Protecting Truth

by Michelle Warren

  “Yes, I know. Just face him.” The looming fear of it is driving me crazy. I think I’m ready to just deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.

  Time with Mona is exactly the sanctuary of normalcy I need. She fills me in on her travels over the best Pasta alla Norma I have ever shoveled into my mouth. She, it seems, is a natural cook. Then she shows me her photos over dessert—a chocolate cannoli.

  •

  When I return to the Academy, most of the dorm doors in the hall are shut, signaling their occupants have turned in for the evening.

  Even though I tell myself I’m ready to do this, I half hope that Bishop will be asleep. Our apartment door sits slightly ajar, and I walk in. A dimmed gas lantern flickers light over the kitchen counter. Both Bishop’s and Sam’s doors are closed.

  Now I just need to walk across the floor without making it creak. I step slowly, seeking out steps on the area rug where available. It helps to muffle the sound. Then I step from the rug to the kitchen floor.

  When I’m standing in front of my bedroom door, I finally breathe a sigh of relief, feeling happy that I have one more night. I’m such a coward. After this mess, I promise myself to be stronger.

  I push through my door, kick off my shoes, and switch on the light next to the bed. And that’s when I scream.

  ::11::

  The Talk

  Bishop jumps, awakened out of a slumber. His body tenses but relaxes when he sees it’s me. He throws his hand across his forehead, blocking the light and rubs his sleepy eyes.

  “You ruddy well scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” I say, my heart racing.

  He sits up, still half asleep, and pushes himself farther back on the bed to make room for me. He pats the sheets with his palm. I sigh. This is it. I can’t run any longer.

  “Where have you been? I thought you were coming back to the apartment after your meeting?” He yawns.

  “I was, but then I decided to go for a run.”

  “Is that why you stink so badly? You’ve been running for—” he squints at the clock, “for eight hours.”

  “I went to Mona’s too.”

  “I see.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll wait for you.”

  “Okay,” I mumble. I push off the bed and disappear into the bathroom. When I’m done, feeling refreshed but solemn for what’s about to happen, I walk across the room and crawl into bed. With Bishop behind me, he wraps his arm around my waist, and then he tucks his chin into the curve of my neck.

  “Why do I feel like you’ve been avoiding me since I returned?” he asks quietly. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me,” I say with a clip. He doesn’t respond. “I mean, I guess I’ve been avoiding you because I wasn’t ready for the talk.” My voice shakes, instantly activating the tears. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my robe.

  “The talk?”

  “You know, the talk where you break up with me.” I frown and look at his arms wrapped around me, strong and perfect.

  “Break up with you?” He snorts. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  I inhale and turn to face him in the same motion. “If you aren’t, then why did you say we needed to talk?”

  “Wait, back up a second. How can you even think that’s a possibility? Has something happened between us that I don’t know about?” His brows pull together.

  “No, but—I—” I can’t think of what to say because my brain, my heart, my lungs, every part of my body feels a surge of relief—a new sense of elevated hope.

  “Seraphina Parrish, you are utterly and ridiculously cute. I promise that I’ll never, ever tell you that we need to talk again.”

  “Please don’t!” We laugh together. Even still, a few more tears escape in a rush of happiness.

  He kisses my nose and then stretches his arms tightly around me. I grimace. “Sorry, my back’s still a little tender.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, too.”

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I have no idea. It’s not like they robbed us of money. And I’m quite certain it was another Wanderer. I tried to bandage you up that night, but you wouldn’t allow me near you.”

  “I don’t remember that.” I attempt to retrieve the memory but come up blank.

  “You were quite agitated. I could only talk you into putting on a shirt and sleeping. It must be a side effect of the schlag,” he considers.

  “Don’t worry, Turner fixed me up when I got home.”

  Bishop tenses. “How did Turner happen to be your savior?”

  I cringe, wishing I hadn’t said that. “It’s a long story,” I brush it off.

  “I’m listening,” he says, propping himself up on his elbow.

  I explain how I wandered home into the attic, crashing into Turner, and how he brought me to the apartment, cleaned my back, and added bandages. Bishop flinches every time there’s a possible situation in which Turner touches me. I leave out the part where he grabs my leg. No sense in upsetting him further.

  “You two have been spending some time together, then?” His brows wrinkle.

  “No—I mean—not really—a little,” I confess. “But seriously, he’s pretty annoying. I’m not sure how you stand him sometimes,” I add to make him feel better, and also because it’s true. “I know you don’t like each other, but he did help me.”

  “Yes, and I will have to pop over to thank him for that.” He seems to relax, so I snuggle into his chest. He rubs his fingertips the length of my bare leg, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

  “So what is it you wanted talk about?” I test the waters, feeling the topic’s safe now.

  Instead of responding, he leans close and gently kisses my neck. His mouth traces the length of my jaw until his warm lips find mine. Together, they glide softly back and forth. The kiss sends a firestorm of desire racing through my body. Pulsating heat begins at my mouth, pools in my stomach, and shoots out through my curling toes.

  His warm breath penetrates my skin, swirling and surging into my heart, which beats wildly out of control. His lips urgently move around my neck and retrace my shoulder. His hand slips under the hem of my shirt. His other quickly follows, and together, both hands slide down my waist and latch on to my hips, then he tugs me forward, locking my body against the curve of his.

  For the first time ever, Bishop’s losing control. Up until this point, he’s treated me with the same care one takes with a porcelain doll—one that will break if hugged too tightly. Shocked by his new aggressiveness, I nudge him away.

  “This isn’t talking, you know?” I whisper.

  “Believe it or not, it has to do with what I want to talk to you about,” he says, breathless.

  “Tell me.” I seductively trace the outline of his collarbone with my fingertip.

  “That whole night in London, Seraphina, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to find the perfect moment. I tried, but I couldn’t make the words come out.” He speaks slowly, as though unsure of himself.

  He grabs my hand and kisses the palm before placing it cupped over his stubble-covered cheek. “But now I just can’t wait any longer.” His gaze falls on mine, and even in the moonlit room, I can see the sparkling ocean of green in his eyes. “I love you.” He breathes in relief.

  “And I love you,” I respond quietly. My lips broaden into a smile. I’ve wanted to tell him the same thing for months. All this time, we felt the same way, having the same apprehension. The whole “talk” thing seems so stupid and childish now and so very far away in my mind.

  Bishop kisses me again. I drop my arms over his shoulders and wind my fingers into his shirt. All my emotions take over, solidifying every piece of my heart that I thought would surely be broken tonight. Instead, it pounds stronger, and more in tune with his. It begs me to melt and disappear into his body, breathe him in, and clutch him closer. I drop my hand
to his chest, where his heart pounds chaotically beneath my fingertips.

  We’re feverishly kissing, tangled, wrapped, rolling, and squeezing against each other. My entire body rushes with a torrent of wild energy, overwhelmed by this new surge of eagerness on his part. There’s a frenzy of ecstasy in every thoughtful touch and every insignificant brush of his trembling hand on my skin.

  Bang, bang, bang. The wall shakes.

  We quickly unhinge ourselves from each other, falling away, breathless. Sam isn’t asleep. And unfortunately for us, she can see what Bishop sees, an uncomfortable side effect of being a team. Protectors and Seers can tap into the other’s minds and eyes without notice, whenever they want. I believe that’s why Bishop stays on his best behavior, because he never knows when Sam will stop by mentally to say “hi.” He won’t allow someone he regards as a little sister to see more than hand-holding.

  “Did you know she was awake?” I ask, embarrassed.

  “She wasn’t a few moments ago, I checked. In fact, she was happily dreaming of winning a spot in the Joffrey Ballet,” he says, sliding a finger beneath the edge of my robe, teasing my skin.

  I giggle. “But all this time, I didn’t know you could see each other’s dreams, too.”

  “We try not to. In fact, we try to block each other out as much as possible. It’s harder in the beginning. It’s sporadic and, at times, uncontrollable. But hopefully we’ll have a handle on it before too long.” He smirks suggestively and steals a lingering kiss before we receive another bang on the wall.

  •

  Bishop snores lightly next to me, a delightful purr. I nuzzle into his chest and breathe deeply. I’m amazed that he smells this wonderful all the time.

  Someone quietly knocks on my bedroom door. “Sera,” an annoyed voice says from the other side.

  I roll out of bed and slide into my silk robe while walking across the room. I crack open the door, just enough to peek my nose through.

  Sam stands on the other side, her arms folded across her chest. With a disapproving look, her eyes appraise my bed head and attire.

  “You have a visitor.” Her head jerks to one side.

  Turner stands in the open doorway, arms stretched high above his head, leaning into the doorframe. His arms look even more muscular that way. The nerves in my stomach swirl in a wild swarm of butterflies. I step out and shut the door tightly. Bishop will die if he finds out that Turner’s paying me visits. Sam moves aside, watching me shuffle across the room, gathering my messy hair into a low bun.

  “That’s not going to help,” she snaps. I turn to give her a nasty look.

  “What’s up?” I ask him.

  “I just wanted to stop by and tell you those new things you requested are ready.” His flirtatious eyes gaze from under his lashes.

  He’s talking about my new defense holograms.

  “I thought you weren’t going to do them?” I cross my arms.

  “Well, I’ve reconsidered.” He smirks.

  I lean into him and whisper, “Well, in that case, are you going to give my other thing back?”

  He shakes his head, giving me a cynical look.

  A door creaks open behind me.

  “What are you doing here?” I turn. Bishop stands at my bedroom door, half-asleep but still managing to look furious.

  Turner shifts uneasily, assessing the situation. He scrutinizes Bishop, standing outside my bedroom door, and then his troubled eyes fall on me, surveying and deciphering my face. I’ve quickly read his mind. It’s easy to see where his oversexed thoughts have led him. Immediately uncomfortable, I wrap my robe tighter around my body, fists gripping the fabric closed. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and my gaze drops to the floor.

  “Hello, my good brother. It’s nice to see you, too.” Turner feigns a smile. The two lock gazes; a storming hatred of tension courses between them.

  Turner releases the confrontation first and then holds up something. “Actually, I came by to give you back your boot. You must have dropped it the other day when you returned from…London, was it?” He shoots Bishop a peevish look.

  “Yes, thanks,” I say, grabbing it quickly, giving him a pleading look, one asking him to leave before things get ugly. Turner maintains his macho demeanor, but I know he’s hurt. Ignoring Bishop, he sharply nods to Sam and me and then turns to stalk away. He tips his head to my best friend Macey as she rushes past him in the hallway.

  Macey’s wide, bouncing curls rain over my face as she grabs and pulls me in for a hug. I haven’t seen her since last semester. She skips the hellos, processes our apartment, and delves right into the gossip. “Why is Bishop standing in your bedroom door, looking like he just rolled out of bed? Your bed?”

  “That’s for me to know,” I whisper, knowing it will set her off.

  “Bull crap!” She captures my hand, yanks me down the hall, dragging me through her apartment, past her team hanging out, playing video games on the sofa, and into her bedroom. She slams the door and runs to jump onto her bed, bouncing like a child.

  “You little vixen. Tell me everything,” she explodes, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I feel a blush stealing over my cheeks, belying my words.

  “There’s something. I can see your new womanly glow. Now get over here and spill!”

  I jump onto the bed, a little excited with my news. “What you’re thinking, it didn’t happen. But—”

  “But what?” Macey’s eyes are so large and round, they may bug out of her head.

  “Last night, he said he loves me!”

  “Aww.” Macey grabs a pillow and hugs it to her chest. “Nothing else?” Her eyes narrow.

  “Nope, I promise.”

  “What about that Turner? He’s a hottie!”

  I shrug slightly, saying neither yes nor no to the observation. But how can Bishop’s own brother not be beautiful. It’s impossible.

  “He’s a pain,” I say, trying to dispel her awe.

  “Who’s he dating?”

  “Why, Miss Du Bois, are you saying you’ve got the hots for Mr. Turner Bishop?”

  “With all that thick hair and those muscles?” She sighs dramatically and flops backward onto the bed. Reclining, she props herself on her elbows. “He’s definitely easy on the eyes, but no. Unfortunately, I’m still navigating my own relationship time bomb.”

  Macey has two suitors, Xavier Blackburn and Quinn Hayes, both of whom are her team members. It’s an uncomfortable situation.

  “In my mind, I’m crazy about them both, but I just can’t commit to either.” She huffs.

  “Do you mean you can’t, because you can’t decide, or you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings?”

  “Both. I think.” Her face scrunches in contemplation.

  “They’re both madly in love with you, ya know?”

  “I know, I know. They drive me crazy. A good crazy, I think. Boys are so confusing. I don’t know what to do. Let’s talk about something else,” she reels off quickly.

  “I heard about that Perpetua giving you crap yesterday. If I were here, I would have kicked the pretty off her face for you,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I smile. It’s nice to have Macey back. I too wish Bishop wasn’t around yesterday, so I could have just kicked Perpetua’s pretty face myself.

  At the thought, I remember that there are new holograms to practice with. Even with all this teen drama, I need to practice if I’m ever going to take care of my real problem—hunting down Cece and the Underground and saving my mom.

  ::12::

  Holograms

  After discussing the nuances of choosing the perfect boyfriend with Macey for two hours, I finally head back to my room. A train of garment racks rolls down the hall and stops at the end of the corridor.

  I squeeze past them and into my apartment. Gabe Garcia, the activities director, stands in the middle of our living room. He chats with Sam and Bishop, arms flailing with animated gestures. I catch the tail end
of his elaborate story, something about his buying exploits in London, New York, and Paris over the summer vacation. Every year he buys each student a completely new wardrobe, compliments of the Academy.

  “Sera!” Gabe screeches with excitement. “Love it, love it, love it!” he says as he touches my hair, my chin, and gestures at my robe. “It’s so bed-head chic.” He waves his hands through the air.

  “Now, I was just telling Bishop and Samantha that I’ll be changing out your wardrobes this afternoon for the new year. So I want you all to make yourselves scarce for a few hours.”

  “You really don’t need to do this,” I say. As much as I adore fashion, it seems a horrible waste.

  “Don’t worry, my little poppy seed. We’ll be donating all the old clothes to charity. Every shirt, every ruffle, every everything! The needy will just be bursting with glorious chiffon, velvet, leather, and sequins, but hopefully not in that combination!” He sniggers. Gabe pinches my cheek, then turns and goes to work.

  Bishop leaves the Academy to run errands. Samantha spends the afternoon in Olde Town with her ballet instructor and then her cello teacher. I change into workout gear and head to one of the personal training rooms, where no one will bother me and I can kick the crap out of one of my new defense holograms.

  I jump on the nearby elevator. The ancient cage closes, and I rotate the rusty lever. The box glides down the elevator shaft into Olde Town. When it slams to the ground, I return the lever to its original position, retract the cage door, and step out.

  The Animates here, metal raptors, occupy high pedestals on either side of the entrance bridge. With aviary precision, they twitch their heads, cocking them sideways, studying my approach with their bulbous yellow eyes. Internal cranks screech and grind as they move. One raptor stretches its long neck into the water rushing below the bridge and pulls out a flopping fish. The bird’s beak tilts upward and the fish drops into its throat. Strange. Wouldn’t their diet consist of oil or something?