The Keepers (28 page)

“He follows Chloe,” Horace corrected. “He—”

“He tries,” Chloe said, firing a furious glance at him. “He can't keep up with me.”

Mr. Meister drilled his gaze so hard into Chloe that Horace felt pushed back into his seat just being near her. Chloe, however, took his piercing scrutiny without a blink. The little black birds twittered overhead.

“Perhaps you do not realize how dangerous Dr. Jericho is,” Mr. Meister said. “You've heard the tale, but still there is much you do not know. Among the Riven, his kind is called the Mordin. They are hunters, much taller than ordinary Riven, and more fearsome than most. Their senses are attuned to the Tanu, and to the humans who use them—particularly to Tan'ji. Mordin are single-minded, obsessive. They have one purpose: to seek out and acquire Tan'ji, by whatever means necessary.”

“That's interesting,” Chloe said dryly.

Mr. Meister grimaced and turned to Horace. “Tell me.”

Horace cleared his throat. “I've seen Dr. Jericho. He hasn't seen me since that day on the bus, though. Or at least . . .”

Mr. Meister craned forward. “Yes?”

Horace hesitated again. But whatever Chloe's reasons were for not telling Mr. Meister about Dr. Jericho, this story had to be told. “I was following Chloe one night, using the box. And Dr. Jericho, he was following her too. This was all in the future, of course.” Chloe had her chin in the air, eyes on the ceiling. Her lips were stone. “But Dr. Jericho looked strange through the box—more like a monster.”

“A side effect of his disguise.”

“Disguise?”

“The Riven use Tanu to weave illusions around themselves. No doubt you have noticed that the Dr. Jericho you see is not what other people seem to see—though it is still a disguise.”

“Some disguise,” Chloe muttered.

“Make no mistake. We see Dr. Jericho as we do only because he allows it. The Mordin are an arrogant bunch. Granted, we who have the talent are much harder to trick than those who do not, but Dr. Jericho could fool us, briefly, if he really tried.” He held out both hands to Horace. “But the Fel'Daera casts the Riven's disguises in a . . . shall we say . . . very noticeable light. Their disguises are changeable, shifting. The box, when viewing the future, interprets this variability as an extravagance of form.”

“It was extravagant, all right.” Horace shuddered, remembering the sight. “But also, Dr. Jericho, he . . . knew the box was there. He could sense it. Through time, I mean.”

“That is not possible.”

“Well, okay, but it happened. He came after the box. I used it to lure him away from Chloe's hiding place. He knew I was there, on the other side. He even tried to speak to me through the box.”

Mr. Meister's sharp stare darted again to Chloe, who was still contemplating the ceiling. Her mouth had fallen open slightly, though. Horace had never told her this story. “You were hiding from him.”

“I hide from a lot of people. Creatures. Whatever. I'm not in any danger.”

“We are all in danger. Earlier you said he was following you—is he alone when he appears?”

“Usually.”

“But not always. How often do you see him?”

Chloe shrugged. “Once every couple of weeks, I guess.”

She'd told Horace the thin man was following her far more often, but even with the lie, Mr. Meister choked back a gasp. “This should not be. What of your leestone?”

“Like the statue in Horace's house? I never had one of those.”

“No, yours was different—the keel of a raven. I gave it to you myself. No new Keeper leaves a warehouse without a leestone.”

Chloe scoffed. “You gave it to me when I was five? That was forever ago. And anyway, what's a keel?”

Mr. Meister put his fingers to his forehead, murmuring, his thoughts clearly elsewhere as he said, “A bone. The breastbone of a bird.” He looked up again. “This would be a flatter bone, almost like the fin of a shark. It was engraved with markings. Gruesome, but you were fascinated. Careless of me to assume after seven years . . . but now I understand.”

“Look, things are . . . things have been . . .” Chloe squeezed her eyes shut and worked her jaw. She sighed. “My dad, sometimes he pawns our stuff. To get money.”

“I see.” Mr. Meister thought some more and then said, “I think I am correct in assuming it was you, Chloe, whom Horace saw on the bus that day. The girl in the green hoodie, as I recall. Are you aware that it must have been your presence that pulled Dr. Jericho on board, putting you both in danger? That very likely it was only the cloud of the raven's eye in
Horace's pocket that kept the Mordin from noticing you?”

“It doesn't matter. The freak can't catch me. And I helped Horace escape.”

“It's very curious that Dr. Jericho was even aware of Horace, considering Horace had the raven's eye. Did you use your Tan'ji on that bus? To slip out the back unnoticed, perhaps?”

Chloe had no answer for that one, which of course was all the answer there was. She clenched her jaw and looked away.

Mr. Meister rolled on mercilessly. “And no doubt you've also realized that it must have been you who led the Riven to the warehouse yesterday.”

“What?” Horace cried, unable to hold back any longer.

“I would never do that,” said Chloe.

“Perhaps not intentionally. But I have no doubt it was your trail they followed to our door.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“I do not care. I am not interested in dwelling on the past. But now that you do know, would you like to reconsider your answers to the questions I've asked you?”

Reluctantly, almost poutily, she said, “I see the freak more than every couple of weeks. It's more like every other day.”

Mr. Meister's eyes widened. “And does he know where you live?”

“Probably,” Chloe said, then sighed. “Yes.”

“Your father. You live with him.”

“Him and my sister.”

“Yes, of course. Madeline. How has your father been behaving? Has he been normal?”

“Normal for him.”

“Which is?”

“Drunk. Unemployed. Asleep half the time, gone the rest.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “Seems like you maybe ought to know all this already. Seems like you ought to keep better tabs on your Keepers.”

“Much of this we do know. We know of your mother.”

Chloe shot to her feet, quivering. Mr. Meister went on smoothly. “Have you noticed anything strange in your father's possession? Something new? Something with which he is reluctant to part?”

Chloe's eyes carved across the old man's face. “A Tanu, you mean.” Mr. Meister nodded. “What kind of a thing?”

“Something small. A token, perhaps, or a figurine. Probably black, probably made of stone, or glass.”

Chloe dropped back into her seat. “No, nothing like that. Where would he get something like that, anyway?”

“We speak now of the malkund, gifts of the Riven. These are Tanu meant to compromise the holder, to make them more susceptible to outside influences. A malkund may exhaust you, distract you, sadden you. It may increase your natural weaknesses—your fears, your obsessions. It may make you suspicious of those you have heretofore trusted, make you more likely to listen to those you would not ordinarily trust.”

“My dad trusts everybody.”

“When the malkund takes possession, it is extremely troublesome to deal with.”

“It's lucky there isn't one, then.”

Mr. Meister sank into a silence so deep and so long that Horace began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. He held his head in one hand, a single finger across his lips, face lowered. After a couple of minutes, a bird fluttered down from above and alighted in his white hair. It hopped there cheekily—twice, three times—and darted away again with a rustle.

At last, after four minutes, the old man stirred. “All that I hear troubles me a great deal,” he said. Then he stood up abruptly. “It is time for you to go. I have much to look into. In the meantime, do not use your Tan'ji unless absolutely necessary, for fear of drawing the Riven's scrutiny. If you see Dr. Jericho again, steer well clear of him, and do not draw attention to yourselves.” He dug into a pocket and pulled out a raven's eye, handing it to Chloe. “Take this with you. And be sure you sleep beneath Horace's roof each night, no matter what it takes. As long as you do, you will have the protection of his leestone.”

Chloe shoved the raven's eye into her pocket without a glance. She looked at Mr. Meister hard for a few seconds. “That's it?”

“For now, yes.”

“So we just . . . what? Go home with our Tan'ji and take up knitting?”

“Think on what I have told you. Consider my invitation. I
hope you will decide to join us—not just for our sake, but for your own.” But then he spread his hands, making a gesture of acquiescence. “I will not pretend we do not need your help. There are now only a half dozen Wardens in the city, counting Mrs. Hapsteade and myself. Gabriel is a third—you've met him. We are all Tan'ji, of course, some of us powerful indeed—though I will confess none of us possesses an instrument quite like the Fel'Daera, or the Alvalaithen.”

“That's it?” Chloe said. “Six of you?”

“There are other Wardens in other places, but I would put our total numbers at less than two hundred.”

“And how many of them are kids?” asked Horace.

Mr. Meister shrugged. “As you say, we have been recruiting. The Find comes most easily to the young. But there are Wardens even older than myself. Much older.”

Horace had a hard time imagining such a thing. But their numbers—only six Wardens in the city! How many Riven were there? He had a feeling it was a lot more than six.

“Now you know why we seek out new Keepers. I admit it is a frustration—I have a great many Tanu of considerable power in my possession, but they are unclaimed. Once there were many of us, but we have dwindled. In stature. In numbers. In will. Some were taken. Some dispossessed. Fused, faded, killed, cleaved. Turned.” He fell silent. Overhead, a bird rustled sleepily. “But as the tide goes out, so too it must come in. The unclaimed Tan'ji are finding their Keepers. Chloe, you have come into your own. You, Horace, have
bonded to the Fel'Daera. And there are others who will be making their way to us soon. Still we search.” He sighed. “All of them young, yes. It seems that will be the way of things here at the end.”

Horace took it all in, feeling again the mysterious weight of this old story into which he himself had so recently wandered. What must Mr. Meister's life have been? And how tiny a thing was Horace compared to everything else Mr. Meister must have seen and done in all his years?

Mr. Meister shook himself. “Forgive me. I wax sentimental. It is time now for you to go. We will meet again soon.”

“And how soon is soon?” Chloe asked.

Mr. Meister thought for a moment, then turned to Horace. “There is a shed behind your house, I believe. Rarely used, by the looks of it.”

“Yes, the toolshed.”

“Can you meet me there tomorrow night? Around midnight? I hope to have an answer to some of my questions by then. We will have more to discuss.”

“Sure. Okay,” said Horace. Chloe nodded.

“Very good. Look for me tomorrow.” He began to herd them toward the door. “In the meantime—” He laid a hand on each of their shoulders and fixed them with a final steely gaze. “Fear is the stone; may yours be light.”

B
ECK DROVE THEM HOME
. T
HEY WERE HEADED TO
C
HLOE
'
S
house first, so she could get clothes and make arrangements for Madeline. As they drove, Chloe rolled the leestone mindlessly between her cupped palms, peeking at it now and again, and once or twice pressing it to her cheek.

“Why didn't you tell him?” Horace asked her, after several silent blocks.

“About what?”

“You know what.” Horace wasn't sure how much Beck understood—or actually, whether Beck could even talk.

“I can handle it. I'm used to dealing with things on my own.”

“I don't think that's smart.”

“I never said I was smart.” She tilted her head at him. “So you lured Dr. Jericho away that night, huh? When I was
hiding inside the tree?” Her brow wrinkled. “Or no—the night before.”

“The night before, yeah.”

“You didn't really know me yet.”

Horace shrugged. “It didn't matter. You needed help.”

“No, I mean you didn't know me well enough to know I didn't need help.” She pressed the leestone against her cheek again. Horace turned away, irritated. It wasn't like he'd been bragging about what he'd done, throwing it in her face.

They dropped into silence. Horace thought they were nearly to Chloe's house now; the neighborhood seemed familiar. Chloe leaned forward and spoke to Beck.