The Paladins

by Julie Reece

  In the past, I dated plenty but seldom saw the same girl twice. I wasn’t big on sharing my feelings, and a girl that got too clingy got her number deleted from my cell.

  But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m the one people talk about, the sap that changed when he fell for the right girl, and you know what? They’re right. I don’t give a shit if I’m a cliché. I’m happy, damn it. So, instead of asking why she pulled away, I give her space and answer, “We were talking about your Bug.”

  Her dilapidated 1973 VW Super Beetle is parked in my driveway. I want to buy her something else. Anything else.

  Her full lips turn down. “I like my little car.”

  “That’s not a car,” I say, still focused on her mouth. “It’s rust. Stuck together with more rust.”

  There’s a smile. “One man’s rust is another man’s classic. Red is my color, and it runs just fine.”

  Fine.

  And so continues our battle of wills. “The car is going. That’s done. What about an Audi, or a MINI? You might as well tell me what you’d like to drive, or I’ll choose something for you.”

  “Stubborn.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  She draws a smiley face on my knee with her fingernail. “I appreciate the offer, I do, but I can’t accept a whole car.”

  Keeping a straight face is impossible. “Somehow, I don’t think half a car will solve anything.” She smacks my leg. Buying her a whole car won’t put so much as a dent in my allowance. And it’s nothing compared to what I want to give her.

  She straightens. “Thanks for the thought. I know you want to help, but a car is too much.” Her eyes remain uneasy above a small smile. “You don’t always have to buy me things. You know that, right?”

  No. This whole conversation is ridiculous. When I found her, she was sleeping on a storeroom floor, surviving by sewing inventive, steampunk creations for a small clientele. If I can afford it and want to spoil her, where’s the harm? I recline against the couch cushions with a heavy breath.

  Proud and independent, Raven’s used to taking care of herself, but all girls like presents, don’t they? Then it occurs to me that the VW is a tie to the memory of her stepfather Ben, who recently passed away. Maybe she sees replacing the car as a betrayal. That must be it.

  “Raven?” The stiff set of her jaw warns me she’s done with the subject, but I press once more. “Your car is old and unreliable. If you were in an accident, Ben would want you safe, and so do I.”

  Her gaze finds the window.

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  “You and your deals.” She doesn’t look, but her mouth tips up at the corners. “You’re relentless. Like the tide.”

  I lean forward, lowering my voice, “Keep the Bug. We’ll garage your classic. Drive it once in a while to keep the motor in good shape, but let me buy you—”

  “Here we are, my lovelies!” Jenny, my housekeeper and part-time surrogate grandmother, scurries into the study through the open door. Her cheeks are flushed, as usual. A sheen of sweat glistens on her ruddy skin, and the starched collar of her powder-blue uniform has begun to droop.

  She sets her overloaded tray down with a final rattle on my desktop. “Who makes s’mores in the fireplace? In June, no less? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Facing the desk, she clucks like an old hen as she sets out the necessary supplies.

  I give Raven a reassuring wink.

  “You know I’d make you lambs anything you want for a late-night snack.” Jenny pauses, looking up. “All you need do is ask. It’s no bother.”

  “S’mores are a childhood memory of Raven’s,” I say. One of the few happy ones since her mother died leaving Rae to nurse an alcoholic stepfather. “I intend to indulge her wishes.”

  She jumps up and heads for the desk. Holding a bag of marshmallows in the air, she shakes them like a little kid. “Do you want me to make you one, Jenny? You have to be careful to get the mallow brown without burning it.”

  My housekeeper’s eyebrows climb for her hairline. “The idea! Guests do not attend servants, Miss Weathersby, no matter how charmingly they may offer.” Jenny pats Raven’s cheek, and then glances over her shoulder. “Gracious, child, will you look at this room. What a green thumb you have. I confess the plants in the house have fairly doubled in size since you took to watering them. And so green!”

  Raven follows her gaze to the potted jungle growing near the window and smiles. “We never had many plants around our house. I didn’t know I’d like it so much, but there’s something sort of therapeutic about gardening.”

  “Well, they’re better off with you minding them.” Jenny steps toward the various containers, examining each one. “Now isn’t this is strange … See how they’re growing?” Raven joins Jenny at the window, her hand gently running over the glossy ficus leaves. “Look here, see how the stems bend away from the sun. That’s odd.”

  It is odd. I hadn’t noticed until now, but the growth is uneven. All the new leaves sprout on one side growing away from the light and toward Raven’s favorite chair in the darker corner.

  “No matter, dearie. I suppose the plants know best what they need, eh? And now … ” Jenny’s chattering stops for a gulp of air. “Will there be anything else for you two this evening?”

  I glance at my new Rolex surprised it’s nearly nine o’clock. “No, thank you. Please get some rest.”

  “Very good, sir. I hope you have a pleasant flight to New York tomorrow, and a nice …” She shrinks as Rae cheerfully impales a plump marshmallow with her skewer.

  I lift my chin. “Night, Jenny.”

  Once the door clicks shut, Raven moves to the fire. “Remind me to ask for some of her chocolate chunk cookies this week. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  Concern for others is a constant of Raven’s. It was she that agreed to take the place of her ailing stepfather last year and make restitution for his gambling debt against my family. Little did she know I’d exact payment by insisting she move in with me.

  I scoot over on the couch and prop my feet up. As Raven stretches over the fire, her sleek black hair swings forward. The color picks up a red glow from the hot coals beneath, her eyes reflecting the low burning flame. The sight speeds my pulse.

  After she moved in, I became obsessed with the girl who sacrificed her dreams for someone as unworthy as her stepfather. Weeks passed, and I studied her habits, watched as she created the beautiful designs that saved my father’s failing clothing line. She worked for me, her enemy, endured my temper, kept her grades up, even befriended my lonesome housekeeper.

  “Oh, ouch!” Raven blows out the flame charring her marshmallow and plucks it from the prongs. “Dang it.”

  I’m off the couch in a blink. “Careful, you’ll burn yourself.” Taking her hand in mine, I guide the scorched sugar to my lips and devour the whole thing.

  “Gideon! That one’s ruined.”

  I release her fingers and laugh through the mush. “But I wuv the burnf wons.”

  “You do?” Her little frown destroys me.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Her glaze flits to the fire and back. “Okay, here’s an idea. Don’t go to New York tomorrow, and I’ll make you as many charred s’mores as you can eat.”

  I gulp the last of my marshmallow, confused by her request. “I’d love to, but you know I can’t.” Truth is, I’d avoided half a dozen meetings in the last two months. Art Windsor, my father’s longtime business associate, and the nearest thing to a friend I have on the board, called this morning. First, to check on me, as it’s out of character for me to miss so much work, second, to warn me that tomorrow’s meeting is mandatory.

  She slides her empty skewer onto the mantle. “I know. I’m sure it’s stupid paranoia, but I have a really weird feeling about this trip.”

  My head lowers. “I don’t.” Kiss. “Want you.” Kiss. “To worry.” Our lips are warm and sticky with sugar. M
y hands drop to her hips, and though I meant to distract her, it’s my pulse that’s revving. “I’ll be back in two days, three at most. Deal?” When I slide my arms around her ribcage, she melds into me.

  Her hands move up my back. The contact energizes me. My heart pounds harder. When her lips part for me, I deepen the kiss, making sure she understands what she means to me, what she does to me. My fingers dig into the fabric of her blouse. Her answering whimper drives me half-crazy with wanting. I never knew it could be like this with anyone. And then I realize, it wouldn’t be like this with anyone but her.

  My head spins. Thought goes up in smoke, replaced by need, yet I can’t help but notice the increasing heat from the hearth. The warmth becomes uncomfortable, then unbearable. Edgar’s hiss unhinges something in my spine.

  Breaking the kiss, Raven balks at our little fire. Only it’s not so little anymore.

  The color is wrong. Blue flame licks the interior brick walls, flaring up the chimney. My head pounds, hearing sharpens as the wood snaps and crackles. There’s an odd hum coming from the grate.

  Tiny nails scratch the floor as Edgar squeezes his bulk under the couch. I step between Raven and the fire, but it seems I’ve overreacted, because the blaze lessens. Colors gradually change from blue to a natural orange and the flares shrink to their former size in seconds.

  When Raven presses her cheek to my shoulder, I turn, drawing her under my arm.

  “Wow,” she says. “What was that about?”

  “I don’t know, sap or something flammable on the log.” There’s no reason to worry, still my arm tightens around her shoulder.

  We watch the log burn, and when nothing else interesting happens, Raven slides away from me, taking a seat on the couch. “Phew, it’s gotten hot in here.” She fans herself with a hand. “Do you still want dessert?”

  “Hm.” Moving in her direction, ten inappropriate replies to her question file through my mind, but I leave them alone. The mood’s suddenly heavier. Tomorrow will come soon enough and with it, our separation.

  Whipped much, Maddox?

  I don’t much care.

  Raven’s head tilts. “What?” Her smile grows unsure and becomes a squeal as I lift her into my arms, take her place on the couch, and settle her in my lap. Her laughter fades under my steady gaze. When the light in her eyes dims to a smolder, I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her until we’re both breathless.

  Chapter Three

  Raven

  A quick breeze whips the leaves of the trees outside. Like thousands of blinking green crystals, the foliage quivers, reflective emerald flashes in the afternoon light become nature’s chandeliers.

  Mind racing with thoughts I can’t shut out, I shift on the second of two twin beds in my best friend Maggie’s fuchsia bedroom and stare out her open, double window.

  Taking an adult role at a young age kept me focused, driven, so I don’t know why I’m so freaked out about starting school in the fall. It’s stupid, since it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  No matter what, I’ve always been tough, tenacious. And I sort of liked that about me. Now, I’m more like a flat tire with all the air sucked out of a big hole in the rubber—that hole being the death of my stepfather. Sure, our world before was chaos, but it was chaos I understood.

  After being held captive in the Maddox mansion, after Ben died of cirrhosis, after Gideon said he loved me, I needed time to deal, get my head on straight. So, having no other family, I moved in with Maggie Wilson and her parents. I couldn’t very well keep living with Gideon—not that he didn’t try and convince me.

  The plan we settled on was that I’d stay here until college started in the fall. Then Maggie and her boyfriend Dane would head for Armstrong Atlantic, and I would go to SCAD in Savannah. Gideon would attend at College of Charleston to be near me, and that was that. But plans can change. No one knows that better than I do.

  The cell on my bed chirps signaling another text. Speaking of change … Cole and I have been talking on and off all morning. Actually, we’ve been talking ever since he flew home to France eight months ago.

  Cole: I’m in hell here, Raven. Another bizarre nightmare. I miss you. Wish we could meet for coffee.

  Raven: Me, too. I’m sorry, Cole. Hang in there. Life will get better.

  I don’t know if it will or not, but I send him what hope I can. Poor Cole. In light of all he’s been through, it’s not surprising the guy suffers from bad dreams.

  The Artisan curse that left him haunting Maddox mansion drove him to ask me for help. It took months to unravel the mystery that threatened my sanity and my life. With the help of my friends, Jenny, and finally Gideon himself, we went to the mansion’s cellar where we performed the ritual that set Cole free.

  Life altering, supernatural events tend to blow your mind, then bind you irrevocably to the people you went through them with. At least, that’s what happened to me.

  My boyfriend doesn’t like my friendship with Cole, but he tolerates it. In time, I hope he’ll accept that while I’m drawn to Cole, there’s no one else like Gideon Maddox.

  Still, I can’t deny the strain between us, and I know he feels it, too. We came together like two speeding trains, barreling toward each other with opposite goals ending in a fierce and fiery meeting. All the ugly, painful parts of our lives spilled onto the ground for the other to inspect first. How does a new couple rewind to small talk and seemingly unimportant details after that? We’ve both lived crisis to crisis for so long, I’m not sure we know how to live without one.

  Maybe it takes time to adjust. And maybe there’s not enough time in the world to adjust to what we’ve been through. But no, I can’t let myself think that way. We’ll work it out. We have to.

  Edgar meows and bumps my hand with his massive head. I stroke his soft, black fur and peer out the window again. A jet parts the thin clouds overhead. Gideon’s plane will have landed in New York by now. He’s traveled much less lately, and I suspect that’s because of me, but I miss him anyway. I’ve never been the doe-eyed, clingy-type. Then again, I’ve never been crazy in love before, either.

  The wind blows the arms of the oaks outside, and I swear they call my name. I’m mesmerized, can’t stop watching. This fascination with fauna is new. Growing. And honestly, a bit disconcerting.

  I spot Dane in his red T-shirt coming up the sidewalk. His stride is uniquely him, athletic with a little gangsta-strut thrown in that I’d recognize anywhere. Not that anyone could miss the long russet dreads that hang like macramé cords from his head. Just the sight of him cheers me up. I grin as he strolls through the yard and up to my window instead of going to the front door like normal people.

  Two years ago, he was the new kid at school. Quiet, brooding, but one day he complimented my clothes. I said I liked his hair. He told me I could dance—for a white girl. Another smile breaks free at the memory of us debating everything from movies to whether or not rappers are poets. Boom. A friendship was born. Always there for me, Dane protected me those nights when I used to hunt the bars for Ben, and I stitched him up whenever he’d come over after a fight with his dad and needed a place to crash.

  He stops in front of my window and speaks to his shoes. “Hey, little Rae.”

  “Hey, yourself.” He tends to use my nickname when he’s worried—about me, or himself. Based on this afternoon’s activities, I’m betting on the latter.

  “Will you walk in with me?”

  “Chicken?”

  He nods. “I ain’t even gonna lie.”

  I sympathize. When I introduced him to Maggie, lightning struck. His feelings were instant and obvious, at least to me, and he carried that torch in silence for a long time. In Dane’s mind, his poverty and past next to her middle class status made her as unreachable as a star. That is, until we knocked some sense into his hard head a few months ago. He still gets nervous around Maggie’s parents—especially her dad.

  As for Gideon, his parents passed
away when he was young. I never had to face them, but since Dane and I are from the same (wrong) side of the tracks, I can imagine quite a scene if I had.

  “No worries, bro. Meet me at the door, I got your back.”

  I grab my sketchpad, and bounce off the bed. When I get to the front door and swing it open, Dane’s face is riddled with anxiety. I pull him inside and loop his arm through mine with a gentle squeeze to bolster him. Arm in arm, we make our way down the hall, through the living room, and head for the back door. I’m grinning because pretzel-walking in tight spaces with someone is awkward, yet my friend grips me like a life preserver. His skin grows clammy, and his complexion exchanges color—cinnamon for green. He’s stiff as a ruler.

  “Try and relax,” I say. “They’re good people and so are you. Just be yourself.”

  Dane snorts as we push past the screen door and step onto a rambling two-tiered deck.

  The Wilson’s backyard is a fenced quarter-acre of suburban normalcy. Dogs bark, birds sing, and neighbors swear at their burning bratwurst while little kids squeal and play on their swing sets.

  Mags’s father stands in one corner, grilling burgers. He waves his spatula, and I lift my chin in greeting. I’m sorry to say he wears a white chef’s hat and a chartreuse “Kiss the Cook” apron that I plan to burn later. Maggie’s mother sets the picnic table for five. It’s like Norman Rockwell threw up out here, and I love it.

  Dane takes an unsteady step forward. “Sup, Mr. Wilson?”

  Poor guy.

  I wink at Mags as I head for the big maple tree in the center of the yard. Sketching until dinner’s ready will give Dane some time alone with the fam, and Maggie can more than handle his frayed nerves.