Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (2 page)

His answer was defensive and immediate. “I will not. I’ve done this loads of times,” he added, speaking primarily to the largest three members of his audience.

Colin and I shared a quick look; I tried to sound more authoritative. “I’ll get Da, Sean. I swear I will.”

The smallest of the three large boys chuckled loudly. “Let your
Da
save you, then,” he yelled up.

The largest grinned hugely. “Knew you were lying from the start . . .”

Even from here I could see Sean bristle. “I can jump it,” he declared boldly. He looked to the church—squinted as if aiming—and then he slowly started scooting out onto a quivering limb.

The hands in my pockets were fists. I tossed a rueful look to the young boy at my side. “What happened, Colin?” I asked lowly, a slight variation to my earlier question.

The other three boys glanced at us, though they were still centered mostly on Sean.

Colin’s distress was visibly rising with every second. He started wringing his hands as he met my hard stare. “Sean was boasting toward the McCarthy brothers—they’re nephews of the O’Briens. He said he could jump onto the church roof. They dared him to prove it.”

I glanced to the McCarthy brothers, who were laughing amongst themselves at my brother’s imbecilic actions. I would have joined them, if I weren’t so worried for Sean.

Sean was creeping toward the end of the branch now, and he was beginning to dip toward the ground far below. I felt the vertigo he never seemed to feel, and I tried one last time to reason with him. “Sean, you can’t make it. Come down!”

“I can make it!” he protested. He grunted loudly, shifting his weight gradually as he struggled to a crouching position.

The middle McCarthy brother guffawed loudly, and I rounded on them in an instant, trying to assert my age in my superior tone. “Tell my brother you believe him. Let him climb down.”

The oldest gave me a dark sneer. “Bugger off. It was his idea, not ours.”

“Yeah,” the youngest drawled, head tilted back to enjoy Sean’s shivering form as he fought for balance.

The middle one smiled at the sight, and my stomach grew painfully tight. “Let the idiot fall,” the boy said, chuckling. “I’ll bet he makes a nice scream before he hits.”

I stared at them, completely sickened. This was my brother. How could anyone talk about him in this way? Perhaps more important, why had I stayed back this long?

I did the only thing I could think of doing. I looked up into the leafy branches. “Hold on, Sean—I’m coming up. I’ll do it with you.”

Colin actually gasped, and Sean did a double take as he watched me move for the trunk.

“What?” My brother was clearly taken aback. “Patrick, you can’t jump this!”

“That fact hasn’t stopped you,” I reasoned. I grabbed for the lowest branch, and with a great deal of worming, I managed to pull myself up into the lower reaches of the old yew.

“Patrick, stop!” Sean called down to me, sounding genuinely alarmed. “You can’t climb this tree.”

I could hear the McCarthy brothers below and behind, laughing at the both of us—primarily me, as I struggled to make progress.

“Why not?” I grunted up to my brother.

Sean all but glared down at me. “You’re afraid of heights,” he hissed. I think he meant it to be for my ears alone, except the light breeze carried the words easily.

The largest McCarthy turned mocking. “Oho, he’s afraid of heights. Is he going to faint and fall, do you think?”

The other brothers laughed, and Sean growled down at me, deeply annoyed. “Patrick—get down, will you? You’re making fools of us both!”

I didn’t answer—I had to focus on my climb. I wasn’t graceful, or fast, but I was steady. For now. I knew my first glimpse of the ground would freeze me, effectively ruining my feeble bluff. I prayed my brother would save me before that happened.

The reaction I was waiting for didn’t come soon enough for me; I was halfway up and sweating more from fear than exertion when finally Sean let go of his foolish pride. He started to back down the tree, despite the many jeers from the boys below. I hesitated where I was, watching as he swung down to my side in seconds. He stopped near my elbow, his flushed face upset with me. “What did you do that for?” he rasped narrowly.

I grunted low in my throat. “To keep you from being a big dolt. You’ll thank me someday. Now help me get off this thing . . .”

Sean helped me in whispers know where to place my feet and hands, and slowly we made our way down together. He actually grasped my ankle once to guide me to the best foothold. Though I slipped once, the journey wasn’t as perilous as it could have been.

When we were nearly to the ground, the middle McCarthy began to taunt my brother. “Good thing you had your brother to save you, Sean. He’s quite the pretty knight, isn’t he?”

I could feel Sean’s body shiver with anger. I called his name gently; his eyes whipped to mine. I kept my voice firm. “Ignore them, Sean. What they think doesn’t matter.”

He ground his teeth a bit violently, but he kept his mouth shut. We continued to descend amid jibes and ribs that became increasingly insulting. Poor Colin was still twisting his fingers together, looking completely at a loss for what to do.

Sean dropped to the ground before me, a second before the largest McCarthy spoke. “Tell us about your brother, Sean. Is he as daft as he looks? Or just plain dumb?”

I was lowering myself from the bottom branch to the long grass, and once my legs were steadied, I looked up to see Sean at my side, glaring openly at the McCarthys.

“Sean . . .” I spoke warningly.

The eldest McCarthy grinned at my brother. “Is he always this pathetic? Or is this a special occasion?”

I don’t know if those words snapped him, or if it was a combination of all the others and he’d just been pausing a second to catch his breath; regardless, he was charging the largest McCarthy before I had a chance to grab him. His head was lowered into the brutal shove, and his unexpectedly powerful impact sent them both sprawling to the ground.

“Sean!” I yelled, rooted to the earth for a horrible second.

I watched as the brave Colin Doyle turned and bolted, dashing for the nearest corner of the church. I then saw the other McCarthys moving to converge on my brother, meaty fists raised expectantly.

A side of me I never knew existed burst forth, and I was running for the two McCarthy brothers before I quite realized what I was doing.

The middle McCarthy saw me coming, and he braced himself to hopefully absorb my sudden thrust of weight. I slammed into him, and we both staggered back a step before I was cuffed on my right ear by the younger McCarthy. I let my fist sail, feeling my knuckles bruise against the middle McCarthy’s jaw. My fingers popped on impact, and I was grabbed from behind by the marginally shorter McCarthy behind me. The middle McCarthy shook free of me and began to pound his fists in my unguarded face as his younger brother clutched me tightly, pinning my arms to my sides.

Though my face was exploding in a pain I’d never before experienced, I was aware of Sean’s struggle nearby. He was still on the ground, the large McCarthy on top of him. Both were letting out grunts of pain, and it wasn’t until Sean cried out that I feared my brother was truly losing the fight.

“Sean!” I gulped, blood trickling from my nose into my mouth. I tasted it on my lips, on my tongue, and the horrible taste made me feel sick. I struggled more desperately to get free, but I was held too tightly.

Locked in this world of brutal pain, I didn’t realize pounding footsteps were coming toward us until my father’s voice assaulted my ears. “Patrick! Sean!”

The fists beating against my pulverized face stopped, thankfully, and I was released. I shook and fell to my knees, my trembling fingers moving up to press delicately against my throbbing skin.

“Patrick!” my mother cried, having seen me fall to the ground. Her skirts whipped briskly around me as she sank into a crouch before me. I felt her cold hands cover mine, tilt my head up, and she let out a wounded cry. “Patrick,” she gasped, eyes tortured. I blinked heavily, trying to smile, to reassure her; the effect was more of a flinch, and when I tried to speak the words clogged in my throat.

She pulled out her small white handkerchief and set it against my nose and mouth. It was immediately soaked. She looked over her shoulder and I followed her gaze with my eyes.

Sean was propped up in my father’s arms, his legs sprawled out over the grass. He wasn’t as bloody as me, but he was already swollen. Father was looking up at Mr. O’Brien, who was apologizing profusely. “They shall be punished, Pastor O’Donnell, you have my word.” The balding man glared toward his nephews. “Home! The lot of you!” He waited until they responded before turning back to my father. “Their father’s just passed, and their mother—poor soul—she’s had her hands full with them.”

Father nodded grimly, balancing Sean’s head on one straining arm. “Of course. I don’t believe any lasting damage has been done.”

I felt more than heard my mother whimper, as if she disagreed with my father’s assessment.

Colin Doyle cast us pale glances, but his parents were directing the rest of the crowd to fall back, that there was nothing more to be done here. So he followed the retreat until the crowd had all disappeared around the corner of the church.

My mother stroked my hair with her free hand, tears forming in her eyes. “Patrick, whatever happened? You’ll tell me this instant!”

I swallowed roughly while Sean began speaking. “Not much, Mam. Just playing.” He cast me a deep look, meant to coerce me into silence.

Unfortunately, my mother could see the look more clearly than I could, and Sean realized this belatedly. Mother’s voice quivered with emotion—not all of it fear. “Boys of mine, fighting. I can hardly stand the thought.” She looked to my father. “Patrick? Say something!”

He stared at Sean for a moment, then looked to me. “Patrick, who began this?”

I answered honestly. “It takes two to quarrel, Da.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate his own proverb in the present circumstances. “Who threw the first blow?” he refined his question.

Sean sighed loudly. “That would be me, I suppose.”

“You
suppose
?” Mother’s voice was quietly shrill. “Did you attack one of those boys, or didn’t you?”

“I did. But they were being rude.”

“I don’t care if they were being insufferable!” she nearly snapped. “I never want to see a drop of blood on either of your faces again. Do you hear me?”

“Aileen, please,” Father spoke suddenly. She glanced to him quickly, and I wished I could see her face. I’d never seen her so impassioned before. It was a little disturbing, but inspiring too. I was like her in so many other ways—did this mean that when I needed to be fierce and vocal, I would be able to be so? Feeling the bruises on my face, I decided my chances were good.

My parents finished exchanging their long glance, then my father’s voice was surprisingly quiet. “Patrick, Sean—are you well enough to walk with me to the house?”

We both nodded humbly, demonstrating our capability by standing. My mother held my arm until Father gave her a look. She released me with a sigh. “I’ll return to the social. But, Patrick, please let the boys go inside and rest. No undue lectures tonight.”

Father nodded once, and mother planted a kiss first on my forehead and then Sean’s, before wandering back through the cemetery. Once she’d disappeared from view, Father pulled out his own handkerchief and handed it to Sean, who pressed it to his bloody lip. I continued to hold my mother’s soiled cloth to my bleeding nose as my brother and I shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder, facing my father.

His face was harder than usual, and I knew Sean was sharing my same thoughts: Was he going to yell? He rarely did, although that only made those rare occasions of raised voice much more powerful and intimidating.

We waited tensely, until finally his tight lips parted. “Tell me everything. Spare nothing—your mother will never hear of this. You have my word.”

So we told him, Sean remembering each insult with impressive clarity. I made sure Father understood I’d had no intention of jumping with Sean from the tree—that it had been a ruse to get him to come down.

Sean summed things up with these words and a simple shrug. “I couldn’t let them call Patrick those things. I’ve never felt so angry, Da.”

“Anger should never dictate our actions,” Da warned severely, though his eyes were no longer burning. He was looking at us with a new light—as if seeing us clearly for the first time. “Not all brothers have this strong loyalty,” he continued slowly. “I am relieved to see that, despite your differences, you have this connection. It brings me great comfort.”

“What about mother?” Sean asked. “Does it bring her comfort?”

I sniffed loudly against the blood falling from my nose, and Father winced. “Perhaps comfort isn’t the best word,” he admitted. “But I’m sure she’ll someday recognize the importance of your bond. Because, someday, your mother and I will be gone. You’ll only have each other then.”

Sean coughed, spitting out a bloody tooth into his palm.

Father grimaced. “Come, let’s get you two inside. And Sean . . . just toss that anywhere. If your mother sees, you’ll be lucky to survive her wrath.”

I know my eyes bulged.
Wrath? Mother?
Still, seeing Father’s face, I decided there must be something he knew about her that I didn’t.

Sean must have felt the same, because as we started to follow Father to the house, he let the small tooth slip through his fingers, leaving it to rest in the long grass.

***

I
stood looking out
one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor of the Illusion Hotel and Casino. I was alone at the window, as was my way: aloof, always on the edge of vision. But always right where I needed to be. I gazed down at the Strip, watching as the cars below swerved impatiently around each other. Humans were always so impatient. It was actually quite amazing what humans would do to save themselves a few seconds. Risk death, even. Like some Demons.