Guardian: Book Two, Feather Book Series Read online

  “But do you think it was part of Matthew’s plan, another pawn in his game to lure me away from Edgar and into his lethal grasp?” My voice was laced with curiosity.

  “No, I don’t get that feeling, it wasn’t evil. That would be the first thing I would have noticed. To me the world is black and white, evil and safe.” He pushed a plate toward me, his eyes looking at mine with observant curiosity and I could sense he felt nervous that I would judge him for his cooking skills.

  “Thanks Sam. Looks great,” I smiled.

  He narrowed his eyes at me and I could feel him navigating every corner of my brain, coming up empty handed. He grunted, his chest rising as he walked into the sitting room behind me where he threw his body onto the chaise lounge.

  I picked at the soggy mass before me, urging my stomach to find it somewhat appetizing. I could hear Sam breathing behind me, though I wasn’t sure why he did. Being that he was dead he really didn’t need to, but I suppose for the matter of fitting in, it made sense, old habits die hard.

  I had circled my life around three rooms. When I first came back it was hard for me to get past the front hall. But now, I felt comfortable being in the kitchen, sitting room and entry. Healing was a slow process and my burden to bear. I never understood how humans managed to move on, often so soon after their loss, but I guess love comes down to a choice: You can either get over it and try to be happy, or roll over a lot, all alone. And let’s face it, no one likes being alone.

  Sam came and went as he pleased, but it didn’t seem as though he’d gone into any rooms besides the ones I had either. I suppose it was out of respect for me, if he even possessed a shred of any. He was so rude, that it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been to every room in the house, let alone sleep in Edgar’s bed. But as long as he didn’t move anything, I didn’t really care anymore.

  I worked down another soggy and watered down load of mac and cheese before giving up. I had a new goal in mind, so after throwing my bowl in the sink and grabbing the Edgar Allan notebook from where I’d set it on the counter, I tried my best to slink out of the room unnoticed. There was one place in this house I was certain would be easier to visit than my room and I now set out on a mission to go there.

  My hand grazed along the rough velvety wall paper as I traced toward the library. There was no real reason why I hadn’t yet gone there, and I wasn’t surprised to find it exactly the same. I gripped my hand around the frame, feeling the familiar spot where I had dug my nails into the wood a hundred times. The memory of those last stressful days with Edgar flashed before me, the anxiety, and the waiting.

  I took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Sam had not followed me, but I was not so naïve to deny that fact that he knew what I was doing. Even though I had impeccable sight and hearing, he had even better. I noticed how he could watch the air before him, nothing there, but to him, there was always something, a particle of dust, a wisp of silk thread. He always knew, but that didn’t mean he always told me about it.

  I ran my hand along the thick leather of the couch, finding it cold, rough, and almost uninviting. The notebook of poems in my hand suddenly felt like a ton of bricks as I set it on the seat of the couch. I looked toward the greenhouse Edgar had built for me and a lump ached in my throat. That room was still too hard to visit and even seeing it now was like twisting the dagger in my throbbing heart.

  As I diverted my gaze from the tables of dead plants, my sight caught the silky mahogany wood of the ladder to the second tier of the library. My breathing quickened, my body now terrified of what I knew was up there. I had tricked myself into coming here, tricked myself into my insatiable obsession with that tiny room, and the painting.

  I took a deep breath, placing one hand on the middle rung. Squeezing my eyes shut, the painful memory of Edgar’s hands around my waist flooded my mind. My sides began to tingle with the residual touch as the breath was ripped from my lungs. I cursed myself for whimpering like a fool as I placed my other hand on the rail. I worked to calm the burning pain in my throat, huffing through my nose in heavy breaths instead. I needed this, it had been long enough. My time for waiting was over and it was time for a new day. Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath and moved.

  ADDITIONS

  As my foot pressed onto the bottom rung, I hoisted my weight onto the ladder. I exhaled, feeling the salt hit my wounds and sting with the bitter sweet pleasure of love, and loss. A smile crossed my face, finding my memories here were less terrifying than I had originally judged, and more exhilarant than expected. I threw myself to the top tier with the agility of a cat, setting my feet onto the steel gangway and placing one hand on the rail, the other landing on the spines of the books stacked restfully against the wall.

  As I walked around the familiar arch, my fingers thudded along the books as always. I felt as my fingers hit a cavernous void in the stack and a memory opened up like a package in my mind, a memory of why that void was there. The thought had been one that was now buried deep beneath the trauma of that horrible day. I had forgotten all that preceded the fact of my abduction, but what had been there that day had been extremely valuable. I averted my gaze from the small arched room to my hand, halting as adrenaline ran undiluted through my veins.

  I knelt on one knee until my eyes were level with the void in the books my vision remembering what had originally belonged there. My finger traced the tall rectangular hole as I peered to the back of the stack, my eyes finding nothing more than the mahogany of the shelf staring back out at me. I tilted my head to the side as I searched my mind for what had happened next. I rolled my gaze around and behind me to the arched room in the corner where my mouth fell open and my breath tumbled out in hot waves.

  I stood as though afraid to startle myself as my brain raced to put the past back together, my hand steadying myself against the books. Taking a deep breath, I moved forward, placing one foot carefully before the next as though stalking prey. As I centered in on the room, I poked my head around the corner as though expecting something to jump out at me, the small candle bursting to life as sweat began to bead on my brow.

  My first thought was to look to the painting, the faces searing out at me like sharp spears. I cringed, averting my gaze to the floor where something was glimmering bright like a bowl of golden water. My sharp breathing echoed off the small shallow walls as I bent down, hooking my finger under the pages that were sprawled open on the floor.

  My first reaction was how warm it felt, as though it had just been held. I brought it to my chest as I looked toward the ceiling, feeling its strange warmth now reverberate through my soul, as though it were a living thing. I cradled the book like a small child as I shuffled to the armchair and allowed my body to sink into the soft malleable leather. Placing the book on my lap, I traced the rough gold surface with my palm, feeling the embossed Italian letters mold under my touch.

  Treating it with careful respect, I pulled back the cover, hearing the paper crackle under the stretch. As I opened to the first page, the familiar etched image of the raven stared out at me. My eyes fell across the Italian writing and I furled my brow in amazement as my mind began to recognize the words that were so foreign before, molding them into English, right before my eyes. I felt my memory unlocking each syllable, translating it until it was finally legible. I read the same first line I had that day, finally finding some sense in the description.

  In the beginning, the raven was one…

  I leaned back against the cushion of the chair in shock. My new found talent to read Italian had taken me by surprise and I was overwhelmed by the fact that I would now be able to understand the stories in this book. I flipped through the pages with hunger and haste, remembering how the book had been half empty, as though unfinished. As I came across the familiar picture of the white cat entering the cave, I was surprised to see that when I turned the page, it was no longer empty.

  I gasped in horror, dropping the book from my face and into my lap as the pages fanned closed and I lost the
spot. I was not entirely sure about what I had just seen, but the bare glimpse had caused my heart to beat like never before. I took a deep breath as I grabbed at the pages, hungrier than before as I fanned them back to where the cat had been. I took a deep breath and turned the following page again, my eyes falling on a new imprinted image.

  There was a white raven in the woods, its body hunched over and its eyes screaming as a dark cloud of black ravens dove down on her. The scene was far too familiar and I felt my head surge with sudden pain. Though my mind screamed not to, my eyes could not resist the temptation to read the caption.

  On this day, she was taken. The dark soul was tricked, however, the raven was nothing more than a shell, but the doom ahead was heavily weighted…

  It was me. The white raven had been me. I ran my fingers over the detailed image, remembering the fear that had cut its way through my body. I looked to the trees that surrounded me and to my surprise the cat was there, its tail popping as it ran away, just as I had remembered.

  I turned the page as I urged myself to fill my mind with its torturous images, but then slammed the book shut. What I had seen there I was never prepared to see again. It was the image of two ravens, one with a dagger through the other’s heart. My breathing quickened and my fingers trembled on the cover of the book. My palms began to sweat and as much as I wanted to read further, I couldn’t bring my screaming mind to pull open the cover.

  My eyes were squeezed shut and my breathing echoed off the walls. As I sat there, calming my nerves, the moisture in the air became thick and crowded, as though the space was no longer large enough for just me and the book. As I drew my lids open I wasn’t surprised to see Sam standing before me, his figure shadowed in heavy darkness in the now very cramped room.

  “What are you doing?” he pried.

  I rolled my eyes, allowing my emotions to roll off my shoulders. “Nothing, just trying to figure some things out,” I lied.

  His eyes fluttered to the golden book in my hand. “What is that?” he asked, pretending it was no big deal in his desperation to know.

  I shrugged, trying to make it seem like it was just another book, anything but a magical book that wrote itself.

  “Looks like you’re going a little further today, good for you champ.” He looked around at the small room and winked. His back was arched in an uncomfortable manner, the ceiling too low for his large body to stand.

  “Yeah I guess so,” my voice was tart and annoyed. I avoided his direct gaze, afraid he would discover my secrets.

  He struggled to maneuver his body, twisting himself to face the large painting that I now eyed in secret.

  “Oh hey,” astonishment crossed his face, “Look it’s you!” He jabbed his finger at the image of me, “Oh and look, Edgar!” He was like a small child at a candy store, no sense of mourning about him.

  I winced when he said his name. “Could you please not say that?”

  His eyes shot to mine, his mouth twisted in a smile, “Oh yeah sorry, forgot that he was dead.”

  I exhaled, my chest depressing as far as it could. He was so rude.

  “Oh but hey, look there,” Sam pointed to the couple in white, Margriete and… I couldn’t bring myself to even think the name.

  I nodded, looking away. Sam’s smile sank and there was an awkward silence that grew around us. I found myself looking up in surprise by the sudden feeling. I had braced myself for another rude comment, but one never came. My eyes met his and we locked stares for a moment. The smirk was gone from his face and he was searching mine in a discomforting way as though somehow feeling the same loss I had.

  After holding the stare a moment longer than necessary he looked away. “Sorry,” he mumbled, backing out of the room and sitting on the railing.

  I was a little shocked by the comprehensible look on his face. He had actually expressed a bit of repentance. The book felt warm in my hands as I fell back to reality, remembering I was still grasping it. I felt the cover again, imagining that what I held was a hot pie, rather than a culmination of the past. The book was alive, and in some strange way, it knew everything that was happening.

  I flipped the pages in mindless motion until they went blank, careful not to look at the last few images. There was still only about half the book written and I wondered if this meant that there was still more to come, more to explore. At any rate, I now had evidence that the cat was really there. If this book had deemed it so important to record, then it was surely a character that I would meet again.

  Sam sighed and I knew he was just trying to get my attention. My gaze lifted to his and I smiled. “Sam, can you do me a favor?” I had been meaning to do this, but my reservations to come here had stopped me. “Could you take this painting downstairs, I’d like to hang it in the library.”

  “What, is it too heavy for you?” he joked; now returning to his normal sarcastic self.

  I gave him a reproachful glare, “Just do it Sam.”

  He grinned and ducked back into the small space. Placing two pale hands on either side of the painting, he hoisted it off the wall with little effort and maneuvered it out of the space. In one swift agile movement he jumped up and over the railing, falling to the ground below as though stepping off a stair. I laboriously hoisted myself out of my chair and ushered to the rail. Sam stared up at me with a smug look on his face and I glowered at his utter defiance for earthly implications such as stairs and ladders.

  “Show off,” I spat.

  Sam grinned, his ghost-white face almost iridescent in the light that shown through the two story window. I noticed how the blue circles under his eyes contrasted with the sharp gold bronze of his pupils and it sent shivers down my spine, the face of death looming in my thoughts.

  He placed the painting against the couch while I made my way around the gangway and to the ladder. The book was clutched close to my chest and I felt my body begin to sweat under its heat. When I reached the ladder, I hooked it under my arm, careful to grab the rails as I had been nagged to by Edgar a thousand times.

  Halfway down, I squealed as I felt Sam’s cold hands grab my waist. I instantly froze at the touch, finding the feeling hard to discern from that of my past as I fought back the thoughts of Edgar. Sam had managed to lift me the exact same way Edgar always had and I wriggled myself free once I was safely on the ground.

  “What’s your deal?” Sam chuckled, amused by my discomfort.

  “Nothing,” I paused, considering a mean remark but figuring there was no use wasting it, “Your hands are cold is all.”

  He laughed, “Yeah well you feel like an inferno, so…”

  I shook my head, grasping the book out from under my now sweaty arm, “Whatever.”

  “So where do you want this hunk of junk?” He was trying to get me pissed off and was nearly succeeding.

  I let out a shameless breath as I lumbered toward the middle of the room. The one thing I could always count on was that Sam would never give me any pity. That was something I truly could not handle, especially now. With a skeptical eye I looked around the room, analyzing the possible spaces, which was admittedly few and far between with all of Edgar’s clocks that were hung everywhere.

  I winced at the thought of moving Edgar’s beloved clocks, but really, what was the point? He wasn’t here to care anymore and I was certain he would forgive me, if he ever got the chance. My heart sank like a rock at my disregard toward his things. I loved Edgar, that was never going to change, but this was necessary. It wasn’t like I was remodeling because I didn’t like the style, I was doing this as my first step to finding him, a selfless act of love.

  This painting was bound to be useful to me, somehow. If anything, it was a good reminder of my goal. I refused to rot here, waiting like he did. I was more proactive than that. Licking my wounds and whining about my horrible luck was never my forte`.

  Sam read my thoughts and began removing the clocks on the east wall, just to the left of the door into the room and right before the shelving bega
n. There were deep faded silhouettes left as he stacked each noisy clock in a delicate pile. They were annoying anyways, like sands through the hourglass of my life, ticking away my endless existence. If I could remove everything that made me feel like sulking, rather than fighting, things here would be easier.

  I grabbed the clocks and set them into the storage chest that was also used as the coffee table. There were deep scuffs across the top where Edgar had rested his feet and I ran my hand across them with respect as it creaked open. The thick wood of the clocks clanked like a hallowed bamboo as I stacked them in their new resting place. As I clasped the lid shut, the clocks became muffled by the walls that now surrounded them. A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I caught a glimpse of Sam smirking at me.

  A grumble grew in my throat, “Whatever you’re about to say, save it.”

  He laughed then, and I knew there had been something he would have said. What a jerk, I thought, grow a heart already. I pointed one sharp finger at the painting, instructing him, without words, to hang it and get out of my business. My mind locked onto his and I made sure to let my thoughts hiss with anger.

  His eyes glimmered with satisfaction as I found him enjoying the torture he was putting me through with sick elation and content.

  I began thinking of Sarah and Scott as he hoisted the painting to the wall, placing it on a hook that had already been there from one of the clocks. The thought of going down to the school to surprise them had crossed my mind today more times than I’d like to admit, and every time it did, Sam only looked at me and shook his head. For some reason, he was trying to keep me from them. Perhaps he saw how wrong it was for immortals to make friends with humans, when in reality, I was missing the social distraction.

  Though he himself had once been a human, he now regarded them as a sort of parasite, infesting and killing the earth where he would inevitably live forever. Considering I lived most of my life among humans, as a human, I just didn’t see things the same way and I refused to throw out that part of my life. I couldn’t step on the little people that got me to where I was today. Besides, they were my friends.