Shadows of the Keeper (50 page)

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Her hands rose high above her
head.  Momentary delight warmed her frozen heart, sudden perception
crossing Pendaran’s face.  This time,
she
would be in control of
destiny—not the eternal druid.

Head falling back, one thunderous
clap of her palms . . . Emily vanished.

Her mind immensely enjoyed pausing
and rewinding her memories.  Forever, it dwelled and exhibited Dezenial’s
last breath.

Rewind: 
Dezenial closing
his eyes
.

Fast forward: 
His bloodied
hand, slipping into the snow
.

Rewind: 
“Hold me in your
memory . . .”

Fast forward: 
Vanished
.

Never again would his eyes burn
crimson with fury; azure with deep passion.  She curled tighter into fetal
position, drawing comfort from her own arms banding tightly around her legs.

Dead.

Her mind decided now an excellent
time to debut its ability with animation, her wrenched heart its greatest
audience.  She’d teased he was too cautious, for a Lumynari.  He’d
succumbed to her goading.  Catastrophic results always ensued followed by
her Daemon lover grumbling about manipulations of women, and the fool male
populace following with rings in their noses.

Her choked laugh gave way to
anguish.  A bitter, cold, despair filled the caverns of her empty
soul.  Never again, would he laugh.  She covered her face with
trembling hands and succumbed to the agony of her loss.  No one would
clutch her hair, smother her with fierce kisses while fabulous arms held her
close, barring the world.  So secure, her head nuzzled against his chest,
his heart pounding a cadence that matched her own. 

Emily whimpered for a long, long time. 
  

At last, she’d garnered his
permission to attend market.  Heavily guarded, she’d teased over how they
now drew more attention to themselves, giggling when he scowled over her
reasoning.  She’d ran the entire way, much to the vexation of her guards
forced to keep up.  No matter his location in a crowd of varied beasts and
beings—which reminded her of what a Hollywood set must look like during lunch
break—vying for his verdict to their presented issues as she haggled over
delightful treasures, she’d look up and find him staring at her. 
Owned.  Cherished.  Others had glanced between the two of them, back
and forth, smiling with knowing.  Love.  Something rarely, if ever,
witnessed down here amongst Lumynari.

Dezenial commanded every aspect of
her being; made her feel it was just the two of them inhabiting the
world. 

He’d held her at birth; she’d held
him in death.

Tears trumpeted their return. 
Her babies would never know the feel of being held by their father. 
Fusion had bonded them for life.  He’d saved her.  She failed to
reciprocate.  Fresh waves of sobbing convulsed her.  She’d been
powerless. 
Powerless
!
Powerless
! 
Powerless
!
The mantra shouted over and over until she screamed and screamed into her
pillow.

Emily awakened, engulfed in
darkness.  For mere seconds, she thought she was back in Balkore.  A
nightmare. No, wait.  Turning her head slightly, topaz glow on the
wall—street lights.  Once upon a time, darkness terrified her.  Now,
it reminded her of Balkore; offered comfort.  Change.  That’s what
she needed. 
Change of scenery, surroundings . . . self.  I’ll cut
my hair, sell the house
—

Not one strand, Keer’dra. 
You are forbidden
!

Grinning played hide and seek at
her imagined response of her musings.

Grin lost.

A long life lay ahead of her to
never hear the cadence of his voice in her head.

Emily rolled back into her pillows,
the bit of will she’d had, now evaporated.

Rose petals curled inward,
shivering in the winter breeze.  Dying, they exhibited a delicate beauty. 
If only all things passing on could be serene to look upon.  Emily stared
for a long time, feeling one with the single flower, its struggle against a
power it was doomed to surrender to.  She’d never planted roses.  A
wild seed?  Settling, taking root, blossoming, withering.

Like her.

Emily pushed away from her upper
window.  A Realtor needed to be contacted today.  If she remained
busy, and put into action her plan, maybe she could hide from her grief. 
City life held zero appeal.  The noise, even cocooned in this private
neighborhood, cloaked within these brick and wood walls, deafened. 
And
that phone!  What the hell possessed me to ever own one?
  Day two
of life without Dezenial, she’d ripped the non-stop ringing contraption from
the wall and thrown it.

It lay beyond resurrection.

Like her heart.

She floated downstairs.  Had
anyone passed by, they’d have sworn a phantom now resided within.  A white
slip was the solitary piece of clothing she could stand against her skin. 
How could she have forgotten how hot Texas was?  Did they really consider
this
to be winter?  Nourishment for the twins needed to be seen to. 
Cianna would be quietly slicing apples, knowing her early morning penchant—what
had become of Cianna? 
Jeeze, how could I have not thought about her
grief?  She and Dezenial had been close for several millennia
. 
Emily visualized the willowy woman grieving just as much as she herself
was.  Her forever-tinkling anklets always reminded her of gypsies. 
Arms folded, Emily’s mind danced with memories of all the lessons her one
friend in Balkore had patiently been teaching her from healing herbs to poisons
killing simply by dusting against the skin.  A deep sigh of longing escaped. 
Again, the dying rose pulled her, the kitchen window offering a closer
inspection of its struggle.  Who in this realm would understand the
culture she must teach her twins?  A smile flitted.  How long before
they were shadow-jumping?  Making her berserk with their vanishings? 
Would they inherit their father’s false temper?  Need to dominate? 
What of her penchant for pranks . . . if they inherited that with the ability
to shadow-jump—gah, she was going to be in a world of trouble with these
two!  She doubted even their fathers’ fire temper and bellowing would
cower these two into obedience.  They’d probably figure out early on that
he was all hot air.  His uncanny ability to reside within their minds,
hear all their thoughts . . . secrets would fail.  Lying would be
obsolete.  Kendara’s first kiss would probably get the poor boy
decapitated.

As effective on the imps as it
had been on their mother
.

Emily’s eyes pricked over his
imagined response; the echo of his rich, deep voice.  How she always imitated
it with his accent.  Now, her mind was tomb silent.  Thoughts were
solely her own.  Emily looked down, swiping tears with clammy
fingers.  Almost, she laughed out loud, spying her hospital white
countertops.  Once upon a time, Saturdays had found her bleaching and
scouring the white grout of the old fashioned tiles.  What a clueless
idiot that woman had been.

She vacated her kitchen.

From deep within the long neglected
garden, a large raven lifted from its perch.  Wings caught a draft and
swept higher and higher to a ledge just outside an upper window where it
continued its watch over the woman within.

Public endurance, Emily mused,
would have to be practiced.  A deep, shaky breath shuddered from
her.  Stale, dry cereal could only sustain a person for so long. 
Fluttering, her hand splayed her abdomen, a sad smile as she looked down. 
Her babies seemingly agreed.  Several jeans heaped upon her bed. 
None would zip.  “Thanks, you two.”  Another flutter.  It would
seem, like their father, her sarcasm would not be tolerated.  Her amber
eyes smarted, tears running a gamut down her face.  Store. 
Food.  Home. 
Then
cry.  She inhaled hitched
breaths.  Splotchy faces resulted in strangers staring and
speculating.  And if anyone asked if she was okay, her tears would drown
them both.  Emily sat heavily, heedless of the clothes strewn
everywhere.  Left behind in Balkore were long skirts Dezenial had ordered
fashioned for her.  The heavy skins were softened similar to suede. 

Memory slammed.

Dashing around the bed, tall black
boots were plucked from the floor.  She nuzzled them as if crazed.  A
daily ritual he was adamant not to break from, Dezenial would hunker down and
place them on her, lacing the ties until all the way to her thighs. 
Deeply, she breathed in their aroma.

And for a minute, could swear his
scent wafted, caressing her.

Emily doubled-over, boots clutched
tightly against her chest, and began rocking, nuzzling the suede. 
Something from him.  Something he’d touched.  Something from him . .
.

There would be no outing today.

The composer scratched his thatch
of white hair, flustered.  He thought
he
was frustrated? 
She
was the one sitting here,
minus
her pants!  Wire rims slid down his
reed thin nose, the old fashioned lenses trying to abandon his face.  A
thick forefinger dashed the wayward silver frames back to their bridge. 
Papers shuffled.  He attempted to show he was being kept waiting.  He
waved his hand at her to try again.  How long would she sit here and
jingle these stupid little bells?  And where the hell were her
pants?!  Didn’t anyone even
notice
?

Emily’s eyes snapped open.

Fisted in her hands were blankets
as if hanging on for dear life.  Sweat saturated her.  Even awake,
she could still hear faint echoes of little bells—shushing?

Agility and silence were needed
now, as she slipped from the bed.  Someone was in her house!  Had
Shadow sent henchmen realm crossing?  She
would
be that desperate,
especially with Dezenial now dead!  Emily paused.  Would the goddess
really be so foolish as to temp Hades’ wrath by attacking his daughter in
law?  Dezenial had said she was most treasured by Hades, his father having
warned he would tolerate no cruelty befalling her by way of Shadow. 
Crouched, tense, she listened.  Downstairs still?  Was that the crazy
dream she’d been having of bells and conductors? 

Words.  Muted. 
Male.  She scanned the room for a makeshift weapon.  What she
wouldn’t give to have Blade with her right now.  Dawning ignited. 
Lethally rising, her chin jutted.  She was half Lumynari, and the
granddaughter of a goddess.  A really vicious goddess who turned men to
stone.  And, if she really wanted to push her luck, some Keeper of old
fools having failed to save—her heart clenched and she chased away fresh pain.

Right now, intruders were in her
home.  Mounds of clothes.  Sweats?  Anywhere?  Something
shattered!  They were in her kitchen!  Growling.  They’d brought
a
dog
?  Male monotone voices resumed.  Good God!  Who
breaks into a house with a mutt—

Emily bolted from her room. 
She leapt down the stairs by twos. 

Couldn’t be
!

She sailed over the final
four. 
Just couldn’t!
 
No way!
 

Running through her foyer and
through the living room—claustrophobic compared to her home with Dezenial—she
slammed open her kitchen door.

And nearly bowled over.

“Your sire possesses bizarre
humor.”

Idiotically, Emily nodded.

“Everything she cooks, I’m to
sample first.”

“If . . . you die?” Shock kept her
immobile.

“It is my sincerest hope you would
avenge my death.”

“Sh-shouldn’t I save myself or
something?”

Eldaryn pondered this for a
moment.  “Now that you mention it, I do believe your father said something
to that effect.”  One of the hound’s heads swiveled to resume watching
Cianna.  “I told you, the green stuff was not for consumption.  It is
used for cleaning.  Humans are fond of washing everything they own.” 
He looked to Emily.  “She poured your soap into a glass to add to the
fruit she’s sworn oath you crave,” Eldaryn rolled all four yellow eyes. 
“I had to knock it from her hand.”

“You did say you were sampling
everything,” Cianna whispered.

Both heads swiveled, sniffing
Emily’s one true friend.  “I don’t
smell
sarcasm.”  He licked
the side of Cianna’s head.  She shrieked and whacked both his skulls with
Emily’s wooden spoon so fast, both human and beast were stunned by her
actions.  The beast recovered first and crouched.

“Eldaryn!” Emily choked out. 
Her hand splayed her throat.  The woman had smacked a lethal beast taller
than she as if they were siblings.  “How is it you come . . . to be
here
?”

“Your father sent us.”  His
expression clearly indicated she was dimwitted.  “This is the clothing for
your world?”  He licked his chops.  “Your legs could use more meat.”

Emily glanced down at
herself.  “I wasn’t planning on being a meal, Rover.”  The white slip
whispered high on her thighs.  Her clamped lips imprisoned a sob. 
Her eyes rivered.  No matter how many times she blinked, more tears
welled.  When last she’d called him Rover, she’d been wrapped in mindless
assurances that she and Dezenial had forever, her only complaint: exhaustion.

Stupid girl.

Swishing glided for seconds and
then glided again.  Emily turned around.  Her sliding glass door
closed with a quiet thud.  She dashed her eyes, disbelieving the sight
they beheld.  Her bottom lip took on a life of its own, quivering. 
She looked down, softly shaking her head.

Another bizarre dream
. 
Has to be
.

“Lass, I ken yer’ garden is passing
through winter, but ‘twas mi’ intention ta’ fancy yer tray a bit,” Broc
whispered, cut flowers grasped gently in his hand.

He swam in her mire of tears.

He glanced her gown, his gaze
swinging back to her face.  She took stock of herself again.  “I
can’t fit into my jeans anymore.”  Her hand gently splayed the growing
soft swell of her stomach.  “But, I haven’t finished going through all my
clothes which . . . I probably need to take a shower and go to the mall and
just buy maternity clothes, but then, I can’t stand the smell and all the
people and the noise.”  She looked back up at Broc.  “Remember me saying
how lucky you were to look upon the vastness of your mountains, miles upon
miles, not a soul in sight?  That’s what I want.  I don’t want to see
anyone, or deal with their lacking knowledge of what’s really out there and
then there’s shoes and apples and I can’t stand the thought of going into a
store, but I haven’t eaten in days, oh, except dry cereal but I really just
want . . . raw. . .” Tears dripped from her chin and splashed her chest. 
“. . . apples and something spicy, which I think is because the twins are part
Lumynari and the spicy food they—“