The Gatekeeper's Son
Read The Gatekeeper's Son Online
Authors: C.R. Fladmark
Copyright © 2014 by C. R. Fladmark
All rights reserved. Published by The Shokunin Publishing Company.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a database or retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner listed above and the publisher of this book, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
The Gatekeeper’s Son
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Fladmark, C.R.
The Gatekeeper’s Son / by C. R. Fladmark.
Summary
:
With the help of a mysterious girl, a San Francisco teenager saves his grandfather’s business empire from a ruthless businessman while discovering things about himself and his family that lead him back to ancient Japan and threaten to destroy the life he has always known.
ISBN: 978-0-9937776-1-5 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-0-9937776-0-8 (trade paperback)
ISBN: 978-0-9937776-2-2 (hard cover)
Edited by Shannon Roberts.
Book Design by Christopher Fisher; Cover Design by Pete Garceau
Visit their website:
www.editorialdepartment.com
First Edition: September 2014
Table of Contents
To Mika, who took me across.
CHAPTER
1
I waved at the security cameras as I crossed the cobblestones and headed toward the arched gateway of the old carriage house, and the wrought-iron gates began to swing inward. A little creepy, I always thought, but convenient. Behind me, the street sloped down a steep hill lined with manicured gardens. The Crescent was home to some of the finest mansions in San Francisco, including my grandpa’s.
I was about to enter the driveway when I felt a weird sensation on the back of my neck, a tingling, like hot water hitting cold hands. I turned back to the street and looked around. The street was empty, nothing out of place—except the girl.
She was sitting on a park bench in the shade of a maple tree, legs swinging, her shoes barely scraping the ground. I saw long black hair and a school uniform.
She was looking at me.
When our eyes met, the space between us blurred and rippled as if the air were a giant tarp and someone had snapped the corner. I grabbed the carriage-house wall. I felt dizzy, ears ringing, chest tight.
The gates began to close. I wanted to slip through and escape into their sanctuary, but my body was frozen. A long moment later, the feeling vanished, but it left the air clearer, colors brighter. My body buzzed with energy.
The girl was still there, but she’d stood up. She gave me one last look before she turned and walked away, her short skirt swishing under a black backpack. I stared until she disappeared behind the bushes.
The ground began to tremble and flex, accompanied by a terrible roar. I flattened myself against the carriage-house wall and stared in horror as the cobblestones buckled and rose like a tsunami, higher and higher, racing toward me. I sucked in a lungful of air just before it smashed me against the wall, tossed me into the air, and dragged me under its boiling fury. I tumbled into the swirl of it, fighting the current, feeling the scream of my lungs as I slipped deeper.
Then the wave dumped me on the ground and was gone.
It took a minute for the pain to fade. When I could finally think straight, I sat up and looked around to see how bad the destruction was.
Everything looked the same. The carriage house still stood, and the cobblestones lay undisturbed. It was quiet except for the sound of someone running toward me.
A man, vaguely familiar, burst through the gate and skidded into me, slamming me back to the ground.
“Sprout’s down, repeat, Sprout’s down!” the man said as he shoved his knee into my back and pressed my head against the bricks.
Sprout? I gasped, my muscles aching and my head spinning. I tried to twist around to see who it was, but all I saw was a hand and the steel-blue semiautomatic it held, pointed toward the street.
When the bodyguard finally figured out I wasn’t in danger, it still took a while to assure him that “Sprout” was fine. And why exactly did the protection detail have to give me that particular code name? Couldn’t they have picked something cool?
When he pulled me up with one hand, I told him I’d fallen because of the earthquake.
He holstered his gun. “What earthquake?” He touched my forehead. “I’d better call an ambulance.”
“No, no. I’m fine—I guess I just tripped.” I forced a smile. “Did you see the girl on the bench?” I pointed toward the park—everything there looked normal.
He shot me a look, then walked into the middle of the street. “I don’t see any girl.”
“There was a girl there and … I got dizzy.” I kicked my toe against the moss between the bricks.
He laughed. “She must’ve been one hell of a girl!”
I knew my face was getting red. I looked away and swore under my breath. When I looked back, he was smirking.
“Don’t worry, Sprout, the Chairman’s not home yet.” He handed me my backpack. “You’ve got some seriously overactive hormones.”
I heard him laughing into his two-way radio as he retreated into the yard. I stood just inside the gates, straightening my clothes and waiting for the heat to leave my face.
I glanced toward the bench one more time. Had I imagined the whole thing?
I climbed the wide stone staircase, but before I could knock, the front door swung open and there stood Grandpa’s butler, wearing a gray apron over his dark blue suit.
“Good morning, Master James,” he said in his English accent, looking down his thin nose at me.
I smiled up at him. “Morning, William. It’s really good to see you.”
“Thank you, … but it’s only been a week.” He brushed the leaves off my coat and hung it in the hall closet, but he didn’t say anything.
I handed over my backpack as if it were a newborn baby. “My new laptop’s in there.” It was three days old, custom-built, a birthday gift to myself. He made a show of putting it away while I waited with my grubby running shoes planted on the thick rug in the foyer. Beside me stood an ornate round table weighted down by an enormous bouquet of flowers.
Grandpa’s house was large, formal, and quiet, with something fragile waiting around every corner. But there was a familiar smell to the place that I liked—old wood, I guess, and maybe Grandpa, too. Today something smelled especially good.
William noticed my sniffing. A twinkle crept into his eyes, causing little lines to appear all over his face. “I’m baking croissants.”
“Awesome.” William baked one hell of a croissant. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“Your grandfather apologizes for being late. He had a meeting this morning.”
“On a Saturday?”
William shifted slightly. “Yes.”
I frowned. “Everything OK?”
His face lost its stiffness. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” His hands toyed with the bow on the front of his apron. “It’s just … he’s been looking a bit tired lately. I think perhaps he needs to slow down.” He straightened. “In any event, the Chairman will be along shortly. You may wait in his study.” He started toward the kitchen but stopped and turned. “Incidentally, I saw what happened outside.”
I groaned. “Does Grandpa know?”
“Probably. You caused quite a hullabaloo out there.” William smiled. “He’s an eager fellow, that one. But that’s why the Chairman hires them. Makes us all feel safer.” With that, he turned and walked away, his heels clicking on the gleaming hardwood floor. As I climbed the staircase to the second floor, I was sure I heard him chuckling.
And what the hell was a hullabaloo?