The Summoning: Book 1 in the Gatekeepers Series

By Wilson Doherty

All is not well in Chthonic City, Maine. People are anxious, sleepless. Road rage is on the rise, and the ERs overflow with domestic and workplace violence. Why? Because they're having recurring, terrifying nightmares about demons rising to walk among them, and they’re snapping.
In fact, demons ARE rising. Slowly. One at a time, to dwell unnoticed among us as they multiply our misery. And they’re rising in Chthonic City where the veil between the Chthonic (the Underworld for which the City was named, though the meaning of the word has been long forgotten) and earthly reality is very thin.
Demons cannot rise until a human soul is driven mad. Over the millennia, demons have crossed as they could, but never before has humanity been so stressed as it is now in the Western world. Never before have we been so starved for time, touch, meaning, purpose. Never have our circuits been so overloaded with gloom and doom, economically, environmentally, spiritually. Never before have the demons had such a vulnerable population. Scenting a chance to break free in numbers, they hurl themselves into our dreams, battering at our sanity.
But these demons are not unopposed. In a crumbling church on the edge of town, an ancient Guardian has been watching and waiting. When the threat from the Underworld surges, the Guardian's job is to send out a call to a fresh crop – a cell – of Gatekeepers, and train them to descend into the Chthonic through the dream state and do battle with the demons, slaying them there before they can cross the threshold.
In Chthonic City, a new cell of Gatekeepers – teenagers all – has just been summoned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norah Wilson
• Release date: Apr 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986705557

Wilson Doherty

Norah Wilson is a USA Today bestselling author of romantic fiction. Heather Doherty is published in literary fiction. Together, they write fast-paced, exciting young adult paranormal stories. Both live in Fredericton, New Brunswick.

Book preview

Book 1 in The Gatekeepers Series

By

Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty

(writing as Wilson Doherty)

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty

(writing as Wilson Doherty)

Copyright © 2011 Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

NOTE RE: BONUS MATERIAL

Please note that bonus material in the form of an excerpt from THE PACT (Book 2 in the Wilson Doherty Gatekeepers Series) appears at the end of this book. That bonus material will make this book appear several pages longer than it actually is. Bear that in mind as you approach the end and are anxiously trying to judge how much story is left!

The Summoning

Book 1 of The Gatekeepers Series

Prologue

The Guardian could feel them. Yes, he was sure of it now. They were coming closer.

He closed his eyes and focused his mind, directing his thoughts. He could almost hear each one of them – their under-the-breath cursing, the murmured worries and wondering. The sighs and whispers in their dark hours as they fought the pull that they didn't quite understand. Couldn't yet understand.

But soon they would.

These chosen few were almost ready. And they were almost here.

The ancient church was dark. No matter. He was used to the dark.

Slowly, the old man walked the length of this sanctuary. This church – his church – was not the oldest of these hallowed grounds his kind kept. Not be a long measure. But it was among the oldest in North America. Certainly the oldest in this small corner of the world. It hunkered on the outskirts of Chthonic City, barely within the municipal limits, on an all-but-forgotten road. Which seemed appropriate, in a city that had long forgotten the origin of its own name. But the Guardian remembered. The Chthonic – the Underworld. He felt its evil pulse beneath his very feet.

The building was decrepit (dangerously so, some said) with the mold and layers of dust and walls that had crumbled away in some places. But because of its age, it had been declared a national historical property, never to be torn down. It no longer hosted a congregation, of course. Hadn't in generations. But the building still served its original purpose.

The setting sun cast no light now through the stained glass windows, but the old man walked easily through the gray gloom, his eyes effortlessly adjusting to the darkness. The Guardian leaned heavily on his tall walking stick, gripping a gnarled and bony hand around the shaft and pulling himself along. He knew every one of these aching steps. For years now, he'd taken them each dawn and each evening as he'd kept his careful watch on this place. Preparing. Waiting on this hallowed ground for what had been foretold. For years he had been faithful to the continuous vigil. Decades.

Centuries. His voice croaked into the lonely silence as he looked around the sacred place. Millennia, if you count the Guardians before me.

But it was almost time. The wait was almost over. He directed his mind to the few again, once more disturbing their visions, haunting their thoughts, calling each one of them forward.

Closer.

Soon.

The ground shook beneath his sandaled feet. Just a tremble this time. A warning, perhaps. Or just something to bedevil him. Most people wouldn't even notice these small vibrations. Not within Chthonic City. Maybe not even if they were right here in the church beside him. But he felt the tremors. Of course he did!

He sat. The old, wooden pew creaked beneath him as he settled his slight weight down onto it. But he knew that the church bench would hold. It was stronger than it looked.

A gray mouse, a small one with a little dark dash on its tail, darted from beneath the pew, scuttling over the Guardian’s left foot, a barely-there tickle. He chuckled, dug into his sweater pocket and pulled out the crumbs of smoked cheddar he’d placed there earlier. He dropped one to the floor beside his little companion, who immediately snatched it up.

Hello, Augustus. I haven't seen you in a bit.

The mouse sat upright on its haunches, holding the cheese delicately with its little hands, and devoured it. Finished, he looked up, unafraid and anxious to see if more would be falling. The Guardian smiled and dropped another morsel.

Again the ground beneath the church shook – harder this time, for seconds rather than milliseconds. Augustus, along with three more mice that the Guardian hadn't seen, streaked out from beneath the pews and up the aisle of the sanctuary, disappearing quickly into the blackness.

The tremors were coming more frequently, and with more intensity – he was sure of it. Not just because of the careful records he and the others before him had kept. He just knew it in every fiber of his being – every fiber of his soul.

Soon, the Guardian said. They must come soon.

He lowered his eyelids slowly, grasping a vision of each youth as he called for them again. The tough boy. He could picture his tattooed arms around his tormented little sister. The smart, fearless girl, the one who wanted to change the world, yet who resisted his call the hardest. That other girl – the troubled one – the one who wondered right along with everyone else if she truly was crazy.

And Galen. He was coming too.

There was a third rumble. The Guardian braced himself as it rose uncharacteristically to a roar. The building shook.

It will hold! It has to hold!

Smoke and dust claimed the air as the structure trembled. He heard a chorus of voices through the walls, through the floor. All around him.

"We are rising! We are rising!"

The shaking stopped, and the old Guardian pushed himself to his feet. He coughed hard as he surveyed his surroundings. A few more cracks in the walls. But the stained glass windows remained unbroken. Miraculously unbroken. And now with the moon risen high in the sky, the window-trapped saints again stared down at him – accusingly or pleadingly. The old man was not sure.

He walked the aisle to the front of the church to the altar. He was drawn toward a small, still mound at the altar’s edge.

Oh, Augustus. The Guardian lifted a hand to his chest. The mouse was sprawled on its belly. No injury marred the little creature’s form, but it was dead just the same, its heart stopped, no doubt, by pure fright. Its dead eyes seemed to stare up at him, frozen in the moment of terror.

The ancient Guardian closed his eyes again. He focused his mind and with all his might, he called the four all over again. Quickly now! Claire! Darren! Galen! Janna Jane!

They had to heed! They had to come!

For the demons were rising.

Chapter 1

From her seat at the back of the classroom, with her nails digging into the sides of the desk and her feet braced beneath it, Janna Pelky stared straight ahead at her math teacher, Mr. Leblanc.

He was turned to the board, furiously drawing his right triangles as if he were conducting a symphony, looking every bit as engrossed and absorbed as any other senior math teacher at Central Chthonic High. But Janna knew the truth. She saw what no one else could see.

There was more to the man before this class. There was a certain terrifying depth.

Janna didn't have to see Mr. Leblanc's face to know what evil lurked beneath the benign mask. She'd seen it before. And God help her, she'd spoken of it before, many months ago, to the white-coated doctors and the glancing nurses as they fought to hold her down.

But she didn't say a word now. Not one word. Because if she did, if she told them what she really saw, they'd send her back there.

Now class, Mr. Leblanc said, his writing hand dashing marks on the board as he repeated the problem, If Y=0 and X=Y then the answer....

The answer was 6.25.

She'd been in this advanced math class last year before they'd sent her away. Same class, same room, same time. Same questions, answers and tests. Only the teacher had been different last year. But Ms. Burke was gone. Gone mad herself. She'd had trouble sleeping. Too many nightmares. Too much coffee. So much stress! Had to take some pills. Pop, pop, pop. In the end, Ms. Burke had snapped.

Janna knew – she'd seen it in Ms. Burke's hazel eyes toward the end – the full extent of the young teacher's terror. And now Ms. Burke was in the psychiatric ward in the same hospital where Janna herself had been confined.

They had her.

And shortly after that young teacher had left, Mr. N.J. Leblanc had come along mid-term to take her place teaching Grade 12 math. Why, he'd even rented Ms. Burke’s apartment, so kindly taking over the lease. He slid his car into her reserved parking spot behind the school. Mr. Leblanc had even offered – kindly, everyone said – to take care of Ms. Burke's cat for her until she was well again. But the poor little feline had somehow fallen from the apartment's balcony, tragically breaking its neck. Mr. Leblanc had felt awful. Just awful.

And just that easily, that completely, this damn demon was in.

But that's how they worked.

Mr. Leblanc turned fully around. Automatically Janna's gaze dropped to the scrawled-upon sheet of paper on the desk before her. Drawings. Hers. Poorly-done but recognizable, if to no one else but Janna herself. She'd always doodled – just a nervous habit she'd developed somewhere along the way. And as always, the resulting sketch half surprised her. She crumpled the paper in a tight ball and shoved it into the pocket of the long black coat she always hid herself in.

The answer, anyone? Mr. Leblanc raised his dark eyebrows in the universal gesture of expectation.

No one raised a hand. Eyes were averted. Feet shuffled below desks.

Natalie? Leblanc prompted. Jim? Anyone…?

Silence.

What about you, Janna Jane? Janna caught the glee in Mr. Leblanc’s deep voice. Do you know the answer?

Everyone turned to look at her, their eyes avid. Janna felt the blood rush to her face. They expected her to flip out, of course, under the class’s scrutiny. Or maybe they just hoped she would. She felt the warmth of the room now, the sweat beginning to gather on her back and brow.

Don't let on or they'll think you're seeing the demons again.

Her skin crawled as Leblanc said her name again. But she forced her hands to release their grip on the desk. She forced her eyes upward to face the creature she saw. She even forced herself to smile, though she knew her lips were trembling. Mr. Leblanc stared straight back, his eyes shining with delight. And while his smile may have looked encouraging to the others, Janna saw through the exterior. Demons couldn't read thoughts – but they could sense pain, fear, turmoil. They thrived on it. And this one clearly sensed it in Janna.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, force being the operative word. While demons’ features were roughly similar to humans – two eyes, a nose, a mouth, same amount of arms and legs – each demon looked different. This one, this Mr. Leblanc who'd replaced Ms. Burke so easily in the world, had jagged teeth that dripped steaming saliva. His throat was twisted and elongated – gnarled with pulsing knots of pus and pain that seemed alive themselves. His claw-like hands held two fingers each, long and pointy as daggers, with nails hard as stone. Blood-red eyes blazed in his skull.

Yet she still saw the overlying shell, the pleasant exterior everyone else saw as Mr. LeBlanc. This is how she always saw them. Like the demon showed as a ghost within the person, behind the skin and the hair and the Dockers and button down shirts. Janna called it the hell soul.

For it surely had to be.

Yes, dammit, she still saw them! No matter what she told the nurses who waited with those syringes that terrified her so. No matter what she’d said to the gray-haired specialists who consulted on her ‘case', or what she told the young intern who constantly tsk-tsked her sympathy to Janna's mother. Anything to get out of there. She'd deny her visions to God himself to get away from those pills and padded rooms and straps across her chest at night. And the needles! Especially the needles that made the visions so much worse…

Mr. Leblanc walked the length of the classroom towards Janna where she sat at the back. He settled his claws on the edge of her desk where her hands had gripped just moments before. He leaned down toward her. She fought not to scream, not to pull back. Not to run away with the madness! She could see the demon's glee growing as he felt her waves of pure panic.

Does he know I really see him? That I see all the demons?

What's the answer, Janna Jane?

She could feel the desire in Leblanc growing – feeding off her terror. How he longed to grab her, rip her to shreds, tear her apart. She did not want to look at him. She couldn't bring herself to say the answer, didn’t trust her voice not to tremble and crack.

And oh, God, if she opened her mouth to answer, the scream might come out.

Are you feeling all right, Janna? Leblanc asked. You look ... upset or something.

He knew. They all knew where she'd been and what she had seen. All the school. So did all the demons!

6.25.

The voice came from the row over by the windows, second desk from the back.

Most everyone did a half turn in their seats. Even Janna looked over.

Darren Justason sat looking out the window, seemingly without interest in anything going on in class or outside of it on this mid-September day. He sat slouched in his seat, his hands tucked into the pockets of the long-sleeved hoodie he always wore, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles beneath his desk. He looked bored and tired, as he often did when he bothered to show for class, as if he'd been out all night and school was just an afterthought.

I beg your pardon, Darren?

Though the teacher smiled across the room, Janna saw the demon’s rage. He was furious that he had to draw away from his prey.

Janna fought for control. Slowly, she found it. Again, this time, she found it. She swallowed hard.

Darren answered a second time without looking at the teacher. The answer is 6.25.

Well in fact, Mr. Justason… Mr. Leblanc straightened, and walked back to the front of the room. You're right. Very good.

Darren didn't nod. Didn't smile or say a thing. If he heard the praise, or if he cared, he didn't show it.

Janna breathed deeply. Slowly as she could. And sent a silent 'thank you' across the room to Darren Justason, a boy she'd never even spoken to.

It hadn't surprised Janna when she'd returned to school from her hospital stay to see Darren sitting in the senior advanced math class. He was unquestionably bright, without even trying. Without even caring, it seemed. He was a tough kid – not one who went looking for trouble. But trouble knew better than to go looking for him.

So she thought.

Mr. Leblanc assigned the usual five pages as the bell sounded and the class poured into the hallway. Last period on Friday. Finally. It had been a long week. A hard week. And now a weekend home pretending to her mother that she didn't see what she saw. Sitting with her grandmother who tried to help with the grief of –

The push from behind jolted her more than it should have. Her books went sprawling across the floor.

Weirdo, someone called from further down the hall and the snickering started.

Janna looked up. Four guys close enough to have pushed her – Ethan Simpson, who was a jerk to her even before her stay in the psych ward, two hulking footballish guys she didn't know but had seen around, and that quiet guy, Maxim ... something or other. It could have been any one of the first three who'd sent her flying. They were looking back, snorting their delight. Maxim didn't even seem to notice. Head bent, legs scissoring, he hurried down the hall.

She bent down to pick up her math text, but before she could retrieve it, someone kicked it. The move was followed by an ‘oh shit, sorry’ that didn't sound completely bogus. Maybe this time it had been an accident.

Janna took two crouching steps and reached for the book again, just as the apologetic textbook kicker reached too.

She gasped at what she saw. Her hand flew to her chest and she leapt back, slamming herself against the locker.

You okay? Darren Justason handed her the book.

She looked at him, carefully, closely, and then nodded.

Yeah, she said, holding the book to her chest now, almost protectively. Her voice was shaking and her heart was pounding all over again. But this boy wasn't a demon. Tough, certainly. Sullen. But no way in hell a demon.

But still, what she'd seen!

Thanks, Janna dared to whisper. And ... thanks for the 6.25.

Darren looked at her for what seemed to Janna just a sizing-up moment too long, then resettled the hard-as-nails, grim look to his face. He shrugged his shoulders back in place and took off down the hall. And Janna fought conflicting impulses – the impulse to run after him, and the impulse to run like hell in the other direction.

Because when Darren had reached to grab her book, his hoodie sleeve had risen just enough for her to see the ink. The tattoo on his right forearm, just above his wrist, was that of a demon. Not a generic-type demon creature, not a cartoon, pitchforked devil. The tattoo that Janna saw on Darren's arm was a perfect representation – a perfect hell soul catching drawing – of Mr. N.J. Leblanc, right down to the knots on the neck and the blazing red eyes.

Janna watched Darren walk down the hallway until the sight of him was lost to her in the sea of unsuspecting faces.

Chapter 2

Stupid. Darren Justason cursed under his breath as he crossed the school’s rapidly emptying parking lot, his sleeves now tugged down so far that the hems brushed his knuckles.

That’s what he got for doing something nice. When he’d reached to pick up the book for that crazy girl, Janna What’s-her-name, she’d gotten a flash of his tats. Having glimpsed the ghoul gallery, she now probably thought he was beyond sketchy.

On the up side, the shock had cut short her gushing thank you. It also let him walk away without having to be brutal to her. The girl desperately needed a guard dog at her side to keep turds like Ethan Simpson at bay, but Darren wasn’t gonna be that guy. The last thing he needed was another female counting on him. Hell, he could hardly take care of himself.

He tossed his backpack into the back seat of his car and climbed behind the wheel.

Well, strictly speaking, it was his mother’s car – a Nissan Altima. After her latest promotion, Claudia Justason had graduated to a Lexus and Darren had inherited the cast off. He’d sooner have had something a little more appropriate to his demographic. Maybe a sporty little Grand Am or a Sunfire. But his mother wouldn’t have a cheap Pontiac in her driveway. So he contented himself with pimping out the Altima, which drove his mother batshit crazy.

Hey, D!

Darren turned to see Trevor Haines approaching. How’s it going, Trev?

’Bout to get better. Trevor came to a stop beside Darren’s car. I’m going to Nick’s brother’s place. We’re gonna vape some herb and play Halo. Wanna come? We’ve got room for another player.

God, if only he could. Except weed just made the visions worse. Booze, too. Even his mother’s Atavan.

Sorry, man. Not tonight. He keyed the ignition and the Altima purred to life. Plans.

Ah, a date.

Darren smiled, letting him believe it, though neither his 300 pound tattoo artist nor his seven-year-old sister qualified.

Trevor laughed. Hey, no problem. Chicks before dicks.

Darren laughed. Can I give you a lift?

Trevor waved off the offer. Nah. I’m traveling with Drez.

Darren felt another pang. Andres Perales. Probably the closest friend Darren had. Or used to have.

I’ll say hey to him for you, Trevor offered.

Sure. Thanks. Darren lifted a hand in goodbye, then backed out of his spot and drove off.

Three hours later, a fresh tattoo burning under his bandaged arm, Darren let himself into his parents’ Boxwood Heights house. The quiet drone of a baseball game told him his father was in the TV room downstairs. His mother was in Massachusetts on another business trip, and Sadie would be up in her room watching TV alone.

He opened the fridge, surveyed the reheatable meals the housekeeper had left this morning. All three sat there, untouched.

Great. Safe bet their father had had a scotch or four after work, then fallen asleep in front of the TV. Darren took out two meals, stuck one in the microwave to reheat, then went to find Sadie.

Hey, Bug, he called, bounding up the stairs two at a time. You hungry?

Dare? Is that you?

Her voice came from behind her bedroom door. Darren frowned. Since when did she close her door? Seemed like he had to pull it shut himself most nights on his way to bed when he finally dragged himself in. Maybe his fire safety lectures were finally taking root.

"Yeah, it’s me. You okay