Chapter One

 

Galen Emrys had been eighteen when he learned the truth. He’d been told the truth before, but he’d been eighteen when it was brought home in all its bloody glory. He’d been eighteen when it all began. He’d been eighteen when it ended. He’d been eighteen when he denied all he was meant to be.

He’d been eighteen when he died.

The alarm blipped and the rich sounds of a Boccherini quintet filled the room, echoing off the high ceilings. Galen groaned and lay listening to the music for a minute, the nightmare from the night before still playing behind his eyes. Ten years and still that dream nearly every night. The bitter thought formed as he rolled over and stared up at the light playing on the wall. It has been ten years. Funny, sometimes it feels like just yesterday. I still expect to see…He pushed himself up before the depression that thought always caused pulled him down.

The wood floor was cold as he wandered through the apartment to turn the coffee on before heading into the shower. The kitchen opened off the huge space of the living room, one of the advantages of living over a retail space was former warehouses make huge apartments, if you weren’t too picky about bad flooring. He stopped to pull a splinter out of his bare foot. Turning on the coffeepot, he walked to the window looking out at the gray day. The Northwest in early winter was an unending stream of gray, rainy days. He sighed, the day was starting off on a bad note.

Walking back to the bathroom he stopped in front of the mirror, tugging on a strand of light brown hair. The length of his hair was a continual source of discussion. He liked it shorter, the guys in the band wanted it longer. He picked up the scissors, then set them down again. Not today, in the mood I’m in I might do something I’ll regret and have to let grow out later. After his shower, he grabbed a cup of coffee and headed down the stairs to the herb shop below.

As he walked down, he looked out the back window, making sure no one had left anything—or anyone—outside his door. Nothing… yet. Galen put his coffee down on the counter, pausing as he always did to enjoy the quiet and the rich mixture of smells of his shop—dried herbs, incense, beeswax and coffee. He straightened the jars on the shelf behind him, putting the jar of vervain he’d left out the night before back in its place, then walked to the front door and unlocked it, turning on the open sign and pushing open the curtains.

The coffee had cooled by the time he got back to it. He considered heading out to the espresso stand across the street, a nice mocha mixed with the flirting of Becci was definitely a draw. At twenty-six, Becci had purchased the small stand across the street, after three unsuccessful months she hit on the idea of Hot Babes Coffee, dressed herself in lingerie, hired four other women and had nearly overnight success. Luckily, she made good coffee, too.

The lure of fresh coffee became too much and Galen wandered out of the shop and over to the stand. He turned back to look at the shop. He’d inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from his father, and so on, back to when the family had first arrived from Europe. His father left it to him, but Galen stepped into the role as proprietor a little uneasily. He couldn’t refuse the shop any more than he could refuse the Gift.

“Morning Galen,” Becci said, leaning over the sill, perky breasts held in check by a bright pink bustier.

“Hi, Becci, can I get a mocha?” he said.

“Sure, hon.” She turned, started the coffee and leaned back out the window, smiling at him. “Your eyes are really green today. Like fir trees in the rain.”

“Writing a song, Becci?” he said, smiling back at her.

“Could be. I could sell it to you and Flash,” she giggled. “When’s the band playing next?”

“Friday, I think, we got a gig down at Rat’s Nest,” he said, taking the coffee.

“Oooh. Can’t wait.” She waved the money in his hand away. “I still owe you for taking care of Sandi, keep your money to yourself.”

“Thanks.” Galen walked back across the street and into the store, the rich smells flowing around him as he walked in. He sighed. Somehow the shop always smelled like…home. He hadn’t really stayed there until he was thirteen. The family followed the strict codes of fostering laid down in antiquity and he’d only visited from his adoptive family on weekends, but this place had always been home.

In keeping with the traditions, when he turned thirteen, he’d gone to live in the apartment over the shop, back in the care of his birth parents and his father’s brother. His mother died when he was fifteen, leaving the large apartment to the three of them. Except on weekends when… He shoved the memory away, taking a moment to check the cash register.

A woman walked into the shop, wandering around the edges of the store picking up items and putting them back down. After a few minutes, Galen walked over to her. “Can I help you?”

She looked at him with a sad smile. “Are you Galen?”

“Yes.”

“I, uh, I heard that you might know something about herbs and healing?” She quickly glanced out the window then looked back at him.

“Depends, I guess, on what you are looking for,” he said carefully.

“It’s my, uh. This is stupid,” she said, turning back towards the door.

Galen put out a hand to stop her without coming into contact with her. “What is it?”

She looked at him again. “My daughter is sick and they don’t know what to do. The doctors don’t even know what’s wrong with her. I ran into a nurse in the hospital cafeteria, and she said you might be able to help.”

“Again, it depends,” he said.

“Would you talk to her?” The woman looked at him with a combination of hope and suspicion.

“Of course, how old is she?” Galen said.

“Thirteen,” she said. “She’s in the car, can I bring her in?”

“Sure.” He watched as she walked out of the store. The woman came back in, leading a thin girl with long blond hair. “Hi,” Galen said with a smile.

“This is stupid, mom, no one can help,” the girl said, her tone bleak.

“Kristy,” the woman said, a warning tone in her voice.

“Kristy?” Galen said, smiling at her. She smiled back. It wasn’t much of a smile, but she tried. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t feel good,” she said with a shrug. “I keep getting worse.”

“Worse how?” Galen said, putting a hand on her shoulder to steer her to the back of the shop. Pain lanced up the touch, the black spot hovering over her heart took his breath away. He dropped his hand, took a deep breath and looked at her. She looked back with a little nod. She knows how bad it is, she understands she’s dying. Only thirteen and that calm.

“Can you help?” Kristy met his eyes.

“I’m not sure how much I can help. I will try, though,” he said. “Can you come to the back? Your mom can have some tea, and I’ll get some herbs for you.”

He led them to the curtained room off the back of the shop and motioned Kristy’s mom to sit at the table. He made some tea and went back into the shop to gather herbs. Galen put heart’s ease, elder, hawthorn and motherwort into a bag. He looked at it for a moment, wondering what else to add. Those herbs felt right, he tended to go with his gut instinct when dealing with any facet of healing. He closed the bag and walked into the back. Kristy was sitting in the recliner with her eyes closed. Her mother had tears running down her face.

Galen walked over to Kristy, and with a look, asked permission. When she nodded, he put a gentle hand on her forehead. He relaxed and let the light flow. “It’s your Gift.” He heard his father’s voice. “Like mine, like my father’s. It’s part of who we are, what we do.” The pain was building behind his eyes and in his chest when he finally pulled his hand away.

Kristy sighed under his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank you,” she repeated, and stood up, swaying a little until her mother put a steadying hand on her elbow. “It’s going to be okay, mom,” she said calmly, still smiling. Galen saw the tears start. He knew she understood he couldn’t heal her all the way, but he’d taken away most of the pain and given her a little more time. He walked out into the shop to give them a moment together.

The door banged open and he looked up. “Hey, Rhiannon,” he said to the fortyish woman striding into the shop.

“Galen, we’re having a party tonight, thought you might like to come along,” she said with a feral smile.

“Party?” Galen said with an answering smile.

“Yeah, down at the park, something’s been taking late-night visitors, and we thought we’d stop by and see what’s going on,” she said. “Do you mind?” She grabbed the tongs and dug a piece of candied ginger out of a jar.

Galen shook his head. He’d met Rhiannon Ross ten years before, and since then she’d appeared on a regular basis. She was a killer, pure and simple. She specialized in things that killed children. She’d lost her daughter and learned the truth. After that she’d become a killer, going after the lesser beings that took people away from the light into the recesses of the dark.

The truth did that to some people, the sudden flash of knowledge that there were things most people denied lurking in the dark corners of the world, hiding in the shadows of the night. There were too few people left to fight them, fewer still who faced the big things—those things that the creatures of the night fled from. I’m supposed to be one of those people, one of those who fight the dark the night fears. Me and… He stopped “Come by and get me when you’re heading down there,” he said with a smile.

“You okay?” Rhiannon looked him over with searching eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your birthday, of course,” she said gently.

“We’ll see when the day arrives, I guess.” He turned as Kristy and her mother came out of the back.

“How much do I owe you?” Kristy’s mother asked.

“Ten fifty for the herbs,” Galen said with a smile at Kristy, the girl blushed. Rhiannon chortled.

“Is that all, but what about…?”

“No charge for that,” he said, taking the money from her and dropping it into the cash register.

“Thank you again,” Kristy said, giving him a hug and dashing out the door. Her mother followed her with a grateful smile at Galen.

“Another success?” Rhiannon said with a raise of the eyebrow.

“No, not really, I just made her more comfortable. I couldn’t help her, not enough,” Galen said sadly.

A gentle hand was laid against his arm. “It’s okay. You can’t save everyone.”

“I can’t even save most, Rhiannon, honestly.”

“Saved a few of us, though.” She laughed a little. “You’re damn good at those tiny stitches, hardly leave a scar, better than I ever got at the ER.”

“Don’t tell Mike Silva that.” He grinned back at her.

“I have, many times.” She perched herself on the counter. “You planning anything special for the next few days?”

“I was thinking about starting with a large bottle of tequila and a few limes.”

“Does it worry you?” She looked at him with her searching gaze.

“Does what worry me?”

“It’s been five years since Parry and Bobby were killed and ten years since…”

“Don’t, Rhiannon, please,” he said, surprised at the desperate note in his voice. His heart was pounding as sudden memories flashed before his eyes. The quirky smile of a thirteen-year-old slyly mentioning his birthday, the happy laughter in his voice when he’d opened the package Galen gave him. “This makes it official, doesn’t it?” he’d said with a proud grin. Galen grinned back. “Yeah, Brat, it does.”

“Galen? Honey?” Rhiannon’s hand was back on his arm, she gave it a little shake.

“Sorry.” He blinked. “What’re we after tonight?” She stared at him for a long moment, he’d gotten used to the looks over the years and calmly started straightening the items in the display case.

“Not sure. Demon of some kind? Ghoul? Werewolf? Does it really matter? Whatever it is, it dies tonight.”

“I just wondered what I should bring along.”

“One of each?” she said, hopping off the counter. “I always do.”

“Yeah, you do.” He laughed. She gave his arm a little squeeze, and headed out of the shop.

As she left, a customer walked in and then another. The shop was surprisingly busy, a steady flow of customers. Most were looking for herbs or vitamins. Several came in for more unusual items. Galen catered to an interesting mix of people. One seventeen-year-old came in looking for a love spell for her boyfriend, and an older woman looking for a spell of protection for her house.

One of Galen’s favorite customers, Mrs. Barkley, came by for rosemary, candied ginger, the healing Galen offered for her arthritis and five ounces of catnip for her cat. At ninety-seven Mattie Barkley was spry, funny and very active. Galen shook his head as he watched her get in her car and head home. He sighed as the 1939 Ford Coupe edged away from the curb. Galen had to admit to himself he coveted the car, still in near perfect condition.

“Excuse me?” A voice broke into Galen’s musing.

“Yes?” He looked up at the medium-sized man standing in front of the counter.

“I heard…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I heard about you the other day and I was wondering…”

Galen smiled encouragingly. “Yes?”

“I’ve tried other people, you know. No one can actually help, they say they can , but they’re just snake-oil salesmen, you know?”

“Yeah,” Galen said, stopping a shrug.

“But then I heard about you, a friend said you might be able to help me.” He glanced nervously around the shop.

“Maybe,” Galen said, sliding his hand across the counter and letting his thumb brush the man’s hand. Pain seeped through the contact, but it was something other than illness that Galen sensed. The pull of the moon, the hunger for flesh flowed into him from that touch. He met the man’s eyes. “How long?”

The man chuckled, a bitter note in the laughter. “Just like that? No judgment, no ‘kill the werewolf’, just ‘how long’?” He shook his head. “They said you were different. It’s been years. I didn’t even know at first that I’d been infected. I just thought it was a dog bite, then I thought nothing could be done.” He frowned. “Can you cure me?”

“No,” Galen said gently. “I can’t cure it.” The man turned to leave, Galen grabbed his arm. “I can help.”

Hope flared in golden eyes. “You can?”

“Yes. I can give you a spell to help, and you need to come in on the days before the full moon. I think with the spell, and some healing, we can control it.”

“It doesn’t bother you? What I am?” the man said as Galen led him to the back of the shop.

“If we’d met under different circumstances, maybe. I’ll be honest, I’ve killed your kind, but I’ll help if you ask. I have more than a few non-human clients.” Galen smiled and gestured to the chair. “Sit down and we’ll get started.”

The day had gone by quickly. At closing time, Galen locked the front door and put the till in the small safe in the back of the shop. After double-checking the door, he headed up to the apartment. The sun was down and the large room was dark when he opened the door. A noise from the kitchen made him stop. He stood still, listening. The heater gave its little knocking sound again. Galen relaxed and laughed at himself, wondering if he should go out at all, considering his heater had made him jump.

He threw some leftovers in the microwave and headed to the closet to pick out what he would take with him tonight, pausing by the small shelf on the living room wall. He looked at the picture of his father and uncle and then glanced up at the plaque on the wall, ancient, heraldic, with the words Custodes Noctis on the coat of arms. At the end of a long list of names were his father’s and uncle’s, Paracelsus and Robert Emrys.

“Going out tonight, Dad,” he said to the photo, to the room at large, in case his father had decided to haunt the place after all. “Rhiannon came by. Asked me to go along. I think she’s worried, considering what’s coming up, you know. Gods, I miss you two.” He smiled sadly at the picture. “I know, it’s not enough, is it? But you agreed when it happened, Dad. You thought it was for the best, too.”

He sighed, walked into his bedroom and opened the closet. It served as a weapons locker of sorts. Galen ran his eyes over his collection, wondering what to take with him. Swords, a bow, several guns and a large super soaker water gun were on shelves. Oh, that’ll look great, sword, gun and purple-and-blue water gun, still if it works. He ran a hand over the two swords at the front of the closet, moving down the cool leather of the scabbards, lovingly repaired over many centuries. The gentle hum of the swords resonated against his palm. The lines of the ancient ritual played in his head. Hand to hand… He stopped himself, then with a sigh, he grabbed the falcata—his favorite sword—the 9mm and the water gun. He’d just closed the doors when he heard someone on the stairs, he froze for an instant, senses reaching outwards until he recognized the tread on the stairs. He walked back into the living room as Rhiannon opened the door.

“You about ready?” She smiled when she noticed the weapons in his hands. “Don’t forget that all-purpose first aid kit of yours.”

“Never,” he said with a laugh, the exhilaration that always hit him before a “party” already brewing. Galen walked into the bedroom and grabbed the satchel with the first aid kit. Bandages, sutures, antibiotic creams, herbs and a few magical items to treat the kind of wounds the things they played with could inflict. He picked up the small knife from the bedside table. It had a small blade and a sterling silver hilt, more a ritual knife than practical in any way, but it had been a gift. And he always carried it as a token of the giver. He had received it the day it all began, nine days before it all ended. “Do you like it?” Questioning eyes met his, unsure. “I saved up for a long time to get it.” Galen remembered smiling. “It’s perfect.” An exaggerated sigh met that statement. “Oh, good.”

“Galen? What are you doing in there?” Rhiannon’s voice broke into the memory.

“Coming,” he said, shoving the knife in his pocket. He threw the satchel over his shoulder and walked back into the living room. “Are you eating my dinner?”

“It was just getting cold in the microwave,” she said, spooning another mouthful of chili out of the bowl.

“I did plan on eating that before we left.”

“Oh, sure.” She took one last spoonful and handed the bowl to Galen.

He looked down at it, then back at her. She was grinning. “Sometimes I swear, Rhiannon.” He laughed, then with a shrug finished the chili. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

The park was quiet, the trees casting odd shadows in the light from the streetlamps. A soft whisper of wind rustled the leaves on the bushes as Galen and Rhiannon walked silently along the trail. A dark shadow separated itself from a tree. Galen nodded at the large man who slipped quietly up beside them.

“Good to have you join us,” Greg Alexander said solemnly, nodding at Galen. “It’s always a pleasure when you come along to play.”

“Thanks,” Galen said by way of greeting. Always he is so reverent, so aware of who I should be, not who I am.

“I heard something down by the gardens,” Greg said.

“Okay, how do we handle it?” Rhiannon said, settling down to business.

“There are four main paths,” Galen said. “Two from up here, two from below. If one of us comes from below we might be able to cut off whatever it is.” He looked through the shifting shadows towards the gardens, full of empty branches. “I’ll head down there.”

“Be careful,” Rhiannon said.

“Always.” Galen walked silently down the path, sticking to the shadows, instincts honed in his youth serving him well. His senses were alert to every sound, shift of light and scent. He paused for a moment, something had moved off the trail to his left. A fat raccoon crossed the path in front of him, stopping to look at him for a moment before moving on.

Galen reached the lower paths to the gardens, glancing up the hill, he saw Rhiannon moving, ghostlike, down the hill. He was getting ready to move when someone screamed. Galen ran towards the sound, towards the back of the gardens where the leafless bushes were thick, obscuring his view. It was there, whatever it was, dragging a woman through the rosebushes. A shrill whistle let him know Rhiannon was behind him and to his right, the barking cough was Greg up and to his left.

Not a werewolf. Galen slowed down, drawing the falcata. “Let her go,” he said quietly. The thing turned black eyes in graying flesh towards him. It hissed at him. He smiled. “Okay, time to play, then,” he said, excitement buzzing through his hand. He caught sight of Rhiannon out of the corner of his eye and nodded slightly as she moved up behind the thing. Galen took a step forward, swinging the blade in front of him.

It let go of the woman and stood, looking at Galen for a moment. It reached a bony hand towards him. “Keeper,” it hissed.

“Not anymore,” Galen said.

“Yes, you are Keeper. Always Keeper.” It took a step towards him and paused. It sniffed the air, breath rasping into its lungs. Without warning it dove for him, knocking him off balance. Galen recovered, dancing away and brought the falcata up in an arcing swing. It launched itself at him again, one gray hand closing over Galen's wrist. It let out a harsh sigh. “You’re that Keeper?” Galen ignored it and sliced down, cutting the arm off at its wrist, the hand still clinging to his arm. He shook it off with a grimace. It came for him again, diving, the one claw-shaped hand outstretched towards his throat. It laughed, the odd dead voice full of glee. “Good,” it hissed. “That Keeper, here. The time is coming. The echoes build.”

“No.” Rage boiled out of Galen mixing with the exhilaration of the moment. He lashed out with the sword. The thing ducked, the blade swung through empty air. Galen shifted his balance, preparing for another swing. It came at him again, a knife in its remaining hand. He dodged the blade as it stabbed towards his abdomen. The movement unbalanced him enough for the body-blow of the thing to carry him down to the ground. “Shit!” he said, pushing himself out of the way as it brought its blade down towards his throat.

“Galen!” Rhiannon hit the thing, carrying it away from Galen. She didn’t move out from under it fast enough, he saw the blade sink into her flesh. She cried out, shoving it off of her. Galen saw a crossbow bolt shoot out the back of the thing. It screamed and stood, clawing at its back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greg grappling with another one of the creatures. Well, if you can call turning it into hash grappling. Galen pushed up off the ground and launched at the creature in the same movement. He caught it that time, neatly severing the head from the neck. It dropped to the ground and after a huge convulsion lay still.

Galen ran to Rhiannon. She was trying to push herself up, one hand covering the bloody wound high on her shoulder. He pushed her hand away to get a better look at the wound. Black tendrils had already moved out from the wound. “Hold still,” he told her firmly. She stopped moving and looked at him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“What?” she said.

“Just don’t move until I tell you, okay?” He focused on the wound, “feeling” it carefully. Galen was still aware of the end of Greg’s fight, still aware of the thing he had killed on the ground. He dug through his first aid satchel and pulled out bandages and an herbal cream. Galen smeared a liberal amount of the cream on the wound before pressing the bandages in place.

“What’s that?” Rhiannon asked, her nose twitching as she caught a whiff of the cream.

“Clover, St. John’s Wort, vervain, betony and dill. It should stop the spread of the poison until I can deal with it at home.”

“Not here?”

“No,” he said, looking at the wound again. “It might be a little rough, I need to know we're safe before I heal it.”

She nodded, understanding. “How’d we do?”

“All finished,” Greg said, coming up behind Galen. “Although the woman’s dead. The one I killed grabbed her before she got away. Throat’s ripped completely open.” Galen glanced up at the other man, Greg had splatters of the thing’s black blood on him.

“Damn,” Galen sighed, then grinned at Greg. “Nice work finishing it.”

“A little messy, I know. Not like you.” Greg grinned back. “One swing. Nice, neat. Takes a bit of skill.” He laughed and Galen laughed with him. He always felt a little drunk after a successful party. Regret flowed on the heels of the exhilaration so quickly he barely had time to catch his breath. He shoved the memories away.

“Give me a hand with Rhiannon,” Galen said, pulling her to her feet. He and Greg half-carried her back to the parking lot and slid her into the passenger seat of her pickup. She mumbled a little as they buckled the belt around her.

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to get her home to finish treatment.” Galen slapped the other man on the shoulder. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Any chance to party with a Keeper,” Greg said.

“I’m not a Keeper,” Galen snapped.

“Yes, you are, and it’s an honor when you come out with us. A Keeper helping us?” the older man said kindly. “I know why you always say that, I understand. But it’s really who you are.”

“Who I was, Greg, not anymore.” Galen smiled and walked around to get into the truck. “I’ll give you a call and let you know how she is.”

“Thanks, and I’ll call you for play-time again really soon,” Greg said, grinning.

“Sure.” Galen turned the engine over and put the truck in gear. “How are you doing?” he asked Rhiannon, she smiled without opening her eyes. “Pain?” he said. She nodded. “We’ll be home soon.”

He pulled the truck out onto the dark road, the streetlights making glaring stripes on the hood of the pickup. It’s nearly midnight. It’s nearly…five years since Dad and Uncle Bobby, ten since… I wonder if Rhiannon is right, that I should be worried. I have wondered about it. I thought I felt… and the scar has been acting up, twisting at night. Ten years, it might mean something, but what…? He shook his head and glanced at Rhiannon. Her eyes were open, watching him. He smiled. “Almost home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Galen pulled the truck up behind his building, bringing it to a rattling stop. He grabbed his first aid kit and jumped out of the truck, walked around it and wrenched open the passenger door. “We’re here, can you help?” he said to Rhiannon. She opened her eyes with a wan smile and nodded, swinging her legs out of the truck and putting an arm over Galen’s shoulders. He helped her the rest of the way out and up the stairs to the apartment, dropping her gently on the couch before flipping on the lights.

“Time for the whammy?” she said, her eyes trying to focus on him.

Galen nodded, kneeling by the couch and rubbing his hands together before laying one on the wound on her shoulder and the other over her heart. He let the light flow, her eyes drifted close as he felt his hands heat up. Galen let his eyes close as he focused on the movement between his hands waiting until he felt the black poison from the blade recede. He pulled away and dropped back on his heels.

Rhiannon opened her eyes. “All fixed?”

“Mostly, the wound isn’t knitted, but it might need to drain a bit.”

“You know best, doc,” she said, pushing herself into a sitting position.

“I’m not a doctor.” Galen stood and wandered into the kitchen. The healing left him a little light-headed, as always. He pulled a sparkling water out of the fridge and took a long drink.

“That fancy piece of paper on the wall says doctor.”

“It says Ph.D. not M.D.,” he said with a laugh, grabbing another water and walking back to the couch.

“I remember when you got into grad school, Parry was bursting with pride.”

“He was a little embarrassing about it sometimes,” Galen laughed. “He and Bobby both. Even though…I still went and…I think they were a little sad, too,” Galen said suddenly. “It was a little symbolic of the break, that I continued even after what happened.”

“He was proud, he and Bobby both. They were planning such a party…” She stopped herself, looking at him. “Sorry.”

“Five years ago, right? I know. Right before my birthday, right before It came for me again.”

Rhiannon smiled gently. “It is today isn’t it?”

“One in the morning,” he said quietly. Memories were crowding in, pressing against him.

Rhiannon put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Galen?”

He looked at her. “Yeah?”

“What happened to Parry and Bobby wasn’t your fault.”

“It was though, they were protecting me. Shit, the Emrys line of Keepers ended that night, five years ago.”

“The line isn’t ended, Galen.”

“It is,” he snapped out. “And Dad and Uncle Bobby died defending that end. Defending me. It came for me, Rhiannon. I…I couldn’t even save them.” Galen sighed and got up again. He walked to the cupboard, and dug out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. “Since it is today.” He poured them both a shot and held one out to her.

“To Parry and Bobby,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

“When will we get there, Galen?” The bright smile beamed from the passenger seat. Galen took a deep breath, a lump forming in his throat, the loss suddenly fresh. “To Rob.”

“To Rob,” Rhiannon acknowledged quietly. “Galen? In all these years, I’ve never really asked, but do you want to tell me? How it began?”

“You were there.”

“About halfway through the beginning.”

“The beginning of the end?” He heard the bitter note in his voice. Galen poured them another shot. Suddenly the need to talk materialized as the old wound in his chest gave a hard twist.

“Galen?”

“It’s okay…” He took another slow breath, the past crowding him. “You know that as Custodes Noctis—Keepers—we’re raised by adoptive parents until we’re thirteen?”

“Yeah, you told me. And always brothers.”

“Brothers.” He sighed. “Five years apart. Always the same birthday. Like Dad and Uncle Bobby. At thirteen, we come to live with the older Keepers, to learn about what we do, to train for our lives as Custodes Noctis.”

“Protecting the world from the night?”

He nodded, they went over it every year, a familiar ritual, comforting. “Custodes Noctis, Keepers of the Night, the ancient line, keeping the world safe and protected from those things that the creatures of the night fear.” The words flowed off his tongue almost as a chant, a lesson learned and repeated hundreds of times.

“And ten years ago you…”

“I went to pick up Rob from his adoptive parents. Down in California. It was supposed to be a three-day drive. We were taking it in easy stages. We had gotten to know each other over the years, he came here for weekends and part of the summer, but that was the big move and I went to get him, the way the older brother always has, since the Custodes Noctis began.”

“A hero’s journey,” she said gently.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. He could hear the bitterness in his voice, the old emotions consuming him as the tequila loosened his tongue. “It was our second day on the road…”

Past

Ten years before

Day One

 

Afternoon was moving into early evening, the traffic thinned after they passed through the last town and the radio had given way to static. Galen was trying out various music choices, most met with disgusted grunts from the passenger seat. He finally gave up and slammed “Jupiter” into the tape player.

“When will we get there, Galen?” Rob asked after several minutes of Mozart. Galen looked over. His nearly thirteen-year-old brother smiled at him with a bright, carefree smile.

“When are we going to get where?”

“You know.” His brother rolled his eyes.

“We’ll be there tomorrow night,” Galen said and Rob sighed. Galen waited for a minute or two, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling at his brother’s repeated dramatic sighs. “Don’t worry Rob, we’ll be there in time for our birthday.” He knew Rob was asking about more than just their birthday.

“Promise, Galen?”

“Yeah, Rob. I promise, like I did yesterday and the day before…”

“And the day before,” Rob finished for him. He grinned at Galen. “And it’s a big day all around, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you start your training with me the next day.” He grinned back at Rob.

“The formal training to make me Custodes Noctis, right?”

“No, the training to make you shut up sometimes,” Galen said, giving his brother a little shove.

“Yeah, right.” Rob shoved back. “At thirteen we leave our first family, begin our training with our brother and we learn how to use our Gift. We take the first steps into the night, the place others fear, but we walk. Right?” Rob had repeated most of it in a little sing-song. A lesson repeated many times over the years.

“Right. Our family has been Keepers since before Rome, since before the stone circles. We have protected people from the night and the things even the dark fears,” Galen went on.

“Always brothers, always of the same family.”

“Right.”

“We get to get stay at a hotel again tonight, don’t we?” Rob changed the subject with a sly grin. The trip was a huge adventure for him, and he was making the most of time with just the two of them. It had been sparing in the past, except for late nights talking in the privacy of one or the other’s room. The time had been filled with lessons and the first of their training.

“Yeah, we’ll get to stay in a hotel tonight, Rob. We’ll pull off for dinner first, how’s that sound?”

“Can I pick, Galen?”

“Sure, what do you want tonight?”

“Burgers? We had pizza last night and tacos the night before.”

“Keeping track of everywhere we eat?”

“Yep, I don’t want to repeat until after our birthday,” he said, smiling at Galen. He took every chance to remind Galen their birthday was just around the corner.

“What happens if we repeat?”

Rob shrugged. “I don’t know. Just seemed fun, you know.” Rob’s smile faded just a tiny bit. Sometimes leaving his adoptive family hit him, and a slight sadness crept into his voice.

“Sure, something different is always good.” Galen smiled at him. Rob’s smile brightened again.

“Can I have dessert, too? A sundae?”

“Yeah, Rob, sure.” Galen noticed exit signs coming up. “Want to stop here? Or later?”

“Now? I’m kind of hungry now, Galen, if it’s okay?” His brother still sounded a little sad, Galen could sense the edge of Rob's uncertainty.

“Wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t.” He followed the exit down to a small town. “What do you think about Pat’s Burgers?” Galen said, pulling into a diner alongside the road. “Hey,” he said, putting a hand on Rob’s arm before the other could get out.

“Yeah, Galen?”

“I know it’s not quite our birthday, but I thought you might like this.” Galen pulled a small package out of his pocket and handed it to Rob.

His brother took it with wide eyes. “Can I open it now?”

“That’s why I gave it to you,” Galen said, smiling.

Rob ripped the paper off and carefully opened the box. His eyes lit up as he reverently pulled the copper, silver and bronze bracelet out. He laughed happily, a joyous sound. “This makes it official, doesn’t it?” he said with a proud grin.

Galen grinned back. “Yeah, Brat, it does.” Galen slid the bracelet over his brother’s left wrist. The design remained unchanged from the first ones made millennia before, the badge of the Keeper, Custodes Noctis. Each design was unique to a given family line. “There’s more.”

Rob pulled the cotton aside and gave a low whistle. He pulled the small knife out of the box and smiled as he slid the blade out of the scabbard.

“Brother to brother,” Galen said with a gentle smile. “Happy birthday. What?” Rob was grinning at him. His brother handed him a small package, carefully wrapped in the Sunday comics. “What’s this?” Galen asked.

“I’ve been doing my homework,” Rob said, a little shyly. “Brother to brother,” he solemnly repeated the formal phrase.

Galen smiled a little quizzically. He opened the package, a small silver-hilted knife rested on the bright paper. A Celtic knot wound its way down the hilt and scabbard. It was almost identical to the one he’d given Rob. He was silent for a moment as he held the gift. “You have done your homework, the traditional gift for when we start training together.”

“Do you like it?” Rob asked quietly. Galen looked up, questioning eyes met his, unsure. “I saved up for a long time to get it.”

“It’s perfect.” He smiled at Rob.

“Oh, good,” Rob said with an exaggerated sigh.

“We’re a good team already, Rob.”

“Really?” Rob beamed at him. “And I’ve been reading the sagas. I know the ones about the First Emrys and the Legacy by heart now, Galen.”

“You do?”

“Sure I do! In modern English, Latin and Anglo-Saxon. I was planning to start on the Old Norse and Irish, but I didn’t have time. I didn’t know if I’d get quizzed by Dad and Uncle Bobby on that. The sagas pretty important to the family.”

“More than just pretty important.”

“Will they ask me about the Anglo-Saxon?” Rob said eagerly. “Will I get extra points?”

“I’m not sure. They never asked me.”

“Ah, shit.” Rob looked over at him with a quirked eyebrow.

Galen laughed at that. “Ready to eat, Brat? And you might want to watch your language around Dad.” He tucked the two knives carefully into the glove box.

“Yeah, right. How’s it look?” Rob held out his wrist, the cuff bracelet sparkled in the streetlight. He held it next to Galen’s arm, looking from his bracelet to his brother’s.

“Looks good.”

“Yeah, it does.” Rob pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt back down. The day had cooled as the sun set.

They got out and went into the restaurant. It was bright and faux-fifties. Galen shook his head when Rob declared it “Kinda awesome.” They were seated at a booth in the back; a pretty, young waitress came over to take their orders. “What do you want Rob?”

“Cheeseburger, and can I have a milkshake, Galen? It’d be a nice treat before my birthday,” Rob said with an innocent smile.

Galen laughed. “Okay, I’ll have a burger and coffee.”

“Wow, it’s going to be your birthday? We’ll get you that milkshake for free,” the waitress, her name tag said Ashley, said. “How old will you be?”

“Thirteen, day after tomorrow.”

“Really? That’s interesting. There’s a full moon that night, too.” The waitress smiled at Rob and Galen felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Rob,” Galen said with a frown.

“Yeah?” Rob pulled his eyes from the waitress, he had been staring at her. He caught Galen’s look and just smiled at Ashley-the-waitress until she left.

“What is it?” Galen said softly. “What did you see?”

Rob frowned as he thought about it. Galen watched him. “She had black spots.”

“What kind? Like illness? Like your grandmother?”

“No, not like that, like, I don’t know. It felt wrong,” Rob said, carefully choosing his words.

“You can tell me more, Rob,” Galen chided gently.

“I’m not sure what it is. She looks wrong somehow.”

“Okay. I trust you. We should eat up and go on to the next town tonight, Rob. We’ll be that much closer to home, you know?” Galen saw the waitress head into the kitchen. She reappeared with the pot of coffee and Rob’s milkshake a few minutes later.

All through their meal the sense of something wrong kept growing. Galen could feel his back muscles tensing in response. He watched Rob looking at the waitress, the frown of concentration on his face. Galen wished his brother could tell him more of what he saw, but Rob was still learning to use his Gift. The ability to “see” things as they were, evil, illness, good, health, was the younger brother’s Gift. It was difficult to learn, to use and control, at least according to their uncle.

Galen watched Ashley go back and forth between the tables. Another waitress, older—maybe in her early thirties—had come on shift as well. She, too, was watching Ashley, and when Ashley was busy with three men sitting at a table at the far end of the restaurant, she headed over with a pot of coffee.

She bent over towards Galen as she filled his cup. “Get your brother and get out of here. He’s in danger.”

“What do you mean?” he said quietly.

“Kids his age disappear around here. Two months ago my…my…” She stopped and looked at him. He could see a tear run down her face. “My daughter—it was her thirteenth birthday and she disappeared. They found her, four days later.”

“I’m sorry,” Galen knew from the way she said it that her daughter was dead. “Do you know what happened?” he said as softly as possible, smiling at her like he was thanking her for the coffee.

“She was cut up, mutilated, there were marks drawn on her, symbols of some kind. The police…” She stopped when she saw Ashley heading back across the diner. “Just go.”

“Thank you.” He looked over at Rob. His brother heard what she said and stopped eating. “Did she have black spots?”

“No,” his brother said quickly. “Galen?”

“Time to go.” He stood up and casually tossed a twenty down on the table. They walked slowly out of the restaurant. The parking lot where he had left the car was dark. Galen had purposefully parked under one of the large lights. The jeep was new, a present from his father and uncle, and he had no intention of letting it get stolen on its first road trip.

“Rob?” he said, keeping his voice nearly soundless. His brother closed the gap between them. “When we get to the car, get in and lock your door. Okay? No matter what happens.”

“What?” Rob sounded a little scared.

“Just do as I say, it will be okay, trust me.”

“Of course I trust you, Galen. Duh.”

Galen fished in his pocket and pulled out the keys. He used his body to hide the action as he handed the keys to Rob. “Start the car for me.”

“Galen?” Rob said, fear beginning to color his voice.

“It’s just a precaution, Rob. Be prepared, right? But you need to get into the car, make sure your door’s locked and get it started, no matter what.” He repeated it emphatically, hoping the training they had would be enough to help his brother through whatever was about to happen.

“Yeah, sure,” Rob said, moving to Galen’s side.

As they approached the car, the three guys Ashley-the-waitress had been serving stepped into their path, trying to block their way to the car. Galen shoved Rob behind him, towards the car. “Rob! You know what to do!”

One of them made a lunge for Rob and Galen dove towards him. He grabbed the guy, hit him hard and felt the guy’s nose squish. “One down!” Galen said, letting Rob know he was okay. He heard the car door slam closed, a second later the engine roared to life. The two remaining men were trying to get to the vehicle, to get to Rob, but Galen had no intention of letting that happen. Galen moved towards the door. One of the men blocked his way, a knife in his hand. The other came up on Galen’s left side. Galen saw something flash and felt the blade plunge into his chest. He was slammed against the side of the car.

He heard a sound—the car window rolling down. “Galen, move!” He slid towards the back of the car to avoid a blow and the jeep’s door exploded outwards, propelled by a thrust from his brother’s legs. Galen dove into the driver’s seat, threw the car into gear and floored it.

“Rob, sit down,” he said to his brother who was leaning over the backseat. Rob slid back down into his seat with a towel in his hands. He folded it carefully and handed it to Galen. “Thanks,” Galen said, pressing the towel to his side. He could feel the warm flow of blood across his stomach, already soaking the top of his jeans.

“Galen?” Rob was looking at him, his eyes wide, frightened.

“I’m okay, Rob. Good thinking with the door. You did good.” He smiled over at Rob. “Real good.”

“Thanks, Galen. Are you hurt bad?” He sounded panicked.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s a lot of blood, Galen. The towel's already soaked.”

“It’ll be okay, Rob. We just need to get out of here first.” He tried to focus on driving. He was getting a little light-headed and starting to get cold, starting to go into shock. Rob must have realized something of the same thing. He reached over and turned on the car heater. Galen looked over at Rob. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Galen!” he yelled, looking out the window.

Galen turned and saw the truck blocking the road. Slamming on the brakes, he put the car in reverse and turned around. Another truck, without lights, had come up behind them. Another car and another. They were trapped.

“Shit!” Galen looked over at his brother. “Rob, listen to me. As soon as you get a chance, you run. Find a phone and call Dad and Uncle Bobby. I need you to do as I say,” he said as calmly as possible.

“Galen?” Rob was scared, Galen could hear it in his voice. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”

“I am, but I need to know you’re going to try and get away, too. We’re a team, but I need you to try and run. I’ll be right behind you, okay? But you keep running, no matter what.”

“What do you mean?” Rob said, his eyes filling with tears.

“Just get yourself safe.” Galen said, watching a group approach the car. He leaned over and grabbed his nine millimeter handgun out of the glove box. “Rob?” He looked over at his brother.

“Yeah, but Galen…”

“Rob, you heard the waitress. They’re after someone your age. That’s why you need to run.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry, just run, no matter what you hear, no matter what.”

“Galen.” The tears were running down his brother’s face.

“Rob, gods damn it, just do what I say!” He saw hurt flare in his brother’s eyes. “Sorry, Rob. I’m sorry.” He gave his brother’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Trust me?” Galen asked. Rob nodded. “Ready? Now, run!” Galen threw the door open and swung the gun up, firing off three rounds in rapid succession.

He sensed, rather than saw, his brother’s flight. A dark shape moved to block Rob’s dash, Galen turned. “Rob, down!” He knew Rob would react to that command without thinking, they had been working on that one since he was five. Galen fired at the dark shape. He saw one go down, then another, and then the hammer came down on an empty chamber. One of the men in front of Galen jumped towards him and drove a fist into his side, the pain exploded and dark spots danced before his eyes. Galen collapsed to his knees.

He heard Rob’s terrified shout, “No! Galen!” and heard Rob screaming at the edge of his awareness. “No!” And his brother’s voice was cut off.

Galen tried to struggle to his feet. Another punch to his side, he didn’t even see it coming. It put him down. He thought he felt someone kicking him. His whole focus, what was left of it at least, was on his brother. Galen reached out with what was left of his strength, trying to reach Rob, but his sense of his brother was completely gone. He needed to know what was happening. His last vision before blacking out was Rob, limp, unconscious, tossed into the back of one of the waiting cars, then the darkness rose up and claimed him. “No, Rob, no.”

* * * * *

“No, Rob, no.” Galen heard his voice, heavy with grief, suddenly loud in the quiet room. He opened his eyes, Rhiannon was looking at him, tears on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Galen,” she said softly, laying a hand over his.

“Usually I wait until you leave to work myself into this state,” he said, the laugh still bitter. His head was resting on the back of the couch as he looked at her. “Sorry.” He reached for the bottle again.

“I think you’ve had enough, honey,” Rhiannon said, pushing herself up off the couch. “It’s almost five and I have to work part of the day.”

“Yeah.” Galen tried standing up, only to drop back onto the couch again. Rhiannon laughed gently and pulled him up, letting him lean on her. He realized she had maneuvered him into the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. As he dropped down onto the mattress, she pulled the blankets over him. He remembered mumbling something about putting a note in the door of the shop before he was asleep.

He was running. They were chasing him. Terror was pounding through his veins like blood in rhythm with his heartbeat. He had mistakenly run into a small alley, it cost him. As he came out from behind a large dumpster, they cut him off. Hands grabbed him and tried to pull him away, fists connecting with him, a voice calling out to leave him alive. Then, suddenly, sirens, feet running and someone asking if he was okay, he couldn’t answer, pain and blood prevented the words from forming.

Galen shot upright in bed, his heart pounding from the nightmare. His hands were shaking with fear as the room came slowly into focus. “Oh, not good,” he groaned. Galen grabbed his head and stumbled out of bed towards the bathroom. Once there, he rummaged through his medicine cabinet for the homeopathic remedy for a hangover, Nux Vomica. He pulled the small tube out and dumped several pellets under his tongue. After splashing cold water on his face, he walked back into the bedroom and shoved the curtains all the way closed. It was gray outside, the light still too bright. How much did I drink? I don’t even remember. Galen sank back into the bed with a sigh. That nightmare, it felt a little like…No.

Pulling the pillow over his head, he went back to sleep.

The Legacy

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