Guardian of the Gate (32 page)

Everything he says makes a mysterious and perfect kind of sense. I can think of no other course of action, and I feel a smile light my lips for the first time in hours.

“Well, then. What are we waiting for?”

As we travel back through the woods, I am increasingly grateful for Dimitri’s sense of direction. He seems sure of the way while I am disoriented shortly after leaving the site of Emrys’s betrayal. The sun is directly above us and we are still in the forest when we decide to stop to water the horses.

Dismounting, Dimitri ties his horse near the river. The animal dips his head, drinking greedily from the stream as Dimitri heads for the cover of the forest, presumably to tend to personal matters. I lead Sargent to the small brook winding through the trees, and he slurps at the clear water as I uncap my canteen.

It is there, bending over the crystal water of the small stream, that I see them.

At first, there is nothing but the river. But as I lean toward it, preparing to replenish my water supply, the reflective surface distorts into a relatively clear image.

I peer closer, fascinated. My ability to scry was discovered shortly after arriving in London and has never come easily. I have always had to call on it in the past. But not this time. This time the image appears clearly and without effort. It only takes a moment to see that it is not one person reflected in the water, but many. They are on horseback, tearing through the woods against the backdrop of thunderous horses’ hooves that I cannot actually hear but somehow know are there simply from the vision in the water.

I strain for a better look as they draw nearer within their watery world, beating a path across the forest floor on steeds of white. Soon enough I know exactly who they are, though they do not look as they do on the Plane. There the Souls are bearded, their hair flowing behind their backs like torn silk. They wear tattered clothing and raise swords of fiery red. But to cross into this world, they must take possession of a physical body.

Even in the scrying water, they look like men I might pass on the streets of London, though with a particular fierceness I would know in any world. They wear trousers and waistcoats and hunch over their horses rather than sit upright bearing swords. But I know them for who they are.

I cannot tell how many they number. Countless, and all riding with single-minded purpose. Though the horde frightens me, both with their number and their intent, it is the man in the front that causes the blood to freeze in my veins.

Fair-haired and beautiful, he is perfectly at ease in his rage. It is not a mask or an emotion of the moment. While the
others behind him ride with urgency I can see, even in the warped water-mirror, he is confident of his destination and his success once there. But it is the mark of the serpent, visible in the gap left by his open collar, that makes me realize how very, very much trouble Dimitri and I are in.

The Guard.
Samael has sent the Guard to stop us from reaching the pages.

Or to take them from us once we do.

I don’t know how far away they are, but I know that they are coming. And they are coming for me.

I do the only thing I can; I rise from the water and run.

“Dimitri! Dimitri!” I shout, scanning the riverbank for him. “We have to leave! Now!”

He emerges farther downstream, worry creasing his face. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“The Guard. They’re coming. I don’t know how far away they are or when they will catch us, but they’re coming.”

Dimitri does not question me. He talks while striding to his horse. “How many are there?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Many.”

He mounts his horse in an instant. “On horseback?”

I nod.

“Mount up and give me your cloak.” He says this as he is already untying his own.

“What?” The command is so sudden, I am not certain I have heard him correctly. Even still, I put a foot into one stirrup and lift myself into the saddle.

He holds his black cloak out to me. “You and I have different colored cloaks, but our horses are both dark.”

He doesn’t have to say more. I know what he means to do, and I won’t have it. “No. We are not splitting up, Dimitri. It is too dangerous, and I’ll not have you exposed to the Souls to protect me.”

“Listen to me, Lia. There is no time to argue. This is the only hope we have of safely retrieving the pages. We will trade cloaks, raising the hoods to hide our faces, and continue back to the small town we saw in the valley. I will get you as far as I can. When the Souls are near enough, make for the town while I lead them in the opposite direction.

“The Guard are known for their cruelty, but they cannot use their magic for anything but shifting while in this world. With any luck, it will take them a while to realize they’re following me and not you. Besides, you have Lady Abigail’s stone. That will offer you an added measure of protection.”

Even as he says it, I feel the warmth of the adder stone against my chest. “But… what about you? What will you do if they catch you?” The thought of leaving Dimitri behind makes my heart weigh heavy in my chest.

His face softens. “Don’t worry about me. I am strong enough to take care of the Souls. Besides, it is not me they want, and launching an attack against the Grigori’s own would be a violation of our laws.”

I nod, untying my cape. I hand it to Dimitri in exchange for
his black one and tie the dark cloak around my neck while I continue speaking.

“What will I do once I get to the town?” I raise my hood and glance around the forest, knowing we are losing precious time but terrified of leaving something out. Of forgetting a question in this one moment when I might still ask it.

He walks his horse over to me, and the other horse sidles up next to Sargent so that Dimitri and I are as close as possible on horseback. “If you have time, ask someone for directions to Chartres. If you don’t, make for a church, any church, and wait for me there. No Soul can enter a holy place, in any form, and live.”

There are so many things I want to say, but I have time for none of them before Dimitri leans in, kissing me hard on the lips.

“I will come for you, Lia.”

Then he slaps Sargent’s flank. The horse jolts forward and Dimitri moves into place behind me. As we fly back through the woods, I cannot help wondering if I will ever see him again. Or if all the soft words I have been saving will go unsaid forever.

As with the Hounds, I feel the presence of the Guard before I see or hear them. I cannot deny our horrifying connection, however much I detest all that they stand for. For a time, I speed through the forest, Dimitri close on my heels, with nothing but the certainty that the Souls are coming closer.

Then, all at once, I
do
hear them.

They tear through the forest behind me, and I lean over Sargent’s neck, begging him to go faster, to get us to the clearing leading to the small town that may or may not be Chartres. For a time, Dimitri is still behind me, and then, just as the crashing through the trees behind us grows nearer and louder, just as I realize that the Souls truly are right behind us, the sound of Dimitri’s horse veers to the right and I know he has gone.

I force myself not to think too long or too hard about his safety and the possibility of our never seeing one another again. Instead, I continue through the forest, trying to focus on finding my way back to the clearing.

Not at all sure I am headed in the right direction, I come upon the strange rock standing solidly on the leaf-covered ground and feel tremendous relief. I suddenly do not feel alone, and I speed past the stone toward the clearing that I know will come. All the while, I begin to hope. To believe I will make it to the safety of the church in the village.

But that is before I hear the horse gaining speed behind me. Before I dare a glance back and nearly freeze in terror.

It is no longer the Souls as a pack that give chase. No. They have likely lived up to Dimitri’s expectations and followed him in the other direction. But there is one Soul who has not followed Dimitri. One who has found me even through the woods and our charade.

It is the fair-haired man, the one who was leading the pack in my vision at the river. His horse rattles behind me with
renewed vigor, and I lean over Sargent’s neck, trying to pick up enough of a lead that I might have time to find a place to hide.

It works. He drops behind me, and I break into the clearing at the edge of the field, spotting the stone farmhouse up ahead. This time, I do not dare look back. I make for the rear of the house and ride past it toward the barn. I do not have time to breathe a sigh of relief when I see that the big doors stand open.

Heading straight into the shadowy confines of the barn, I jump off Sargent’s back even before he comes to a complete stop. A quick glance around tells me there are only three horses in the barn.

Three horses and six stalls.

I usher Sargent into one of the empty stalls and have his saddle off and lying in the dirt in less than a minute. Latching the door behind me, I stand in the walkway between the stalls, scanning the barn for a place to hide. It only takes a moment to find the loft.

My breeches make climbing the ladder easy. I am up it in seconds, wedging myself behind crates of tools and stacked horse blankets as the sound of the Guard’s horse draws nearer and nearer outside the barn. I take advantage of the extra time to remove the knapsack from my back and pull out the dagger. Wrapping my fingers around the jeweled hilt, I feel better for its presence in my hand. The Guard is in a man’s body now. He will bleed like any other if cut.

Dust motes shimmer in the dim afternoon light, leaking in
between the wooden slats of the barn. The barn is quite dark, and I try to render myself invisible while still maintaining a view, however small, of the barn floor below. If I am going to be found and trapped aboveground, I would prefer to have some notice. I focus on calming my breathing as the horses chuff and shuffle below. Beyond shifting, I know the Souls do not have supernatural powers. Not in my world, at least. But it is difficult not to believe that the Guard will hear me or somehow know that I am here.

I have finally caught my breath when I hear footsteps, light and careful, below me. Peering from between the crates and craning my neck for a view of the barn floor, I am surprised to see the boy who was feeding the chickens. He surveys the barn calmly, his gaze resting on Sargent in one of the stalls. Lifting his chin, he turns in a slow circle until his eyes come to rest on me. I meet his gaze and lift a finger to my lips, mentally begging him not to give me away. At the same time, I want to scream at him to run, for though the Souls are after me and me alone, I have no confidence in their mercy for a passing child.

It is too late, though. I do not have time to say anything before the barn door creaks further open. I can see only a sliver of the Guard’s blond form as he stands, backlit by the sun, in the doorway. He is still for only a moment before stepping into the barn and becoming lost in its shadows. I can no longer see him, though I still hear his stealthy boot steps making their way across the floor below.

His steps are not hurried. They sound softly at first, growing
slightly louder until they come to a stop in front of the boy below me. I ease forward for a better view, mindful of old buildings and their many creaks and groans. But it is no use. Within the confines of my hiding place, I cannot move enough to gain more than a glimpse of the Guard’s black riding boots and legs. His upper body and face are hidden in shadows.

I can see the boy clearly, however. He stands, perfectly still, in front of the blond Guard. I have the strangest feeling that the boy is not afraid.

The Guard stands in silence for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is guttural and twisted. It seems to require effort, and I don’t know why I am surprised that he questions the boy in French.

“Où est la fille?”
Where is the girl?

It is a simple question, but the wrongness of the voice that asks it raises the hair on my arms. It is the voice of one who does not know how to coax sound from within its own body.

The boy’s voice is small within the expansive space of the barn. “Venez. Je vous montrerai.”
Come. I’ll show you.

My heart nearly stops beating, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scan the loft frantically for possible escape routes.

But the boy does not lead the Guard to the loft. Instead he begins walking toward the front of the barn and another set of open doors.

The Guard does not follow immediately. He stands in silence for a moment, and I have the distinct feeling that he is gazing around the barn. I lean farther back into the shadows,
hardly daring to breathe. The boot steps start up again. They carry the Guard closer to the bottom of the ladder, and I try to judge the distance from the loft to the barn floor. I am contemplating the risk of jumping should the Guard climb the ladder after me when the footsteps become softer and grow farther away.

The boy’s voice startles me in the silence of the barn. “Elle est partie il y a quelque temps. Cette voie. À travers le champ.”