((Warning! Novel-length post ahead. This is what you get for going away and leaving me with a full day to concoct a reply.
))
"Tick-tock, Michael." Graves took a break from staring out the window to glance at his digital watch. Tula's date was supposed to have arrived nearly five minutes go, but even if he had, this little party wouldn't have been ready to get started immediately anyway. After getting ready for their little late-night stroll, Michael had ducked into his studio, a cozy room strewn with a myriad of art supplies, to put a few touches on his current project. A few touches had turned into a few more, and Graves couldn't exactly say he was surprised.
Grey eyes focused intently upon the canvas, Michael made a few fussy brush strokes before seeming to realize a response was required. "Almost done," he said, swiping at the mussed blond locks that hung in his face and inadvertently leaving behind a streak of midnight blue. Graves snorted, but didn't bother to inform his friend of the splash of color. Served him right for running them late.
Turning back to the window, Graves stared down what could be seen of the winding country road. He had received strict training at the Academy and he'd learned his lessons well. He was a stickler for doing things by the book, and punctuality was certainly a part of that. It made things run smoothly, reducing the risk of confusion and possibly fatal error. It was one of the few things about being assigned to Michael that drove him straight up the wall. The young man had no sense of time, and it was impossible to rush him along, no matter what the occasion was. Between him and Tula's date, Graves was beginning to realize that any semblance of order was going to go right down the drain.
A rumble reached his ears, and a black Jeep barreled around the corner. Finally! Graves strode over to Michael and plucked the paintbrush from his hand. "He's here. Time to go," he said, ignoring his friend's protests and dropping the brush into the cup of rinse water. He hovered impatiently over Michael as the Moroi capped his paints and wiped his hands clean. A small pack of supplies sat by the door, and he swung the strap over his shoulder before escorting Michael downstairs to join the girls in the kitchen.
"He's here. Let the celebrations begin," he announced dryly. While Michael had opted for the dressed-down look, with jeans and a long-sleeved shirt worn unbuttoned over a white undershirt, Graves wore his Guardian blacks. Not that anyone expected anything different at this point. The official, every-day Guardian uniform consisted of sturdy working shoes, black pants that didn't restrict movement, and a black shirt.
A knock sounded on the door and, being the one closest, Graves moved to answer it.
* * * * * *
Taking his eyes off the road, Zeke slid the page of instructions out from beneath the bouquet that lay on the passenger seat and read through the last few steps again. Had he missed a step? It seemed he'd been driving for quite a while, and he longed for some signs of civilization. A stop light, the sound of a siren, something. Heck, even the smoke and rumble of a train would be comforting right about now. Maybe he was lost.
About the time he reached for his cell phone to call Tula, the house she'd had Gia describe to him came into view. It was a relief, since he wasn't sure he would've gotten a signal this far out in the sticks anyway. Pulling into the gravel driveway and shutting off the engine, Zeke hopped out and grabbed an armload of groceries before heading up to the front door.
A man dressed all in black answered the front door. Having been raised in a Moroi home, Zeke recognized him as a Guardian, but his face looked somehow familiar. In the end, it was the way the man's eyes seemed to look straight into the inner workings of his mind that made the connection. "Hey, you- you wouldn't happen to have a sister named Boo, would you?"
The man's eyes widened, then narrowed again. "Oh, you're
that Zeke." Refusing to let Graves' less-than-enthusiastic comment dampen his mood, Zeke smiled and extended a hand, which the Guardian grudgingly shook. "Yep, I'm that Zeke," he said. "Nice to meet you, Graves. Boo's told us so much about you." That was a little bit of a fib. Boo didn't talk much about her life before the Pack, and had only briefly mentioned that she had an older brother in the Guardian corps. The family resemblance was unmistakable, now that he knew what he was looking for. As for personality, it seemed Boo had gotten all of the charm in that department.
"Mind if I come in?" Zeke asked, lifting a bag of groceries. "I've got a few things that need to be refrigerated. The drive out to the boonies didn't help things much." Besides, as intriguing as getting to know Boo's brother might have been, he was far too anxious to see Tula to explore the possibility. Graves stood aside, motioning him in, and Zeke followed the sound of voices until he found himself in a kitchen packed with people.
Zeke wasn't the nervous sort, but this was the first time he'd been brought home to meet the family. Well, as far as he knew, anyway. How exactly was he expected to behave? What should he say? After a brief pause, he decided to just jump right in. "Hey, everybody. I'm Zeke." He grinned, waving his mechanical hand in greeting. Taking a few steps into the room, he set his bags on the counter, then leaned over to gently tug one of Tula's braids before starting to transfer the perishables to the refrigerator. "I wasn't sure what you guys had, so I brought my own ingredients. I hope that's okay."
* * * * * *
In the falling darkness, a shadow slipped through the tall grass that grew alongside the country road. The tracker she'd hidden inside the Jeep's wheel well indicated the target had stopped just up ahead, and she'd pulled off to hide her motorcycle before continuing on foot. It could blow the whole operation if they even suspected someone was out here.
If she squinted, she could just see lights in the windows of the distant house. A little further to go before she reached the ward's boundary. One of the Moroi's faults was their love of order and consistency. If the size of the ward varied from house to house, finding one of the charmed stakes that kept it operational might have been an impossible task. But no, they stuck to their perfect standards, which made her job tonight far easier.
The woman began to circle the house, searching the ground at her feet as she went. She hadn't been gone long, but she could already feel the anxiousness building inside her. Her hand went to her neck, nervously rubbing the tender, constantly-bruised skin as she strained to catch a glimpse of a stake. She hadn't been fed from today, and her system was craving the flood of endorphines Belikov's bite would inject into her bloodstream. "Complete your task first," he'd said, and she knew better than to argue with his decision. The faster she found the stake, the faster she could blow out of here and get her fix.
And there, plunged deep into the soil, was a stake. Dropping to her knees, she curled trembling fingers about the stake and yanked. It took the force of her full weight to budge it, and she fell backwards when the ground suddenly released it. Her breath came in short puffs as she inspected it. To her human eyes, it looked just like a normal piece of wood, but Belikov had told her how the ward worked. Trained Moroi infused each of the four stakes with a different element, fire, water, air, and earth. They were placed at four evenly-spaced points about the area to be protected, keeping the soulless Strigoi from entering the ward's boundaries.
Strigoi couldn't touch the stakes, but anyone with a soul could, and it only took the removal of one stake for the ward to come tumbling down. That was the one thing the Moroi hadn't counted on, humans working with Strigoi. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket, its light illuminating the faint smile on her face, and sent out a quick text. A few seconds later, it buzzed in her hands.
Stay where you are, it read.
They are on their way.The woman frowned. He wanted her to stay? What more use could she be? She growled quietly, tempted to hurl the phone into the woods. Instead, she shoved it into her pocket and trudged back toward the road. The Master's orders were not to be disobeyed. Although she was growing shaky with desire, she would wait until he commanded her to come home.
Zeke found himself whistling one of Petrov's crazy tunes as the black-and-chrome Jeep barreled down the road. He was just so danged happy at the moment. The weather was beautiful, the sunset was beautiful, and he had a backseat full of groceries waiting to be turned into a delicious dinner. Best of all, he was headed away from the Strigoi-infested city into the peaceful countryside to see Tula.
