Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (26 page)

He’d almost reached the one-room church. He was slowing down as he made it to the steps to avoid pounding them and making even more of a scene. He pulled the door open, peeked his head inside, then slipped in.

“Was that Patrick?” Hanif asked, following my gaze.

I just nodded, carefully curling my fingers around the slip of paper I held. I didn’t want the others to see the note. It seemed too personal to share.

Ashley spoke suddenly from behind us. “This place is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Alex turned to Dr. Radcliffe, who was hardly taking the time to admire the sights around him because he was so busy documenting it. But Alex was a soldier, concentrating on the ultimate mission. “Sir, the night the Demon Lord got his Sight—won’t that be a heavily guarded night in his past? The Demon Lord obviously knows he is vulnerable then, and he may have taken precautions. He may have asked Demons and Seers to keep a lookout.”

Dr. Radcliffe was nodding. “It’s a risk we must be willing to take. In my research I’ve found that his mother—a single woman—moved around a lot. Most of the time there’s no record she had a place of her own. She lived with boyfriends, neighbors . . . The truth is, we wouldn’t know where to find the Demon Lord before he got his Sight, except on the day the police showed up to arrest the boyfriend. After being released the Demon Lord was in orphanages for years. It would be almost impossible to find him until he was with the Guardians, and by then he would be less vulnerable.”

Alex shook his head. “They’d still be in the same apartment a couple days before the shootings, right? I’d feel better if we could take them off guard.”

“It’s possible that wasn’t their first day there, yes. But the moving boxes were still scattered all over the place, and the Demon Lord couldn’t even tell the police the address. He just had to give them landmarks. According to his report, he and his family had moved in with the boyfriend only a couple days ago. Besides, the night of the shooting will be the best night to end all of this.”

Ashley sighed. “So we’re going to have to fight off who knows how many people, plus assassinate the most dangerous enemy the Guardians have ever had? With only four of us?”

“Four? No no, my dear girl—only three.”

“What?” Hanif asked, glancing around and recounting each of us.

Radcliffe blinked. “Didn’t you realize? I’m supplying the memory. I will be unable to assist you.”

“What about her?” Ashley asked, pointing to me. “I meant her.”

Alex shifted closer to me. “Kate’s not going. She doesn’t have to. I can lead this mission, and I can get us all out safely.”

“Seriously? You, me, and Hanif?”

Dr. Radcliffe laid a hand on her arm. “You’re the only ones young enough and willing to volunteer. Your gifts are rarer than you realize.”

She didn’t shake his hand off, like I thought she might. But she was eyeing me with a look caught between disgust and envy. Unable to meet her stare, I opened my mouth to address everyone. “If that’s all the time you need, we should be getting back. You don’t want to be unconscious for too long.”

I explained again how to feel the tug in their stomachs, instructed them to close their eyes for concentration’s sake, and then I watched as each one successfully vanished back to the present. When I was the last one standing on the hill I turned and made my way down to the church.

I wasn’t dressed for a Sunday service, but I wasn’t planning on going inside—yet. The walk was long and leisurely, like stretching a tired body against a firm bed after a hard day. I angled toward the back of the church, where I could hopefully wait in safety for the church to empty. There was a small, peaceful cemetery on the side of the church, and around back was a gigantic tree. I leaned up against the rough bark and listened to the muffled end of the sermon.

Pastor O’Donnell’s voice was soothing but powerful. I couldn’t quite get the gist of the lesson, because I couldn’t pick out many clear words. But just the sound of his confident tone made me feel warm and energized. The congregation concluded by singing a hymn of praise.

I heard feet scraping against the wooden floor, heard people on the steps outside, and knew the service was over. Cheerful Irish voices called out good-byes to friends and family, until hardly a crowd was left at all.

The sounds of wagons and horses faded, and I crept back around the side of the church, unwilling to be seen.

As I got nearer to the front of the church, I heard the unmistakable voice of Sean O’Donnell. Laughter undulated in every syllable he uttered. “. . . make him live in the church, then he won’t be late. In addition to that, we’d be rid of him, mostly.”

A kind woman’s voice was gently reprimanding. “Now, Sean, that’ll do. Besides, he feels bad enough. Don’t you, Patrick?”

I pressed my shoulder against the church, my stomach clenching for some reason.

His voice was perfect, and it made my heart pound. “Of course, Mam. I promised it wouldn’t happen again, and now I’ve broken that promise. It’s just that . . . this inspiration comes at the worst of times. I can hardly stop mid-stroke.”

Pastor O’Donnell’s voice was heavy but not unkind. “Your talent is a gift. But the Lord expects us to divide our time wisely.”

His wife cut in before he could launch into another sermon. I found myself smiling at her words. “The Lord also believes in Sunday dinner, Patrick, love—so why don’t we save the lessons for later, hmm?”

“Oh, all right. But first I must gather my notes.”

“Should we wait for you?” she asked.

“No, I’ll be along.”

The wooden steps rattled and then I spotted Patrick and Sean walking on either side of their mother, holding her arms like it was the most natural thing to do. Sean was whispering something to her, and she actually threw back her head and laughed. It was an angelic sound, and I wished more than ever before that I could step out and meet her too. But that would be unwise. I didn’t want to mess up anything Patrick and I had in the future. He’d already seen me once in the past—I couldn’t let it happen again.

Once they were nearly to the house, about a quarter mile away, I stepped around the corner and made my way up to the entrance of the church.

The one-room church was more dimly lit than the last time I’d been inside, but that was due to the coming storm that hindered the light outside. There were no lights or candles.

Several pews were in the center of the room, leaving an aisle along each wall. Simple windows lined the length of the building, and a wooden pulpit sat at the back end of the room. Dominating the space was a large wooden cross mounted onto the back wall. It wasn’t really ornamented; some delicate etchings, and that was all. But it was still incredibly beautiful.

A middle-aged man stood at the pulpit, wearing a plain black robe with a white collar. His head was bowed over a sheaf of papers, which he was trying to shuffle into his thick Bible. He glanced up when he heard the floor creak beneath my feet, his penetrating blue eyes taking in my presence.

His aura was as I remembered it—peaceful, happy, and simple; much like the church he loved so much. There were more bits of gray than last time, and the green uneasiness had also lengthened. A dull brown also faded in and out of nearly every other color. It was a pain I’d put there; the pain of knowing the fate of his family, knowing what he would have to do to bring that future into play. But white was there too. Hope. I wondered if the hope Alex had seen in me was as prevalent as this. If so, I’d be amazed.

He had a lined face, but the effect was pleasant. Comforting. Real. His hair was thinning, especially on the top of his head. But his brown hair had managed to retain most of the color, despite the few silver hairs creeping in at the temples.

He breathed in deeply, a thin smile lifting his face. “Kate. You’ve returned.”

My own mouth twisted up without prompting. “Pastor O’Donnell.” I paused, but when he didn’t say anything else, I added, “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

His eyes widened, as if surprised at his own staring. “No! No, of course not!” He set his Bible down and hurried around the podium, coming to me quickly. I didn’t expect him to throw his arms around me, but I didn’t regret getting his powerful hug. “Oh, I’m so relieved! I’ve been praying every day for your safety. How long has it been for you? Did you manage to escape from the Demon Lord? How is Patrick? Have you heard anything more about Sean?”

I chuckled, pulling back enough so I could look into his eyes—eyes that dimly matched Patrick’s. They weren’t quite as brilliant, but maybe I was prejudiced. “We got out all right. It’s been over five weeks now.”

“Five weeks?” he muttered, astounded. “Heavens.”

“How long for you?”

“Eleven days,” he replied at once, proof he’d been keeping a careful record. “Isn’t it amazing? I can hardly wrap my mind around it. But if the Lord can, that’s all that really matters. What of Patrick?”

I extended the note, unable to stop grinning. “It’s from him,” I added, when he simply stared at the proffered paper.

His eyes lit up; he took the folded paper with fingers that trembled with anticipation. He began to unwrap the message, belatedly asking me to sit, if I’d like. We sat together on the front pew and I tried to look at anything other than his face. I knew this was a private moment for him, but it was hard to keep my eyes from wandering back to take in his expression.

He scanned the message, and I saw his jaw clench once. His eyes were moist with emotion and his aura was constantly changing, shifting to brighter colors. The pain was still present, though, flaring occasionally.

He looked up at me, a thin smile cracking through. “Have you read this?”

I shook my head.

He handed it over immediately. “I think you should.”

I tried not to look too eager as I focused on the small and neat script.

Dear Father,

I have so many things I would like to say. So many things I wish to tell you. In the end, I am rendered thoughtless. If it weren’t for Kate, I probably wouldn’t say anything at all. But she’s right—I have a miraculous opportunity, and it shouldn’t be wasted.

Let me begin by reminding you of my love. Despite the things that transpired between us, you remain my moral compass. You will always be the one I look up to. The one I wish to emulate. I know that telling Mother about these things is impossible now. She doesn’t deserve the burden. But someday, please convey my truest love to her. Let her know that I will never stop revering her, that she will always be my angel.

I wish more than ever that I had you with me. Times are so uncertain. I don’t know what to do. Sean is not the same person. He is a Demon, in every sense of the word. He has done so much. So many terrible things. But if he is completely evil, why do I still love him? Why do I find the thought of killing him so sickening? If I don’t do something, he will haunt me forever. He will haunt Kate. I can’t allow that. I feel so lost. So afraid of what is to come. I can only hold on to your hope, trust in your faith.

Despite everything, I want you to know that I am happy. Happier than I have ever been. I love Kate with all my heart. With all my strength. With all my thoughts. With every breath I breathe. When you think of my death, I don’t want you to think of pain and loss. I want you to think of Kate. For she is my happiness. She is my home. She is my heaven.

I love you, Father. I will for the rest of eternity.

Your son,

Patrick

I was blinking back tears. Pastor O’Donnell handed me a white handkerchief, which I took at once. While I wiped my eyes, his markedly rough voice filled the room. “He has always amazed me with his ability to express emotion, whether through art or the written word. He is an extremely talented young man.”

“He is,” I agreed quietly. I glanced up at him, gently brandishing the letter. “Thank you. For letting me see this.”

“Of course. I’m sure he wanted you to know.” He retrieved the precious letter and folded it care. “But I should be thanking
you.
For so many things. For convincing him to write this, for carrying it to me . . . for your very presence in his life.”

I blushed. “It’s not like it sounds. I mean—
he’s
all those things to
me
.”

“Are you calling him a liar?” he asked calmly.

“No, but . . . You know what I mean.”

He nodded. “And I approve of your modesty. Humility is an important trait. But don’t let it become self-deprecation.” He leaned back against the hard bench. “But enough of my lectures for one day. What brings you here?”

I did my best to bring him up to speed. It was easier than I thought it would be—the story just sort of poured out. I cried as I talked about my grandfather’s death, but he was patient with my rush of emotions. After the tears stopped falling, I felt amazingly refreshed. I told him about all the Guardians and Seers watching over me and my family, about the reward the Demon Lord had put out for me. I told him I’d come here to train some Seers so they could assassinate the Demon Lord and stop all of this from happening.

He wondered what that would do to us, if the Demon Lord never lived to force me back in time. He was especially anxious to know if it would save Sean from becoming Far Darrig. I didn’t have any answers for him, but I think he could hear the doubts I harbored about the last one.

The only thing I didn’t tell him about were the dreams I’d been having about Sean; the ones where I killed him. I didn’t want Pastor O’Donnell to know about my weakness. He was trusting in me to make everything right, to save his youngest son; I couldn’t do that if I killed him.

By the time I was finished he was shaking his bowed head. “These are indeed dangerous times, Kate. I understand Patrick’s unease.”

“He worries a lot.”

“He worries about you. About all those he loves.” He hesitated, raising his head to meet my gaze. “How much longer can you stay?”

I could already feel the uncomfortable pull in my stomach, beckoning me to come back to my own time. I ignored it. “However long you need me to.”