The Forgotten Guardian Read online

  The

  Forgotten

  Guardian

  YIN LEONG

  Kampung Kreepy Books

  Copyright © 2021 Yin Wilczek

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7371252-2-8

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or people is purely coincidental. For narrative purposes, I’ve taken liberties in the description of feng shui and certain Washington, D.C., landmarks. The Heavenly Bridge Temple does not exist. Where real agencies and public figures are mentioned, their interactions with the novel’s characters are wholly imaginary, as are magical tigers and shape-shifting monsters.

  Book 1

  The Geomancer’s Apprentice

  Amazon Reader Reviews

  — “exciting and original”

  — “This book is a ride!”

  — “I'd definitely recommend it to any lover of urban fantasy”

  — “captivating & a fun twist on ghost stories”

  — “What a delightful, thrilling read”

  Dedication

  As any writer knows, it is a long and arduous journey from an idea to a novel. Thank you to my family and friends for their unwavering support. You know who you are. Love, always.

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  This Series

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  From the Author

  Landmarks

  Cover

  Prologue: Five Months Earlier

  It was one of those days. Eunice managed to collect only a few dollars in change after hours in the boiling sun. She would have stayed out longer, but gray clouds streamed over the office buildings and it started to rain. The rain wasn’t particularly heavy but the big drops soaked her clothes and the odds and ends in her grocery cart.

  She gave up at last and trundled the cart back to the K Street underpass near Union Station, only to find her sleeping spot occupied by a strange woman. The woman was large and aggressive, with one lazy, unfocused eye. She had dismantled Eunice’s tent and tossed it and Eunice’s meager belongings in the gutter.

  “This is my spot.” Eunice wished her voice was more like a lion’s roar than a mouse’s squeak. She grunted in shocked surprise when the woman shoved the cart painfully into her midriff.

  “This is my spot now,” the woman hissed. “Go away.”

  They locked eyes. Or rather, the woman trained one eye on Eunice; the other rolled around in its socket like a loose marble. Eunice almost laughed out loud before she prudently lowered her gaze and stooped to gather her things. The woman probably wouldn’t like being laughed at.

  This was how it was when you were homeless. The strongest ruled the roost. They took what they wanted.

  Eunice whimpered in dismay when she saw her tin box, the one in which she kept her most treasured possessions, had burst open after landing in the gutter. Photographs spilled from the box, mixing with the water and trash flowing down the street. Eunice’s befuddled brain—damaged by years of spousal abuse and a lifetime of drugs and alcohol—could barely remember who the people in the photos were, or why they had been caught by the camera at that exact moment in time. Nonetheless they—the people—had been precious to her once. She could at least remember that.

  The underpass was dark by the time she finished retrieving and wiping off her belongings. It wasn’t yet nightfall, but the dreary weather had robbed the summer day of its light.

  Her little cart was so full it was a wonder it could still move. She wouldn’t have much time to find another place to sleep. She pushed the cart to the mouth of the underpass, uncertain of where next to go. The rain beat down, steady and relentless.

  “Sunshine?”

  She paused, startled. She stared in bemusement at the tall, gaunt figure standing just outside the underpass.

  “Sunshine?” He smiled, his teeth white against his wrinkled, tanned skin.

  She recognized him during a fleeting moment of clarity. It was Harry, of course. He was the only one who called her that. Sunshine. She liked it. It was much better than “Eunice.” She had always hated her name.

  Harry looked at her bulging cart. “Are you going somewhere?”

  She glanced fearfully back into the underpass. The woman who had taken her spot was glaring balefully in their direction. “I got evicted,” she whispered.

  “You got anywhere else to go?”

  “No.” Her shoulders slumped. “ Maybe Union Station.”

  He gazed at her, oblivious of the rain creating dark splotches on his army jacket and flattening his wiry hair. That was the thing about Harry—nothing fazed him. He resided in his own cheerful bubble. And when he looked at her, he appeared to really see her, which gave her a little glow of happiness. He made her feel part of the human race again, at least for a little while.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked from out of the blue.

  “I … why?”

  “I found a new place. You can stay with me if you like.”

  It dawned on her that she hadn’t seen him at the encampment the last couple of nights. “Is it out of the rain?” she asked tentatively.

  He nodded, his head bobbing enthusiastically on his skinny neck. “You’ll love it. It’s someplace special, like I’ve never seen before.” He spied the uncertainty in her eyes. “Trust me, it’s magical. You’ll love it.”

  “Okay,” she said dully. Why not? Where else did she have to go? She was used to people, men in particular, telling her what to do.

  He took the cart from her and they trudged up Massachusetts Avenue. The deluge was even heavier now. Eunice hoped her photos were okay in the tin box. The other pedestrians—the normal, beautiful people who led normal, fruitful lives—lowered their umbrellas when they swept past Harry and her, as if they hoped the umbrellas would shield them from any bad luck that dogged the homeless couple.

  They passed the Friendship Archway after about half an hour of walking. The garish, imposing gateway to Washington, D.C.,’s Chinatown was brightly lit by streetlamps and traffic headlights. “Are we close?” she asked timidly.

  “Just a little further.”

  Harry stopped when they reached a construction site. “This is it,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other with excitement.

  “Here?” She glanced nervously up and down the street. The worksite appeared to take up the entire block. There was nobody around, probably due to the drenching rain.

  “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “There are security guards around the block, but not here.” He pushed aside a bit of plywood, revealing a gaping hole in the fence that was big enough even for her cart. “This is how I’ve been getting in.”

  She stumbled after Harry, nervous of tripping and hurting herself. The site was poorly lit and the ground was littered with debris and slippery from the rain. Buildings surrounded them like giant, crouching monsters. Harry walked with confidence, as if he owned the place. The wheels on her cart squeaked in protest as he deftly maneuvered them around obstacles.

  She was relieved when they stepped onto a veranda. She was happy to be out of the rain. She was so wet that water streamed from her hair and clothes. Her shoes squelched with every step she took.

  The veranda ran alongside a low building in which there were several double doors. “Hey, take a look at this.” Harry opened a set of doors with a flourish, like a magician performing a magic trick. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this.”

  She peered inside. In the deepening dusk, all she could make out were hunched shapes and shadows.

  “Here, this will help.” He fished a flashlight out of his pocket and thumbed it on.

  She stepped back with an involuntary gasp. There were statues in the room, sitting at the back in some kind of a raised box. There were three of them, each about two feet tall. They were caked with so much grime that it was hard to tell what they were supposed to be. Nonetheless, they were disturbing. She didn’t like the way they stared at her.

  Gooseflesh pimpled her upper arms all of a sudden. From out of the deep fog o
f her past, she heard her grandmother’s voice telling her that a goose had walked over her grave.

  She had always detested this particular saying of her nan’s.

  Harry was dismayed when he saw her fear. “Come on.” He pulled her out of the way so he could shut the doors.

  He brought her to the next set of doors. “This is it,” he said. “Home sweet home.” He opened the doors; his beam lit up the room’s interior.

  There was a statue in this room as well, bigger than the ones in the first room. She lowered her gaze to avoid looking at it. The floor was covered by a mantle of dust. Tracks in the dust led to a corner where Harry had cobbled together a makeshift bed from newspaper, cardboard and a threadbare blanket.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said.

  She removed her top layer of damp clothes and left them by the entrance. She was about to sit on the bed when a shudder racked her thin frame.

  Harry’s brow knitted with concern when he saw her shivering. “We could make a small fire, something to keep you warm,” he suggested.

  She wanted to tell him she wasn’t cold, but nervous. Something was giving her the heebie-jeebies. And the feeling was getting stronger. “Harry,” she whispered, “we shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s alright, Sunshine,” he said. “There ain’t nothing here to bother us except for the rats.”

  A clatter came from outside. Something had toppled over her cart. Their heads snapped toward the open doorway. Harry placed his index finger against his lips, warning her to be quiet. He turned off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness.

  Eunice’s heart was pounding so hard by now that it seemed about to leap right out of her chest. She was sure, more sure than she had been of anything in her life, that something unnatural … something unholy … lurked just outside the doors. She clasped her shaking hands together and mouthed the words of the Lord’s Prayer.

  They heard another sound. The creak of wood. Something heavy was stepping over the threshold. Harry lost his nerve and flicked the flashlight on again. They saw what stood at the doorway.

  Harry made a noise that was more a choked pant than a scream. Terror caused Eunice’s mind to flutter like a moth caught in a spider’s web, desperately seeking a way to escape, to deny, what she beheld.

  It moved so quickly that neither of them had time to react. She stood frozen as Harry’s arterial blood sprayed across the room and splattered her face. She could hear her nan telling her to RUN, but fear held her captive.

  She heard a high-pitched mewling when it finished with Harry and came for her. She had just realized that the sound came from her own lips when she felt a sharp pain in her belly.

  It was followed by another searing flash of agony. Her mind went blank in the face of her all-consuming pain. Her nose was filled with the rich, coppery odor of her own blood.

  Chapter 1

  A chill rain fell from a grim, cloud-swollen sky. Junie tucked her hands into her pockets, wishing she had worn a thicker coat. Joe was muttering to himself and staring at Google Maps on his phone.

  They were in an older section of south Arlington. Unlike new neighborhoods with their cookie-cutter homes, the houses here were all one of a kind, like a closet full of mismatched shoes. Cape Cods nestled next to stolid colonials, amid a sea of drab ranches and the occasional Victorian with peaked roofs and quirky turrets.

  “I think this must be the place.”

  Joe pointed at a house across the street. It was an L-shaped ranch with a generous porch and a small lawn. A forlorn life-sized plastic Santa stood in the brown grass. The jolly elf held up a dripping sign that wished everyone a “MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

  A sodden flag hung limply from a flagpole at the edge of the porch. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” the flag proclaimed in large letters. Smaller letters below those said, “Welcome 2020!”

  Large, decorative pots stood like sentinels on either side of the porch steps. The plants in the pots drooped black and lifeless in the January cold.

  Junie scuttled after Joe as he marched across the street and up the front path. He mounted the porch steps and rapped smartly on the door. A fir wreath, long past its prime, sagged on the door.

  They heard faint shuffling and the door opened, emitting a blast of heat. A clean-shaven man with receding hair stood in the doorway.

  Joe and the man stared at each other. “Joseph Tham?” the man asked. “The … um … the geomancer?”

  “Yes, and this is my senior associate Junie Soong.”

  “Hi … Bill Perriman. Happy New Year and, er, thanks for coming.” Perriman stepped aside and gestured to Joe and Junie to enter his home.

  Junie glanced into the house as she was about to follow Joe inside. She stopped dead in her tracks and her body stiffened. A man sat on the floor in one corner of the living room. He was dressed in a shirt and tie, immaculate except for the blood seeping into his collar. His skin was bluish-gray, like something that lived far from the sun.

  The man’s knees were drawn up to his chest. He hugged his knees and rocked himself backward and forward, backward and forward. He looked frightened and confused; when he turned his head, she glimpsed matted hair and the bullet hole above his ear.

  It was obvious that she was the only one who saw him. Joe, however, sensed her tension and looked at her. She waggled her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly toward the gray man. Joe sucked in his breath and turned his attention back to Perriman.

  The homeowner was in the middle of telling Joe that he and his wife finalized the purchase of the house in November. They moved in two weeks before Christmas.

  “We expected it to be special, the first Christmas in our new home.” Perriman’s face was sour. “Instead, it’s turned out to be miserable. Since we moved in, Jeanine has complained nonstop about how uncomfortable she feels in the house, especially this room. She tells me she’s cold even though the thermostat is cranked up to 80 degrees. She says she sees things move and doors open on their own. She claims shadows follow her around, even in places where there shouldn’t be any shadows.”

  He barked out a nervous laugh. “She’s now threatening to abandon the house altogether. I don’t want to do that; we’ve sunk too much into the place.”

  He looked at Joe, a silent plea in his eyes. “Look, I love my wife; this is driving us apart. We’re quarreling about it every day. She even called Stella, our real estate agent, to see if we can get out of the contract. It was Stella who suggested that we call you.”

  Perriman paused to size up Joe and Junie. They didn’t appear to inspire him with much confidence. Joe was lean, in his late 40s or early 50s, with thick, spiky hair that was streaked with gray. His gimlet eyes were like polished black buttons.

  His overcoat had seen better days. Under the overcoat, he wore a wrinkled button-down shirt and a sports coat that clashed with his pants.

  The slim, young Asian woman beside him looked to be in her early 20s. She wore a quilted coat that came down to her thighs, a red hoodie and jeans. Her glasses and untidy ponytail made her look like a disorganized librarian.

  “I’m not familiar with Chinese culture,” the homeowner told the pair. “I haven’t a clue what feng shui practitioners do.”

  Joe nodded reassuringly and launched into his usual speech for new customers. Last summer, he had used practically the same words to explain feng shui to Junie. She had heard the speech so often now that she could recite it in her sleep.

  “Feng shui, also known as Chinese geomancy, is a system of beliefs that’s more than 3,000 years old,” Joe said. “It’s all about the movement of qi, the vital energy or essence—the life force, if you will—that flows within and from all things, whether animate or inanimate. Feng shui helps people to exist in harmony and balance with the natural forces that surround them.”

  Perriman’s eyes were glazing over. “What’s that got to do with my house?” he asked impatiently.

  “Houses sometimes need a little cleansing or a furniture realignment to ensure their energies are moving properly and in sync with the inhabitants,” Joe explained. “We’ll know better how to proceed once we perform a thorough evaluation.”

  “Alright.” Perriman’s tone was grudging. “I’m doing this only because I trust Stella. And I’m running out of options.” He turned to Junie. “You’re Stella’s daughter, right?”