Shattered Secrets (Book of Red #1) (35 page)

“Whoa. This ship’s getting crowded really fast.” Will jumped to his feet, swaying a little, glancing nervously from Derick and me to the trio at the door. “I know him”—he pointed at Mark—“but who are you, and how did you get here?”

“By boat. Now, sit down, child.” Mr. Snellings laughed when Will did as told, then towered above us. The man glared down at Mr. Crawford, seething with animosity. “Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving? We had to follow you,
after
cleaning up the mess left behind. What were you thinking? We’ve been bound to her family for centuries, Adam, not you, and certainly
not
your son.”

“Bound to my family? What are you talking about?” The change in conversation gave me an opportunity to set aside my ache, to focus on something else, some other strong emotion.

Anger?

I stood and came face to face with Mr. Snellings. “Why are you here?”

“Because I took an oath to protect the Dorans, and you are the last of them.” He looked down his long, crooked nose at Mr. Crawford. “And every Guardian that man has ‘protected’ before you has died. I want to know why; you probably do as well.”

I closed my eyes, trying to process what Mr. Snellings said without seeing the sneer on Mark’s face as he stared at Derick, without seeing the hurt on Mr. Crawford’s, without watching how uncomfortable Will and Megan looked with all these angry people in their otherwise calm and relaxing boat. Derick still held my hand, stood so close to me I felt each of his breaths as his chest expanded. Normal existed nowhere, and the image of his parents fell when Derick discovered the truth about us, so I didn’t feel bad when I opened my eyes and said, “First I want to talk about my parents, and then I want to know everything. No matter what
anyone
thinks.”

The Snellings occupied three high-backed chairs on one side of the dining room table, and the Crawfords occupied three on the other side. I sat at the end, closest to Derick, and Will and Megan ran off to the bedrooms when the two grown men met eyes and whispered something in a language I couldn’t understand, probably using their abilities to scare my friends away.

“So”—I swallowed, trying to clear the strain out of my voice—“about my parents? When did you realize something… happened?”

“When Officer Daniels called us with a rather crude message letting us know where to find the bodies. Shortly before Adam and Lillian hopped on a plane to come here.” Mr. Snellings held my gaze, a look of sincere regret in his eyes.

“But why would
cops
do that?”

“The Fávlosi were created to bring chaos to this world, to counteract everything we were created for. They are able to whisper their desires into the minds of men and make them think those desires belong to them. Officers Daniels and Paulson didn’t commit the acts of free will.”

For the briefest moment, I felt sad for them. Then I remembered they weren’t strong enough to protect my parents, to fulfill their duty to society.

Mr. Snellings reached across the table and placed his large hand over mine, an odd gesture, especially from someone who thought of me as a breeder of future Kalóan generations.

I dug my nails into my palms until they stung, then pulled away from him. “Why did he call
you
?”

“Once Boredas and Ruckus figured out who we are, through the officers’ investigation of your kidnapping, they knew we are vested in you.”

“Vested?” Derick asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, Derick, vested. My family has been entrusted with Abigail’s life, the kind of trust you’ve not lived long enough to earn.”

Mr. Crawford slammed his hand on the table, and everyone started yelling back and forth about “respect”, “they’re just children”, “this is a matter for the council”, and someone may have even mentioned “she should just open the planes”. I kept my mouth shut, studying everyone in turn: Mark who was supposedly in love with me and had my best interests at heart, suggesting Derick should have to endure battle training before being allowed near me again; Mr. Crawford, whose face swelled with anger, spouted insult after insult about Mr. Snellings for accusing him and his wife of failing the Guardians; the two women, staring at their husbands then at their children then at me, their eyes saying they wanted to be anywhere but at this table and listening to everyone argue.

I
didn’t want to hear it. My parents were dead; these people were supposed to provide answers, lead us, and they barged into our ship the same way we left them in Virginia: fighting. “I’m leaving.”

Derick stood and offered his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

Mr. Snellings’s jaw looked as if it would break under the weight of his clenched teeth. “No. Sit. Now. There will be no more of this bickering like children.”

Neither of us moved.

“
Now
!”

A heavy weight pressed on my shoulders, pushing me into my seat, and suddenly I wanted to be here. I wanted to hear out Mr. Snellings.

“Would you, please, stop Manipulating them?” Mrs. Snellings asked, placing a hand over her husband’s.

He nodded.

What a horrible jerk. A horrible, controlling jerk. The calm disappeared, and I wanted to slap him. But I still needed answers, so I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth and then asked, “Before, you said you took an oath to protect my family. Why? What kind of oath? What does it mean?”

“My great grandfather was the first to pledge his life as a Somatoph for the Dorans. Your family dates back to the original Guardians, the first men and women the Maker chose from human spirits passing into the afterlife.” He paused, allowing the information to sink in.

I’m a child of ghosts
.

But before I could ask how that was possible, how ghosts could be reborn and have children and a life and fight spirits, and how come other Kalóans weren’t like Guardians, what made us different, Mr. Snellings went on, “You see, Abigail, after we killed the last of the Fávlosi’s Original Destroyers—your equal—the spirits grew restless. The war changed and became less about us protecting humans and our opposites creating chaos; the war became about a deep-rooted hatred between our kinds—and revenge.”

“So an eye for an eye? We killed all of their Originals and now they want to kill ours?”

“Yes, and who could blame them?” Mrs. Snellings swiped a graying blonde curl from her eyes, then returned her hand to her husband’s. “They were without guidance, and the Taker—”

“Taker?”

She nodded. “He leads the Fávlosi as the Maker leads us. They are, as we are, complete opposites. And he never sent them new leaders. Watching enraged spirits battle empowered Kalóans—well, that probably entertained him.”

“That,” Mr. Snellings said, “and they believe if our Guardians are killed, then the Maker will treat us as they have been treated for one-hundred years.”

“Will he?”

Mark laughed as though I asked a dumb question
after
the teacher announced the answer. He seemed colder, angrier, less like the pushy guy I always thought him to be and more like a serial killer. And his muscles were larger, as if he’d worked out every day for the last three days and doubled his size every night. Maybe he took the warrior’s training?

“Watch it.” Derick leaned forward, ready to lunge across the table and take down Mark.

“Or what? You’re going to introduce your fists to my face? Do you really think you can hurt me, Derick?”

“I’d love to find out.”

Derick jumped to his feet, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. I didn’t like this Mark at all, this cocky, willing-to-fight-for-no-reason side of him, and
more
fighting would get us nowhere.

“Do me a favor, Mark?” I asked.

His smug expression melted into something much more civilized, a coy smile spreading across his face, more like the guy I went to preschool with. “Anything.”

“Stop being an ass.”

This time Derick laughed.

I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the table. “Mr. Snellings, why wouldn’t the Maker abandon us?”

“Simple.” Mark and Derick were locked in some sort of staring contest, but somehow Mark found a way to interrupt and answer for his father, whose nostrils flared every time we strayed further from our original line of conversation. “The Maker loves us.”

“He does. But the true answer is not quite as simple as Mark defines. The Maker loves
life
. And he created us to protect that life: the mountains, the streams, the people. He trusts Guardians to do that more than he trusts the rest of us because your kind has served him without question and without significant failures… until recently. However, if you were all killed, I have no doubt he would once again create your kind from his blood, or transform those of us left behind into you.”

“And therein lies the problem.” Mr. Crawford spoke evenly, addressing us all, his hands clasped and resting in front of him. “I’m sure Mr. Snellings would prefer the latter scenario. Wouldn’t you? Your family has vied for an Elder’s seat almost as long as you’ve sworn to protect the Dorans. And look where that has them? They’re all dead except for her!”

“You’re accusing me of murder because I believe we should all be afforded opportunity to lead, but what of you?” Mr. Snellings flung his chair aside and leaned across the table, pressing his fingers against the polished surface and draining them of color. “You were the last person Brendan saw before he died. In fact, you’ve traveled to Guardian locations all over the world just before those Guardians were killed. Is it just coincidence you’ve moved here and now Abigail is in danger? Or are your intentions as dark as you accuse mine to be?”

“If you were half as good at protecting people as you are allowing your anger to get the best of you, maybe Brendan would still be alive. You never should have left his side.”

Mr. Snellings’s eyes flashed with scorn, maybe even a little pain. “Brendan commanded me to stay with his daughter.”

“Well, I think we’ve heard enough.” Derick’s mother came to stand behind me and placed her cool hands on my shoulders. “The two of you can quarrel like you have since your days in the academy, but do it on your own time. I think you’re showing a horrible lack of respect for Abigail and her parents, whom you were both fond of, and I think we can all agree on that.”

Mr. Snellings took a deep breath and straightened, then fixed his gaze on me. “Forgive me. You did ask that we’d speak of your parents first, and what Adam and I need to discuss, we can do so privately. However, you are not safe. Remember that, no matter who you care for.”

He shifted his gaze to Derick, who still smiled up at his mother. She hadn’t changed; she was still kind and worried about others, still comforting with the way she spoke. And if she hadn’t changed, I doubted anyone else had either. Nothing Mr. Snellings accused Mr. Crawford of sat well with me, no matter how the Crawfords chose to raise their son or who was near the other Guardians when they were murdered.

I wanted so badly to talk to my parents and ask them what to do. They would know who I should trust and where I should put my faith, but they were gone. Yet they were the only reason I remained at this table. Mom and Dad stayed strong for me. I would do the same for them. “About my mom and dad? Was their death…”—I couldn’t say painful, that’s not something anyone should think about, but I had to know how it happened, what the officers did—“How were they killed?”

“They died honorably, Abigail,” Mrs. Snellings said. “Take comfort in that.”

Whatever the police did, my parents’ death was too awful to describe. Why else would anyone say something so vague? I closed my eyes and tried picturing their faces, but all I saw were Megan and Will on the beach again. Mr. Snellings said I wasn’t safe, but the opposite seemed to be true: everyone
around
me wasn’t safe.

Derick grasped my trembling hand. “You mentioned they told you where to find the—”

“In our traditional custom, we burn the remains of our fallen and spread them to sea,” Mrs. Crawford said. “We believe the Maker hovered over the gaseous waters which made up this planet, before they became oceans and lakes and streams, and created all life from the water. So we send our souls back the way we received them.”

Blood surged through me, and I thought for sure my small lunch was about to make a reappearance. “So you’re telling me… you’re saying…?”

“We had to.” Mr. Snellings paced between the black sliding glass door of the control room and our small group of stranded Kalóans. “We had to protect the humans, and it was the only way we could bring them to you.”

“They’re here?”

Mark ducked under the table and rustled around in a black duffel bag. He pulled out two wooden urns, one with a delicately carved rose on the lid, the other with a radiant sun half-obscured by the horizon. Mark set them in front of me, keeping his narrow gaze locked on me, then returned to his seat.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me which box was which. Dad loved giving me roses, and Mom used to sit out on our front porch with a mug of hot tea and watch the sky until there was nothing left but the stars and moon. Any time she caught me in a lie, she’d say, “In the great words of Elvis Presley: truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain’t going away.”