There were no lights on, yet the space was bathed in an ethereal glow. I looked up and saw two skylights letting in the light of the full moon. I stepped into that light and felt a sense of calm wash over me. Emergency rooms might dread the full moon as the night when they saw the most casualties, often of a bizarre nature, but for me it had a calming effect. I closed my eyes and drank in the feeling, knowing I would need it for whatever else was to come tonight. When I opened them, I stepped toward the wall of glass that looked out over the city. The lights of Los Angeles glittered below.

  “Wow,” I said, taking in the site, “this is better than the view at Griffith Park. You live here?”

  “When I'm not in mental institutions,” he replied, a hint of wryness in his voice. “I don't get to enjoy it much anymore.”

  “You've been in more than one?”

  He nodded. “It's part of the story I have to tell you, though I have no idea where to start.”

  Taren laid Callie on a sleek designer sofa.

  “What about her?” I asked. “Is someone coming to help?”

  “Soon,” he said. “They're on their way.”

  I studied him then: his eyes tight with worry, his shoulders finally sagging under the weight of all that happened. Black slime stained his pants and the shirt that had been fresh an hour ago was now splattered with blood from the man with the red eyes. In that moment, sympathy trumped my need for answers.

  “I'm beat,” I said, knowing Taren would never give into his own exhaustion, but might acquiesce to mine. “And I reek. If you think we're safe here, and if your parents wouldn't mind, would it be alright if I took a shower?”

  Taren exhaled, relieved. I couldn't be sure if it was because he wanted to clean up, or was eager to delay having to explain the horror of the evening.

  “Yeah,” he said, “my parents are out of town. You can use their room.”

  He led me down a hallway and into a room large enough for a king sized bed and sitting area. Off of that was a bathroom the size of my bedroom at home.

  “You should have everything you need,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

  Once I'd spied the luxury tub, I decided to forgo the shower and opted instead for a bath. The jets were strong and hurt at first, but soon were unwinding all the parts of my body I'd been clenching for hours. Thick bubbles surrounded me and smelled delicious—Asian pear, was it? I scrubbed the grime off my body with a fresh loofah and globs of mandarin body wash, delighted for once to smell like a fruit cup. I'm not sure how long I languished, but it was only when I realized I was nodding off that I forced myself to release the water. The towels were thick and luxurious, not like the ones I'd grown up with which felt like they'd been hung on a line, even when we used the dryer. I chose a robe from the linen closet and wrapped its plushness around me.

  I stepped from the bathroom to the bedroom and sat on the edge of bed. My hand ran along the silky smoothness of the duvet and I lay down just to feel its softness against my cheek. It reminded me of the smoothness of Taren's hand when I'd thought he was kissing me. I sighed. I wanted to just rest a minute. To have just a few more minutes where I might be able to deny that my life had completely changed.

  I couldn't afford the luxury. Not when Taren thought something was after me. Not when I'd seen that something and it scared the hell out of me. I left the comfort of the bed, determined to get some answers.

  The rest of the house was dark and I hoped Taren hadn't taken advantage of my lengthy bath to turn in for the night. I was startled by a female voice coming from two doorways down.

  “How long has she been gone?”

  It was Taren's voice that answered. “About two hours.”

  I crept forward and looked through the crack in the door. The room was lit with candles. Callie lay motionless on the bed, Taren in a chair beside her. He was in fresh clothing, looking as weary as I felt. An older woman with grey hair stood on the other side of the bed studying her. A second female stood with her back to me, auburn hair cascading down her back.

  “Not good, but not impossible.” The dark-haired woman's tone was all business. “What's her tether?”

  “Her cat, Dexter,” Taren said.

  There was no more talking. Taren and the redhead stayed where they were, but the older woman knelt beside the bed and closed her eyes. This must be the Retriever Taren had mentioned. I hadn't given it much thought at the time. She was trying to bring Callie back from wherever she was. I wondered how it worked—the woman was just sitting there. The minutes stretched and my worry deepened. What if it didn't work? Did Callie just stay comatose forever? Time passed and my eyelids drooped. I slumped down against the wall. I tried digging my fingernails into my palms, determined not to sleep until I knew Callie had come back from wherever she was. When that wasn't enough, I stared at the cream-colored wall and noticed a small chip in the paint. So small…

  “Taren?” Callie's voice cut through the silence.

  “Hey, there,” came Taren's reply. “Glad to have you back, Cal.”

  I stood, relieved, and padded back down the hall.

  The bed looked even more inviting now, and I slipped under the covers, letting the lushness of the bed envelop me, drowning out the need for anything but sleep.

  Chapter 8

  The light of morning filtered through the curtains and came to rest gently on my eyelids. For a moment, my only awareness was of how safe I felt. Then came memory.

  My eyes snapped open. One thing I knew for certain—after the prior evening, I would never really feel safe again. I'd seen things that weren't supposed to exist in this world, and as comfortable as I usually was with things that didn't fit in, this was different. Something inside me had shifted, and an innocence I hadn't believed I'd possessed was lost to me forever. I shuddered.

  “You're awake.”

  His voice startled me and I whipped my head to see Taren stretched out on a chair, his feet propped up on an ottoman. His gaze was soft, a feather on my skin, and I clutched the robe to make sure I wasn't exposing myself.

  “Have you been there all night?” I said.

  “Part of it,” he replied, “after I indulged in a shower of my own. And then we had to perform the Retrieval.”

  “So, what is that, exactly?” I didn't let on what I'd witnessed.

  “It's what we do when someone gets lost,” he replied. He seemed to be searching for words. “Callie was in… a dark place. She couldn't find her way back so we needed to send someone in after her.”

  “And did it work? Is Callie OK now?”

  “We got her back. It took longer than it should have, but the important thing is that she's back.” Taren paused for a moment, then continued. “I know you have a lot of questions…”

  “Don't even try to put me off any longer…” My patience for his evasions was no longer thin, it was non-existent.

  “I'm not,” he said. “I'll tell you what I can, but I need a favor. You can't tell anyone about your tattoo aside from the two people I'm going to take you to see. Not anyone. And you can't draw it. Or even parts of it. Promise me.”

  Before I could answer, the door burst open and a stunning girl entered the room. The redhead I'd seen last night. Her skin was creamy perfection, a smattering of freckles only served to make her more appealing. Her mouth was a plump berry, just short of looking petulant.

  “I thought I heard voices,” she said brightly, coming to sit on the arm of Taren's chair. “Figured I should say, ‘hi’ to the newbie.”

  She was the kind of girl that made me involuntarily shrink back, feeling unworthy to exist in the same space. I struggled not to dislike her on sight and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering what condition it was in.

  “Ember, this is Kat. She works with me. Right now she's supposed to be watching over Callie so she doesn't wake up alone.” He gave Kat a pointed look.

  If Kat was bothered by his scrutiny she didn't show it. Instead she shrugged and took the chair next to Taren. “After how long she was gone she'll sleep for at least a few more hours. Besides, it was boring.”

  Their children would be supermodels. They had to be dating; they owed it to the gene pool. Maybe that was why Taren was always ignoring Lauren's advances when most guys would have jumped at them.

  “Well, we can't have you bored,” Taren said wryly. “Fine, you can stay, but you'll have to keep checking on her.”

  Kat saluted him and turned to me. “Isn't he insufferable? Typical man. He's probably been barking orders at you all night and refusing to answer even the simplest of questions.”

  Taren rolled his eyes, enduring the chastisement in silence.

  “Well, there was a lot going on,” I replied, surprising myself by defending him.

  “So, I guess the first thing I want to know…” I paused at the warning look in Taren's eyes, “is what that thing was in the hospital. I've been trying to convince myself it was a rabid bear, or someone in a really good costume, but it's just not working.”

  Taren and Kat exchanged looks.

  “It was a demon, Taren said finally. “A Dahrak demon, to be exact. Slow moving and dumb, but if it catches you, it's a painful death.”

  “A demon? Like from hell?”

  “Not hell, exactly, although it would feel that way to us,” he said. “It's an alternate dimension.”

  “Well, that makes much more sense.” I was Alice, falling farther down the rabbit hole.

  “I know it sounds crazy, and if you aren't ready to hear this—”

  “No, keep going.” Now that I had him giving me answers I wasn't about to let him stop, no matter how terrifying they might be.

  “There's a Gateway that separates our world from theirs. A Gateway that those with certain birthmarks, like you,” his eyes flashed with intensity, “are charged with keeping closed.”

  Why did he want the supermodel to think I had this magical birthmark?

  “I see,” I said, although I was more confused than ever. “And what does my birthmark do, exactly?”

  “There isn't just one. There are nine. Nine markings that combine to form the symbol that keeps this dimension safe from demons.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “And what does this symbol look like?”

  The look Taren gave me made my hair stand on end. I knew it must be a trick of the mind that caused my tattoo to suddenly burn as badly as it had when I'd first gotten it. I had a demonic symbol? On my shoulder?

  “Well, at least tell her why you can't answer that one,” Kat said, cutting the tense silence. She turned to me. “You're not ready yet. It's too dangerous until you've had training.”

  Taren's incredulity at my tattoo and my artwork was finally making sense, in a way that still made no sense at all.

  “What I want to know,” Kat said, “is how old you are?”

  “Huh?” The mundaneness of the question broke the cycle of my spinning thoughts. “I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen in a few months. Why?”

  “Because you should be dead by now. Or at the very least, completely nuts.”

  “Damn, Kat, a little tact?” Taren said.

  “Tact is a luxury we can't afford. The truth is,” she said, “that if we don't discover a Gatekeeper by the time they are twelve or thirteen, we lose them. Sometimes one will survive until they are fourteen, but that's rare. To find you at sixteen, seemingly sane… well, I doubt it's ever happened before.”

  Despite my desire for answers, they were coming too quickly. I struggled to absorb them. “Lose them how?”

  Taren continued to look uncomfortable, but Kat barreled on. “To madness, to catatonia—like with Callie—pulled into another world, unable to escape…”

  “To suicide,” Taren finished quietly.

  “Oh,” was the only reply I could manage.

  I thought of that night, seemingly so long ago. The way I'd felt, the Voice urging me on.

  “What about the Voice?” I asked. “You said Callie hears one, too. Is it the same one?”

  The idea that a demon had access to my deepest thoughts was bone chilling.

  Taren shook his head. “Probably not. And she hears several voices, not just one. That's another anomaly.”

  I exhaled with relief, but Taren's expression grew troubled.

  “What does your voice tell you to do?” he asked.

  I hesitated. I'd been hiding Its presence in my life for so long, it seemed wrong to share It, even with what I'd been told.

  “It's alright, you don't have to tell us,” Taren said. “We have counselors, you can talk about it with them.”

  I groaned. More shrinks?

  “For now, it's just important that you believe me when I tell you that the voice you're hearing is dangerous, and will do whatever it takes to deceive you.”

  Was he right? If my Voice was different, then how could he be so sure? It had facilitated my suicide attempt, true, but It had also told me to trust Taren. And It had never urged me to harm anyone…

  My mind reeled. Each answer led to more questions. If Kat was one of the good guys, why couldn't she know about my tattoo? I wanted to ask about the man with the red eyes that had attacked us, but that might lead to a conversation about my artwork at Buzz. Was the work really even mine? I wasn't sure how much longer I was willing to indulge Taren's request.

  He must have sensed my restlessness because he stood and stretched. It occurred to me that he might have spent the night in that chair. The thought comforted me.

  “I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving,” he said.

  Desperate as I was for more answers, I couldn't ignore the painful emptiness in my belly. “I could eat.”

  Kat excused herself to check on Callie while Taren led me to a spacious kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances that looked as though they'd never been used. We were out of earshot and I took advantage.

  “Why do you want Kat to think I have a birthmark? And why can't she know about my tattoo?”

  “Because you are in serious danger.” His tone was hushed but urgent. “I'm trying to protect you. Not from Kat, but from things you don't understand and are worse than you can imagine. Please, just trust me for a little while longer. When Callie wakes up I'm taking you both to the Institute and then I promise you will get the answers you need.”

  We had a brief standoff before I nodded in acquiescence.

  “Thanks, I owe you,” he said. “And while I'm racking up debts, I have another request. Callie's state of mind is still very fragile, and she doesn't remember much of last night. She's younger and not as strong as you. It's important we don't talk about any of this in front of her.”

  I agreed, pleased with the knowledge he found me strong. Then Kat entered the room and instantly I felt invisible again.

  “Look who was up,” Kat said, smiling.

  Callie yawned. “You woke—“

  “Well, the important thing is that you're awake,” Kat said quickly, “which means we can leave sooner than we expected and don't have to eat here.”

  Kat turned a dubious eye to the meal Taren was putting together for us. He’d placed a box of dried cereal and a tin of sugar cookies next to a half eaten jar of applesauce.

  “Not much for cooking?” I asked, the corners of my mouth twitching into a smirk.

  “It's not like I've been home in the past few weeks,” he said defensively. “And my folks… travel.”

  I wondered whether Taren's parents knew he was some sort of demon fighter, or if they really thought he was a pyro. I added it to my growing list of questions.

  He surveyed the spread and sighed. “Alright, let's go.”

  Kat brightened. “Great! Come on girls, I'll loan you some clothes.”

  She grabbed both Callie and me by the hand and led us down a short flight of stairs. The lower level couldn't have contrasted more with the upper. Where upstairs was sleek, with clean lines and a place for everything, the downstairs bedroom was chaotic and painted in bright colors. The walls were covered in pop art, the shelves adorned with kitsch. Kat went to a large closet and flung open the door to reveal rows and rows of stylish clothes.

  So she lived here. It was a mark in the “they're dating” column. But they didn't share a room, which was a mark in the “what the hell is up with them?” column.

  She reached all the way into the back and pulled out a bag, tossing it to Callie.

  “Here, take what you like. All that stuff is from when I was your age—I could barely squeeze a toe in it now. Lucky for you, I'm terrible at throwing things away.”

  She looked me up and down. “So, I'm guessing you've got an alternative vibe going, right? Nothing too girly, nothing to make you fit in except with all the other people who don't want to fit in?”

  I was flustered by the accuracy of her assessment, especially given I was wearing a bathrobe. “Um, yeah.”

  She pulled a T-shirt from its hanger. “Here, my older cousin gave this to me as some kind of joke. You probably know who it is.”

  She tossed me the shirt. It bore the logo of an indie trip-hop band I'd seen more than once. A camisole flew my way and I snagged it, grateful. I didn't want to wear the bra I'd discarded last night; it was filthy and reeked of perspiration. Not that I was pleased my breasts could be kept under control by such a thin sheath of fabric, but it did have its advantages. A pair of jeans sailed my way. I was surprised that they fit even reasonably well, though they were tight in the waist and loose in the hips, reflecting how much more of an hourglass her figure was. I rolled up the bottom a good three inches to make up for our difference in height.

  “Not bad,” Kat said, appraising Callie and me. She eyed my rolled up hem and shook her head. “Except for that.”

  She reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors, cutting off the excess fabric and fraying the ends. I protested—didn't we have more important things to worry about? But I looked in the mirror and had to admit, if only to myself, it was an improvement. I used one of the brushes laid out on the dresser to work out some tangles.

 

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