1 Chapter 1: Prologue

Sherborne Abbey, Dorset, England

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," he whispered with hands folded in prayer, fingertips pointing at the fan-vaulted ceiling of the yawning church. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," he continued with eyes closed, struggling to ignore the echoing footsteps growing near.

Every time Alec's ears caught noises behind his back, anxiety swamped him, pulling him under a wave of fear. Ever since his grandfather shared with Alec the secret he'd kept hidden amid dusty shelves and tattered pages-Alec's life was torn. Was he an ordinary English lit student or one of the few people harboring a world-shaking secret-the kind that one struggled to exorcise from one's mind, the kind that roused wars and ambition among mortals and...immortals.

He flinched at that thought.

After his grandfather's death, he'd taken refuge at the church, going whenever he could to lessen the fear chilling his blood. He knew they were searching for him, and that maybe one day they would find him. And kill him. Those images had been haunting his dreams every night, drawing purple rings that never seemed to fade under his eyes. The house of God was the only place he felt in peace, so there was no reason to fear those measured steps behind him, he thought to himself.

"Give us this day our daily bread," he continued, steadying the hard thumps within his chest with the holy words. "And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us-"

"...not into temptation," a man said, trailing off his words. Alec turned around, startled. "But deliver us from evil," the man continued, eyes aimed on him. "Amen." He stopped a few feet away from Alec and cracked a twisted, vicious smile.

It was as if the church had been suddenly shrouded with a deep charcoal cloud, announcing the arrival of a dreadful storm. The dark clothes wrapping the man's tall frame and the black tattoo on one side of his neck seemed to turn him into a creature of death. The threat in his eyes...Alec had never seen anything so downright feral. His whole body shouted at him to run away as fast as he could, until his lungs failed him.

Without thinking twice, he slid to the end of the pew but found the dark man already blocking his way. "How did you-" Alec's voice trailed off.. He knew the answer already. His muscles tensed, anchoring his feet to the floor.

The dark man cracked that vicious smile again. "Find you here? Why, your daily offering of prayer and praise," he said. "How marvelous to catch a glimpse of the glory of God!" He stretched his arms, as if being there filled him with extreme bliss and wonder.

The sarcasm playing in his voice however, told Alec otherwise.

"Don't you dare speak like that in here," Alec said, surprising himself. "You're standing on sacred ground."

The dark man chuckled and looked down at him. "Are you giving me an order...boy?" He cocked his head as if amused.

"Boy?" Alec spat the word. Anger and fear raged inside him. "You're no more than, what, five years older than me?"

The dark man burst out in reedy laughter, soaking the serene air with danger. Alec swallowed. The moment he feared had finally arrived. He could feel it. The church would be his grave and the Lord his only witness.

"Five years older?" the dark man said. "I thought you were smarter than that, surrounded by books and all. But what can I expect from a fragile human like you?" He stepped closer, not taking his sharp eyes away from Alec's. "Oh, yes. How stupid of me! I almost forgot-I do expect something from you."

Alec had to swallow hard to speak again. The possibility of death made him slow with words. They had never been a problem. He managed them even better than breathing. "I-I don't have it."

"You don't?" The dark man arched his eyebrows, voice calm and patient.

Alec shook his head.

"Then where is it, Mr. Bostwick? Under your pillow? Beneath the floorboards of your room? Hiding in your grandfather's grave by his rotting, worm-eaten body?"

The man's patience was slipping away, his face as hard as a cemetery slab. But Alec remained in silence. He refused to tell the man where it was. If he was going to die, he didn't want his death to be in vain. Instead, Alec focused on his own rapid heartbeats, listening to them for what could be the last time.

The dark man pushed his face a few inches away from Alec's, breathing hard. "I don't have time to play stupid games with you, Mr. Bostwick, so let's cut the crap." The man's eyes turned deep black, as a shark about to attack its prey.

Alec's eyes locked with those dark pools, and his body froze. He was entranced by that vast, deep blackness, hopelessly lost in the night of that color.

"Where is it?" The dark man asked again, pitching his voice to a low, feral tone.

Words exploded from Alec's mouth without giving him time to think. "America. I went to America and gave it to an old woman."

"On your grandfather's instructions?"

"Yes." Sweat snaked down his forehead. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to save the secret his grandfather and several other Keepers had guarded for so long, risking their lives. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. Alec's mouth seemed to have a mind of his own.

"Where exactly?"

"Taos, New Mexico."

"Her name?"

"Samantha Collins-but it's fake. She just used it for the delivery."

"Smart move," the dark man said as if it didn't surprise him. "What does she look like?"

"I don't know," Alec answered.

The dark man groaned, crumpled Alec's shirt with his right hand and pulled him up in a blur. In less than a second, Alec's feet were suspended in the air. "Tell me!" he ordered, unleashing a paralyzing darkness over Alec's eyes.

"I didn't see her! I talked with her through a confessional!" he managed to say amid the choking trepidation of his heart. But more than fear, he felt disappointment. He'd betrayed all the Keepers, and most of all, his grandfather. Though the words had come out against his will, it was his mouth that had spoken them. He was going to die as a traitor.

"A church again?" The dark man held him higher, effortlessly. "Well, I hope you enjoy dying in one, too." He smiled and shoved him into the air. Alec's body crashed against a large pipe organ, head cracking as it bent the long metal tubes with echoing low notes of failure and death. His corpse fell to the ground, a limp bulge under the shadows of flickering candles. The light gone from his eyes.

The dark man turned and left, walking past the gaze of stained glass saints on either side of him. The condemnation in their glassy eyes produced not even a tug in his callous heart.

Five men dressed in black waited for him outside, fusing into the night as dark ghosts of death. He stopped in front of them. "Well, you heard the boy. We know what to do."

"Aren't you going to consult first with Moyset?" one of them asked.

"No. He gave me a free pass on this. We're leaving tomorrow." He started, striding through silent graves that clawed the earth, as if they were keeping a lid on the dead, blocking them from joining the living.

The ghostly men followed.

"Leaving to where, Gavran?" a younger voice said behind him.

"Pay more attention, Caleb. Mooners aren't welcome here," Gavran told him severely.

"I'm not a mooner." Caleb said furiously, wrinkling his eyebrows in deep disapproval. "I've earned my place in here more than anyone and you know it."

Gavran smirked, his smile full of wicked knowledge. "You have. You have...That's why I'm taking you to New Mexico."