by Katie Klein
My breath stutters, insides lifting. "So Seth might have been like me, once."
"It's possible," Mara says. "It's probable, even."
Seth was a human. He was never meant to be a Guardian.
"Oh my God. What are we gonna do?"
"I don't know," Mara confesses. "The information I have is stitched together from a thousand conversations. And it works—their method. I was easily able to bring Carter over."
"How?"
"Ignorance of our world and the rules that bind us is preferable, in this case," she says. "You know too much already. Should something go wrong. . . ."
I nod, understanding. Should something happen—with the Council, Viola, the Diabols, whatever—it's better that I not know some of these details. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," I accuse, mind spinning circles. "You planned this. Both of you."
"I'm sorry," Carter apologizes. "I wanted to, but it was better that you didn't know. I knew the risks, and I knew you'd try to talk me out of it."
"That's why you left me at your house that day."
"Yeah. I mean, if I was going to fake my death, I didn't want any evidence pointing back to you. If you didn't have an alibi, people would get suspicious. We were only married a month, if that."
"Carter and I discussed everything beforehand. I was concerned, to be honest. I knew there was a very real possibility Viola or the Council would come for him, too. They'd already stripped his protection when you fled. If I had to choose, I'd want him on our side. He felt the same," Mara says.
The waitress returns with our drinks. I rip open a pack of sugar, stir my coffee, blow against it, persuading it to cool. My eyes settle on Carter. Carter, who's here, sitting across from me. Alive. A Guardian. "Are you happy?" I finally ask.
A bright smile. "Yeah, I am. I knew I'd never be like my dad, Gee. I didn't want to be like him. I was never sure about my future. My plans. Now I know it's because of this. This is where I wanna be."
"You could have told me. I would've understood."
"I know."
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too," he replies.
"He's watching," Mara says. "We keep him as close to you as possible without drawing unnecessary attention. The Council is always nearby. More so than usual. Now, you must tell us: what is your interest in Lucien Castellani?"
I continue stirring, twirling the spoon around and around, porcelain clinking. "Luke is my assignment," I confess, voice low. "The Council wants him dead. They asked me to do it. They promised Seth as payment."
"That's impossible," she mutters, not understanding. "The Council asked you to kill Lucien?"
"Only one of them came to me. The head guy, I guess. Grayish hair. Short."
"Silas," she whispers, slanting a look at Carter.
"There's more. Viola also wants him out. She said if I succeed, Seth is mine. It's perfect, actually. Like two birds with one stone."
Mara shakes her head. "It's impossible," she repeats.
"It's not impossible," I counter. "All I have to do is figure out what drives him. He's spending more and more time with me. He'll never suspect. . . ."
"It isn't that easy! Think, Genesis. What are the odds that the Council and Viola came to you with the same request, promising the same reward?"
"He's a demon, Mara. I'm trained to kill demons. You trained me, remember?"
She sits back, shoulders falling, eyes widening as the realization washes over her: "This is why they called on me. Why the Council assigned me to you. They weren't trying to eliminate Diabols or help you with Viola. They were planning to oust Lucien."
"They wouldn't want anyone to talk, which is why they cleared the Guardians away," Carter adds. "To give her a fair shot to succeed."
"And if she didn't. . . ." The rest is left unsaid, hovering between us.
"I can do this," I say. "I have everything I need. I have the tools. I have access to him. I have his trust. . . . He's invited me to Europe."
"You said no," Mara says, voice hopeful.
"I haven't given him an answer. But if I can spend just a little more time with him—find the information I . . ."
"Do you have any idea who he is?" Mara interrupts, tone bordering on shrill, forehead creased with outrage.
"I know he's a demon. And that he's powerful."
"Lucien isn't just a powerful demon. He's the most powerful Diabol to walk the earth. The Prince of Demons. You're in a very precarious situation, Genesis. This is too great—even for you."
"The Council is counting on me."
A curt laugh. "And you're going to trust them? After all they've done? They're taking innocent people from this earth and turning them into Guardians. They brought me in to train you under the guise of protecting you from Viola. They stripped your protection. And now they demand you kill Lucien—a demon who cannot be overthrown!"
"I have to try. They promised Seth."
"This is your death sentence," Mara insists. "Carter is doing his best, but those men? The two you encountered tonight? This is only going to keep happening."
Now that my coffee is sufficiently cooled, I take a quiet sip. "I'll tell Luke," I finally say, returning the mug to the table. "I'll tell him I went for a walk and two guys came up to me asking about him. They were demons, so if he is who you say he is, he can do something about it."
"I don't want you near him, Gee. It isn't safe for you," Carter says, head shaking in disapproval.
The words themselves ring familiar, reminding me so much of Seth that an unexpected pang of guilt and regret burns my chest. "It's not like that. He seems . . . I don't know, almost protective of me. I don't think he'd let anything happen to me if he could help it."
"What if Lucien sent them?" Mara asks.
"What?"
"What if Lucien was behind the actions of the two demons tonight? What if he was trying to determine your true motivations? What if it was a test?"
"A test? Why would Luke test me?"
"He controls the demons, Genesis."
I stumble across the implication of these words. He controls the demons, the tiny voice in my head echoes. I lean back in the seat, rubbing my eyes with the base of my hands. "Shit."
"Exactly," Mara replies. "You can't trust anyone. Not Lucien. Not the Diabols. Not Viola. Not the Council."
"Then what am I supposed to do? I have to get Seth back. I can't just quit!"
My thoughts shift, sifting through possibilities—another way out. A way around Viola and the Council. Another way to Seth. And then I realize: there is another option. Another choice. It's sitting right across from me.
"Make me a Guardian," I blurt out, before the words even register.
Mara shakes her head. "They'll know what we've done. Carter was easy, but they're watching you too closely. You have more power right now just as you are."
The rejection—her refusal—stings. It's my only hope—the only safe way out.
"If I can't win, then what's the point?" I ask. "If what you're saying is true, then Seth didn't deserve this. He's innocent. Of everything. He doesn't belong to the Diabols or the Council. I have the power to bring him home. And if this is a death sentence, I'm better off."
"It doesn't have to be that way," Carter says. "What if there was a way to get Seth back without Viola knowing?" He looks to Mara for approval. "We could assemble a . . . a rescue mission or something. Go behind her back."
"Viola isn't the problem anymore," Mara reminds him. "It's the Council that worries me most."
"I have to finish this," I say. "If I fail, I fail. But I have to try."
Each of us falls silent. I stir my coffee, certainly lukewarm by now, thoughts scattered, dissolving from hope to despair to resolve.
"But if I succeed," I finally continue, "I want to be like you. I want to be a Guardian. I want to find Seth and be like him." A heavy sigh. "I feel like I wasted half of the time we had together—all of the chasing and fighting and arguing. . . . I don't want anything els
e between us. He deserves better. We deserve a real chance."
"Genesis . . ." she begins.
"Don't screw with me, Mara," I say, voice rising instinctively. "I'm doing what I came here to do, and if I'm alive to see the end, I want out. I don't belong to this world. We both know that. Promise me you'll do it."
She frowns, hesitating, refusing to meet my gaze.
"Please," I beg. "I've had enough. I just want this to end."
"All right," she answers, words stiff. Resigned. "I promise."
TWENTY-EIGHT
The walk to the hotel takes longer than I expected. I hadn't planned to venture so far—to be chased by demons. To find Carter. Mara. I hug my elbows tightly, protecting myself from bitter cold. My heart swells knowing Carter is in the shadows, close by, watching. It gives me strength.
"I need Luke Castellani," I tell the night manager, breathless, unable to feel my fingers and toes.
He adjusts his glasses, taken back by the unusual request, unsure. "It's very late. Perhaps you'd like to leave him a message?"
"I have to talk to him now. It's important." I move toward the private elevator. "How does this thing work?"
"I'm sorry, but we can't give you access to the penthouse without approval in writing from Mr. Castellani. Hotel policy."
My jaw tightens, smarting from pressure. "Hotel policy my ass. Get him on the phone," I demand.
He frowns, but reaches for the telephone, anyway, turning from me. And though his tired voice barely registers, the hotel lobby is empty, and every word rings in my ears.
"Good evening. I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there is a young woman in the lobby. She'd like to speak with Mr. Castellani." He turns, casting an unfriendly glance, eyeing me expectantly.
I force my eyes not to roll. "Genesis Fleming."
"A Ms. Fleming, sir." A pause. "Of course. Absolutely." When he hangs up: "He'll be right down."
I smile, biting back the "I told you so" perched on the tip of my tongue.
Not a full minute passes before the elevator doors open and Luke appears, still wearing his dinner clothes. I step inside, joining him.
"I'm sorry. I know it's late."
"Nonsense," he replies, fingers sweeping across my cheek. "You're freezing. Is something the matter?"
My eyes close, feeling his skin warm mine.
Yes. Everything is the matter. I have to kill you.
"I went for a walk," I mumble.
I have to kill you and I don't know how.
"In the middle of the night? Without your coat?" he asks.
"Apparently."
Everything—my entire world—is riding on this.
My stomach lifts as we rise, climbing to the top of the building. I let out a huff of air, lungs still aching. "I was followed tonight," I confess, facing him. "By two guys. They knew you. They wanted . . ."
His face pales, finger brushing his lips, as if to silence me. "We'll discuss this in a moment." The elevator slows, stopping when it reaches his floor. Luke places his hand on the small of my back, ushering me into the room. It's not empty. We aren't alone. "Excuse me, gentlemen. This is Ms. Fleming. Genesis, these are some associates of mine," he explains. "Charles. Tea, please."
Charles rises from his place at the dining room table, moves into the kitchen.
A business meeting? After midnight?
Luke twists the doorknob to one of the bedrooms and I slip inside, passing him. He removes a feathery blue blanket from the edge of the king size bed and drapes it across my shoulders, hands lingering, gently squeezing my arms. His eyes fix on mine. "I'll remove them. Allow me a moment, and I'm all yours."
And he leaves me.
The door clicks shut.
I glance around the room, drinking in my surroundings.
His room.
Shit.
I'm alone in Luke Castellani's room.
He left me alone in his bedroom.
I rip the blanket off my shoulders. There's nothing on top of the dresser, so I pull drawers—one by one—as quietly as possible. I sift through clothes, feeling for something—anything—that doesn't belong. The nightstand drawers are empty. I pause on my way to the closet, ear pressed against the door, listening to muffled voices until I'm sure I'm safe. The closet door slides easily, revealing a long row of dress clothes. Suits. Colorful shirts. Matching ties. I shove my hand in each coat pocket, feeling for notes, receipts—anything.
Jesus. This guy doesn't have any kind of identity.
I flick the light switch in the bathroom. There's more to be found here—toothpaste and face wash and cologne—but nothing that will help me. I need . . . a photograph. A wallet. Something that will shed some light on who Luke is and what he wants from this world.
The bedroom door opens. I grasp for the faucet handles. The cold water runs warm over my frozen fingers. They tingle, thawing.
"Everything all right?" Luke calls.
"Y—yes, it's fine," I stammer, reaching for the washcloth folded neatly beside the sink. The water turns quickly. I breathe in steam, wipe beneath my eyes, fixing eyeliner and mascara threatening to run.
I return to the bedroom.
"I'm sorry . . . I just. . . ."
"There's no need to apologize. Everyone's gone. Please." He stands at the door, motioning for me to join him in the common area. I sink into the cool leather sofa. He hands me a cup of tea, sits beside me—so close our knees are almost touching; so close I can feel heat radiating from his body.
I try to ignore an irrepressible urge to slide even closer.
"After you left I . . . I couldn't think. I needed to clear my head, so I went for a walk. I was just going around the block, I swear. But these two guys—they chased me. They . . . pulled me into an alley. They knew you. They wanted to know what I was doing with you. Why we were spending so much time together. I told them we'd just met and. . . ." I trail off, hesitating.
"And?" he insists.
My breaths shallow. I can't let him know that I know what they were. Who he is. "They threatened me?"
I shot one of them. They disappeared.
"I'm very sorry this happened. Especially on my account."
I train my eyes on his, drawing every nerve I can find, the courage needed to continue. "Why would anyone corner me like that?" More than an answer I need information. I need confirmation—to know what he's after. I need him to give something away—anything. The missing piece, a guiding clue to his motivation. Without it, I have nothing. Without it, I lose everything.
"I'm a businessman," he replies, expression softening. "And I should confess I've amassed my share of enemies over the years."
"Enemies who would go through me to get to you?"
"It appears so. I'd like to know what these men looked like."
"It was . . . dark," I reply, wracking my brain, searching the memory. "We were in an alley. I mean, they were tall. Tall as me, or maybe taller. They were young. Strong."
"Any unique features? Distinguishing marks?" he presses.
"No. I don't know."
My hand moves to my throat. It's tender to the touch. Hurts to swallow. Luke grasps my chin with his fingers, turns my head closer, lifting, examining my neck where, even now, bruises darken.
His eyes narrow, brows pulling together, anger weaving itself into every feature. "Christ. You're serious."
"Of course I'm serious!" I reply, jerking away from him. "Why would I make something like this up?"
A deep frown wrinkles his forehead. "Charles, make some calls. Find out if anyone has seen or heard anything unusual," he orders. Then, turning to me: "I have eyes and ears everywhere. I'll find out who did this. The deed will not go unpunished, I assure you."
He speaks quickly, words dripping with unease. Sincerity.
He isn't lying.
Luke Castellani had nothing to do with tonight. He didn't send the demons, wasn't searching for information about me. He knew nothing of this. It's written in his eyes. But as reassuring
as this is, if he wasn't behind their actions, someone else was.
"In the meantime, please allow me to loan you a couple of my escorts," he continues. "In the event you need to step out of the hotel for anything, I'd prefer it if you were accompanied."
"We spend a few days together and I need a bodyguard now?"
"I've worked with thousands of people, Genesis—CEOs, Chairmen, Councils, Trustees—helping them achieve their goals. Unfortunately, there are prices to be paid. Restructuring. Lay-offs. Cutbacks. The men you encountered tonight could be two of any number of people I've offended over the years, inadvertently or otherwise."
"Then why do it?" I ask. "I don't understand. What's the point?"
Power. Money. Greed.
I need to know. I need for him to admit something.
"I don't do anything not requested of me. Someone wants his company to reach Fortune five hundred status, I make it happen. Another wants to take his corporation public. . . . They all call me. But what I've found over the years is that no one really knows what they want. It's like . . . lottery winners. They're desperate for millions, but they have no idea how the money will affect them. How it will tear their families apart. Put them at risk. And, at the end of it all, when they look back, they wonder if they weren't happier or better off to begin with. People are fickle, Love. I'm just in the business of giving them what they ask for."
"I want to go to Europe." The words escape my lips without hesitation, stunning both of us. "What price do I pay? What do I lose?"
"You lose nothing," he promises.
"There are strings attached to everything from you, Luke. You just said so."
His fingers trace my neck, caressing, as if they contain the power to heal—to make the bruises, the pain, everything, disappear.
"You were never a business proposition to me," he whispers.
"I don't believe that."
The corners of his lips turn in an almost-smile. "You're not very trusting, are you?"
He clears his throat when I don't respond, eyes tearing from mine. "Did you mean what you said? About Europe?"
I waver, faltering before giving my answer, feeling the electricity, the danger, behind the word. "Yes."