The Guardian Lineage (28 page)

 

 

The funeral took place two days later, at night, so the Gargoyles could come. Mike couldn't think of anything to wear but his Guardian uniform, which had still been in his room when he got back.

There was a full moon tonight, and a strong summer breeze. Yet it was a chilling sight, something Mike thought he'd never have to see. Fifty seven lacquer coffins lay in three rows, each marked with the Skyfire insignia. A podium was set up to the left. Seats were spread out across the grass just off the winding dirt road, mostly white folding chairs, with some larger ones for the Gargoyles to sit.

Mike knew that many of the coffins lay empty. Dementae had apparently fed tens of Guardian prisoners to his demonic chimaera, and several Gargoyles as well. The only thing keeping Mike from breaking down entirely was the knowledge that far away in New York City, the Slayers were having their own procession for a far greater number. Which wasn't really comforting at all, really, but somehow it imbued him with a need to stay strong.

He sat in the second row, amongst the remaining warriors of the Skyfire clan. Behind him were parents and families, no doubt of those who were about to be eulogized, but also of those who were still alive, as if they wanted to stay close to shield their children from further harm. The thought occurred to Mike that this was the first gathering of the entire Skyfire family in quite some time. And for what? Not for a celebration of the clan history, or a dedication of some sort. No, this was far more terrible – a tribute to those who died because of the evil of others. Because of Evan Morningstar. Because of Dementae.

But not only Dementae. Mike felt an unbridled anger towards the other Guardian clans. If they had put away their hatred years ago, if they had buried their unfounded bias towards the Skyfire clan, if they had
helped
… all of this could've been averted.

Each of the remaining Guardians was given a member of the clan to speak about. Mike received a six by twelve index card, with a name that read “Joseph Abner” and a picture of a skinny, freckled, red-haired boy who would never see his parents again. Below it were details about his life – his hobbies, his personality, and how he died. Joseph had apparently been killed by Dementae himself after refusing to go quietly to meet Chimmy. Fighting back tears, Mike noticed on the card that he was slotted sixth to speak.

He dazed through the first five speeches. Not out of disrespect, but because his feelings of sorrow were too deep for Mike to allow them to surface. No, an emotional outburst of that magnitude would only further demonstrate his wimpy—oh, who was he kidding, anyway? Was it manly
not
to cry at a funeral? What strength was there in holding back real, heartfelt emotion? And with that thought, in the middle of Alexis's speech about Kiva, Mike the Guardian buried his head in his arm and broke down into tears.

Why had he been one of the lucky ones? Who decided who should survive, and who would die? Was it arbitrary, or was there somehow a greater plan behind it all? The latter was certainly more comforting, but right now Mike didn't care to contemplate it at the moment. All he wanted to do was pour out his emotion, as if he was a sponge that held too much liquid inside, so he would be able to do this kid Joseph some respect by not fumbling around with his speech.

As Alexis finished, Mike felt the tears drying up. He had wept for a good while. He felt drained, tired, sad… but he owed it to Joseph to put on a face and speak clearly.

Mike rose to the podium. Oil-soaked torches flickered off the faces of those who had gathered. He looked across the expanse to see humans and Gargoyles alike, looking up at him. Anguished cries broke out sporadically amongst the crowd. Mike placed the index card on the podium and looked straight down at it, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone that might trigger a teary fountain.

“I'm here to talk about Joseph Abner,” he said steadily. A cry broke out from the left corner of the lawn, no doubt from members of Joseph's family. Mike did not look up. With wind blowing in his face, he made himself focus on the index card.

“Joseph was seventeen years old, a boy whose passion for magic was surpassed only by his love of his family and the Boston Celtics.” A soft, heartfelt chuckle went up from the crowd, only to be replaced with a long cry from a woman, most likely Joseph's mother.

Mike kept his head down. He read straight from the card. “He wrote his family a postcard every single day, flooding Jane's office with so much mail that she fashioned him with the nickname ‘Rainman.' The moniker stuck. The Rainman scored well on all his first year magical tests, and was certainly poised to do more of the same before his life was cut tragically short.”

Here Mike paused, the tears surfacing on his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stood up from the wind. He looked up at the Guardian family situation on the lawn. His Guardian family. His mother sat with the Windham staff, eyes red and a proud look on her face. Stockton, a sure bet to replace Garzan, nevertheless an emotional train wreck. Annabella, who undoubtedly had drawn Zachariah for her speech. Steph, who would be speaking about her father. And for so many others, not even the prospects of a decent burial, amongst their clan, their people…

Sucking in wind, Mike forced himself to wrap up his speech in proper fashion. He concluded with a prayer that Joseph should be amongst his friends, wherever he was, and that he should be happy there. Mike strode off the podium and unconsciously walked over to his mom, where he buried his face in her shoulder and cried for a long time.

***

The funeral took three hours, which Mike thought wasn't nearly enough time to properly honor the dead. Annabella spoke tearfully of Zachariah. Both Steph and Stockton spoke about Garzan. Mike could see the sadness in Steph's eyes. She apparently had barely gotten a chance to know him, after spending much of her life shuffling between Windham and Slayerland. Which was probably the most tragic part.

After Stockton's speech Jakkus spoke about all the Gargoyles, using both English and a language Mike didn't understand. Then the Gargoyles rose and circled the coffins, kneeling in prayer and speaking tributes and praises to those who had sacrificed themselves.

After the vigil, the caskets were physically lifted by the Guardians and brought over to the cavities in the ground. It seemed fitting to do manual labor for the burials instead of using magic as a shortcut. Mike got an empty coffin, or so it seemed, sharing the load with Julius Brutus, who apparently was stronger than he looked.

Mike trudged across the grass. Somewhere there was music playing, a somber tribute to the deceased. Mike thought it to be proper. It was as if the tune was there to remind them that not every story had a happy ending, that those types of endings were reserved for fairy tales, video games, and made-for-TV movies.

There was no talking throughout the entire burial process, nor any animal noise of any type. It was as if time stood still. Just the sound of crying in the background, and shovels hitting dirt in the foreground. Sweat trickled down Mike's forehead as he shoved the metal into the earth. Then tears, silent ones, joined them in wetting Mike's face. For some reason, he thought it appropriate not to wipe them away.

When the burials concluded, Mike stood with his mom and wrapped her in a silent embrace. He stared out at the three rows of nineteen, a total of fifty seven headstones set against a forest backdrop. The realization that he was mortal hit Mike like an attack from Garzan, who he would never see again. Amidst all the sadness, the thought occurred to Mike that when the day came that he too would be laid to rest, he would love nothing more than to be buried amongst his friends, his brothers.

Amongst his Guardian family.

 

 

A month later, Mike sat on a sofa in the library, twirling a small telegram between his fingers. He was staring at a brutal textbook on microbiology – or whatever the fancy name for pond scum was – but he wasn't actually reading. The clock read ten minutes to midnight, and the only thing on Mike's mind was the message on the small piece of paper in his hand.

Since the end of the war, life at Windham had changed, for better or worse. Gone were most of Mike's magic classes. He had discarded everything but Telekinesis and Pyrokinesis, unfortunately replacing them with wonderfully boring subjects such as Math, Bio, and English. He almost wished for earlier times, although he had fifty seven reminders on the front lawn to help him quickly discard that notion.

Sepulchra had moved into Windham full time, which was both endearing and terribly restricting. Like the time she found Mike and a couple friends sending in magically-motorized stinkbombs into the girls' wing, or when Mike missed curfew after the Guardians were allowed to borrow the cars and head into town for a Friday evening… or like when Mike slept through a test in English because he had stayed up the previous night, talking with Steph on the roof while enjoying the aerial show put on by Jakkus and the crew. That one she had given him the most grief for, which was a little odd, but also slightly comforting in an I'm-your-mom-and-I-care-about-your-grades kind of way.

Steph took a week away from everything, in a vacation spot that she wouldn't reveal to Mike. Which was fine by him, considering she had endured the craziest month of anybody in Windham, being a
triple
agent and funneling information to many interested parties, all the while retracing her steps to ensure no one would catch her. That, plus the death of her father, and Mike figured she had earned at least a week off. Or a year.

The two of them spent a lot of time together in the weeks that followed, but things were nowhere near the point where Mike would have to make a decision between her and Laura. Which was good, because as of now, Mike still had no idea what he wanted. He was spending more time with Steph, that was true, but Laura had visited Windham three times since the battle, as emissary for the Slayers, and Mike had basically hung out with her the entire time. Stockton had said something like, “To hell with the other clans,” in terms of an alliance with the Slayers, and seeing as the Slayers were probably the ones who'd saved the Skyfire clan in the first place, Mike was all too happy to agree with the new Headmage about his new foreign affairs policy.

Steph did tell Mike that her father had married Cassandra two years after Steph's birth. Steph didn't know much about her real mother – apparently she died soon after Steph was born – but she did know that the Headmage was initially unaware that Cassandra was a Slayer. After finding this out, Garzan had divorced Cassandra, for fear of the other clans' wrath. This led to even more animosity when Cassandra was elected queen, and it might have been the reason Cassandra sided with Dementae upon his return.

There was no news about Aaron Caulderon from any of Stockton's sources, which was more than a little unsettling. Mike was still upset how one of his friends – probably his best friend for the two weeks he was at Windham – was really a spy. He was even more frustrated about how
good
a spy he'd been – endearing himself to Mike, avoiding all the security measures at Windham, even fooling Garzan when he'd used the Ubiquitor on him (Mike had
no idea
how Aaron did that, that was insane)… Stockton said it was only a matter of time before something turned up, and when it did, the Skyfire clan would exact revenge for the deaths of its family members, which were very much tied to Aaron's spying.

That didn't make Mike feel any better; he wasn't sure he wanted to kill Aaron, even after he'd murdered Jason Minor in cold blood. Especially because it felt like there was more to his story. He'd clearly been working for someone other than Dementae; that much was obvious from what he'd said in the Chateau de Vincennes dungeon. Who was he working for? Was he also a triple agent, like Steph, working the Guardians
and
Brethren for someone else? That thought, plus the fact that the Book of Lineage was still missing, made Mike want to solve that mystery sooner rather than later.

And so the month was a slow one, right up until Mike received the note in his hands the previous night. He took one more look at the note, another look at the clock, and decided it was time.

When he arrived at the Greeting Hall, it was deserted. Windham was quiet nowadays, even more so at this time of night, a stark departure from when there were over a hundred teens roaming its halls. Now with thirty-some-odd kids in the school… the place just felt empty.

A noise from the girls' staircase made Mike turn his head.

And so it begins
, Mike thought to himself grimly.
When Stockton finds out about this, he's going to kill me
.

Annabella headed down the steps, dressed in khakis and a white tank-top. She was carrying a large backpack, like the ones used for camping. Her hair was pulled into a pony, and there was a slight hint of makeup on her cheeks.

But what Mike really noticed was the necklace around her neck.

It was the Amp that Mike had stolen from Garzan's office a few hours ago.

Please,
Mike thought.
If you're watching this from above… know that I only have good intentions here
.

Annabella approached him with a gleam in her eye. “Thank you for doing this, Mike.”

Mike felt himself blush slightly. The two of them had grown pretty close over the past month, but not in an attraction sort of way. They'd been through the entire war together, and, well, it was just easier to share thoughts and comforts with Annabella than, say, JB.

“You know Stockton's going to kill me, right.”

Annabella shook her head. “I don't think he will.”

“You clearly don't know the guy.”

Annabella laughed softly. “Then I owe you even more.” She pecked Mike on the cheek.

Mike smelled her perfume as she pulled away. He felt his skin burn. “Don't tell him about that little kiss when you find him, okay?”

Annabella laughed again. “I won't, don't worry.”

She was pretty when she laughed, Mike decided. In a not-attractive sort of way. Maybe the way Mike would've looked at his sister, if he'd had one.

The two Guardians walked in silence out of the manor and into the August night, which was humid but breezy. There were no gargoyles wrestling on the front lawn, nobody swooping around above the Manor. Which was just as well. The gargoyles rarely played with each other these days.

They walked around to the back and into the open garage. Annabella grabbed a set of keys off the wall and headed over to one of the small convertibles.

She tossed her pack in the back seat, and the two Guardians embraced.

“You know you might not like what you find,” Mike warned as he let her go.

Annabella nodded at the ground. “I know. But I have to go. I have to find him.”

“He might not even be out there.”

Annabella nodded again, but didn't say anything. She rubbed the bottom of her eye.

“But if he is,” Mike said quickly, “Then tell him to get the hell back to Windham. On the double. Even if he
is
a vampire.” The last word hung between them like a fly caught in a spider's web. “We'll fix him, if that's the case. There's got to be a way.”

Annabella smiled through silent tears. “Thank you, Mike. You're a good friend. Zachariah and I are lucky to have you.”

Then she got into the car and turned the ignition. She gave Mike one more smile, and then pulled out of the garage.

Mike watched her go, arms crossed, a hopeful smile creeping into the corner of his mouth. And as she peeled around the corner and out of sight, Mike got the profound sense that the changes to the Guardian lineage had only begun to take effect.