The Guardian Lineage (11 page)

“No!” Mike slammed on the brakes, shielding his face from the heat. He'd used too much power—

Then to his utter relief, he saw a stout figure crawl out from underneath the fire, his t-shirt charred but not aflame. A tall, fiery body ran towards the lake, screaming, holding his face. He dove in head first. The intense heat of the blaze evaporated, replaced by a cloud of steam hovering above the water.

By now the fight started to subside. Several of Sylvan's party began to retreat. Trottingwood was nowhere to be found. There were still a few of the newcomers chasing after Sylvan's people, but—

Zachariah yelled, “Mike, behind you!”

Mike had no time to react. He was grabbed from behind and his head peeled backwards. Instinctively, Mike raised his arms to his neck. Sure enough, his assailant reached across with a blade, cutting at Mike's skin. Mike grunted as he felt a sharp pain, and warm liquid ran down his forearm. He tried to slip out, but he was forced to one knee, as if the guy knew what was coming.

“Back off, or he dies.” It was his captor's voice. A woman's voice. Talking to Zachariah.

Zachariah raised his trembling hands. By now there were at least five or six others who had joined the woman, and they were starting to surround the two Guardians.

Where are the others?
Mike thought, his arm burning. A mix of perfume and sweat clogged his senses. Marie Lu, Brandi? At least Steph? They had to know what was happening, right? And what about…

Mike slid a pinky out from his curled fist and touched it to his chest.

Yaris! Get the hell down here, what are you waiting for?

Mike heard a grunt, then a loud growl in his mind.
I did not realize you were in there!
The voice shut off.

The woman had since released some of the pressure on Mike's neck. But she was still holding him firm to the ground, and keeping the knife ready underneath his wrists.

“Who are you?” she said to Zachariah. “What are you doing here?”

The woman's voice seemed insanely familiar. Mike wracked his brains, trying to remember… was it one of the teachers at Windham? It kind of sounded like Professor Punn… but that made no sense at all…

Just then, two enormous creatures dove out of the sky, like missiles fired from an aircraft. They tackled two of the black fighters with enormous impact and pinned them to the ground. The gargoyles unsheathed their swords and raised them with murderous intent in their eyes.

Mike yelled, “Yaris, no!” The creature hesitated, then turned to look at Mike. His eyes were blood red, without pupils, a telltale sign of his fury. But even Mike could recognize the fear in them when they took hold of Mike's position.

“Name your terms.” Yaris dropped his sword. It clanged on the concrete.

But instead of a response, something unexpected happened. The pressure from the knife subsided, and Mike was released.

“Mike?”

It took Mike a moment to turn around. When he finally did, his world stopped. His jaw fell open, as if there were no muscles in his mouth to hold it closed. His brain turned to putty, and he forgot all about the gash in his arm.

He was staring at Laura Stetson.

“Laura?”

“Mike?”

The two stared at each other for a minute, frozen in place.

“You're a Guardian?”

“You're a… Slayer?”

“But you're not…” Laura's eyes kept looking Mike up and down, as if she was missing something. “But where's your uniform, your patch?”

“Huh?”

“What is going on here?” Yaris bellowed. He took two steps in Laura's direction.

“You know her?” Zachariah said.

“Well, duh,” Laura sniffed, sheathing her knife in a sleeve that wrapped tight around her hips. She bit her lip. “You didn't call, you didn't say goodbye... you just left. And this is why?”

“No, it's not… I mean, I wasn't… Come on, it's only been a few days, I've been trying to call—”

“Only a few days?” Laura said, the pain on her face clear enough. “You're a
Guardian
, Mike! How am I supposed to date—”

Just then, Marie Lu, Brandi, and Steph came running in from over the hill on the left. They stopped short when they reached the embankment, heads on a swivel between all the parties involved.

“Where were you guys?” Zachariah said, clearly upset that only Mike had come to his defense.

“We couldn't make out any faces,” Steph explained, her eyes flittering between Mike and Laura. “We didn't want to charge in here without an idea of who to hit. Who is this?”

“Uh, this is Laura.” Mike fidgeted. His arm was starting to ache. “My…”

“Friend,” Laura finished quickly.

Mike stared at her. The word hung in the air between them, like a guillotine about to crash.

“Is that so.” Steph took a step in Laura's direction.

Yaris inserted his enormous grey body between Steph and Laura, his wings almost knocking Mike over in the process. “Why did you attack us,” he demanded of Laura.

“First of all,” Laura said, hands on hips, “You were interfering in our business. The Guardians have no jurisdiction when it comes to the vampire hordes.” Laura spoke like she was making an announcement from the White House. As if she had been doing this for years.

“Second of all,” her tone grew cold, “You know of the history between Guardians and Slayers.”

Yaris howled at the night. “Would you prefer to fight vampires alongside the Guardians, or fight both of us by yourselves?”

“If I may interrupt,” Mike said, his brain starting to function again. Things might've been weird with Laura right now, but he
definitely
didn't want Laura and Yaris getting into a fight.

He put a hand on Yaris's obscenely muscular forearm, which was cold as ice.
Okay, didn't see that coming
.
Not the first time, won't be the last.
“All of this is irrelevant. In the pitch black, I'm sure they thought we were vampires, too.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then another Slayer said from the back, “He's right. How were we supposed to know there'd be Guardians tracking vampires, too?”

Zachariah said, “We weren't tracking vampires—”

“That's enough, boy,” Yaris snarled in Zachariah's direction.

Zachariah shut up, and fast.

Several of the Slayers started retreating to the far end of the lake, clearly unnerved by the whole situation. One of them gestured at Laura, and she nodded back.

“Listen, Mike, I gotta go. Don't… don't put yourself in that situation again, okay? I don't want to have to finish the—”

“What do you mean,” Mike exclaimed. “Don't put yourself in that situation again? Like I had a choice?”

Mike scrutinized Laura's face, begging for some hint of what she was feeling. He had never seen her so… wary. He could tell she was upset… he saw a mix of anger, disbelief… but there was also something else… something like… sadness?

Laura refused to meet his gaze. “Listen, I gotta go.”

“Laura, wait—”

But she scurried away before he could finish. All Mike could do was watch her go, a sick emptiness growing in his gut.

 

 

An hour later, the black A6 moved steadily along I-95. The girls had fallen asleep in the back, and Zachariah had his eyes on the road, the thumping of heavy metal keeping him awake. Mike wondered if the experience might've changed him somehow; Zachariah hadn't opened his mouth all ride long.

Which was fine with Mike. He stared out the passenger seat window, completely sick inside, unfolding everything in his mind. Laura was a Slayer. A
Slayer
. Mike didn't know how he was supposed to feel about that, but if he was supposed to hate her, it wasn't happening. Mike found it hard to pretend she was any kind of enemy.

Instead, he was almost nauseous. Did she
want
their relationship to be over? Was it only because she was Slayer and he was Guardian? Or because he hadn't spoken to her over the past few days? Mike needed to know, and not knowing was eating him up alive.

He tried to think back to when they were going out, if anything seemed strange. Had she said anything weird, done anything out of the ordinary… that would suggest she was staying out late
slaying
vampires
? Sure, she'd declined a few party invites, but only once in a while… it wasn't like they never hung out, or never stayed out late… there was even that one time they'd stayed at that crazy party in the city until four in the morning… Mike smiled to himself, remembering how much crap his mother had given him for that one—

At first, Mike didn't even hear it above the pounding of the radio. But then he heard the sound again. He turned and stared at Zachariah.

“Did you just say thank you?”

Zachariah kept his eyes on the road. “You don't have to make a big deal about it.”

Mike humphed. “But you still hate me with a passion.”

“Oh sure,” Zachariah said to the windshield. “But a favor's a favor.”

Mike hardly thought of saving Zachariah's life as a
favor
. More like something he'd do, well, just because. “You wouldn't have done the same?”

Zachariah chuckled. “You mean charge in one on twenty? No, probably not.” Then, after a moment, “Let's just see what Garzan has to say about this.”

“What do you mean?”

The car hit a bump. “I mean, you screwed up the job.”

“
I
screwed up the job?”

“Yup.”

“How did
I
screw up the job?”

“Yeah, I know, I got captured,” Zachariah allowed. “But I bet they'll say you should've let me die rather than compromise the mission.”

Mike looked at Zachariah like he had just arrived from Neptune. “You can't be serious.”

Zachariah scratched the stubble that was beginning to appear on his thick jaw. “Again, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you didn't. But sometimes I wonder about these guys, Stockton and Garzan. Guardians aren't exactly well-liked, you saw it yourself. And for some reason, I feel like there are rules in play here that nobody's told us about.”

Mike didn't say anything. They
had
been dropped into a war zone without any warning. Considering they didn't even know all this existed a few days ago, and it was pretty ridiculous.

Track Mr. Trottingwood from his home tonight,
the Headmage had said. Nothing in terms of potential hazards. Did Garzan know the situation could've exploded like that?
Be careful, Mike, you are the strongest. They are under your protection…

“So you know those people? Those… Slayers, did you call them?” Zachariah switched the station as the radio went to commercial.

Mike shook his head. “I thought I knew them. You know the girl who almost slit my throat?”

Zachariah nodded.

“That was my girlfriend.”

“
What
?”

Mike chuckled. “Yeah, it's pretty insane.” He told Zachariah about the events leading up to his enrollment in Windham. It was only after he finished that he wondered why he was opening up to a guy who hated his guts.

Zachariah whistled. “How far did you get with her?”

Mike cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, how many ways you want me to say
none of your business
?”

Zachariah shrugged. “Suit yourself.” There was a moment of silence. “So you guys are still…”

“Doesn't look like it, no,” Mike said softly.
At least, I think she threatened to kill me next time we met. Usually not a sign of a flourishing relationship.

Although, she might've just been putting on a show…

Mike wondered what Laura would say if the two of them were alone. If he snuck out of Windham again, made his way to her house… would she
actually
try to kill him? Did she truly hate him for being a Guardian? Or would she run into his arms and kiss him, over and over, just to make sure he wouldn't leave again? He
had
to know how she really felt… his insides felt like mush, and it was so damn painful…

He looked over his shoulder at Steph, who was sleeping with her head on the window. He could totally get with her, if he wanted. She made it obvious enough. And it would be the perfect revenge, the perfect rebound…

Except, he didn't want to.

He didn't want to “get revenge” on Laura. He wanted to figure things out, to get back together with her.

Mike rubbed his eyes. How could he even get in touch with her? If it had been nearly impossible up until now, there was no way he'd be able to do it after tonight's incident… and now that she made a public threat against him, and now that she felt betrayed by his “secrets,” even though she obviously had some secrets of her own…

Mike scowled. Part of him was furious at her for being so secretive. Another part wanted to forgive her and pretend like nothing had happened.

Mike reclined his seat back, making sure not to infringe on Steph's leg space, and closed his eyes.

Why was his life so freaking screwed up?

 

 

The students got back to the mansion at four in the morning, where Garzan greeted them personally and insisted they go straight to bed. Mike's body and mind could not argue. They arranged to meet at nine the following evening to go over the tapes and discuss the mission.

Mike slept until about three, then took the rest of the day off – he wasn't in the mood for anything, not after what had happened with Laura. He spent the day reading in the library, trying to find any and all information about Slayers and their history. Maybe he could find a loophole that would let the two of them stay together.

The books he found were totally unhelpful. They didn't even mention anything about a fight between Guardians and Slayers. From what it sounded like, the Slayers couldn't do magic. They were just really awesome fighters who knew their way around a graveyard. Mike wondered what had happened to set them apart, but it was clear that you didn't have to do much to make people hate you forever around here.

At about eight, he jumped in a shower, then threw on jeans and a t-shirt and went over to the Headmage's office to meet with the team.

“I have reviewed the video footage,” the Headmage said as soon as the five teenagers assembled. Garzan looked at Stockton, who was leaning on the bookshelf. The Magus shook his head.

“Any comments?” the Headmage asked. “Before I make my own observations, of course.”

“Why weren't we told the Slayers would be there?” Zachariah said, a slight whine in his voice. He was still wearing his “I Crush Nerds” t-shirt. For some reason, his arm wasn't around Annabella. Which was okay with Mike. He could do without the PDA right now.

Stockton snapped, “I don't think you're the one who should be questioning our judgment, Mister Zucker.”

“That's all right.” Garzan waved a hand and shook his head. “He has a right to know.” He turned to Zachariah. “We did not tell you about the Slayers because we did not know they would be there.”

For a moment, nobody said anything. Mike peered around at his friends' faces, trying to discern whether he was the only one who didn't understand. Then he said carefully, “Uh, sir, with all due respect – if we were supposed to be chasing vampires, shouldn't we have… um…
suspected
the Slayers would be close behind?”

“Ah, I see you've been doing some extra reading,” Garzan said. Mike felt his face flush, but the Headmage smiled. “Very good, Michael, but not exactly correct. Jeremiah Trottingwood is an arms procurer for the Black Brethren. He is a transporter of goods, a merchant in evil wares.” Garzan covered his mouth with a fist, and coughed. “Trottingwood has, in the past, conducted his transactions of dark materials strictly with the Brethren. As such, we did not realize Mr. Trottingwood was selling his goods to the vampires.”

Steph let out a low hiss. “But that means the Brethren and the vampires are working together.”

Garzan did not acknowledge the comment. Instead, he kept his gaze squarely on Mike. “The Brethren have always been players in the black market for dark items. They need such things to perform their spells. But to see the vampires taking an interest in the black market as well…” Garzan stroked his goatee. “Means we may have an alliance on our hands that we would rather not think about.”

The room was silent. Mike had no idea what the ramifications of a Vampire-Brethren alliance would be. Was that huge trouble? A little bit of trouble? A mere nuisance? After all, the Slayers seemed to strike fear in the vampires' hearts, no pun intended.
Okay, maybe a little pun intended.
But either way… the Slayers must've been doing a pretty solid job keeping them under wraps – Sylvan himself had been nervous during the exchange, as if he didn't want the Slayers to see what he was doing. And the Brethren hadn't done all that well when they'd attacked the manor. In fact, they'd been
routed
by the Gargoyles… so why was Garzan treating this like it was the end of the world?

“You must understand.” Stockton moved from his perch against the bookshelf. “The Black Brethren have never considered the vampires to be any more than animals, perverted creatures that served no purpose. If they now consider them allies, the vampires become much more than some nasty promcrashers. The Brethren will train them to become soldiers, harbingers of evil, attacking with purpose instead of based on cravings for blood.”

Mike shook his head. “I still don't get it. The vampires are nocturnal. The gargoyles are nocturnal. What's the big deal? Are you telling me that a bunch of vampires will run wild with all of the gargoyle species patrolling the night?”

Stockton at Garzan, then back at Mike again. He said, “Perhaps,” and nothing more.

“It is late,” Garzan said suddenly. He pushed off the table and opened the door. “Why don't you all get some sleep.”

“Wait,” Mike said, disappointed the Headmage hadn't addressed one small detail. “Who is Dementae?”

Stockton nearly jumped out of his leather uniform. “What did you say?”

“Dementae,” Mike repeated. “The guy who Sylvan was buying the package for?”

Stockton regarded Mike with narrowed eyes. “You must be mistaken.” He looked to the Headmage, but Garzan seemed busy with something in his drawer.

“I know what I heard.” Mike motioned at Marie Lu for some backup, and she nodded her head in agreement.

“Headmage?” Stockton said.

Garzan finished whatever he'd been doing in his desk drawer, then looked up abruptly. “I will watch the tapes again. But I also believe you misheard.” Garzan got up and opened door. “That is all.”

As Mike exited with his fellow Guardians, he heard Garzan's voice behind him.

“Michael, can you stay back for a minute?”

Mike smiled to himself, almost expecting it. He watched Steph go, who gave him a look as the office door closed between them. Mike couldn't tell if it was flirtatious, jealous, or just confused. Maybe the girl was harder to read than he thought.

“This is for your ears only, Mr. Prior. Do you understand?”

Mike turned and braced for what they were about to tell him. Could they possibly have known about his plan to go see Laura? It hadn't exactly turned out exactly how he'd expected… so he wasn't in trouble for that, was he?

Garzan started pacing back and forth. “What you did last night was both incredibly courageous and unsuspectingly stupid.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, feeling emboldened by what Zachariah had said in the car ride home. If they were going to blame him for saving Zachariah's life… his manners be damned before he'd let that go over.

“How's that?”

“I am not speaking about your daring sprint to save Zachariah. I am proud that you wanted to save your comrade, and I am proud that you would so willingly sacrifice your own safety for his.”

Garzan stopped walking. His eyebrows slanted and his forehead creased. “What I am talking about is the parlay you made with the Slayers.”

Mike felt his body tremble. He could almost feel the power surging through Garzan's gaze, as if the Headmage was trying to look straight through him and examine his mind.

After a long moment, Garzan broke off his intense stare and resumed his pacing, seemingly satisfied. “There are five sects of Guardian-Gargoyle clans. Each one has their own symbolism, their own history. Our clan, as you know, has been exiled.”

“Because of Rafael,” Stockton said quickly, looking at Mike as if it was his fault.

“Yes, I get
that
part,” Mike said, an edge in his voice. He was starting to get more than fed up with that little fact.

Garzan asked Stockton, “Did you get up to the War of 1868?”

Stockton snorted. “It's been four days, Headmage.”

Garzan nodded, then spoke in a gentler tone. “After Rafael's betrayal, our clan was banished from the Gargoyle guilds. We do not speak our clan's name, and neither do the others.” The Headmage took a deep breath, as if it pained him to speak about such things.

“As for the Slayers, they are non-magical, as you may have read. Although skilled in hand-to-hand combat, they stand no chance against any of the Brethren.

“Hundreds of years ago, the Slayers and Guardians formed an alliance to fight a common evil. That alliance lasted over four centuries. But in the Vampiric War of 1868, the Slayers left the Guardians to their own defenses, incorrectly believing the Guardians had more reinforcements coming. They headed back towards Scotland to defend another part of the territory.” Garzan shifted his weight. “The Guardians in Manchester were annihilated. Only after the Slayers recognized their mistake did they return to aid their allies. But the damage was already done. As you may have realized, gargoyles are easily offended. The Guardian-Gargoyle clans swore never to ally themselves with the Slayers again. Since then, we have fought in solitude – Guardians fighting Brethren, Slayers fighting Vampires, never crossing paths.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, trying to follow. “I still don't get it. What's the big deal? We were both tracking the same guy, right? We can't even be on the same turf as them?”

Garzan shook his head. “If word gets back to the other Gargoyle clans that we met the Slayers and let them go, they will wage war on us. We are already despised in our own circles. If word of this incident reaches their ears, and it is interpreted to mean that we have allied ourselves with the Slayers, the Guardian guilds will come at us with such a force that none of us will survive.”

Mike stared at the Headmage.

Zachariah had been right. There was much more going on behind the scenes than Garzan had told them.

But it was still hard to believe. Would the other Guardians really wage civil war on their brothers, just because of a small incident in the park? What, did they want Mike to kill every Slayer he ran into? And besides…

“How will they find out? I mean, are there Guardian spies in every place in the world?”

Mike studied Stockton's face. His eyes were alive, his jaw clenched. He was angry… but something about Stockton's expression told Mike that the Magus was not upset at him.

“They know already,” Mike breathed.

Garzan looked back at Stockton again. Neither of them moved.

“He has to know,” Stockton said through gritted teeth.

The Headmage didn't move.

“What is it?” Mike said, suddenly nervous. “What do I have to know?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Stockton exploded off the bookshelf. “He can handle it, James! He's a
Guardian
, for crying out loud! What are we going to do, pretend the world is full of peace and roses and stuffed animals? He's a Guardian, he's here at Windham, and we're at war. What else do you need?”

“Wait,” Mike said, his apprehension growing rapidly. “What can't I handle? What is it, what's going on?”

Instead of answering, Garzan breathed deeply, then nodded. He went over to his desk, where he slid the remote out of its drawer and pointed it at the wall.

A man's face lit up the white screen. He had a burly mustache underneath a nose that took up half of his face. Behind him stood two freestanding braziers, with fire that flickered in the night sky.

“Greetings, James,” the man rolled off in accented English. Then, to Mike's shock, he cursed the Headmage out.
To his face.
First in French – what little French Mike knew, it was the curse words – and then again in English.

“I will not waste more breath than is necessary. Know this. Because of the Prior boy's actions tonight, I have taken actions of my own.”

The camera shifted, and Mike saw a body tied between the two braziers – no, it was
suspended
in
the
air
. There was blood on the person's face, dripping from the lip… it looked like a woman, the way the wind blew, and the bruises on her body—

“MOM!”

Mike's senses went into overload. Out of nowhere, the ball of energy he'd felt during his fight with Zachariah surged inside of him. He wanted to break through the screen and punch the man in his huge freaking nose, then strangle him with his own stupid mustache… then pound his rotting carcass with fireball after fireball…

The camera returned to the big-nosed jackass, who now had a feathered beret on his head. “I will return her in one week's time, as long her son doesn't do anything else treasonous.” He rolled the last word off his tongue as if he had invented it.

“That is, as long as she doesn't die first.”

With that, the man grabbed fire from the brazier and pelted it straight into Mom's stomach.

“No!” Mike screamed.

Mom's body jerked like she'd gotten punched in the gut. Her shirt caught fire.

Then the screen went black.

The fire inside of Mike raged. “Where is he?” Mike slammed his hands on the Headmage's desk. “I'm going to kill him, do you understand me?
I'm going to kill him
!
”

“Oh, please do,” Stockton muttered.

“Michael,” the Headmage said. “First of all, calm down. You are scorching my table.”

“I'm… what?”

Mike looked down to where his hands were pressed into the Headmage's desk. There were burnt marks in the mahogany, in the shape of handprints.

“Oh, I… I'm so sorry, I totally didn't mean to—”

“It's fine,” Garzan said. He waved a hand. Mike heard a creaking sound, and the mahogany started stretching, until the wood covered over the burn marks.

“Um… neat trick,” Mike muttered. He still felt the power burning inside him, but he had no desire to squelch it, just maintain it until he got into a fight with whoever that idiot was…

“Your mother is still alive, I can guarantee it.”

Mike looked back at the Headmage. “I'm still going to kill that guy.”