The Cathedral of Cliffdale Page 18

  In the euphoria of his newfound bliss he had initially not grasped the gravity of his betrayal and the extent of the pain that he had caused her, but, as the years had gone by, the hollow look in Quinn’s eyes had begun to haunt him. She was so brave and so fearless, and she had stepped aside at great personal cost so that he and Avery could be happy. Tristan had tried to treat her with kindness, but every act had seemed to hurt her even more and her beautiful bruised eyes caused him pain. And then... Avery had died. And the sorrow in Quinn’s eyes had been replaced by a black hatred, so intense that he could barely stand it. In the end, he had simply stopped talking to her, stopped looking at her. She had disappeared shortly after and he had turned his focus to his Guardian duties – throwing himself into his work.

  He had been completely unprepared when Isaiah had told him that Quinn had returned to Summerfeld. He had followed her and Kellan to Dragon’s Peak with the intention of putting the past behind them, but he had found Quinn in danger and he could not allow anything to happen to her. He had been even more unprepared for the physical reaction he had experienced holding her in his arms in that cave in the mountain. Since then he had watched her closely. Quinn had changed – she was harder, more unyielding, more determined. She had always been stronger than Avery, not on the surface, but deep down where it mattered. He had just never seen it before.

  It took a few miles of driving before Quinn could get her breathing back to normal. How dare he, she thought to herself. How dare he dredge up old memories... memories that she had spent years trying to repress. She would not let Tristan get under her skin again, there was too much at stake.

  Chapter 28

  “Why are we moving camp?” Jonas asked, as Balthazar packed up the Chevy.

  “There are woods, not far from here,” his father replied curtly, “and a freshwater stream. It’s only about an hour’s drive.” Jonas nodded, satisfied. At least they weren’t leaving the area and their current living arrangement was hardly comfortable, with nothing to shelter them from the baking sun.

  Balthazar had picked a campsite miles from the portal to Summerfeld, and deep within the trees. He did not want any of his people stumbling upon the canyon, or any of the Guardians stumbling across them.

  “Don’t you think you should tell him?” Rowena murmured, approaching silently.

  “Not yet.” Balthazar shook his head. He didn’t want to start a riot. Many of the gypsies had also been searching for generations and he couldn’t be certain that they wouldn’t flock to the City in pandemonium. He had to find a way to tell them, but only once he could contain them.

  “Jonas starts school tomorrow.” This reminder was met with a surly frown. “It might be good for him,” she persisted, “to meet some people his own age.”

  “You know exactly what is going to happen at that school,” Balthazar would not be convinced. It pained him to think of the cruel treatment his son would endure.

  “You never know,” Rowena sighed, but secretly, she knew Balthazar was right. “Anyway,” she shook her head, changing the subject, “there’s a market fair coming up. It’s a decent-size town so hopefully we’ll have a good turn-out.”

  Balthazar softened, reaching for her and planting a kiss on her smooth forehead. Rowena and her girls were the only reason that they had managed to survive for so long. They made more money at the fairs than the gypsies made by any other means, although the men were constantly on the lookout for odd jobs. People had become more cynical over the years and they no longer wanted to employ drifters. The gypsies' path was not an easy one.

  “What would I do without you?” he murmured into her hair.

  “You would be lost,” she admitted teasingly.

  “Rowena,” a feminine voice called, and Rowena stepped away from Balthazar.

  “Yes, Cara?” The woman’s dirty blonde hair hung in wispy tendrils around her face, caked with sweat and dust. Nearby, her husband, Zebulon, was loading the final boxes into the back of his station wagon.

  “We’re ready,” Cara replied, forcing a stilted smile. The two women had a love-hate relationship. Cara’s ancestor had been Jasmine’s best friend, and the women in both families had remained close through the generations. Rowena and Cara had grown up inseparable, sharing everything with one another. Two mischievous imps, they had, on more than one occasion, seen the tanned hide of their fathers’ belts, but this only served to bring them closer together. Blossoming into womanhood, their contrasting beauty – Rowena’s dark wantoness paired with Cara’s fair indifference – earned them the adoration of many of the youths in the camp. Both girls, however, had eyes for only one. Balthazar Blackman. Cara was more aggressive in her pursuit of their leader’s handsome son, but in the end, it was an outsider who caught Balthazar’s attention. During an extended stay near a thriving market fair, Balthazar had met a local farm girl. Plain, but kind, Rose had captured Balthazar’s heart, and despite his parents’ protests that he should marry within their community, he had taken her for his wife. Her own parents did not mind in the least, only thankful that someone had deigned to marry her, and Rose was unhampered in her desire to join the travelling community.

  Conceding defeat gracefully, Rowena had embraced the girl and befriended her. Cara, green with envy, and far harder by nature, refused to even acknowledge Rose, and slowly, this caused a rift in her friendship with Rowena. Cara had gone on to marry Zebulon - a friend of Balthazar’s, and she had enjoyed a happy, although barren marriage. Rowena had never married, but she remained close with Rose, and, when Jonas was born, she doted on the boy. She had never intended to steal Balthazar’s heart after the death of her friend, only to help him with the baby, Jonas, but invariably her love for Jonas had eased Balthazar’s pain and he had begun to see her in a new light.

  In the wake of Rose’s death, Rowena and Cara had rekindled their friendship. They were never again as close as they had been as children, but both women were grateful to have one another.

  “Rowena?” Cara’s voice sounded again and Rowena gave a small shake of her head.

  “Thank you,” she replied, finally, smiling at her old friend. “I guess its time to go.”

  As the convoy trundled along, Rowena spotted a few more cornflowers along the roadside. Like before, they defied logic; single plants growing through the dry cracked earth. Rowena could scarcely comprehend the gravity of Balthazar’s discovery. He had been right about the sign. She had always known that he would find the lost city, but now that he had – now that they had finally fulfilled their destiny, she had no idea what would happen next.

  The girl sitting beside her in the passenger seat of the truck shifted, hoisting her heavy skirt off her legs in an effort to cool herself.

  “It won’t be long,” Rowena soothed. Cosima was one of her charges, a young girl of nineteen who Rowena protected from the lecherous advances of the men in camp. Cosima bore a physical resemblance to Cara – she had the same lank blonde hair and pretty green eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. While Cara was outspoken and confident, Cosima shied away from anyone who got too close to her. Her fear and insecurity stemmed from a horrific past. The gypsies could be barbaric, and Cosima had been victimised by the worst of their kind. Rowena was determined to protect her from ever having to go through anything like that again.

  The entire community was delighted with their new campsite. They manoeuvred carefully through the trees to the clearing that Balthazar had picked out. The surrounding trees provided much-needed shade and they could hear the gurgling water of the nearby stream even from the campsite. Birds chirped in the trees and the soft grass was far friendlier than the hard, compacted earth.

  Rowena stopped the truck with a creak of the protesting chassis and climbed out.

  “They seem happy,” Balthazar remarked as he came to stand beside her.

  “You made the right choice,” she replied. “We couldn’t have stayed out there for much longer.” She watched as the gypsies bounded around, their spirits
buoyed. “They will be happy here.”

  “There is another advantage to this particular location,” Balthazar murmured, an undercurrent in his voice. Rowena raised a dark brow and he smiled.

  “Privacy.”

  Leaving the others to delight in their new environment and unpack, Balthazar spirited Rowena into the trees, his need for her far outweighing his satisfaction that his people were rejuvenated.

  Chapter 29

  Quinn reached Brookfield the following afternoon, and, after letting herself in, she headed straight upstairs to crash on her bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. It seemed as if she had only just closed her eyes when she woke with a start, and a cold hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.

  “It’s me,” Drake murmured in the darkness and Quinn stopped struggling. She could just make him out, sitting on the edge of her bed, silhouetted against the pale moonlit curtains behind him. Quinn reached for her bedside lamp and switched it on, blinking as the warm light bathed the room.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she grumbled, sitting up and pulling the covers around her waist.

  Drake eyed her T-shirt with mild curiosity, no doubt wondering why she had gone to bed fully clothed, then leaned over and calmly, and deliberately, pulled a long silver stake from her boot, which was lying beside the bed. Quinn stiffened, her heart-rate increasing. He had seen her stake back at his house, but there had been no time to discuss it. The leisurely way he was staring at this one indicated that they now they had all the time in the world.

  “I think you and I need to have a little talk, Quinn.” He stood abruptly, making his way to her bedroom door, the stake still in his hand. “I’ll give you a few minutes to,” he paused, his eyes glinting, “freshen up.”

  Quinn had no intention of doing anything while Drake was in the house and she followed him down the stairs. He did not turn back. Either he trusted her not to attack him from behind, or he was confident that she would not be successful if she tried. Neither thought was particularly comforting.

  They sat in the living-room. Quinn slumped onto the cream sofa and, to her surprise, Drake took a seat right beside her. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke a word.

  “Those people that were after us... you managed to lead them away?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, for now, but they may come back. Why didn’t you leave town?” she added. Her instructions had been clear enough.

  “This is my home,” he replied simply, but she noticed the emphasis on the ‘my’. He obviously felt he had more right to be here in Brookfield than she did. Quinn didn’t dare ask about Genevieve – she preferred not to remind him about their last encounter – but she felt a cold dread settling over her. If Drake was still here, it stood to reason that Genevieve would be too.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Trying to find my niece and nephew,” she replied, dead-pan. She was acutely aware that he still held her silver stake. Slightly heavier and more cumbersome than a wooden one, it required more force to drive it through a vampire’s heart, but it was less likely to break, and more effective if used correctly.

  “And I take it, from the empty bedroom upstairs, that you were unsuccessful?” Quinn nodded, her sense of unease growing. Irked by her silence, he sighed dramatically.

  “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll go first then, shall I? I’d like you to tell me how you managed to best Genevieve in that struggle,” he prompted, and Quinn felt a small surge of persuasion flow through her. She was impervious, of course, but he knew that. She suspected it was more out of habit than a genuine attempt to try and manipulate her.

  “I told you – I got lucky. I know what you both are, and I carry those,” she gestured casually at the stake he was holding, “just in case. I’m not an idiot – I know that not all vampires are as nice as my friend Jude. I prefer to be prepared.”

  “So you walk around with stakes tucked into your boots?”

  “Yes,” she was resolute. Drake leaned back against the cushion of the sofa, facing the stairs, so Quinn could see only his left profile.

  “Do you know what I think, Quinn,” he mused lightly, as he fingered the point of her stake, twisting it around in his hand. A drop of blood appeared on his finger. “I think that you defeated Genevieve because you have been trained to fight vampires. I think it is your very purpose.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she retorted. “Have you ever heard of a vampire-defence program? I must have missed that class at college.”

  “Actually, I have,” he replied coolly, ignoring her sarcasm. “And I think you have too.”

  “I have no time for your riddles, Drake.”

  “Well then, let me make my point.” He turned to face her, leaning in closer, and she froze at the heat in his gaze. His eyes seemed to look right through her as he handed her back her stake. Quinn took it with a trembling hand. “I believe that there is a place where people are taught to fight vampires. Taught to hunt and kill them. I believe that you know the place I am referring to, because you have been there – trained there. I believe that this is the reason I cannot manipulate you. Yes, Quinn,” he smiled evilly, as her eyes widened in dismay and dread, “I know about Summerfeld. So tell me,” he added, his hand closing over her own, keeping her stake pressed into her lap. The point dug painfully into her thigh, but she refused to show her discomfort as he continued, “how long have you been a Guardian?”

  All the air seemed to drain from Quinn’s body as his words registered. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would contradict him, so instead, she jerked free of his grasp, her hand clutched around her stake and fled in the direction of the back door. Drake grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms at her sides. Quinn’s training kicked in and she twisted her body, at the same time crouching down so that his grip on her eased, and then she swept out her leg, connecting with his legs and unbalancing him.

  Drake crashed to the ground and Quinn leaped onto his chest, holding her stake in both hands, just over his heart.

  “Do it,” he whispered, his hypnotic green eyes daring her. Quinn’s breathing was laboured; fear and fury setting her adrenalin pumping and she gripped the stake more tightly in her sweat-dampened hands. The pointed edge pressed down harder on his chest and a small flower of blood appeared through his shirt. “Do it,” he repeated, malevolently. Quinn could feel her face growing red as she waged a battle in her mind. Drake lay perfectly still beneath her, not even attempting to struggle and, as she faltered, his mouth turned up in a spiteful smirk.

  Realising she could not bring herself to kill him she tossed the stake aside and, in one swift movement, got to her feet. Drake did the same and the two regarded each other hostilely in the dimly-lit room.

  “Please leave,” Quinn whispered. “If you mean to kill me then do it, but if not, I beg of you – please leave.” Drake made a small movement towards her and then halted abruptly.

  “We cannot coexist like this, Quinn. You should leave Brookfield.”

  “I will leave when I am ready.” She set her jaw defiantly.

  “I do not want to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t.” The words resonated around the room, louder than she had intended. Shaken, she continued, “I will leave you alone. I will not betray your secret. And soon enough I will be gone from this place, never to return. All I ask is that you do the same – leave me be and let me finish what I need to do.”

  “How long?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “How do I know I can trust you? You are a Guardian of Summerfeld; I am a vampire. You know the threat I pose, now that I know your secret.”

  “Do you seek the City?” she asked, already doubting her decision to let him live.

  “No.” The words rang with truth.

  “Then please, Drake. Just go.”

  She didn’t think for a second that he wou
ld, but she was mistaken. He left her then, a gentle breeze lifting her hair from her face as he passed. Quinn lowered herself to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and covering her face with her hands. She had betrayed them. She had betrayed the Guardians, the City and all the surviving wards that she was sworn to protect. She had allowed a vampire who knew her secret to live, endangering her crystal. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks and after a few moments became great, shuddering sobs that hurt her chest and wracked her whole body as she remembered Isaiah’s words and his promise that she would find her way.

  Outside the house, under the cover of blackness, Drake listened. He didn’t like to hear her cry, it made him uncomfortable. Making his way around the front of the house, he leaned back against the cold bricks, resuming his solitary vigil over her house. He had been here since she got back – watching over her – until the temptation had grown too great and he had woken her to confront her about the Guardians. He had known what she was as soon as he had watched her fight. Genevieve had not yet pieced it together, but she hated Quinn for besting her and would not be dissuaded – she was intent on killing the girl. His fangs extended in his mouth as the thought of Quinn’s Guardian blood made him heady, but he fought the sudden overwhelming urge to go back inside and drink his fill. The effort of resisting caused him physical pain and he considered leaving, but he could not think of any other way to keep her safe. And so he waited and watched, and tried to block out the sounds of her tears.