Everlasting (Night Watchmen, #1) (2 page)

N
o one in my family
has ever been to college. There’s never been a need for it. When you’re born from a powerful bloodline that serves a higher calling, a calling that maintains protection over humankind, college becomes trivial. To my people, only the Defected go to college alongside the humans we protect. It’s a disgrace, a sign of weakness in the bloodline.

So when the metal clink of the mailbox sounds from across the lawn, I jump. I jump because what rests inside that box is my death sentence to shame. It’s the end of my life as a Primeval and the beginning of a life as a human. A life where my people will forever turn their backs on me. A life of unadulterated banishment.

All because I am the very first Defect in my bloodline.

I know my parents are watching me from the window. I can feel their gazes like dripping ice trickling down my back and chilling my blood. They’ve dreaded this day just as much as I have. My mother’s the one who helped me fill out the applications to colleges last year. She wants to see me happy and successful, even if it has to be outside of the Coven. My father, on the other hand, never speaks of it. I think deep down it disappoints him, even though he never shows it.

I shut my eyes against the glaring, orbed sun and try to steady my breathing. It should be raining. Thunderstorms and winds should be ripping through the air the way they rip through my insides, but they’re not. Nature’s mocking me, perching the golden sun in the middle of the sky for all to see like a trophy. Birds sing and kids play in the street, laughing and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

But not me. My bare feet slap against the concrete, carrying me with dreaded steps toward a truth I’ve yet to come to terms with. I know the number of steps it takes to get me there. I’ve practiced this walk a thousand times, each time training myself to do so with pride, the way my people are expected to walk, but all of my careful preparation leaves me the moment the mailman walks away.

Grab the letter. It’s just a piece of paper, Faye. It can’t hurt you
, I tell myself as my fingers hesitate over the mailbox. But I know better. It can hurt me; it’s about to hurt me in all the worst ways. I blink, and a million, stifling emotions turn my knees to jelly. A fist of deprecation forms around my throat, and I can’t breathe.

But my father’s watching me with the stern eyes of a Hunter. I can’t let him down. Not again.

With a deep breath, I harden myself, tucking the crushing pain down as far as it will go, and open the box, making sure to smile up at my parents. A swipe of the hand later, and I hold the letter, staring down at the word Columbia on the top left of the envelope. I already know my fate. I made it in. My exceedingly high grades and parents made sure of this, but I don’t feel any relief. All I feel is unyielding shame. Shame that I can’t find even the slightest bit of happiness in knowing I at least excel in something.

I find my footing and trudge back over to the blanket I’d set out on the lawn in front of my parents’ house. I lay down, still clutching the letter against my chest, and stare up at the afternoon sky. It’s a cloudless sort of day; the kind where the vibrant sun feels warm against the fall New York air. I stretch my fingers out from under my navy green jacket, framing what would be the perfect photo. There’s a surety I get when gazing at the sky, a sense of stability that everything is exactly as it should be. No matter what, night is night, and day is day. Clouds are clouds and rain is rain. When the sun sets, the moon will rise. Nothing can change that, not even the most powerful person in the world. The photos I keep pinned on the walls of my room remind me of that day after day. They remind me of exactly who I am.

I am Faye Hadley Middleton, and not a single person can say otherwise.

But when I look away from the sky and over to my best friend Katie, the truth comes crashing down around me. It’s because I’m Faye Middleton that there
is
a person in this world that can say otherwise. An Elder, to be exact. And that Elder is waiting to deliver my fate tomorrow.

I stare blindly as Katie’s fingers type text messages. She’s probably trying to enjoy her last bit of freedom before it’s all taken away, before she’s wiped off the grid and accepted into the Night Watchmen Academy like our parents and their parents have before us, before she goes from being Katie to just another Watchman. Her phone beeps with another message, probably from a guy who unknowingly doesn’t stand a chance with her. We don’t marry outside of the Coven. It keeps our bloodlines pure.

My hands fall back to the ground as a tide of resentment creeps up the shore of my mind. Katie’s the Thelma to my Louise. You won’t find one of us without the other, and when you mess with one, you get both, but, just like in Thelma and Louise, there is a cliff we’re about to approach, and I’m not sure we’ll survive.

“You’re doing it again,” Katie says, never looking away from her phone.

“Doing what?”

“That squinchy face you make when you’re upset. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” She pauses to look at me, raising one insightful brow.

I huff and roll back to stare at the sky. When am I not thinking about it? Tomorrow’s the day of the Culling, the day we’ll be given the quartz that will determine which side of the affinity bond we stand on inside the Primeval Coven; Hunter or Witch, fighter or magic caster. After that, we’ll be inducted into the Night Watchmen Academy for four years where we’ll learn to harness the magic on our side of the bond. We’ll each meet our partner who will be forever linked to us.

But there will be no partner for me. And knowing this has turned me into an empty shell filled with cobwebs of predetermined embarrassment.

She nudges me, loosening the truth stashed in my throat.

“How can I not think about it, Kat? I’m about to shame my parents and the Coven. You don’t know what that feels like. You’ll probably be told you’re a Witch and then be on your merry way to meet your hunky Hunter. But for me, I’ll be told I’m a Defect and then everyone will know. And they’ll laugh. This is proof.” I hold up the letter from Columbia, shutting my eyes to silence the haunting echoes of laughter dwelling on the edges of my mind.

Sadness fills her eyes because she knows I’m right. I’ve known from as far back as I can remember. My mom’s a Witch, and one of her many specialties is in clairvoyance. She saw my future the moment she first held me. She’s known forever that I’d never be a Watchman. The genes cruelly skipped me. No one except for my parents and Katie know. I’ll be neither Witch nor Hunter, while Katie travels down a path I can’t follow. A path that’ll most likely be the death of our friendship, because, like everyone else in our Coven, she’ll be expected to turn her back on me.

“I’ll never turn my back on you. Ever. You can’t think like that,” she says, picking up on my inner thoughts. It’s a sign of being blessed by the Goddess and walking a Witch’s path. She’s been psychically sensitive for over a year now. Signs always begin a year before the Culling; a year before we graduate human high school.

Because our powers don’t progress until after we turn eighteen, we’re expected to follow human traditions and go to school with them. It’s a means to teach us how to blend in with them, to accustom ourselves to their world. We’re simply here to protect them, but they can never know this. Once a year, a Culling ceremony occurs to bring the of-age novices in. Touching the Culling quartz awakens the remaining bits of power and solidifies a place within the Coven.

Even though I hold faith that maybe my mother’s vision was wrong, that maybe the Culling will prove her wrong, I’ve yet to show any signs.

“Don’t ignore me,” she says, putting her phone down.

“You sound like my mom,” I say, trying not to sound upset and failing. “I’m going to be stuck in college, trying to make a normal life for myself amongst humans, all while dreaming about what you’ll be doing at the Academy while learning your craft. It just sucks.” I blow out a deep breath that does nothing to ease the tightness building in my chest. I know I’m being selfish by speaking out about it, because I know it hurts her just as much as it hurts me, but I can’t stop myself.

“I know,” she says quietly, drawing circles with her finger on the blanket.

I roll back to face her, tucking my hands under the side of my face. “I really am happy for you though. No matter what, okay? I don’t want you to worry about me when you go away. I won’t hold it against you.”

A tear forms in the corner of her eye, thickening the lump in my throat. She looks away from me. Just like me, she doesn’t cry. Crying isn’t what our kind does.

She clears her throat. “Why don’t we just think about it as if we’re going off to separate colleges? We’ll find a way to talk to each other, even if it can’t be all the time.” It sounds nice, but we both know better. The affinity partner usually becomes your world. There’s no way around it. Once you bond after the Culling and are given your shared mark that links your powers, there’s no escaping the connection.

“Okay,” I agree for the sake of being a good friend. I wonder what her partner will look like, how he’ll act, if they’ll fall in love the way most affinity partners do.

She rolls back to face me, a glint of mischief forming a smile on her face. She’s picked up on my thoughts again. “And while you’re away at your college, you’re going to find yourself a boyfriend, a human boyfriend who doesn’t come with all the baggage like the affinity bond creates. At least this way, you can choose who you’re with, rather than it already being fated for you.”

The thing about the affinity bond is every partner is predetermined by the power within the Culling quartz, the power imbibed by the Divine. You just don’t meet them and receive your mark until after the Culling. Katie and I always compare it to the way marriages were predetermined in the medieval times. There’s never a choice of who you’ll be bound to for the rest of your life, and our kind lives well past the human age, so the rest of our lives is a long time.

I roll my eyes, laughing despite the fact that I’m not in the mood to laugh. She’s always been able to make a bad day look good. “The opposite sex doesn’t get me,” I say, smiling at her. She’s seen one too many failed attempts throughout our years in grade school. The closest I’ve ever been to an actual relationship was my junior year, and it ended just as quickly as it had started because the guy wanted more than I was willing to give.

“Or maybe it’s the reverse,” she says with one perfectly groomed auburn eyebrow arched.

“Maybe,” I say. “I just haven’t met the right guy yet.”

“You will,” she says surely. “And when you do, wife him up and make a life for yourself, a happy one.” She rolls back to face the sky, and I follow after, trying not to dwell on what’s to come. It won’t change it. Nothing can.

I don’t know how long we lay here watching the sparse clouds pass by, but it feels longer than a lifetime and shorter than a second all in the same. The crisp air whips around us, chilling me to the bones. When her phone beeps again, I know it’s her parents. The sun is quickly setting. The Culling is just around the corner.

“Faye,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

I bite my bottom lip. A fist clenches and jams inside my throat.
Don’t break,
I command myself. “Me too,” I rush out, blinking back tears. I hear her shuffling and know she has to go. Her parents are waiting for her down the street with dinner spread out in ritualistic fashion. It’s tradition to have a feast the night before the Culling.

Without a goodbye, her feet crunch along the grass, carrying her away from me. She doesn’t believe in goodbyes, and neither do I. Every step feels like another rip in my heart, another tear that will never mend. I’m sure this will be the last time I ever see her. She will be with her parents tomorrow and separated from the other novices until a
fter the Culling is over. If I’m in fact a Defect, I won’t be there to congratulate her, to celebrate with her.

Against my better judgment, I jump up and run after her, meeting her halfway down the street.

She hears me coming and spins around with her arms open, ready for me. I hug her as if my life depends on it, uncaring of the heated wetness that trails down my cheeks. When I let go, I look at her one last time, remembering her features; the bronze of her skin, the clearness of her amber eyes, the way her hair always falls in perfect waves all the way down her back. She’s the sister I never had and the friend I’ll never forget.