Guardians (Seers Trilogy Book 3)

by Heather Frost

  Your brother.

  No. My enemy. The one who had forced this fate upon me. The one I should have been able to look up to, depend on.

  The one who should have saved me.

  “We’ll go on foot,” I said unnecessarily as he twisted the key out of the ignition.

  Yuri nodded, pocketing the keys. “You have a gun?”

  I reached into the glove box, knowing I’d find one there. There was also a vial of the virus, the one designed to kill the unkillable Guardians. The Demon Lord believed in keeping his Demons prepared. And if his plans succeeded, every ally he had—every Demon on the planet—would soon have a vial of the miracle substance. The susceptible Guardians would be killed in the first wave, and the others would never be able to keep the Demon population under control. We outnumbered them far too greatly already. We would have complete dominion. Maybe then I would finally find a measure of peace.

  Yuri was examining his gun, which he’d pulled from a holster under his arm. The action brought me back into the present.

  I left the virus in the glove box, grabbing the sidearm instead. I checked to be sure the gun was loaded and then pushed the door open and stood outside, shoving the gun into the waistband against my back. Yuri exited after me, straightening his jacket after he’d quietly closed his door. I knew he was more heavily armed than I was. It was his style.

  I stepped up to the front of the car, surveying the farm yard. It was quiet. The yellow house was relatively small, but the large barn to the side of the house dwarfed everything in sight. I shot a look to Yuri from across the hood. “I’ll go around back. You take the front.”

  Yuri nodded.

  I didn’t wait for a wish of good luck. Such meaningless things had departed me years ago. And if half the stories I’d heard about Yuri were true, this particular Demon didn’t need luck on his side.

  I heard Yuri moving behind me, stalking toward the house. I angled for the side of the small home, pushing through a short white gate and treading silently over flat stepping-stones. I followed the meandering path through the side yard and around to the back. I paused at the corner, taking in the scene with a practiced eye.

  There was a spacious lawn with weed-speckled grass. There were a few trees, but it was the two giant swings set in the center of the yard that drew my gaze. One small girl with long hair in pigtails was kicking off the ground, trying to pick up speed. She pumped her legs but wasn’t swinging to full potential. She was wearing blue shorts, flip-flops, and a white T-shirt with a large blue flower on the front. She couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve years old.

  I forced my eyes away, finding the second girl standing near the back porch, lifting her knee to bounce a soccer ball. She repeated the action, evidently bored.

  I was almost startled by the sound of her unexpectedly loud voice. “I want to go see the horses.”

  “Grandma said not until she gets back,” the one on the swing countered, still trying to kick her way higher.

  The one with the ball snorted. “Jack’s around here somewhere. And what about the farmhands? They could watch us. Let’s go find someone.”

  “I want to go higher first.”

  There was no point in delaying, now that I’d found them. I stepped around the corner of the house, focused on the girl with the ball because she was closer.

  The girl on the swing caught sight of me first. But instead of the fear I expected—anticipated—her face flashed with excitement. “Hey!” she called. “Can you give me a push? Please?”

  I blinked in response, completely taken by surprise. I stared at her blankly, fists loose at my sides. Did she think I was a farmhand? Couldn’t she feel the danger? Normally my prey would be screaming by the time they came face-to-face with me.

  But she was grinning at me, waiting patiently for me to come give her a push. She wasn’t bothering to kick anymore, confident I was going to come over and help her.

  The girl with the soccer ball was moving toward me, and I almost flinched back when she stuck out her hand, silently asking for mine. Even if I’d been able to touch her first, I don’t think I would have been able to make myself reach for her.

  “Come on—I want a push too,” she said. She was dressed similarly, but unlike her sister she was not wearing a shirt with a flower. Her T-shirt was black, the name of a band written in shades of gray and white across the chest. Her hair was shorter too, and unbound. Her nose was slightly crooked.

  When I didn’t take her hanging hand right away she cocked her head at me, fingers curling. “Or were you on your way to feed the horses? Because that would be better than swinging. Can I help you?”

  “Wait! I want to swing!” Pigtails protested.

  The soccer ball was held in the crook of the girl’s arm; her free hand grabbed my wrist.

  I barely resisted the urge to jerk back. I hadn’t been touched—aside from contact made through fighting or killing—for a long, long time. It wasn’t exactly a welcome sensation, but the fact that a child had reached out for me gave me pause. That hadn’t happened since . . . before my death, easily.

  Her fingers were small, fragile. I could break them in a split second. A simple grab and twist, and each bone in her hand would crack. She would be so absorbed in her pain I could reach her sister without fear of her running away. I could have my hands around the other girl’s neck before she could fully scream, and she would be nearly suffocated before her sister recovered enough to stand. If I didn’t give Pigtails a near enough brush with death to open up her Sight, Selena could make her a Seer later. She was good at that sort of thing. And after Pigtails passed out in my grip, I could turn around and finish off the other twin. O’Donnell might come to their rescue by then, but Yuri would be able to stop the Guardian from interfering. Mission completed.

  I felt her thin fingers flex around my thick wrist, trying to better their hold.

  I should grind the bones in her hand. I should get on with it.

  No.

  Why not?

  I couldn’t think of a single reason.

  So why didn’t I act?

  “All right,” the small girl said, rolling her eyes beside me and breaking into my stilted thoughts, unaware of the illogical debate happening inside of me. “We can feed the horses later. My sister’s an impatient freak.”

  “You’re the impatient one!” Pigtails shouted.

  Before I fully realized what was happening, I was being pulled toward the swing set, down the increasingly sloped lawn. The gun was pressing up against the small of my back and my free fingers itched to grab it. Anything to defend myself from these strange feelings, this bizarre hesitation.

  “I’m Josie,” the one clutching my arm said suddenly. “And that’s Jenna, my sister.”

  “We’re twins,” Jenna confided. “But only in looks. I’m more talented.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Josie scoffed, tossing back her head. “I’m so much cooler.”

  She released my wrist as suddenly as she’d grabbed it and my hand hung in midair before I remembered to force it back to my side.

  Jenna was almost completely motionless now, waiting for me to move behind her. I did so cautiously, but I couldn’t push her—she hadn’t touched me, so I couldn’t touch her.

  “Come on!” Pigtails urged eagerly, glancing over her shoulder at me. “What are you waiting for?”

  The gun was still against my back. It would be so easy to pull it out, to wipe the excitement from her face . . .

  She moved quickly—twisting on the swing and grabbing my fingers before I could react. I winced at her touch, but she didn’t seem to notice. She tugged, and some knuckles popped.

  “Give me a good push!” she demanded.

  I swallowed hard and jerked my hand from her grip. She didn’t seem to find my fast motions ominous, but instead she turned back around, eagerly awaiting my next move.

  I ordered myself to reach for the gun, or at least snag her thin arm and pull her off the swing. I had
a job to do, and I was failing. And Fear Dearg didn’t fail.

  I sent the order to my limbs, but instead of grabbing her my fingers settled against her thin back, and I gave her a nudge. She giggled, squirming in the swing. “That tickles,” she protested. “Come on. Push me!”

  I drew back; then I laid a single hand just under her jutting shoulder blades. “Are you holding on tightly?” I spoke for the first time, insanely worried I would make her fall. Didn’t I want her to fall? What was wrong with me? Why was the thought of pushing her off the swing so distasteful?

  She only nodded. Eyes narrowed, I gave her a gentle shove. Her feet left the ground and she giggled. “Harder!”

  I pursed my lips, waiting for her to swing back to me. My hand was ready. I gave her a second push, more confident because I knew how much force to use against her small body.

  Josie was on the other swing, waiting for me. Her foot tapped the ground impatiently until I moved to stand behind her. I gave her a strong push—stronger than I’d given Jenna.

  “Wooo!” she called out, sailing up into the air. When she came back I gave her another push, harder than the first.

  I stepped back, watching them swing together, each trying to get just a little higher than the other. A distant part of me recognized I wasn’t following protocol. This wasn’t the way to run a mission. I wasn’t supposed to be playing with them. I was supposed to be kidnapping them. Hurting them. Nearly killing them. Making them into Seers for my master. Coming face to face with O’Donnell and making him suffer.

  “We haven’t seen you around before,” Jenna stated suddenly. “What’s your name?”

  I looked up at her, blinking against the sunlight. Though her question was simple, my answer was not. Fear Dearg didn’t seem like a satisfactory response.

  Sean.

  But Sean died. I’d said as much to Kate.

  And he had.

  The image of myself crouched in a French alleyway, hands dripping with a nameless man’s blood, made me want to retch—a painful tug in my gut I hadn’t felt for ages. I’d only wanted his money, after all. I was starving. I hadn’t meant to knock him down. I just wanted to eat.

  I’d cradled his wounded head, stared into his frantic eyes as he’d died, his money still tucked safely inside his jacket. I’d sobbed for hours after he’d stopped breathing—dry heaved until my ribs felt bruised. I’d tried to wipe my soiled hands on the muddy cobblestones. I’d raked my palms over the uneven surface until my blood mingled with the stranger’s. I’d begged for my own death. Cried out for my mother’s soothing hands, my father’s forgiveness, and Patrick’s direction.

  But they were dead, and I was alone.

  My first kill. The only unintentional murder I’d ever committed. Because the will to survive is strong, just as the drive to eat forces a young man to ally himself with ruthless men.

  Life became simple. They commanded, and I reacted. I learned not to feel regret for what I did, what I stole—whether it was an object or a life. It was the only way to stay sane. I had my anger, and I focused it on Patrick—the one person I longed for the most. The one person I blamed for everything. Because the only other person I could blame was me, and if I did that, I would starve.

  Simple. Sean faded. Fear Dearg solidified.

  Truth be told, Sean died the night he intentionally took a life. The Demon Fear Dearg had truly been born at that moment . . .

  “Uh, hello?” Josie asked loudly. My eyes flickered toward her, almost surprised to find myself standing in the yard.

  But I’d hesitated too long.

  Sean. Your name is Sean.

  “Sean,” I echoed. But why was I pretending? I wasn’t Sean. Not anymore.

  “Push me again!” Jenna said happily

  “No, Sean, push me!” Josie cried.

  I shifted to stand between them, pushing the girls whenever they came to me. But even as my body moved, my mind was racing. I needed to grab the chains, jerk the girls to a stop. Yuri would be here any moment. O’Donnell himself might emerge from the house. I had my orders. Why couldn’t I bring myself to complete them?

  Why couldn’t I get the image of that nameless man out of my head?

  Soon the twins were flying through the air. I stopped helping them along, afraid they would go over the bar if I gave them another shove.

  “I’m higher!” Jenna yelled to her sister.

  “No, I am!”

  “You are not!”

  “Let’s see who can jump farthest, then!” Josie challenged.

  No! A long buried voice in my mind shouted. They’ll get hurt!

  I blinked slowly. Let them. They’ll be hurt soon enough. I’m going to take them away. I’m going to give them to the most demonic Demons in the world, chief among them, me.

  Sean, stop them!

  No.

  “Sean!”

  My head jerked up, startled.

  It was Josie. “See who goes the farthest! Jenna, on three! One . . .” They pumped faster, desperate to gain more momentum.

  “Josie. Don’t.” The words fell from my mouth, a whisper impossible for her to hear.

  “Two!”

  My lips quivered. I was rooted in place. “Don’t.” It was no louder than the first caution.

  “Three!”

  “Don’t!” I yelled, the single word ripping out from deep within me.

  Too late. They both vaulted from their swings at the highest point of the arc. They sailed through the air, and it was almost graceful. Until they started downward. I blinked, and I almost missed the moment of impact.

  They pounded into the ground. Josie rolled, but Jenna didn’t. There was a loud crack as her small body smashed unnaturally against her right arm. She gasped in shock, and then she shrieked in pain.

  Twenty-One

  Fear Dearg

  I darted forward, no longer immobile, shoving past the swings that were still flying empty and out of control. I knew instinctively that Josie was all right, so I ran for Jenna, who had shifted into a sitting position; her injured arm rested awkwardly in her lap.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she whined rapidly, trying to pull back tears with violent sniffs.

  I fell to my knees in front of her, reaching wordlessly for her arm. She gasped and moaned at my touch, large tears slipping down her pale face. “Ow, owww . . .”

  “It’s all right,” I tried to soothe her. I knew my voice was too rough. I tried to temper it. “It feels like a clean break.” At least there wasn’t a bone sticking out.

  Josie was shaking at my side, pale. “Jenna, I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . .”

  The back door slammed open behind us, and even though I knew who it would be I looked over my shoulder

  Patrick looked as young as ever. Maybe a little worn. He was wearing close to the same thing I’d seen him in last, in Vegas. A blue cotton shirt, so light in color compared to my own apparel. Faded jeans that made his hair appear all the lighter. In a way, it was fitting. He was the angel brother; I was the Demon. All was right in the world—except I was crouched next to a little girl, my fingertips so hesitant against her supple skin. I should have been the one to break her arm. Why was I so desperate to help save her from pain?

  Patrick’s eyes were filled with panic, his face bathed in white fear. He looked right at us. Right at me.

  His already tensed body grew harder. Hunched over the small girl, gripping her arm, I must have looked threatening. But, just like me, he seemed incapable of moving. For the moment.

  “Patrick?” Josie said, deeply confused. “What are you doing here?”

  Patrick didn’t answer her question, though her voice had broken the spell of stillness. He jumped off the long porch, striding toward us, hands shaking. “Josie, get back!” His voice was a bark, a delayed warning, in my opinion. “Get away from him!” Patrick broke into a sudden run, not that he had far to go now.

  I released Jenna’s arm and rose to my feet. I nearly stumbled back, knowing I should be reaching for my gun. I
could shoot him. Slow him down. Make him suffer. Like I suffered. Grab the girls. Call for Yuri.

  “Patrick,” Jenna gasped. “My arm, it hurts . . .”

  He didn’t take his eyes off of me, but I must have backed far enough away because he took the time to stop and reach for Jenna’s uninjured arm. He pulled her to her feet. She cried out as her broken arm was jostled. “Ow! It hurts!” she yelled up at him.

  Patrick had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he protectively drew her back up against his chest. Watching me, he tried to examine her injury, staring at her limp wrist.

  “It’s a clean break,” I told him, unable to stop the words from escaping.

  He glared up at me. “You’ve sunk this low? You’ll attack a child?”

  I bristled, more bothered by his accusation than I should have allowed myself to be. I was Fear Dearg, after all.

  Josie rose to my defense. “He didn’t do anything, Patrick. Jenna and I jumped off the swings.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to listen. “Josie, I need you and Jenna to go inside. Find Jack.”

  “But Sean didn’t do anything!” Josie actually stomped her foot against the grass, indignant that I was being wrongly accused. If only you knew what things I’ve done, I thought grimly.

  Patrick blinked, glancing quickly away from me so he could see her face. “Sean?” he asked in shock.

  Josie rolled her eyes. “That’s his name, duh! He was pushing us on the swings. It wasn’t his fault.”

  I watched Patrick’s face as he turned back to look at me. Confusion, fear, anger, defensiveness, even pain—it was all there.

  I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.

  A gunshot sounded inside the house, shattering the momentary stillness. All of us jumped. Josie’s wide eyes haunted me as she whipped around to follow the sound. It was obvious she’d never heard a real bullet discharge in her life, but the way she began to shake made it clear she knew exactly what that sound meant.