The Skeleton Key: Keys & Guardians, #2

Praise for the Keys and Guardians Series

JACKLYN IS A PERFECT lead with her sharp wit and just a touch of cynicism balanced with a healthy dose of self-deprecation. - Indies Today

Manzano absolutely kills it with characterization in this novel. She makes it so very easy for her audience to picture each of the characters right down to the sounds of their voices...[she] left me no option but to hang on to the edges for dear life and turn pages as quickly as I could. - Ms. J Mentions...

The Order of the Key...has enough tropes and traditions to feel familiar and comfortable in the genre, but at the same time enough twists and nuances to read as something fresh and exciting. The characters are tightly drawn, each with their own motivations. The good guys and bad guys don’t blend into amorphous lumps. Even the villains are the heroes of their own stories, at least in their own minds...I highly recommend The Order of the Key for readers of fantasy, urban fantasy, and paranormal fiction, and I am excited to add it to my classroom library to share with my students. ~- Jennifer L. Gadd, Teacher and MG Author

THE OLD SAYING, ‘POWER corrupts but absolute power corrupts absolutely’ rears its ugly head among the members of the Order and the Head of it...various characters in the story were so duplicitous that it was hard to tell the good ones from the bad ones. And that made for a tremendously complicated storyline which was a kick to read. Guess you can call that depth of character. I call it fun!! - G. Themann

Indies Today 2020 Finalist

Author Shout Recommended Read 2021

Page Turner Awards Long List

COPYRIGHT © 2022 BY Justine Manzano

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE SKELETON KEY

Eventide Books

Visit the website at wwww.JustineManzano.com

Second edition. December 2022.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

EBook ISBN: 978-1-965476-05-5

Written by Justine Manzano.

Edited by Jennia Herold D’lima

Cover Art by Celin Chen

Layout by Celin Chen

Dedication

TO LOGAN, FOR SHOWING me just how strong parental love can be. I’d lift a car for you. Just...please don’t make me have to.

Chapter 1: Circling the Drain

~ Kyp ~

KYP FRANKLIN PRESSED a yellow sticky note to his bedroom window before he climbed out into the crisp night air. His movements were careful, controlled. He avoided brushing the edges of the sill as though the sounds of his clothing sliding across the paneling would be enough to alert his housemates to his plans. They’d never allow him to go alone if they knew his intentions.

The note was only there to ensure that, should he meet his unfortunate demise at his destination, they would know where to find him.

The trellis screeched when his booted feet touched down upon it, and he winced. The last time he’d climbed out this way, it hadn’t done that. But then, the last time he’d ventured out of his third-floor window had been over a year ago. He’d been on his way to meet Jacklyn in the woods. He’d been happy. Blissfully unaware that the worst of his troubles were yet to come.

Kyp climbed down, painfully aware each of the handholds he grabbed had once been held by Jacklyn as she snuck from her room to meet him in the woods.

He should have headed straight to the car. He had something important to accomplish, and he needed to leave before anyone realized he was missing. Instead, he allowed his feet to follow his memories. They led him down the winding paths between the trees. He kicked thick branches aside and let his fingers run across the rough bark of the trees he passed.

And there it was. It had been a year since he’d last been to the willow tree. The last time he’d been with Jacklyn, when they’d made love. And then, before twenty-four hours had passed, she’d been gone.

Not dead as he’d believed at the time, but gone.

For a moment, looking at the base of the tree, he could almost see her, beckoning for him to come sit with her.

He missed her. Missed sitting beside her. Feeling the weight of her head on his shoulder. He had an eidetic memory, but the ghost of her within his mind wasn’t the same as her actual warmth.

He knew she’d run for a good reason. She’d left to be with her father, Raymond, to get far away from his Mother’s reach. Far from the place where her sister’s blood had stained the floor.

But Mother was gone, the constant threat of her return the reason behind dozens of wild goose chases since her disappearance on that fateful night when their entire world changed. He knew she would return, and this time he refused to be caught off guard. This time, he would be the aggressor.

Up until this point, none of his leads had panned out. Flights of insanity, his housemates had called them. They were tired of the game, tired of the danger it put them all in. But it had to be done. Triggering traps she had set for them, pressing any information out of those who knew where she’d gone. It was necessary. Because if she got the drop on him, the Order would be back at her command. She’d already sacrificed hundreds of human lives to interdimensionals in her time leading them, purely to maintain access to her own power. He couldn’t allow that again.

Even if his allies would hinder him out of concern, he wouldn’t allow it again. This time, he knew his lead was good. This time, he would find her.

When he’d tapped out all of his contacts, he’d gone to his free agent hacker friend, Zane, for something credible, only to discover she’d been hired by Ray and Jacklyn. She warned him to stay away from them, as if he hadn’t been the one to tell Jacks to run before it all went to hell. But then she’d given him the lead.

Kyp couldn’t begin to parse out what the hell it meant that she’d still trusted him with a lead, and the frustration of it spiked in his veins. He channeled it until he felt the potential energy sparking at his fingertips. He was sick of feeling this way. Impotent. Out of control. No matter how hard he tried to make things change, he ended up a victim of his circumstances, of other people’s rage.

It was damn time he let his own rage make the decisions.

He sucked in a cool breath and breathed in a memory.

Jacklyn sat at the base of the tree. C’mon, Kyp. Hurry up! I’m cold.

His own voice echoed in his ears. You can generate your own heat.

Yes, but I’m pretending I can’t for the benefit of cuddles!

Laughter. The kind of hearty laughter he hadn’t released in ages.

I love you, he’d thought, but he was terrified to say it. What if he scared her away? What if the admission made her awkward, took her lightness and laughter away from him?

The cold in his chest from the brisk air and the fear of abandonment made him ache then, as it did now. Only this time he throbbed with it, releasing his pain in a torrent of telekinesis that rumbled the ground beneath him in a straight line between himself and the tree. The earth undulated beneath and as the tree groaned, Kyp remembered why he’d left his room in the first place.

Crap.

He took off at a run, pushing himself until he made it to the parking lot along the side of the estate and into the crappy old car he used for low-key missions. He’d barely closed the door when he heard the tree crash down.

If a tree falls in your backyard, does it make a sound that wakes everyone in your frickin’ house?

He started the car and hit the gas.

So much for a clean escape.

FOR MOST OF HIS LIFE, Kyp had given off an air of being in control. People expected it of him, believed he kept his emotions reined in tight, that he could push them into neat little compartments and choose not to address them. The last couple of years had proven that supposition incorrect. In actuality, his emotions were snarling beasts with clenched muscles, ready to strike.

His heart was black and numb, a muscle that had been still for too long. What had once been a full house now only contained himself and his Guardians, Cass and Drew. Though he may have alerted them to his escape attempt, he couldn’t regret knocking that damn tree over. At least he’d felt something. Pins and needles, but the heart he’d been struggling to silence for the sake of his search was awake again.

Righteous anger was at least an emotion, even if it wasn’t a welcome one.

As he approached his destination, Kyp took a second to glance in the rearview mirror and nearly laughed at what he saw. Stringy, greasy hair from shoving his hands through it, trying to settle his demons. Shadowy black stubble in patches across his jaw. Bruised skin beneath his eyes, the whites marred with red, highlighted by the sallowness of his normally bronze skin. Proof of the nightmares that consistently disrupted his sleep.

He’d fit right in where he was headed.

At one time, his destination had been a home. Now, the yard was covered with overgrown grass and weeds, the off-white paint grimy and pocked. Some of the siding had pulled free from the house. Death to the Elite had been spray painted on one side in bright red. The windows were boarded, and even the boards looked decrepit. Entire roof shingles were missing. The door was a thin slab of wood, balanced on rust-colored hinges.

Kyp parked his car and stepped out onto the street, taking a moment to focus his Aegis, the collection of enhanced abilities he’d been born with, on his target. Zane’s tip had been right. Mason Deckard was inside.

Need pulsed through Kyp’s veins because it pulsed through Mason’s. Kyp’s mind connected with his, and the manic nature of his thoughts made Kyp’s stomach churn. All Mason could think about was his next fix. Kyp understood that level of single-mindedness. It reminded him of his own inability to focus on anything but plotting to take down his mother before she could do any more damage, and the thought sent shivers down his spine.

A deep breath of icy air burned as it filled his lungs. He didn’t knock on the door before entering. People didn’t knock when they belonged.

The inside of the house was worse than the outside. He gagged at the stench of mold mingled with urine and excrement. He wanted to wash his hands aggressively with every step he took further inside. The paint on the walls was so chipped he could hardly tell what color they had once been. Graffiti spattered the walls in random bursts. Names and curses and phrases took the place of family photos.

Someone rushed from a room in the back, and Kyp stood his ground, forced himself to act natural and calm, despite his blood slamming through his veins.

Kyp?

Kyp’s eyes closed. This could not possibly get any worse. Marcelo.

Marcelo was the only Sirin he’d ever bothered to have a conversation with; he had come to the estate to find out if Kyp would be continuing Mother’s agreement with the interdimensionals. Kyp had proudly informed him that, as the new leader of the Order of the Key, an organization that hunted interdimensionals before they could kill and eat humanity, there was no way in hell he intended to provide him and his kind with unlimited access to dinner. Marcelo had been surprisingly mellow about being rejected.

Marcelo released a laugh like car tires spitting out gravel. What the hell are you doing here?

"Why does anyone come here? You know why I’m here."

Bullshit. Marcelo wrapped his clawed hands in Kyp’s jacket and shoved Kyp back against the wall so hard his teeth chattered. He snarled, releasing a fetid burst of air that heated Kyp’s face.

Kyp had seen needle-teeth like his tear flesh from bone. It took all he had not to add to the stink of piss in the place. He’d seen far worse than Sirins, but it was something about their intelligence combined with their monstrous nature that made them considerably harder for him to stomach.

You thought you could come here and try to close us down? Are you insane? I don’t sense the others, where are they? Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.

There was nobody else, and his plan required Kyp to be unarmed and stacked with cash. If Cass and Drew knew what he was doing, they’d say he’d lost his mind.

Maybe he had. Something about cleaning the blood of someone he’d known since she was a baby from his kitchen floor and holding the lifeless body of the girl he loved in his arms had made him a little unhinged.

He supposed he couldn’t blame Jacks for staying away.

You don’t sense them because I came alone, Kyp answered, as cool as he could manage. Right now, I have no quarrel with you. You only have one thing I want.

Marcelo’s garnet-colored eyes widened slightly and he let him go. How the mighty have fallen. Unzip your hoodie.

He did. I didn’t have far to fall. You’ve met Mother.

Yeah, she’s a real beast, that woman. Marcelo straightened his round sunglasses and adjusted his fedora. As always, he looked ridiculous. You well and truly look like shit. What happened?

Kyp slapped his billfold on the small table by the entryway with a bit more force than was necessary, causing the table to wobble back and forth, the wood creaking like it would shatter.

Okay, okay. He counted the money inside and grinned, likely ripping Kyp off, but Kyp didn’t care. Once Marcelo was satisfied, he handed over a black zippered pouch from behind a broken wooden panel on the wall. Don’t kill yourself in the back. That would be a little too much cleaning for me. And you know I won’t be able to resist launching into a rousing rendition of the Death-Bringer Ritual. I’m zany that way.

The Death-Bringer Ritual meant permanent death, not the death/return game Keys like Kyp normally endured. The one thing a Sirin had against the Keys that made them more trouble than any of the other interdimensionals that plagued them. Sirins could speak, and that meant Marcelo was capable of performing the Ritual and making sure Kyp never came back.

No honor among thieves, Marcelo?

Another chuckle. Ain’t no such thing, my friend. He held out an arm. Right this way.

The stairs cried out with every step they climbed, and Kyp half expected them to collapse underneath his feet. The floorboards on the upper level didn’t look much safer. Marked and faded doors lined the hall. One of them was just for him.

Not quite a five-star hotel, but it does the job. Another laugh. For a murderer, this guy laughed a lot. You know the rest of the payment for this?

A pint of blood. Give or take a few drops. Kyp waved the pouch at him. This makes it even yummier, right?

If Marcelo doubted Kyp’s reasons for being there, he didn’t let on. It’s all yours. He slid out of the room and closed the door behind him.

The room was filthy, and the cot inside was likely flea-ridden, with stains in the center that could have been... anything. Kyp’s nose twitched in disgust. It was hard to keep his mind from running through all the ways he was likely to get an infection just by standing there.

He ran his fingers across the vinyl pouch. So tiny, yet filled with the power to make someone forget. Kyp wished he could forget. He didn’t think anything like what was in that pouch would help him.

He threw the pouch on the cot, wiping his hands frantically on his jeans, as though that would clean the thought from his mind.

They said Mind Keys eventually went mad. Mother certainly had.

This wasn’t what he came here for. He closed his eyes and hoped the rats that were surely in this place wouldn’t sneak up for a bite or two when he wasn’t looking.

Reaching deep into his center, he drew from his Aegis and pushed past the minds of monsters and humans that surrounded him, searching for the signature he’d sensed earlier. Kyp hadn’t sensed Mason Deckard’s energy signature since he was ten. Mason had been cast from the Order for exactly what he was doing now—injecting drugs and allowing interdimensionals to feed from him.

Mother herself had cast him out when she’d discovered his habit. And now she was working with him again. Funny how fickle Mother’s loyalty could be.

The answers to his search were one flight of stairs away.

With a steadying breath, Kyp inched his way out of the room. Keeping his back against the wall, he moved up the stairs, trying to avoid potentially creaky floorboards.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Last chance. No going back now.

He opened the door.

Mason Deckard was a burly mountain of a man. He sat on the floor with his back facing the doorway, a dingy t-shirt stretched across his expansive shoulders. He rocked in place, blissed out on the same substance that was in the pouch.

Go ahead. Take your payment. His voice was strained.

What could make a person agree to this?

When he tried to understand, he felt a pull like a vacuum, his Aegis connecting him to Mason’s very open mind. It was like walking into a cloud, the contents leaking in through his ears and fogging his brain, and rather than pull information from Mason’s thoughts, he pulled the effects of the drug into himself. Kyp choked with horror as the vomit-spotted rug morphed into sand beneath his feet.

He knew this beach. It calmed his racing heart. Jacklyn and Ray were playing there. He just had to find them. He stepped forward to search for them, but he tripped.

Before he could regain his bearings, Mason’s fists balled up the front of his sweatshirt and he was snapped out of the vision and back into reality. Perhaps coming here without a weapon was foolish.

Mason rammed Kyp’s face with his fist, the impact tilting Kyp’s world. He hit the floor face first. Mason, whose Aegis was strength, was currently impaired. It would have been much worse if he wasn’t. As it was, if he took another hit like that...

He tried to stand, but Mason kicked him in the stomach before he could get his feet under him. Air rushed from his lungs, and he slumped to his knees, gasping.

The floor shifted, and he was on the beach again. The heat of the sun beat down upon Kyp’s head. Ray sat on a bright orange towel. His elbows rested on his knees and water pooled beneath him. The lenses of his sunglasses reflected the searing light in the sky, and he smiled widely. Ray passed him a blue plastic pail and a shovel, as Jacklyn, five years old and full of life, buried herself under the sand with her bare hands.

Sand’s not gonna bite, son, Ray said with a laugh, and pointed at Jacklyn. The lass has the right idea, yeah?

He should protect himself. But the beach was there, he could smell it.

The stench of the carpet fibers snapped him out of his hallucination. He didn’t know when he landed face first on the floor, but he rushed back to his feet. Mason must have been caught up in memories as well because he swayed, eyes unfocused, a creepy smile forming a fissure across his rock-like face.

Kyp took the opportunity to launch a punch into Mason’s gut. He should have run away instead, because the punch brought Mason back to reality.

His focus now razor sharp, Mason twisted Kyp’s arm behind him and slammed him into the wall. One of his giant paw-like hands came down on Kyp’s head, pressing his cheekbone against the peeling paint. Something in his shoulder popped and burned like fire.

Do you know how many people would pay to see you dead? he growled against Kyp’s ear.

Lots, Kyp mumbled.

I’m gonna kill you for free, you little bastard. Mason threw him to the floor and rained punches and kicks down on him. He tried to fight back, but Mason was too strong and every one of his swings was met with two more from Mason. A red mist of pain filled his senses. He barely knew where the hits were coming from anymore.

He’d been dealt worse deaths.

Glass shattered, and Kyp’s eyes slitted open. Mason’s feet stumbled to the right, then to the left, and the strikes finally stopped coming. He went down, shaking the floor beneath him, and the rumble shot slices of pain into Kyp’s skull.

Twin sai were buried deeply in Mason’s bloody eye sockets.

Cass.

She dropped onto Kyp, forcing his breath out with a painful gag. Her face was inches from his, and cold fury shone in her amber eyes. Gripping his hoodie in both hands, she yanked him up into a seated position.

We don’t have a healer! Why would you do something this crazy when you know we don’t have a damn healer! Her voice was high and tight, and her hand swung back as if to punch him. She dropped it, punching herself in the leg instead.

She leapt to her feet, stabbing a finger at Mason. Look what you made me do! And I’m gonna have to do worse. I can’t just leave you like this. It’ll take you months to get back to fighting shape. Her face broke, and he knew the tears coming down weren’t a sign of sadness—they were from frustration.

Kill me, he whispered. I’ll come back in fighting shape.

I know. I hate you, she hissed.

She didn’t. Most of the time, Kyp knew that, even though it was difficult to believe.

He tried to move, but pain made his vision black over. He was in the middle of a Sirin drug den, alone with Cass, and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t protect her. After she had killed for him.

Killed a person. Not a monster. A human being. For him.

Her job is to protect you.

The memory of Mother’s voice in his mind. Telling him Guardians were beneath him. Meant to serve as protectors, their lives expendable. He knew better.

Jacklyn had taught him better.

Okay. Cass’ voice shook. This is what I need you to do.

The door squeaked open and Cass tensed, ready for an attack.

"You have got to be kidding me." Marcelo. The door closed behind him. He puttered around the room for a moment, outside Kyp’s view. Not being able to see the Sirin was nerve-wracking, but Cass was tracking Marcelo with her eyes, movements slow, like a wildcat.

Girl I Don’t Know, get him standing.

Cass glanced between the two of them but did as he demanded. She yanked at Kyp’s shoulders, and he hissed. His brain sloshed around inside his skull.

Marcelo’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, one eyebrow quirked. I knew you’d try something. His jaw worked. But I didn’t expect this. He was one of yours, wasn’t he?

No. Kyp barely waited for him to finish. His voice sounded wrong, slobbery, and his mouth was numb. He wasn’t one of yours, either. He’s something else entirely.

You don’t appreciate shades of gray, Marcelo said.

People like my mother, like Mason Deckard. They’re worse than you.

Marcelo placed a hand on his chest, red eyes softening with humor. You wound me.

Our kind is food for yours. That’s nature. Can’t help it. Mason, though, is a parasite.

Was. Marcelo punctuated the word with a nudge to the side of Mason’s head. Anyway, allow me to get the crown prince out to the car. We’ll say he had a bad trip, and he needed help leaving.

Stay back, Cass warned, putting a hand up and scrambling between them.

Pain spiked in Kyp’s head and he groaned.

Look, kid, Marcelo said. I’m trying to give you a hand.

"I said stand back!"

A rush of unexplainable warmth whooshed by Kyp. Marcelo shouted. Cass had set Marcelo on fire. The odor of burning flesh choked Kyp and swears ripped through the otherwise quiet room.

Cass winced and dropped to a knee beside where Kyp remained on the floor, attempting to push himself fully to his feet. They both knew what she’d done would draw unwanted attention.

I can’t lift you on my own, she said. Work with me. It’s going to hurt, but frankly, I don’t give a crap.

He had to be hallucinating. Her voice sounded like Gana’s.

You’re angry with me. I get it.

I don’t think you do. She yanked him to his feet, pulling on the arm Mason had dislocated. Kyp bit his lip so hard, fresh blood dribbled into his mouth.

"You set the room on fire?" he slurred. He sounded worse every time he spoke. Brain damage? This was bad. He peered at Cass through swollen eyelids.

Her face softened. Jeez, Kyp. You really are a mess.

Thanks.

Please don’t talk. You sound gross. She glanced out the window. I can’t climb out while supporting you. Can you get down on your own?

Kyp looked over the edge, the world swaying as he gripped the window. Cass’s car was pulled onto the sidewalk below. A glance over his shoulder revealed Marcelo had almost put out the fire.

I can’t. Push me out.

No. She sounded like Cass again.

He jerked a thumb backward in Marcelo’s direction. Push me. I’ll come back.

Cass swallowed, her eyes darting from Marcelo to Kyp and back again. I hate you so much.

She shoved him through the window. The last thing he saw as he descended toward the concrete sidewalk was Cass climbing out after him.

A MOVING CAR. CASS was the driver, a filthy white and blue baseball cap pulled down over her eyes.

How long was I down? He shivered and cleared his throat.

Coming back from the dead was an awful process, and not a speedy one. It had been late afternoon when he’d arrived at the den. Now it was dark out. How long had they been in the car?

I’ve had to refill the gas. She didn’t look at him.

Why didn’t we go home? Kyp shifted in his seat.

I called ahead. She tapped her hand on the steering wheel. Drew said I wasn’t allowed to come back home with you like that.

What’s going on? It wasn’t like Drew hadn’t seen him banged up before. Something was up. But he was still weak, still half-numb with the chill of death, and he couldn’t put the force he wanted into the question.

You’ll see soon enough.

Tell me.

You’re not my boss anymore, remember? Cass said. I’m not your protector. You made that clear when you snuck out of the estate, away from the wards, away from our protection, and went off on a mission of your own.

One I failed. I still don’t know where Mother is.

Lavinia will show up. And when she does, you can’t be in some Sirin drug den without people who will fight by your side. Drew’s pissed too.

Really? Kyp snapped. Drew wasn’t even a Guardian when the role meant unquestioning service, and he’s still that self-sacrificing?

Cass didn’t answer for ten full minutes. Kyp had just gotten comfortable staring out the window at the lights streaking by on the highway when she decided to speak again.

It took you months to find a new recruit you could live with and now you’re complaining about Drew? She turned into the estate driveway and slowed the car to a stop. Take that hoodie off. It’s covered in blood and we have a visitor.

A visitor. Who could it be? Jacklyn? Ray?

He stumbled out of the car, not waiting for Cass. He’d never limped so fast in his life.

You are so predictable! Cass shouted after him.

No, wait! he heard Drew shout as the door to the estate swung open before Kyp.

Andrew Clayson, their newest member, sighed and slumped against the doorframe. He flashed Kyp a helpless smile. Tall and lanky, with rich brown skin and light eyes, he had the build of a swimmer, though today it was hidden in overly baggy clothes. He pulled his glasses off and wiped the lenses clean on his sweatshirt.

Cass gasped. And Kyp stopped short.

Because standing in front of him was a girl. She couldn’t be more than five years old. Short brown curls haloed her face, and her eyes were a piercing brown. With her rounded and rosy cheeks, she looked downright cherubic.

And also, familiar.

Hi. Kyp knelt in front of her and looked her in her eyes. I’m Kyp.

But... She looked at him, eyes wide, face screwed up in confusion. You’re just a kid.

I’m twenty, actually. He hoped to keep the tremble out of his voice. Totally an adult.

Not old enough, she insisted. Is there another Kyp here?

Kyp frowned. What was a little girl doing here? Why would Drew allow her in? His heartbeat ran ragged in his chest as he stared down at her, his palms slicking with sweat. This couldn’t be possible...

I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m the only Kyp here.

Well, then. She straightened her t-shirt. Kyp Franklin, my name is Jaina Elizabeth Franklin.

Kyp’s breath caught in his throat.

I’m your daughter.

Chapter 2: Disassociating on Main

~ Jacklyn ~

MUSIC SHOOK THE BROWNSTONE’S foundation, waking me out of my barely existent sleep. For the entire year I’d lived there, this was my alarm clock, set off every morning by my father, Raymond Madison. It was part of a training regimen he used to run when he lived at the estate. When Kyp unlocked my memories of him, the grin on his face when he’d turned up the stereo with me hitched high on his hip had been one of my fondest memories.

It didn’t have the same effect anymore. Then, it had made me giggle. Now, it mostly made me want to kick him in the teeth.

I rolled out of bed and pulled myself together, putting on a jogging suit, sneakers, and a headband to push my hair back from my face. That would do until it grew back.

Reactions to the worst losses of my