by Ryals, R. K.
"You don't need to be afraid. This isn't necessarily bad news, Emma. It could open up a whole new world for you."
Mom's voice is firm but soothing. To most, she appears high maintenance, even cold, but it is a defense mechanism. She has a soft heart. Losing my father, being a gargoyle Guardian, and raising a gargoyle son means developing a tough hide. And tough hides can come across as rough. I know better.
"What will you do with me?" Emma asks suddenly, her voice hesitant.
Mom looks over at Will who immediately stands up and moves across the kitchen. He pulls a coffee mug out of the cabinet and fills it. I haven't noticed the pot of hot coffee. I have been too busy digging into a container of Kung Pao chicken. Roach, now sporting a Def Leopard T-shirt and jeans, is nibbling on pizza, his chair rocked back so only three legs are on the floor. Mom looks ready to pop him. I want to laugh, but don't. The clothes he wears now had been left behind by a gargoyle friend of mine with a penchant for grunge who had been doing a job in our area.
"I made some phone calls and learned you have an affinity for coffee," mom says, her eyes still on Emma as Will returns to the table.
Mom takes a brown stone mug from him and lays it in front of Emma. I notice Emma drinks her coffee black. Again, a no-nonsense kind of girl. I don't know whether to be annoyed with my mother or relieved she has taken the trouble of learning something about my mark. Emma is my job, but our home is one of six gargoyle safe houses in the South. We live in Lodeston, Mississippi, and it is Mom's job to know as much as she can about the marks that come through. Our next stop is the French countryside. The Acropolis.
"We don't have nefarious plans for you, Emma. We have only good intentions," Mom says before reaching across the table to take Emma's hand in her own. Emma jerks, but Mom holds on. "There's a school for Demons called the Acropolis. You'll go there, train, and then you will be given a choice—return to society with enough control over your powers to live normally or work with us."
Emma is struggling against Mom's hold. It is obvious she isn't a fan of being touched.
"I still don't understand why everyone keeps mentioning powers. I don't have powers," Emma mumbles. She wins the power struggle with my mother and tugs her hand free. Mom sits back, her eyes narrowed.
"You didn't tell her?" Mom asks. I avoid her gaze.
"She isn't ready," I say.
"And you get to decide that?"
I look my mother in the eyes.
"It's better we wait."
Emma is aware of what she is. Telling her who her real mother is can wait until we are safely at the Acropolis. I'm not trying to protect her. I'm trying to protect the rest of us. Mom didn't look happy, but in the end, Emma is my mark. My decision overrules my mother's. And Mom knows I've been demoted. I need every brownie point I can get at the moment.
"This is all yours," Mom says, her hands held up. Roach snorts.
"You are an idiot," he says shrewdly. I feel my blood boil even as my mother slaps Roach in the back of the head. One of these days, Roach and I are going to meet on my terms in a nice old fashioned gargoyle brawl. Emma sits back.
"When are you taking me to this school?" she asks.
I keep expecting her to fight me, to badger me for the answers to a million questions I know are floating around in her head, but she keeps pulling the rug out from under my feet. She always does the opposite of what I expect. During the Extraction, her only concern had been her mother. And now, when we are sitting here discussing her as if she isn't even in the room, she just listens rather than angrily beating me on my chest with her fists while begging to know what my mother is talking about. Instead, she is docile. It is a little disconcerting. And, to be honest, it is fascinating.
"Soon. We'll leave in the morning. The longer we stay here, the more danger you're in." I say.
This time, she does look at me, her eyes wide.
"What do you mean danger?"
I lean closer.
"What you are is dangerous. Period. And as a hybrid Demon, there are those out there who would want to use you."
She leans away from me, her lips moving silently. She is counting again.
"Everything you need to know, you'll know soon. I promise."
She doesn't answer. She just keeps on counting.
"One, two, three . . .
Chapter 8
Emma
The table has grown quiet. The food is almost gone, and the gargoyles have spent most of the afternoon discussing their plans. They seem to know a lot about me. From what I've gathered, they have access to both my adoption and medical records. I know little about them.
The sky outside the French doors is darkening. I am spending the night here. I should be relieved, but I'm not.
"She can have my room," Conor says. "I'll sleep on the floor."
This doesn't get a good response.
"She needs to be locked up," Roach grumbles. Will gives him a hard look.
"She's just a girl, Roach. Lighten up a little."
Conor's mom stands up.
"Your room is fine, Con, but you won't be sharing it," Bea says firmly.
Conor stands opposite her. My gaze moves between them. I know I should be upset that they keep referring to me as if I'm not present, but I honestly like that they seem to keep forgetting I'm here. Good guys or not, they are strangers and that makes them dangerous.
"She's my job, Mom. She can't be left without supervision."
The word "supervision" makes me feel like a five-year-old child. Couldn't he have used the word "protection" or even "company"?
"I'm well aware of what she needs, Son, and I've made arrangements."
This gets my attention. I stand anxiously as Conor leans across the table.
"Arrangements?" he asks, his voice low. His accent has deepened.
Bea's eyes never leave her son.
"Rachel, you can come in now," Bea calls out. Conor doesn't look away from his mom, but he does narrow his eyes.
"You're serious?" he whispers furiously.
"As a heart attack," his mom replies, smiling sweetly.
"Should I be concerned you seem so opposed to the idea?" a female voice asks, and I turn slowly. My heart rate is back up again, and I know my temp is definitely higher than 103. I hear chairs scrape against the floor, and I know Roach and Will are standing now too.
Conor growls before pushing his chair into the table harder than is necessary, his eyes still locked on Bea's. I jump a little at the noise.
"My job, Mom!"
By now, I am looking at the hallway, and I have to fight hard not to gape. There is a girl about my age standing just inside the kitchen, and she is everything I'd never be. She isn't skinny, she is petite. She isn't dark, she is blonde. She isn't pretty, she is breathtaking. And, in that moment, I know she is one of them. Maybe it's the way she holds herself, confident and tall in a pair of skinny jeans, and a pink top with an empire waist, but it's obvious she isn't completely human.
"I'm not here to commandeer your job, Reinhardt," the girl says, her eyes on Conor's back.
I draw near Conor. I don't trust any of them one darn bit, but Conor has hours and space marked on my radar. That has to be enough at the moment. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I pause, my back stiffening.
"Shhhh . . ." Conor breathes before turning back to his mother. "Why?"
Bea moves around the table, her steps bringing her to Rachel's side.
"Because you were demoted, Conor. And my job is to make sure the rules are followed. You're an Escort, not a Guardian. And the girl is obviously already being tracked. The Council didn't count on that. It means her level of security has been raised and Rachel and Roach are more qualified."
Conor is at my back now, and I can feel his anger. I wait to be afraid, but I only feel strange. I am light-headed, my brows furrowing in confusion as the edges of the room begin to blur.
"The hell they are!" Conor practically yells. "I have a year of training on Rachel, and Roach is jus
t plain incompetent."
"The same has been said about you. Welcome to the brotherhood," Roach sneers.
"Here we go . . ." Will mumbles.
I start counting slowly, taking deep breaths in and out. The Rachel girl is staring at me funny, but I don't care.
"It doesn't matter how you feel about it, Conor. You were demoted. You must realize the limits your position now holds," Bea says.
Conor's hand tightens on my shoulder, and my world simply vanishes. It is the only way to describe the onslaught of images that suddenly slams through me. . . .
A girl. Red hair. A man with red eyes. Blood. Conor kissing the red-haired girl. Italy? Will . . . a crushed fist. Conor turning to stone. A group of men and women. The letter S. The letter O. Me . . . there is a photo of me. My medical records. Conor's anger. . . .
I howl. It isn't something I mean to do, but the sound escapes the same time a red ball of flame shoots forth. Bea deflects it easily as Rachel ducks. I collapse, panting. What was that!
"She tried to kill them!" Roach shouts.
I shake my head. I hadn't done anything! Had I?
"What the hell!" Will exclaims.
There is someone next to me.
"What was that, sweetheart?"
Conor. I am still shaking my head. I hadn't done anything. I couldn't have done anything!
"Emma?"
I look up, my eyes taking in the stunned group of people surrounding me. My knees hurt where they have slammed against the floor. My eyes find Conor. He is kneeling next to me, his hand no longer on my shoulder.
"Red hair," I whisper. "Marcas?"
Conor's eyes widen, and he leans closer.
"What are you talking about?" he asks.
"You were staring at a photo of m-m-me. There was a crushed fist . . . Will's maybe? And a girl . . . a r-red headed girl. And anger. You were angry." I shake my head. I hadn't meant to do anything!
Conor sits back on his heels, his breathing deep as he stares up at his mother.
"She has her mother's powers," he says softly. Bea nods. My mother?
"She tried to kill them!" Roach says again, loudly.
"Would you just shut up!" Conor insists. He starts to put his hand on my shoulder again, but stops, his eyes taking in his splayed palm before looking at me.
"Anger. You said you felt anger," Conor says. He keeps his eyes on me, but I know his next statement is meant for the room at large. "She fed off my anger."
I am shaking now.
"She should be put down!" Roach exclaims. Conor stands up.
"Now would be a good time to close that mouth," Conor growls.
"You know I'm right. She's deadly! She should be extermin . . ."
Conor's fist connects with Roach's jaw. I don't see Roach go down, but I hear it. Roach groans.
"Just be glad I wasn't touching her shoulder then. You'd be dead if I was."
"Conor!" Bea exclaims.
Will leans over Roach, scoping out the damage as the cross gargoyle rubs his jaw.
"The Council is so going to have your head for this one," Will says. Conor shakes his fist.
"It was damn well worth it."
Conor turns to his mother. I can tell he isn't the type to talk back. The respect he has for his mother is obvious, but the quick glance he throws at Rachel promises a fight.
"Demoted or not, you know I'm more qualified. They can travel with me, but I guard the girl."
Bea is staring at me, her eyes digging into my skin. I look down at the floor, letting my hair fall in front of my face. I am shaking, and I hate it. I hate that I am afraid, hate that I don't know who I am. I have lived in this body for seventeen years, and I don't know a dang thing about it.
"You'll need to speak to Gibson. Get his permission and you have mine," Bea says softly.
I don't look up, but I can feel the tension in the room ease.
"Thank you," Conor says.
I am pretty sure his mother nods.
"You and Rachel can sit with her tonight. Take turns staying up," Bea orders.
I look up to find Conor and Rachel regarding each other warily, but they don't argue. Apparently this is something they can both live with.
"Will, take Roach and get some ice on that jaw," Bea adds.
Conor's hand suddenly wraps around my upper arm, and I jerk against his hold.
"Take it easy, darlin'. We need to get you upstairs."
I relax as much as I can, letting him help me up before following him toward the kitchen's entrance.
"And Conor . . ." Bea says suddenly. Conor pauses. "It's not going to help your cause any if you keep breaking the rules. Collaterals have their job for a reason."
I know immediately she's aware of the phone call to my mother. Conor flinches.
"Dammit! How do you do that?" he asks hotly. Bea "tsks."
"One of these days you'll realize your mother knows everything."
Chapter 9
Conor
The moment Gibson answers the phone I know I'm in trouble.
"You better have some pretty damn good excuses for the list of transgressions I have for you, Mr. Reinhardt."
I didn't, but I have always been a pro at BSing my way out of a bad situation.
"Depends on the transgressions," I say carefully.
There is a moment of swearing on the other end of the line. I grimace as I steal a glance into my bedroom. The door is cracked, and I can just make out Emma's bent form on my bed. Thankfully, Rachel isn't in view.
"Where would you like to start? You bypassing Roach's authority in Atlanta? Letting your mark make a personal phone call? Or, better yet, punching a superior."
I try finding a nice, respectful way of responding to the "punching a superior" comment, but I fail miserably.
"Roach is about as superior as his nickname," I mutter instead.
Gibson is quiet a moment.
"I should probably reprimand you for that statement, Reinhardt, but most of the time, I agree."
I am suddenly thankful for Roach's anti-social personality. It gives Gibson and me a moment of amiability, and I run with it.
"Let me be a Guardian again, sir. Just for this mission. If I fail, I'll take the demotion without complaint."
Gibson snorts.
"I'm supposed to believe the complaint part?"
"I won't fail you," I insist.
He is quiet for far too long.
"We have high hopes for you, Conor. Your father and your mother . . . amazing Guardians. But this mission . . . she's not a normal hybrid."
I already know this. And yet, the girl herself is sorely underprepared for the burdens being placed on her. She is scared, untrained, and until recently, had no idea she was anything other than a normal girl dying from a strange malady.
"She trusts me," I say.
"She trusts no one," Gibson corrects. "But you do seem to have a way with her."
I feel my hopes rise.
"This mission, Reinhardt. I'll give you this mission. You screw up, I'll be the first to know."
Of course he will. His daughter, Rachel, will be traveling with me. She is going to be a burr in my side, but I'll take it.
"Thank you, sir."
Even I know when to shut up and walk away.
"And Conor?" Gibson says. My grip tightens on the phone.
"Sir?"
"If my daughter gets hurt, I'll tan your hide. And that's before I pull every limb from your body and feed them to the enemy."
The call is disconnected. Gibson sure as hell knows how to make an impression.
"He's a real winner, isn't he?" a female voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Rachel leaning against my bedroom door. Emma is still on my bed, her eyes on the two of us.
"Is that a loaded question, Rach? Anything I say is incriminating."
She grins.
"I take it you're going to be spending a lot of time pleading the fifth?"
"That's what the amendment is there for, right?"
&
nbsp; She shrugs and backs away from the door so I can move past her. Rachel is all kinds of wrong wrapped up in one girl. It's not that she isn't likable. She just has two major flaws (in my opinion only) working against her. One, she is an overachiever. She wants to prove to Gibson she is more than eligible for his job one day. Two, our families want us to marry, and I am not interested.
"How are we doing?" I ask Emma as I move toward her slowly.
Emma's amber eyes track me warily. She is still sitting on my bed, her hair pulled over to one side of her face, and I can see the tension in her body. Her muscles are tight, ready to spring. I have never seen anything like it before. She is like a wild animal found injured in the woods. No matter how much my instinct tells me to avoid her, I am drawn by the idea of taming her. And she is absolutely clueless about her effect on people.
"I'm okay," she whispers.
Her voice has a husky quality to it. It isn't deep, but it is low enough to send shivers down the spine. She is a quiet girl, no doubt, but all the anxiety has put her in constant "fight" mode, and it is causing her dormant powers to open up. She is downright intriguing.
It is dark beyond my room, the day having slid into night, and I pull some sleep clothes out of a nearby dresser. I throw a pair of flannel bottoms and a large tee at Emma before turning to Rachel. Rachel holds up her hands.
"I've got my own, thank you."
I shrug and head toward the bathroom.
"I'm getting a shower. Why don't you two change?"
Rachel pulls some clothes out of a large hand bag sitting by the door. Part of being a good Guardian is traveling light. Emma's face has gone red. It is obvious she is incredibly modest.
"Try turning around while Emma changes. She's the shy type," I whisper to Rachel as I walk past her into the bathroom.
"As if I didn't notice," Rachel grumbles.
The shower feels good, and I spend longer than necessary in the bathroom. It isn't until I hear Rachel swearing that I throw on some clothes and walk into my room. Emma is pushed up against my headboard, her eyes distant and red. She is wearing my blue flannel pajama bottoms and a large navy blue tee that has slipped off one shoulder. She is shaking.