by Lyn Horner
Lara coughed, drawing their attention. “Penelope, you need to be aware that as my mate, Conn knows everything but Tristan only knows part of the truth.”
Mama nodded. “I understand, and I’ll be careful about what I say in his presence.”
“No,” Char said, lifting her chin. “I want him to know all of it.”
“Are you certain?” Lara countered with a stern look.
“I’m very certain.”
The door opened, readmitting Tristan. As he closed it behind him, they all turned his way. Char caught her breath and heard the other women gasp at the sight of the gun tucked under his belt. Conn crouched and yanked up his pant leg, about to draw his own weapon again, but Tristan quickly raised both hands.
“Relax, I’m a former NYPD cop,” he said. “I keep my gun in the car out of habit. Since there’s a chance of trouble, I want it on me.”
“You should have warned me you’d be packing,” Conn said, scowling as he straightened.
Planting his fists on his hips, Tristan blew out a whistling breath. “You’re right. I didn’t think. Sorry.”
Conn scrubbed a hand over his whiskery jaw. “Forget it. I’ll be glad to have you stand with me if the time comes.”
With the moment of excitement over, Char hung her mother’s coat in the closet and they adjourned to the living room. She sat on one end of the couch with her mother in the middle and Lara on the other end, while Tristan and Conn took the two chairs, with the coffee table between them. Char listened as the High Guardian recited the details of her uncle’s death and her injuries. She imagined if the room had ears, it would be tired of hearing the same story over again.
“Now we come to the reason behind Uncle Malcolm’s murder and those who caused it,” Lara said. Pausing, she looked at Tristan. “While you were outside, Char decided she wants you to know all of our secrets. How do you feel about that, Tristan?”
Char glanced at him, meeting his surprised gaze. She swallowed hard, fearing she’d made a terrible mistake. He’d said he thought what they shared might be love, but did he truly mean that? Leaning forward, he grasped her hands, letting her feel his gratitude for her trust and something much, much deeper. Was it love?
“If you’re positive this is what you want, angel, I swear I’ll keep your secrets no matter what,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “But in case you’ve changed your mind, it doesn’t matter. As long as you want me around, I’ll never leave you.”
Mama caught her breath. “Oh, what a beautiful thing to say,” she said tearfully.
Char pressed two fingers to her trembling lips. When she was capable of speech, she murmured, “I’ll always want you with me, Tristan.”
Ignoring their audience, he rose and pulled her up into his arms. His mouth claimed hers in a breath-stealing kiss that might have led to far more if laughter and clapping hadn’t broken through their haze of desire. Blushing hotly, Char hid her face against his chest, reveling in his protective embrace.
“You two sit here. I’ll take the chair,” her mother insisted once they parted. Slipping past Tristan, she paused to grip his arm and plant a motherly kiss on his cheek. “My daughter is lucky to have you,” she said.
Char pressed her lips together, hiding a smile at Tristan’s startled expression and the blush that crept into his face. When he sat down next to her, she caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.
Once they’d taken their places, Lara explained for Tristan’s benefit, “Charlotte and I are part of a group of seven who guard a set of ancient, very valuable scrolls. We call ourselves Guardians. My uncle was High Guardian, our leader. The car wreck that killed him was staged by our enemies the Hellhounds.”
“Hellhounds? Sounds like characters from a comic book,” Tristan said, voicing the amused skepticism Char felt from him.
Lara’s mouth turned down. “So it does, but the name fits them, believe me. Since they murdered Uncle Malcolm, and because our positions are hereditary, I am now High Guardian. Meaning it’s my responsibility to warn the others and attempt to ensure their safety.”
She looked to Char’s mother. “I wasn’t at Charlotte’s initiation because Uncle Malcolm made me stay home and continue studying the Old Ones’ language.” Lara smiled sadly at the memory of her uncle. Then she sighed and added, “But I know you turned your duties over to her fairly recently.”
“Yes, she was initiated shortly before she moved to New York. I’d been teaching her off and on for several years.” Reaching over to pat Char’s knee, Mama exuded kindness and love. “Remember all the evenings you spent translating our scroll?”
“I remember all too well. That language is a pain to learn,” she replied with a wry twist of her lips.
Her mother chuckled. “True. Anyhow, I thought the scroll would be safer with Charlotte,” she told Lara, “due to certain circumstances. Actually, that’s sort of what brought me here now.”
Char gripped her hand and gazed at her in alarm. “Mama, has my no-good father been bothering you again?”
“No, not directly at least.” Her mother shrugged, frowning. “But there has been a strange man asking questions around town about you and me. Hazel, the post office clerk, let me know. I’m afraid Charlie – my ex-husband, she clarified for Lara and the others – might have gotten drunk and spouted off about our unusual abilities. I never told him about the scroll, thanks be to Danu, but if word of our empathic gift reached the wrong ears … .
“Then, I saw the stranger watching me a couple days ago when I went to the grocery store. He had such cold eyes. He scared me.” Shivering, she rubbed her hands briskly and smiled at Char. “That’s when I knew I had to warn you, baby.”
“I’m glad you came, Mama, and you’re not going back there. It’s too dangerous.”
“We’ll see.” Pinning her gaze on Lara, her mother said, “Now, I’d like to know more about these Hellhounds, and why you think they might know where Charlotte is and that she’s one of the Guardians.”
Lara nodded. “Of course. First of all, they have kidnapped two people.”
“No! Who?” Mama cried, eyes wide with horror.
Studying her tightly clasped hands, Lara said, “A few weeks after Malcolm was killed, while I was still in rehab, they took my sister, Sara, prisoner.”
“Oh, my dear, how awful! Are they still holding her?”
“I-I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her in months. At least, until the other day. Conn and I were on an airplane flying to New York when I felt, or imagined, Sara’s mind touch. We’re twins, you see, and we’ve always –”
A scream cut Lara off. “Char! Come here! Come here!” Marilee cried over the monitor sitting on an end table next to the couch. A bell tied to the headboard of the girl’s bed jangled shrilly at the same time.
Char sprang to her feet. “Something’s wrong! Excuse me.” She rushed from the room and over to the stairs. Hearing footstep behind her, she glanced back and found her mother following her. “Mama, you don’t need to come with me.”
“Yes, I do. If the child is in trouble, you might need help with her.” She flicked her hand in a shooing motion. “Go! I’ll catch up.”
With no time to argue, Char took the stairs two at a time and ran to Marilee’s room. Throwing open the door, she saw the girl propped up on her elbows in bed, crying hysterically. Dashing over to her, she sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her thin, shaking body into her arms.
“Honey, what is it? Is something hurting?”
“N-noo!” Marilee wailed, clinging to her. “I-I-I heard bad people! Th-they want to get me!”
Realizing their loud voices in the hall must have carried up to Marilee’s room, invading her dreams, Char murmured, “Shhh, darling, it’s alright. There are no bad people here, I promise.” Rocking her gently, she rubbed the girl’s back and crooned assurances in her ear.
When her sobs began to let up, Char leaned sideways to grab a tissue from the nearby nightstand, but her charge shrieked again and latc
hed onto her neck, digging small fingernails into her skin. Seeing her wide, terrified eyes, Char glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother standing at the foot of the bed.
“Oh dear! I didn’t mean to frighten her,” Mama said, face lined with regret. Wringing her hands, she backed away.
“Hey, don’t be scared, honey,” Char murmured, holding Marilee close and smoothing hair back from her face. “That’s my mom. She’s come to visit. She’s a nice lady and she loves little girls.”
Sniffling, Marilee craned her neck, peeking around Char. “She does? Girls like me who can’t walk?”
“Sure I love you,” Mama said softly, smiling as she approached the opposite side of the bed. “You’re special, sweetheart. Is it okay if I sit by you?”
Looking up and receiving a nod from Char, Merilee said, “Okay.”
Mama cautiously settled on the bed. “There, that’s better. Now we can talk.”
“Why am I special?” Marilee asked, loosening her hold on Char.
“Why, because you’re so pretty, of course,” Mama said, spreading her hands wide in an isn’t it obvious gesture.
That was all it took to win over the girl. Pushing away from Char, she grinned at Mama. “My name is Marilee. What’s yours?”
“I’m happy to meet you, Marilee. My name in Penelope, but you can call me Penny if you like.”
“Penny, I like Penny. I like you!” With that, Marilee threw herself into her new friend’s arms.
*
Tristan paced the hall below the staircase, worried about Marilee. He’d almost raced after Char and her mother but had resisted the urge, thinking his cousin might not want him around if she was in need of medical care. Conn waited with Lara in the living room, both of them looking concerned.
He heard the elevator and stopped pacing. A moment later, the two women emerged with Marilee in her wheelchair. Penelope walked alongside her holding her hand with Char behind them steering the chair. Tristan heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his cousin’s happy smile and Char’s calm visage.
“Tris!” Marilee yelled, spotting him. “You came back!”
“I sure did, cupcake.”
“I’m not a cupcake,” she declared, giggling.
“But you’re sweet as one,” he teased, playing their familiar game, earning a laugh from Char as she stopped the chair, allowing him to bend down and hug his favorite cousin. He straightened as Conn and Lara strolled over to greet her.
Excited to see them, Marilee clapped her hands. “It’s a party!” she declared, drawing chuckles from Tristan and the other adults.
“Marilee was frightened by our loud voices. They gave her bad dreams,” Char explained. “She thought bad people were coming to get her.”
“Ah, princess, I’m sorry we scared you,” Conn said, squatting before her and wrapping his hand around her small one. “We shouldn’t have talked so loud, right?”
“Right.” She nodded vigorously. “But it’s okay now. I like parties.”
“Honey, it’s not exactly a party,” Char said, rounding the chair to face Marilee as Conn rose and stepped back. “We’re, um, having a meeting.” She swept her hand out, indicating the group.
Marilee’s face fell. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes glistened with threatening tears. Her chin sank onto her chest.
Tristan frowned, searching for words to soothe her, but Conn beat him to the punch, for which he was grateful.
“Hey, princess, I don’t care about an old meeting,” the other man said, slipping a finger under Marilee’s chin and gently lifting. “Can I watch TV with you for a while?”
She thought about it for a moment. Then her pout lifted into a shaky smile. “Okay, but we have to watch cartoons.”
“You bet. I love cartoons.” With that settled, the two headed for the playroom as Tristan and Char followed her mother and Lara back into the living room.
Lara took the chair where Conn had previously sat, while Tristan settled on the couch with Char and Penelope. Listening to Lara grimly recount how Conn had saved her from capture by the Hellhounds while in Ireland, Tristan laid a protective arm across Char’s shoulders. On her other side, her mother gripped her hand.
Then the High Guardian told about another Guardian, Michaela Peterson, who had been kidnapped and tortured, narrowly escaping with her life thanks to an army buddy of Conn’s. Feeling Char shudder, Tristan nestled her closer to his side.
“That’s not happening to you, angel,” he vowed. “I won’t let it.”
“Is Michaela alright now?” her mother asked Lara.
“Yes, she’s fine, in a safe place where Conn and I want to take Charlotte.
“You mentioned that before, but where is this place exactly?” Penelope probed, voicing Tristan’s main question.
Lara gripped the arms of her chair and glanced away for a moment before meeting the older woman’s gaze. “I’d like to tell you but I can’t. For Charlotte’s sake and the sake of all of us, it’s best you don’t know. I hope you understand why.”
After a few seconds’ silence, Penelope slowly nodded. “Yes, I do and I agree. I can’t reveal what I don’t know if the Hellhounds manage to track me down.”
Char gasped and sat up straight, pulling away from Tristan. “But I’m not leaving you behind to face them, Mama.”
“Don’t worry, child,” her mother said, shaking her head. “I highly doubt they will find me. I took pains to cover my tracks when I left home, sneaking away in the dark and hitchhiking to the next town before buying bus tickets.”
“You hitchhiked?” Char gaped at her. “Mama, are you crazy? You could have been picked up by some psycho killer.”
Penelope smiled and patted her daughter’s cheek. “But that didn’t happen. The man who gave me a ride was every inch a gentleman, so don’t fuss, dear. And give your old mother a little credit. I can take care of myself.” Bending down, she retrieved her copious, heavy looking handbag from the floor. Reaching inside, she drew out a compact black handgun.
Char cried out in shock, Lara gave a start, and Tristan nodded in approval at the Beretta. It was a perfect weapon for a woman, small, easily concealed and with enough fire power to drop an attacker in his tracks.
“Mama! When, where did you get that? Do y-you even know how to use it?” Char stammered.
Penelope grinned mischievously, eyes gleaming. “I ordered it from a gun catalogue shortly after you left for college, and I’ve done a lot of practicing. I’m actually quite proficient with this little baby if I do say so myself.” She caressed the gun’s short barrel lovingly.
Char made a choked sound, staring at her mother. “I can’t believe you –” Before she could say more, the sound of Marilee’s wheelchair accompanied by Conn’s footsteps approached up the hall. Penelope quickly stowed her gun back in its hiding place.
“Hey, y’all,” Conn drawled in the room’s entrance. “I hope you’ve talked yourselves out because we’re hungry.” Blithely unaware of the discussion they’d interrupted, he cupped Marilee’s narrow shoulder with his big hand. “Aren’t we, princess?”
She grinned up at him. “Yup, we’re hungry,” she said, copying his southern manner of speech, winning smiles and laughter from everyone including Char, who had apparently set aside shock over her mother’s gun – for now.
Glad to see her mood brighten, Tristan said, “There’s a fast food place in a small town up the road. What do you say we go grab a burger?”
“Yummy! I want a burger!” Marilee yelled, practically bouncing up and down in her chair.
CHAPTER TEN
They were nearly done eating their fast food delights. Dabbing strawberry malt from Marilee’s chin, Char gave a start when Lara cried out and dropped the remains of her hamburger onto her plate.
“Conn, there’s danger approaching,” she said, color draining from her face.
“Is it the Hellhounds?” Char’s mother cried, glancing around in alarm.
Lar
a nodded. “It’s them. There’s an evil taint I recognize.”
Conn shoved back his chair and rose. “Everyone, we have to go. Now.” He helped Lara out of her chair and into her coat while Char and her mother stood and scrambled into their wraps.
Tristan rose more slowly, frowning in confusion. “Wait a minute. How do you know we’re in danger, Lara?”
“I sense a threat when it draws near. That’s my gift and it’s never wrong.”
“Each Guardian has a psychic gift,” Char explained, “like mine only different.” As she spoke, she grabbed Marilee’s wraps.
“Come on, move it, all of you,” Conn barked. Turning Marilee’s chair, ignoring her shrill complaint, he pushed her toward the door with Lara limping along beside him.
“Wait!” Char called. “Marilee needs her coat and hat.”
“In the car,” Conn snapped without pausing. “There’s not a minute to lose.”
Realizing she might as well save her breath, Char rushed after them with Tristan and her mother. By the time they reached Conn and Lara’s rented black SUV, the leather-jacketed man was lifting Marilee into the back seat. As he stepped aside, Char saw the child was shivering badly.
She scooted Marilee over a little and hopped in beside her, shutting the door. “Here, sweetie, let’s put your coat on,” she said.
While she maneuvered the girl into her puffy pink jacket, cap and mittens, her mother climbed in next to Marilee’s other side and Tristan stashed the portable wheelchair in back. By the time he climbed into the third row of seats behind Char, Conn and Lara were buckled in up front. Starting the motor, Conn backed the car around and swung out of the restaurant parking lot. Once on the road, he gunned it toward the Cantrell estate.
“This is all my fault,” Mama said mournfully. “When I snuck away from home, I must have been followed by that strange man who’d asked about us. I led him straight to you, Char, and to our High Guardian. I’m so sorry.”