Sentinel

by Emerald Dodge

  “Benny? Still there?”

  “Oh, sorry. What was that?”

  “I asked you how everyone is doing,” she said, gentle. “I saw the broadcast.”

  I sighed. “We could be better. Jillian’s had a nasty flu for a week and there’s no signs of her getting well. Marco is handling his sisters’ deaths as well as can be expected, I guess. He’s been sad, but he and I talk a lot, and I think it’s helping. He just recovered from a stomach bug. Ember and Reid are still broken up. They can’t be in the same room anymore without arguing, though Ember caught Marco’s stomach bug and she’s been laid up for a few days.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could help, but from this distance…”

  “Don’t worry about it. Jill and Ember will get better, Marco will heal, and Ember and Reid were meant to be together. They just need some time to cool off.” As I spoke, a young black woman walked past our house. Her hair was pulled back into a thick braid much like Isabel’s had been when I’d met her. “How’s Isabel settling in?”

  “Isabel is adjusting. She was almost inconsolable when she found out about her sisters, but lots of the younger Sentinels are more than happy to offer their shoulders to cry on. She’s very popular. She’s moved in with Gregory’s family, the Welches. He won’t admit it, but he likes having a familiar face from Georgia nearby.”

  “And how are the Sentinels doing?” I was trying for politeness but ended in sarcasm.

  “Dean is fine. We have dinner together every night, so we can discuss Liberty’s finances. It was my idea. I told him I wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She sounded almost sheepish. “I could’ve knocked him over with a feather.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Over dinner? That kinda sounds like a date.”

  Dean wouldn’t move on from my wife to my sister, would he? Would he? I slumped forward, resting my elbows on my knees in near-defeat. Would I ever be rid of that guy?

  Eleanor’s sing-song mmhmm did nothing to quell my unease. However, she changed the subject. “What happened with Beau and Will?”

  I straightened. “We left them in the woods by the compound. Tell me Dean captured them or killed them or something.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “No… no, Dean never mentioned them, actually. Did you guys give him directions about handling them?”

  I swore under my breath. “No. We ran off in such a hurry that I never thought about it. We were all exhausted and freaking out about the attack.” I gazed up at the stars again. “If nobody ever found them, they’re dead by now.”

  Though Beau was my brother, the mere idea of his death brought nothing but relief. I knew without a doubt that he’d meant every one of his threats against Ember.

  “Maybe,” Eleanor said, her tone dark. “But even I’ve never been that lucky. Consider them alive, armed, and pissed off. Watch over Ember, because if they come back for her, it won’t be pretty.”

  I pictured my friend, slight and delicate, trying to fight off my brother and his lackey. The image made my stomach turn, but it also kindled a surge of protectiveness. Beau had failed in his plan, forewarning us of all future attempts. That would be his downfall.

  “I will,” I promised. “How are you doing, El? Seriously.” My protective instinct covered all of my sisters.

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry about everything that happened here. Please give Jill my love and hug all the others.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She hung up.

  I slipped my phone back in my pocket and grabbed the shopping bag. I typed in my entrance code and scanned my fingerprints, then quietly walked into the darkened living room. The light from the kitchen cast a yellow beam onto the couch, illuminating Ember’s sleeping form. Next to her, on the floor, a large bowl contained the vomited remains of whatever she’d eaten that day.

  I placed my hand on her thin shoulder. “Hey, Ember,” I whispered.

  She groaned and opened her eyes. “Wha…?”

  I fished out the small box of nausea medication I’d bought for her, since she’d ran through my supply in the sick bay. “I got this for you,” I said quietly, placing it in her hands. “I’ll get some water.”

  She gave me a weak smile and closed her eyes again.

  I walked into the kitchen, where I was immediately assaulted by the overpowering, astringent odor of oregano. Reid had stuffed a thick bouquet of the herb into a little jar with water on the bottom, and the cutting board on the counter bore both the green-stained marks of frequent use as well as a small knife covered in tiny bits of leaves.

  I filled Ember’s glass with water from the pitcher in the fridge, which was next to yet more bouquets of oregano.

  When Jillian had returned from the press conference a week before, she’d asked Reid to make her oregano tea, of all things. Marco, Ember, and Reid hadn’t shown any surprise or confusion at the bizarre request, and when I politely asked my wife if she actually was pregnant and whether this was merely the first strange craving, the four of them had launched into simultaneous, enthusiastic explanations about herbal remedies.

  Days later, I still had no idea where they’d learned about them, but now I had to cross-reference every medication I gave them to make sure there weren’t any relative contraindications with the herbs they insisted I “prescribe.”

  I shook my head. Never a dull moment for the heroes of Saint Catherine, oh no.

  But I had to admit that as strange as their sudden interest in herbal remedies was, I was relieved that Jillian wasn’t pregnant. Not because I wasn’t ready to be a father—I liked babies—but because if the baby were mine, it would be too early in her pregnancy for symptoms to present. However, if the baby were someone else’s…

  No. I trust her. Nothing happened.

  I placed Ember’s water on a coaster on the coffee table. She was already asleep again. I walked upstairs to Jillian’s and my room, where I could hear her and Reid speaking in low voices. I leaned against the wall and waited for them to finish.

  Reid had started to stop by Jillian’s bedside with growing frequency this last week, but only when I wasn’t there. A few times I’d overheard snatches of conversation: “Matthew,” “Ember,” “make up.”

  I’d concluded that Reid felt guilty about what had happened after the tribunal, and he wanted advice about Ember, with whom he desired to make up.

  He and Jillian had endured a terrible ordeal at the tribunal that I had not been able to share, and I supposed that he felt Ember’s best friend might be the better source of advice than, say, Marco or me. I couldn’t blame him. As far as I knew, Marco had never had a girlfriend, and I was stupid enough about women that I’d basically driven my girlfriend into the arms of another man.

  Why was I not threatened by Reid’s intimacy with my wife, but had been driven out of my mind with jealousy by Dean?

  By the pure facts alone, Reid should’ve been the bigger threat to me: tall, good-looking, from the same background as Jillian, and he already enjoyed a close relationship with her. Jillian had endured a sexual assault, and threats of more, to keep him safe. Even if he’d been Ember’s shadow until recently, a blind person could see that Jillian loved Reid.

  But it was Dean who got under my skin. Dean, with his joie de vivre and his stupid lip piercings that made him look like an alternative fashion model. Dean, with his militia and All-American let’s-go-free-the-slaves mission. Dean, who was brave enough to not just escape his tormenters, but to face them repeatedly in battle. Dean, who’d comforted my wife in her darkest hours and had, if only for a moment, carried her heart in his hands.

  Dean was everything I wasn’t: optimistic, compelling, courageous, and sensitive. I’d detected some of that in the first hour I’d known him, and if we’d met under different circumstances, I probably would’ve asked to be the Sentinel medic. I didn’t approve of their methods of dealing with the Westerners, but it would’ve been like being a superhero and an Army
nurse.

  Yet Jillian had chosen me. I’d told her every nasty thing about my past, and she’d still chosen me. I smiled despite myself; I’d spend the rest of my life trying to earn that honor.

  The door creaked open and Reid walked out, an empty mug in his hands. He held up the mug. “Just bringing her some more.”

  I thanked him and then walked into the bedroom. Jillian was propped up on a thick stack of pillows, tissues and books scattered all around her on the blankets. On her bedside table, a ripped box of over-the-counter flu medication lay half-empty next to a water bottle. Her tablet displayed our team’s fan forums.

  Jillian grinned at me. “Welcome back,” she croaked.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I took so long. I had to stop at the drugstore on the way home to pick up more medication for Ember.”

  “Still barfing everywhere?”

  “She’s getting it all in the bowl now. That’s an improvement.”

  Jillian started to laugh, but was cut off by several deep, chesty coughs that racked her body.

  I handed her the water bottle. She tried to sip, but another sudden cough made her choke on the water. I reached out and held her while she sputtered, enjoying the feeling of her warm body in my arms. As muscular as she was, she was still soft. Touching her had quickly become my favorite pastime.

  When she was done, she leaned back into her pillows. “Why is this flu so bad? Do you think it’s that swine flu?”

  “No, I’m sure you have the same bug everyone else had. I’ll bet anything that the JM-104 has suppressed your immune system, at least to a degree. You have to watch out that you don’t get overtired or stressed. Flu can turn into pneumonia.”

  Jillian sighed. “Fun. I hope Reuben is okay. If he’s got a suppressed immune system, he’s gonna have to make sure he doesn’t get gangrene. Do you think you could fly up to Baltimore and heal him?”

  I took her hand in mine and kissed her knuckles. “Even if Artemis didn’t kill me on sight, I wouldn’t. I just found out that Beau and Will weren’t captured by the Sentinels. We have to assume that they’re going to try to take Ember again. I’m going to be here when they do.”

  Jillian swore. “That’s my fault. Damn it, that’s my fault. I hope my powers are back when they return so I can kick their asses properly.”

  I stroked a lock of hair that had escaped her loose ponytail. “Stop it. Remember what Erica said at your appointment? You can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.”

  I’d convinced Jillian to reschedule her meeting with the FBI agents, which had been set for a few hours after the press conference. However, the next day I’d driven her to her new therapist’s office myself. Erica, a kind and impeccably professional licensed therapist, hadn’t expressed any discomfort when sneezing, coughing Jillian sat down for their first appointment.

  Jillian fidgeted with her ponytail. “But some things are my fault. If I’d—”

  I leaned forward and touched my nose to hers. “Please stop.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  I kissed her, wishing that all her worries could flow into me through the kiss. She melted into the kiss, humming happily. Though desire stirred in my belly, I broke away before things got carried away.

  I did let myself eye her bosom, which strained against the thin fabric of her shirt. However, as much as I wanted to rip off my buxom wife’s delightfully snug t-shirt and yoga pants, I had to take her health into consideration. Right now, that meant letting her rest, and not letting her berate herself to death.

  I pulled a small box out of my pocket.

  She cocked her head. “What’s that?”

  “If you promise not to blame yourself for Will and Beau, I’ll give you something pretty.”

  A curious little smile lit up her face. “I like pretty things. I promise.”

  I opened the box. Inside, a delicate silver heart pendant gleamed in the light of her bedside lamp. Two delicate gemstones sparkled blue and green. I lifted the bright pendant from its velvet box and held it up. “To replace your other one. I thought there might be too many negative memories attached to the first design, so I had this one made.”

  Jillian stared at the necklace, slowly extending her hand to stroke it. “What type of stones are they?” I could see the necklace reflected in her eyes.

  “They’re our birthstones. Peridot, for you, and blue topaz, for me.”

  Jillian leaned forward and gathered her ponytail up, so I could hook the necklace on. I did, and she leaned back, allowing me to see how it rested. It sat just below her collarbone, drawing the eye to her stunning décolletage.

  Jillian drew her knees up to her chest, her eyes watery. “Thank you. It’s even prettier than the J necklace. I didn’t think that was possible.” She blinked several times, and then tears began to fall. She wiped at her face furiously. “I hate him,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word. “You shouldn’t have had to buy me a new one.”

  I gathered Jillian in my arms and rubbed her back. “It was my pleasure. And he will never hurt you again. He’ll never hurt anyone again.”

  I’d made sure Matthew Dumont would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

  He’d been so adorably confused when I asked him if I could tell him a secret. Nothing could have prepared him for what I’d whispered into his ear: My real name is Benjamin Trent. I’m a murderer. You’re my next victim.

  In the week since, I’d tried to make myself feel guilty about revealing my true identity and threatening to kill him. But every time I did, I recalled Jillian’s dull, broken gaze as she’d described how Matthew had assaulted her. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I’d done a public service.

  Jillian touched her necklace, the tears already slowing. “Aren’t rings more common?”

  “I thought about getting us rings, but we work with our hands so much, a necklace made more sense. Would you like me to wear one?”

  I hadn’t meant the question as a joke, but Jillian started laughing through her tears. “No, that’s fine,” she wheezed. “I think it looks better on me. I’ll put this back on after I’ve had a shower, though.” She unhooked the clasp and carefully placed the chain on her bedside table.

  I rubbed my chin, pretending to be lost in thought. “If a necklace and a ring are out… a tattoo on my chest, then. ‘J and B Forever.’”

  Jillian fell back into the pillows and giggled. I took off my uniform and draped it over the desk chair, then crawled into bed next to her, shoving aside quite a few tissues and one ridiculous-looking bodice ripper. I reached over to turn out the light while Jillian snuggled next to me. Soon her breathing slowed and deepened, and she was asleep.

  I laid in the dark, staring up at the dozens of tiny glow-in-the-dark stars she’d glued to the ceiling. They were the stars of the previous June first’s night sky—her “lucky stars,” she’d called them, because we’d met on that day.

  The last thought I had before I fell asleep was that it was I who was the lucky one.

  “Ben, wake up.” Reid’s urgent whisper pulled me from pleasant dreams.

  I sat up and wiped sleep from my eyes. Jillian was still asleep next to me. “What’s up?” I whispered back. When my eyes focused, I saw that Reid was fully dressed.

  “There’s been a bombing. Captain Nguyen needs us down by the docks as soon as possible.”

  I checked my watch on the nightstand. It was a quarter past two. Who the heck would bomb a dock in the middle of the night? “Okay. Give me less than five.”

  He hurried out of the room, and I got out of bed, careful not to wake Jillian. I hastily pulled on my clothes.

  Just as I was walking out of our room, Jillian’s sleepy voice called, “Benj-min?”

  I was at her side in a fraction of a second. “We got a call from the police. There’s been a bombing across town.”

  Jillian propped herself up on her arm. “Okay,” she mumbled, clearly still half asleep. S
he was suddenly seized by a violent coughing fit. When she stopped, she cleared her throat. “Can you just put a full kettle on the stove before you go? I’ll make myself some more tea in a little while.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Of course. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  I walked back to the doorway, pausing for one last look at my wife. She was already dozing, her arm draped over her flat stomach. Flu or not, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And she wants me.

  I met Ember, Marco, and Reid in the kitchen, where I quickly filled the kettle. Ember still looked sickly, but Jillian’s rule was firm: Ember had to be near Marco or Reid at all times.

  We rushed out of the house. For the first time since returning to Saint Catherine, Reid ordered us to hold on to him while he directed a large piece of rock beneath our feet out of the ground.

  “This is the best way to travel, if you ask me,” he said as we rose up into the air.

  I watched the white and orange lights of Saint Catherine spread out underneath us like a glowing patchwork that ended abruptly at the Atlantic Ocean. The Georgian city’s winter breeze was almost balmy as it blew past us, and I found that I couldn’t disagree with him.

  I dashed around the site of the explosion for at least the twentieth time in an hour, searching everywhere for survivors, corpses, or even pieces of corpses. Around me, my team scoured the blast zone for the same.

  Ember, never more than an arm’s length away from Marco, sat down on a large piece of rubble. I don’t think there’s anyone here. Maybe I can’t hear anyone because they’re dead, but I haven’t found any bodies. I’ve asked the flies, and they don’t smell any meat other than us.

  I joined Marco and Ember in the middle of the wreckage. “I don’t get it, though,” I said, running a hand through my hair, a nervous hangover from when it was longer. “Why would someone bomb an empty dock?” I nodded toward the partially destroyed abandoned warehouse nearby. “There wasn’t anyone here to kill, nor anything in storage to sabotage.”