by Nissa Leder
I unlock the door and walk into the house, hanging my bag on the entryway wall.
“Hello?” I say. Dad must not be home yet.
When I pass the dining room table, I stop to sort through the mail. I’ve been expecting some college brochures to come in, but I don’t see any. It’s mostly junk mail and a few bills addressed to Dad.
But the very last one isn’t for him. It’s for me.
I’d never mistake Mom’s handwriting. Her large cursive letters spell my name in a font fancier than most wedding invites.
As if it were blazing, I drop in onto the table.
It’s like the air in my lungs decided it had better places to be, and I hold my breath as I walk to the window. When I stare outside, wanting to think of anything but the letter waiting for me, I notice Finn’s car hasn’t moved. A black sedan is pulled up next to him, and he seems to be talking with its driver.
I’m not sure why, but it strikes me as weird. I mean, it isn’t impossible that he could know someone in the neighborhood. Or maybe someone lost a pet and is asking if he’s seen it. But the tinted windows and all-around darkness of the other car is strange.
A long exhale escapes my lungs. Clearly, I’m looking into it too much. As much as I’d like to sit here and come up with a million conspiracy theories as to why an unfamiliar black car would be pulled next to Finn’s for so long, it won’t change the inevitable.
Slowly, I return to the table and, with shaking fingers, lift up the envelope. The A in Ava is tall and curvy, as is the P in Pierce. It’s how Mom always writes when she wants something to look fancy. She always swore good penmanship was the ultimate sign of class.
My phone dings in my pocket. I check it to see a text from Dad that he’s running late and to order myself takeout with his credit card with a big sad face and so sorry at the end.
Food is the last thing I want right now, but I’m thankful he isn’t here right now or he might have been the one to get the mail. He doesn’t deserve to hurt over her any more than he already has. He didn’t deserve any of what she did to us, but Mom didn’t seem to think about that before she left.
Anger swells inside me and a scream rips from my lungs. I don’t want to think of her. I don’t want to remember how great everything was before. Most of all, I don’t want to miss her.
As much as I want to rip the unopened envelope into shreds, I can’t. The little girl in me, desperate to earn her mother’s approval, still exists, and I need to read what the letter says. But not here.
The walls around me close in and I feel like I’m trapped in an elevator. I need air. Maybe if I go outside, I’ll be able to breathe.
I grab my black motorcycle jacket and slip it on then go to the first place I think of.
8
As I pull into the driveway and cut the engine, a strange car catches my eye.
It’s a sleek black sedan with windows tinted so darkly, there’s no way to see inside. I look at the clock. It’s already 6:30. Unless it’s Tuck’s parents, Gran never has visitors, and Rev. and Dr. Tucker only live two houses down, so they usually just walk.
I hope nothing is wrong.
I grab the pizzas and hurry toward the house.
Gran’s laughter drifts from the kitchen as I close the door behind me.
“Darien? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Gran, who else would it be?”
Was she expecting company or something?
“I thought Marius might be with you.”
She appears in the hallway and holds her hands out for the pizza.
“No, I’ve got it,” I say. “Whose car is that?”
The grandfather clock chimes once behind her, signaling the half hour.
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll introduce you,” she says. “It’s an old friend of ours. Of your mother’s too.”
The mention of my mother sends a shiver up my spine. The knot in my stomach tightens. There are pictures of my parents everywhere, but Pops and Gran have never talked about them—or the accident that claimed their lives—very often. I had been the sole survivor of the wreck. The firefighters had extracted me without a scratch on me. My parents hadn’t been so lucky though. They’d died on impact.
Gran’s feet are light against the hardwood, and she is standing taller than she has been in the weeks following Pops’ death. Now, she seems almost … relieved.
I follow her into the kitchen. A man is sitting on a stool at the island bar with his back turned to me. He turns when he hears us.
I tighten my grip on the pizza boxes, as I take him in. Dressed in all black from his freshly polished shoes to his shirt and tie, he looks like some sort of mobster who belongs in a casino movie rather than our kitchen. His hair is even black, other than a few hints of silver in his sideburns. My eyes zero in on the fabric of his suit. Not even a speck of lint is visible, even with my crazy, jacked-up vision.
“Darien, this is Uriah Donnelly,” Gran says. “Uriah, this is our Darien.”
Uriah Donnelly? What kind of a name is that? He extends his hand, but thinks better of it when he sees the pizza boxes. He stares at me with eyes the color of ice, so pale a blue, they’re almost white.
“My God,” he says with a gravelly voice. “You look just like Ellen.”
“Doesn’t he?” Gran says.
I look between them, questioning Gran with my eyes. She takes the pizza boxes and plops them down on the counter.
“Uriah used to live here,” Gran explains. “Thomas took him in and adopted him when your mother was in middle school. So he and your mother grew up together.”
I open my mouth, a thousand questions forming on my lips, but I grind my teeth together. So this man grew up in our house, was practically Mom’s brother, but there are no pictures of him?
I back up a few paces and lean against the wall. “And you’ve never thought this was important enough to share?”
“It’s complicated,” Uriah Donnelly answers. “Darien, why don’t you come have a seat?”
Gran opens the pizza boxes and begins putting slices on plates. She gives a piece to Uriah and then slides a plate to an empty spot beside him.
“Yes, Darien, come sit down,” she says. “There are some things we need to discuss.”
I look at both of them, watching as they exchange a strange look. Something’s off about this whole thing. Reluctantly, I push myself up from the wall and take a seat at the corner of the bar, as far as I can get from Uriah.
Gran sighs, as she slides onto the stool between us.
“There is something we need to discuss,” Gran says. “Some things about our family we’ve never told you.”
I stare blankly at her. “You mean besides the fact that I practically have an uncle I’ve never met until now?”
“I’m afraid so,” she says.
The knot in my stomach doubles up. I push the plate away.
“I’ll start by asking a question,” Gran says. “I hope you’ll give me an honest answer.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Have you been seeing things you can’t explain? Hearing things?”
How the hell does she know that?
I look at her, my mind sprinting as fast as my heart. I nod.
“Yeah,” I say.
The second I confess, it’s like this huge pressure that’s been compressing my chest just disappears. It’s like I can take a normal breath for the first time since Pops died.
“I’m losing it, aren’t I?” I ask. “Is there a family history of mental illness? Am I schizophrenic or something?”
Gran tilts her head to the side, her brows crinkling. I can see the moisture building in her eyes as she fights tears.
“No, Darien, you’re not crazy,” Gran says. Then, she takes my hand. “Now, what we’re about to tell you is going to seem impossible, but I need you to listen.”
I nod, waiting to hear the grand explanation for all the messed up nightmare visions I’ve been experiencing. My pulse picks up the pace.
“Your grandfather and I—and Uriah—are a part of an ancient order. Think of it as a secret society that normal people don’t know exists.”
Normal people?
I stare blankly and wait for the punchline. But it doesn’t come.
“The purpose of this order, The Guardians of Elysium, is to fight against the forces of darkness. Pure evil.”
“Demons,” Uriah adds.
“Demons?” I repeat. Finally, someone puts a name with the creatures I’ve been seeing.
“Yes,” Uriah says. “Those shadows you’ve been seeing, the strange creatures that form, the hissing you hear? Those are demons. One of three types of lower demons called the Pey. I know because I see them, too.”
I slide my hand from Gran’s and rub my face. I can’t handle this right now. Demons? It would’ve been easier if they had just told me I’m hallucinating.
“No,” I say.
I’m shaking my head.
This is ridiculous.
It’s impossible.
Yet that’s exactly what I thought they were when I first saw them. I had just assumed I was crazy. It would be easier to believe I’m crazy. I have to be crazy.
Gran takes my hand again and squeezes.
“I’m sorry to tell you all this at once,” she says. “Most Guardian families tell their children from the beginning, but your parents were adamant that we give you a normal childhood if anything were to happen to them, and that’s why we’ve never told you.”
“My parents were a part of this … order, too? What is it? Like some kind of cult or something?”
Gran shakes her head, but Uriah is the one who answers.
“This isn’t a cult. Think of it as a secret army, operating beneath the surface to fight the evil forces regular humans can’t see.”
I think of Ava. Of the creature wrapped around her like a snake. She hadn’t turned her head, gotten a cold chill, nothing. She hadn’t seemed to sense it at all.
“Darien, you are a part of a Triad,” Gran explains. “It’s a team made up of three separate individuals with specific powers. Each Triad has a Lightbearer, who uses light to balance the darkness, a Priest, who can call out the darkness if it tries to possess a human, and a Hellwalker, who sees the demons and drags them back where they belong. Triads are merely one part of the Guardians. There are different levels. Those above you are half-angels and other different types of angels with different purposes.”
I can’t speak. I hear Gran’s words. I let them sink in. But this is insane.
“Angels and demons?” I blurt. I’m on the edge of laughter. Not funny ha ha laughter, but the maniacal laughter of disbelief.
“I know it sounds crazy, Darien, but you’re a Hellwalker. So were your father and grandfather.” Uriah is watching my reaction with a serious expression. “I am, too.”
“A Hellwalker?” I ask.
“Yes,” Uriah says.
Gran rubs my back, trying to calm me. It’s not working.
“So you’re telling me that I can see demons, and I’m supposed to drag them back to hell? As a part of a secret order created and controlled by angels?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, “but basically, yes. You work together with the other members of your Triad, to protect humans from falling victim to demonic influence. Occasionally, you will receive specific orders from the Guardians headquarters, which is where I work. However, you will mainly be combatting evil where you see it. That means fighting lower demons. The Daeva and the Pey. Occasionally, a Familiar spirit.”
“Right,” I say. “So why am I just now starting to see these things? Is it, like, a coming of age thing for superhuman freaks?”
“Darien, this ability had to be passed to you,” Gran says. “When you saw your grandfather that last day in the hospital, did he do anything strange? Did he say anything you couldn’t explain or understand?”
I think back to that last visit, knowing exactly what Gran is talking about. Pops had taken my hands in his. He had closed his eyes. He was whispering words I couldn’t understand. All of a sudden, my palms started tingling, like there was an electric charge between us. The lights had flickered, and then he let go. A few minutes later, he was gone.
I nod my head. “I thought he was just slipping away,” I say. “I thought he wasn’t making any sense because he was dying.”
“That was him passing the gift to you,” Uriah says.
I scramble backward off the stool and press myself against the wall. Anger bubbles up inside my chest. “He did this to me on purpose?” I yell. “And after 17 years, no one ever thought to clue me in or prepare me?”
Tears slide down Gran’s cheeks. “He wanted to give you as much time as he could, just as your parents had requested in their will. We all wanted to spare you from this life for as many years as we could.”
“I’ve thought I was crazy for the last two weeks,” I scream. “Do you know what that’s like?”
“Yes,” Uriah says. “Actually, I do. Now sit down and pull yourself together.”
Something about the way his icy eyes zero in on me, the calmness of his voice, gives me the creeps. All I want to do is run, but instead, I’m walking toward him and sliding back on the stool.
I take a few deep breaths.
“So, let’s say I believe all this,” I say. “If I’m the Hellwalker, then who else is in this group or whatever you called it.”
“A Triad,” Gran says. “I wanted to let him tell you himself, but Marius is your Priest. His father was your parents’ Priest. His grandfather was a Priest to Thomas and me.”
I have no words. I don’t even know where to begin. My grandparents were underground fighters of spiritual darkness. My Gran, who has weekly manicures at the nail bar and wears her hair in a perfect gray bun on top of her head with not a hair out of place? My grandfather, who built treehouses and took me camping … ?
Then, Uriah chimes in.
“A Priest is a sort of guardian,” he says. “He or she is a constant in your life. He is there to calm you, to guide you, to protect you, and to help you as you navigate the dark world you face. In a case of possession, he will call out the darkness so that you can lead it back where it belongs.”
I think back to my years of friendship with Tuck. In 17 years, I can’t remember a day I’ve gone without seeing him. Without him beside me. Without him standing up for me or expressing concern. He didn’t even get mad at me when I shoved him against the wall and tried to choke him an hour ago. Or when I got together with Ava, even though I knew he had always had a thing for her.
Which kind of makes me an asshole …
“It all makes sense, doesn’t it?” Uriah says. “And your Lightbearer will find you when the time is right. Your Lightbearer will balance out the darkness in your world. Because you navigate between this world and the underworld, the darkness will always tempt you. She will keep you focused on the light.”
Images of Rachel Sharp, of the white light that blinded me, flood my memory. The prismatic colors that had swirled through my mind and eased my pain.
“I think she’s already found me,” I say.
So I tell them, then, about Rachel. About the light I saw when she touched me earlier. About the way my feelings for Ava had just stopped out of nowhere. How wrong it had felt to touch her, to kiss her. My sudden attraction to a pink-haired beauty with multiple piercings and fingerless gloves …
“So what will she be to me?” I ask.
“Just as I was destined to be your grandfather’s partner in life,” Gran says, “so she will be with you. If she is truly your Lightbearer, then you will instantly feel the connection.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I think about the all-consuming attraction I feel for Rachel. The irrational jealousy that had consumed me when I saw her with Tuck. Everything. It’s like a switch has just flipped inside me. And as crazy as all this seems, I’m starting to believe them. They’re explaining everything.
�
��So what now?” I ask.
“Now, I train you,” says Uriah. “Just as your grandfather trained me.”
“Okay, well, what about football? What about med school?”
Gran looks down at her folded hands. Uriah meets my eyes. At least he has the guts to tell me the truth.
“It is unlikely you will be able to balance your studies and sports with your duties to the Guardians.”
I clench my jaw, as I absorb Uriah’s words.
“So that’s it? Everything I’ve worked for all these years has been for nothing? Pops encouraged me to go after all these dreams when he knew all along the Guardians would steal it from me?”
Gran looks up, her eyes wet with tears. “Your grandfather only wanted what was best for you. You know that. You know how proud he was of you. Your parents wanted a normal childhood for you.”
I shake my head, looking in disgust from Gran to Uriah. “I can’t believe this.”
I’ve put in hours of training. I’ve gone to every football camp we could afford since I turned twelve. I’ve been scouted by college coaches that would make sure my college wouldn’t cost Pops and Gran a dime. After this season, I should have my pick.
And I’m supposed to just give it all up?
No. That’s not going to happen. I won’t. I won’t sacrifice it.
I can’t stand to look at either of them. I can’t be in the same room as them.
I turn and walk out the back door into the cool fall air. I know where I’m going without even thinking. At the end of the street, I step off the sidewalk and rush through the trees, taking the shortcut to the small park. It’s where I always come to think, ever since I was a kid. All I need is the quiet. I just want to be alone and clear my mind.
But when I step into the clearing, I see her. The breeze picks up, sending strands of her blond hair floating in mid-air.
Ava.
She is sitting cross-legged and leaning against the huge oak tree where we all played as children—the Three Musketeers: Ava, Tuck, and me. She’s holding an envelope, clutching it so hard, it’s all crinkled up in her hands.
I know who the letter is from without even asking.
For a moment, I hesitate.