The Gateway Through Which They Came (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m looking for someone. Is… Koren here?”

The answer is obvious.

“Kid,” the man says, “if you don’t leave our porch, I’m gonna call the cops.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “My mistake.”

“Damn right,” he adds before slamming the door.

I drag my feet down the driveway and back to the car. Sitting in Izzie, I stare back at the house in complete disbelief. If Koren doesn’t live here, where the hell is she going every night?

In my Sunday best, I half-listen to Father Martin preach. My leg shakes as I peek at my phone, checking for a message from Koren. I ignore that small fact about her phone being disconnected. Nothing can stop me from wondering where she is, or where her parents are. Nothing fits. Her life and mine have become this impossible riddle, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Koren’s not the girl I used to know. I’ve accepted that now. She’s an enigma. Someone so unreal, I begin to wonder if I’ve been imagining her all along.

I check my phone again in case something’s changed from thirty seconds ago. It hasn’t. After a disappointed glance from my mother, I decide it’s best to wait it out.

The atmosphere in the church today is nothing like the day before. With the people gathered as one, that comforting feeling makes itself known; the warmth of love and faith that encases me in its energy. I’m safe here for the time being, and I tell myself that Koren must be mistaken. She couldn’t have meant this church. What could possibly keep me from coming here?

“Would you mind if I spoke with Aiden for a moment, Beverly?” Father Martin asks after concluding Mass.

“Of course not,” she says, smiling. Mom counts so much on him to replace the father I never knew. With the way I’ve been acting lately, I think she needs that sense of security.

“How about it, son?” He places an arm over my shoulder, giving me a gentle smile.

I nod, thankful to have this moment to finally tell him what I can’t tell anyone else. On our way to his chambers, we pass Julie. She looks away the second she sees me. Behind her, Justin Chase and his father rise from their seats, his sneer matching his father’s as they watch me go. A jolt of something hits me then, but I ignore the hum. It can’t be.

Justin and his dad stand out in their dark suits, his father’s arm heavy around his shoulders as he guides him from the church. The disdain seeping from Vincent’s last expression while he watched me is clear as day in my mind. I really hope what I sensed at the sight of Justin was a mistake. Because if he’s another Gateway, I want to return my Gateway Card, stat.

The way Justin and his dad scrutinize me is unnerving; a reminder of my friends’ expressions that day on campus. The day I was so sure that the monster inside me had shown itself to them. It’s been dormant for so long, I fear that it’s waiting for something. Like a ticking time bomb waiting for its detonation. How long will it be until it goes off again?

Father Martin’s office is brightly lit, bouncing off the cherry wood desk and the matching bookshelves lining the walls. A wooden crucifix, which looks handcrafted by precise fingers, hangs over the doorframe. Encyclopedias and centuries-old books fill each shelf. By the looks of some, they could fall apart by a simple touch. If it weren’t for the lights, the room would have been absent of technology. No computer, no phones take up the space on his desk. Instead it’s layered with piles of Bibles in different languages and paperwork with Father Martin’s scribbled writing. The chamber is his own private study. I avert my eyes from his things, afraid of violating this room that seems so personal to him. It’s been a while since I’ve found myself here. It feels new and curious all over again.

“Please, have a seat.” Father Martin gestures to the chair in front of his desk, as he places himself in the leather-bound chair behind it. “No need to be so nervous. You act as if you haven’t been here before.”

As I sit down, I say, “I’ve just been out of sorts lately.”

“Yes, I can see a great change in you, Aiden. You’re different now than you were during our last meeting. Perhaps we shouldn’t have given up on those.” With a stern gaze, he places his elbows along the arms of the chair and folds his fingers together.

“I think you might be right, Father.”

He takes in a deep breath. “What troubles you?”

This is the moment of truth. It’s here and now, or not at all. I listen for the faint voices within the church making their way home, working up the courage to confess my secrets.

“I think something’s been following me.”

Father Martin remains still, untouched by my words.

I continue. “This thing… ever since I saw it, it’s like the Bleeders have been affected by its presence. At the parade, they were everywhere. It’s like they were more desperate. Demanding. I’ve never experienced something like that before.”

“And this
thing
, what does it look like?”

The silhouette pops into my head and I shudder at the faceless image.

“I can’t make out the features. It’s not a person. I mean, I don’t know what it is. It’s just… black.”

Father Martin pushes himself forward, hands still clasped. “Black?”

“Yes. Like a shadow.”

Abruptly, he gets to his feet and begins searching the shelves. His fingers graze along the spines as he whispers the titles under his breath. For a moment I think he’s speaking to me, but I’m not sure.

“Excuse me?” I say.

Just barely audible, I hear: “You should have spoken sooner. Much sooner.”

“What is it, Father Martin? What do you know about it?”

“This is very serious, Aiden. Very serious.” The way he repeats himself makes the situation more severe. He always gets this way under stress. A nervous tic.

“Father?”

He throws a book on the desk in front of me:
Brethren of Shadows.

I can’t describe what I’m thinking. It’s too much at once.

Father Martin reads the confusion on my face, and says simply, “The Brethren.”

I’ve heard this term before. It was something he spoke of during our early meetings, but never did we fathom that we’d actually encounter the Brethren. Not after all this time. The Brethren of Shadows were legends, things he swore had been sent back to where they came from by Men of Light—men like me. If Men of Light were the Originals of our kind, the Brethren were the opposing team. Where there is light, there is dark. Where there is good, there is evil. You know the saying.

From what I remember of this lecture, the Brethren were savages, warlocks of their time.
Warlock
was the only way people could describe them, much like how they described Gateways as gods or angels. A way to put a name to the face. But they weren’t warlocks or witches. Those are chump change in comparison. The Brethren were demons who pillaged lands far and wide, consuming life, bringing death. If you didn’t follow them, you were against them. There was no in-between. Their sole purpose was to consume every trace of good from the world. Spreading darkness everywhere. Hell on earth, I guess you could say.

The Great Plague of London. Influenza. The Black Death. These are a few of the fatal marks they’ve inflicted upon our history. But each time they found their way back, causing more devastation, the Men of Light were always there to destroy them. With each new war inflicted upon humanity, God sent more of his soldiers—Gateways—to earth. For those unfortunate souls left behind, they turned Dark, recruited by the Brethren. And even though they’ve been cast back to Hell, the Brethren’s curse still consumes each unclaimed soul. The Dark Ones.

From the looks of it all, I guess the time of the Brethren’s next resurrection has come, and this time, I’m supposed to be the one to stop them. I just hope wherever the others are—the other Men of Light—they will find me in time.

I don’t examine the book in front of me, as if the pages would expose me to things I never wanted to know. Leaning into the chair, creating distance from the book that stares back at me, I watch Father Martin as he paces the room.

“Are you saying they’re back?” I ask.

“If what you’re saying is true, and I have no doubts, then yes. I don’t know how, but the Brethren seem to be forming once again.”

“But what do they want?” It’s a dumb question, I realize, but I’m too stumped to say anything else.

Father Martin stops; his stricken eyes stare into mine. “Son, they’re after what any dark being wants. Power.”

A knock at the door shakes us from our reverie.

“Father,” my mother calls from the other side. “I hate to be a bother, but…”

Father Martin picks up the book and shoves it in my direction. I stare wide-eyed at him, refusing to accept.

“Hide this from your mother. Do not let her see it. Do you understand? It is essential that you know what you are facing.”

A gulp of air sticks in my throat. The idea of taking this book home rubs me raw. I wanted to rid myself of this burden, not open myself up to more darkness. He’s giving me no other choice.

My hands firmly grip the book and shove it under the flap of my coat.

In a harsh whisper, he warns, “Do not let these creatures sway you, my son. They are masters of trickery. These are things that can manipulate one’s soul to do ungodly things. You can’t let them.”

No response comes out. His warning slams into me like the impact of a train, heavy and all at once.

As I walk out to greet my mother, I see Father Raimi at the altar. He nods as if it were any other day, but he couldn’t be more wrong. I’m unable to comprehend anything but the movement of my legs. None of this feels real.

If there’s something in our world that even Father Martin, a man of God, cannot control, then what chance does a seventeen-year-old guy like me have?

fter dinner, I tuck myself away in my room. The book lies hidden under my mattress, buried until I can work up the nerve to confront it. A part of me believes that if I leave it this way, keep myself in the dark, that maybe all of this will go away. Maybe if I deny my gift, whatever is out there waiting for me will accept that I’ve given up. It’s worth a try, right?

In my back pocket, folded into itself, is the note I found on the windshield of Izzie when I got home. It contains the letters:
K. M. B.
in Koren’s handwriting. I’m lucky I found it before Mom had a chance. Those three simple letters are enough to get me through the day, until I see her tomorrow at school. Maybe then she’ll tell me what she knows. I hope.