Labyrinth: The Keeper Chronicles, a prequel (11 page)

“Always am.”

The relief he felt that his parents were still alive was topped only by his guilt at hoping that someone else's loved one had passed away. Moore had an alcoholic husband only good for slaying and two young children. They needed her. Lorek was old; his daughter, grown. Maybe he'd had a heart attack sitting in his tower watching television. There were worse ways for a Keeper to go.

He grabbed his water-tight pack and shoved his spare ranger's uniform, gun, and an extra clip of ammo inside. Almost as an afterthought, he added his phone and wallet. His wetsuit hung behind the orange-flowered curtain that sectioned off part of his wall, and he put it on as he'd done hundreds of times before. It'd do the demons a disservice if he caught cold and died in his bed.

The Jet Ski had its own private dock off the side of the island, and he stepped over the bodies of a dozen different demons on his way to crank it down into the turbulent water. Rain pelted him, dripping down his face and into his eyes as the waves drenched his legs. So much for getting dry.

Once the Jet Ski was in the water, he climbed on and unhooked the rope securing it to the metal pier. Rough waters were his favorite, and he backed away from the island he called home and headed south along the Pacific toward Cape Creek. A built-in GPS system guided him down the coastline as he jumped the waves, crouching on his feet to keep his center of gravity lower to the water. Despite the exhaustion—the energy drinks and protein bars hadn't done much to revive his strength—he grinned.

Sometimes when he went for long boat rides or took the Jet Ski out, he wondered just where the demon world was. Parallel dimensions and the multiverse were all well and good in the realms of theoretical physics or science fiction, but in the real world, few believed them possible. None but Keepers who spent their lives, quite literally, protecting mankind from the refuse that slipped between dimensions few believed existed. Some witches did, but covens varied widely. Every once in a while one of the Keepers had to venture inland and destroy whatever demon some naive coven had raised and then been unable to control. Even talking about demons or monsters or witches would earn him a one-way trip to the asylum if a normal person overheard. For them, it was well and good to watch television shows or movies that depicted the hidden reality of the world right under their noses—a world they refused to believe in. Gabe didn't mind. It kept them out of his way.

That still didn't solve his conundrum of where, exactly, demons came from. The collision of elemental forces, such as those created when severe storms did the impossible and momentarily united the realms of air, fire, water, and earth in a strike of lightning near the ocean's shore, allowed the creatures to cross over from a place the lore only named the Red. But the door was one way. Demons could enter our world under precise conditions, and had been doing so as long as there'd been life here—hence their frequency in the world's mythology and folktales—but a person could never survive a trip going the other way. At least, not a normal one.

Physicists claim that just as ours isn't the only sun in existence, maybe our universe isn't a singularity either. Could demons be what passed for conscious life in another universe, traveling across dimensions in a wormhole or other type of space rift? The thought was an intriguing one. Growing up, he'd always wanted to study physics at a university and find the answers for himself. Do research. However, that kind of life wasn't in his destiny. Gabe had a duty, as his father liked to remind him, and tonight that duty was going to be more unpleasant than normal.

The headlights of his Jet Ski illuminated the entrance to the sandy cove created where Cape Creek emptied into the Pacific Ocean. A favorite of sea lions and whales in the right season, the cove was normally a pleasant place and a destination for tourists or guests staying at the bed-n-breakfast. The sandy beach was the size of two football fields and lined on the north and east sides with storm-battered pines. Trails led up into the trees and toward the keeper's house that overlooked the cove. Lorek and his daughter lived there in the converted b-n-b. Just beyond that, the Meceta Head Light twirled golden and strong. No problem there—at least none he could see from a distance.

As he drove his Jet Ski up onto the beach, he noticed the bluish glow of halogen headlights stopped in the center of the elegant Cape Creek Bridge. Normally, a pair of headlights wouldn't catch his eye, but if they belonged to Moore's patrol car, he needed to know. She might be hurt. Or worse.

Gabe took some rope from the compartment beneath the Jet Ski's seat and secured his ride to one of the nearby pine trees. The high tide had gone out already, but it still didn't seem prudent to risk his only mode of transportation washing out to the ocean. That finished, he took another moment to change into his Park Services uniform. Only having a gun for defense left him feeling naked. He pulled back the slide to check that a round was loaded and let it snap back with a click. Might as well get this over with.

The trail leading away from the beach and up the cliff was deserted, the thunder a distant growl. No more demons should be spawned in this area, but that didn't mean that one hadn't sunk past Lorek. Crouching, Gabe inhaled slowly, letting his sharpened sense of smell take over. Pine. Salt. Brine. Mold. Animal droppings. Musk from a skunk. A hint of beer from discarded cans.

He jumped up and started running down the path toward the bridge.

The last scent had been faint but unmistakable.

Human blood.