by Lindsey Iler
“If you had been in front of me, it may have ended differently. I kept my cool, but, Edric, I drew a thick line between our families.” Her head hangs low, but she has no reason to be ashamed.
“Don’t you see it, Lennox? The line was drawn the moment we waltzed back into Belle Meade. Our families have been feuding from afar for years. It was only a matter of time. They are a ticking time bomb.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Reynolds says, leading Amilee and Emerson into the room. “It was only a matter of time, and I like to pride myself in knowing the ins and outs of this town. It seems something has occurred without my knowledge.” He gestures to the table. “Why don’t you girls take a seat.”
Amilee sits beside Garrison, grinning under his inspection. Emerson takes the seat across from them as I lead Lennox to sit beside her. Even I, barely knowing her, see the distance in Emerson’s eyes. They’re plagued, like she knows something horrible is going to happen before it does.
“Start talking, old man, or else I’m leaving,” Garrison orders. “As much as I’d love to risk everything for these pretty little things”—he stares longer at Amilee as he makes his demands—“I’d really like to know why I’m doing what I’m going to do.”
“Fair enough.” Mr. Reynolds paces around the room, pausing at the window when he spots the birds in the middle of their synchronized dance. “On the day you were due to be born, a deal was made.”
“What kind of deal? I’m presuming it’s between our three families and the Blackstones?” Lennox interrupts, anxious to get to the bottom of the mayhem.
“You’d be right to assume.” Mr. Reynolds directs his attention to Emerson’s profile. He takes a slow stroll around the table.
We all watch in wonder as Emerson stands. Her gait is malevolent, slow and sturdy, determined. She stalks to the window, her eyes lifted toward the heavens.
“The birds,” Mr. Reynolds says.
At his mention of the spectacle outside, Emerson whirls on him, teeth bared and ready for a fight.
“You’re pulled to them.” His raised hands are the only thing keeping her from latching onto his neck.
Emerson nods, acknowledging his words. “The first time, I couldn’t control myself. My entire body was taken over. My brain no longer belonged to me.”
“It felt like you were a prisoner in your own body.” Mr. Reynolds sympathizes with her.
Lennox reaches over, grips my hand, and squeezes it.
“It did. The birds”—she gazes out the window—“they called for me, and as if I knew to listen, I followed them. I couldn’t understand what they were trying to tell me, warn me about, but I tried to listen. That was, until Amilee and Lennox pulled me out of the trance.”
“This is all interesting and everything. Spooky birds and all that, but what does that have to do with why we’re here?” Garrison interrupts.
“That’s just it. The birds and Emerson, they play the biggest part in why your families are willing to do anything to keep you apart.” Mr. Reynolds looks at me and Lennox.
She drops my hand as if we have something to be afraid of.
“What did they do?” I ask. “One of our families took a step too far, and the other is trying to keep them accountable. So, which family was it?”
“In our world, the only thing we have to barter and trade is power. One gives something up in exchange for a little bit of security, or the sense thereof.”
“What did they trade, Mr. Reynolds?” Emerson asks, forcing herself to look away from the flock of crows. She loses the battle and turns towards the windows again.
“As I was saying, Emerson, I had no idea until recently. If I had known their plan, if I had had any indication they were going to do something so heinous, I never would’ve let it happen,” Mr. Reynolds begs her understanding.
“Put the poor girl out of her misery, man.” Garrison stands, his chair squeaking against the tiled floor. He crowds Emerson. “Look at her. She’s about to fly through the glass.”
Emerson clutches the windowsill. The wood cracks under her strength, and if she’s startled, there is no doubt she’ll dismantle the entire window dressing.
“Emerson,” Lennox whispers her name, quiet and slow. She inches toward her friend as she talks. “Mr. Reynolds is going to tell us what this all means, but please, stay calm.” She turns, eyes wide, but forces a smile to encourage Mr. Reynolds to continue.
“You were traded.” He blurts the words as if they have no meaning. Luckily, he has the decency to grimace. “There are no words to make this easier, but out in that yard, there’s a grave.”
“A grave?” Emerson whispers, watching the birds make a slow descent toward the grass.
“Angels are born for a purpose. It doesn’t mean your mothers didn’t want you; it’s just that history states all of your births are a necessity,” he says.
Lennox snickers. “No offense, Mr. Reynolds, but I know I’m not some blessing to my parents.” I hold back my laugh at the cute little eye roll she gives. “Continue. Get to the point.”
“When it became time for the next generation to be born, there was this buzz in the air like no other generation. Emerson, your mother was so excited to have a child. Unlike Lennox’s, yours had this undeniable maternal instinct,” Mr. Reynolds explains.
She can’t stay quiet. The need to know is too great. “Why does she despise me so much?”
“You were born out of obligation. A means to an end. She had no choice. Mrs. Saville and Mrs. Kingsley often wondered if that’s why she kept you at arm’s length. Your mother is a complicated woman, Lennox, and you’re more alike than you would ever want to believe.”
“I’m nothing like her,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Much like yourself, your mother aspired to leave our lonely town of Belle Meade. There was a pull within her for something more, and when she turned nineteen, her entire world flipped upside down. She no longer had a choice.” Mr. Reynolds raises his eyebrows, daring her to doubt him. “Sounds awfully familiar, huh? But the difference is you’re stronger than your mother. You’ll survive this because that’s who you are.” He taps his temple. “Now, when the twenty-eighth of August arrived, an electrical charge took over this town. A baby born always brings on a certain kind of excitement.”
“Stop!” Emerson shouts, releasing her hold on the wood.
“Emerson, we need to hear this,” Amilee barks.
“Three babies were rolled into the commons room of this very building, the same building the three of you will present yours,” Mr. Reynolds says with immense pride.
“Two of them,” Emerson whispers. “Only two of them. Because I’m not an Angel. I never have been.”
“What are you talking about?” Lennox asks, bending low to catch Emerson’s eyes.
“Don’t you get it?” Emerson shakes her head, discouraged. “I’m not an Angel, not rightfully so, at least.” She sits, leaning her head against the window. “Am I right, Mr. Reynolds?”
“You are,” he answers. “But, Emerson . . .”
“What did they trade? Whose grave is out in that yard?” Emerson closes her eyes.
“The night three little Angels were meant to be born, the third decided she wasn’t ready yet. Lennox’s father began to panic. He wasn’t sure what would happen if a third Angel wasn’t born, so he did what he thought he had to do.”
“But I was born.” Emerson’s eyes widen, confused with how the story is beginning to unfold.
“Oh my god.” Garrison stands. “This can’t be possible.” Lost in his thoughts, he walks over to Emerson and bends until their eyes latch onto each other. She glances away, like she can’t bear him looking at her.
“Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” I throw my hands up, pacing back and forth, attempting to connect this impossible puzzle.
“My sister was born on August twenty-eighth, but the story has always been she didn’t make it through the first twenty-four hours,” Garrison
explains. He grips the tips of his hair, tugging it, suddenly seeming uncomfortable in his own skin. His hand grasps the back of his neck, rubbing the tension only evident in his wide, uncertain eyes.
Never in my twenty years have I witnessed him rattled until now. His hand shakes as he brings it up to his forehead, searching for the truth in his mind.
“She didn’t die,” Mr. Reynolds sighs. “She was traded.”
“Wait, what?” That can’t be true. Who trades their own blood?
This can’t be happening.
The thought is crystal clear, whispered into my mind. Emerson. She’s a Blackstone. A layer of tears covers Garrison’s eyes. His whole life he’s believed his sister didn’t make it, and here she stands. She’s my cousin, and with that knowledge, it all makes sense.
“That’s why I couldn’t hear your thoughts in the diner. We share blood. You’re capable of blocking me out.” I touch her shoulder, hoping she’ll understand I’m on her side.
“And in the grave?” Amilee asks, reminding us another life needs to be accounted for.
“The third Angel who came a day late, and because of it, is punished with an eternity of solitude.”
“That was the deal? You’re telling me they traded nineteen peaceful years in exchange for what?” Lennox’s face burns red. “They knew, they all knew, the moment our reign came around we’d be dealing with this. We’d be the ones stuck with the aftermath of their trade. Why would they do that?”
“Mr. Reynolds, there has to be a good reason why three families would bring such hurt onto their daughters,” I say. “No one, not even the cruelest beings, would play with such deceit.”
“The Peacekeeper,” Mr. Reynolds answers. “For the last nineteen years, the Blackstones have held the power.”
“And now?” Amilee asks.
“And now, with the news of the trade, the power will be switched back to the three families.”
“Let me take a wild guess and say my family isn’t going to give it up as easily as they should.” I’m not at all surprised. It may not be our bloodline buried in the yard, but they killed Emerson the moment they handed her over for a little power.
“It would appear so, Edric.” Mr. Reynolds nods in my direction. His eyes burrow into me, telling me I’ll have a choice to make once I walk out of here.
“So, our family gave my sister up”—Garrison wraps his arm around Emerson’s shoulders and tugs her into the crook of his body, keeping her safe, proving brotherly instinct comes easy to him— “for power? They ripped a red-blooded Blackstone from the family tree so that they could have a little control?”
“Everything within our world holds a purpose. It’s filled with different beings, some with talents beyond our understanding. Your parents saw Emerson’s birth as an opportunity. No one knows who approached whom, but each family benefited in their own ways.”
“With such a trade, you’d assume both families could walk away happy, no ill will toward each other, but still, nineteen years later, there’s some feud brewing amongst them.” I glance back to Lennox, and her confusion mirrors my own. None of this makes sense.
“You’re like her.” Mr. Reynolds points behind me to Lennox. “Smart, cunning. Everything both of your families fear you to be. When the trade was made, a separate council resided over it. A teller, a person who can skew the future in one’s favor or another, made it very clear, if the two families were to commit this trade, there would be consequences.”
“Everything we do has consequences,” Lennox says, her voice robotic like she’s said the words thousands of times.
“So, what were the consequences for the trade?” Amilee asks.
“This is where it all gets a bit interesting.” Mr. Reynolds’ eyes dance between me and Lennox.
“Us.” Lennox tears up as it all sinks in. “Him and me, finding each other, that’s the consequence. It’s beautifully ironic, if you truly think about it. Two families with a history like ours, forced together by their children out of some curse.”
“Lennox, that isn’t what we are. We didn’t find each other because of the council,” I beg, leaving Emerson’s side and grappling to get Lennox’s hands in mine. I need to prove to her what she’s saying isn’t true.
“Didn’t we?” She’s frantic to brush away the tears. I break my own rules and dig into her mind. She can’t possibly believe all of this.
It is what it is.
I’m so intent on proving her wrong, that we aren’t some result of a family feud gone wrong, I almost miss the small lift of her shoulder. That small gesture shatters everything inside of me
Lennox shakes her head, ridding herself of the heartache, and lifts a hand at Emerson. “So, what does this all mean?”
“It means you all will need to decide which side of history you plan to stand on.” Mr. Reynolds scans the room, not neglecting a single one of us. “Each of you.”
Lennox joins Emerson at the window. “I was a cover-up. I was always meant to be the jury, but they knew you’d never be able to perform as the executioner. It isn’t in your blood, Emerson. They used me as a cover-up.”
“And I’m not a Saville, a true one, so instead of holding the position the family always has, I was given one where my talents weren’t necessary. I should’ve known.” Emerson’s shoulders sink low, and air seems to lodge in her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. “I tried summoning that power Amilee used against Edric on Main Street, and nothing I did worked. Even you, Lennox, although you hated it, it came so natural to you.”
“Emerson, your strength won’t come from a book. You’re a Blackstone. You’ll find it,” I tell her, hoping it will ease some of the pain she has to be feeling. When I turn to Lennox, her eyes burn into me. “And they never saw you coming, Lennox. They had no idea they were placing all the power into the hands of a strong girl who’s willing to push back.”
Emerson turns, tightening her grip once again on the windowsill, and I can’t help but watch her. There’s a strange pull I feel toward her, an innate instinct to protect her, something I’ve never felt before in her presence. She’s my family. Garrison and I flank her sides as though shielding her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Garrison’s large hand reach out to cover Emerson’s. She sighs, loosening her grip.
“What we are isn’t the end of the world. I can teach you anything you want to know,” Garrison whispers to her.
Her eyes blink rapidly, like she’s taking in his words and nodding just enough for him to smile.
“He said she was banished to an eternity of solitude?” Emerson whispers her thoughts out loud. Her head tilts side to side, investigating the hidden grave just outside the window. “He called it a grave, but she’s not dead.” Her chest heaves with rapid breaths.
I’ve witnessed someone shift into a different creature, so I know the signs. Outrunning the beast inside is impossible. It’s a hunter, appearing out of the thick, dark depths when it’s ready to fight. She’s a fighter, born of beastly blood, and she has always been none the wiser.
A crinkling echoes through the room, wood splinters, and a roar worthy of a lion on the Savannah rips from Emerson’s chest. A sprout of fur spikes up on the back of her neck and I smile because unlike times before, she suddenly feels real to me. There’s nothing hiding her away.
The glass cracks into thousands of pieces, shattering to the floor. Chaos erupts. From behind me, Lennox hollers for Emerson. As we all gather our bearings, the air stirs.
Emerson leaps over the broken glass. Amilee and Lennox join us at the window. To stop her from doing what I know she’ll do, I grab her hand, keeping her safe away from the beast. To Lennox, it’s still her best friend, but she’ll have to learn, there’s a lot more to her than she’ll ever truly understand.
Their friend, our family, wanders out into the garden. The birds flock to Earth’s surface at her presence.
A single black bird hops on Emerson’s shoulder, comfortable as if they were meant for each other. A vision
of understanding passes between them.
“She really isn’t one of us,” Lennox mutters under her breath. She squeezes my hand. The nervousness rolling off her body into mine is nearly unbearable.
“No, she isn’t,” Amilee says.
The two of them grip each other’s hand and ground themselves to something tangible. Their only way of making sense of what is occurring is to latch onto each other.
“What is she doing?” Garrison asks.
Emerson stands in the middle of the garden, her hands low at her sides, and fingers spread wide. They begin to curl, bending and twisting, summoning the ground to follow.
“She can’t be . . .” I’m stunned silent when the ground begins to crack and fold.
Emerson keeps her balance. The bird on her shoulder squawks. The grass buckles at her ankles. The heavens know what mischief she’s creating, and the sky opens, pouring buckets of water upon her. She doesn’t back down. When her arms slowly ascend to the sky, lightning strikes, creating harsh white light.
Lennox covers her eyes, shocked by the luminous show. It clears, and beside Emerson stands a girl, clothes ripped, and dirt covering every inch of her body.
“Took you long enough.” The girl’s voice is rough and rusty from lack of use.
“You know who we are?” Lennox yells, glancing down the line of us beside her.
“Of course, I do. You’re my best friends, or at least you should’ve been.” She chuckles. “Now, when are you going to start telling her the truth?” The newcomer’s finger is directed right at me.
“What is she talking about?” Lennox asks me, her shoulders slung low, defeated from the day’s events already.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about, Lennox.” I shake my head, furiously trying to keep the little trust I’ve earned from Lennox.
Is this girl for real? She’s just been resurrected, nineteen years hidden away, and she’s trying to pull something fast like this?
“If you aren’t going to tell her, then perhaps I will.” The girl walks forward, and as she comes out of the darkness and into the building’s light, I can finally see her face. Large, green, doe eyes. Long, blonde hair. Average height. Nothing spectacular about her, except one thing.