by Cate Dean
I had no words—but a small part of me thought it would be so cool to meet one. In a safe place. When I didn’t have anything to find. Nothing in that description mentioned that the Watcher could hurt me—but it also didn’t say that it couldn’t. At this point, I planned on being overcautious.
The next entry was just as shocking, but in a different way. I knew people believed in guardian angels, but I never thought they were actually real. Apparently, I was wrong.
Guardian Angels. Easily recognized by the mark somewhere on their arm—wings surrounding a flaming sword. Because they are the souls of humans searching for redemption, we see very few, if any, in the haven. Every one that has joined us has tried to save the other residents, who don’t appreciate being constantly referred to as abominations. They don’t last long here. I discourage them when they arrive, to stop the inevitable outbursts before they have a chance to build. Unfortunately, I’m not always successful, and because they are on the approved list, they have every right for sanctuary.
“Way to alienate the people trying to help you.” I believed that was irony—I’d have to check to be sure.
I didn’t hear any raised voices, so Mom and Dad must have finished, and I missed it, or their argument was more of a “discussion,” which meant I’d be walking in on them not looking at each other and hardly talking for the next few days. Yeah—“discussion” meaning they weren’t talking to each other. I preferred the knock down drag out—at least it was over quickly.
A sound from downstairs had me sitting up.
The Devil and I were kosher—I thought—so whatever made that noise was someone, or something else. Dropping the book on the bed, I got up, moving quietly, in case the cause wasn’t downstairs anymore.
I cracked open my door. It was dark in the hall, and Mom and Dad were in bed—their bedroom door was closed, no light shining out from under the bottom. I didn’t see any movement, even after my eyes adjusted to the dark.
I slid along the wall to the top of the stairs, stopped to listen for any sound. Nothing.
Shaking out my hands, I crept down the stairs, and saw the reason for the noise when I was halfway down. Something had been thrown through one of the diamond panes in the front window. Mom was going to have heart failure.
I halted at the bottom of the stairs. Correction—something had been shot through the window. A crossbow bolt stuck itself in the gorgeous oak wood floor, still quivering from impact.
Paper fluttered from the shaft. I moved forward to pull it off.
“Alex!”
Dad tackled me—just before a second bolt flew through the broken pane. Right where I’d been standing. It shot across the room, thunking into the wall, inches from Mom’s shoulder.
Dad grabbed my shoulders. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Go.”
He stayed bent over, still limping a little as he moved across the room, and caught Mom before she did a faceplant with the floor. He knelt, taking her with him. Out of the line of fire. “Beth—it’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”
“Is that—from a crossbow?” She sounded less freaked out than I expected. Of course, she hadn’t seen the bolt in the floor yet. “Margaret—”
“Is fine,” I said. She gave me a weak smile, and leaned into Dad. I crawled over to the bolt sticking out of the floor, and heard her outraged gasp. She finally saw it. “I’ll get it out, Mom.”
“Don’t touch it.” I figured she wanted to leave it for the police, which I sure hoped Dad was not calling. “I want to see the damage first. In the morning.”
“There’s a piece of paper attached to it. I’m just going to take it off—”
“Keep your head down, Alex.”
Dad didn’t need to warn me. I slid my hand up only as far as I needed to untie the ribbon holding the paper in place. It fluttered to the floor. Grabbing it, I crawled over to my parents.
“Bathroom,” I whispered. Mom raised her eyebrows, but Dad understood right away. The downstairs bathroom didn’t have any windows.
We crawled into the short hall leading to the half bath, and I didn’t breathe easy until Dad closed and locked the door.
“Raleigh.” Mom sounded calm, but her hand shook as it reached for Dad. “We need to call the police.”
“We will, Beth. As soon as we figure out the threat.”
They both watched me unroll the small square of paper. The same block letters scrawled across the inside, only three words this time. Three words that chilled me.
YOU WERE WARNED.
I handed the note over to Dad, and wrapped my arms around my waist.
They both read it, Mom clutching his shoulder. Dad looked at me. “Is this the same author of the first note?” I nodded, my throat too tight to squeeze any words out. “Come here, Alex.”
I crawled to them, and felt immediately safer when both of them wrapped me in a parent sandwich. It had been a long time, something they used to do when I had nightmares. I was in a living nightmare right now, and their presence made it a little easier, if not any less scary.
“Did you still want to call the police, Beth?”
“And have them peg us as nutcases? We’ll deal with this. All of us.” She raised her eyebrows, meeting my eyes.
“Right,” I said. “I promised I wouldn’t hide anything from you again. Surprise.” I waved my hands, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
They hugged me tighter, and the tears lodged in my throat threatened to embarrass me. I let them talk over my head, control slowly coming back. Then the words “keep her home from school” caught my attention.
“No.” I eased back so I could look at them. “I am not going to hide.” As much as I wanted to. “Whoever is doing this is feeling threatened, which means we’re getting close to the truth. I won’t let them get away with killing all those people—even if they weren’t all exactly people.”
I didn’t voice my worst fear, the one that kept pushing me forward, even though I wanted to run in the other direction, especially after tonight.
Whoever did this was back for Sam and Jake. And they just made it personal.
They went after my family.
13
I got through the rest of the school week, not remembering much beyond Misty following after me, constantly asking questions I couldn’t answer. It was a relief when I said goodbye to Friday.
I was able to talk my parents into letting me go to my archery lesson, since Jake would be there. My appointment with my dance instructor Madame Chloe was a different matter.
Mom—who always supported my dancing—turned out to be the biggest traitor.
“You are not going anywhere alone—much less the next town over.”
“But—I’ll be in a public place, with plenty of other people. The studio and the theatre will be full of dancers rehearsing for the performance.” That I wouldn’t be part of. Yeah—still not over it. “This interview today is important—if I miss it, Madame Chloe will drop me as a student, permanently.”
I knew the panic shooting through me leaked into my voice. Dancing was important to me—to lose it now, with so much crazy in my life, would be unthinkable.
Mom let out a sigh, looked over at Dad. “I know this means a lot to you, Margaret.” I tried not to flinch—again. “Here’s the deal: you call in every half hour, without fail. Miss one call and I will send out the police to search for you, and you will be grounded. Indefinitely.”
Wow. She really was scared for me.
“Can it be every hour?”
Dad hid a smile by rubbing his face. I learned my negotiating tactics from him.
Mom crossed her arms. “Why?”
“To, um—give me time to get through my interrogation with Madame Chloe.” Mom fought her own smile. “If I interrupt to call my mommy, she’ll throw me out.”
Now the smile broke loose. “Fine. Once an hour. I know how—rigid Madame Chloe can be.” Rigid was nice. I could think of a few more that described my domineering dance
teacher. “But everything else stands. Miss it, and your life will change.”
“Received and imprinted on my brain.” They both laughed—really laughed, a sound I hadn’t heard since October. “I better get going. Jake will lecture me if I’m late.”
Mom’s next words froze my hand on the front doorknob. “We’ll talk about plans for your birthday when you get home.”
My birthday has always been a tug of war between me and Mom. I’m a Christmas baby, born just a few minutes before midnight, on December 24. For years now I’ve been perfectly happy combining birthday and Christmas into one event. Mom always had other ideas. And now that I had actual friends she could send invitations to, I was terrified that her ideas had gotten—bigger.
“Mom—” She raised one eyebrow. “Okay.” I’d already pushed her. I didn’t want to be grounded for something as silly as a party. Even if I so didn’t want it.
I escaped before any more restrictions could be clamped onto my leaving the house. As it was, I’d have to break speed limits to get to my archery lesson. I hopped in my MG Roadster, started it up, and hoped the local police were busy with other crime.
~ ~ ~
I was late. Karma frowned on me, and stuck me behind a squad car all the way to the range.
Jake waited for me on the field, tapping his foot and looking at his watch. I limped over the uneven ground, cursing my still uncooperative ankle, and braced myself for another lecture.
“Let’s hear the excuse now, Finch, get it out of the way.”
“Parents not wanting me out of their sight, negotiation for freedom.”
His smile reminded me so much of Sam it made my heart hurt.
“Best excuse I’ve heard so far. Ready?”
I nodded, afraid my voice would shake if I said anything.
Jake must have sensed it, because he was more—gentle—than normal during the lesson. And I impressed him with my ability to hit the bull’s eye, or close to it, with every shot.
“Have you been practicing on the sly, Finch?”
“Not with an arrow. I’ve been working with the bow, trying to get comfortable. And I’ve been doing pushups.”
He reached over and gripped my bicep. “Flex.”
I did, and he raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. Do you always develop muscle strength so fast?”
I blushed, shrugging. “I had a head start. Dancers have strong arms anyway, from holding poses, and the constant arm movements. I just—pumped it up.”
“Okay.” Jake rubbed his hands together, and I knew I was in trouble. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Cue evil laugh.
~ ~ ~
By the time Jake finished with me, my arms throbbed, and my back muscles wanted to cramp in outrage. Which made shifting gears an exercise in endurance. I made it to Santa Luna, and found a parking space on Forest, about a block away from the dance studio.
Because I cut it so close I ran and, of course, tripped just before I got to the studio door, forcing me to limp all the way across the long lobby to the doorway of Madame Chloe’s office. Where she stood, watching me. This was not going to go well.
Half an hour later, my ears still burning from her lecture, I was right. Not only had she banned me from auditioning for the spring season, I was off the books, and out of class, for the unknown future. In that half hour I watched my dance career crash and burn.
Moving slowly, my ankle twitching and complaining with every step, I limped back to my car. Still numb, I slid in, and sat there, not sure what I was going to do now.
Don’t get me wrong—I never planned to make dancing my lifelong career. The horror stories I heard from other pros put me off that path a long time ago. But I wanted to dance as long as I could, because I love it. Because it’s a part of who I am.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, leaning against the seat, and let the mild day, the scent of the ocean drifting in my open windows soothe me.
“Zach.” The deep, worried voice had me opening my eyes. I spotted the owner, crouched in the narrow alley in front of my car. And I pushed myself out of the car when I saw the reason for his worry.
A figure knelt in the shadowed alley, doubled over, hands clutching the cement.
“Hey.” I moved to them, lowered myself to the ground. “Can I help?”
The head snapped up—and I looked into the bluest, most mesmerizing eyes I’d ever seen. Even dark with pain, they almost—glowed. Sun streaked brown hair stuck to his face, brushing his shoulders.
“Hit me,” he whispered.
“What?” I was sure I heard him wrong.
“Hit me—” He gasped, his arms giving out. I caught him before his head smacked the hard cement, eased him down. Those incredible blue eyes looked up at me. “As hard as you can,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
A smile touched his mouth. Did I mention he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen? Too beautiful to be real. So I figured I was hallucinating, and punching a hallucination wouldn’t hurt either of us.
I looked over at his friend, who was just as gorgeous, but in a more approachable, male model way. His clear green eyes narrowed.
“He’s serious, isn’t he,” I said.
Surprise flared across the man’s face. Then he smiled, and my heart skipped. I could fall in love with both of them, if my heart wasn’t already taken. “Deadly,” he said. “Are you up for it?”
I nodded, took aim, and punched his right arm as hard as I could.
My fist didn’t go through like I expected. I smacked into skin and solid muscle, and we both let out a gasp. Man, that really hurt. Okay—so he wasn’t a hallucination.
Instead of collapsing in pain, he sat up, leaning against the wall of the alley. “Thanks.” Those incredible blue eyes studied me. “How’s the hand?”
“Painful, thank you.” He laughed, cutting it off when his male model friend raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry—and thanks, again. I can’t ever cause enough pain myself to—”
“Zach.” His friend was clearly annoyed. “Too much information.”
Shaking his head, Zach got to his feet, helped me stand. “I don’t know why I told you—never mind. I hope we meet again, under less painful circumstances.”
Oh, yeah, I’d be happy to stare at him again, for hours at a time if he’d let me . . .
The thought faded as I looked down at his hand, still holding on to mine. A fine, blue line tattoo stood out on the pale skin of his inner wrist. A tattoo I recognized. Wings surrounding a flaming sword. My heart skipped, and my fingers tightened on his.
“You’re—are you—” Finally my mouth caught up with my brain and I spit out the words. “That’s the mark of a guardian angel—how—”
Zach dragged me down the alley. I was still so shocked I didn't struggle.
“How do you know—”
“Your tattoo.” I touched the swirling, beautiful lines. They were warm, almost—pulsing. Huh. I turned to his male model friend. “You know about him, I take it.”
“You can see him?” Zach almost lifted me off my feet, his grip on my arm was so tight. I nodded, and he let me go. One hand closed over a really stunning amethyst pendant he wore at his throat. It started glowing as soon as he touched it. “You shouldn't be able to see him. He’s—”
“Zach—”
“Dead.”
“Really?” I glanced over at his friend. He shrugged, a smile flashing across his face. Zach nodded, eyes wide as he watched me. “I've had stranger moments in the last couple of months.” And I had a feeling I knew why I could see a ghost. The pendant. Going through—whatever protected Hyattown.
“Since Zach has forgotten all the manners his mother nagged into him, I'll introduce myself.” Flashing a heart twisting smile, he held out his hand. “I'm Simon.”
“Alex.” I reached out to take it, aware that they both studied me, like scientists watching a lab experiment. Since this was my first ghost, I just went
for it and took his hand, expecting it to go straight through. It didn’t. “Whoa,” I whispered.
His skin was warm. And he felt almost solid. But I noticed the longer I held on, the colder my fingers got. We both stared at each other, his fingers wrapping around mine. Like he craved human touch.
“A pleasure to meet you, Alex. Now I have questions.”
“Join the club.”
Laughter burst out of him, deep and warm. “I like her already, Zach.”
“Liking isn't the issue here,” Zach said. He frowned at our hands. Simon still had me in his grip, and it was starting to get frosty.
As if he heard me, Simon let go. “Sorry, sweetheart. I miss human contact.”
Tucking my hand in the pocket of my hoodie, I let the warm fleece help thaw my fingers. “No worries. You and Zach can't—”
“Sparks fly, worlds collide.” Simon flashed that heart skipping smile. “It's painful, so we avoid it.”
“You're avoiding something else.” Zach had his arms crossed. Anger flashed in the intense blue eyes. Anger that dialed up to rage. It surrounded him, a blue, pulsing glow that seemed to reach out, wanting to strike me down—and I stumbled backward, a primitive fear squeezing my throat.
“Stop.” Simon stepped between us. “You're scaring her. Zachariah.”
Zach blinked, looking disoriented. The rage that simmered around him just a second ago disappeared, and he looked normal again. But I would never think of him as human—not completely. I just got an up close glimpse of the avenging angel.
Sweet God in heaven, my life is strange.
“I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to scare you.” Fear edged his voice as he spoke to Simon. “I'm losing control of it.”
“We'll figure it out. I promise, Zach.”
“If you're talking about that whole rage thing you just threw at me.” They both swung around, obviously forgetting I was there. “I may have a solution.”