The Guardians Chronicles

Julius cracked his knuckles. A nervous habit, yes, but tested his composure quite like being summoned by the Man past midnight.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath as the elevator music tinkled on, thin and relentlessly cheerful. “Who chooses this rubbish?”

The doors slid open on the thirteenth floor. Julius stepped out quickly, relieved to escape the artificial tune. Ms Domain glanced up long enough to offer an almost imperceptible nod and pointed one crimson talon at the black leather couch. She proceeded to ignore him and continued typing, her fingers a blur over the keyboard.

Bloody old crone, he thought as he sat. Does she ever leave that chair?

The furious tapping halted. Julius looked up and found her pale, icy gaze locked onto him. He cracked his knuckles again. Satisfied, she resumed typing.

He pretended to flip through the Du Pré Enterprises promotional brochures scattered on the glass coffee table, though his stomach had been twisting itself into knots from the moment his phone buzzed with the summons.

Eventually, Ms Domain lifted her chin toward the heavy mahogany doors. Julius exhaled, tugged at his cheap brown suit, straightened his offensively orange tie, and stepped into Daemon’s office.

“Good morning, Julius,” a languid voice sounded from across the room. “Please, have a seat. Coffee?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Julius walked over to a chair and perched on its edge. He stole a glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Lamps glimmered like fallen stars sprinkled through the trees, casting the park in a gentle glow. Julius saw none of that. He saw shadows. Corners. Places you could hide. Places you could be ambushed.

“Sleep is so overrated,” Daemon said lightly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Sir.” Julius swallowed.

Daemon poured the coffee slowly, elegantly, and handed Julius a delicate bone-china cup. Julius gulped the scalding brew in one go and placed the empty cup down with a clatter.

He looked everywhere except directly at the man across from him. Bookshelves lined the wall behind Daemon’s desk, filled with glass-fronted cases housing ancient scrolls and first editions. Daemon called them priceless. Julius called them dust magnets.

But he would never question Daemon’s obsessions. If the Man wanted to believe an old book could make him master of the universe, that was his business.

The weight of Daemon’s scrutiny pulled Julius’s gaze forward.

“So,” Daemon said at last, setting his cup down. “What do you have for me?”

“Our people in London investigated the flare you sensed,” Julius began. “They narrowed it to the area around a club called Poison Ivy. They’re focusing on everyone who was there at the time.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“Not yet, Sir. It’s been only a few hours, Sir. Lots of people coming and going, Sir—”

“Julius.” Daemon’s voice sharpened. Julius snapped his mouth shut.

He cleared his throat. “However, our source in the police reported a man was admitted to a nearby hospital. Minor injuries. Delirious. Ranting that a witch attacked him with wind.” Julius shrugged. “No one is taking him seriously, but he was at the club.”

Daemon rose, pacing across the Persian rugs that dotted the room. “Has this man been found? Interviewed?”

Julius stood instantly and clasped his hands behind his back. “No, Sir. He checked out an hour ago. The London team is tracking him.”

“Good.” Daemon stopped at the window, stared down at the street. Manhattan was still asleep, the city’s chaos hours away, but no sound would penetrate those walls. Noise stayed out. And in.

Daemon turned, eyes gleaming. “So, we are looking for a woman. One who can manipulate the wind.” He tugged idly at one of his diamond-studded cufflinks. “Find her. I want her brought to our side, by any means possible.”

Julius nodded obediently; he knew better than to ask how he was to accomplish this mission. Besides, he enjoyed the hunt all the more if it presented a challenge.

“Sir,” Julius ventured cautiously. “What about the old woman?”

“She is well protected,” Julius continued when Daemon gestured impatiently. “She attends a family function tomorrow. We checked the venue but it will be crawling with Guardians. And norms as well. We cannot risk an open attack.”

Daemon snorted. “The norms are irrelevant. Their day will come. They will kneel in the dirt where they belong. And we—” He caught himself, breathing out slowly, reining in the rant. “Still. Guardians complicate matters.”

“Sir,” Julius said again, hesitating.

“Speak.”

“Our insider says the old woman may bring Marco with her.”

Daemon went still. “Marco Santana?” His voice dropped to a hiss. His eyes darkened, heat blooming behind them. Julius stepped back instinctively.

“Yes, Sir.”

“A sign she suspects something.” Daemon gave a cold, delighted giggle. “She must be very concerned indeed to call on the Leader of the Draaken.”

Julius’s skin crawled. Every instinct urged him to run, but discipline locked his feet in place.

“The Guardians believe Marco Santana and his Draaken are invincible,” Daemon sneered. “I’ll use their skins to bind my books.”

Julius’s phone rang. He flinched.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Daemon asked, voice velvet-soft and deadly.

“Yes, Sir.” J scrambled for the phone, swiping it open with trembling fingers. “Yes… yes… yes.”

Daemon’s gaze bored through him.

Julius covered the receiver. “Sir, good news. London identified the woman. CCTV footage outside the club shows her leaving, with the injured man following close behind. Her name is Keira Wilde.”

Daemon’s lips curled. “A Wilde. Of course. That bloodline is long overdue for extinction.”

“Sir, they’ve uploaded a photo.”

Daemon extended his hand in silent command. He studied the screen for a long moment. “Well, well,” he murmured. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Your orders, Sir?” Julius asked, eager to be dismissed.

“Tell the team to intercept her. Bring her here, unharmed. I wish to extend a personal invitation to join our cause. And wipe the security footage.”

Julius took back his phone and relayed the orders.

“Go,” Daemon whispered.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Goodbye, Sir,” Julius babbled, tripping over his own feet as he fled. Ms Domain’s smirk sliced across his peripheral vision as he burst through the fire escape door. There was no way he was waiting for the elevator.

---

Flames flickered deep in Daemon’s eyes as the door swung shut behind his lieutenant.

So. You’ve resurfaced. All those years ago you were only a girl, your magick a flicker in the Akasha, but pure. Exquisite.

Now? You burn brighter. Stronger, but still untamed. Has the old woman failed to reach you?

Such power in such an alluring form. You were made to stand at my side.

The culmination of decades of preparation draws near. Come to me, little Wilde. Come, and let me show you how we will rule the world.