Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (27 page)

The ruins wouldn’t attract much notice from locals, and being away from the docks would help keep the criminal element away. Besides that, the open concept steel construction, and general trashiness almost guaranteed any demon that might find the place seeking Keepers couldn’t do much noticeable damage.

“But where’s the entrance?” she muttered.

A soft light flashed inside one of the broken windows, and she drove toward it. A small door, nearly invisible in the dark, slid open at her approach. Turning off the car, she left the keys in the ignition and jumped out to open the back door.

“Out of my way,” she said to the man who came up and tried to help. She didn’t know him. Nicholas, still unconscious from her dart, sprawled on the seat with his head dangling over on the floor. Pulling him out, she cradled him in her arms and carried him into the warehouse.

“Bring him here,” said one woman, her hair tied up in a hasty knot and blue gloves covering her hands. Her accent sounded Russian.

“You a doctor?” Colette asked.

“Yes, yes. Put him down here.” The woman gestured to the metal table in front of her, what looked like drains on either end.

The table seemed more at home in a butcher’s shop than as a doctor’s examination area, but still she laid him down. “We tracked a first order to a hotel room, but the door was rigged with explosives.”

Nicholas’ chest was purple with a massive bruise. Using two fingers, the doctor tested the area. “And he stood in front of it, yes?”

“That’s right. I think the door shielded him a little.”

The doctor opened one of the plastic drawers on the counter behind Nicholas, removing a needle about the size of her fist. “How long he has been unconscious?”

“Not long. Maybe twenty minutes. I used a tranquilizer so he wouldn’t feel the pain.”

The doctor gestured, and a man in scrubs—the same one who had tried to help her carry her husband into the warehouse—grabbed her arms and forced Colette backwards. “You need to come with me,” he ordered, throwing up a screen to block her view of Nicholas.

The last thing she saw was the doctor stabbing through his chest with that needle. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Doctor Petrova is the best. She’ll take good care of him.” The nurse, or whoever he was, led her over to another metal table and forced her to sit. “Let me take a look at you, now.”

“I’m fine,” she said, swatting his hands away. Lifting herself up, she tried to see over his shoulders.

He pushed her back down, forcing her to meet his eyes. “No, you’re not. No disrespect, Hunter, but if you don’t calm down I’ll have to sedate you as well. Is that going to be necessary?”

She ignored him and stood back up. “Eldar Sloan. Where is he? I need to speak with him now. The demon...”

The sharp kiss of the needle chased her words away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rebekah found it almost by accident. Tucked in the bottom of a box personal items—some cologne, a few shirts, his comb, and various mementoes whose value she didn’t quite understand but couldn’t bring herself to throw away—her father’s journal lurked like a snare hidden in high grass. Removing it carefully, the thing was huge, she ran her fingers over the cracked binding and stiff, yellowed pages. The cover had a symbol burned into it. She traced the pattern with her fingers twice: a stylized lighthouse with beams of light shooting out each side enclosed in an ouroboros.

This book hadn’t just belonged to her father. From the looks of it, at least three or four generations had scribbled on the pages inside. Maybe more.

Hugging the book to her chest, she carried it upstairs where Mia was cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast. Contractors were scheduled to arrive this afternoon to begin the repairs on the basement finally approved and cleared through her insurance company, so she’d wanted to clean up down there a little bit. Cleaning, however, could wait. She needed to know what this book contained. She needed to learn as much about that part of her life as she could before something nasty came through and killed her.

She followed the scent to the kitchen, letting the book drop on the prep table with a thud. “Look what I found.”

Her usual chipper self, Mia hopped over, a mixing bowl and whisk in hand. “That’s a big book.”

As the bowl neared her, something about the smell hit Rebekah so strongly it turned her stomach. She barely made it over to the trash can before violently bringing up everything she had eaten the day before, painful contractions cramping her stomach with each heave.

“Are you okay?” Mia asked, holding back Rebekah’s hair.

Rebekah straightened up and collapsed in one of the kitchen chairs. “Can you get me some water?” Mia returned with a glass, and Rebekah drank it thankfully, glad to get the revolting taste out of her mouth. Holding her stomach, she sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. “Do you think it’s the demon blood doing this? Is this some kind of side effect of being a Keeper Gabe didn’t tell me about?”

Mia’s voice, when she spoke, was cautious. “Beks...when was your last period?”

She had to think for a second. “October...No, wait. The Whites and the Schwartz’ were staying here. They brought that Pomeranian with them—the one who barked all night. When was that?”

“Beks, that was almost seven weeks ago.”

Rebekah opened her eyes. “No. It can’t be. I can’t be. I’m always safe—I always use protection.”

“Well, there’s one way to be certain.” Her pigtails bouncing, like the prospect of Rebekah being pregnant was somehow exciting for the girl, she ran over to the wooden prep table and opened two of the drawers before coming back with something shiny and metal and tear-shaped that hung from a thin chain.

“You’re not putting that in me,” Rebekah protested.

Mia shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a pendulum. Lie down on the table and pull up your shirt.”

Cautiously, she did as her friend instructed, leaning up on her elbows so she could see better. “Okay, what now.”

“Now, we see if it spins. If you’re not pregnant, it’ll stay still. If you’re pregnant, it’ll swing.”

“That’s it?” Rebekah asked.

“Yep. Now lay back. You need to be flat and perfectly still for this to work.”

“But how will I see?”

Mia pointed at their reflections in the glass windows of the kitchen. “Now, be quiet; I need to focus.”

Resting her head back on the table and trusting her friend took a lot of willpower. This world of witches and spells and demon blood was still new to her, and she hated not knowing what to expect. Was Mia going to chant or cut her or something to make this work? Or burn incense? Wasn’t that how it happened? Staring at their reflections, she watched as Mia brought the pendulum to her lips, whispered something, and then let it hang barely a centimeter over Rebekah’s stomach.

At first, the pendulum stood shock still. Rebekah stared at it, unable to breathe, willing it to remain in place. Ever so slowly, it wobbled from side to side, gaining momentum with each shake until it twirled clockwise in a small circle.

“Congratulations?” Mia said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. “It’s a girl.”

“A girl?” Rebekah sat up.

Her friend nodded. “Clockwise for girls, counterclockwise means a boy. You’re definitely pregnant. Are you going to tell Dylan?”

“I broke up with him yesterday,” Rebekah said, shocked. “While you were out with your family. He left last night to go back home to Michigan. Besides...what if it isn’t his?”

“Not his? Then wh...oh. The night of the memorial. Shit, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

Rebekah hadn’t. Pulling her shirt down, she sat up. What was she going to do? She’d always wanted kids growing up—wanted to be a mom. That had been when she’d thought things like demons and witches were purely fiction. When the world held fewer complications. “I...I think I need to be alone for a while. Can you...?”

“The contractors? Sure, I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry about anything here. Take as much time as you need.”

Grabbing the book off the prep table, Rebekah left the room and headed to the front door. She needed to be alone, but any minute the house would fill with people and noises. Her only escape was to leave. Putting on a coat, hat, and gloves only took a minute, and, book in hand, Rebekah plodded out into the thick, early-morning fog. Of their own accord, her feet took her down the trail toward the beach and back along Cape Creek to where she’d met up with Gabe for the last few days. One thing was certain—no one would bother her there. Not in this fog. Not in November.

The thick fog painted the world in grey hues, choking visibility more than a few feet around her so that the trees and rocks and path appeared like apparitions, half-formed beings floating toward her for some unknowable purpose. Growing up, her friends had called this zombie weather because in the movies that’s always how they’d appear—shambling, ghostly forms in the thick fog. Rebekah wondered if zombies were real, too. If demons and witches could exist, why not other supernatural creatures?

As if on cue, a figure distilled in the fog—a silhouette of a person. Dread sent a warning down her spine. She should turn around. This was how the woman always died in the movies. They got curious and investigated and were eaten by whatever nasty thing lurked in the shadow.

Despite her growing fear, she kept walking.

Slowly, more details became apparent. It was tall with an average build—not too tall, not too short. He—or she—faced away from her. She hugged the book tighter to her chest. It wielded a shovel. Digging something in the ground—a grave? Maybe she should turn back.

A loud snap shattered the silence.

The figure turned around.

“Oh, Gabe. It’s you.” She clutched the book tighter to her chest. “I thought you were a zombie or a murderer digging someone’s grave.”

He looked confused. “Why would you think that?”

She gestured. “I don’t know; the fog makes everything look creepy.”

To her surprise, he actually grinned. “You know, I think you’re right. It is kinda zombie weather, isn’t it? An army of undead should be lurking around the corner. Too bad I don’t have my crossbow.”

“This may sound silly,” she began, twisting her foot in the dirt, “but are they real?”

“What—zombies? Well, they could be, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe planted his shovel in the ground and walked closer. “Well, Mia could talk to the dead if she wanted. All witches can with the right spell. It’s dark magic, so some covens shun those practices. I know down in the Gulf there are some that practice necromancy—at least if you believe the stories of the Gulf Keepers. But hordes of undead walking the earth and eating people, no I don’t think that’s possible. Yet.”

An awkward silence grew between them. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about, so much she wanted to ask him, but knowing that she could have his child growing inside her womb somehow made everything different. He hadn’t wanted to teach her how to be a Keeper—that much he’d been straight forward about—so what would he think if he knew? Would he be happy? Angry? For that matter, she didn’t even know if it was his.

“I’m sorry -”

They both spoke at the same time. “Me first,” Gabe said. “About yesterday. I knew the rush of energy and emotion that comes with awakening. I should never have kissed you. It was inappropriate, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she whispered.

“Huh?”

If they were ever going to have a chance, this was it. She needed to be brave. Squaring her shoulders, she spoke up. “Dylan’s gone. He went home to Michigan.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh. I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you.” Looking around, he hesitated. “I can leave...”

“No, don’t. I mean...I don’t want you to leave. You were here first. I’ll just sit here and watch, if that’s okay?”

“Sure.”

Rebekah settled herself on the trunk of one of the trees she’d demolished the day before as he picked up his shovel and resumed digging. He worked methodically, always placing his blade exactly where it was needed. The hole could have been made by a machine. “What are you doing, anyway?” she asked.

“Planting trees.”

For the next few hours, she watched him lovingly plant over a dozen trees, far more than they cut down in her awakening. He took great care with the plants as if they were each a human life he was guardian over. Anyone else would’ve rushed. Finished the job sloppily in a half hour and been gone. Not Gabe.

She had to ask. “Why are you so careful with them?”

He didn’t answer for a minute, taking time instead to see the soil packed loosely and carefully around the roots of the final tree. “My life is one of slaughter and death. I kill for a living—teach others to kill. Planting something that will grow into a strong tree is one of the few times I get to give a little of that life back.”

Heat warmed her cheeks despite the cold. “I’m sorry. You came out here to be alone, didn’t you?”

“Yes. But when you came...well, I guess I didn’t want you to leave, either.”

Her heart broke for him, for the loneliness of his life, as she watched him smack the dirt off his hands and gather the empty containers where the saplings had been. All those years she’d thought he used her, abandoned her, were a lie. He’d only ever tried to protect her from his life, giving her the gift of normalcy. Even if it was fated to be short lived.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he started to leave.

“Back to Killamook.” He hesitated for a long second, standing frozen on the cusp of the surrounding fog. His voice, when he spoke, was faint. “Want to come with me?”

“I’d love to,” she answered.

****

Having grown up next to the ocean, she should have been familiar with boats and riding. She could swim, and loved to, but she’d never spent much time out on the open ocean, and the Jet Ski ride was choppier than she remembered. Rebekah covered her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was repeat this morning’s intestinal acrobatics.

The island he lived on looked like a wasteland, isolated out in the middle of nowhere and pounded constantly by waves. When he tied up at the dock, she was relieved to get off the Jet Ski and step on dry land. Well, dry-ish land. That was about all she could say for it.