Gateway (The Gateway Trilogy, Book 1), page 7
Taren was waiting for us upstairs, keys in hand. Instead of leading us to the car we'd all but wrecked the night before, we piled into an SUV parked in the garage.
We rode mostly in silence. Anything I wanted to talk about was off-limits for now. Occasionally I would glance at Callie out of the corner of my eye, noticing her right wrist, or more to the point, the marking on it. It was a pinkish brown line about two inches in length that curved at both ends. To most people it would seem an inconsequential birthmark or scar. I thought of my tattoo and how if you shrunk the dimensions just enough, it would overlay perfectly, a complete match of one section.
Partway through the drive I remembered my mother, and immediately felt guilty for having forgotten her for so long. I knew my disappearance would send her into a spiral. I imagined her insisting on being brought to the police station, staying all night to make sure everything was being done to find me and bring me home safely. I thought of her exhausted by her histrionics, but refusing to go home.
Taren indulged my request to call her, but with precautions. We pulled over to a convenient store where he bought three disposable cell phones, each loaded with only small amounts of money. He ripped open the package on one and handed it to me.
“Send a text first. Tell her you're fine and are going to call her in three minutes, but she has to make sure she’s alone. If your suspicions are right, she’s probably surrounded by cops right now and that’s the last thing we need.”
I struggled with texting on the archaic keypad—who wasn’t using QWERTY by now—but eventually pulled it off. I waited the three minutes and dialed, Taren sitting on the curb next to me. I knew he was afraid I’d say something wrong, something to lead the police right to us, but it was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted answers more than I wanted safety, and I wasn’t so sure even the LAPD could protect me if I’d been marked for death by some alternate demon universe. The absurdity of that thought was not lost on me, even then.
“Baby? Is that you?” My mother’s voice was frantic.
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me. I’m fine.” I answered. “Please don’t worry.”
“Where are you? Why haven’t you come home?”
“Because there’s something going on right now and I just… can’t yet.” I thought about the demon I’d seen, thought about its gaping mouth and shuddered. I knew that even if I didn’t need answers, going home would only put my mother in danger.
“But you will? Soon?” The pleading in her voice almost broke me.
“Yes, Mom, I promise. But I have to go now.” I didn’t have to see Taren’s face to know he was growing impatient.
“Alright,” she said, resigned, “but wait—one more question. When you come home, will you bring some tartar sauce? I’ll make fish sticks, your favorite.”
What the…? It took a moment before I recovered, remembering the obscure reference. “No, Mom, I hate fish sticks. Will you make something else?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, overjoyed. “Yes, I’ll make anything you want. Be safe and hurry home.”
“I will,” I promised, not sure I would make good on either.
I flipped the phone shut and handed it to Taren. He tossed it in the trash.
“Hey, there was still money left on that. What if I want to call her again?”
“That’s what these are for,” he answered, holding up the two extras. “Burners are hard to trace, but no sense taking chances. Use a new phone for each call.”
I was comforted by the extra phones, but less so by the fact that he held onto them, a clear indication that wherever we were going, my communication with the outside world would not be up to me.
“What was that bit about fish sticks?” he asked, climbing back into the SUV.
“Oh, pretty clever of her actually, though I thought it ridiculous at the time. Sometimes Mom gets paranoid, thinks people might be out to get her, out to get me.” I laughed nervously at how close that hit to home. “Anyway, one night she was really freaked out and came up with a code. If I was ever kidnapped or something, she would say something about me liking fish sticks. If I said I wanted fish sticks, that meant I was in danger and needed help, no matter what else I’d said to her that I was fine.”
“So by you saying you hate fish sticks…”
“She knows I’m fine and she doesn’t need to further involve the police. Who says bipolar disorder can’t be useful?”
If anyone in the car was uncomfortable with the admission that my mother was mentally ill, they didn’t let on. Although I guess Callie battled mental problems of her own and therefore not likely to throw stones, and if Taren and Kat’s jobs entailed bringing people back from the brink of crazy they probably weren’t easily shocked.
We had passed through the heart of Hollywood and were making our way toward the Sunset Strip when Taren made a right, heading up the mountain that served as a boundary between the rest of Los Angeles and the dreaded Valley—where aging movie stars who had run out of residual checks went to die. Where club-going poseurs, who worked as production assistants, lived because they were spending all of their money to lease a BMW Z-4. Where I lived. Even my city didn’t fit in.
This border town, known as Laurel Canyon, was an elite colony nestled between both worlds. One of the few places in Los Angeles where trees hadn’t been torn down to accommodate housing needs. The roads were narrow, houses perched precariously on hillsides, and deer were not an uncommon site. As with most places, the higher you went, the more expensive it got. Having seen Taren’s place in the Hollywood Hills, I was unsurprised that we kept winding up, up until my stomach lurched and it was all I could do to not give into car sickness.
We came to a stop in front of a gated driveway. A guard stepped out of the small shack and gave Taren a polite wave. The gate slid open and we eased through. The narrow driveway curved its way through a canopy of trees that filtered out all but the softest rays of sunshine, then opened to reveal a sprawling estate. Fruit trees dotted the landscape, as did the occasional marble bench. The beautiful scenery did nothing to calm me, however. Instead, my pulse quickened and bile rose in my throat.
“Thank God we're here,” I said. “I don't usually get motion sick but I'll be very glad to get out of this car.”
Taren and Kat exchanged glances.
“No, not again…” Callie moaned softly.
“Hold on, Callie. We're almost to the safe place I told you about,” Taren said, easing to a stop.
“What’s bringing this on?” I was concerned for my safety as well as hers. If she was hearing voices, they might be telling her to attack me again.
“It’s being this near to the Gateway. The voices will be louder and more controlling,” Taren answered. “It's also why you feel sick. Aren't you hearing anything?”
“Not a thing.” I was glad for yet another distinction between the Voice I heard and the ones that had a hold of Callie. “So, you both feel nauseous, too?”
“No,” Kat said. “Only Marked ones are connected to the Gateway like that.”
Taren locked eyes with me in the rear view mirror.
We piled out of the car and Taren brought us not to the mansion set atop the gently sloping hill, but toward a path that led to a dormitory-style building. My stomach continued to roil while Callie clutched her temples and muttered non-sensically.
The moment my foot touched the packed earth of the trail, I felt better. Still queasy, but noticeably improved. I looked at Taren who gave me a comforting smile. With each step, my stomach calmed even more. Callie looked around with wide eyes. I'd never seen her smile before, but now she wore a wide grin.
“They're quiet. I can tell they're still there, but they're not talking anymore.” Her voice was filled with awe. “What is this place?”
“This part of the property holds a special protection against the demons,” Taren said.
“I'm never leaving…” Callie was transforming before my eyes. It was like a switch had been flipped. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her skin already losing its grey cast.
As for me, I was just happy to back from the verge of vomiting. Other than that, I didn't feel particularly different.
We reached the front door of the building and stepped inside.
The entry way led to a large common area. It was like the upscale version of the rec room at Windsor. A half dozen comfortable chairs faced a flat screen television. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. I marveled at the diverse collection.
A plump woman in her forties walked out of an office to greet us.
“Young Mr. Hart, I've been expecting you,” she said.
Taren's last name was Hart? I wasn't sure which struck me funnier: his last name, or that I'd spent half the night running for my life with a guy whose last name I hadn't even known.
The woman eyed the rest of us. “I knew we had one new student, but I didn't know you were bringing one as well, Katrina.” Her tone held a hint of reproach.
“I'm sorry, Mae, that's my fault,” Taren said, “This is Callie, whom you know about, and this is Ember. She's here to meet with Annys and Master Dogan. They should be on their way down.”
“I see. Well, the more the merrier,” Mae said. “We certainly have the extra beds. Why don't you wait in my office? I'm sure they'll be wanting privacy. I'll take Callie to her room.”
Kat went with them, offering to show Callie around the rest of the grounds. I followed Taren to Mae's office.
Once seated I asked, “So these two people who are coming, Annys and Master Dogan, those are the ones I can trust? I can show them the tattoo and they'll explain to me what I have to do with all of this?”
Taren nodded. “Both are members of the Elder's Circle, and Annys is their leader.”
“Sounds like they're pretty important. All of that just for me?” The thought made me squirm.
“I told you, Ember, you're special. And more powerful than you know. Don't let Annys intimidate you. It'll be easier said than done, but show them you can stand up for yourself. Someone with your talents is going to need to be strong, and it's important you prove that you are.”
My talents?
Before I could ask what he meant, the door opened and in strode an imposing woman with dark blonde hair and eyes like a falcon. Behind her was a man with a closely shaved head. His face was still, a pond filled with clear water, not even a ripple to mar its surface. I couldn't put an age to him.
After the introductions, Annys took a seat behind the desk. “Taren, you may leave us now, but wait outside. We'll have need of you when we're done with her.”
When they were done with me? Taren spared me a regretful glance before doing as he was told. Annys turned her intense gaze to me.
“Show us this marking of yours.”
I stiffened at the abrupt command but complied, turning away and revealing my tattooed shoulder.
Master Dogan gasped and I turned back to see shock on his face. Annys masked her emotions, instead saying, “And how did you come to be marked this way?
“I brought the completed design to a tattoo artist.” I knew she wanted more, but her interrogation style had me on the defensive, fearing to say too much.
“I see. And you claim to have come up with the design on your own? You never saw it anywhere? Were never shown a part of it by someone else?”
The arrogance of her tone eased my fear. I returned her gaze, hoping mine was as harsh. “I don't claim it, it's the truth.”
“How do you propose to prove this?” she asked, unfazed.
“I don't. Look, I didn't come here to be called a liar,” I said, unable to soften the edge of my tone. “Taren said the two of you would give me some answers. If that symbol is supposed to be some big secret, why don't you tell me how it's possible that I would start drawing it. Or why the nuthouse was attacked by demons. Or how it is that demons actually even exist.”
Annys indulged my tirade. When I had finished, she leaned forward on the desk.
“Young woman, you do not know what is at stake here—”
“Annys, if I may,” Master Dogan's voice was soothing. Annys' jaw tightened at being interrupted, but allowed him to continue. “Ember makes a point. She's been through quite an ordeal in the past twenty-four hours and we are asking her to take a lot on faith. Perhaps if we are a little more forthcoming, she would be inspired to be as well.”
“And what information do you suggest we share, Dogan? Which of our secrets do you feel safe in revealing?” She gave him a warning look.
Master Dogan turned his serene gaze to me. “What has Taren told you about the symbol?”
“That it's broken into nine segments, and those segments are born on certain people, who then either go crazy or help you keep the Gateway closed somehow.”
“All true. Would you like to know how the Gateway came to be?”
I nodded. My anger at being doubted by Annys melted at the kindness in Master Dogan's eyes, the soothing tone in his voice.
“Many millennia ago, there existed not only humans, but Daemons. Daemons then were different from what we think of as demons now. While physically they were indistinguishable from their human counterparts, they possessed abilities far beyond that of man. Their origin has been lost to time—were they just a much older species than man and therefore more evolved, or were they terrestrial in nature? Or even angels of some sort, sent to guide man? Whatever their history, man and Daemon lived in harmony for centuries. Some pose it was Daemons that were responsible for the leaps forward in man's development—the societies of Atlantis, Lemuria, even the ancient Mayans.
“As humans advanced, they begin to intermarry with the Daemons, creating hybrid offspring. Many Daemons looked down upon this joining of races—considering themselves above humans. Though evolving as a species, humans were still well behind Daemons, who had such control over their minds they were both telekinetic and telepathic. They saw mankind as a sort of pet, a dog to be put to work and occasionally rewarded, but not with whom to mate.
“This difference in attitude caused a huge rift within the Daemon society and eventually resulted in a war. Countless lives were lost, and both races were threatened with extinction, for the powers of the Daemons made battle about more than just physical weaponry. Psychic attacks were common, and caused the victims to become insane, comatose or worse, lead them to kill their own people.
“The Daemons who sided with the humans knew something drastic needed to be done or both societies would be lost forever. They devised a scheme to confine the enemy Daemons in a separate yet identical reality. It was a planned attack across continents and required the participation of every available Daemon, even their hybrid offspring. Over the course of three days a battle raged. To the humans it looked as though the Daemons were simply sitting, sometimes moaning or blacking out, but to the Daemons on both sides it was agonizing. On the third day, the enemy Daemons simply vanished, and in the nine places where the others had gathered were Gateways—access points to the alternate dimension they had sent the Daemons to.
“The remaining Daemons were the first Keepers. Knowing they would be susceptible to telepathic attack by the enemy, they made the Gateway a living organism, equipped with a self-preservation instinct. It only took one generation to wipe out all of the remaining Daemons. The imprisoned demons, as they came to be called, launched wave after wave of mental attack, driving the Daemons to suicide or to kill scores of their own. But by then, Marked ones had been born—humans that were linked with the Gate. The first of the human Keepers were trained by the remaining Daemons. Once they were gone, the Institute was created to continue guarding the Gateway and protect mankind from being overrun by demon hordes.”
When Master Dogan finished his story, the room was still. I sat in stunned silence while he and Annys studied my reaction. I was torn between belief and incredulity. I knew it was crazy, and yet…
Why couldn't it be true? I probed further.
“But I wasn't born with a Mark,” I said. “Even if believe you, which I'm not sure I do, what do I have to do with any of this? And why…” I paused and took a deep breath. “Why did I start drawing that symbol?”
The two exchanged a long look and then Annys faced me, her eyes boring into mine.
“Because,” she said, “we believe you are part Daemon.”
Chapter 9
My eyes bulged. It seemed an appropriate response. It took a moment for the power of speech to return.
“You think I'm not human? That I'm a demon, or Daemon, or whatever? That's insane.”
“Not long ago I would have agreed,” Annys said, “but there are too many signs pointing in that direction not to explore the idea. You claim to have channeled the Gateway symbol of your own accord, you've been involved in altercations with both a demon and a Red, Callie was compelled to attack you, and you hear a voice. And I would bet the arrival of that voice coincides almost exactly with you getting that tattoo.”
I stiffened. Was it true? A demonic presence had access to my thoughts? The possibility terrified me even more than the idea I might be crazy had. Annys could tell by my reaction that she was right. The two events had been almost simultaneous.
“So, the question becomes, how do we proceed?” I waited for her answer, as I had none. “What I propose is that you remain here at the Institute. You will be enrolled in classes and treated like any other new student. We can smooth things over with your mother. Given where we generally find our students, the Institute is recognized by the state as alternative schooling for troubled youth, and we have a generous scholarship program. Here you will be safe and receive an excellent education while we determine whether or not you are equipped to aid in our fight to keep the Gateway closed.”
