly.

  I looked to Patrick and he gave me a small nod, indicating he was ready. His silver aura was no longer alone; colors floated in a cloud around him, too many to take in at once. I’d seen his aura before, but it still took my breath away. Maybe all Guardians had complicated auras, due to the long lives they lived. But the wealth and depth of Patrick’s emotions was incredible to observe.

  While he worked to expand the single emotion that would lead us to the right moment in his past, I turned back to the Seers. “We’ll go at the same time, but I’ll hold back until I know you’ve all made it. So if you’re ready . . .”

  Alex Perry stepped forward immediately, coming to stand in front of Patrick. Ashley was right behind him. Hanif paused to elbow Dr. Radcliffe, who was still scribbling in his notes.

  “Oh! Yes, of course!” He stumbled, closing his notebook with the pen still inside.

  In seconds we were all gathered around Patrick, who had his eyes closed as he concentrated on the distant memory. We all watched as a blue ribbon of color widened and grew around Patrick, until it was obviously the right one. Flecks of yellow marked the integrated happiness of the moment, and I could feel my heart beginning to pound in excitement. My eyes narrowed, trying to see it better . . .

  From the corner of my eye I saw Seers begin to drop. First Ashley, then Alex, then Dr. Radcliffe. Hanif’s body went suddenly limp beside me, and so I allowed my own body to begin to lighten. It was amazing—so different from last time. I was in control, because I knew what to expect now. It was an exhilarating sensation.

  Just before I felt like I was going to fade at last, I felt Patrick’s fingers wrap around mine, something thin and stiff pressing between our palms. “Please give this to him,” he whispered urgently.

  And then he was gone.

  Twelve

  May 21, 1797

  Kate Bennett

  Wexford County, Ireland

  I was first aware of the gentle wind billowing against my face, tugging at my hair. I was standing on the top of a rolling knoll, the long green grass almost familiar. Dim sunlight was filtered through the largely overcast sky. The sounds of bleating sheep punctuated the otherwise tranquil surroundings.

  Finding the church was easy. It was resting in a lush pasture area, in a beautiful valley that dipped just lower than the surrounding hills. The white walls of the building were stark against all the green. A beautiful home was a short distance away from the church, and I knew I was looking at the house Patrick had been raised in.

  I could hardly imagine growing up in such a peaceful place.

  “By Jove, it really worked!” Dr. Radcliffe exhaled beside me.

  The others were in similar states of awe. Hanif looked almost frightened by all the long weeds that were wrapping around his legs with the breeze. I lived in a desert too, so I could relate a bit.

  Alex was standing with his feet spread apart, scanning the area with a soldier’s grace. “If this was O’Donnell’s memory, where is he?”

  “From my past experience, he should be nearby,” I said.

  “So we’re deposited on the edge of a memory. How fascinating!” The professor cracked open his notebook and made a notation.

  Ashley was tapping the screen of her phone. “It doesn’t work,” she said.

  Hanif nodded. “No cell towers, of course.”

  Alex glanced at his huge wristwatch. “The clock stopped. The whole display is blank.”

  “How extraordinary!” Dr. Radcliffe muttered. “It must be some kind of built-in defense that the space-time continuum possesses to keep things from unwinding completely. Oh well, it would have been too much to hope for. Imagine being able to come back and record the highlights of history! Of course, technology is a small thing to sacrifice for the chance to come back and witness all these splendid things. I say, I never dreamed I’d be traveling to past centuries. Just think of the books I could write! I may turn from the science world over to the historic branches. Only I’d be tempted to brag almost constantly, so that wouldn’t do any good.”

  We’d all tuned him out at this point. We spread out instinctively, each of us wanting the opportunity to revel in this experience privately.

  I looked toward the church, wondering if that’s where I would once again find Patrick’s father, Pastor O’Donnell. I could hardly wait to see him again. I was fingering the folded piece of paper Patrick had handed me at the last minute. I was intensely curious to read what he’d written, but I decided against peeking. If he’d wanted me to see the words, he would have given it to me sooner. I could study the paper, though.

  It was a regular sheet of lined paper, torn from a notebook. He’d folded it in half several times, and I could see a few lines and curves where he’d pressed too hard and indented the page. It wasn’t enough to decipher into a clear message, but it revealed that he’d found more to say than he’d first let on.

  I glanced up from the folded paper just in time to see a figure darting for the church from the direction of a wooden fence that lined the yard between the house and the church. He was running along the worn dirt path as if he’d done it a thousand times. I knew it was Patrick, even without seeing the black sketchbook tucked firmly under one arm.

  The wind shifted and the distant sound of singing washed ethereally over the hill. I fought a grin. He was late to church? It seemed so . . . unlike Patrick. He’d been working on a drawing, no doubt. Sean would probably tease him for his tardiness, and though I’d never met his mother I imagined she might scold him lightly before asking to see his sketch.

  He’d almost reached the one-room church. He was slowing down as he made it to the steps to avoid pounding them and making even more of a scene. He pulled the door open, peeked his head inside, then slipped in.

  “Was that Patrick?” Hanif asked, following my gaze.

  I just nodded, carefully curling my fingers around the slip of paper I held. I didn’t want the others to see the note. It seemed too personal to share.

  Ashley spoke suddenly from behind us. “This place is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Alex turned to Dr. Radcliffe, who was hardly taking the time to admire the sights around him because he was so busy documenting it. But Alex was a soldier, concentrating on the ultimate mission. “Sir, the night the Demon Lord got his Sight—won’t that be a heavily guarded night in his past? The Demon Lord obviously knows he is vulnerable then, and he may have taken precautions. He may have asked Demons and Seers to keep a lookout.”

  Dr. Radcliffe was nodding. “It’s a risk we must be willing to take. In my research I’ve found that his mother—a single woman—moved around a lot. Most of the time there’s no record she had a place of her own. She lived with boyfriends, neighbors . . . The truth is, we wouldn’t know where to find the Demon Lord before he got his Sight, except on the day the police showed up to arrest the boyfriend. After being released the Demon Lord was in orphanages for years. It would be almost impossible to find him until he was with the Guardians, and by then he would be less vulnerable.”

  Alex shook his head. “They’d still be in the same apartment a couple days before the shootings, right? I’d feel better if we could take them off guard.”

  “It’s possible that wasn’t their first day there, yes. But the moving boxes were still scattered all over the place, and the Demon Lord couldn’t even tell the police the address. He just had to give them landmarks. According to his report, he and his family had moved in with the boyfriend only a couple days ago. Besides, the night of the shooting will be the best night to
end all of this.”

  Ashley sighed. “So we’re going to have to fight off who knows how many people, plus assassinate the most dangerous enemy the Guardians have ever had? With only four of us?”

  “Four? No no, my dear girl—only three.”

  “What?” Hanif asked, glancing around and recounting each of us.

  Radcliffe blinked. “Didn’t you realize? I’m supplying the memory. I will be unable to assist you.”

  “What about her?” Ashley asked, pointing to me. “I meant her.”

  Alex shifted closer to me. “Kate’s not going. She doesn’t have to. I can lead this mission, and I can get us all out safely.”

  “Seriously? You, me, and Hanif?”

  Dr. Radcliffe laid a hand on her arm. “You’re the only ones young enough and willing to volunteer. Your gifts are rarer than you realize.”

  She didn’t shake his hand off, like I thought she might. But she was eyeing me with a look caught between disgust and envy. Unable to meet her stare, I opened my mouth to address everyone. “If that’s all the time you need, we should be getting back. You don’t want to be unconscious for too long.”

  I explained again how to feel the tug in their stomachs, instructed them to close their eyes for concentration’s sake, and then I watched as each one successfully vanished back to the present. When I was the last one standing on the hill I turned and made my way down to the church.

  I wasn’t dressed for a Sunday service, but I wasn’t planning on going inside—yet. The walk was long and leisurely, like stretching a tired body against a firm bed after a hard day. I angled toward the back of the church, where I could hopefully wait in safety for the church to empty. There was a small, peaceful cemetery on the side of the church, and around back was a gigantic tree. I leaned up against the rough bark and listened to the muffled end of the sermon.

  Pastor O’Donnell’s voice was soothing but powerful. I couldn’t quite get the gist of the lesson, because I couldn’t pick out many clear words. But just the sound of his confident tone made me feel warm and energized. The congregation concluded by singing a hymn of praise.