Omens

I enjoy my role as protector but I can’t shake my growing concern. If I was still capable of sweating I would. Eli comes to me more often now and he seems to be preparing me, coaching me for what lies ahead. I try to get from him what I can do to protect these mortals, to prevent more tragedy. He simply says, “I’m sorry Nicholas. I fear there are some things that cannot be undone. Those who wish you harm are aware of what you care for most. Then there is all that you have done, there is a consequence for every act.” Long after he has left, after he has said that I need to do what I can and continue to fight for what I care about his words linger. They resonate with me even as I sense that Eli was also saying goodbye to me, a farewell that feels more substantial than I like.

Malcolm senses my concern. He is protective of our friendship and of me. I am touched by the irony of this dynamic, but I cannot burden him anymore than I already have. Instead I continue to teach him what I know, how to recognize us, how to avoid our kind and if the worst came, how he to defend himself and protect his family. This last bit I feel is key, but I know he is at a significant disadvantage against even the less motivated of my kind. I take heart from his natural abilities. Malcolm is a middle aged man in excellent physical condition. He has a particular talent for handling knives, but I am most impressed by his ability to read people and situations, an ability that I feel also extends beyond the mortal realm. I encourage him to trust his instincts and it doesn’t take him long to realize that he is not just being prepared for a possibility.

The children are left in the dark about most matters and although I disagree with this approach I cannot argue with the desire to protect them from what they may not understand. In any event, the respect I have for Malcolm and his wife means that I keep these concerns to myself. But with each passing moment I feel inexplicably closer to an unknown danger. I am consumed by thoughts of time and place, of who’s and whys and now I’m preoccupied by thoughts about the most vulnerable among us. I can’t watch them every moment of the day and I know that even if I can find Louis and Elizabeth I would still need to convince them that these particular mortals are now as important to me as they are…that they should put themselves in harm’s way to protect these lives.

Another concern is the stories that are being carried from household to household, not all of which are the creations of resourceful parents intent on keeping their children away from nocturnal activities. One particular story has always fascinated me. It is of children, babies really, who having died before being baptized now lure the unsuspecting into the afterlife with them. They are supposed to be adorned with wide brimmed hats that obscure their faces and feet that face backwards, supposedly because every step they take is away from this life. I have mentioned these duennes before, but I know they exist. I have told Malcolm that countries like this are attractive to all soughts eager to stake a claim and begin a new life…now I feel like we are all competing for a place on this island.

Still, weeks slip by and despite my concerns nothing happens but I remain guarded. It’s Friday and Beatrice is cleaning my house while Malcolm leaves to get the girls from school. When he returns they come in for a while and hug everyone before racing each other outside to play in what is left of the daylight. Their mood is infectious and as we smile and talk inside, I hear their raised voices and laughter in the distance like music. Moments later I hear another sound, and before long it’s the only sound I hear. I raise my hand and Malcolm and Beatrice fall silent.

“Do you hear that?” I say.

“Yes.” Beatrice says, smiling sweetly. “Sounds like a baby, crying.”

“But I don’t hear the girls.” Malcolm says, as his heart pounds. I don’t respond because in a blinding blur I am outside and a sickening feeling settles with me…the girls are nowhere in sight.