Inescapable
Author: Amy A Bartol
Date: 2011-08-08 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fantasy; Young Adult; Romance; Paranormal Romance; College; Angels; Supernatural; New Adult; Urban Fantasy
Description: "My name is Evie Claremont and this was to be the making of me - my freshman year of college. I'd been hoping that once I'd arrived on Crestwood's campus, the nightmare that I've been having would go away. It hasn't. I may be an inexperienced seventeen-year-old, but I'm grounded ... sane. I look for rational explanations to even the strangest circumstances. Since meeting sophomore Reed Wellington, however, nothing makes any sense. Whenever he's near, I feel an attraction to him - a magnetic kind of force pulling me towards him. I know what you're thinking ... that sounds fairly awesome. Yeah,
Publisher: Createspace

Copyright © 2011 Amy A. Bartol
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1461072514
ISBN-13: 9781461072515
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4392-9697-4
LCCN: 2011905674

For my mom, Gloria, the eternal optimist who never allows
anything to remain in the past tense…especially her love

And also to Tom for everything

Contents

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT PAGE

CHAPTER 1 MOVING DAY

CHAPTER 2 ORIENTATI ON

CHAPTER 3 ARDEN LAKE

CHAPTER 4 REGISTRATION

CHAPTER 5 FIELD HOCKEY

CHAPTER 6 THE PROMISE

CHAPTER 7 THE HISTORY OF ART

CHAPTER 8 THE SPEED OF LIGHT

CHAPTER 9 FOREIGN LANGUAGE

CHAPTER 10 THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION

CHAPTER 11 PARADISE LOST

CHAPTER 12 THE PORTRAIT

CHAPTER 13 COLDWATER

CHAPTER 14 OPPOSITES ATTRACT

CHAPTER 15 LIGHT AND SHADOW

CHAPTER 16 FORMAL

CHAPTER 17 DELT WARS

CHAPTER 18 BIRTHDAY WISHES

CHAPTER 19 ART EXHIBITION

CHAPTER 20 REVELATIONS

CHAPTER 21 WINTER BREAK

COMING SOON

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Moving Day

As I drive past the placid façade of Crestwood College’s stately clock tower, I realize that this is the building they refer to as Central Hall. It’s the trademark of the school, and they stamp its image on everything they use to represent them. My acceptance letter had been embossed with its seal. The scent of autumn drifts through my open window along with the deep, echoing bell from the clock as it tolls out the hour. The loud, desolate sound sends a chill over my skin. It is funny to me how something as harmless as a clock tower can be winsome and sinister at the same time.

In the car behind me, my Uncle Jim gives me a couple of short honks of his horn. As I gaze at him in my rearview mirror, I see him gesturing for me to turn left at the next stop sign. His paranoia that I will miss the street to my dorm makes me smile, so I turn on my signal to relieve his anxiety. Crestwood’s campus has only a few streets; if I miss the turn, it won’t be fatal. If I manage to get lost here, then I don’t deserve the academic scholarship they gave me, I think to myself, using my mirror to refresh my lip-gloss.

I ride slowly under the tunneling oak trees that line the pavement. I had always thought that I would go to a larger school—one in a major city, like New York or Chicago, but when Crestwood offered me a full ride with no strings attached, I couldn’t pass up such an amazing opportunity. I mean, who needs a sprawling city if you’re totally broke all the time? And Crestwood is consistently ranked as one of the top private schools in the country for academics. Plus, this way I get to stay in Michigan so I can visit Uncle Jim more often. He’ll only be a few hours away—and he needs me. I’m his only family, just as he is mine.

Unease creeps over me as my dormitory comes into view. I don’t know a single person at Yeats Hall, or even Crestwood for that matter. I had met a few coeds on my brief tour of the school last year, but I had been just a prospective student then, so none of us really bothered to make friends. A fresh wave of panic hits me, or maybe it’s remorse for all the familiar things I’m leaving behind. Don’t stress, I tell myself while taking a deep breath. This place will be the making of you. Everything will be fine.

I park in a spot under a shady elm tree and cut the engine, waiting for my uncle to slip into the spot next to mine. Pulling up next to me, he parks his truck and leaves it idling. With his stereo blaring Baba O’Reily, he is head-banging and playing air guitar to the raging bass.

Normally, something like this would horrify me, especially since he is drawing frowns from the other parents hauling boxes and desk lamps out of their cars, but not today. Today, I’m trying to take a mental snapshot of this moment because it’s so quintessential Uncle Jim.

We had basically raised each other, he and I. When my mom died soon after I was born, he stepped up and assumed guardianship of me. It couldn’t have been easy; he’d been a kid himself at the time, only twenty years old.

As my eyes rove over him, lip-syncing with his mouth curling in a rocker-like scowl, I smile, knowing he is doing it for me. He is trying to make me laugh so that I won’t be nervous.

As I climb out of my old jeep, I pretend not to notice when small pieces of the rusted door flake off as I close it. “You rock a mean air guitar,” I say after he cuts his engine and grins at me through the truck’s open window.

“I know—missed my calling. I was born to rock,” he replies with hubris, climbing out and joining me.

“Undoubtedly,” I agree. He slips his arm around my shoulder, trapping my long, auburn hair beneath it as he gives me a quick squeeze before letting it drop.

“You ready to check in?” he asks me as he runs his hands through his dark-brown hair, which immediately falls back over his forehead again.

“Yeah,” I nod, handing him a comb from my purse.

He smiles, taking the comb from me. “You know what I like most about you, Evie?” he asks me.

My eyebrow arches. “Umm, I’m not sweaty?” I ask.

His grin deepens, reaching his gray eyes as he shakes his head. “Well, that, and the fact that you think of everything. It makes me worry less about you because I know that you’ll cover every angle before you attack a problem,” he answers.

I give him a furtive glance as I retort, “You know what I like most about you?”

“My musicality?” he asks with a straight face.

I grin because we both know he is completely tone-deaf. “Well, that,” I agree, “and the fact that you always manage to say just the right thing.”

“You liked that?” he asks me while we walk up the sloping sidewalk to the entrance of my new residence. “Good, because I practiced it in the car all the way here.”

“It sounded very parental,” I compliment him as he holds the door for me to enter.

“That’s what I was going for,” he acknowledges, approaching the wide mahogany table in the lobby.

“Evie Claremont,” I say to the perky brunette seated in a wing-backed chair behind the table.

She scans the roster before looking up and asking, “Genevieve Claremont?”

“That’s me,” I breathe nervously, “but everyone just calls me Evie.”

She glances from me to my uncle, and her smile becomes toothy. My Uncle Jim and I both pretend not to notice when she begins flirting with him: me because it skeeves me out and him because he isn’t pervie. Anyway, I’m used to it—it happens often; I think that every one of my female friends was in love with my uncle at one point or another.

As she begins outlining all of the upcoming dorm activities for him, I take the time to gaze around at the old building. I know that it was once a home to a wealthy Crestwood family, but they had donated it to the school around the turn of the previous century. The interior is elegant, with ice blue, silken wall-coverings, crown molding, rich deep-brown wainscoting, and leaded-glass windows.

Uncle Jim nudges me before handing me my new keys and motioning with his chin toward the stairs.

“She was friendly,” I tease him as we climb up to the second floor.

He nods his head and feigns ignorance, muttering, “Very nice.”

Locating my room, we open it, and I set my purse down on the low table by the door as I enter. The room comes fully furnished with a single bed, a desk, a dresser, a bedside table, and a small lamp. A bathroom-style sink and a closet are the only other appointments to it.

“Home,” Uncle Jim says with a sanguine glance at me. He must be reading the dark excursion my mind is taking because he adds hurriedly, “Don’t worry; when we get your stuff in here, it won’t feel as strange.”

“I’m not worried,” I say, flashing him a faux grin.

“C’mon,” he says, putting his arm around me and tugging me to the door. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

We get to work unloading my swag from his truck. After bringing a few boxes up several flights of stairs, I stay in my room and begin unpacking them. “Where do you want me to put this box?” my Uncle Jim asks me, breathing heavily and staggering through the doorway.

Narrowing my eyes, I murmur, “Umm, let me think,” while looking for available space on the floor. “What’s in it?” I ask, sifting though the box in front of me.

He grunts before saying, “Judging by the weight, I’d say it has to be either your ex-boyfriend’s dead remains or…books.” Pressing the front of the box against the wall, he tries to keep from dropping it.

“Ah, it must be books—all of my exes are buried in the backyard at home, so pleasant dreams when you get there tonight,” I reply with a smirk, putting my alarm clock on the nightstand near my bed. “You can just set it down by the desk, thanks.” Shuffling across the room, he heaves the box down with a loud thump.

“I was wondering what happened to the last one. The one that took you to the movies…” he replies. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt. Poor Dee Dee Ramone on the front of it looks a little soaked.

Giving him an ironic smile I shrug, “His name was Greg, and like I said…backyard.”

“Good, I never liked him,” he says with the same kind of smile. “Do you want help unpacking these?” he asks, indicating the boxes strewn around the room.

“I’m not sure where I’m going to put everything yet. Maybe I should just do it myself,” I say almost as a question.

“I’ll set up the Internet connection so you can send email and surf,” Uncle Jim says as he finds my laptop and places it on my desk.

“Thanks. I register for classes tomorrow, so I’ll email you— let you know how that goes,” I promise.

He bypasses the dormitory’s LAN and gives me my own Internet access and firewall so that I can maintain my privacy. I can probably do it myself because he taught me how, but I’m grateful that he is taking care of it.

Finishing the set-up, he turns his grayish-blue eyes to me, smiling in triumphant. I think my mother also had the same color eyes as her brother and I do, but I have to rely on old, grainy photos of her in order to see them. As for the rest of my physical characteristics, like my auburn hair and my tall, slender frame, they could’ve come from my father’s side of the family, but since neither of us knows who he is, it makes proving that theory slightly difficult.

Uncle Jim loses some of his smile as he looks around and sees there isn’t much left for him to do now. “So, you have your cell phone,” he states as if going over a parental checklist in his head. “If you need anything, you can call me. Do you need any money?”

“You already gave me money,” I say, seeing him reach into his pocket for his wallet. I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I have more than enough money for all of the beer and drugs I plan on experimenting with,” I tease him gently. “When I blow it all on Internet gambling, I’ll call you.”

He smiles back at me, and I watch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. I love that. I like to think that I’m responsible for most of the laugh lines around his eyes. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you, Evie?” he asks, his voice soft with affection.

I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Oh, once or twice,” I reply. “Anyway, with me out of the house, you can focus on all of those things you’ve been putting off—maybe check out the Internet dating scene. But…don’t do any background checks on your dates, it takes all the mystery out of it,” I tease him.

It’s sad that I can’t even remember his last girlfriend’s name. Uncle Jim hasn’t had a date in a while. I believe I know the reason for this and it has to do with his line of work. He’s sort of a computer nerd. Working primarily for private investigators, Uncle Jim handles mostly divorce cases, specifically, cheating spouses.

He gains access to the alleged cheating spouse’s computer and clones the hard drive, always with the express permission of the suspicious spouse, since it’s usually considered joint property. Then he delves through emails and bank accounts at his leisure. So, one can make the argument that infidelity keeps our little family afloat, if one is so inclined. I like to think that it’s the reason why he doesn’t really date and not that he took himself out of the game to raise me.

Taking my comment in stride, he replies, “Just for that obnoxious crack, I’m turning your room into a home gym. You’ll have to sleep on the weight bench when you come home to visit.”

“How dare you!” I reply with mock outrage, but I’m trying not to let him see my anxiety. He will be leaving soon and I will be staying here. It has always been just the two of us; I’ve always had him to count on. Tears immediately spring to my eyes at the realization that things will be different.

“I miss you already,” Uncle Jim says, seeing my tears.

I begin to panic at his words, so I run down my own parental checklist. “I did the grocery shopping yesterday, so you should have enough food to last you at least a week. I bought you new razors, and I put them in the drawer in the bathroom. Oh, and I took your suit to the dry cleaners. You have to remember to pick it up on Wednesday because you have to be in court for the Henderson’s divorce case on Friday.”

“I’ll remember,” he says with an indulgent smile.

Inhaling deeply so that I can hold in my tears, I whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies. Seeing the hint of anxiety in his eyes, he adds, “I want you to call me, you know, if you start having those nightmares again.”

Looking down at the floor, I mumble, “I think now that I’m here they’ll go away.”

“If they don’t, I want you to call me,” he replies, touching my cheek.

“Okay,” I reply in a small voice, and he drops his hand.

“I should get on the road now—I want to avoid the rush hour traffic near Ann Arbor,” he says with forced cheer in his voice. “Everything’s going to be great here. You’re going to love it at Crestwood, Evie,” he says with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be stellar,” I reply with forced enthusiasm. “Anyway, you should go—beat the traffic. I’ll walk you out,” I say, pretending that I’m not about to bawl my eyes out.

Holding his hand, I walk with him out to his truck. He gives me a huge bear hug before getting into it. “I’ll come for Homecoming, okay?” he asks through the window.

“Can’t wait,” I say with a ghost of a smile.

As he starts the engine, I bite my lower lip so it won’t tremble. Seeing him smile at me through the glass, my heart accelerates in fear. Uncle Jim gives me a small wave, and I mirror the action, although my hand shakes just a little. When his car drives out of sight, I walk slowly back upstairs.

Turning the key in the lock to my single room, I push the door open. About to step through the doorway, I freeze when I see a shadow move quickly across the wall. It startles me. “Hello?” I inquire, but no one answers me.

Rubbing my eyes, I blink a couple of times before I close my door. I hurry to the windows on the far wall, looking for someone outside my window on the fire escape. It’s empty; the heavy iron grate of the landing is rusty in spots from disuse, appearing as if no one has been out there in a while.

Sighing, I turn from the window and scan the room, taking in the bare walls and empty shelves—it can belong to anyone. It’s like looking at a blank canvas; as if the person that I was prior to this moment with all of the vibrant colors, intricate shapes, and textures that were painted on that canvas throughout my life has no voice here—no future. I just need to unpack my stuff, so I can feel normal, I think to myself.

I choose a box near the sink and begin unpacking it. As I set a picture of Uncle Jim and me on the bedside table, the clock tower of Central Hall scares me by loudly tolling out the hour. Bong… bong… bong… three o‘clock. The deep timbre of the bell churns the air ominously. I hope it doesn‘t do that all night because that could get really annoying, I think before trying to synchronize my clock to reflect the clock tower’s pronouncement.

Unpacking some of my clothes next, I finish putting them in the drawers. I have more time to kill before I have to walk to the Sage Center. Freshman orientation starts at four o’clock. My plan is to get there just in time to slip in the back of the auditorium and find a seat because the thought of milling around alone in the lobby before the orientation seems very awkward and unappealing.

After making my bed, I feel a little bit better as I lie on the soft coverlet, smelling the scent of home that clings to the blanket. Yawning tiredly, my eyes droop because I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I avoid sleep. When I sleep, I dream, and my dreams make me feel like I’m drowning. Yawning again, I push myself up, looking for another box to unpack so I won’t crash yet. I want to be utterly exhausted when I sleep so that there will be less of a chance that I’ll remember my nightmare.

Finding a small box by the sink, I pick it up and wrestle with the sticky packing tape, trying to rip it off. The tape sticks to my hand as I carry it to my desk, setting it down near the lamp. Pulling the box cutter from the pocket of my denim skirt, I expose the blade.

A shadow darts in front of the window, blotting out the sunlight for a moment. It distracts me so that I look up. In the next second, searing pain registers in my mind as blood runs onto the box. I hiss in pain, dropping the stupid box cutter with a clatter on the desk. As I inspect my finger, blood wells up from a deep cut. Walking to the sink, I run it under the cold water.

It’s not too deep. Maybe I can get away with just putting a bandage on it when I get it to stop bleeding, I think to myself. Finding a small towel to wrap around it, I open the medicine cabinet over the sink that I had stocked earlier. As I fumble with a box of bandages, I apply pressure to my cut. It’s throbbing like I had opened an artery while splotches of red soak through the bone-colored terrycloth.

Ignoring its pulsing ache, I go over to the windows again to see if someone is out there. I examine the fire escape again; I am on the second floor, and the grating is at least twenty feet off the ground. The ladder has to be pushed off of it, so no one can just jump onto it. Sticking my head out the window, I look up, but there is no way to enter it from above either. Feeling shady about it, I close the windows and lock them.

I’m so tired that I’m seeing things, I think, rubbing my eyes with my good hand. I cross back to my bed, flopping onto it to stare at the freshly painted white ceiling. Yawning, I turn my head, reading the clock. My eyes close for a second, and I feel for a moment like I am floating. I jerk my eyes open before pulling one of my pillows to me and hugging it for comfort. Watching the clock in front of me again, I try to stay awake.

Why is my room so cold? I wonder as I turn over on my side. It’s freezing… Opening my eyes, I stare hazily at the vinyl tiles beneath my damp cheek; they stretch out in a checkerboard pattern of muted beige and taupe into a desolate infinity. Touching my fingertips to my aching jaw, I lift my face from a sticky pool on the floor. Thick, red lines of blood slip down my neck to rain like tears onto my elegant top.

Beautiful music of the sweetest resonance sways around me, but it is punctuated by a grating, buzzing sound that is making my head dizzy. Disoriented and nauseous, I look toward the sound of the music.

My eyes fall upon the most beautiful face I have ever seen, but his perfect features are covered in gore. Large streaks of blood mottle the sides of his mouth, running in trails of horror from his face. A slow, sensual smile curls the corners of his lips as he sees me watching him.

Fear, like a choking noose, steals the air from my lungs, forbidding me to turn away from him. Gently, he lifts my hand while softly prying my fingers open. Small silver pendants dangle from a worn brown leather strap in my palm. They catch the light as the beautiful monster takes them from me.

A voice that sounds like my own whispers, “Unravel the life force and lose a soldier, a lover, a friend. Always been there… always there… “ Bong… “Can’t stop it from coming…” Bong… “Can’t stop…”

CHAPTER 2

Orientation

… Bong… Bong…

As my eyes fly open, I lurch up in bed—panting heavily, as if I’ve been running laps. My hand instinctively touches my cheek to see if there is anything on it…like blood. When I pull my fingertips back and see that they are clean, I hang my head in misery. My hand drops to my chest, feeling the bludgeoning beat of my heart within it.

Disoriented, I lift my head before focusing my attention on the clock near my bed. It’s four, my mind screams and my heartbeat triples. Freshman orientation…

In a panic, I drag myself out of bed, stumbling to the sink. I turn on the tap and splash some water on my face to wake myself up. Then, I pause. Blinking, I hold up my finger, but I can’t seem to find where I had cut myself. It’s gone—there isn’t even a mark on my skin—nothing to indicate that I’d even scratched myself with that box cutter.

Did I dream that cut? I wonder while my groggy mind struggles to wake up. No, I think, picking up the towel I had used to wrap my finger earlier. My blood is all over it. Searching the room for answers, I see the clock again—it’s past four. I’m missing orientation!

In a hurry, I check my reflection in the mirror again. I stand on my tiptoes and try to see if my denim skirt is appropriate for the orientation. I give it a quick tug to straighten it; it’s more of a micro mini than I’d thought, but I really don’t have time to change it now—it goes well with my sleeveless top. Quickly, I touch up my make-up.

Locking the door to my room, I move through the short hallway that leads to the main hall on the second floor. I jog down the stairs to the reception area and head for the beveled glass doors. Pushing one open and letting it bang closed behind me, I run down the sidewalk toward the auditorium.

It takes me no time at all to become flushed from the mixture of late afternoon sun, exertion, and stress over being late. This should’ve been a nice, casual stroll through the campus, I think, listening to the heavy panting of my breath.

The trees on campus are meticulously laid out to line the paths in arching aisles of green. Legions of birds are nesting in the thick canopy of leaves that stretch far above my head. It would be a beautiful nature walk, had I not been so late. As I listen to the calling birdsong above my ragged breath, I envy those birds for their ability to fly.

Sprinting the last few steps to the Sage Center, I make it just before an elderly woman with a sour expression on her face closes the doors to the auditorium. A grimace of apology crosses my face as her eyes rove over me in disapproval.

“They’re all in there, dear,” she says as she points to the doors at the back of the lobby.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I touch my stomach, because it feels slightly off all of a sudden—not hungry or upset—it’s more like the fluttering feeling you get on an airplane when it dips fast in turbulence. But, that isn’t exactly right…it feels like something inside of me is tugging me forward. I must be getting out of shape or something if I feel this strange after only running half a mile.

Walking through the lobby of the auditorium, I’m grateful for the air-conditioning. I haven’t had the occasion to be in this building until today. It’s amazing, and I’m trying not to gawk as I glance around. Intricate floor-to-ceiling windows grace the front of the auditorium, throwing sunlight on the lithe fountain in the center of the marble floor. Diamonds of reflected light dance over the walls and ceiling and illuminate the beautiful bronze statuary frolicking in the midst of cascading water. Wandering over to the fountain, I read the bronze placard at the base of the statue: A Gift of the Wellington Family.

Momentarily distracted by the sign, I stumble into an elegant, sweeping staircase that leads up to the second floor balcony area. Blushing, I look around to see if anyone witnessed my faux pas, but the space is mostly empty because everyone has already gone inside.

I hurry over to the heavy wooden doors at the back of the lobby. As I push one open, I pause again just beyond the threshold because the lighting in the auditorium is dimmer than it was outside, making it difficult to see. Before my eyes adjust, I realize I’ve made another crucial mistake when the door slams shut behind me, causing several students seated nearby to turn and stare at me curiously. While feeling like an errorist for all of my blunders, I search in vain for an available seat so I can move away from my conspicuous position by the door.

Someone begins waving his hands a few rows from where I’m standing. “Genevieve…Genevieve,” a loud whisper says.

I move forward before recognition makes me falter and cringe inwardly. The person hailing me with unabashed fervor is the only person I’ve previously met at Crestwood. Alfred is waving to me and gesturing wildly toward the seat next to his, about midway down the aisle. I close my eyes briefly in an attempt to block out the faces of the students who are now openly scrutinizing me.

I hardly know Alfred at all; we’re acquaintances. I’d gotten invited to a Break the Ice Brunch this summer prior to coming to Crestwood. As a prospective Crestwood student, Alfred Standish’s mother had invited other potential freshmen to their home, hoping to find a friend for Alfred before school. It was a nice idea, in theory, but since I’d been the only guest to show up, it turned into more of a stiff interrogation than a cordial brunch. So instead of being an icebreaker, it had felt more like an icemaker.

When I had met Alfred, he hadn’t said much, but had let his mother do all of the talking for him. Secretly, I’m a little concerned about him because I look like a social butterfly next to him. At 5’6” and about 140 pounds, he might be an easy target to bully in the freshman dormitory.

I plaster a smile on my face because avoiding him now that he knows I see him would be a huge dis, so I trudge ahead, feeling like everyone’s eyes are on me. “Hi, Alfred, how was your summer?” I ask, while sitting in the seat next to his.

“It was weak. I didn’t do much, just worked on my multislacking,” Alfred replies with a grin. “I was hoping to see you here. You’re the only person I really know at Crestwood.”

“Wow, is that right?” I ask, trying to be supportive. “We have something in common—I’m flying solo here, too. Have I missed anything?” I ask with my eyebrows knitting together.

“No, they’ve just had us marinating here. They haven’t started yet, so you can kick back,” he says, taking in my rigid body language.

I let out a deep breath. “Thanks,” I say, and I feel unexpectedly grateful to be able to talk to someone. I sit back a little easier in my seat trying to chill, but my stomach still feels really strange, like butterflies are taking off inside me.

“You’d better make sure you silence your cell,” Alfred says conspiratorially. “They made an announcement that someone will collect your phone if they hear it. That’s such crap, like we’re still in high school or something,” he mutters, shaking his head.

I reach into my bag and silence my phone. “I bet that irritated some of the bluetools around here,” I smile, referring to the people who always wear their Bluetooth phones, even when they’re not talking on them.

Alfred smirks. “Yeah, you should’ve seen the texters scramble to silence their alerts,” he laughs. “Can you imagine them taking the phone from a dedicated texter? Their worlds would end—no more LOL or BRB—no, it’d be CUL8R.” We both laugh, while his blue eyes crinkle in the corners warmly.

The lights dim in the auditorium, and the crowd slowly begins to quiet as the Dean of Men addresses the audience from the podium at the center of the stage. What ensues is what one expects from an orientation: a brief history of the school, a general dissertation of its traditions, and an overview of the student code of conduct. Snore.

When the dean finishes speaking, an administrator addresses the class regarding freshmen registration. It’ll be conducted using the first initial of the student’s last name. As a C, for Claremont, I’ll enroll earlier in the morning than most other freshmen students. I smile because I know what an advantage this will be in attempting to get the most desirable classes.

Next, a few representatives from the sorority and fraternity houses on campus address us. One student is speaking about the various activities associated with the Greek system. Throughout this dissertation, Alfred is furiously taking notes on the subject, arduously documenting the process on his iPhone. Suddenly, I feel very protective of Alfred. I can picture him at the mercy of some overbearing upperclassmen with a God complex, bent on hazing and control—not a pleasant thought. Alfred seems younger than me, although I’m sure that isn’t the case because we’re both freshmen. Maybe I feel this way because he is what one would term as slight, or maybe it’s because he had done me a solid today by saving me a seat. Since he seems to look at me as a friend, it won’t hurt me to keep an eye on him, just to make sure that he adjusts well to school.

Stifling a yawn, I allow my eyes to wander through the profiles of the students sitting nearby. Just a few rows ahead of me, my gaze halts abruptly on a broad set of shoulders—very masculine shoulders. As my eyes begin traveling upward, I notice the curve of his neck and his strong jaw line—a full mouth that I can only describe as…sensual. He has a straight nose, I note as my eyes continue further up to his eyes, which are very, … very…angry? Livid would be a better word to describe the eyes glaring at me across the small space.

My heartbeat accelerates as my cheeks flush at the look of pure malice he sends in my direction. I turn my head to search behind me, hoping to see who has incurred the wrath of the perfection in front of me, but there seems to be no one who stands out as the object of his hatred. I look toward him again in confusion to see if he is still looking this way. My cheeks grow redder when I see that he is and that his expression hasn’t changed at all.

What’s up with hotness? I wonder. He looks like someone definitely broke his crayons. Quickly, I look away from him before I melt from the heat. Who is he? I wonder, trying to see him with my peripheral vision so that he won’t think that I am scoping him. Maybe he’ll be in that freshman directory.

I had gotten a directory with all of the incoming freshman class’s pictures and bios in it. It had been mailed to my house and was put together by the Crestwood Mother’s Club. I had looked myself up in it and found the senior picture I had been required to send in when I applied to Crestwood. Next to my picture was a brief biography of my high school accomplishments, which, I also assume, was collected from the application I had submitted to the school.

Apparently, privacy isn’t a priority for the Mother’s Club, but in this case, I’ll use it to my advantage. Due to my plotting, I barely hear the plan outlining a walk to Arden Lake directly following the orientation. The woman at the podium said something about finding a group? People in the auditorium are beginning to get up and mill around the exits.

“I must’ve been day dreaming there at the end. What was that part about Arden Lake?” I ask Alfred as we rise from our seats.

He stretches his arms as he says, “Oh, we’re supposed to find our groups for the walk to the lake just off campus. It’s a Crestwood tradition for the freshman class to go there for a barbeque. I think your group is that way,” he points, “with the first part of the alphabet. You’re a C, right?” he asks me.

I follow his line of sight to a group of students mingling near the doors at the side of the auditorium. They’re all BlackBerryjammed together, trying to turn the ring tones of their phones back on.

“Yeah,” I say absently, “I’m a C.”

I miss whatever it is that Alfred says next because I inadvertently stop listening. Instead, my entire focus is riveted on the perfect features of the guy from earlier—the angry one. He is leaning casually against the door to the exit, being surrounded by coeds with flushed, adoring faces. Among his pack of admirers is a cute little blond freshman playing with her cropped hair and touching his arm flirtatiously over something he is saying. As she taps the clipboard in his hand, I wonder if he is the guide for our walk to the lake.

After taking a couple of steps in my group’s direction, I pause because the strangest thing is happening to me. The fluttering, weightless feeling in my stomach that I’ve had since arriving at the auditorium, seems to be increasing in intensity as I move forward. It’s as if velvet-winged Monarchs are taking flight inside of me.

Unconsciously, I take another step in the direction of my group, but I stop when Alfred points and says, “I think that’s my group over there. I wish we were walking together. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat when we get to the lake?” he asks, while looking down at his shoes when the last words are spoken, making him seem really vulnerable. Suddenly, I feel even more protective of Alfred.

“That sounds good, Alfred—um do you have a nickname? Something less formal than Alfred?” I ask as he stares at me. When he doesn’t answer I go on, “You know, like what do your friends at home call you?”

“Umm, my friends, they all call me Alfred,” he replies.

Smiling, I roll my eyes, before asking, “No one calls you Al or Fred, something that doesn’t make you sound like somebody’s grandfather?”

“Uh, no, just Alfred,” he says, mirroring my smile.

“Well, I think that, since we’re going to be friends, and since I’m going to insist that you call me Evie instead of Genevieve, it would be sweet if I could call you by something less formal than Alfred…like Freddie?” I ask, hoping that he won’t object to the nickname.

“Yeah, that’s fine…that’s good…Freddie,” he grins at me, seeming in a daze.

“Okay, we had better go and join our groups,” I say, looking around.

My group appears about ready to leave, but before I join them, I assess Freddie critically. He looks like he’s ready to go on a march with a fascist dictator, not a nature walk to a lake. His white oxford shirt is tightly buttoned at the collar and tucked into a pair of khaki shorts, which is being held up by a navy blue belt. Impulsively, I unbutton the top button of Freddie’s oxford shirt. Then, I muss up the perfectly straight, side-parted hairstyle he is sporting because it looks like Lego hair, like he had snapped it on his head this morning before going out.

“There,” I breathe. “That’s better. Now, untuck your shirt and I’ll see you at the lake.” He walks away from me smiling and untucking his shirt, which is amazingly unwrinkled for having been shoved in his shorts.

As I walk slowly over to my group, I study the face of our handsome group leader as he stands in the same position by the door. When I near him, his eyes lock with mine while his expression darkens into a frown.

It is me! I think anxiously, He hates me! Maybe he only likes blonds. Nervously, I play with a strand of my hair and scan the crowd ahead of me, trying to find a tall person to stand behind—one that will shield my 5’9” frame from his line of sight. I locate an extremely tall male and tuck myself behind him.

You’re being a coward and completely irrational, I think, trying to rally my fragile ego. You must be misreading something. He doesn’t hate you; he doesn’t even know you. Maybe he’s having a bad day, or maybe you remind, him of someone he does hate.

The distinctive fluttering in my stomach flares up again, making me feel like I’m being propelled lightly forward in the direction of the exit—his direction. Peeking out from around the wall of male I’ve strategically maneuvered behind, I see him coming toward me. Shoot! Here he comes! I think, bracing myself.

In seconds, I’m face to face with the most stunningly beautiful person I’ve ever met. Well, maybe not “face to face” as he is at least five inches taller than me. He’s standing so close to me, that I have to crane my neck to see his eyes; they’re green and almost gray around the edges of his irises.

Leaning in closely to my ear, his breath stirs my hair as he says softly, “This is not your group, and it is time for you to leave now.”

His voice sounds like silk, but there is something very wrong with it. It’s echoing and shifting within my mind, making it seem to go on, like whispering hisses that linger even after his lips stop moving and his breath no longer tickles my hair. A small shiver of fear slips down my spine as every hair on the nape of my neck stands straight up in that moment. Stepping back and looking at his exquisite face, I see an air of expectation in his eyes.

“How do you know I have the wrong group? Have we met?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow, not even attempting to conceal the irritation in my voice.

Confusion briefly clouds his eyes as he processes my response. He seems surprised at my reaction to his directive. He’s probably used to getting his own way. I bet women line up for a chance to please him.

“What is your name?” he asks in a soft, urgent tone, leaning near my ear again. I stiffen again because his voice is making that hissing sound once more.

My eyes narrow, “What’s yours? Mephistopheles?” I counter. “And, what’s with your voice anyway? It’s making my skin crawl,” I ask, rubbing my arms absently in an attempt to alleviate the goose bumps. His voice is more than annoying; it’s insulting. It’s making my brain feel itchy, but I can’t scratch it through my skull.

I am gratified to see that I have startled him; he hides it well, but there had been a definite widening of his eyes and pupil dilation. If I hadn’t been so focused on his eyes, I might have missed it. His face is losing its menacing expression as it’s becoming devoid of emotion. It bothers me because without some indication of his emotion, it is hard to tell what he’s thinking. I glance around in frustration, seeing that we are rapidly gaining the attention of the rest of the group. In fact, the cute blond he had been talking with earlier is assessing me as one does a rival on an opposing team.

When my eyes return to his, he says, “I simply want to check to see if you are on my list.” His tone is smooth and clear, with no creepy undercurrent woven into it. “What is your name?” he asks me, before waving his clipboard back and forth as if to corroborate his statement.

“Evie,” I reply in a near whisper, noticing that we are definitely the objects of scrutiny from the rest of the freshmen in the group.

He peruses the list of names on his clipboard like a bouncer at an exclusive club. I watch him with cautious fascination, knowing full well that he won’t locate an Evie on the roster, and wait to see his reaction. As his head dips low over the list, his dark hair slips down over one eyebrow. My hand wants to brush his hair back into place, to feel the texture of it. How strange—just a moment ago he was creeping me out and now I want to run my fingers through his hair. Maybe I’m schizophrenic, I think warily as the flutters in my stomach dance wildly.

Looking up from scanning the printout, a smug smile graces his lips as he says, “I am sorry, there does not appear to be an Evie anywhere on my list. You must be in a different group after all.”

No, there is definitely no creepy in his voice now. It’s just the voice one expects from someone this appealing—strong and kind of sexy.

“That’s because my name’s Genevieve Claremont, and I am on your list, about half way down in the second column,” I counter quietly. He locates my name easily. “But my friends call me Evie…” I continue with a hint of a smile that trails off, along with my voice as I become aware that he is again frowning at me.

“So you are…Genevieve,” he replies with polite coolness, while tucking the clipboard under his arm. “We should go now; we’re holding up the group.”

He turns then and walks to the front of the crowd of students. Soon, everyone begins to file out of the auditorium. I follow them into the waning sunlight, shuffling toward the back of my group while praying that this will all be over soon.

CHAPTER 3

Arden Lake

I have heard it said that if you stay in one place long enough, the whole world would eventually pass by you. I’m not sure if I buy that, but if you have four miles to walk to a lake, while stuck behind a bunch of teenage girls, you will hear quite enough gossip about the place you are in, not to mention the people who reside there, to make that world quite interesting. I have already learned quite enough about Reed Wellington, my beautiful sophomore guide with a penchant for rudeness.

According to Christy, the brunette with the sling-back sandals, Reed is on the Crestwood lacrosse team. He is not affiliated with any fraternity house on campus, but he sometimes attends the parties at the Delt house. He doesn’t have a girlfriend on campus, but it’s generally thought that he has a hometown girl because he’s way too hot not to have someone. He has a house just outside of town, but he didn’t grow up there, he was originally from somewhere “out east.” His family is very wealthy, with residences scattered around the globe, but no one knows much about them—they never seem to visit.

I listen intently to the Reed fan club as they dredge up tidbits of salacious gossip and toss it around like one would an urban legend. The girl with the sandals encrusted with Swarovski crystals heard that Reed’s family was responsible for most of the improvements made to the new science wing at Crestwood. She adds that the Dean is constantly trying to get Reed to be an ambassador for the school.

I snort when I hear this. Ambassador of what, ill will? I think as I plod along.

No sooner had I thought that then I feel a nudge in my side as the tree-like person next to me jabs his elbow into my ribs. I look up to see the guy I had hidden behind earlier in the auditorium looking down on me.

“Shoot,” he says with a twang in his voice that instantly gives away his southern roots, “if they keep goin’ on like this all day, I might be in danger of proposin’ to Reed by the end of this walk…and I don’t even fancy men, if y’all know what I mean.”

Grinning at me with two boyish dimples, his warm brown eyes dance. “My name’s Russell, by the way, and before ya ask, I’m from North Carolina, near Asheville,” he informs me.

Clutching my side where there is sure to be a bruise from his well-placed elbow, I laugh at his statement. “North Carolina, huh? What brings you this far north? Let me guess, you just want to experience a Michigan winter?” I ask, seeing him cringe at my sarcasm.

“Ya mean they weren’t messin’ with me when they said y’all get piles of that cold, white stuff that falls out of the sky?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “Where’s that recruiter?” he demands, looking around in faux anger.

“I’m afraid I’m not messin’ with you in the least. So, you were recruited to come to Crestwood?” I ask.

“Yeah, football scholarship. Couldn’t have come here otherwise. I got a full ride, and I get to play ball, too. What’s a little snow compared to that?” he asks innocently.

“Let’s see if you can still make that statement in four months, when football is over for the season, and you’re freezing while walking to class,” I say with a wry smile.

“Well, Red, that sounds just a bit pessimistic to me, and I didn’t have ya pegged as a doubter, but I’ll take ya up on yer wager,” Russell says.

“Red?” I ask in surprise.

“Well, ya haven’t exactly blurted out yer name, and ya have all that hair—I thought it was brown when we were in the Sage Center, but now that we’re outside and the sun’s shinin’ on it, I can see that it’s more red—kinda fiery—ah dang, I don’t know—it’s pretty, that’s all,” Russell stammers as a blush stains his cheeks.

“Ah…thanks, I’m Evie,” I reply, feeling a blush creeping into my own cheeks. “We have something in common,” I go on, trying to lessen the awkwardness of the moment. “I’m here on scholarship, too. Full ride academic, couldn’t have come here otherwise,” I say, trying to mimic his drawl and failing miserably.

“Yer the whole package, fittie and smart. Now, I knew there was somethin’ special ‘bout ya, Red. I have a nose for these things,” he smiles, pointing to his nose, which is slightly crooked as if it had been broken once or twice, but reset so that it just adds character to his face.

I’m definitely blushing now from his compliment. “Fittie,” that’s like extreme hotness. I never think of myself that way. He must be a playa or something.

Beneath the clear blue autumn sky, Arden Lake appears around the bend in the road. Following the path that winds its way near the cattails at the edge of the water, I catch a glimpse of the snowy white tents in the distance. They grace a small inlet where the water meets the sky in a hazy blending of shapes and colors. The barbeque appears to be in full swing and the aroma as we near the tents is nothing short of mouthwatering.

“I can’t believe we finally made it,” Russell says, as we get closer to the tents. “Walkin’ behind those girls is like herdin’ cats, ya know. It’s pointless to try to hurry ‘em,” he jokes, and I laugh at the mental picture that represents. “Now when I heard the gal talkin’ ‘bout a barbeque, I have to admit I was a bit skeptical, ‘cuz after all, this is the north and y’all may be unaccustomed to the finer points of the grill. But, I’m feelin’ more and more optimistic the closer we get.” His smile is infectious and I grin back. “Can I buy ya supper?” he asks.

“Uh, sure, but I think it’s provided by the school, so maybe I’ll buy you dinner,” I say wryly.

“Wicked, it’s a date,” he says, taking my hand and hurrying me along the path.

Making it to the first tent, the grandeur of it amazes me. Snowy-white linens veil the tables. The chairs are also covered in white linen, which are tied with black satin sashes. Elaborate flower centerpieces adorn the tables and, in the middle of the tent, a large crystal chandelier hangs radiantly over our heads.

Russell gives a low whistle, “Y’all put a new spin on the word barbecue,” he says as he places one of his large hands on the small of my back, leading me toward the line of banquet tables. Handing me a plate, we walk together through the maze of food.

When our plates are full, we shuffle past several tables of diners, toward the back of the tent where there is still available seating. As we near a table that is crammed with athletic looking guys, I hear them trading insults with one another as they scarf down enough food to feed a small village.

One of them, noticing Russell and me, lets out a loud wolf whistle. “Hey, Russell, where’re you going?” Russell ignores him as he ushers me by the rowdy table. “Who’s your friend with the legs?” he calls after us as we continue on. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Smirking over his shoulder, Russell calls back, “Naw, Mason, she’s much too clever for ya.”

Blushing, I scan the tables ahead for a couple of empty chairs. “Friends of yours?” I ask Russell with a raise of my eyebrow. “Do you want to sit with them? I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“Naw,” he says swiftly.

“No, they’re not friends, or no, you don’t want to sit with them?” I ask, continuing to follow him away from the other table.

“No,” he says, “I don’t wanna sit with them, but they’re my crew. Well, some of ‘em are, anyway. Mason is on the team, along with a few of the other guys. The rest are from the dorm, Brady Hall. We’ve been chillin’ together most of the summer, since we had to be here for trainin’ camp. I could use a night off from them, if ya know what I mean.”

Spotting Freddie a few tables ahead of us, sitting alone, I call out to him as we approach. “Freddie! Hey, can we sit here with you?” I ask in relief at finally finding a seat.

As I set my plate down on the table next to where Freddie is sitting, I begin to pull the chair out when it is tugged out of my hand by Russell, who holds it out for me. “Wow,” I say in surprise, “a true southern gentlemen. You’re mother must be proud.”

“Yeah, she and my Auntie Emily worked on me for a while, tryin’ to get me to learn some manners, and eventually I caught on when I found out they weren’t gonna let me eat ‘til everyone was seated, and they wouldn’t sit down ‘til I pulled out their chairs for them. When yer fifteen, in the middle of a growth spurt, and havin’ just finished a gruelin’ practice, y’all will do just ‘bout anythin’ to get to the food,” Russell says with a laugh.

I laugh too, trying to imagine him at fifteen. He was probably tall and lanky with sharp elbows. He’s not lanky anymore, I think as I covertly assess him. His large frame is filling out the chair, making the chair look delicate by comparison. He looks rugged and maybe a little dangerous, but his dimples offset his powerful physique, making the total package very attractive.

“You’re Russell Marx,” Freddie says next to me as he addresses my dinner companion. “You’re the new quarterback the Chargers just recruited!” he goes on excitedly, and I remember my manners just then.

“I’m sorry, Russell, this is Freddie Standish. Freddie, well, it seems you already know this is Russell,” I explain.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the king of the ‘Hail Mary’ or something like that?” Freddie says to Russell.

“Yeah, well, yes and no. I had a great receiver on my high school team by the name of Wes Larson. Now, Wes was the fastest runner in four counties, and he had hands that could catch any slop I threw. I just had to launch the ball down the field, and damn if that kid didn’t just fly to the other end of the field to get it. Ya see, there’re really only two things ya need for a Hail Mary to be effective: one, ya need a fast receiver, and two, one of these.” As he says this, he pulls out a small metal medallion from his pocket; it’s a Mary medallion.

“See here,” Russell goes on, “in order for the Hail Mary to work properly, ya have to have her on yer side,” he says grinning, showing all of his perfectly straight, white teeth. “This one was a gift from my team.”

I must have a strange look on my face because Russell adds, “Don’t tell me yer an atheist, Red.”

“No, I’m not an atheist,” I reply quietly—my head is spinning.

I have the strangest feeling now. It’s like I’ve met Russell somewhere before——like I know him——but not just know him——it’s something more. He smiles at me, and I feel it again, it’s a distant sort of recognition. Maybe I had read something on the Crestwood website about him, but that doesn’t seem to be it. I think about it through dessert and well into our discussion about the next day’s registration.

I relax in my seat, listening contentedly to Russell and Freddie talk about the football team’s chances this season. Looking over at one of the tent flaps, I notice that the sun is just about to set. “It’s getting dark outside,” I say. “Does anyone know how we’re supposed to get home from here? Are we walking back?”

“No,” Freddie says as he gets up from his seat. “I think they chartered some buses for us to ride back. I heard them pulling up outside when we were getting dessert.”

I start to stand, picking up my bag, and find my chair being drawn back from the table for me. “Thank you,” I say to Russell, trying not to stare into his face, which is becoming more attractive to me by the second. “I think I’ll go and see if I can locate the bathroom before we leave.”

“I’ll go save some seats on the bus for us. I’ll see you over there,” Freddie says, nodding his head in the direction of the front of the tent.

“Thanks, Freddie.” I watch him walk away in that direction.

“The bathroom’s not a bad call, I’ll go with ya, Red,” Russell says.

We walk over to one of the tent flaps near the back of the tent and out into the twilight. We are very near the water now, and the breeze carries with it a balmy scent that is a mixture of the water plants that surround the lake and the water itself. Following the path away from the lake, we locate a small brick building that serves as a public restroom. When I come back out, I see Russell waiting for me a short distance away, on the path back to the lake.

“You waited for me,” I say, a bit in surprise.

“Well, yeah,” he grins, “we can’t have ya walkin’ alone out here at night in such a shady part of town. There could be any number of Crestwood gang bangers ‘round here just waitin’ to jump out at ya from the brush,” Russell says outlandishly.

Sweeping his arm around in a wide, arching motion, he seems to be highlighting the fact that we are completely alone out here. Sensing that his argument is flimsy at best, he flashes his dimples at me and says, “Now, c’mon. The buses are fixin’ to leave without us, and then I’ll be forced to defend ya all the way back to the dorms.” Taking my hand in his, we begin strolling back toward the tents.

“Do they teach charm in the south, or do you just come by it naturally?” I ask him, feeling warmth radiating from his body.

“Why, do ya find me charmin’?” he asks, stopping before we reach the tent to smile down at me again.

About to answer him, I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach again. Looking around at once, I notice a figure materializing out of the shadows of the large willow tree. Startled, I shy nearer to Russell.

When the figure becomes recognizable as Reed walking toward us out of the darkness of the trees, I grudgingly admit to myself that he has an incredibly sexy way of walking—it’s effortless, fluid. I wonder if he knows how attractive he is just walking, I think, watching him near Russell and me. Some guys adopt a swagger to look more like players, but this is no swagger; this is raw, aggressive power that is restrained just enough for me to admire the strength it takes to control it.

“Genevieve, may I have a word with you?” Reed asks with cool politeness, nearing us on the path. I feel an inexplicable pull toward him that makes me want to comply with his request. Watching Reed’s eyes flicker to Russell, I see his body grow still.

“Ah, sure, Reed, what’s on your mind?” I ask him, trying to focus on something other than how amazing he looks coming out of the darkness.

If I have surprised him by knowing his name, he isn’t showing it as he looks past me to Russell, saying, “The conversation that I have in mind is best executed in private.”

It is a not so subtle hint to Russell to shove off. Russell’s posture changes immediately; standing up straighter, Russell begins paying closer attention to Reed. They seem to be assessing one another, sizing each other up.

“Well as you can see, I’m kind of busy right now. Maybe we can set up an appointment later for this private discussion,” I reply because his interruption is so rude. “You might want to set one up for Russell, too, because he indicated earlier he has a proposal to run by you.”

I’m gratified to hear the smothered intake of breath from Russell as he gets the joke I have just made. You don’t fancy him now, I’ll bet, I think wryly.

A look of frustration crosses Reed’s face as it becomes clearer to him that I’m not going to give him my attention now. “When?” Reed asks me abruptly.

“I’m not sure right now. Can I get back to you later?” I ask him slowly.

Clenching his teeth, Reed looks at Russell again, but longer this time as his eyebrows come down slowly into a frown. “Am I interrupting your reunion?” Reed asks us in a thoughtful tone.

“Our what?” Russell asks, looking at me to see if I understand what Reed is saying. Shaking my head, I shrug at Russell.

“It is important that we talk now, Genevieve,” Reed says, dissing Russell by failing to acknowledge him.

My eyes narrow as I say, “I so don’t get you, Reed. When I was in the auditorium, you wanted me to go away, and now that we’re here, you want to talk. What do you want to talk about?” I ask him. I feel like he is about to accuse me of doing something wrong. I think that that clipboard he had earlier must have gone to his head.

“I want to talk about you leaving tonight,” Reed replies coldly, staring at me.

“My leaving…why, have the buses left already? Did we miss the ride back?” I ask him anxiously.

Reed almost looks bored. “I was actually talking about you leaving school. Genevieve, please try to keep up. You cannot really be this naїve,” Reed replies, studying me with a cold detachment. I feel my heartbeat picking up as I try to stop the blush from creeping into my cheeks.

Before I can say anything, Russell asks, “Why would she leave school?”

Still holding my hand, Russell takes a step forward, putting himself just slightly in front of me. It was subtle, but I notice it, and looking at Reed, I can tell that he notices it, too. It seems to be making Reed angry. Never having been in a situation like this, I’m at a loss as to what to do next.

Reed frowns at Russell. “This is between Genevieve and me. If you choose to follow her elsewhere, that is your concern, but she is not staying here,” Reed replies as if he is bored with this conversation and ready for us to go.

“And if she decides to stay, what do ya plan on doin’ ‘bout it?” Russell asks Reed calmly, sounding almost friendly…almost.

Reed’s expression turns serious. “That would be an unfortunate decision for her to make,” he replies in a serious tone, watching Russell close.

Taking a step toward the tent, I tug on Russell’s hand in mine, saying, “Let’s go find the bus. We don’t want to miss it.”

“You go on,” Russell says, refusing to move with me. “Reed and I are just gonna have a little man-to-man, then I’ll meet ya on the bus,” he replies, not taking his eyes off of Reed.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “This is stupid,” I say to Russell, trying not to show my growing panic. “He can’t make me leave, so this is pointless. Let’s just go.”

Russell glances at me. “Yer right, he can’t make ya go, but intimidation is another story. Ya weren’t thinkin’ ‘bout intimidatin’ Genevieve, were ya, Reed? ‘Cuz that would be unfortunate,” Russell says in a low, dangerous tone, smiling at Reed smoothly.

Reed’s eyes zero in on our hands clasped together. Then he seems to come to a decision in the next moment as he addresses Russell directly. “You will go to the buses and board one. You will not attempt to communicate with anyone or try to get off the bus until you reach the school. Go now,” Reed orders, using his voice that slithers and hisses.

After tightening his grip on my hand, Russell begins to drag me along the path to the tent. He is moving stiffly, almost involuntarily, like he is trying to fight himself every step of the way.

Something like a growl of frustration comes from Reed before he adds, “Release Genevieve.”

Russell immediately lets go of my hand. He continues on ahead of me, still walking stiffly, not anything like the natural grace that is innate to him.

“Russell, wait!” I say breathlessly, but he doesn’t even look back at me.

In less than a moment, Reed is standing next to me. His voice, silky and sexy again, lacks any undertone as he says, “I have to admit, Genevieve, that boy is determined to protect you. I didn’t think he would have the mental toughness to resist me, but he surprised me when he tried to drag you off with him.”

“What did you do to him?” I ask with what I hope sounds more like indignation, than a high-pitched squeak of fear.

Standing next to me, Reed tilts his head to the side as if listening to something intently. “Your heart is beating so fast, Genevieve…are you afraid?” he ends in a question, seemingly amazed when I just stare at him, my heart still racing. “Calm down, Genevieve. I just want to reason with you. I am sure that you can see that this is not the right place for you.”

“Calm down! Are you serious?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and even. “I’m sorry, Reed, do I seem tweeked to you?” I snap. What was that? I feel like I just swallowed an entire bottle of cough syrup and am now having a nightmarishly absurd trip.

The hysteria I have been holding off until now begins to grip me. “How did you just make Russell leave?” I ask in a near whisper. Reed frowns, but doesn’t answer. Backing away from him as I gesture with my thumb, pointing it back over my shoulder, I say breathlessly, “I’m gonna go now…I’m sorry this conversation isn’t reading on my awesomeness scale…so later.”

“That is too bad, because this is the most interesting conversation I have had in a long time. I was surprised to find you here, and as you can imagine, I am rarely surprised by anything. I was not expecting to see someone like you at Crestwood; you are quite unique. What are you doing here?” he asks with an air of stern authority that is really quite scary.

“I’m going to school, what does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, trying to hold it together. “And what do you mean by ‘someone like me?’” I ask him with suspicion.

“You know what I mean,” he accuses as his eyebrows draw together.

Momentarily distracted by the flawlessness of his face, I study the perfect symmetry of it, noting that even though he is scowling, it doesn’t detract from how lovely he is. But as the ugliness of his words dawn on me, I feel even more hideous because they are coming from such an attractive person.

“You think I shouldn’t be here just because I can’t pay the tuition? Are you calling me trash?” I ask, feeling myself blush in embarrassment. “I earned the right to be here with every grade I struggled to get, and if you think that I have to stand here and listen to this…this…Urr,” I growl, turning from him.

I begin marching in the direction of the tent because I have to get away from Reed, even though I know it is stupid to turn my back on him. I don’t get far before having to stop because Reed is directly in front of me, blocking the way to the tent. I look over my shoulder in confusion to where he had been standing only seconds ago. The distance doesn’t make sense. When our eyes meet again, icy tremors of fear creep through me. I start to back up, feeling disoriented.

Reed’s hand grips my elbow as he says tightly between his teeth, “That is not what I meant.”

“Then, what did you mean?” I ask, but it’s hard to get the words out above a whisper.

Wrenching my arm, I twist it to try to get him to let go of me. He seems not to notice at all—his arm won’t even move. “I meant,” he says, gritting his teeth, “I was surprised to see someone like you here, with parents like yours.”

In shock, my mouth falls open again before I ask, “What do you know about my parents? You are calling me trash! How can you know about my parents?” I struggle hard against his vise-like grip on my elbow. “Let go of me you total elitist! I can’t believe you’re even speaking to me with my lack of pedigree. I may not be wealthy, Reed, but I’m a decent person. So I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone!”

“You may leave when you have answered my questions. In fact, I will insist upon it. Who is your father, Genevieve?” Reed demands.

The blood drains from my face, and I stop struggling. It feels like he punched me in the stomach with that question. Looking away from him, I can’t answer, not only because I don’t know, but also because the sorrow of not knowing and being ridiculed for it just never seems to get easier. It is silly to feel shame over something I have no control over, like this, but reason doesn’t always stand up to pain and come out the victor. My throat tightens and begins to ache. Slowly, I slip the strap of my bag down my arm while reaching my hand inside it.

“You don’t know, do you?” Reed asks in a thoughtful tone, almost to himself. “You don’t know anything…no one knows about you yet…that is the only explanation as to why you’re still here,” he says, studying me. “No one is protecting you. You are all alone, aren’t you?” he asks while he lets my elbow drop from his hand.

I can no longer see his face clearly because my tears are making it impossible, but unfortunately for him, I’ve found what I’ve been searching for in my bag. “I don’t need anyone to protect me when I have this!” I say in a desperate tone.

Pushing the Taser into his side, I release the safety and pull the trigger. The hot, kinetic sizzle of electricity snarls through the gun and into his torso, but Reed doesn’t fall down and start twitching like in the demonstration video. Instead, his eyebrows shoot up in an expression somewhere between disbelief and amazement as he asks, “Are you serious?”

Raw, choking fear, like I’ve never felt before, makes my hands tremble. I drop the Taser. It hits the ground and immediately extinguishes. “I’m sorry, my bad… I’m just going to go now,” I say, backing away from him on shaky legs. “We can talk again later, okay?” I ask in a pleading tone.

Reed doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move either, so I continue retreating from him. When I’m a little further away, I turn and flee from him in the direction of the soft pools of light near the tent flaps. As I enter the tent, the caterers are still packing up the tables and chairs and placing them on long carts to take out to their trucks. Stumbling numbly by piles of stained linen tablecloths, I exit the flap where I had entered at the beginning of the evening. Searching around frantically for the buses, I almost begin flipping out when I realize that they are already gone.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Sweet, this is so perfect! I think sarcastically as I bounce up and down with anxiety. It’s either go back in the tent and beg a ride from the caterers, who probably won’t be leaving for hours, or start walking back to school. Damn!

Unable to contain my urge to flee the scene, I start jogging down the road that winds around the lake. It’s dark now, but there is illumination from a three-quarter moon, making it easier to see the road as it snakes ahead of me. The lake itself is calm; the sound of the water sways gently above the croaking of the frogs, and the rhythmic chirping of the crickets. My mind is a storm by comparison.

I have several questions that need answers: What kind of technology is available that will allow a person’s voice to influence another person? Is it technology? Or is it a technique, like hypnosis? And why did it work on Russell and not on me? Or was Russell fronting? Can Reed and Russell be in this together just to scare me? That last question makes me feel worse than ever, so I run faster toward campus. I don’t let up until I see the hazy glow of lights from the town of Crestwood up ahead.

Civilization, thank God! Relief swamps me at having made it to town, I’m breathing easier, seeing people out walking their dogs in the evening air. It seems safer to be near them— normal—even if they’re complete strangers. The black iron streetlamps lining the sidewalk lead the way through town as I hurry from one pool of light to the next.

Up ahead, someone is running toward me on the sidewalk, hyping up the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. The street lamp bleaches his hair, making it look more surferblond than tawny. Exhaling a huge breath, I recognize that it isn’t a slasher come to kill me, but Russell. I experience only a moment of relief. Then, bracing myself, I expect to be knocked down by the impact of Russell’s huge, muscular body plowing into mine. But instead, he catches me in his arms, embracing me in an enormous, bonecrushing hug.

“Red…are…ya…o…kay?” Russell asks, panting and holding me to his chest. He’s damp with sweat, probably from sprinting flat out the moment he had exited the bus.

“Russ…can’t…breathe,” I manage to respond, even as the air in my lungs is being forced out of me. Almost instantly, he eases up, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath. “I’m okay,” I say, “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Russell’s frown churns in shades—from dark to black—as he continues to pant, looking me over for any obvious signs of trauma. “Really,” I say gently, my eyes meeting his lovely brown ones. “You can put me down now. I’m okay.”

To prove my point, I wiggle my dangling feet. Gently, Russell sets me back on the ground, but he doesn’t release me. Resting his chin on the top of my head, he continues to hug me close to his body.

“Russell, I’m…”

“Shhh.” Russell breathes into my hair. “Just gimme a second here. I have a pretty active imagination, and it was workin’ overtime on the bus all the way back. So just gimme a minute, then I’m gonna walk ya home, and then I’m gonna go find Reed, rip his arm off, and beat him with it.”

“No, Russell, you can’t!” I say, pulling back from his embrace to look up into his brown eyes.

“Yeah, I can, and I’m gonna,” he retorts, just as emphatically.

“No, you really can’t! I’m serious. Reed seems to have some sort of a power of suggestion that can make you do things against your will. He can probably make you beat yourself up and not even lift a finger,” I argue, trying to reason with Russell. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it didn’t look like it was your idea to take a hike tonight.”

Russell’s frown darkens. “Naw, that wasn’t my idea. So I’ll get some earplugs. Then I’ll rip his arm off and beat him with it,” Russell states, not at all dissuaded by my objection.

“A good plan—could possibly work, but I have a feeling that there is more to Reed than what we are seeing on the surface,” I say, trying to take another tack.

“Some sort of a gag, so he can’t talk,” Russell says, almost to himself.

“What if Reed can do more than the thing with his voice?” I ask.

“Whaddaya mean, Red?” Russell asks in confusion.

“I mean, what if he can do other stuff, too? Like, after he made you leave us, he said something about my heart,” I explain, trying to remember the conversation with Reed.

“Yer heart?” he asks, attempting to keep up.

“Yeah…Reed said, Your heart is beating so fast, Genevieve,’ and that I should try to calm down,” I say slowly. “But he wasn’t close enough to hear my heart, but it seemed to me that he did hear it—the way his head tilted to the side—like he was listening. It was beating really fast because I was really scared when I saw you leaving.”

“I’m sorry, Evie,” Russell says with a look of horror, “I tried to stop, to turn ‘round and come back for ya, but it was like someone else was in control of me, and I had no choice but to frickin’ cop to it. I’ve never felt so useless in my life,” Russell explains, dipping his head in remorse.

“Stop, Russell, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. I was there—remember? I heard his voice, too,” I say, placing my hand on his arm. “In fact, Reed tried that voice on me a couple of times already, but it doesn’t work on me.” I feel guilty for briefly thinking that Russell was in on this with Reed. It’s obvious that Russell is just as tweeked as I am over what has happened tonight.

“Why does he want y’all to leave school?” Russell asks in anger. “And why doesn’t it work on y’all? ‘Cuz I felt like Elmo.”

“Elmo?” I ask.

“A puppet,” he replies.

“Oh. I don’t know why he wants me to leave. Maybe I don’t have enough bank for him,” I hedge, not wanting to explain to Russell about my upbringing and lack of parental units. “He said something about Crestwood not being right for me.”

“I don’t have Benjamins either. What does that matter?” asks Russell furiously.

“I’m not sure,” I reply, feeling uncomfortable about not being completely honest with him. I want to tell him everything, but I can’t seem to bring myself to explain to him how I had been raised, so I can’t tell him about the rest of what Reed had said. I rub my forehead, saying, “I have some questions I need answered before either of us approaches Reed. You have to promise me that you aren’t going to try to talk to him until we know more about how his persuasion works.”

“Did I say I want to talk to him?” he asks me sarcastically. “I can get my point across without sayin’ a word.”

“Promise me,” I say again in a quiet tone.

“So, where’re ya stayin’ anyway? Are ya in Oldmen?” he asks, attempting to evade the pledge.

“No, I’m in Yeats, but don’t try to change the subject,” I counter. “Listen, at least think about your scholarship. You can’t beat someone down and hope to stay on the team, especially not the guy whose family is a main contributor to the school.”

At this, Russell laces his fingers together behind his head and groans in frustration. My argument has hit a nerve, and I feel the tide turning to my side. I feel relief. I’m really concerned about Russell. He appears to be the stronger of the two, but somehow I know that that isn’t the case.

“It wouldn’t be a beat down, Red; this would be more of a good ol’ fashion ass kickin’,” he says, smiling until he sees the look on my face. Then he groans. “Yer tyin’ my hands, Red. The first rule for dealin’ with a bully is to confront him head on, so he knows yer not afraid of him and that yer not gonna stand for his shen,” Russell explains, glaring at me accusingly.

“Shenanigans, huh?” I ask with a ghost of a smile. “Well, I see your point. I’m just saying that maybe we should try getting a look at our bully’s playbook before we challenge him to a game.”

Russell stops then, peering down at me. “Who are ya?” he asks me.

I’m taken aback. That is the second time tonight someone has questioned who I am. “I’m just a girl,” I say, somewhat defensively. We arrive at my dormitory. “Well, this is me,” I say with a sigh, indicating the door to my dorm and fumbling for my key. “I guess I’ll see you around campus, huh?”

“Yeah, especially if ya agree to meet me at the union after registration tomorrow. Ya didn’t boyfriend drop me, so I’m assumin’ it’s all right,” he smiles, waiting for my answer. He means that since I haven’t yet mentioned a boyfriend to him, he is going to assume that I don’t have one.

“No boyfriend to drop. Anyway, we’re just talking,” I reply, smiling back shyly.

“What time do ya register?” Russell asks me, his brown eyes watching me close.

“Umm, in the morning, around eight-thirty, I think. You?” I ask, trying to cover my surprise at his invitation.

“I’m already pre-registered. I just have to go and make it official tomorrow. It shouldn’t take ya more than an hour to register for yer classes. Meet me at the union at around ten o’clock—we’ll go buy our books together,” he says.

“Okay, I’ll see you at ten,” I reply. As I stick the key in the door, I remember something very important. Turning back, I see Russell walking away, so I call out to him, “Hey! You didn’t promise me about confronting Reed!”

“I know,” he calls back over his shoulder as he walks away.

Stumbling up the stairs to my room, I throw my bag down by the door. I’m to my desk with my laptop open before I know what I’m doing. With a fresh email to Uncle Jim ready to go, I want to bludgeon the keys of my keyboard with an account of what had happened to me, but I can’t. My hands shake as they hover above the keys. Remembering my encounter with Reed by the lake, the locomotive beat of my heart far surpasses the idle tempo of the blinking cursor.

How do I explain the kind of phenomena I experienced with Reed to someone and make it sound plausible? It doesn’t really matter if Uncle Jim believes me or not. He would come to Crestwood regardless, but then what? Maybe we can go to the police? But, there is no way they will buy this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they demand a drug test from me on the spot.

So, maybe I should just go home with Uncle Jim. I can enroll in some community college for the semester and hope that I can apply to other universities in the winter. Visions of living at home and working at the mall dance in my head, making me want to cry. I have wanted this my whole life; I want to make something of myself so that if the father I have never met does finally show up, he will see that I’m a success and that he has missed out on me. If I go home now, I can kiss that dream goodbye, at least for the foreseeable future.

Slowly, I begin typing:

Dear Uncle Jim,

Hi, I made it to orientation, and I saw Alfred there. He did me a solid by saving me a seat, which was very sweet of him. Afterward, everyone walked to the lake for a barbeque. I met a friend named Russell, who made a pretty funny joke about how trying to hurry the girls walking in front of us would be as pointless as trying to herd cats. I’m meeting him in the union tomorrow—scandalous. I miss you very much.

Love, Evie

P. S. We were having a pseudo-intellectual conversation about mind control. Do you know of any technology currently available regarding this?

P. P. S. I bought you some Twinkies. They’re behind the cereal on the second shelf in the pantry.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I click the send button, reaching a new low.

CHAPTER 4

Registration

I am knocked back into consciousness by the viciousness of my nightmare—jolting upright from the shadowy fist that leaves a fiery echo of pain against my cheek. I hold my face in my hands as I wait to make it fully back from the dark. Fear like snake venom slowly begins to ease in my veins, allowing me to breathe easier.

I switch on the lamp, before squinting at my alarm clock— three a.m. I know I should try to go back to sleep for a few hours, but I’m not ready to yet. I feel sweaty and scared, like I’ve been running from the monsters in my dreams for hours.

As I push myself to a sitting position in bed, I jar the dull, gunmetal gray box cutter resting on the bedside table. With a heart-thumping grimace, I remember how wicked-sharp it is. Lifting my finger, I examine it under the soft glow of the yellowish bulb. There is nothing there, no scarring or redness, just smooth skin.

With shaky fingers, I reach for the box cutter, feeling the cold weight of it. Exposing the silvery blade, a little drop of dried blood still clings to it. My blood is the same as everyone else’s; it runs red—no different—normal. I slide my fingertip gently over the blade as the razor edge shines pale against the night.

Occam’s razor, I think. Tend, toward a simple theory; the simplest answer is usually correct.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I press the razor’s edge harder against my finger until I create a thin slice in the tip of it. Drops of blood well up, staining the blade. I stare fixedly at the cut; a couple of minutes pass and it stops bleeding; two more minutes and it has knit together; and only one more minute for it to become a small red line. By the end of ten minutes, my laceration is completely gone.

Occam’s wrong, unless the simplest explanation is that I’m a total freak.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper aloud as I curl up in my bed.

Too afraid to turn off the lamp, I drift off to sleep, clutching the box cutter in my hand.

I feel as if I haven’t slept at all when my alarm goes off. I get ready with my eyes half shut before walking a little more than a block to the only cafeteria on campus. Everyone calls it “Saga” because it’s a microcosm of drama—with food. When I arrive, I fish in my bag to find my “saga card” so I can get a quick bite to eat before registration.

The selection of food is what I expect from a cafeteria— appalling. I opt for a banana and a bowl of instant oatmeal. Carrying my tray, I go searching for an empty table.

I quickly recognize a riotous table of freshmen in the center of the room as being Mason and his associates—Russell’s friends. I hunt for any sign of Russell, but he’s clearly absent from their group. Feeling disappointment, I look around to see if he is sitting at another table.

I don’t find Russell, but I manage to locate Freddie. He’s alone in the back by the large picture window. Squeezing my way past tables full of gossiping students, I make it just about half way to Freddie when someone begins calling my name from a table nearby. Turning toward the voice, my eyes widen in surprise to see that it’s Mason calling to me.

“Genevieve! Yo, Genevieve! There’s a seat open at our table!” Mason waves enthusiastically.

Eyeing the table full of young men skeptically, I can think of no more awkward a place to be at this moment than alone at a table full of freshmen boys. “Thanks,” I say, calling to Mason, “I promised my friend I’d have breakfast with him. Sorry, maybe another time?”

Unwilling to wait for him to respond, I flee to the back of the room where Freddie is seated. “I can’t tell you how psyched I am to see you, Freddie! Can I eat breakfast with you?” I ask, sitting down next to Freddie in a vacant seat.

“Evie! Hey, of course,” Freddie says in surprise. “What happened to you last night? I was kinda worried about you. I tried to find you, but you weren’t on the bus, and Russell wouldn’t tell me what happened to you.”

“Umm, I missed the bus and had to walk back. Sorry I worried you,” I explain.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You had to walk back, that’s killa,” he says, laughing at me while continuing to eat his breakfast.

“Thanks, Freddie. Remind me why I like you again,” I say sarcastically, but I smile at him because I can tell he’s only teasing me.

Just then, a boy walks by and says, “Yo, Genevieve, sup?”

“Hi,” I say in bewilderment, watching him walk away. I don’t recognize him at all. Turning to Freddie with a puzzled gaze, I ask, “Do you know him?”

“Umm, I don’t know his name, but I think he lives in Brady,” Freddie says.

“How would he know who I am?” I ask, almost to myself.

“Ooohhh, it’s that Mother’s Club thing—that freshman directory—they sent it to all the freshman. The one with all of our pictures in it and bios on everyone.” When I nod stupidly, he goes on, “Well, a bunch of guys in the dorm got together and they were rating the girls in the freshman class using the directory. I think it’s on a standard ten-point scale. You got a really high rating. Most everyone is giving you a ten in the over-all category. I’m not sure how you did in the stacked category, though, but I know you shined in the ass category…”

Blood flushes my face. I nearly have to put my head down to hide my mortification. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I stiffen as the creepy factor of it all overcomes me.

“Nope. In fact, I sold my directory to a couple of guys from one of the fraternity houses on campus. They gave me fifty bucks for it. I think they use it for scoping the freshmen girls and for finding out about prospective pledges before rush,” he grins.

“That’s so nasty…I think I’m going to be sick. Here, do you want my oatmeal? Because I’m no longer hungry,” I ask, pushing my bowl at him in disgust. “And how could you sell your directory when you know what they’re going to do with it?”

“Evie, it’s simple econ one-o-one: supply and demand,” he explains as he takes a bite of my oatmeal and makes a face. “This is so nasty!” he says, mimicking my earlier outburst, “How do you eat this?”

I can’t help but laugh at the face he is making while he tries to swallow the mouthful of oatmeal. “Okay, you’re off the hook, but that Mother’s Club has had it. They’re getting hate mail outlining their flagrant violation of our privacy!” I say passionately.

“Are you going to sign the letter?” Freddie asks, leaning back almost arrogantly in his chair as if he’s evaluating my indignation.

“Probably not,” I say crossly, realizing he has me pegged pretty well already.

“Well, good luck! Power to the people and all that!” says Freddie with a sarcastic grin as he holds up his fist. “I don’t know what you’re worried about; like I said, they’re giving you tens.” As he says this, he holds both of his hands palms out to me to illustrate his point.

“That’s vile, Freddie,” I reply, feeling myself blush again. “What’s up today?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.

“I have to chill here until I can register for classes. Buy my books—maybe some lunch. Then I have a dorm meeting at four. You know, rules, blah, blah, no girls, blah, blah, don’t prop the doors open, blah, blah, blah. Then I don’t know—dinner I guess,” he shrugs.

“I have a dorm meeting at four, too. Do you want to meet up for dinner here at around five-thirty?” I ask, hoping he will say yes. I’m realizing that it’s comfortable talking to him. He’s really kind of funny.

“Sure, I’ll bring a wipe board, and you can rate all the freshmen guys that walk by as a sign of protest,” he laughs as I throw my balled up napkin at him.

“Okay, I’ve got to run. Wish me luck with my classes, Freddie,” I say, gathering up my things.

“Good luck, Evie,” he smiles, but as I begin walking away from him, he calls out to me. “Evie.” I turn back around to see him mouthing the word ten and holding up both of his hands again. He’s trying to cajole me out of feeling bad about the directory thing.

He has a good heart, I think as I hold up my fist to him, shaking it in mock anger before waving goodbye to him.

Registration is one floor down from the cafeteria. Entering the stairwell, the fluttering in my stomach that I recognize now as the harbinger for Reed Wellington becomes increasing riotous.

He must be down there somewhere, I think, stopping midway down the stairs to grip the railing in fear. I haven’t allowed myself a moment of time this morning to analyze what had happened the night before. In fact, I’ve gone out of my way to block out almost the entire evening, which is now crashing in on me.

What’s he going to do when he sees me again? I wonder, feeling fear twist snake-like through my veins to my extremities. It’s a public place. He can’t do anything with all these people around. You’re safe, I reason, willing myself to loosen my death grip on the railing and continue down the stairs.

Exiting the stairwell, I approach a table set up to administer the registration cards and give the bored-looking female student my name. She hands me a registration card from her stack, and I begin the process of choosing my classes. I have no problem obtaining the English and math classes that I need.

I move on to the science classes and hit a wall, well maybe not a wall, more like a Reed. He is seated at the registration table designated for the upper level physics classes and labs. There is another student ahead of me in line, so I have a moment to study Reed while he helps the student figure out his class schedule.

Reed’s dark-brown head bends over the student’s class list as he points out where the freshman should fit in his labs. His broad shoulders stretch his t-shirt to display some of the sleek contours of his muscles beneath it.

He’s off the charts on the hotness scale, I think grudgingly. The butterflies that have been flying around in my stomach are increasing their tempo with every step I take nearer to him.

When it’s my turn, I square my shoulders and extend my class list to him across the table, but he doesn’t look up. Instead, he casually studies the pen in his hand like it contains the secrets of the universe within it. I try to read the expression on his face in order to gauge his reaction to me, but he is blank—unemotional.

Placing my class list on the tabletop facing him, I wait. He remains silent, unmoving, ignoring me. Crossing my arms in front of me, I sigh heavily, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, I decide it’s up to me to get this over with.

I clear my throat. “Reed, may I please register for the Physics Two Hundred class with Dr. Farrow at nine o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?” I ask as politely as possible, trying to pretend everything is normal and that I hadn’t Tasered him less than twenty-four hours ago.

Not even glancing up, Reed says, “No,” with casual lassitude.

“Is it full?” I ask dejectedly. “How about Physics Two Hundred with Gertz at eleven o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?” I say, trying to find a time that would work with the schedule I have already compiled.

“No,” Reed says again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No…as in ‘no, its full’ or no as in ‘no, I can’t take physics?’” I ask suspiciously, reading the stubborn set of his jaw.

“No as in you can’t be here. No as in you need to transfer somewhere else. No as in no,” says Reed, his hair falling further over his eyebrows as they draw together in a scowl.

“Why? Why can’t I be here? What is it with you?” I ask in exasperation. “Do you want an apology for the Tasering? Okay, I’m sorry I jacked you with the Taser. Maybe that was out of line, but you started it with that creepy voice and the Russell thing. Listen, I get that you’re the big fish in the little pond here. I’m just trying to get the best education I can. I just want to take physics so I can get into the honors program. Please,” I end, apparently not too proud to grovel a little.

Another student lines up behind me to register for physics. Reed glances at him with a look of annoyance on his lovely face. I want to touch his cheek, to soothe him, but before I can make a fool of myself, Reed speaks to the freshman behind me, saying in a low, commanding tone, “I’m not ready for you now. Come back in an hour.”

I go rigid when I hear echoing undertones in Reed’s voice. The student immediately leaves without a word. Reed’s green eyes shift back to mine as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

His eyebrow rises thoughtfully as he asks, “Is that what you think this is about? That I’m being a big fish and asserting some kind of supremacy over you?” The corners of his lips twitch with irritation before he asks, “What if I tell you we aren’t in a pond? What if I say we happen to be in an ocean, and the coral reef we’re living in will soon be teeming with the worst kind of sharks that only a fish like you can attract?”

“And what kind of fish attracts sharks like that?” I ask feebly, wondering if he’s crazy or if I am.

“A fish that has never been seen before. A brand new fish that could change the ecosystem of the entire ocean,” he replies, watching me close.

It takes me a second to process his response. I try to give a little laugh, but it sounds hollow, even to my own ears. Faking an indifferent smile, I reply, “That is quite a special fish…and where in this vast ocean could a fish like that go, you know, to avoid those sharks that would like to get it?”

“There isn’t a safe place for the little fish in all of the oceans of this world,” Reed says flatly, and there seems to be a hint of pity in his response.

The pity scares me more than if he had sneered at me. I feel crushed, and the air is suddenly too thin to breathe. “Well,” I manage to say as my throat tightens, “what if I stay and try to have as much fun as I can until the sharks come? I promise I won’t mention you to them.”

“The sharks would know about me, even without your mentioning me to them. They have a great sense of smell, those sharks,” Reed says quietly.

“But if they just came for me, would they even bother with you? After all, you wouldn’t really have anything to do with me. It’s not like you’re helping me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that you hate me. That may garner points for you, with the sharks.” My voice falters as I add, “I can’t go home. I would bring the sharks there, wouldn’t I?”

Reed nods solemnly.

“No, I can’t do that; I have an uncle who loves me…” I say, raising a shaky hand to my forehead.

I have to think, why can’t I think? Shock—maybe panic.

I exhale deeply before I ask, “So, since you know I’m not a fish, and I know you’re not a fish, what does that make us?”

Reed stands up from his chair and leans across the table, motioning to me to do the same. His cheek brushes mine softly as he whispers, “That makes us completely and utterly screwed.”

It takes me a second to understand what he just said because being near him is intoxicating. “That’s not what I meant,” I whisper back when I recover. “What I meant was…”

“I know what you meant,” he all but growls in frustration.

“I get that you want me to leave; that’s crystal clear, but look at it from my point of view for a second. What would you do if you were me—if you found someone who seems to know what’s up with you? You asked me about my father, at the lake, remember? What do you know about him?” I ask him, trying to hide my growing desperation.

“I don’t know who your father is,” Reed says evasively.

“Okay, who do you suspect he is?” I ask with dogged persistence.

Reed’s eyes soften, “What are you, prelaw?” he asks.

“Maybe, I haven’t decided yet. I thought that there would be plenty of time to figure out a major, but apparently, I was wrong,” I say softly. “Never mind. I have to know what you know. You have to tell me what’s going on. Maybe you can tell me why I keep having the same nightmare over and over.”

“You have seen visions?” he asks abruptly, searching my face for an answer.

“Well, I’m not sure you can call them ‘visions.’ It’s more like having the same nightmare every night. What do you think it means?” I ask him.

His jaw sets stubbornly.

“You know, but you’re not going to say?” I ask in frustration. “Okay, how about an easier question. Why does my stomach flutter like it’s filled with a thousand butterflies whenever I get near you? And I don’t mean when I see you, I mean before I see you,” I inquire as I search his face.

That question makes him look completely superior because his face changes instantly from stubborn to smug, but he doesn’t answer that one either. “I can tell that I’m going to regret having asked that question,” I say, muttering to myself.

He loses some of his smug smile as he says, “I can’t tell you anything. You may be what you appear to be, or you may be something else entirely. I have to be sure before I do anything. If you are what I think you are, you probably won’t believe me and will want proof, and I can’t give that to you now. I don’t even know if I should help you out at all,” he says grimly. “But since you’re here, and apparently you’re staying, we will have to see what we can do to camouflage you, at least until I am sure about you.”

My eyes narrow, “Why should I trust you?” I counter. “You have made no secret of the fact that you hate me.”

His eyes soften again. “Hate you?” he asks. “Not as much as you might think. And then there is the…what was it…butterflies? That can’t be a bad thing, can it?”

I can almost believe that he’s teasing me; if that isn’t the most ridiculous notion I have had thus far. “I just knew I was going to regret that question,” I mumble as I blush.

“I was just lamenting how boring my life has become. Be careful what you wish for, huh, Genevieve?” he asks, pulling the registration card that I have all but destroyed from my hand. Smoothing it out, he adds Dr. Farrow’s nine o’clock Physics class to my list of classes.

“So, what are you saying? I’m so confused,” I say as I take my card back from him, barely glancing at it. “What did we decide here?”

“We decided that we wouldn’t make any decisions until we know more about each other,” Reed says simply as he sits back down in his chair with a casual grace that would be hard to imitate.

“Okay, so when can I find out what you know about me?” I ask, not wanting to let it go. When he shrugs, I ask the questions that I dread the most. “How long is it going to take…I mean, how long until the sharks start circling, and who are the sharks, and why do they want me?”

Reed is motionless when he says, “Prelaw, Genevieve, it’s your calling. You had better hurry, all of your classes are filling up as we speak.”

I give him a shallow nod in acknowledgment of his dismissal. Blindly, I go to the next table and I don’t realize until the flash goes off that someone has taken my picture for my student ID card. I finish registering quickly after that. Normally, I would be euphoric at my list of classes, but instead I feel afraid, like I won’t be around long enough to enjoy them.

Leaving registration, I walk to the union. Locating the vending machines, I buy a bottle of water. Apparently, mind-numbing fear really makes you thirsty. Taking a quick sip to clear my throat, I begin searching the tables in the union to see if Russell is here yet.

I spot him, sitting by a large window on the left side of the union. He is easy to see because even seated, he is tall. Russell’s long legs stretch out under the table almost to the other side, and his sandy hair bends over a binder on the table as he studies it intently. He seems to be ignoring all the chaos swirling around him.

Walking toward Russell, I feel the high energy of the crowd around me. Being in the student union is like being at the center of a military operation where several different units have come together as allies, yet none of those units trust the others.

The freshmen newbies are mainly sitting together. They’re easy to spot because their clothes are new. They seem like green recruits to me with newly requisitioned uniforms that haven’t seen any action yet to despoil them.

The fraternal brothers occupy their own tables in the union. They have an entirely different vibe in that they aren’t green, but seasoned and confident. As I pass a table of them, I am able to overhear one brother trash talking to his boys about the corruption he was able to accomplish last night, “Yo, ya should’ve seen us set it off last night, check it, it was off the…”

The sororities are much the same as the fraternities, but they differ in that they are already out rushing prospective freshmen women. They break off from their groups, doing recon and gathering intel to report back to their units. I overhear a sorority sister debriefing the others as I walk by, “I thought she was good looking, but she’s really just a hundred-meter hottie…you know, pretty from afar—but up close, she’s just random. Let’s just call her a definite maybe for now… don’t you guys think?”

But the most deadly units by far are the sniper units. They are the tables of guys sitting around scoping their next targets, always trying to one up each other regarding who has the biggest gun and how much ammo they have in their package.

I almost make it to Russell’s table when a sniper approaches me at my twelve o’clock. The smirk on his face tells me that he is more concerned about how his unit judges his game than actually making a connection with me.

He tries to hide his smirk at the last second with a half smile before he says, “Sup, Genevieve?”

I stammer, “Uh, hi…”

“Did you just get done registering?” he asks before glancing over at the table near us. I follow his line of sight to the table full of male students all watching us.

“Um…yes…I…do we know each other?” I manage to ask.

“I’m Todd, Sigma house,” he says arrogantly, puffing out his chest. “I saw your picture in the freshman directory.”

My face flushes red as the creepy factor of what he just said hits me. “Um…I’m sorry…uh…Todd, but I’m here to meet a friend.” I say, indicating Russell at the table ahead of us with a gesture. “So, maybe…” I trail off, squeezing past him. The sniper’s buddies begin slamming him immediately for his failure to hit the target. I’ve probably just messed up his one shot, one kill status.

Making it to Russell’s table, I pull out a chair across from him. As I sit down, I smile because I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing him until this moment. “Hey, Russell, I’m so glad you’re here!”

Raising his eyebrows, he replies, “Uh, thanks.”

Glancing at me for a second, he gives me a half smile and sort of a curious look. Then, he checks out the room before looking down at his binder again, ignoring me.

“I have to give you props for being able to concentrate in here with all this noise. What are you studying?” I ask him, indicating the binder he had lying in front of him.

“It’s a play book. We’re supposed to keep it on the down low,” he says abruptly.

“Okay…hey, you’ll never guess what’s been happening to me today. You know that directory—the one that the Mother’s Club publishes with all the freshmen in it?” I ask.

“Sure, I think I got one,” he says, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah, well, I guess some people are studying it like you were just studying that play book because guys I’ve never met are calling me by name as I walk by. It’s a little sketchy,” I say with a forced smile because I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with the way Russell is acting. He’s cold, and I am definitely feeling the arctic air at my end of the table.

“Ya don’t say?” he asks. “Well that’s kinda ironic, since I was tryin’ to figure out how I know ya. Did ya get my name out of the directory?”

I stare at him in utter amazement. “Ha, ha, you’re funny, Russell. You know who I am,” I say, but I see by the look on his face that he is confused now.

“What’s my name, Russell?” I ask, almost pleading.

He frowns. “Well, I’m startin’ to suspect that I should know the answer to that one. There’s somethin’ ‘bouty’ all that’s darn familiar but…” He reaches out and touches my hair. Closing his eyes, he says, “I keep seein’ red, like the color…does that make sense?”

“Yeah, you’ve been calling me Red from the moment you met me. Do you remember meeting me yesterday on the walk to the lake?” I ask hopefully.

His sexy brown eyes scan my face. “I…ahh, I remember… somethin’…the lake…my head is startin’ to ache like I was doin’ shots of Yeger last night,” Russell says, dropping my hair and cradling his face in the palms of his hands. “Y’all were there… and someone else was there…and I had to walk away, but I wanted to stop…got on the bus…runnin’ have to get back… Evie!” he says, looking up at me with a startled expression. He’s reliving it somewhat.

“I’m okay, Russell, I’m fine…it’s okay. And you didn’t just walk away,” I say, getting up from my chair and moving to the one next to his. Holding his hand, I squeeze it. “How do you feel?” I ask him with concern.

“I feel like I’ve been playin’ football without my freakin’ helmet,” he answers angrily, “and the offensive line can’t block anyone.”

“Oh, so you’re familiar with the style of play executed by my former high school team. That’s unfortunate,” I tease him. I study him awhile as he continues to cradle his head in his hands, then I say in a thoughtful tone, “You wouldn’t promise me. That’s it, isn’t it…when did you go and talk to Reed? Was it right after you left me last night, or did you see him this morning?”

“Uhh, I don’t know whatyer talkin’ ‘bout, Red, but I could use some aspirin,” he says evasively.

“Ahh, Russell,” I say angrily, dropping his hand. Springing out of my chair, I go back to the one across from his, sitting back in it in a huff. My eyes narrow. “I asked you not to go near him. You know, I saw him this morning, and I noticed that he had both his arms still attached, so I assumed you took the high road. What were you thinking? Reed is really dangerous,” I ask. Rifling through my bag, I find a small bottle of aspirin, which I set in front of Russell. Then I push my bottled water at him.

“Ahh, hell, Evie!” Russell says after he takes an aspirin. “So yer sayin’ it’s okay for y’all to talk to that…that…thing, but I’m not allowed to, is that it?” Russell inquires angrily.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I told you, his voice doesn’t work on me. I can have a conversation with him without getting mind controlled,” I say defensively. “When did you talk to him? Can you recall any of your conversation?”

Russell bends over again, cradling his face in his hands like his head weighs a ton. With his arm bent, his bicep bulges out of his t-shirt prominently, distracting me from my train of thought. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “I saw him this mornin’, when I was comin’ across campus, after my mornin’ workout.”

“And, what did you say?” I prompt after a brief pause.

“Well, that’s between us men, now isn’t it, Red?” he asks. “Well, between a man and whatever the hell he is…”

And there it is. Russell has figured out something that I had not wanted to admit, even to myself. If Reed is not a man…then what, indeed, is he? And what am I?

“So Reed told you to forget about what happened last night, is that it?” I ask, trying to put the puzzle together.

“No, if he’d done that, I probably wouldn’t be this pissed off now. No, what he said was, ‘Forget about Genevieve; she’s not for you this time.’”

I would laugh because Russell’s attempt to imitate Reed came out very nasal and nothing like the voice in question. But I’m not laughing because the meaning behind what he said is sending chills through me.

“Oh,” I say thoughtfully. “But you remembered me anyway. Not at first, of course, but you beat it…but not without consequences,” I say, acknowledging his aching head. “That is significant…you must be very stubborn,” I say lamely.

“I am, when I want somethin’,” he replies and manages a ghost of a smile.

“Well, it looks like being my friend might turn out to be hazardous to your health, Russell,” I say sadly.

“Whaddaya mean?” Russell asks, tensing up.

“What do you mean?” I counter. “Having your mind erased wasn’t enough for you? This isn’t your problem. Thanks for all your help, but this is outta hand. I’m not going to make you a target.”

“A target for what, Evie? You know more than yer sayin’, don’t ya?” Russell’s eyes narrow accusingly.

“It’s complicated, Russell. I really don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t had time to think. I just need to think,” I say as I take an aspirin, too.

Russell stares at me for a few moments, then he says, “Okay, somethin’ happened that ya think ya can’t talk to me ‘bout…I get that…I even get that y’all were raised a bit differently up here than most of the girls I know back home. Y’all are more independent, less inclined to ask for help, even when ya need it—and ya do, Red. Ya need help badly.” I start to deny what he is saying, but he holds up his hand to stop me. His brown eyes narrow a little as he adds, “Now, I don’t know how much help I can give ya. I’m not quite equipped for what’s bein’ thrown at me. But, I’m yer friend, and I’ll do what I can and maybe… when yer ready, ya can tell me whatcha know.”

When he finishes, I am speechless. He hardly knows me at all, and in the last twenty-four hours he has been subjected to things that would make most people run away in terror. My eyes fill up with tears. I want to hug him, I want to push him away, I want to thank him, I want to protect him, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to stay in the dark about everything.

“Well, Red, that looks like one hell of a battle ya got goin’ on in yer head. How ‘bout we just go and see if we can get us some books at the bookstore downstairs. That’s an easy enough task to get done for now,” Russell says, coming around to my seat and pulling my chair out for me to stand.

We walk together to the bookstore. We have little trouble purchasing what we need. It’s fortunate for me that Russell offers to help me with my books because when I have them all, I almost need a crane to get them back to my room.

“How are we going to get all of these books back, Russell? With your books and my books, we’ll need a wagon at the very least,” I speculate.

“Naw,” Russell says and starts putting a couple of books in each of our bags. He stacks the rest of the books in a pile haphazardly. Then he picks up the pile and says, “If ya can get our bags, we can walk across the street to Brady Hall, and I’ll run in and drop mine off.”

I follow Russell out the doors and across the street to Brady Hall. When we arrive at the doors to the lobby, he sets the books on the ground and sorts them. He stuffs my books in our bags, picking up his pile, he asks, “Can y’all wait here while I run these to my room? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being able to have any females ‘round. It seems just so unnatural.”

He’s alluding to the fact that Brady Hall is a men’s dormitory and that I couldn’t even enter the lobby during the weekdays.

“Ah, so you’re a player,” I say, teasing him about his comment.

“Red, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I have two younger sisters who have a passel of friends ‘round all the time. Now there aren’t any. It’s almost disturbin’ not to hear them talkin’ a hundred miles an hour ‘bout nothin’ at all,” he says, smiling at me.

“Ah, I see. You have sisters? What are their names?” I ask, trying to imagine Russell taking care of two little sisters.

“If I tell ya, do ya promise not to laugh?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Of course, how bad can it be?” I ask, frowning at him.

“Ya asked for it. The one that’s two years younger than me is named Scarlett and the youngest, who is four years younger than me, is named Melanie,” he says apologetically as he waits to see if I make the connection.

“Russell, how did you escape not being a Rhett or, God forbid, an Ashley?” I ask as I immediately make the literary connection to Gone With The Wind.

“Well, my dad’s a Russell, so I have him to thank,” he says in relief that I’m not laughing at him.

“Ah, so you’re a junior,” I say, smiling as the mental image of a nice southern family begins to take shape in my mind.

What was that like? Growing up with two parents and a couple of little sisters in a nice town where you’re the football star. Sounds ideal, I think.

“Actually, I’m ‘the third.’ My grandaddy was a Russell, too.” The door opens to the dorm as a young man steps out. Russell calls to him, “Could ya hold the door? I’ll be right back, Red.”

“Okay,” I say.

I smile awkwardly at a young man as he passes me. Feeling like a loiterer, I go over to a huge tree just off the sidewalk. The entire campus is littered with big oak and maple trees. I can’t wait for the leaves to start turning colors. Crestwood will be magical in mid-autumn.

Hearing the door of the dorm bang closed, I peek from my position under the tree and see Russell approaching me. “Ready?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m starved. Let’s go eat first, since the cafeteria is right here, and then we can take yer books to yer dorm,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “Wait a sec, I’ll get that,” he says, bending down to pick up my heavy bag from the ground.

As he stands back up, his necklace appears from under his collar, swinging forward and catching the light. I freeze instantly, staring at the two silver pendants that are lying against his t-shirt suspended by a worn brown leather strap.

Nearly choking, I recognize the necklace from my dream— my nightmare, I murmur, “Russell, your necklace…it’s mad cool…where did you get it?”

“Uh, this?” Russell asks, lifting it up by one round pendant. “It’s kinda my family joke, Red.”

“Your family joke?” I prompt, feeling faint.

“Yeah, it’s a long story. Here, let’s go to Saga, and I’ll explain what I mean over lunch,” Russell says, taking my hand.

We walk together to the cafeteria. After we get our food and are seated at a table, I study Russell’s necklace from my seat. One of the pendants looks like a tarnished silver circle while the other looks like an elongated figure eight.

I stare at it breathlessly before I find my voice to ask, “Russell, your necklace…” I want to reach out and touch it, but my hands are shaking, so I put them in my lap to hide them.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Russell says, picking up the first pendant. “This is a circle, and I’ll explain to ya what it means in a second.” He drops the circle and picks up the elongated eight. “And this is an infinity symbol. To understand my family joke, ya have to know that my dad is a math teacher at a high school back home, and his name is Russell, too. He’s kinda stoked ‘bout the fact that there’s a mathematical paradox named ‘Russell’s Paradox.’ Have ya heard of it?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head and taking a sip of water.

“Well, ya see, this mathematician named Bertram Russell came up with this logic problem. Now, I’m not a big fan of math like my dad is, so I like to explain it in words ‘cuz it’s easier for me. Here it is in this statement: ‘This statement is false.’ Now, if the statement is false, then it is true; and if the statement is true, then it is false.”

I think about the statement for a moment until I figure it out in my head. “I see what you’re saying. If the statement is false, meaning it is untrue, then it’s correct to say it’s false, so the statement is indeed true, but if that’s the case, it would be a lie to say it’s false, so it couldn’t possibly be true. It sounds like a catch-twenty-two.”

“Right, yer smart, Red, that didn’t take ya anytime at all to figure that out. It’s what ya call a vicious circle; ya can’t help but go round and round with it. Well, ya said yerself that ya think I’m fairly stubborn. My family thinks that I can be really stubborn and that I tend to go ‘round and ‘round with somethin’, just to get what I’m after. My mom calls me her paradox because sometimes I can be inconsistent with my logic,” he says, grinning at me. “My dad added the infinity sign to it to express the fact that it’s my eternal flaw,” he smiles at me, while I search his face for the connection that would unravel the puzzle for me.

“Russell, there is something that you should know,” I say haltingly.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, Red?” Russell asks.

“I dream every night about your necklace,” I say quietly, feeling like a complete tool.

I see him smile for a second until he reads the serious look on my face, then his smile falters. “Ya do wut?”

“Even before I came to school, I’ve seen this necklace in my dreams…my nightmares,” I say, looking down so I don’t have to see him look at me like I am crazy. “I don’t know what it means, but I know I have to…”

“Ya have to what?” Russell prompts me, watching me as I look back up at him.

“I have to protect it somehow,” I say.

“Protect it from what?” he asks me quietly.

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty freaking awful, and I can’t stop dreaming it,” I say honestly, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at me.

“So, what does it mean?” Russell asks me. “Do ya know? Are ya psychic or something?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. This has never happened to me before. It started right after I was accepted to Crestwood,” I reply, pushing my food around on my plate.

Russell looks around to see if we’re being overheard. When he doesn’t notice anybody listening to us, he leans in closer and says, “Damn, Evie, this is some freaky crap you’re talkin’ ‘bout here. It’s like ESP,” he explodes near the end, unable to contain his agitation.

“Okay, yes, that’s one option. The other option is that I’m a little crazy,” I reply. Surprisingly, that is starting to feel like the preferable option in my scenario. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this now. It’s not like we know each other, really. As a matter of fact, you didn’t even know me this morning. It’s just that there is something else between us. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, for me, and I can’t explain it.”

Stop talking, you idiot! I think to myself. He has no idea what you’re babbling about.

But, Russell surprises me, saying, “Yeah, I know whatcha mean. It’s like always lookin’ for somethin’, but not knowin’ that yer lookin’ really. Like findin’ a piece of yerself that ya didn’t know y’all had lost…ahh hell, I sound like a girl. I can’t explain it either, but I know what yer sayin’.”

We are silent for a while, each of us fully aware of the other, and then Russell says, “Maybe Reed isn’t wrong. Are ya sure ya should be here?” When he sees the anger on my face, he goes on to ask, “What have yer parents said ‘bout all this?” My silence has him drawing the right conclusions, and he says, “Ya haven’t told them? Why not, Evie?”

Unable to look at him right away, I pick up my tray and take it over to the conveyor belt by the busing window. Setting my tray down, I turn to go back to the table, but I bump into Russell who is right behind me with his own tray.

“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to pull away from his side, but Russell’s arm snakes around my shoulder, holding me to him. After busing his tray, he retrieves our bags with all my books in them and we leave Saga together. We are outside and halfway through the quad before I realize it.

When we are out of hearing distance of anyone else, I blurt out, “I don’t have parents. I have an Uncle Jim, who loves me more than anything in the world, and that’s just as good as having parents. I can tell him just about anything, but I don’t even know what’s happening, so how can I possibly explain it to him? He’d try to believe me, I know he would, but if you hadn’t been at the lake with me, would you buy even half of this?” I ask him rhetorically because I’m certain the answer is no. “And I’m supposed to be here. I can feel it, so I’m not leaving!”

“Well, Red, I guess ya told me, huh? Yer kinda a fiery little thing, aren’t ya?” he asks rhetorically with a sweet smile. “So, this Uncle Jim, does he like to fish? ‘Cuz we, my daddy and me, know this spot in a little lake by our house where the fish all but jump into the boat.”

I squeeze his hand lightly and reply, ““He’s more of a techie than a sportsman.”

“Can he tell me why my computer is lockin’ up and makin’ me reboot after bein’ on only fifteen minutes?” Russell asks offhand.

“Sure, give me your IP address, and I’ll email it to him. Turn your computer on when you get back to your room and make sure you have access to the Internet. He’ll either fix it or tell you what you need.”

“Are ya serious?” Russell asks in amazement.

“Oh, there is one thing we take very seriously in our family, which is comprised of Uncle Jim and myself, and that’s technology. Do you have a firewall?” I ask.

“Umm, no, I don’t think so,” he replies.

“Russell, no wonder it’s not working. Do you know how easy it is to get into your computer? Not to mention that you’re open to attack from viruses, worms, and Trojans. We’re getting you a firewall!” I say adamantly.

With a sexy grin, he replies, “Okay! We’ll get a firewall or a whole darn fire station if we need to. Now, explain to me an IP address and the Trojan thing sounds interestin’, too,” he says, revealing just how anti-geek he is.

I roll my eyes at him. “When you go back to your dorm for the dorm meeting at four, talk to Freddie. I think he’ll know what an IP address is and will help you get it off of your computer. I can get it from him at dinner.”

“Yer having supper with Freddie?” Russell asks as we stop in front of Yeats. There is an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before. It sounds suspiciously like Russell is jealous, but that would be insane.

“Yeah, I asked him if he wanted to have dinner with me when we were at breakfast this morning,” I say, noticing that Russell dropped his eyes. “You can come too, you know. It’s not an exclusive thing.”

“Oh,” Russell says in relief. “I wish I could come. The coach scheduled a team meal tonight at the field house. He’s tryin’ to promote unity—they’re havin’ it catered. I don’t think I can bail ‘til at least seven.”

“The food might be better than Saga,” I agree.

“Well, that goes without sayin’. So, when can I see ya again?” he asks me, smiling and showing his sweet dimples in his cheeks.

“I don’t know. How about tomorrow sometime?” I ask him, wondering when I’m going to stop being surprised about his interest in me.

“How ‘bout tonight? We could go for a walk after supper,” Russell suggests.

“Okay,” I agree as my heart beats a little faster in my chest.

“Do ya have a phone? Can I call ya, or text ya when I’m done with the supper thing at the field house?” he asks, producing his cell phone from his bag.

“Sure.” I give him my number and he programs it into the contacts of his phone. Finding my phone at the bottom of my own bag, I program his number into it. Russell then hands me my books out of his bag.

“I’ll see y’all tonight,” he says before smiling and walking away.

CHAPTER 5

Field Hockey

I walk down the stairs to the lobby from my room before turning left towards the formal reception hall of Yeats. The dorm meeting starts in five minutes, so I have time to look around and find a seat. A sign-in sheet is on a table outside the room and the residents are lining up to check in.

Peering over the shoulder of the brunette coed in line ahead of me, I see that the reception room has several elaborately carved mahogany tables with matching chairs; it also boasts a grand fireplace with leather armchairs around it. Old photos of students past cover the walls; the gilded frames reflect the light from the elegant crystal chandelier.

The RA I’d met yesterday, I think her name is Megan, is posted like a sentry outside the room. She is scrutinizing each student signing in as if she is TSA at an airport screening. I am nearly to the front of the line when an upperclassman with honey blond hair and cornflower blue eyes stops me by tapping me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she whispers, looking over my shoulder at the RA.

“Yes?” I whisper back, not really knowing why we’re keeping our voices low.

“You live on the second floor, right?” she asks me conspiratorially, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

My eyes widen as I reply, “Um, yeah—two o eight—I’m Evie.”

“That’s a single room—you must be on smart-girl scholarship. I’m Buns,” she whispers quickly, and then she smiles when she sees my crooked smile. “My real name’s Christine Bonds, but everyone just calls me Buns.”

“Oh,” I reply, not really sure how to respond to that, but she saves me by forging on.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she whispers quickly. “I was wondering if you could help me out?” she asks, peering over my shoulder again at the RA ahead of us. “My roommate couldn’t make it to this meeting, but if she doesn’t come, she’ll get in trouble with the house mother. So, I was wondering if maybe you could distract the RA for me so that I can sign her in?”

I look away from Buns, back to RA Megan. She’s still watching every name being added as if terrorists are afoot. Glancing beyond Megan, I notice that there is another mahogany table with several large stacks of handouts on it.

Turning back to Buns, I whisper, “Um, I think I have an idea. Give me just a second.”

When it’s my turn to sign in, I add my name to the list. Strolling casually toward the table with the packets on it, I pretend to trip over my own feet; then I launch myself at the table with my arms out, and I sprawl into it, knocking the stacks of handouts off the tabletop and onto the carpet beneath it. To make sure I’ve gotten Megan’s attention, I say loudly, “Oh oww!”

I know I shouldn’t look over at Buns to see if my ploy is working, so I immediately begin picking up the papers from the floor and arranging them in stacks where they’d been. RA Megan hurries over to help me, and I feel guilty for about half a second until she says, “Freshman,” under her breath and rolls her eyes at me in a derogatory way.

“Sorry…not too bright, huh?” I ask, knowing that she thinks I am referring to myself and not her.

Buns joins us then, helping me pick up the remaining handouts. We each take a packet and then hurry over to a pair of delicate wing-backed chairs in the corner by the bookcase. “Thanks, sweetie!” Buns whispers to me as her blue eyes sparkle with humor.

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, facing all the staring eyes of the other coeds who had witnessed my fake fall. Some of the girls are still smirking, talking about me behind their hands.

Buns seems not to notice them. “You think fast on your feet! I probably could’ve added the entire lacrosse team’s names to the sign-in sheet with all of the time you gave me!” she gushes.

I shrug, and say with a small smile, “Megan totally fell for it, too. It was worth the stink eye she gave me.”

Mrs. White, the housemother, enters then and eyes everyone with a sour expression. When the room quiets down, she begins the meeting. It is a dry, torturous reading of the packet containing the dorm rules.

“Why don’t they just give us the rules and be done with it,” I whisper to Buns as Mrs. White reads on with no inflection in her voice. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say that everyone here can read.”

“They think they have to read it to us because they know that only a freshman will read it otherwise,” Buns whispers back, smiling at me and winking. “Hey, what are you doing tonight after dinner, around six fifteen or so?” Buns whispers excitedly as if something has just occurred to her.

“Umm, I was planning on going for a walk tonight but not until later on, why?” I whisper back.

“Field hockey!” Buns whispers expectantly.

“Field hockey?” I whisper back warily, looking at Mrs. White to make sure she isn’t noticing us.

Buns bounces excitedly in her seat, not even trying to be inconspicuous as she whisper-shouts, “You can be on our team! We need a couple more girls, and you would be perfect! You look athletic; did you play sports in high school?”

“Yeah, soccer team and ski team,” I say in a low voice, trying not to attract any attention from the people around us. “But I never even watched a field hockey game. We didn’t have a team at my school.”

Waving her hand like she’s erasing my objection from the air, she whispers, “That’s okay, field hockey is a lot like soccer. You can pick it up in no time, and it’s just an intramural league, anyway.” Bouncing up and down in her seat again, she whispers, “Please, Evie!”

We are definitely drawing the attention of the girls near us with our conversation. “Buns, you’re going to get us tossed out of here,” I whisper, but she just steeples her hands together, moving her lips like she’s praying, ignoring everything else around her. “Okay,” I whisper to her.

“Sick!” she whispers back happily.

It ends up taking Mrs. White almost an hour to get through the rules. When she is finished, Buns and I go back upstairs to her room. “You can have one of Brownie’s field hockey uniforms to practice in until we get our new ones. She’s my roommate,” she says. “You two are almost the same height.”

She bangs open the door of her room with a crash, switching on the light. “Brownie, get up!” she orders in a teasing voice. “We have to get ready for dinner, and then we have hockey practice.”

Brownie doesn’t move from the cocoon of blankets on her bed except to raise her middle finger up to Buns.

Buns laughs, saying, “You’re making a bad impression. I brought someone for you to meet.”

Stirring slowly, Brownie sits up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. She is really pretty—even with bed head. Her blond, wavy hair is so light it can be called platinum. She has blue eyes, too, like her roommate, but they are a lighter shade than Buns’s are.

“What time is it?” Brownie asks sleepily.

“It’s five o’clock. Mrs. White went on and on tonight, but Evie was stellar.”

Buns recounts my fake fall into the table for Brownie, which has her laughing and thanking me. Buns smiles, “I invited Evie to play field hockey with us tonight. She played soccer, and she skis, too.”

“That’s epic! We need you,” Brownie says to me. “We can teach you all you need to know,” she says, bounding out of bed with surprising agility. “Here, this is a hockey manual,” she adds, tossing me the book she’d taken off of her desk. “You can use one of my uniforms.”

“I already told her that,” Buns smiles warmly at me, watching Brownie pull out a little athletic skirt and knit top from the closet, piling the clothing into my arms. “I’ll bring you one of my sticks to practice with since we’re about the same height.”

“Okay,” I say as I clutch the uniform and manual.

“Let’s meet up after dinner at around six-fifteen, and we’ll walk over to the Field House together. We practice on the lower field by the baseball diamonds for about an hour. We should be done by seven-thirty,” Buns says.

“Do you guys eat in the cafeteria?” I ask hopefully. I’ve never seen them there, or up the hill for that matter, but it would be nice to eat with them once in a while.

“No, we eat at our sorority house. Our cook, Jenny, is gourmet,” Brownie replies.

“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t miss the appetizing fare at Saga,” I say sarcastically.

“Eww no, I shredded my saga card the minute I no longer needed it!” Buns says with a snort.

“You’re so lucky! I’ll have to hurry if I want to eat before we have to go. I’ll meet you guys after.”

I take the clothes back to my room and place them on my bed, thinking that I’ll change when I get back from dinner. I haul the field hockey manual with me to study at dinner. On the way, I quickly text Russell: Was invited to play field hockey @ 6:30 @ the lower field. Let’s walk after. B done NLT 7:30 CU after?

I don’t have to wait for the textpectation to build before my phone vibrates. I read the text message from Russell: EG Red! That’s epic meet u @ the field 2nite. UR 2G2BT.

Smiling at Russell’s message, I enter the cafeteria. Opting for the salad bar over the meatloaf dish, I scan the room for Freddie, but it isn’t five-thirty yet, so I sit at the back table by the picture window where we’d eaten breakfast this morning. I don’t have long to wait before Freddie sits down next to me.

“Hey, Freddie, how are you?” I ask in greeting.

“Frustrated, I just had to sit through the most mind numbing dorm meeting I’ve ever attended. Don’t they know that I’m quite capable of reading?” he asks in outrage.

“I know, right?” I agree with equal heat.

“Anyway, before I forget—here, this is for you,” Freddie says, handing me a piece of paper with several numbers scrawled on it.

I recognize it immediately as an IP address. “You got it! I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” I say proudly, reaching over and giving him a soft tap on the shoulder.

“Can you believe he didn’t know what an IP address is?” Freddie asks emphatically as he scoops up a piece of meatloaf on his fork and eats it.

“Thank you! I thought I was the only one who would be shocked by that, but maybe I’m not as alone as I thought,” I state in full agreement. “We have to stage an intervention, Freddie; Russell doesn’t even have a firewall.”

“I know, and my boy doesn’t know why his computer is busted,” he says ironically, and I think for a second that Freddie might just be my twin brother and we had been separated at birth or something.

“I have to get him a firewall with one-twenty-eight-bit encryption and an auto-MDIX. Where do you think we could get one around here?” I ask, hoping Freddie would be more familiar with the area.

He whistles softly at my question, shaking his head. “I think you might either have to go to Coldwater or to Jackson. All these towns around here are kind of stuck in the eighties,” he says, and I can’t agree more. “You might still be able to pick up Atari though,” he jokes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Thanks for the advice,” I say. “Did you get all of the classes you wanted?”

“You know it,” Freddie says, nodding his head. “It was easy, but my roommate, Joe, got waxed. He said he tried to get a physics class, but he ended up just walking around for an hour. Psychotic, huh?”

“Very. I guess stress will do that to some people,” I reply, thinking I remember exactly what must’ve happened to Joe. “Hey, so guess what?” I ask, trying to change the dangerous track we’re on. “I was invited by a couple of the girls in my dorm to play field hockey tonight after dinner.”

As I say this, I hold up the manual Brownie gave me to read. Freddie and I spend the rest of dinner learning how to play field hockey. Our heads bend together over the book as we read the rules.

“It’s sort of like soccer, huh, except you use sticks to get the ball down the field, and you can only score when you’re in the sixteen-foot arch. They call it the D or the striking circle,” I murmur, studying the book.

“Yeah, but it’s like ice hockey because there are face offs— they call them Bullies. But, the best part is that the girls’ uniforms are so sick in field hockey,” Freddie says smugly. I gasp, reaching over and punching him softly on his upper arm. “What, I’m a dude!” he says, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take a walk over near the field and scope it out?”

“Sure, why not, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of chicks in short skirts,” I say, but I’m really thinking it would be nice to have him there for support. “Speaking of short skirts, I’d better get going so I can change and meet my friends for practice.”

My friends, I think, that’s so amazing!

“If you decide not to come, let’s meet in the morning for breakfast before class. Does seven fifteen sound okay?” I ask.

“That’s copacetic, I have Spanish at eight o’clock, so that’ll work,” Freddie says happily.

“This is so gonna pop. Later, Freddie!” I say, and race back to my room.

I change into the practice uniform that Buns and Brownie lent me. I have my own set of shin guards that I had used when I played soccer in high school, so I put them on, along with my knee socks and cleats. The girls are coming out of their room as I round the corner to their hall.

“I’m ready!” I say excitedly.

“Good, sweetie, did you get a chance to look at the manual?” Buns asks me as she hands me a hockey stick.

“Yeah, my friend, Freddie, and I studied it together at dinner. I think I get the gist of it. But it may take me a while to be able to handle the ball well with the stick,” I reply, swinging the stick gently to try to get a feel for its weight as we leave the dorm.

“No worries, Evie, we don’t expect you to be a rockstar. We just do it for fun and because the men freakin’ foam at the mouth watching us,” Brownie says conspiratorially.

“That rocks,” Buns agrees. “And why not? These outfits are hot!”

“Okay, okay…just have fun, huh?” I exhale deeply.

Well, I can do that, I think. We almost make it to the field house when my stomach begins to flutter wildly. Reed, I think, panicking, what now?

“Oh look,” Buns says, pointing in the direction of the lower fields. “The lacrosse team is practicing, too. Yummy! Did you see JT? He looks so good this year! He must’ve worked out over the summer.”

Brownie gives me a sanguine smile. “Reed looks delicious, too, but that goes without saying,” Brownie observes. “Too bad he’s no fun at all. He’s complete eye candy, but way too serious. What a waste.”

I could spot Reed from a mile away, even with his helmet and face guard on. It is the stealthy, predatory way he moves that completely gives him away.

“Someone needs to loosen him up,” Brownie adds.

Buns frowns, waving her hand like she’d erase Brownie’s last comment. “Life’s too short to waste on that. I’m not spending a minute of my youth moping around over a guy,” she says.

To make her point, she dashes out onto the practice field, and with stick in hand, she does a no handed cartwheel, landing on her feet. Swinging her stick, she hits a ball that someone had left by the other equipment. I am so impressed that I begin applauding. Buns smiles prettily and then performs a small, graceful curtsy to me.

“Buns, stop flossin’ and let’s do this,” Brownie teases, walking out to meet the rest of the team.

Buns introduces me to a tall, pretty girl named Wendy. “But no one calls her Wendy, we call her Weeza. This is Evie,” Weeza smiles at me kindly. “And this is Beth, but everyone calls her Babs.”

“Does anyone just go by their own name around here?” I ask, laughing.

“No, how boring would that be?” Buns laughs and then continues introducing me to the rest of the team.

Most of the girls are friendly except for a girl named Tamera, who looks me up and down appraisingly. “Have you ever played field hockey?” Tamera asks me with a definite edge in her tone. She leans on her stick, popping her hip out to the side in an arrogant pose. Her body language makes me want to kick the stick out from under her and send her crashing to the ground.

“Well, no…but I played soccer,” I reply hesitantly, trying to keep the hard edge out of my tone.

Tamera snorts derisively in response to my answer.

Brownie wrinkles her nose at Tamera, saying, “Let’s do some drills with Evie before we worry about who sucks, Tamera.”

Buns starts us off slowly. She takes extra time with me, showing me how to properly grip the stick, and then she walks me through simple moves to handle the ball. I am surprised at my ability to utilize the stick, since I’ve never played before, but it seems to come to me naturally. When it looks as if everyone is getting the drills fairly well, Brownie suggests we divide up and play a scrimmage. Buns makes sure I’m on their side.

Huddling up on one end of the field, Buns leads the discussion, “Evie, I want you to be an attacker on this play. Brownie and I will get the ball down field. You move into the D, and we’ll get it to you. If Tamera’s defending, go to her left side because she’s almost useless if you do.”

I nod to them, and then we break from the huddle. Lining up in the forward, attacker position on the field, Buns strikes the ball to start the play. I run up the field with Buns as she scoops the ball forward, approaching the D. The girls pass the ball back and forth to each other, and when Brownie glances at me, I put my stick down on the ground to handle the pass.

She flicks the ball ahead to me, and I redirect it, turning to approach the goal. Tamera defends the inside of the D, so I fake that I’m going left, but instead, I switch directions at the last second, and I go right. Outmaneuvering Tamera, I plant my left leg in a lunge while drawing my stick back, and then I let it fly. It makes contact with the ball, and the ball soars into the back of the net.

I scored! I think excitedly.

Boisterous applause and whistling comes to me from the left side of the field. Russell and some of his teammates are standing on the sidelines watching us practice. I blush when I see him grinning at me. Equally riotous cheering comes from the right side of the field as well. Turning, my cheeks flush with more color as I realize that most of the lacrosse team is watching us, too.

Then my eyes fall on Reed standing with his lacrosse stick in both his hands, watching me. The fluttering sensation that causes constant upheaval inside of me when Reed is near grows so intense that I start to move to him involuntarily. Brownie and Buns come up on either side of me then, stopping my progression toward Reed by engulfing me in a group hug.

“You did it, sweetie!” Buns cheers. “I knew you’d be good! Didn’t I say she’d be good, Brownie? I should’ve bet you something—like room cleaning for a month.”

Brownie scoffs, “I would never have taken that bet, Buns! I have more game than that.” She beams at me. “Okay, we’ve time for a couple more plays. Let’s see if we can score again, it shouldn’t be too hard, since Tamera still sucks.”

We walk back to our huddle, and I try to ignore the growing crowd around us. Brownie gives me the position of attacker again. I move up the field when our defenders are able to steal the ball from their offense. Brownie flicks the ball over to me when a defender challenges her. Seeing that Buns is open ahead of me, I push the ball to her across the field. We move up together into the D, and I take the ball that Buns has to pass back in order to protect it from the other team.

When Buns takes up a position by the goal, I accelerate to get around Tamera, who has been physically trying to block my advance. Finding an angle to get the ball ahead to Buns, I plant my forward leg and swing my stick. It makes contact with the ball, arching it toward Buns’s position. That’s the last thing I see before feeling an intense pain stabbing up my leg. Tamera’s stick has crashed into my kneecap.

My knee all but explodes, refusing to hold my weight any longer. I slam against the ground, grabbing my leg and writhing in agony. Touching my kneecap with shaky fingers, it feels spongy—no longer hard like a kneecap is supposed to be. Nausea hits me in waves as I try to concentrate on not vomiting on the field.

“Genevieve,” a voice says near my ear, “let me see how bad it is.” I recognize the voice instantly, even though my eyes are closed. It’s Reed. Without thinking, I reach out to him, whimpering in pain before I could stifle it. Clutching at his shirt, I rest my forehead on his shoulder as he speaks calmingly to me, “Shhhh, it’s okay…it will be all right. I’m going to touch your leg, so try not to move.”

Taking my leg gently in his hands, he begins assessing the damage. A hissing sound comes from me as he touches the spongy part and searing pain registers in my brain. My head spins dizzily while Reed gently probes what is left of my knee.

“Evie, are ya okay?” Russell asks, kneeling on the ground on the opposite side of Reed, so that I am sandwiched between the two of them. Opening my eyes to look at Russell, I catch the look on Reed’s face. Reed shakes his head slightly at me.

Reed furrows his brow, saying, “I think it’s just bruised, but just in case, I will drive her to the hospital for x-rays.”

He doesn’t wait for permission as he scoops me up off the ground, like I weigh nothing at all, and strides toward the parking lot by the field house. I don’t know what to do. I am in so much pain that I can’t think straight. The only thing I want to do is rest my head against Reed’s chest.

Russell calls from behind us, saying, “Wait a second, she’s not goin’ anywhere with ya.” Catching up to us quickly, Russell walks alongside of me while we continue on toward the parking lot of the field house.

“Relax, Russell, I’m just taking her to see a doctor. She will be fine,” Reed says without slowing down.

“Relax, that’s ‘bout the last thing I’ll be doin’ ‘round ya. So give me Evie, and I’ll see that she gets to the hospital,” Russell replies angrily as we enter the parking lot.

“Oh really, you have a car here?” Reed asks pointedly, pausing for a second and looking at Russell.

Russell’s brow wrinkles when he says, “Well, no, but…” then he trails off as Reed begins walking away with me in his arms.

“Then how are you going to get her there, fly?” Reed asks rudely over his shoulder.

“I can get a car; I’ll borrow one,” Russell replies tersely as he catches up to us easily.

“But mine’s right here,” Reed says pointedly, stopping by a sleek and sexy, silver sports car that is undoubtedly European in design.

“Fine, I’ll go with ya,” Russell says, following us to the passenger side of the car.

“Sorry, Russell, my car’s a two-seater. Looks like you will be staying here,” Reed says with smug amusement.

Opening the passenger side of the car, Reed gently places me on the seat. As he reaches over to buckle me in, his eyes meet mine. He must see the confusion and pain clouding them because his hand reaches up to gently stroke my hair before pulling back and closing my door.

It’s surprisingly quiet in his car. Reed and Russell are arguing with each other out of the front windshield, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I lean my head back against the seat and swallow hard, trying not to be sick in Reed’s beautiful car.

Only a few seconds pass before Russell begins gesturing wildly to the car, and then pointing aggressively at Reed. Reed, standing calmly by without much emotion in his demeanor, ignores Russell’s argument. Judging by Russell’s expression, he doesn’t intend to relent on whatever point he’s making. But after facing a few more moments of Reed’s stoic opposition, Russell changes his strategy abruptly by walking towards my door.

Looking through the window at Russell, his expression changes from anger to utter frustration. Dropping his hand from the car door, he slowly, mechanically begins to walk away from it. My gaze narrows and shifts to Reed as I realize instantly what has just happened. Reed has used his scary voice on Russell to make him leave.

If I could walk at all, I would get out of the car and go after Russell. But as it is, I can’t even lift my knee without being overcome with nausea from the pain. So I have to sit and watch as Russell walks slowly away, leaving me again at the mercy of Reed.

CHAPTER 6

The Promise

When Reed enters the car and starts the engine, I ask, “Did you have to do that voice trick on Russell again?” My voice sounds strained and weak, but I manage not to grit my teeth as I say it. My knee throbs brutally, so I rest my head back against the seat again.

“Do what?” he asks, pretending innocence.

He pulls the car out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of Main Street. The suspension of the car is so smooth that I can barely feel any jarring when we hit patches of uneven pavement in the street.

“You know what I’m talking about, Reed,” I say through my tight jaw. “You used your persuasive voice on him. It’s not going to fry his brain or anything, is it?” I ask with concern for Russell.

“No,” Reed replies grudgingly, “it’s not going to fry his brain. In fact, it doesn’t work on him as well as it should.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but Reed doesn’t elaborate, so I am forced to draw my own conclusions. “Oh, you mean it doesn’t work well on him because he still knows who I am, is that it?” I ask wryly.

Reed studies me briefly, and then he turns his attention back to the road and says, “Yes, that is exactly what I mean, Genevieve.”

“That wasn’t a very kind thing to do, you know? It took me a while to convince Russell that we had, indeed, met before.” I say, looking over at Reed to see him smirk.

Annoyed with him, I add, “How does your voice work? Is there a special technology that you employ, or is it a technique, like hypnosis?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the pain I’m in.

“I have always been able to do it. It’s an ability, not a technology,” Reed says, not elaborating further on it.

I roll my eyes. “Oh come on, even when you were a baby you could persuade people with your voice? That must have been really inconvenient for your mother,” I reply stiffly, trying not to move my leg at all from its position. It doesn’t help because my entire body is beginning to shake from trauma.

“My mother…yes that would be inconvenient for her, wouldn’t it?” he asks me with a ghost of a smile. He glances at me and the smile fades. “How are you feeling? Is it getting any better?” he asks with concern in his eyes.

“You mean does my knee feel any better?” I retort derisively. “No, it hurts like someone smashed it into a million pieces. It’s more than just bruised, isn’t it?” I inquire, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, that girl kneecapped you. I don’t think she eased up at all when she hit you with her stick. It looked very intentional to me. What did you do to her?” he asks, like it must be my fault that she attacked me.

My eyebrows lift incredulously. “Me! I didn’t do anything to her. Why do you think it’s my fault she smashed my knee into hamburger?” I ask, taking offense at his implication of blame.

He ignores my outrage and says, “I’m glad you went along with me when I said it was just bruised. It will be really difficult tomorrow explaining why you don’t even have a bruise on your knee, let alone why you can walk just fine on it. Make sure you wear some pants or jeans. Do you have anything like that?” he asks me. I must be looking at him like he’s crazy because he adds, “I’m only asking because all I have seen you in are short skirts. I might have a bandage we can use to wrap your knee. You should wear it for at least a couple of days.”

“What are you talking about, Reed? I’m going to be in a cast for at least a month because of that…that pathetic wannabe, Tamera!” I say with venom. “I hope I don’t have to miss class tomorrow. If I get behind because of this…”

“Genevieve, you are going to be as good as new by morning,” Reed says confidently.

I’m distracted by the way his perfect mouth wants to turn up in the corners as he holds back his smile. I wonder if all lunatics are this beautiful. “And, how is that possible, Reed?” I ask sarcastically. “Am I just going to grow some new bone overnight? You just said yourself that I was ‘kneecapped.’”

“Yes,” he replies calmly.

“Okay…I wasn’t aware that I’d boarded a bus to Crazy Town. If you’d be so kind as to drop me off at the nearest hospital, I’ll take it from there. I’m sure I can get someone to pick me up when I’m done. It’s chill of you to help but…” I stop talking when I notice him smiling at me like I’m making a joke.

“Genevieve, you will heal just fine on your own. Trust me,” he says as we drive through town.

“Trust you! Wasn’t it just this morning that you were trying to run me out of town?” I say primly, crossing my arms in front of me and frowning at him.

Reed laughs at my sarcasm. Watching him, I want to reach out and touch him, to give in to the urge I’ve had since getting in the car, to rest my head against his shoulder once again. I have to stay angry so I won’t embarrass myself because I’m beginning to trust him, which is absolutely absurd given our previous set of circumstances.

“Why is it that you think I can heal on my own and in an amazingly short time? Am I a mutant or something?” I ask, no longer so certain that Reed is crazy. Covertly, I glance at my fingertip and am unable to find the mark where I had sliced it open—twice.

Reed doesn’t answer me but pulls onto a long, manicured driveway. A house comes into view—well, I don’t know if house is an accurate enough description of the dwelling. It’s more like an old manor that had been perfectly restored. It has refined elegance and allure, making me think that should a pet lion greet us at the door, I wouldn’t be overly surprised.

“This is your house?” I ask him in awe.

“Yes,” he nods, pulling his car around in front of the cobbled, circular drive; he parks it just in front of the magnificent wooden double doors. I also notice that he hadn’t said that the house belongs to his parents but acknowledged it as his own.

So I ask, “Do you live here alone?” It is such a large estate; maybe he has some roommates from school that live with him.

“I have a cook named Andre and a housekeeper named Greta who live in the guest quarters on the south side of the property, but other than them, I live here alone,” he replies.

He turns off the engine and gets out of the car, walking around to my door. Wordlessly, he reaches in, unbuckling my seatbelt for me. The fluttering in my stomach is out of control, making me almost grateful for the pain in my knee to distract me from it.

“I’m going to have to slip my arm under your thighs so I don’t put pressure on your knee when I pick you up,” Reed says. I nod, feeling my face redden almost immediately. “Put your arm around my shoulder,” he instructs as he leans into the car and lifts me out.

I wince as the movement of my knee sends a shooting pain up my leg. I drop my head on his shoulder like I’d wanted to do the entire car ride. He doesn’t even like you, I scold myself. Angry… you have to stay angry.

My eyes alight on his sports car as he carries me up to his home. “What kind of car is that?” I ask waspishly.

“It’s an Audi R-Eight. Why, don’t you like it?” he counters with humor in his voice.

“I was just wondering why someone who lives in Michigan wouldn’t be driving a car made in Detroit,” I say as if I’m a rep from the UAW.

“Genevieve, that is not a car, that is a work of art that moves. If it makes you feel any better, I own several automobiles that were partially made in Detroit. I can show them to you later, if you would like,” he replies.

“Oh,” I sniff, unable to think of a better reply. “I guess, if there is time later.”

The front door is unlocked, and I take a deep breath as we enter the house. I see immediately that Reed isn’t your typical bachelor with an old sofa taken from his mom and dad’s house and a coffee table with faded rings on it from not using a coaster. Quite the opposite, it looks as if Reed had a designer with an architectural background decorate his home. Everything is modern and high tech, but it lacks the coldness that one often associates with that style.

A formal reception area on the left mirrors a formal dining room on the right. In front of us, the grand, sweeping staircase draws my eyes up to the landing on the second floor. We bypass the stairs, however, taking a long hallway that leads further into his home. Swiftly passing what I think is a bathroom and maybe a billiard room, we turn left and are in a room that cannot be mistaken for anything other than a library.

Reed places me on a leather sofa in the middle of the room, and I shamelessly memorize his profile as he sits on the couch by my knee, examining it again. I try not to cringe as he runs his fingers over it gently. It has swollen to at least twice its normal size and is now an awful looking purplish-blue color.

“It’s healing,” Reed assures me. “It’s much harder than it was before. I want you to straighten your leg but keep it slightly bent, like this.” He positions my leg for me on the couch. “We should elevate it slightly,” he says and pushes one of the soft pillows that adorns the sofa under my foot. “I’ll get some ice to bring down the swelling, but first, you should have something for the pain.”

“Oh great, do you have some morphine or something, because that would be lovely?” I ask kiddingly.

Reed goes over to the back of the room to a bar and selects a glass decanter with a dark liquid in it. He pours some of the liquid into two glasses and moves back to the couch.

“No morphine, but this should take the edge off the pain in your knee,” Reed says.

He hands me a brandy snifter filled with what I assume must be brandy, although I cannot claim to know what brandy looks like, so I have to ask, “Is this brandy?”

“It’s cognac,” he says, watching me.

“Oh, is there a difference?” I ask him curiously.

“Yes,” he says, smiling a little before he says, “just drink it.”

“Do you realize that you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor by giving me this?” I ask, watching the liquid rain like tears down the insides of the glass.

“Well, I will take my chances with the authorities since I don’t have that morphine handy,” Reed replies with a grin. “Drink it, Genevieve. It will make you feel better.”

“Reed, you made a joke! I really must be dying if you’re humoring me,” I say before I sniff the glass. It smells spicy and sweet at the same time. I take a tentative sip, feeling it burn a path down the back of my throat. I cough a little, but otherwise survive my first taste of cognac.

“Mmm…cognac…my favorite,” I say with a little wheeze in my voice.

Reed shakes his head at me. “I will get some ice for your knee and be right back.”

Without Reed hovering around me, I have a chance to take in my surroundings. This room is something I would dream about designing if I ever had the opportunity. Everywhere I look, there are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves intermittently interrupted by floor-to-ceiling windows. Above me, a second story gallery is gracefully fitted with a wrought-iron railing that spirals elegantly down a staircase in the corner of the room. I want to get off the couch and rifle through every shelf to see what amazing books they contain.

Along one wall, there is a large fireplace with a wide mantle. Several comfortable seating areas are set up around the room to give different vantage points of the space. There is also a refined writing desk. Impeccable artwork is dispersed liberally throughout the room so that, wherever my eye falls, I am treated to rare beauty.

As I gaze around at the lovely rugs and the delicate statuary adorning the tabletops, something becomes clear to me. There aren’t any personal effects in the room—no pictures on the tables that say: “Here’s my family, I’m so proud of them,” or, “Here I am at the Eiffel Tower; isn’t this sweet?” or, “Can you believe I climbed Mt. Everest with only the assistance of twenty Sherpas?” or, “Here is a picture of my girlfriend. She’s so hot.”

I sip my drink, thinking it is odd because in my small dorm room I have several pictures of Uncle Jim and me, one with my best friend Molly and her brothers, and some of my classmates from high school, with whom I’d been close.

Feeling the fluttering in my stomach increasing, I know that Reed is returning. Calling out to him teasingly, I say, “Ah…my ice has arrived; it’s about time! It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

“Your wish is my command,” Reed says, entering the room and walking to the sofa.

He places a small ice pack gently on my knee. Then, he goes to a chair where a lap blanket is draped over the arm. Picking it up, he brings it to me, spreading it over my legs and lap.

“Thank you,” I say in surprise at his thoughtfulness. “I love this room.”

My eyes follow him as he sits in one of the armchairs near the sofa. He is still dressed in his lacrosse practice uniform. His attire is at odds with the room and also with the fact that he is sipping a cognac out of a delicate glass. The dichotomy distracts me, so it takes me a moment to continue.

“I was just thinking that if I could create a perfect space for myself, it would be something like this. I’m dying to see what you have on your bookshelves; I’ve been wondering if you’re a non-fiction reader, a classical fiction type of person, or maybe you’re sci-fi reader…or poetry?”

“Have you?” Reed asks in an amused tone, his eyebrow arching beautifully on his perfect face. “Well, you’ll be able to find out in just a little while when your knee is better and you can walk over there and see for yourself. I will not spoil the anticipation now by blurting it out.”

I ignore his confidence in the fact that my knee is going to all but fix itself shortly. “Wouldn’t that be off the hook?” I mutter, and take another sip of cognac.

“I was surprised to see you tonight at the field house,” Reed says. “I didn’t know you played field hockey.”

“Oh, well, I don’t really…that is, I haven’t played before tonight. A couple of girls from my dorm asked me to come to their practice tonight to see if I’d be interested in joining their team. It sounded kinda fun so I went. I probably should’ve thought to borrow some knee guards along with the uniform, but I didn’t think it was supposed to get NHL out there,” I reply as an explanation.

“Who are your friends, the ones that asked you to join the team?” Reed asks, and then takes a sip of his drink.

“Buns and Brownie. They live on my floor. I think their real names are Christine and Kelly, but no one seems to go by their real names around here,” I smile.

“I’m familiar with Christine and Kelly. I’m just wondering why it is that trouble finds you so quickly,” he says, eyeing me pointedly.

“My knee was a fluke—” I begin, but Reed cuts me off.

“I wasn’t referring to the hockey practice. I’m referring to your friends. They are trouble. I don’t think you could find two more wildly out of control females if you advertised for them,” he states flatly, like he doesn’t approve of my choice of friends at all.

“I know, aren’t they wonderful?” I ask impishly, agreeing with his statement wholeheartedly. “I intend to spend more time with them as soon as possible.”

“Why, didn’t you just hear me tell you they are trouble?” he asks with irritation in his tone.

“Yes, and I got what you meant. But this is ‘set it off’ kind of trouble we’re talking about, not the dangerous kind of trouble. I’m aware of the difference. We’re just going to shake it up a little and see what falls out. I might get a couple of fines, and I say ‘bring it’ because what do I have to lose?” I ask him pointedly, daring him to disagree with me.

“Your scholarship, for one,” he replies calmly. “You could lose that quite easily if you step out of line.”

“Maybe, but you don’t know what I’ve been feeling lately.” I say quietly as I study the liquid in my glass so that I’d have something to look at other than him.

“What do you mean? How have you been feeling?” he asks, leaning forward as if he is truly interested in my answer.

I hesitate. Reed had helped me out tonight at the field, but I’m not sure what that means. Does it mean we have a truce? Could he and I actually have a friendship? Maybe we can begin to understand each other if we have some honesty between us.

With that in mind, I say, “I feel desperate, like I’m running out of time, but it’s even worse than that…it’s more like I’m running out of air. The girls are a great distraction from that, so I’m keeping them,” I say defiantly. “I feel like I’m on the precipice of something huge…something monumental, but I’ve no clue as to what it is, or what it means to me, or what I’m supposed to do. It’s all just this enigma swirling around and around me, and I’m ensnared in it, and there is no way out.” I drop my eyes from his because I feel hollow and raw.

Swirling the liquid around in my glass, I watch the tempest within it slowly lose its momentum and then come to a stop. Looking back up at Reed, I see that he’s watching me. Feeling like a tool for saying too much to him, I try to down the rest of my drink in one swallow.

When I am finished sputtering and gasping for breath from the fire of the alcohol burning my esophagus, I notice that Reed had taken my glass from my hand and replaced it with a glass of water. Taking a quick sip of the water, I try to breathe evenly again.

“All I’m saying is that you might consider making other friends who actually have an interest in getting an education,” says Reed as he sits back down in his chair.

“I do have other friends,” I sigh. “I have Freddie, and I have Russell; at least I have Russell when you’re not zapping him with your voice. Can you stop doing that to him, please? He’s here to play football and go to school. He doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on between you and me.”

“You think that’s why he is here…to play football?” Reed asks me slowly.

I frown at him while I nod.

“Genevieve, how naive are you? Russell’s here for one reason and one reason only. He’s here because you brought him here,” Reed states emphatically, getting up from his chair and prowling the room agitatedly.

“What are you talking about? I just met Russell on that walk yesterday. He’s been here all summer at football training camp, so how could I have possibly brought him here?” I ask him logically.

“How indeed?” Reed asks sullenly, toying with one of the marble statues that grace a delicate table.

“Reed, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. I would have to be an…I don’t know…a magnet for Russell in order for what you’re saying to have any validity…” I begin to reason, but stop when a shattering sound comes from where Reed is standing.

Blinking, I see pieces of the marble crumble from Reed’s hands. Silently, he begins cleaning up the broken shards of what was once an exquisitely designed statue of an angel, but now resembles a chalky mess.

“People aren’t that strong, Reed,” I state, indicating the crushed statue he is gathering into his cupped hand. A stab of fear sweeps through me, warning me to be cautious.

“You are very astute, Genevieve,” Reed says evenly, while walking the remains of the statue over to the small wastepaper basket by the desk and brushing it off his hands.

“Was that very expensive?” I ask him timidly, trying to calm myself a little.

“Probably,” he replies, not looking at me.

“Now it’s dust,” I say significantly. “So…” I begin, while searching for a safe topic of conversation, “do you think it’ll rain tomorrow?”

Looking at me like I have lost my mind, Reed asks, “We are going to talk about the weather now? You have been rather courageous up until this point. Why hide now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Reed,” I say with exasperation. “I was just searching for a safe topic of conversation because I don’t know the protocol to follow when I discover that I’m Little Red Riding Hood and that Granny has freakin’ sharp teeth!” I reply, glaring at him. “You have to admit, you’re sketchy with information. It’s like you’re toying with me…” I can’t go on because the lump in my throat won’t allow me to speak. Taking another sip of water, my throat clears enough for me to add, “And I’m tired, Reed… I’m so tired of being afraid.”

Reed is quiet for a long time and then he says softly, “I will let you in on a little secret: You are not wrapped up in an enigma; you are the enigma.” He comes over to the sofa and sits by my knee; his eyes are on my face. “You see, when we were talking this morning and you called yourself a little fish and indicated that I was a big fish, well, that description was not entirely accurate.”

“It wasn’t?” I ask as the hair on the back of my neck begins to rise.

“No, it wasn’t. A more accurate description for me would be that of a shark,” he says, watching me now.

“I see. How stupid of me,” I reply with a sinking feeling.

My mouth goes dry, so I take a small sip of the water he had given me. I wait for fear to overwhelm me because that is the emotion that any rational person would feel upon finding herself closeted with a predator. But, instead of fear, I feel something very different, and it shocks me with its intensity. I feel utterly and completely betrayed. “So, why all of this?” I ask, indicating myself lying on his sofa with a blanket—his blanket. “Why help me out at all today?”

“You mean why, if I’m a shark, have I not attacked?” he asks, his face unreadable. Pulling back the blanket covering my knee, he takes the ice pack from it.

He doesn’t look up when I ask, “You’ve been trying to decide what to do with me, haven’t you? So what? Have you made some kind of decision? Have you decided that I’m a problem that needs to be eliminated?” He’s touching my knee gently, but I refuse to look, focusing on him instead.

Reed frowns. “If I had decided you needed to be eliminated, you would already be gone,” he says succinctly.

Studying his face, I know he is telling me the truth. I’m a threat to him somehow. He is wary of me, and that thought makes me want to comfort him and promise him that I’d never hurt him.

“So, right now, at this moment, I’m not threatening enough to eliminate?” I ask cautiously, unable to bring myself to say kill or murder.

“No, not yet,” he says flatly.

His green eyes hold mine, and I think for a moment how cat-like they are. They are a deep jade color in this light, and add to that, his eyes tilt up at the corners in a perfectly predatory way.

“But…” I begin, processing what he hadn’t said, “you can imagine a scenario in which my elimination would be necessary?” I ask him. I am trying to stay alert and not get drawn in by his sexy façade. I have to pry some information out of him.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

My mind whispers to me: I must be some kind of monster because he didn’t even have to think about that one.

I hesitate before saying, “But you haven’t done it yet, so one can only assume that you may have envisioned a scenario in which eliminating me is not advantageous?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, I pray silently. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for his response.

“Yes,” he replies in a gentle tone, and I feel such relief that I can hardly think of anything besides breathing in and out.

“That’s good, so there is at least one pro for my continued survival,” I say, trying to think. I chew on my bottom lip anxiously. An idea occurs to me, and it is out of my mouth before I can censor it. “If you have to kill me, will you enjoy doing it?”

Reed stills in his examination of my knee, and I wait for him to answer my question. He remains silent; his face looks tense…pained.

“No,” he says with a frown, “I don’t believe I would enjoy hurting you.”

“Good,” I exhale.

His answer makes me feel better, but there is something that I have to get him to agree to. I don’t know how to begin to ask him for something like this. It sounds so insane in my mind, so it will probably sound worse out loud.

Haltingly, I whisper, “If it turns out that the pros do not outweigh the cons and… it becomes necessary to…to eliminate me…I have one last request.”

Reed stills next to me again, but he doesn’t reply, so I go on. “My last request is this: that you let my Uncle Jim know that I’m gone. I’m not saying you have to tell him. I’m saying, let him know somehow that I’m dead so that he won’t spend the rest of his life looking for me. I don’t want that for him. He has been really good to me, so can you do that for me…please?”

I need him to promise me this. I need it like I need air. It will all be all right if he says yes—then it will just be about me and I can handle that, I can handle what happens to me. “Please promise me, Reed,” I whisper.

“I promise,” Reed says in a tense tone.

Reed isn’t looking at me now. His face is in profile to me, and his jaw is clenched. Reaching out, I touch his face; I want to tell him it will be okay, but I know it would sound ridiculous, given his recent promise.

“Thank you,” I say simply. Resting my hand against his cheek, he stills, closing his eyes. His skin is warm, much warmer than I expected, and the longer I hold my hand there, the more concern I feel for him.

Is he running a fever? I wonder as my hand shifts to his forehead.

I begin trying to establish if he is ill. He appears to be okay, but his temperature isn’t normal. Reed smiles involuntarily as I scoot nearer to him and use the inside of my wrist on his forehead. He opens his eyes, pulling my wrist from his forehead. To my utter shock he brings my wrist to his lips, kissing it gently. He then pulls it gently back down, holding my hand in his own.

“I’m fine, and so are you,” he says, pointing with his other hand to my knee, which I’d bent to scoot closer to him.

I ignore my knee and say, “But you’re so hot…”

“Thanks,” he says teasingly.

“That’s not what I meant,” I retort.

“I know what you meant. Let’s try to get you on your feet,” Reed says.

Reaching over, he grasps my other hand, and with little aid from me, he has me up on my good leg. I test my knee by just applying a little of my weight to it. There is no pain. I apply a little more weight, and then a little more, preparing to back off of it the moment it hurts. But it doesn’t hurt, even when I put all of my weight on it.

I try taking a step. Reed drops my hands so that I can move freely. My knee is a bit stiff, but otherwise, it feels fine. Examining the surface of my knee, I see a slight discoloration over the kneecap, but other than that, it’s nearly as good as new.

Feeling myself panicking I cover my hands over my face as I think, I’m a monster! Don’t fall apart here—you can fall apart later…

Plastering a fake smile on my face, I bring my hands down to see Reed standing just a few feet away, watching me closely. I try to think of something offhand to say, but all I can come up with is, “Amazing…I can’t wait until that third eye grows out of my forehead.”

I don’t know if I fooled him, but he replies, “I think I have an ace bandage. I will go look for it so we can wrap your knee. You will need to limp around for a day or so. Can you do that?” he asks me.

“Sure,” I say, walking stiffly over to one of the bookshelves on the far wall of the room.

Pulling a book from the shelf, I can’t read the title of it because my eyes are brimming with tears. I try really hard to hold them off until Reed leaves the room. Then, bracing one hand on the bookshelf, I bend over slightly at the waist, clutching the leather-bound book to my chest. Tears fall from my eyes, and I brush them away with the back of my hand.

Breathing in deep breaths, I manage to get my emotions under control, but it is a struggle, and I know the least little thing can set me off again. Feeling Reed getting nearer to the library, I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand once again and straighten my posture. I crack the book in my hand, but I can’t read a single character because it’s written in Chinese.

Believing it wise to keep my head down as Reed enters the room, I try to act “normal”. “What is this one?” I ask over my shoulder, holding up the book for Reed to identify, feeling proud of the way my voice doesn’t crack or sound too weak.

“It is a compilation of writings by Sun Tzu and Sun Pin,” Reed says, coming up behind me.

I close the book and put it back on the shelf where I had found it. I walk stiffly to another bookshelf farther away from Reed, keeping my back to him. Selecting a small, brown-leather book, I read the title Heaven and Earth by Lord Byron.

“You have quite a collection. Is this a first edition?” I ask in disbelief, reading the title page, running my fingers over the embossed paper.

“Yes, but I did not care for the play,” he admits.

There are so many books here that I want to read, I think, running my fingertips over the bindings. Who am I kidding, I’ll be lucky to finish a comic book at the rate things are going now.

A small, familiar pain in my chest begins overwhelming me at that moment. The pain usually happens on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think of my parents. I recognize the ache as sorrow. Things will never be the same, I think sadly. From this point on, I am changed. I’ve been given proof now that I’m not a normal person. This is real… My vision blurs as I desperately try to control my shaking hands.

“Genevieve?” Reed says behind me, but I can no longer answer him.

I am losing control of my emotions, and the sobbing sounds that are coming out of me are as unfamiliar to me as they probably are to Reed, but I can’t stop. In the next moment, Reed lifts me off my feet and carries me to the sofa where I’d spent most of the evening.

He sits down with me on his lap, and I bury my face in his neck and continue to cry unchecked. Reed strokes my hair, attempting to soothe me, which makes me cry harder. We sit together like this for a long time until I finally quiet. Sniffling a couple of times, I try to wiggle off of Reed’s lap, completely embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions.

Reed holds me in place and asks, “Are you feeling better?”

I nod my head weakly, but I don’t speak. He pulls the blanket that I’d used earlier from the foot of the sofa, using it to dry my tears. Hugging me briefly, he slides out from under me to kneel at my feet in front of the sofa. Then, he takes an ace bandage from his pocket and begins wrapping it gently around my knee while I sit limply on the sofa. When he finishes, he secures the ends with a couple of clips, before sitting back silently.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” I ask in a small voice that sounds pleading, even to me. “I really need to know.”

Indecision clouds his eyes before he asks, “What if I said there is a war going on, and I am a soldier in that war?” My eyes narrow as I try to understand what he is telling me. “As a soldier, I’m versed in destroying my enemies whenever and wherever I find them,” he continues, and I try to ignore the fear that his words inspire in me. “But I have found something I have not seen before, something new. I don’t know if it is my enemy, if it is a weapon of my enemy, or…if it could be on our side. If it is my enemy and I help it, then I’m a traitor; but if it is on my side, and I fail to protect it, then I…” He doesn’t go on.

Feeling like I’m in a daze, I think, A war? What war? His enemy? If he has enemies, then that means there is something more frightening than him out there, and it could want me dead, too.

“I should get you back to your room now; you look very tired, Genevieve. Or, would you rather sleep here? I have several rooms—you could choose one,” Reed asks, but I shake my head.

“No, please take me back to Yeats,” I say hoarsely.

Reed nods and then he stands. Holding out his hand to me, I take it and let him lead me from the room. He turns on lights as we go because it’s quite dark outside now. When we make it to his car, he opens the door for me, and I slide onto the seat, not looking at him while he closes my door. I buckle my seat-belt as he seats himself and starts the engine.

I sit mutely in the passenger seat, watching the stars in the sky outside my window as Reed drives back to campus. I can feel Reed studying me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. When we pull into the parking lot of Yeats, Reed stops the car by the back door. I try to open my door to get out, but it’s locked, and I can’t figure out where the unlock button is to open it.

Stupid imported car! I think uncharitably.

“Genevieve, you have to tell me what you are thinking before you leave,” Reed says, looking at me as I fumble with the door handle that keeps me from escaping. “You haven’t spoken a word since leaving my house, which seems contrary to your character.”

“Is that your way of telling me I talk a lot, Reed?” I ask distractedly.

“No, I just would like to know what you have been thinking,” he insists quietly, making no move to let me out of the car.

“Why? Are you worried about me?” I ask doubtfully, continuing to look for the button that will release the locking mechanism.

He doesn’t answer me. When I still can’t locate the button, I say in growing frustration, “Fine! I was thinking about something you said earlier, about how I’m responsible for bringing Russell here, like I’m a Russell magnet or whatever.” Reed stiffens when I mention Russell’s name, but I continue accusingly, “Well, I was thinking that if I’m responsible for him being here, then maybe someone else is responsible for me being here.”

“What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

“I don’t know, Reed, but whenever you’re around, I have the strangest sensations, a lightness…in here,” I say indicating my abdomen. “That, coupled with the fact that I want to throw myself at you whenever you’re near, indicates to me that perhaps you are responsible for me being here! Now let me out of this car before I die of embarrassment,” I demand, pulling on the handle again and hoping it will magically open.

“You cannot die of embarrassment,” he says with a smug smile on his lips.

“Reed!” I shout, and when I hear the automatic lock click, I am out of the car instantly.

CHAPTER 7

The History Of Art

I don’t have my keys to get in the dorm. I’d left everything that I had brought with me to field hockey practice on the field. Walking around the dorm to the front doors, I find them locked—of course. It is nearly midnight now; I’m beginning to realize that I had been at Reed’s house a long time. Locating what I think is the window to Buns’s room, I search the ground for a couple of small pebbles to throw at it.

Relief floods through me when Buns come to the window after I manage to hit it with a pebble. “Evie,” Buns squeals girlishly. “I’ll be right down, sweetie, don’t move!”

She disappears, and it takes less than a minute for Buns and Brownie to come bursting out of the double doors, letting them close and lock behind them. Before I could point this out to them, they sandwich me between them in a group hug.

“Are you okay, sweetie? We were so worried about you. How’s your knee? Tamera is so off the team; she totally did that on purpose. What did the doctor say? Can you walk on it? Can you play?” Buns and Brownie say in a torrent of words.

“I’m okay. I’m just supposed to rest my knee for a day or so, and then it should be as good as new. See, I can walk on it already,” I say, demonstrating a limp for them when they disengage from the hug that had me pinned between them. “Can I still play, when I’m better?” I ask hopefully. If I play field hockey, then that would be at least an hour out of my day when I wouldn’t have to think about what I am—or what might be out there waiting for me.

“Of course! It’s so killa that you’re gonna be on the team! We’re gonna annihilate the Kappas this year,” Brownie says, jumping up and down with her pale platinum hair shining in the moonlight.

“Uh, Brownie, we annihilated the Kappas last year—they suck,” Buns says in amusement.

“I know, but we’re going to really, really annihilate them this year!” Brownie agrees evilly.

“Yes, let’s, that sounds amazing!” I agree, getting swept up in their enthusiasm, but a yawn escapes me.

Buns sees it before I can hide it behind my hand. “Evie, I’m so sorry!” she gushes in concern. “We have you standing out here in the middle of the night after you’ve been at the hospital for hours—stuck with Reed. Did he bore you to death in the waiting room? I hope they had some fashion magazines to read at least,” she says, walking over and unlocking the door with a key stashed behind the stone bench.

“Uh, there was plenty to read where we went. Thanks,” I mutter, feeling a little guilty when the girls get on either side of me to help me limp up the stairs. I quickly decide that the guilt is preferable to having to explain my amazing healing capacity. When we reach their room, I wait while Brownie runs inside to get my bag and keys.

Thanking both girls again for their help, I start to go to my room, but Buns stops me as she says, “Oh, Evie, by the way, we left something for you in your room. Let us know if you need help getting it back out,” she says with a wink.

“What is it?” I ask, but she just smiles and goes into her room, closing the door.

I stop by the bathroom on my way back to my room, and then I go wearily down the hall and unlock my door. It is almost completely dark inside; the only light comes from my desk lamp in the corner across from my bed. The light is shining down on the tawny hair directly beneath it.

Russell, seated at my desk, had fallen asleep; his large body is slumped over with his head cradled in his arms. I lean my head against the doorframe, watching him for a few moments. He must’ve been very worried to risk getting caught in my room. A stab of guilt shoots through me when I look at his handsome face. Poor Russell, he tried to rescue me again and wasn’t able to because he had been seriously outgunned.

I close the door and kick off my shoes, watching for signs of wakefulness in him. Then I strip off the filthy practice uniform I’m wearing and change into a clean t-shirt and boxer-like pajama bottoms. Running a brush through my hair a couple of times, working out the knots that have accumulated in it from practice, I sweep it up in a massive ponytail near the crown. Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I watch Russell, who hasn’t stirred at all.

After I cross to my desk, I lay my hand on Russell’s hair and gently smooth it away from his face, tucking some of it behind one ear. He smiles in his sleep; it is so sweet that I find that I am smiling, too.

“Russell…Russ,” I whisper in his ear with my hand resting on his shoulder.

“Evie?” he asks groggily, lifting his head from the desk and squinting at me.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Are you okay? You look terrible. What’re you thinking sneaking in here? You want to lose your scholarship?” I scold gently. He doesn’t answer me but pulls me down on his lap, hugging me fiercely. I rest my head against his shoulder and say, “I’m okay—my knee should be better in a couple days.”

I’m glad he can’t see my face. I hate lying to him because it feels like such a betrayal after what we’ve been through together, but what are the consequences for him in discovering the truth? He’ll be more entangled in my mess, for one, and I can’t have that. I can see that clearly now.

“I checked the Crestwood Hospital, Evie. Where’d he take ya?” Russell asks me quietly.

Paling, I realize I have to come up with a lie that will cover this and be unverifiable. “Reed thinks the local hospital is inept, so he drove me to a specialist near Ann Arbor. That’s why it took so long. I’m sorry you were worried. I didn’t have my phone with me; I left it at the field,” I say lamely, feeling like the monster I no doubt am.

“Really, what’s the doctor’s name?” he asks suspiciously.

“I can’t remember his name. Reed signed me in. I’m sure it’ll be on the big fat bill my uncle gets in the mail in a few weeks,” I sigh. I’m going straight to hell; there is no question. “I’m sorry Reed got you again with his voice thing. I asked him not to do that to you anymore.”

“Evie?” Russell says.

“Yes?” I reply.

“Yer a really bad liar,” he says, his frustration apparent in his tone.

“I know, but I don’t know any other way to protect you,” I reply tiredly, getting off his lap and walking over to the alarm clock. “I’m setting this for five o’clock so we can sneak you out before Megan, the RA, gets up. The only person I’ve ever slept next to is my best friend, Molly, and she never mentioned that I snore, but if I do, you can just keep that info to yourself—and no funny stuff. When I say sleep, I mean sleep,” I inform him, going to the bed and pulling the blanket back. I’m so tired I feel dizzy from it.

“Can I take my shirt off?” Russell asks behind me.

“Uh…sure,” I say, not looking at him. This is probably a really bad idea, but I can’t do anything but climb into my single bed. After switching off the desk lamp, the bed sags when Russell gets in next to me.

My bed is hardly big enough for him; his feet are hanging off the end. He is so large that he can’t help but touch me. There is no other way to manage other than to turn toward him and rest my cheek on his chest so that his shoulders can lay flat on the mattress. “Please tell me they gave you a bigger bed in your room. Your feet are hanging off this one,” I say sleepily.

“Uh huh,” he replies, sounding exhausted, too. “Measured me and made it custom.”

“That’s nice,” I manage to reply.

“Evie, yer gonna tell me what really happened tonight,” Russell states soporifically.

“Mmmm…sleep…my favorite,” I reply drowsily.

I don’t hear anything after that except for the alarm clock going off at five a.m. I’m lying on my side with my back to Russell, and he has his arms wrapped around me snugly. Reaching one arm back, he turns the clock off, and then he returns his arm to rest on my hip. The sun isn’t up yet, but there is enough predawn light to see by.

“Need more sleep,” I whisper. “Ugh, my hair is everywhere, I should just cut it all off one of these days,” I say groggily, trying to sit up only to find my hair is trapped under Russell’s arm.

“Don’t ya dare do that, Red,” Russell whispers back in horror, releasing my hair from under his arm. “I’ll never forgive ya for it if ya do.”

“Deal breaker, huh?” I whisper and sit up, rubbing my eyes to clear them.

“I wouldn’t go that far…just don’t do it,” he says, watching me from his position propped up on an elbow. “Maybe we should just skip today. They never teach ya anythin’ on the first day of school. I know ya want more sleep,” he says invitingly, patting the space where I had just been snuggled up next to him.

“Russell Marx, we’re not skipping! Anyway, we have to get you out of here before Megan hears you or before anyone else gets up. You know the showers are down the hall, and some girls just walk in towels to and from them,” I explain quietly, trying to get him to move from the bed.

“Really…well, I can’t miss that…I’ll just wait here ‘til they all get up and then…” he trails off when I hit him with my pillow.

“Russell!” I whisper sternly, “Get up! We’re getting you out of here.”

“Yer grumpy in the mornin’. Need some coffee or somethin’?” he whispers teasingly.

“Yes, a whole pot at this point,” I say, getting up.

I stumble stiffly toward my closet and find a hooded sweatshirt to put on because it’s colder than normal this morning. Zipping it up, I notice my knee is still wrapped in the bandage Reed had put on me the night before, so I limp a little while walking back toward the bed. I pick Russell’s shirt up off the back of my chair where he’d put it and bring it back to the bed with me.

“How come you’re in such a good mood? You couldn’t have gotten much more sleep than I did last night. Are you a morning person?” I ask in mock horror.

“A mornin’ person, well maybe, but let’s just say I got to experience the nicest parts of hell last night,” he says quietly, taking the shirt I offer him. As he rises out of the bed, I can’t help looking over his perfect abdomen and chest before he shrugs into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, the nicest parts of hell? What does that mean?” I ask.

“Red, yer not a guy, so there’s no point explainin’,” he smiles at me, but does not elaborate further. “Am I really the first guy to sleep next to ya?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit, blushing and handing Russell his shoes to put on.

“So that means…” Russell starts to say. He complies by taking his shoes from me and putting them on.

“Yes, that’s exactly what that means,” I reply before he could go on. I am not prepared for embarrassing conversations this early in the morning. I walk to my closet, retrieving a pair of sandals to put on.

“How’s that possible?” he asks me with a grin on his face.

“I just haven’t met the right person,” I mutter, feeling my blush deepening. “And stop grinning at me like the Cheshire cat,” I say, slipping the sandals on.

I go to the door and open it just enough to stick my head out. Since no one is in the hall, I motion for Russell to join me. We walk to the back stairs. Opening the back door, I check to make sure no one is in the parking lot; it seems empty, so I walk outside with Russell and let the door close behind us.

“Whew, that was a close one, no one almost saw us,” Russell says, grinning sweetly.

I smile too—I can’t help it. “When’s your first class today?” I ask him, feeling relief at not getting caught.

“It’s not until ten. I’ll get one of the guys to grab me somethin’ from the cafeteria,” he says smugly.

“Oh, you get to go back to bed until ten…I don’t think I like you anymore! I have Art History at eight, but it’s okay because I think it’s going to be my favorite class,” I say with anticipation as I absently try to smooth my hair back from my face, fighting the breeze blowing it.

Russell’s eyebrow quirks, “Why?” he asks, before he reaches over to tuck my hair behind my ear for me.

“Because I’ve never had a class like it. It will be my existential flight from the iron cage of reason,” I reply hopefully, feeling fairly excited about the prospect of something different.

“Damn girl, y’all are smart. I’m not even sure what ya meant by that, but it sounds phat. Anyway, when can we talk?” he asks significantly. “We need to discuss what happened to ya yesterday.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” I state stubbornly, hoping that he’ll just let it go if he meets with some resistance.

“I say there is, and if yer not sayin’, then I’ll have to go ask the thing who dragged ya off what happened,” Russell states just as stubbornly, definitely not letting anything go. He is dug in.

“Oh, that’s a great idea. Since you two are so tight, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything. While you’re at it, why don’t you invite him to hang out, come to a game!” I say sarcastically. “Are you insane?”

“Insane, no, but I’ve seen some things recently that have made me question reality as I’ve known it. Meetin’ y’all was like splittin’ an atom. Ya happened by, and then my whole world blew up, and I’m just tryin’ to make sense of it all. So if that means confrontin’ a key player in our drama, then I’ll do it,” he says with determination.

“Why won’t you let me protect you, Russell? Please. This isn’t a drama. This is…this is…and I’m…and you just can’t… you just can’t, Russell.” I put my cheek against his chest and Russell’s arms slide around me, hugging me soothingly. “Just let me handle it…Please?”

“Red, whatever it is, yer not handling it. It’s handling y’all,” he says quietly.

“Then let it handle me, and not you, okay?” I reply.

“Woman, yer just plain stubborn.” he says with irritation.

“Guilty,” I agree.

“Meet me for lunch at the cafeteria, okay?” Russell asks in resignation.

“I’ll buy,” I agree.

I’m right about my Art History class; it is different from any class I’ve ever taken. The professor, Sam MacKinnon, is a very talented portrait artist in his own right. His descriptions of the masterpieces that we’ll be discussing this semester are nothing short of what a lover might say about his beloved. They are sensual and thought evoking descriptions, full of passion.

He’s kind of an old-school professor, even though he appears quite young. Instead of a power point presentation to illustrate the art works to be discussed, Mr. MacKinnon uses an old projector with slides to magnify the images on a screen in the front of the classroom. With the lights dim and the projector on, the faces of the students in the classroom are eerie alabaster busts; they reflect the ghostly light that bounces off the screen in front of them.

Any thoughts of being tired evaporate as the images on the screen flash before me in a rapid-fire procession. Mr. MacKinnon explains that we’ll be studying each image in depth: discussing the artist, the genre in which it was created, and the medium, as well as intimate details relating to each piece. I can’t wait to start, and I feel disappointment when the lights come up signifying the end of class. Gathering my books, I squint as my eyes adjust to the light. To say that I’m excited to be in this class is an understatement. Holding my books to me, I move along with the other students towards the door.

“Excuse me, young lady…uh, miss?” I hear a voice behind me say.

I turn to see my new professor hailing me back into the classroom. I walk back in slowly, unsure of why Mr. MacKinnon is singling me out. “Yes?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name yet. I don’t take attendance on the first day,” he says politely, waiting for me to provide him with the information.

“Genevieve Claremont,” I state as if for some record in an interrogation.

He smiles kindly at me and says, “Genevieve, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I’m not only a professor of art history and graphic art, I also do some of my own work that I show at the end of each semester.”

“Yes, I read your bio in the Mother’s Club directory. You have a show that is presented at the Sage Center, right?” I reply, blushing as I recall the intrusive publication.

“That’s correct. Good, then you may be aware that I often select subjects for my paintings from the student body at Crestwood?” Mr. MacKinnon asks.

“No, I wasn’t aware of that,” I reply slowly, rapidly drawing some conclusions.

“I would like you to sit for me for an oil painting I am planning. What do you say?” he asks, and when he smiles, his blue eyes all but twinkle. “You have an almost ethereal quality to you that, if I could capture it, could lend itself to a very interesting piece.”

“Umm, please don’t take this the wrong way, but if I sit for you…I wouldn’t have to umm…that is to say, I’d get to keep my clothes…err, what would a sitting entail?” I ask, feeling my cheeks flushing with color.

“Oh, right, well…we’d figure out a convenient time, then you would come to my studio on the second floor in this building, the fine arts building, where my assistant, Debra, and I would find a pose for you. We’d take some pictures, and then you would need to come back for a few sittings to make sure it turns out well,” he explains.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound bad. What should I wear?” I ask significantly.

“I don’t do nudes, Genevieve, good God, not at this school anyway,” he chuckles and beams like he has found a shiny new coin for his collection. “My assistant will be with us the entire time.”

“Can I let you know after class on Thursday? I’d like a little time to think about it. I’ve never done anything like that before,” I ask cautiously.

“I’d like to get started soon after that, if you agree that is,” he says confidently, like he knows I will eventually say yes. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

My next class is not nearly as interesting as Art History had been. It’s the History of Western Civilization. Dr. Stuart, the professor, isn’t as colorful as Mr. MacKinnon had been. His presentation of the origins of our culture is dry and leaves me with the impression that I can learn most of what I need to know from the textbook.

I buy a coffee after class and wait in the student union until lunch. I’m completely exhausted, and all I really want to do is skip lunch altogether and go back to my room to sleep, but I had promised to meet Russell for lunch. I run into Freddie outside Saga waiting in line to get into the cafeteria.

“Evie! How’s the knee?” Freddie asks, coming back to the end of the line to wait with me. “I saw that other girl slash you; it was wicked. I thought it was broken for sure. In fact, I lost twenty bucks on it,” he says morosely.

“Freddie, that’s awful! I can’t believe you lost twenty bucks betting on me!” I say in irritation.

“I know, next time take your phone so I can call you and hedge my bet,” Freddie smirks.

“That’s not what I meant, Alfred.” I say sullenly. “How can you bet on something like that? It’s not nice.”

“I know, but I was just kidding. I bet fifty bucks that it wasn’t broken, and I took the bet against Mason. It was so tight taking his bank. Here, this is your cut,” Freddie says, smiling and handing me a twenty-dollar bill.

“Oh, in that case, thanks!” I reply and take the twenty from Freddie. “Anything to skool Mason,” I go on because I’m still a little irked about the directory rating.

“I thought you’d feel that way,” Freddie says and smiles.

“I’m supposed to meet Russell here for lunch, can you eat with us?” I ask him. I really want to ask Freddie what he thinks about me posing for a portrait with Mr. MacKinnon.

“Sure,” Freddie says as we present our saga cards to the maitre d’ at the podium, just inside the cafeteria.

After getting our food, we sit in what is fast becoming our table in the back by the picture window. I watch for Russell as Freddie tells me about his classes. It doesn’t take long for Russell to find us, although he doesn’t seem very psyched to see Freddie sitting with me. Not because he doesn’t like Freddie—I know he does—but because now he can’t interrogate me about the previous night. I hadn’t planned it, but it couldn’t have worked out better for me if I had. I love Freddie, I think.

“Russell, hey, I’m glad you’re here. I was just about to tell Freddie about my Art History class. Well, not about my class, but about what happened after class,” I say, and then I explain to them both about the portrait that Mr. MacKinnon wants me to pose for. “So, what do you think?” I ask them.

Neither one of them speaks at first; they just sort of look at each other, like male telepathy or something. Then Russell asks, “What’s this professor’s name again?”

“Mr. MacKinnon, he’s an artist. He holds an exhibition at the Sage Center at the end of each semester,” I say.

“What will you be wearing when you pose?” asks Freddie, trying to hide his smirk.

My eyes narrow. Yep, he’s definitely my long lost twin.

“Please, this is Crestwood, Freddie, and anyway, his assistant will be there the entire time,” I assure him.

“I don’t know, Red, it could be legit, but then again, he could just be targetin’ a beautiful freshman,” Russell sighs in exasperation. “Ya know its gettin’ irritatin’ havin’ to worry ‘bout professors on top of everythin’ else.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t worry about it then. I’m a big girl. I’ll make my own decisions. I just wanted to know what you thought,” I snap back at him.

His brown eyes narrow at me. “Fine, just make it for when I can go with ya so that Mr. Fine Arts doesn’t misplace his paintbrushes,” Russell says with heat in his tone, reacting no doubt to my tone.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Russell,” I reply, pushing my tray away tiredly.

“Evie, ya haven’t been here a week and already ya have been…” he trails off when he sees me look up at Freddie then back to him.

Freddie holds up his hand, saying, “Okay, I hate it when Mom and Dad fight, so I’ll go and babysit Evie with Mr. Paint-by-numbers. It’ll give you some time to figure out you’re not really mad at her,” Freddie says to Russell. “Friends don’t let friends get nekkid with professors.”

Both Russell and I turn and glare at Freddie until he says, “Wut?” and holds up both his hands defensively.

“I’ll let you know what I decide, Freddie,” I say, standing with my tray. “I’m really tired. I’m going to go take a nap.”

Russell must agree that a nap is in order because, thankfully, he doesn’t try to stop me. I stumble down the hill to my dorm and lock myself in my room. I dive head first into my bed and don’t resurface for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER 8

The Speed Of Light

After my argument with Russell, I miss dinner because I sleep straight through it. I probably would’ve slept through until morning, but Buns and Brownie knock on my door when they get back from field hockey practice. They both come in and sit on my bed, watching me while I brush my teeth. When I finish, I tell them about Mr. MacKinnon’s request.

“He wants you to be a model for him?” Buns asks in envy. “Sweetie, you’re so lucky, he’s really talented. I went to his exhibit last year, and it was amazing. Plus, Sam is so yummy. I had Art History last year, and I never skipped his class.”

“So, you’re saying I should do it?” I ask her.

“Sweetie, if you don’t, I will,” Buns says, smiling.

“Buns and I are taking the Golden Goose to the Seven-Eleven to get snacks. We wanted to know if you want to come,” Brownie says, getting to the point.

“Snacks sound good. Explain to me the Golden Goose, and we’re in business,” I say, slipping on a pair of sandals.

“Oh, that’s my car, sweetie,” Buns says. “We dubbed it the Golden Goose. I would tell you why, but it really speaks for itself.”

“Okay, I’d love to come. I missed dinner. I just need to use the bathroom, and then I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

Opening the back door to the parking lot, I come face to face with the Golden Goose. Buns parks it directly under the flood light by the back door so I am able to get a good look at her car. It’s a late model Grand Marquee in the most metallic shade of gold ever created. Buns hits the horn, and it wheezes out a honk that sounds suspiciously like a goose. I open the back door on the driver’s side, climb in, and as soon as I shut the door, Buns hits the accelerator. The car handles like a vehicle meant to be in water; it feels like a big land yacht.

“Buns, is this your parents’ car?” I ask her suspiciously.

“It was Elise’s car, but she gave it to me when she got a new one,” Buns says, looking at me in the rearview mirror. As she did so, the car casually drifts over the double yellow lines in the road before Brownie puts her hand on the wheel to gently pull us back to our lane. Buns seems not to notice the helping hand.

“Is Elise your mom?” I ask interestedly, watching to see who’d be driving the car when Buns answers the question.

“Elise and Charlie Bonds are my parents,” Buns says sweetly, but we don’t drift into the other lane this time.

“And before you ask, no they’re not pimps,” Brownie says good-naturedly. Brownie has kind of nailed the essence of this car; it does seem suspiciously like a pimpmobile. Buns smiles pleasantly as the car sways over the road with the consistency of a butterfly. “They own several ice cream stores in the Fort Wayne area. You should see the little uniforms that Buns wears to dish out ice cream. She works for her parents during the summers, and she looks like a candy striper in her outfit,” Brownie says.

“You said you were going to work with me this summer,” Buns says to Brownie teasingly. “I can’t wait to see you in the stripes. I might order an extra small for you and see how many tips you can rack up.” She laughs as the car sways over the road.

Buns makes a left turn and we’re in the parking lot of the 7-Eleven. She turns off her lights and the engine, and I try not to let any of the pop bottles escape from the floor while getting out. Pushing the store’s glass doors open, the girls go straight to the chip aisle while I diverge and go toward the refrigerated section.

Walking to the back, I study the selection of pre-made sandwiches behind the glass door; none of them looks appetizing, about as moist as sawdust. There are packages of crackers with turkey and cheese; it seems to be my best option, so I open the refrigerator, drawing one out of the vending line. Seeing bottled water in the next refrigerator, I select one of those, too.

A couple of boys from school walk in, and Buns calls out, “JT, Pete! How was your practice, sweetie?” They’re on the lacrosse team. I recognize JT by his uniform.

JT smoothes back his dark, wet hair as he walks to Buns’s side, saying, “It was hard because I kept getting distracted by the blond girls with the sticks. Reed hit me in the head twice with the ball. See, I have a little cut here by my eye.”

“Oh you poor thing—let me look at it,” Buns says sweetly, examining JT’s wound. Brownie rolls her eyes at me and goes to talk to Pete, who is getting a fountain drink.

As I shuffle toward the front of the store, the darkest sense of déjà vu trickles down my spine like icy fingers. A shiver of dread creeps over my skin, causing goose bumps to rise on my arms. I slow and then stop in the middle of the aisle, eyeing the fluorescent light over my head, watching its strobe-like flicker. A low hum vibrates from it while it sizzles with disjointed flashes of illumination.

When I look away from the light, everything around me had changed. The walls of the store are spattered like a Jackson Pollock painting with blood and brain matter. Bloody trails of speckled drops cover the beige-and-taupe, checkerboard-pattern vinyl tile. I gaze around in horror. Everything is upturned; the displays of chips and candy lie in towering piles on the floor, and the magazine racks roil with choking smoke. The coffee pots are blown to bits; only the brown and orange rims remain to testify as to what they had been. The glass doors of the refrigerators are shattered and dripping with the contents of several cartons of milk and juice.

Unable to comprehend what I am seeing, I am also wholly unprepared for the next assault on my senses. Breathing deeply, the putrid air permeating the store hits me. I have never smelled anything like it before in my life—even the cadaverous flesh of formaldehyde-soaked frogs are no comparison to the heinousness of this reek. I clamp my hand over my mouth and nose to cover them, trying to block out some of the rotten stench. My trembling fingers feel slick and sticky. Pulling my hand away, the stain of blood mars my pale skin and fingernails.

The eerie, pulsating light draws my eyes back up to the ceiling—to the flickering fluorescent glow. A cacophony builds around me, as if I am beneath an amp, and the reverb pounds me in low frequency waves that echo off my body. Clasping my hands to my ears, I attempt to block out the crushing waves assaulting my eardrums. The intense light grows whiter and brighter while it slowly reaches out to me. Then it bursts forth in a flash, knocking me to the ground with a deafening wham!

My eyes flicker open, and I squint to see Buns crouching above me. “Sweetie…sweetie…can you hear me?” Buns asks while she pushes my hair back gently from my forehead. “Here she is! Here you are, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Why am I on the floor? I wonder.

I try to sit up, but I am held down by JT’s hand on my shoulder. “There is no rush, Evie. Take your time; try to take some deep breaths,” JT says kindly as his hand remains on my shoulder. “You fainted. When did you eat last?” he asks me.

In confusion, I gaze into JT’s hazel eyes, trying to think. “I had some coffee before lunch, and then a bagel,” I stammer.

“You have to eat more than that, Evie,” he says with concern. “Your body can’t survive on coffee and bread.”

“My body can’t survive…” I begin to repeat him, but I trail off. In an instant, I recall what happened. The 7-Eleven is the stage of my nightmare, I think feebly, and hope I won’t get sick. My heart starts hammering in my chest, and I have the urge to jump up and run, but I can’t because JT is still holding me down. “Um, that’s why I was getting food,” I say, trying to locate the crackers I’d had in my hand before being rudely slapped around by the light above me. “I think I’m okay now. Can I get up?” I ask JT in a soft tone, glancing at his hand on my shoulder.

He squints at me suspiciously as he says, “I don’t know. You’re about as white as a ghost. How do you feel?” he asks.

Faking a winsome smile, I reply, “I feel like getting up.” Satisfied that I am better, JT helps me to my feet.

Covertly, I scan the store for signs of the blood and gore from my dream. Except for the morbid sense of déjà vu, everything else seems fine. My hands, gratefully, are as clean as they’d been when I entered the store. Pete picks up the food and bottled water I must’ve dropped. He hands them back to me kindly.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to act normal and hoping my tone isn’t too loud because my ears are still ringing.

The clerk behind the counter hasn’t moved at all from her position by the cash register. She eyes me skeptically while the piercings in her eyebrow draw down into a frown. I set my stuff on the counter as she chews her gum with relentless fervor. When I finish paying her, everyone congregates around me while I take a few sips of my water.

Brownie puts her arm around my shoulder and asks, “How do you feel?” But before I can answer her, she adds, “I was really freaked, especially when you stopped mumbling and just went limp.”

“I was mumbling? What was I saying?” I ask in alarm.

“I don’t know,” Brownie replies,” I couldn’t hear you that well, but it wasn’t English. You know what it sounded like?” she asks, pointing at me excitedly. “It sounded like the time Bobby, my brother, and I put on an old Black Sabbath record and tried to play it backwards. Bobby thought that there were hidden messages on it, but we never really heard anything.”

Goosebumps rise on my arms as a shiver runs through me again. I smile to cover it up and say, “I take Latin. I was probably ordering a pizza.” Everyone laughs, to my relief.

The clerk butts in, asking, “Is that all?” We are still milling around the counter, which seems to be annoying her.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, moving away toward the door. I want nothing more than to escape the store and never come back.

As I step outside, I breathe in deep gulps of air to try to clear my head. JT and Pete walk over to the shiny, silver car parked next to the Golden Goose. Seeing it, I cringe, because unless JT has a car exactly like Reed’s, then it’s safe to assume that JT had borrowed Reed’s car to go to the store with Pete.

They both climb into the elegant import, before opening its windows. “Hey, Buns,” JT calls from the driver’s side, “Delt wars are starting soon. You ready?”

Buns’s smile is full of hubris when she retorts, “Sweetie, we’ve been plotting your demise all summer. You’ll never see us coming.”

“You’re that confident in your arsenal, are you?” he replies, grinning.

“Don’t worry about my arsenal, sweetie, just make sure you aren’t bringing a knife to a gunfight,” Buns teases.

Brownie rolls her eyes. “Or, you two could just get a room and fight it out there. Lez go, Buns.”

“What are the Delt wars?” I ask them, attempting to open my crackers with shaky hands. I’m trying really hard not to think about what had just happened to me.

Buns backs the car out of the parking spot, wheeling it around like a motorboat. “The Delt House picks a couple of sororities to go to war with each year. But it’s usually just our house, which is the Chi house, or the Kappa house. They take something from the sorority house so that we go to war with them to get it back. Last year, they stole one of our Greek Week trophies and were drinking beer out of it. They sent ransom photos,” Brownie explains.

“But this year, Brownie and I are operating an offensive. We thought that we could initiate a pre-emptive strike,” Buns explains, sounding sly. “We figured, why should we wait for them to draw first blood? That’s just plain stupid if you ask me. Then we’ll have to play on their terms—follow their clues—fall into their ambushes. Why not take their game to them?”

Brownie nods. “We’ve been trying to decide what to take from their house that will dis and dismiss and throw them into chaos mode,” Brownie says with relish.

I think about it for a second, and then I blurt out, “You should take one of their composites. You know, the ones they have with all of the members in the house pictured on it? Then you can rate them, on a ten-point scale, and take a picture of the results as ransom,” I blush, thinking about the Mother’s Club Directory again.

With a wicked grin, Brownie chimes in, “Hey, yeah, like they do with the freshman directory!”

I raise my hand in athere you go gesture.

“Evie, you’re an evil genius,” Buns beams, and the Golden Goose begins swaying over the yellow lines in the road. She winks at me over her shoulder and Brownie corrects the wheel without missing a beat.

“No, just a woman scorned,” I reply, taking a bite of my cracker sandwich I’ve compiled.

“We need you!” Brownie says, “You think on your feet, and you’re really athletic, and other than passing out in the convenience store, I’d say you’d make a great soldier in our war.”

Buns screeches into the dorm parking lot with her eyes on me in the rearview mirror, “We need stealth, and you move like a cat,” Buns says. “Brownie and I were discussing that play you made just before Tamera took you out. It was like watching a panther go up against an armadillo.”

“Did we say armadillo? I thought we said a panther and a porcupine,” Brownie interrupts.

“Sweetie, armadillo, porcupine, hedgehog—the point is Tamera knew she couldn’t match the speed and grace, and so she resorted to violence to take Evie out,” Buns reasons rationally, parking the car in the back of the lot.

“Just say yes, Evie, because she’ll only work on you until you do,” says Brownie conspiratorially.

We open our doors and climb out of the Goose. “Don’t I have to be a Chi or something to be involved? Especially if I’m on your team?” I ask, wondering how this all works.

“No, everyone will look at it like we’re recruiting you, which we are, but come on, you’re no Kappa,” Brownie says, then takes a sip of her fountain drink.

“You’re recruiting me?” I ask as we head toward the dorm.

“Sweetie, we didn’t start out to, we never recruit because it’s kind of beneath us. I figure you either like us or you don’t, but it’s just that we like you—you seem to get us. A kindred spirit if you want to look at it that way,” Buns says, putting her arm around my shoulder. “You don’t have to pledge if you don’t want to; we just like having you around.”

“So, you’ll help us beat the Delts?” Brownie persists, opening the door to Yeats and holding it for Buns and me.

“Yes, I’ll help,” I agree, because it will be the distraction I need after my smack down at the 7-Eleven. I don’t have any way to decipher what is happening to me. I am just trying to live through the horror of it.

Brownie and Buns both clap like two ten-year-olds. “Okay, strategy meeting tomorrow night after practice. Are you all right to practice, Evie? How’s your knee?” Brownie asks with concern.

“It’s stylin’. I can practice,” I say, knowing that I can’t keep up the charade of fake limping anymore.

“Fierce! Do you want to come in and kick back for a while?” Buns asks, opening the door to their room.

“No thanks, I think I’m going to try to go back to sleep,” I decline. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.” Buns says as I walk down the hall to my room.

There is a note taped to the outside of my door. I open the note and read it:

Dear Red,

Sorry, I was being a tool. I stopped by to see you, but one of the girls I asked to get you said that you weren’t in. Please call me when you get this so I can apologize. Russell

CHAPTER 9

Foreign Language

I read the note from Russell several times. It’s so sweet; he actually said he was being a tool, which he kind of was, but he was a sweet tool. Once inside my room, I fold up the note, placing it on my desk, and then I change into a t-shirt and boxer pajama bottoms. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I walk down the hall to the bathroom.

On my way back to my room, I stop dead in my tracks because there are butterflies taking flight in my abdomen the closer I get to my room. Backing up from my door slowly, I consider my options. I’m in my pajamas with no shoes and no keys to get very far. Rabbiting doesn’t really appeal to me anyway, since this is my room. Mine. I square my shoulders, walking the remaining steps to my door.

When I open it, I scan my room for Reed, but he isn’t inside. Leaning back against the door to close it, I sigh in relief until I think to look in the closet. Creeping to the folding door, I peek inside, but he isn’t in there either. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, before I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail, preparing to go to bed soon.

Then I prowl my room nervously. My Reed radar is still going off. He has to be here, at Yeats Hall, somewhere. But why? I wonder anxiously. Maybe he’s visiting someone downstairs or something, I think and instantly feel a twinge of jealousy shoot through me, shocking me with its intensity. What do I care whom Reed sees? I think rationally, trying to shrug off the feeling that I’ve just had. I don’t even like him, and the less he thinks about me, the better, right?

Turning on my computer, I read an email from Uncle Jim that outlines some technologies that are being developed to insert subliminal messaging into advertising. Realizing that none of the software that he is talking about resembles anything like what Reed can do, I decide I might have to accept Reed’s explanation.

I think for a second about telling Uncle Jim about the scary light and having my nightmare in the 7-Eleven this evening, but my hands shake with fear. I can’t tell him, I think, wringing my hands together so they won’t tremble. He’ll be really freaked out, and he’ll want me to come home. He’s safer if I stay away.

I type a quick reply message to him, giving him a bubblegum version of college life. Then I ask him to check out Russell’s computer, providing him the IP address. I send the email and shut down my computer. Finding my phone on my nightstand, I send a text to Russell explaining that I am sorry, too, about our argument and that I’ll see him at breakfast in the morning.

I pull back the blanket on my bed before I walk over to shut off the desk lamp. On my way back to the bed, I happen to look out the window, and I see Reed standing outside of it. I nearly scream but I am able to stifle it. I do, however, shy back from the window in a knee jerk reaction while my heart just about pounds out of my chest.

I hadn’t been able to see him out there because the light from the lamp had made the window almost opaque. With the lamp off, I can easily see Reed leaning back against the fire escape railing with his arms crossed in front of him. He has been watching me since I came back from the bathroom, I think in irritation. I try to remember if I’ve done anything embarrassing, but I can’t think of anything, so I march to the window and wrench the curtains closed. Then I get into bed and lie there fuming.

Hearing the window latch release and the two panes of glass fan open, I realize that Reed is letting himself in, so I roll over and pull the blanket over my head. “Just go away, Reed!” I whisper-hiss to him in the darkness.

“Genevieve,” Reed’s voice carries from outside on the fire escape, “Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.” His voice sounds strange—strained.

“Whyyyy?” I whine, hoping to put him off.

“You have five minutes!” he says sternly before the windows slam shut.

I sit in my bed for about two and a half minutes. What is the worst he can do if I don’t come out? I think angrily. When the third minute ticks on the clock, I kick my blanket off my legs and bound out of bed. “Fine!” I say through my teeth with my hands in fists.

I slip on a pair of running shoes and put on my hooded sweatshirt. I exit the dorm via the back door and I am in the parking lot with about thirty seconds to spare. Locating Reed’s car parked in the back of the lot, I trudge over to it. Reed gets out of the driver’s side and walks around to open the door for me. He isn’t wearing a shirt and I realize that he hadn’t had one on when he was on the fire escape either.

My eyebrows draw together as I think, He shouldn’t just walk around like that; it’s obscene to have to look at someone so perfect. He should do the world a favor and eat a donut or two, sheesh. Sitting sullenly in the seat with my arms crossed in front of me, I refuse to look at him.

He watches me before he sighs heavily, saying, “What happened tonight?”

My eyebrows pull together. “Let me think… what didn’t you see when you were spying on me outside my window? How did you get up there, anyway? The ladder has to be pushed off the fire escape, and it’s at least twenty feet off the ground. There is no way you could reach it you…you… total perv!” I rant at him.

His eyes narrow, mirroring mine. “JT said you fainted at the Seven-Eleven tonight. He said you were as white as a ghost, and he said you were mumbling in Latin before you went completely unconscious. Pete said he thought you were dead for a second. Now explain what happened before I lose my temper,” he grits out through his teeth.

Oh, just wait until I get my hands on that Delt composite! I think angrily. JT and Pete are each getting a big fat rating of one.

I look away from him, replying sarcastically, “Well, you can tell JT and Pete for me that the next time they hold a knitting bee and gossip circle, I could use a new sweater!”

“Genevieve,” Reed says quietly, but it has the same effect on me as if he’d shouted.

“Fine! I went to the Seven-Eleven to get snacks, I got my butt kicked by the florescent light, I woke up on the ground, and then I went home. The end. Goodnight,” I say and try to open the car door, but Reed locks it before I can pull the handle. “Ahh, Reed!” I complain when I couldn’t find the unlock button again.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Reed says slowly, obviously deciding to treat me like an errant child. “You entered the Seven-Eleven…” he trails off so that I could fill in the blank.

Exhaling the word, “Fine,” I tell him what happened: from the déjà vu, to the gore, to the loud noise, to the KO by the flickering light, to waking up and being told that I had been speaking in tongues…well, in backward Black Sabbath anyway. I give him as much detail as I can think of; I even explain about the putrid smell.

Reed’s jaw grows more taut as my story goes on. “What were you saying…mumbling before you went unconscious, do you know?” he asks urgently when I’m done.

“No, they told me that I was saying something, but I don’t remember that part,” I reply.

“If you heard the language again, do you think you would recognize it?” he asks speculatively.

Frowning and giving him a small shrug, I answer honestly, “I don’t know.”

And then the most amazing thing happens: Reed begins to speak to me in a language that is at once so familiar and yet so foreign that the dichotomy of it makes me dizzy. It’s lithe and musical, and though I can’t understand a word of it, it calls to me in a hypnotic way. I feel compelled to get closer to the source of it, and when he stops speaking, I realize to my horror that I’m clinging to his chest with my ear all but pressed to his lips.

“What was that?” I ask him in awe.

“Did you like it?” he asks with humor in his tone; my reaction is funny to him.

“What were you saying?” I ask breathlessly.

“I was telling you what a frustrating creature I find you,” he replies.

I feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. “Oh, so it’s not the content that makes it sound so lovely,” I say, releasing my grip on him and straightening in my seat. “What language is that? It sounds Celtic, but not…” I trail off, searching my mind for any indication of what it could’ve been. “I feel like I should know what you were saying, but I don’t,” I say in disappointment. “Can you teach me it?”

“You will know it soon enough. Was that the language you were speaking?” he asks.

“I don’t know, you should ask JT and Pete. I was being introduced to the floor of the convenience store at that point,” I reply absently, still enthralled by what I’ve just heard.

Reed’s eyes narrow again as he asks me arrogantly, “Why did you try to conceal this from me? You should have come to me right away after it happened.”

My eyes connect with his beautiful green ones as I scoff, “Are you serious? I’ve got news for you, pal: you’re the last person I’d go to with this information.”

“That is absurd. I’m the only one who could interpret for you what you experienced,” he says, speaking slowly as if I lack the wit to comprehend him.

“Oh, right, because you’ve been such a bevy of information for me in the past,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, Reed, you’re a virtual Rosetta stone!”

“Genevieve,” Reed sighs my name in frustration.

“Reed,” I reply mirroring his tone, before pointing out, “you have to admit you haven’t exactly inspired trust.”

“Oh, I see, and who does inspire your trust, your soul mate? Is that who you can tell?” Reed asks, sounding suspiciously like he is jealous.

I shake my head slowly. You’re insane, I think, Reed’s not jealous; he doesn’t even like you.

I wrinkle my nose. “My soul mate? What are you talking about…you mean Russell?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes, Russell,” Reed replies sullenly.

A flutter of fear edges through me. “I haven’t told Russell a thing about what happened tonight, and if you do, I swear I’ll never speak to you again. He’s not a part of this! And I didn’t tell you either simply because I didn’t want to tip the scales,” I say defensively, trying to explain my position.

“What do you mean by ‘tip the scales?’” Reed asks me in confusion.

My chin lifts as my throat grows tight. I twist my fingers together in my lap, before I say, “I didn’t want to add any more items to the con side of the ‘Genevieve’s Continued Survival’ list. What if this is the thing that makes you decide that I’m now dangerous enough to eliminate?” I ask, not looking at him but instead focusing on the dashboard in front of me so that I can’t assess if it is, indeed, the proverbial straw.

“You are afraid of me?” Reed asks me, sounding unpleasantly surprised.

“Of course I’m afraid of you. You’re menacing, you’re overbearing, you’re arrogant, and if you don’t see that, then you can just add high to the list,” I say, using my fingers to tick off his shortcomings.

“You are saying you don’t want my help?” he asks me angrily.

“Now you want to help me?” I laugh humorlessly, scrubbing my face in disbelief. “You’ve been treating me like I’m the scourge of the earth, and now, all of a sudden, I get knocked out by a bright light and you want to help me? Well, sorry, but I’m having a difficult time believing you. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest before I get struck by lightning, or something equally as bizarre.”

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Reed says softly. I steal a glance at him, seeing him grip the stirring wheel with both hands and the tension translates to his forearms. His perfect lips thin as he adds, “I regret much of my behavior where you’re concerned. I haven’t handled myself, or our situation, well.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Our situation? You mean the fact that you’re a predator and I’m prey, that situation?” I ask him softly. Reed’s frown darkens, like he doesn’t enjoy the obvious description of what we are to each other. “I regret that situation too, trust me,” I reply and tense, waiting for him to respond angrily like he did before, but he surprises me when he remains quiet. He almost appears lost, like he doesn’t know how to respond to what I’ve just said. “Reed,” I sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask, peering at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I think you had a premonition tonight,” he says bluntly.

I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but that isn’t it. Frowning and looking away from him so that I can concentrate, I ask, “Like a hallucination?”

“No, more akin to a prophecy, or an omen,” he explains.

I don’t realize that my left hand has a death grip on the car’s stick shift until Reed put his hand on mine in a comforting way. “So now I’m the Oracle of Delphi? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask him contemptuously, thinking of all the stories I’ve read involving omens. They never have happy endings. That’s why they’re called tragedies. It’s that, and the fact that someone ahuays ends up with his eyes gouged out or becoming food for the crows, I think cynically.

“No, of course not,” he says. “You are speaking of mythology. This is real.”

“Okay, so an omen. So now I’m forecasting the future?” I ask as he laces his fingers with mine, distracting me momentarily from my line of thought.

“I’m not certain if it was you forecasting it or if…” he trails off thoughtfully.

“Or if something provided me with the information in the form of a high-powered light.” I pick up his line of thought, remembering just how it felt to get hit by the light that had no heat, but that had felt like a whiplash when it hit me.

“Yes,” he says simply, gazing at our intertwined fingers as if he hasn’t held someone’s hand in a long time, or like it is a new experience for him.

My mind races, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit together. They don’t seem to match up. “Okay, so when is the mother ship coming to pick us up?” I ask worriedly.

“The what?” Reed asks with confusion clouding his eyes.

“The mother ship, you know, aliens?” I ask tensely.

He gives me an impatient look. “Aliens?” he scoffs.

“We’re not aliens then?” I reply, not even trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

“No!” he says emphatically as he searches my face—probably for other signs of mental illness.

Sighing, I ask, “Then what are we, Reed? Because seriously, if some big alien bug cracks me open from the inside and starts wiggling out, I’m going to be really ticked off that you didn’t warn me.” The exasperation I feel is overflowing.

“Genevieve, I am not an alien. You are not an alien,” he says clearly, making sure I understand him.

“Then what am I?” I ask pleadingly, holding his hand in mine now as if I could wring the answer from him.

“I can’t tell you,” he frowns, focusing on our fingers entwined.

“I’m getting out of the car now! Open this door!” I say, trying to disengage his hand from mine.

“I said I couldn’t tell you; I didn’t say that I did not want to tell you. There are laws, rules that I cannot break,” he lets go of my hand reluctantly and continues. “Remember when I said there is a war and I’m a soldier?”

“Yes,” I reply grudgingly.

“There are so many things that I cannot reveal to you. I cannot tell you what you are, or what I am. But, trust me, it will not be long before you will know what you are.” He brings his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as if his head aches.

“I can’t pretend to have read much of the law of war, ‘jus in bello,’ but I seriously doubt that those are the rules of war you’re alluding to, and can I go on record as stating I really don’t care for your rules?” I ask with a pout.

Reed smiles at my comment, “Genevieve, you are fascinating.”

I know he must be teasing me, so I ignore him and ask, “What are the consequences if someone should step out of line and break one of your rules?”

His face darkens, becoming almost pained. “Let us just say that one is rarely given a chance to make amends for it,” he replies.

I shiver, wondering, Who’s in charge here?

Then I ask, “What are the consequences for helping someone like me, if it should turn out that we’re not on the same side…if I’m your enemy?”

“Dire,” he replies, and even the sexy tone of his voice fails to stop the chill that runs through me.

I allow what he said to sink in. He does have reason to be wary of me. If he is wrong about me, there will be no amnesty for him. What would he gain by helping me? I wonder…nothing. As a soldier, I bet he has learned to reduce his risks, just like Buns had said earlier tonight, a pre-emptive strike. Eliminate the threat and go on with your existence until you detect another threat. What did he say about me? I try to recall…He said that I’m a threat he’s never seen before, something new. But he hasn’t eliminated me, and he’s here tonight because JT and Pete told him about what happened to me. He’s going to try to help me at his own peril.

“Okay, Reed, you’re out,” I say, fumbling with the door handle.

One of Reed’s eyebrows rises in question. “Excuse me?” he asks as if he hasn’t heard me.

“I said you’re out. You can’t help me. Now I can see the risks in this for you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t see the bigger picture before now, but I think I grasp your position. There is no winning position for you where I’m concerned. If I’m your enemy and you help me, then you’re a traitor and you’re toast. If I’m not your enemy and you help me by giving me some information I’m not supposed to know, then you’ve violated some law, so you’re toast. And if I’m a pawn for both sides, then the wisest thing you can do is walk away. So you’re out, you’re not in this with me anymore.” I finally locate the unlock button, but my triumph at unlocking the door is short lived.

Reed growls, “Genevieve, do not even think about getting out of this car until you explain what you meant by saying that I am out. If you’re calling me a coward, I can assure you that—”

I interrupt Reed before he can finish, saying, “The last thing I would call you is a coward. The fact that you’re here with me now shows how little regard you have for your self-preservation. The fact that I’m still alive, even though it’s obvious to me now that you’d be much safer if I were not, proves you’re not a coward. But, I didn’t know that I was endangering you like this. I may be guileless, but I’m not ignorant, and I can see that there is no other way to protect you than to cut you out.”

“Protect me? No one would dare try to protect me!” Reed sputters, taking offense.

“Why not? Are you unworthy of protection?” I ask, trying to understand why my words made him react this way.

“I am not weak! I do not need protection,” Reed says in a commanding tone. “You need me, Genevieve. I’m in this, and you will cooperate with me. I’m not asking you.”

“No, you’re not asking, you’re ordering…it’s that whole arrogance thing again,” I reply, definitely intimidated by him. I try to hide that fact as I go on, “Fine, you want in? I’ll let you know when something else happens. Sheesh, try to protect someone and you get your head bitten off! Just don’t come crying to me when something bad happens to you because I’m the one who suggested you get out!”

“I never cry,” Reed states definitively.

“Well, good for you!” I counter, opening the car door and getting out. I bend my head back in the car and continue, “And I never for one second thought you were weak.”

Reed’s eyes meet mine then, and I see something flicker in them that I think I recognize. He looks…lost…as if he is struggling with something he’s unfamiliar with. I sigh softly and say, “Thank you for your help. Goodnight, Reed.”

Before I could close the door, Reed begins speaking in the language he used earlier, the lovely one. I lean against the quarter panel of his car, listening blissfully to him, not knowing what he is saying to me. I close my eyes and just listen. It is sweeter than music. When his voice trails off, I close the door softly and walk slowly to my room, trying to ease the unaccustomed yearning I feel inside of me.

CHAPTER 10

The Laws Of Attraction

When I meet Russell at Saga for breakfast this morning, he tries to apologize again for his comments regarding the portrait, but I cut him off before he can go too far. “Russell, I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. I thought it was sketchy, too, when Mr. MacKinnon asked me to pose for him. You don’t need to apologize anymore,” I explain. “I’m sorry, too.” I smile at him. “So, how was practice yesterday? Are you ready for your first game?” I ask as I spread strawberry jelly on a half of a bagel.

“Sure, but I won’t be in it. I’m a red shirt so I probably won’t play in the games until next year.” Russell says, pouring syrup on a gigantic, heaping stack of pancakes. “I’ll suit up and sit on the bench,” he explains, smiling at me indulgently. “To tell ya the truth, I think I’m lookin’ forward to watchin’ yer first game more than mine.”

My eyes widen. “You are?” I ask in surprise.

“Uh huh, I can’t wait to see ya in yer uniform,” he replies and winks at me.

“Russell! Field hockey is a serious sport; it’s not just for the enjoyment of the male spectators,” I say, blushing.

“Yeah, it is serious…seriously savage to watch,” he teases.

My eyes narrow in mock anger. “Okay, Marx, you’re getting some serious pay out at your game on Saturday, and I now have the resources to back me up. I’ve made a couple of amazing friends in my dorm, and I’m sure they’ll be game for a Russell take down.”

Russell grins. “Ya mean the blonds that let me in yer room the other night? I got the impression that they’re on my side,” he says, chuckling. “What are their names, Brownie and Bunny?” he asks.

“Brownie and Buns, and you wish, pal. Oh, before I forget, I emailed my uncle last night so he can check out your computer,” I say, struggling to get the lid off of my orange juice. Russell reaches over and takes the juice from my grasp, popping the top off easily and handing it back to me. “Thanks,” I say, smiling at him.

“Ya did? What do ya need me to do?” he asks.

“Just turn it on and make sure it’s plugged into the Internet,” I reply. “You can check your vitals by tonight.”

Russell’s forehead wrinkles. “What am I checkin’?” Russell asks.

I give him a funny look, then explain, “Your vitals—your email and all of the websites you think you need to sweep,” I say, smiling at his anti-geek question.

“Ya know, yer really cute when yer explainin’ yer mouse potato stuff to me,” he says, grinning.

Just then, Freddie shows up and sits down with us. “Freddie!” I smile in greeting.

“Sup, Evie? I heard you fainted at the Seven-Eleven last night. How’re you feeling?” he asks with concern in his voice.

“You heard what?” Russell and I ask in unison. Russell stops chewing his pancakes and looks from Freddie to me accusingly.

Avoiding Russell’s eyes, I ask lamely, “Where did you hear that, Freddie?” I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to tell Russell about anything that transpired last night, but I can see by the look on his face that I have some explaining to do.

“These two guys named JT and Pete live in my dorm. I think they’re sophomores. They said they saw you at the Seven-Eleven and helped you when you passed out. They said you might be anorexic or something because you hardly ate anything and that’s why you fainted,” he explains between bites. “I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your digits.”

“I’ll give you my number so you can give me the four one one on all the dirt blowing up about me. I wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark,” I reply in exasperation.

I program my number in Freddie’s cell, and then giving it back to him, I look at Russell. “I was going to tell you,” I lie to Russell.

“Red, never play poker. Ya can’t bluff to save yer life,” Russell says flatly, finishing his breakfast in silence.

“I just wanted something normal.. just to sit with you and have a normal conversation, eat a normal meal, talk about normal things, just you and me…chill,” I say softly. “Please don’t be bitter.”

“I should be the first person ya tell. Don’t make me the last to know. It doesn’t sit well with me,” he says, and his brown eyes snap at me. “Are ya okay?”

So much for chill.

“I’m fine, and you’re right, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” I say as contritely as possible. “I didn’t eat much yesterday, but I’m not anorexic!” I add, turning to glare at Freddie.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, holding up both of his hands in surrender.

“Hmm…” Russell says appraisingly, looking me over, “Ya don’t look anorexic to me.” I smile at him in relief that he isn’t going to stay angry. “Ya should eat that oatmeal, though.”

I take a huge bite of oatmeal and chew it demonstratively, “Mmmm…oatmeal…my favorite.”

“Evie, are you going to do that portrait for your professor?” Freddie asks, finishing off his eggs while Russell’s brows draw together again in a frown.

“Freddie, you want to stop throwing me under the bus here?” I ask him sarcastically.

“Wut? I just wanted to let you know that I’m still available to babysit,” he says, grinning.

Make that my evil twin brother, I think.

Seeing that they’re both interested in my answer, I sigh and say, “Yes, I’m going to do it. I talked to Buns, and she said that Mr. MacKinnon is extremely good at what he does and it’s an honor to have been asked.” Russell’s jaw tightens, so I immediately relent and say, “But, just to be safe, I’d like one of you two big, strong men to come with me, you know, for protection. I have to run to class now. I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

Standing, my chair moves as Russell pulls it out for me. “Thanks,” I say, looking into his warm brown eyes.

“I’ll see ya at lunch. Try to stay out of trouble…please,” Russell says warily as he brushes his fingers over my cheek.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply and leave for class.

Hurrying to my first Latin class, I discover it’s very similar to the high school curriculum I’ve already taken. Immediately following Latin, I go to the science building for my nine o’clock physics class. While walking down the science hallway to the lecture hall, I experience the distinct butterfly fluttering that can only mean that Reed is nearby. I see him as I walk into the classroom; he is seated at a desk taking attendance for the professor.

As I sign in, I say, “You didn’t mention that you were Dr. Farrow’s TA.”

“I know,” he replies evenly. “How did you sleep last night?” he asks me with his eyes searching mine.

“Umm, okay,” I lie, my pulse picking up a little. I’d woken up a couple of times the previous night damp with sweat from reliving the nightmare…premonition.

He frowns at my answer as if he knows that I’m lying, but he doesn’t mention that as he says, “There is something that I failed to think of when I was with you last night. I need to discuss it with you.”

“Okay,” I reply, stepping aside so that other students could sign in. “Can you give me a hint?” I ask, because I want as much warning as possible when Reed is involved in the conversation.

Reed watches my eyes as he says, “I want to go with you to the Seven-Eleven and see if anything else transpires while you are in there.”

Instantly, I feel ill. “You want to see if I have another premonition?” I ask warily. I had secretly hoped to avoid ever going back there. I was thinking that if I avoided all convenience stores for at least a decade, maybe longer, I should be okay.

Reed’s expression is one of concern. “That is one reason for going back,” Reed says gently.

“Another would be to hang around and see if something happens to fulfill the first one?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“That would be the second reason. I don’t want you going there without me, ever…do you understand what I am saying?” he asks me, searching my face, probably looking for any sign of dissention.

“Let me get this straight, what if I got a craving for…I don’t know…Twinkies in the wee hours of the morning and all that was open was the Seven-Eleven. You’re saying I should wake you up, even if you’re crashed out, just so that you can go with me on a treat run?” I ask skeptically, trying to gauge his level of commitment to this course of action.

“Genevieve, Twinkies are really bad for you, but if you had to have one, then yes, that’s what I’m saying,” he smiles at my scenario. “Do you really like those things?”

“I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to tease me, but I will say that it’s suspiciously inhuman not to enjoy a Hostess snack from time to time,” I reply coyly. “I’ll buy you one. You’ll love it, I promise.”

And I’ll be doing the world a favor at the same time, I think, remembering him without his shirt on.

“When can you go?” he asks me with a sweet smile on his face.

It takes me several breaths to answer him because I have never seen him smile like that—it’s intoxicating, especially because I never thought he would smile like that at me.

“Umm…after practice. I’m supposed to have a meeting for this thing I’m doing with Brownie and Buns. I can say I’m picking up treats and will meet them back at our dorm afterward.” I explain, looking down at the desk so that I can keep my mind on track and not be distracted by him. “We have to be careful not to let them tag along. I don’t want them anywhere near that place if what might happen actually does happen.”

He nods, and then asks, “What thing—what are you doing with them later?”

“Oh, just making some mischief…plotting mayhem, the usual. I better take a seat, class is going to start,” I say, trying not to explain what I’ll be up to with the girls. That’s between us, covert. “I’ll see you after practice.”

Then we’ll see if something is coming for me, I think with a shiver.

I’m in big trouble in physics class if Reed is going to be there every day. I can hardly focus on anything but him: the way he looks, the way he moves like a predator, the way his green eyes sparkle when he catches me watching him. When the class is finally over, I all but run from the room because I need to get away from Reed before I do something ghastly, like throw myself into his arms.

The day speeds by quickly, and I walk to hockey practice with the girls after having dinner with Freddie. Practice goes really well. My speed gives me an advantage over some of the other girls, and I quickly move into the position of attacker. We do some drills, going over some of the rules and situational plays. We also work on formations for insertion plays. When practice is over, I explain to Brownie and Buns that I’ll meet them back at the dorm.

“I made a bet with Reed the day he helped me with my knee—I said it was broken; he said it was bruised. He won, so now I have to pay up,” I say, being less than honest.

“What did you bet?” Buns asks interestedly.

“A Twinkie—we’re going to the Seven-Eleven to get one. Do you guys want anything? I’ll bring it back for our meeting,” I say, hoping they won’t want to come with us.

“Yeah, I want a Twinkie!” Brownie says with enthusiasm.

“Me too, sweetie. Are you going to be all right with Reed?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, he’s not going to bore you to death is he?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a little bit,” I say, hoping that I’m correct.

Apprehension steals into my consciousness when I turn and see Reed waiting for me at the end of the field. Suddenly, this is not sounding like a banner idea. I swing my stick back and forth along the grass as I walk to him, trying to dispel the feeling of doom that descends on me. When I come abreast of Reed, he falls in step next to me, his lacrosse stick resting on his shoulder as we walk in companionable silence until we get to his car.

He opens the passenger door for me, holding it while I slip into the seat. I have a death grip on my stick, and when he tries to take it from me to put it in the trunk, I won’t relinquish it. He squats down by my side so that we’re eye to eye.

“Genevieve, what’s wrong?” he asks with a look of bewilderment. “You’re not still afraid of me, are you?”

“I need my stick,” I say.

“Why?” he asks me as his eyes search my face.

I don’t look at him, but hold the stick tighter. “Because I need it,” I reply evasively.

Reed frowns and asks, “What do you intend to do with it?”

“Whatever I have to,” I say in a near whisper, feeling my heart race as adrenaline floods me.

Reed’s forehead wrinkles. “You mean if something happens at the Seven-Eleven, you’ll need your stick to defend yourself? Is that it?” he asks, gently probing for the reason that has me holding on to the stick.

“Yes, I need it,” I state, chewing my lower lip.

“I see,” he says, standing up.

Closing my door securely, he opens the trunk to put his gear in it. He walks around to the driver’s side and slips in and starts the engine. Reed lets the engine idle for a moment before turning it off. I look at him in surprise to see that he appears torn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t consider that this might be hard for you. You’re afraid of going there, aren’t you?”

I grip the stick in my hands tighter. “Reed, the last time I was there, I ended up unconscious on the ground. I’ve had nightmares about it. If that’s going to happen, then yeah, I’m scared…I’m terrified.”

“But I’ll be there with you, you see? So you have nothing to fear,” he says arrogantly.

“Oh, so you can stop the premonitions from coming? That’s fantastic. How are you going to do that? I’m interested in how this all works,” I ask him with sarcasm dripping from my every word.

He frowns, “Your stick isn’t going to be much help against the visions,” he says pointedly. “Genevieve, I can’t stop what’s coming, but I’ll be there. Nothing will touch you; I won’t allow it.”

“Oh, you won’t allow it. Do you always get what you want, Reed?” I ask because he sounds so sure of himself and his strength.

“Yes,” he replies frankly.

“It seems to me that I don’t have a whole lot of choice in what’s coming.” I say, challenging his assurance in this matter. “What is it that you want? Because I’m not sure why you’re bothering with this—with me. What would it matter to you if something did happen to me?”

It’s probably nothing to him if I get hurt. I mean, why would he care?

His face darkens, like the thought of something happening to me is repulsive. “We’ll figure out what this is all about, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll protect you,” he says with resolve.

“Why? Why would you protect me? Reed, the last time I checked, I was barely tolerable to you. Don’t tell me I’ve grown on you?” I say mockingly, not believing it for a second. I’m just a pawn in this, and I had better remember that if I want to survive whatever is coming.

Starting the engine, Reed would’ve shifted the car into gear if I hadn’t put my hand on his. Seeing his tense jaw, I know I’ve said something wrong. I’ve upset him, I think. He studies my hand covering his for a moment, and when his eyes lift to mine, I see something in his eyes: a longing—a need.

“Genevieve, what if I told you that you’re not the only one who feels the fluttering, weightless feeling in here,” he says, indicating his abdomen, “when we’re together?” My heart leaps in my chest as I search his face for signs that he’s teasing me, but he appears absolutely serious. Looking grim, he adds, “That day at orientation, I felt you before I ever saw you, and then I saw you, and I knew that you are…and I wanted to…you don’t want to hear this.”

“No, this is exactly what I need to hear from you,” I say anxiously.

His eyes narrow, “I wanted to destroy you,” he says, and a shiver goes through me, “and I wanted to take you in my arms and love you, and I wanted to tear you apart, and I wanted to crush anything that would harm you, all at the same time.”

He put the car in gear, speeding out of the parking lot with the engine of the car racing. He wouldn’t look at me. He is trying to get a grip on his emotions. Taking a turn too fast, my body slams up against his shoulder; my hand shoots out reflexively to rest against his chest as I try to brace myself from sliding all the way onto his lap.

I look up. His face is very near mine, and the contact of my hand on his chest burns. Down shifting the car, he slows it, and I push myself off of him to sit back in the seat. His jaw is tense, and he seems angry or maybe something else…like the admission of being attracted to me cost him something.

“Have you felt this way before—this pull toward someone else?” I wonder aloud, not completely understanding what he has told me.

“Never,” Reed says forcefully.

“Never?” I ask, and he growls in response.

I sit back in the seat in confusion over what he just said. He feels me too, like we’re connected in some way, I think, looking over at him.

Emotions that I have never felt so intensely before begin to rise to the surface. I feel elated and smug to be the only person who has ever made him feel this way. I try to suppress the giggles that bubble up in me as a result of the elation. I put my hand to my mouth, turning toward the window to hide my face from his gaze, but it is no use. I never can contain my emotions. When the first giggle escapes me, I try not to look at Reed because I am afraid of his reaction to what he must believe is callousness on my part.

“You’re laughing at me,” he says sullenly.

“No.” I reply, trying not to let another giggle escape.

“Yes, you are,” he replies in irritation.

“Not at you, near you,” I reason, still struggling for control.

“This is funny to you?” he asks me, gritting his teeth.

“Funny? No, it’s just, I thought you hated me,” I reply pointedly.

“Hate is a strong word. It was more that I didn’t know what to do, given the range of emotions I felt. It was extreme frustration,” he reasons.

“Are you sure it wasn’t loathing?” I ask.

“Not loathing,” he responds.

“Let me get this straight. You have Evie radar?” I ask him, and he is puzzled for a second until I explain “Reed Radar” to him.

“Yes,” he affirms sourly.

“It’s annoying, huh?” I ask him knowingly, having been living with it, too.

“That’s one facet of it,” he says and pulls into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven.

I sober immediately while gazing at the red, white, and green-lighted sign through the windshield. I would never have considered this establishment to be menacing, but right now, it’s like peering into the gateway to one of the levels of Hell in Dante’s Divine Comedy.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, my mouth going dry as I stare at the establishment.

“We go in and we see if something happens,” he replies.

“That’s it; that’s your plan?” I glance at him mockingly.

“Yes,” he says, not taking his eyes off the storefront.

“Can I go on record and say that I think that plan sucks?” I ask.

“Why is it a bad plan?” he asks.

“Because, don’t you think we should do some recon, get a layout of the place, locate all the exits, stockpile some weapons, and wear some body armor?” I ask, appraising the storefront.

“You have your stick, right?” he asks ironically.

He’s teasing me!

“Reed, what if someone comes in with a gun or something? What am I going to do with this stick then?” I ask.

“Genevieve, I can handle that, remember? I can be very persuasive,” he smiles.

“What if your persuasion doesn’t work? What’s plan B?” I urge him.

“It will work,” he says.

“It doesn’t work on me,” I point out.

“I noticed,” he grins.

“So?” I ask.

“It will work on everyone else. You’re special. Let’s go,” he orders.

My feet feel like lead weights as I get out of the car. Clutching my stick and taking a couple of deep breaths, I approach the front doors. Reed holds one open for me, and as I enter, I hear music piping from the speakers near the back of the store. It’s an instrumental version of Blinded By The Light. Usually something like this would appeal to my macabre sense of humor, but right now, I don’t find it amusing.

Moving forward slowly, I’m ready to turn and run for the door at a moment’s notice. I think Reed can tell that I’m freaking out inside because he puts his arm around my shoulder reassuringly. “Where did you find the light?” he asks me softly with his mouth near my ear.

My cheek instinctively brushes against his, causing a shiver to run through me that has nothing to do with being afraid. Our eyes meet, and I blush before pointing to the back aisle of the store, near the refrigerated section. He holds my shoulder, pressing me to his side as we go to the back. I stop directly beneath the light that had kicked my butt yesterday. Dread, like a sickening drug, seeps into every cell of my body while I wait beneath the light for something incredibly bad to happen to me.

Seconds creep by and…nothing—the light isn’t even flickering menacingly. After a moment, I let out the breath I’ve been holding, smiling at Reed in relief. He smiles back at me, and my heart skips a beat. Then, a loud crash from the front of the store registers in my mind.

My feet leave the floor as I rocket backward through the air with spine-snapping force. Just when some instinct prepares my body for the impact of hitting the refrigerator doors directly behind me, I slow down and my back rests gently against the cold, hard glass. I press my hands against the glass of the door, feeling moon-white from nausea. Ahead of me, Reed’s broad back shields me from whatever is in front of us. With my legs trembling, I gaze at Reed’s hands on either side of mine; they form a protective barrier around me, paper-clipping me to him. In my next panting breath, Reed straightens up and turns to me with an untroubled expression.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, “it was only the clerk making coffee. She dropped the metal filter.” I blink, but otherwise, I couldn’t move…or think. Reed’s eyebrows pull together in concern as he says, “The tin urn made a loud noise.”

I rest my hand on his chest, before cautiously peeking around him. Coffee grounds litter the floor by the coffee maker. “Coffee?” I whisper.

Reed’s face lowers, and his warm cheek rests against mine. I don’t know if the caress was accidental or intentional, but it is comforting…sensual. As I straighten, I realize that it was Reed who had pulled me back as if I were a dry leaf blown by a cyclone. How was that possible? my mind whispers to me. I feel cadaver-cold from the frosty doors at my back, or maybe it’s from trauma.

Some sort of survival instinct must be setting in, because I manage to say, “Hope you didn’t want any coffee—it will probably have grounds in it. Have you seen enough?” I ask rhetorically, before saying, “Okay, let’s wrap it up.”

Reed takes a step back from me, allowing me past him. I pick up my stick that I’d dropped. “Snacks, Evie,” Reed reminds from behind me, “you said you’d bring Twinkies.”

I pause at the Hostess display before snatching a box of Twinkies from the bottom shelf. On the way to the cashier, I nearly stumble, remembering that Reed hadn’t been close enough to hear me promise my friends Twinkies. Reed follows me to the counter and produces his wallet to pay for the Twinkies.

“Hey, this is supposed to be my treat, remember?” I ask him numbly.

“No, this one’s on me,” he replies with a sexy smile that warms me as he adds bottled water to the counter.

“Anything else?” the clerk asks.

Before I could tell her no, Reed’s persuasive voice echoes with an eerie hiss. “Yes,” he says, “give me your surveillance disk.” The coins slide from the clerk’s hand, clattering and bouncing on the counter. She goes to the back room of the store. As Reed picks up his change, the clerk returns with the disk. “Is this the only one you have?” he asks in the same voice.

As if in a daze, the clerk answers, “Yes.”

“You will not remember this,” Reed says, taking the disk from her hand.

Turning to me, he holds his other hand out for me to take. I put my hand in his as we leave the store together. Reed opens the car door for me, and I get in. When he is in his seat, he breaks the disk into several pieces, placing them in the console of his car. I think about what must be on the disk. It would show how fast Reed had moved once we’d heard the crash of the filter. Not only that, it would show how he placed his body in front of mine, ready to defend me. He’d been serious when he said he would try to protect me.

“I guess I really didn’t need my stick after all,” I say understatedly.

“No,” he replies.

“You should probably get the disk from the night before— see what’s on it,” I say as I shiver.

“I already did. It goes blank just after you enter the store,” Reed states.

“Oh.” I say numbly. “Thank you—for what you just did,” I add gratefully.

“There was no threat,” he states dryly.

“Yes, but we didn’t know that, did we?” I counter.

“I won’t lose you,” he says softly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t help me…” I begin.

Reed’s dark-green eyes meet mine as he quotes, “I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will. I’ll go to it laughing.”

“Moby Dick,” I say drily, “but you don’t remind me of Stubb.”

His smile is sublime as he starts the engine. It makes a warm firefly-glow in my heart. We pull out of the store parking lot, heading in the direction of my dorm. Unwrapping a package of Twinkies, I hand one to Reed as he drives down the street.

He sniffs the cake warily. “You weren’t being facetious about these things, were you? You really want me to eat this?” he asks me stoically.

“Yes, they’re yummy,” I say, taking a bite of the other Twinkie in the twin pack. He tentatively bites the Twinkie, chewing it thoughtfully. “You know what would go great with these?” I ask him, licking the cream filling off the tip of my finger.

“No, what?” he asks, arching his brow at me inquiringly.

“Cognac,” I say, smiling at him as I chew my Twinkie.

“Don’t let a Frenchman hear you say that,” he says, and we both laugh.

“Will I be as strong as you one day?” I ask, thinking of how effortless his actions in the store had been.

His brow wrinkles thoughtfully. “I don’t know. You’re different from me, but it’s possible,” he says. I close my eyes, trying to imagine having that kind of power. His tone becomes serious as he says, “But you aren’t strong yet. You have to make sure you never go there without me, Evie. I’m very serious about this. Promise me,” he insists.

“Reed, did you just call me Evie?” I ask in shock, my eyes flying open to look at him.

He’s watching me closely, and I wonder if his butterflies are as powerful as mine are. I’m fighting the attraction that tugs me towards him. I have to get away from him soon. He’s making me want something that I can’t define. It’s no longer a kittenish desire to be near him; I’m beginning to feel feral inside.

“Promise me, Evie,” he says again. It isn’t just that he called me Evie, it is the way he said my name—the seductive tone that he used.

“You never call me Evie,” I say softly. “You always call me Genevieve, and you usually say it like I’m annoying you, like I’m insignificant.”

“Maybe you are growing on me after all,” he replies in a gentle tone. “And you’re hardly insignificant,” he says, frowning as if he is seeing something from another perspective.

“Say it again. Say my name again,” I ask him in a hush tone.

“Promise me, Evie,” he says, and the sound of his voice feels like a caress.

“Nothing happened in the store tonight. No flashes of light, no threatening monsters, nothing…” I trail off again, fighting the pull of our attraction.

“Evie,” he utters sweetly.

“I promise,” I say breathlessly, feeling myself blush.

“Thank you,” he smiles.

“What is our next move?” I ask, trying to stay on track and not be dazed by his lovely face.

“We wait,” he replies.

“Wait? Wait for what?” I ask in confusion.

“For you,” he replies cryptically.

“For me? What am I going to do?” I ask in bafflement.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Reed goes on.

“What shouldn’t be long now?” I ask. He only smiles at me like a child would at a new toy. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I ask, feeling frustration.

“Can’t,” he says calmly.

“Then what good are you?” I tease him as he pulls into a parking space at Yeats. “Hope you enjoyed that Twinkie because you’re not getting another one until you start talking.”

“So, what mischief are you planning with your blond companions?” Reed asks, ignoring my comment and changing the subject.

“I can’t tell you,” I reply coyly, not letting him get away with it. “All I will say is that it won’t be long now.”

“Just be careful, Evie. With all that’s going on, you don’t need to go out and court trouble,” Reed replies with concern, stating the obvious.

I want to ask him if he’d define having just gone to the 7-Eleven as courting trouble, but he is being nice to me now, and I don’t want that to change. “It’s called having fun, Reed. You should try it sometime,” I say with a playful smile. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll see you at practice,” he says softly, and then he does something that I would never have expected if I’d lived a million years. Leaning across the seat, he touches my hair. With a curious smile, my eyebrow arches in question.

Reed’s fingertips skim my cheek in a whisper-soft caress, eliciting an airy-sounding inhale from me that betrays the perfect danger of the moment. He begins leaning toward me slowly, almost as if he hopes I will have the strength to save us from what is about to happen. No such power exists within me, so I wait to feel his kiss. As Reed brushes his lips gently to mine, a flush of warmth filters through my senses. Closing my eyes, I savor the wistful sweetness of his lips while my heart beats ponderously in my chest. Feeling my fingertips resting against his cheek, I wonder briefly how they got there. That thought flees as I move closer to him, losing my way when heat sends me free falling into hidden fires.

Drawing back from me, Reed’s eyes meet mine; his are sage green and at their centers, midnight. My fingertips feel cool against the warmth of his skin as they slip behind his neck. Leaning forward, I graze my lips over his again, and like a stone wall slowly battered by the elements, something collapses between us. He pulls me to him urgently, and then…hellfire. Every kiss I’ve ever had before this one was a dusty, broken toy in comparison. I crave him. I’m not the one who ends the kiss. I have no control over the fervor that has overcome me. Reed gently, but insistently, ends our kiss.

Resting his forehead against mine, Reed murmurs, “Evie, we are in trouble…there is no doubt.”

“Trouble, why?” I rasp with my arms wrapped securely around the back of his neck.

“Because I will never be able to stay away from you,” he replies shamelessly, nuzzling my neck just below my ear.

“Ohh,” I say, half in reaction to his lips on my neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You should go,” he says, holding me tighter.

“Yes…I have that thing…” I reply, pressing my cheek to his and hugging him as if I’ll never see him again.

“Okay…I will see you tomorrow,” he says. “Goodnight, Evie.”

“Goodnight,” I sigh, pulling away from him, but our hands stay entwined until the last possible second as I get out of his car.

I smile at him before I close the door, and I stand there in the parking lot while he pulls away. Walking back to the dorm, I near the lamppost illuminating the sidewalk. I almost jump out of my skin when I notice someone standing just beyond it.

“Russell!” I say, feeling my whole life spin out of control when I see the look on his face. He looks like someone had died. No, that isn’t it—he looks like someone who has been betrayed, like he just had to pull a knife out of his own back.

“Save it, Evie, I saw ya,” he snarls, starting to walk away.

“Russell, Reed was helping me…” I lamely try to explain.

“Helpin’ ya? Helpin’ ya do what?” he asks as he stops and faces me. “It looked to me like he was helpin’ himself to ya. Unless his voice has started workin’ on ya, I’d say ya were enjoyin’ it.”

A blush stains my cheeks as I panic. “I meant, before that…” I trail off. I can’t even be honest with Russell about what happened at the 7-Eleven. The less he knows about all of it, the better. Isn’t that what I had decided in order to protect Russell? But it doesn’t feel like protection, it feels like betrayal, and something in my heart feels cut as if it bleeds because I’ve hurt him.

“Ya mean there’s more to this than I just witnessed? Well that’s a relief, Genevieve,” he says sarcastically before adding, “why don’t y’all enlighten me on whaty’ all have been doin’ all evenin’ with the guy who was just yer enemy a couple of days ago.” He waits for me to speak, but I can’t. “No…ya got nothin’ to say to me?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, Russell,” I say simply. My throat tightens and aches.

“Yeah, yer sorry,” he replies in a low, sarcastic tone.

Russell’s shoulders slope as he walks away, leaving me to my feelings of shame and remorse.

CHAPTER 11

Paradise Lost

I skip breakfast in the morning so that I can avoid seeing Russell. I still feel raw from what happened last night; the kiss with Reed had been nothing short of amazing, but the betrayal I saw in Russell’s eyes haunts me. Buns and Brownie had tried hard to cheer me up the night before, but I still feel absolutely awful about hurting Russell. It isn’t only that. I feel lost, too, like a string around my heart is unraveling and slipping through my fingers.

I decide to go to my Art History class early so that I can talk to Mr. MacKinnon. I find him setting up his slides for his lecture. Sam is sort of handsome, now that Buns mentioned it, in a bad-boy of the teacher’s lounge kind of way. With dark hair and blue eyes, he has a scruffy five-o’clock-shadow thing going on at seven-thirty in the morning.

“Excuse me, Mr. MacKinnon, may I come in?” I ask tentatively from just inside his classroom doorway.

“Ah, Genevieve, is it?” he asks, looking up from the projector. “Yes, please come in. Have you come to tell me that you will sit for me?” he asks confidently.

“So, you’re a mind reader as well as an artist,” I reply. “I’m sorry I made you wait for my answer.”

“That’s quite all right. It just shows that you’re wise beyond your years to question and not to take things at face value,” he compliments. “When can you sit for me?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays are good, since my afternoons are free. I have field hockey practice in the evenings,” I say.

“Good, how’s three thirty until five sound? The afternoon light will be perfect for what I’m thinking about doing with you,” he says, scrutinizing me for whatever it is that he has in mind for the portrait.

Feeling a little shy, I say, “I can do that. When should we start?”

“Today, if you can. I’ll have my assistant, Debra, ready to take some pictures this afternoon. Three thirty,” he says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.

“I’ll be there,” I reply. “Can I help you set up the projector?”

“Oh…this…someone mixed up my slides. I’m going to be talking about the Paleolithic, Venus von Willendorf, but for some reason, my slides are out of order, you see…” he says, pointing to the screen at the front of the room, “I keep getting stuck on Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights. Some call it The Milienninm.”

I try to hide my surprise because the painting is somewhat scandalous…umm, I mean high-art. “It looks very involved,” I say, gazing at the oil painting that depicts what seems to be a series of three separate paintings linked together.

“It’s a triptych, which in this case is a heretical painting in three sections done in oil on wood. You see, the middle section is the largest, it’s a square, and two separate rectangles flank the square. The rectangles can be folded like shutters. Of course, when one does that, there is another painting on the other side. This one has a scene of the creation of the Earth, on what is believed to be the third day,” he explains.

“What do these paintings depict?” I ask in fascination.

“The left is said to be the Garden of Eden at the moment God presents Eve to Adam,” Mr. MacKinnon says enthusiastically as he waves his hand toward the left portion of the screen. “The middle panel is still the garden, but without God present and vastly more populated with fantastical creatures and highly creative nudes. And the right is a Hellscape that depicts damnation.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say, somewhat speechless.

“Yes, Bosch was well ahead of his time, you know, he painted this in about 1503. It is said to be his masterpiece, but I’m more partial to his Last Judgment triptych. Let me see if I can find the slide… ahh, here it is. The left panel is called Paradise. If you look at the bottom portion of it, it seems to depict Paradise and God creating Adam and Eve. In the middle of the same left panel of the painting is the temptation of Adam and Eve. It shows them being driven out of Eden by an angel of the Lord. At the top of the left panel, we see Heaven where God is seated and the angels are driving out the fallen angels. You see them there,” he says, pointing to the screen where painted angels battle among the clouds, “they’re at war with each other.”

“Fascinating,” I manage to say as I sway a bit on my feet.

Leaning up against one of the desks near me for support, my legs have a hard time holding me up. I can’t take my eyes off the top portion of the left panel called Paradise. The angels are at war, and the fallen angels are being cast out of Heaven. The Fallen are actually falling to Earth, well Eden anyway. I try to listen to what Mr. MacKinnon is saying about the other panels, but my ears are ringing, and my heart pounds in my chest.

“We’ll go over this in minute detail in the middle of the semester,” he explains as he ends his brief lesson with a smile, clicking the projector to other works of art in his search for the Venus von Willendorf.

A bead of sweat escapes my brow while the projector continues to throw garish color all around the room. “Thank you, Mr. MacKinnon, you’ve been very enlightening,” I murmur, before I go over to an empty desk and sit down.

I resist the urge to put my head down on my desk when class begins. Instead, I stare fixedly at the enormous Paleolithic earth mother on the screen. I’m numb; all I’m capable of doing is breathing in and out. I don’t think I would’ve even realized that class was over if it weren’t for Mr. MacKinnon stopping by my desk to remind me of our appointment at three thirty. Rising, I leave his classroom. I sit down on the steps in the front of the building and rest my head on my knees. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here on the steps, but something breaks through the cold, bone-chilling numbness within me. A fluttering in my stomach brings me out of my daze. Reed stands in front of me with a look of concern on his perfect face.

His way too perfect face, I correct myself in my mind. I think he asked me if I was okay, but when I just stare at him, he looks around and seems to make a decision. He lifts me up, removing me from the stairs. Entering the Fine Arts building once again, Reed carries me into an empty photography-class dark room before closing the door and locking it behind us.

It’s a dimly lit, maze-like chamber with numbered mounted cameras along the wall that look like long-legged cranes spaced between cubby-like niches. Winding past a partition, there are countertops full of plastic developing trays and chemical bottles. In the back is a smaller room; a worn green sofa and a couple of old, mismatched lounge chairs are grouped together in a private seating area.

Reed sits down on the dull-green sofa, pulling me with him onto his lap. Reaching over to a low table, he flicks on the softly glowing lamp. My voice falters a little when I mumble, “Reed?”

“Ah, so you decided to join me. I’m glad. I was beginning to worry that I would have to take drastic steps to bring you back to me,” Reed says in relief.

“I was thinking,” I reply, not really sure if that is true.

Reed sounds skeptical, too, as he asks, “Are you quite sure about that? It appeared more like you were catatonic.” When I don’t reply, he asks, “What were you thinking about, Evie?”

“About all of the things that you can’t talk about, but mostly, I was wondering what it would’ve been like if I were normal,” I murmur.

“Well, you’re not normal, and we cannot change what we are—how we were created. You were born to be dangerous,” he says seriously. “You should embrace it.”

“I’m dangerous?” I snort disbelievingly.

“Very,” he replies plainly.

“I don’t feel dangerous, I feel small and exposed,” I say, turning my face away from him.

“Evie, you’re the most dangerous creature I have ever encountered, and I have encountered them all,” he says, playing with my hair.

“And you would know, right, because you’ve been around since, what, the dawn of time?” I state, thinking of Bosch’s gory depiction of the angels at war. Reed stops playing with my hair and I take a deep breath before I ask, “Were you one of the fallen angels, or were you one of the angels who cast them out?”

Reed is silent, and his face betrays not a hint of what he’s thinking. I take another deep breath, forging on by saying, “I’m leaning toward a divine angel. I can’t see you on the wrong side of an argument.” I pause to see if he’d say anything. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing. I close my eyes briefly, attempting to speak past the tightness in my throat. “So that would make me, what? Some kind of evil spawn or something?” Reed’s body grows tense. “You don’t know if I’m half fallen angel or half divine angel,” I surmise thoughtfully. “But, you do know that I’m half human. My mother was human, the sister of my Uncle Jim. It’s just my father that’s the big question mark. You know he’s an angel, but you don’t know what side of your war he’s on.”

There is admiration in Reed’s tone as he says, “You are truly a dangerous creature, Evie. I am not Fallen; you’re correct, which means that your perception is remarkable. How old are you?”

“I’m almost eighteen,” I say, swallowing hard at having my suspicions confirmed. I close my eyes and order myself to breathe evenly.

“Remarkable,” he says the word again softly. “How did you piece it together?” he asks. I climb off Reed’s lap and sit beside him on the sofa while I explain Bosch’s Paradise panel and the angels battling in the clouds. “What will you be like in a thousand years if you’re this intuitive now?” he wonders aloud, amazement in his tone.

I know that I must look scared, but I’m angry, too, and it emboldens me. Standing up, I prowl agitatedly toward the counter. “So I can add immortality to my list of bizarre traits? Great, that ought to be interesting, watching all of my friends grow old and die while I never age,” I say with derision. “How old will I get?” I ask, leaning against the counter and looking at him. “You don’t look a day over nineteen.”

A slow, sexy smile forms on his lips as he says thoughtfully, “That’s about right. You shouldn’t grow to look much older than you are now.”

I forget to be angry for a second. I pick up a pair of wooden tongs to toy with as I say wistfully, “But you don’t know that for sure because I’m half human. I could drop dead tomorrow of a virus or something.”

“Not likely, given the fact that we both watched your knee repair itself in a matter of hours,” he points out. “Just like an angel.”

“So I can’t be killed?” I reply pensively.

“Everything can die, even angels; it’s just that it would be very difficult for you to do so. You would have to suffer tremendously in order to accomplish it,” he says in a gentle way.

“Awe-some,” I say sarcastically, setting the tongs down. “What other traits will I inherit from my father? Will I get wings or something?” I ask pessimistically.

“Probably,” his lips twitch with a suppressed smile, “but I don’t know for sure. We’ll have to wait and see.”

My eyes narrow. “You don’t have wings!” I say accusingly, “I’ve seen you with your shirt off, and they were clearly absent. Are they retractable or something?” I ask suspiciously.

“Yes,” he acknowledges with a grin.

“You flew up on my fire escape, didn’t you—the other night?” I ask rhetorically. He answers me anyway with a smug nod. “How does that work? I would never have guessed that you could just sprout wings at will,” I ask incredulously. I try to imagine the process, and it becomes as ominous as a scene from a horror film.

“You’ll see,” he replies, giving me no details, and for once, I think I am grateful that he doesn’t elaborate.

“You know, Reed, I’d rather not,” I reply, chilled.

I’m quiet for a while, pretending to look at discarded photos that are lying on the counter. A thought occurs to me, and I look over at him, asking tentatively, “Since you’re an angel, you know all about Paradise, I presume?”

“Yes,” he says, but his tone is guarded as he sits forward a little on the sofa, watching me.

“Tell me all about it,” I breathe.

“No,” he states flatly.

“Why not?” I ask as hurt invades my expression.

Reed frowns before replying, “Evie, you’re not entirely an angel—you’re also human. You possess something that no angel has ever had, or will ever have, so revealing the secrets of Paradise to you may not be…wise. I’m not even sure if I should discuss Sheol with you.”

“Sheol? What’s that?” I ask, knowing it wasn’t an especially nice thing just by the way in which the word was spat out, like it left an awful taste in Reed’s mouth.

“It’s a place, and it has many different names depending on which humans you talk to. Kukula is one, and the House of Falsehood is another name for it, but I think the name you will probably know well is Hell. I could tell you its name in Angel, if you’d like, but it’s the abyss where the Fallen dwell when they wish to hide themselves from us.”

I shiver at his words; he speaks of things I vaguely believe in. The concepts are there, but to have them pulled out into the light and validated is terrifying. “You said I possess something no other angel has ever had. What do I have that you will never have?” I ask in confusion.

“You have a soul,” he replies.

“Oh, you don’t have a soul?” I ask him in surprise.

“No, only humans have souls—until you, that is. You’re the only angel I have met with a soul…you’re unique,” he says tenderly.

“You’re saying that I’m a living, breathing paradox?” I reply, feeling stunned.

“A hybrid,” he reasons kindly.

“An irony,” I say pessimistically.

“A divine compromise,” he counters.

“An abomination,” I say bleakly.

“No. Never,” he says with his jaw tensing.

“You said that your first impulse when you saw me was to destroy me,” I say sadly, thinking that he may’ve been justified to feel that way.

“I’m sorry, Evie,” Reed sighs, “but angels are jealous creatures,” he explains. “You may recall as well that I said I also wanted to love you and protect you, all at the same time.”

I frown in confusion. “You were jealous of me?” I ask with skepticism.

“You have a soul,” Reed says as if that explanation is enough.

I wrinkle my nose. “And?” I ask.

“And, what do you think our war is about? It’s about souls,” he replies.

My brow unfurls. “Oh, so you would like a soul?” I ask.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” he replies with a sensual tilt of his lips.

“Why don’t you just fly off to Heaven and ask for one? It seems that they might be handing them out now?” I ask, gesturing with a flick of my hand toward the sky.

His smile falters. “Evie, I can’t go to Heaven unless I’m called,” he explains with a note of longing in his tone that I’ve never heard from him.

Crossing back to the sofa, I sit beside him and stifle my sudden urge to press my lips to his to try to kiss away his sadness, mainly because I don’t know how he’d react. “Oh, so how often do they call you back?” I ask, thinking he must’ve been away for a while because he seems almost homesick.

“Evie, I’ve never been called back,” he states evenly.

My eyes widen, and I ask breathlessly, “Never?” That would mean he has been here nearly forever.

Reed’s voice sounds hollow when he replies, “Never. I have my mission. I’m aware of what needs to be done.”

“Let me get this straight. Are you saying you’ve been here, on Earth, since nearly the dawn of time?” I ask, trying to grasp the concept of that kind of time.

“Yes,” he affirms.

“Doing what?” I wonder aloud.

“Doing what I’m created to do,” he says, while his hand begins to rub my arm in a comforting way.

“And what’s that?” I ask, waiting for his dreadful answer.

I’m not disappointed; it is extremely dreadful to me when he says, “Destroying evil. Fighting the legions of the Fallen damned. I’m a soldier, Evie, an assassin…I told you that.”

“Holy crap!” I squeak.

“Yes,” he smiles at the irony. I can hardly breathe as my heart beats out of control with a mixture of panic and awe. “Evie, are you okay?” he asks me soothingly.

“No.” I’m not okay. How is any of this okay? He’s a real angel.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, touching my cheek lightly so I’d look at him.

“Ha! What could be wrong, Reed?” I snap. “You’re a freaking angel, I’m a…I don’t even know what I am…I could be a Trojan horse for all I know. Maybe we should crack me open and see if a bunch of men in skirts jump out of me,” I say in exasperation.

“Don’t be ridiculous, there is nothing in you but you, I would know,” he says patronizingly.

“Of course you would, because you’re an angel!” I whisper-shout at him.

“Shh…Evie, it is okay,” he says, while smoothing my hair behind my ear. “It will be all right. You have a soul. That means that you are capable of redemption. So, no matter where you came from, you have that gift.”

Tentatively, I ask, “So you’re saying it’s possible for me to get into Paradise, even if my dad’s a fallen angel?” I couldn’t bring myself to say demon, preferring the less morose term of fallen angel.

“Yes,” he says, like a caress.

“Because of my soul?” I ask, feeling a modicum of relief.

His expression darkens, “Yes, however—” he begins before I cut him off.

“What?”

Reed sighs reluctantly, “There are certain…drawbacks to an angel possessing a soul.”

“There are…what would they be?” I ask with a sinking ache in the pit of my stomach.

“There are many who would covet your soul and try to destroy you in an attempt to obtain it,” he says, watching my face for signs of distress.

“So, you’re saying I’m a target?” I ask as calmly as possible.

“Yes, for some. For others, you are more like a prize or a trophy, and for the truly damned, you could be a solution to a desperate situation,” Reed says softly, his eyes training on mine.

What kinds of monsters are out there just waiting for something like me to come along? I shudder inwardly.

The hair on my arms prickle as I whisper, “My soul would be a ticket out of Hell…I mean Sheol?”

Reed pulls me to him, hugging me protectively. “Precisely,” he says as if he’s proud of me for coming to the correct conclusion. I, however, am wishing that I could go back to being blithely ignorant.

With my head resting against his chest, he says, “Your soul is capable of surviving in an angelic body. I haven’t seen that before. I’m certain that no Fallen have seen you yet…they would be so attracted to you, for many reasons. You represent the ultimate danger; you are what had always been forbidden to them. I don’t want to know what one of them would do to you if he found you, and I wonder how you could have remained a secret for so long,” he says, squeezing me tighter as if he would protect me even now.

A small sliver of hope sparks inside of me, showing me just how bleak my world has become, and more importantly, how much I need him. As my mind races, the spark flickers, like the phosphoric-glow of a firefly, so I murmur, “But before, you said you might have to destroy me.”

Reed’s voice sounds serious as he replies, “I have since reasoned that your soul changes everything. You have redemption, and it will not matter from where you came. You have free will, like a human,” he rationalizes for me. “You are also having premonitions which may be divinely inspired.”

I stir uneasily to see his face, asking, “But if protecting me will be dangerous for you, why would you take on that responsibility?” He’s crazy to get involved with me.

“Evie, do you know how old I am?” he asks me broodingly.

“Old,” I surmise generally because I have no concept of the kind of old he is.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I’ve been here for a long time, evolving along with humans, but not being one of them. I have fought alongside other angels. We’re good soldiers, brutal assassins. We do not behave like family; our friendships are militarily based for the most part.”

“I see,” I say, trying to imagine his evolution.

“I am a soldier…I kill… I do not feel,” he says the last word like it is an affliction as he struggles to explain. “But then I saw you, and emotions that I have never felt before…” He glances at my face, trying to see if I understand what he is saying. “You are like a siren who calls to me, and I feel…” he trails off.

“What do you feel?” I urge him, placing my hand gently against his cheek.

“Do you know why I came looking for you today? How I found you sitting on the steps?” he asks, leaning into my hand.

“No,” I breathe, fascinated by the smooth perfection of his face.

“It is your heart. It sings to me; it calls to me. I know when you’re afraid, when you have nightmares that wake you up in the middle of the night. I know when you’re happy. But, you scared me today. Your heart stopped singing. It slowed down, and I could barely hear you. I had to find you…” he says, and moves his face so that his lips brush against my palm tenderly.

“You can hear my heart from far away?” I ask, and think the organ in question might just stop beating from over stimulation when he nods. “And you still have the fluttering, like butterflies?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“This must have happened to you before. I can’t be the only person who has had…” I stop when he shakes his head no. Elation courses through me for a moment until I think to ask, “There has been no one for you?”

“Not on Earth,” he affirms, and my heart breaks for him. To exist for eternity without love…

“It doesn’t make any sense; you’re perfect, and I’m a mutant. What can God be thinking?” I ask him.

“You are not a mutant, and I am not perfect,” he murmurs. “There is one thing I have learned in all of the time that I have been here, and it is the best lesson I can teach you. It is this: never presume to know the mind of God.”

“Yeah, well, that’s an easy lesson for me because I don’t have a clue,” I state with conviction. I think about what he had just said about my heart, and being alone for most of his existence. What could that have been like for him? “Aren’t there, you know, girl angels?” I ask, blushing.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Well, what are they like?” I ask him, feeling somewhat jealous of the divine creatures that I know nothing about.

His green eyes soften as he looks into mine. “Excellent warriors,” he replies.

I sigh. “I mean, what are they like when you’re not fighting?” I probe, hoping to get a glimpse into his world.

His smile turns smug as he asks, “You are asking me how they are different from you?” I nod, wondering if he could tell that I’m jealous. He shrugs, saying, “The ones that were sent to Earth to destroy the Fallen are tough, like their male counterparts. There is almost no femininity to them. They lack the mystique that human women seem to possess, the allure. Some angels do pair up here, but it is for comfort. Rarely do we stay together as partners.”

“You’re kidding?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “We are warriors; we don’t have emotions like humans seem to have, at least, not until recently.” He sounds irritated by the admission. “There are other types of angels that are not warriors. They have other missions and are softer, but I have not been attracted to them either.”

“What about human women? Not one of them has ever attracted you?” I ask incredulously. What are the odds of that?

Reed’s expression turns askance. “Human women are much too fragile, too breakable; one would have to use extreme restraint to…” he trails off and begins again, “I am extremely strong, and I could…but I have never been tempted to try… there has been no one who…”

“Sings to you?” I ask, taking pity on him and saving him from having to stammer on with his explanation.

“Yes,” he breathes in relief that I’d saved him from having to say more.

“What about me? I’m half human. Am I too fragile?” I hedge my question, being unable to broach the topic fully.

“You are fragile right now. I could shatter you easily, without any effort at all. But soon, that will change, and you will be strong, like an angel,” he replies confidently.

“You act like I’m going to spin a cocoon and undergo a metamorphosis or something,” I say, hoping against hope that I am wrong.

“No, nothing that drastic…well, maybe metamorphosis is a good enough description,” he says thoughtfully.

“How do you know that I will change?” I ask suspiciously.

“We all start out weak and then evolve around your age,” he explains knowingly.

“When?” I ask, my voice hush.

“Soon,” he says softly.

“How soon?” I utter.

He shrugs and says, “When you’re ready.”

I roll my eyes in frustration. “Will I look different?” I wonder.

“Not to the unobservant, but there will be subtle differences.”

I could kick him for not elaborating. It’s like pulling teeth with him sometimes. I would say typical male not to give any details, but there is nothing typical about Reed.

“Painful?” I ask worriedly.

“That’s all relative,” he replies.

“Pain is not subjective,” I say stiltedly.

“Really? How does this feel?” Reed asks as he pinches my upper arm.

“Ouch! That hurt!” I exclaim, pulling my arm away from him and rubbing the abused appendage vigorously.

“You may be in trouble,” he says, and he has the audacity to sound amused.

“You know, I could turn out to be stronger than you. What are you going to do then?” I pout.

He just chuckles at me like I’m joking, or maybe because he’s kind of happy. That seems to be it; he’s happy about my inevitable transformation into a stronger being, a being that would be able to keep up with him…and he’d be the only other being I would know that would be capable of keeping up with me.

“Reed?” I ask.

“Hmm?” he replies.

“If I’m not fully human, and I’m not pure angel, then how am I supposed to know what rules I have to follow? I don’t know any angel laws. I only know some of the human ones, and I’m not even sure about those half the time,” I say.

His brow furls, “I don’t know, Evie. Some of our laws don’t always coincide with the human laws,” he says with a perplexed expression.

“Example?” I ask.

“Humans aren’t supposed to kill each other. I’m sent specifically to kill,” he replies plainly.

Even though his admission should’ve disturbed me, I feel more curious than anxious as I say, “Avenging angel—got it.”

“Right,” he says with a small smirk. “Humans are supposed to honor their parents. I was created by God, no mother, no father.”

“Ah, yes,” I say, trying to hide my shock about that revelation.

“Humans aren’t supposed to seek comfort from the spouse of another person, but angels don’t have spouses; we don’t marry.” Reed explains casually. “But many humans seem to have a really hard time with that rule.”

“I’m getting the picture, thanks,” I reply before seizing this new piece of information. Casually, I ask, “So, you don’t marry—how very interesting, but you can…” I couldn’t go on and ask him what I want to.

This time, Reed saves me. “You want to know if I’m like a man, can I make love to a female if I want to?” he asks with amusement in his tone.

“Yes,” I reply, feeling my face getting red.

“Yes, but it would be for pleasure only. I’m incapable of producing a child,” he enlightens me.

“Then, how am I even possible?” I gasp.

“Evie, that’s precisely why you’re an enigma; by all logic you should never exist, but you do, and the fact that you do means that something has changed. Nothing about you is how it should be because you shouldn’t be,” he says slowly, trying to make the weight of his words sink in.

“How are angels created?” I ask him.

“We are born of fire,” he states. When my eyes widen, he continues, “Well, ‘born’ may not be the proper term. I was never an infant. I have always appeared as I do now, but I was weak—like you—in the beginning of my life. I evolved wings as I matured and I expect that you will too, but I am not privy to how your evolution will occur. I am only making assumptions based on what I have seen of you thus far. The way you heal— that is angelic.”

I chew my lower lip. “If I become an angel, or more like one anyway, what will happen when my friends notice, or my uncle notices that I’m not aging?” Reed is silent. He doesn’t know how to tell me what I already know, so I save him the trouble of explaining by saying, “I can’t tell them, can I?”

“No,” he replies softly.

“It’s one of those rules?” I ask him exasperatedly.

“Yes,” he says.

“I don’t think I like your rules. Maybe it means that neither set of rules applies to me, have you thought of that?” I counter argumentatively. “I didn’t ask for this distinction: to be the only angel ever created with a soul. Who would want this?”

“Evie,” he sighs.

“Reed,” I say in frustration.

“I wish I had all of the answers for you, but I’m not omnipotent or all-knowing. In fact, I know very little when it comes to you. But I’m not unhappy that you exist.” Reed says in a sexy tone, while leaning closer.

It would’ve been much nicer to hear him say he was ecstatic that I exist, so I try to ignore his comment and ask, “So I can’t tell anyone?”

“It’s better for now if you don’t tell anyone anything. Not just because it’s forbidden, but also because we want to keep your existence as secret as possible for as long as possible. I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says as his hand reaches out to stroke my hair.

“That makes sense.” I say, trying to resign myself to his logic. “I don’t even know what I would say that wouldn’t sound absolutely ludicrous.” I am quiet for a while, but something is nagging at me, something that has been bothering me for a while. “Reed, can I ask you something?”

“You’re asking me that now, after you’ve been peppering me with questions for hours?” he asks with amusement in his voice.

“It’s about Russell.” I say evasively.

“No, I don’t want to talk about him,” he replies immediately, his tone is no longer amused.

“Why not?” I ask, wincing.

“I don’t want to discuss your soul mate with you,” he says blandly.

“Reed, am I supposed to know what you mean by soul mate?” I ask him gently now because he’s less than pleased to have had the topic of conversation turn to Russell.

Reed is silent again, looking stone-faced that I had brought Russell into our conversation. I wonder if he knows that we’ve drawn first blood on Russell last night with our kiss. I move then, sitting on Reed’s lap so that I’m facing him. I begin toying with the button on his shirt, saying, “I hope that it doesn’t take the next thousand years for you to be able to trust me enough to explain things to me.”

A millisecond or less passes and I am lying flat on my back against the soft green cushions of the sofa. Reed hovers over me with the predatory stare of a cat about to pounce. His thrilling strength startles a low, breathy gasp from me. I feel his fingers tighten on my hip, while his perfect face prowls nearer, lowering to brush his lips against mine. Wrapping my arms around Reed’s neck, a kittenish sound escapes from me. I return the kiss coquettishly at first, flirting with him, but it rapidly builds, biting me with fire.

Reed lifts his lips from mine, and looking into my eyes, he murmurs, “I want those thousand years with you, Evie, you have no idea how much I want them. I want a thousand years, and then I want a hundred thousand more.”

When Reed pulls away further, breaking from my embrace, I want to groan in frustration. His arm goes around my shoulder, lifting me to sit next to him as he continues, “There are so many things that you haven’t seen, so many places you’ve never been. I want to show you everything and experience it all again with you, through you. But, I’ve been thinking about it, and right now this place, Crestwood, seems to be the safest place for you, the place you’re supposed to be. I want to protect you from everything that is dangerous to you. Unfortunately, right now, I am dangerous for you. I have to be careful and make sure that I don’t hurt you now, so we’ll have those years later.”

My eyebrows arch as I ask in frustration, “Because I’m too fragile now?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I could crush you without meaning to,” he explains softly.

“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “How long…”

Reed gives me his sexiest smile as he says, “I don’t know… whenever you’re ready…”

“But,” I mumble, “What if sooner is good for me…”

“It’s not,” he replies with a smile, touching my cheek. Reed is quiet for a moment and I become aware that he’s in the grip of some inner conflict. I see the war going on in his mind, playing upon his face in shades of black.

Reed sighs, like he lost the battle, before saying, “When I say that Russell is your soul mate, that is exactly what I mean. You are two souls that follow each other wherever the other leads. I imagine that you have shared many lives with Russell, judging by the way in which your two souls call to one another. If he had not come here, you would have followed him someplace else, wherever he was in the world. You would have found each other because that is what you are to each other, almost like two halves of a whole,” he states morosely.

My eyes widen as I listen mutely. A ghost of a smile forms on his lips as he adds, “Except things are different in this lifetime. You are no longer entirely human. You are also angelic, and so his soul and your soul will be parted by eternity, until, that is, you meet again in Paradise if that is your destiny,” he states as if that is the worst scenario possible to him.

“You’re saying that Russell and I have been here on Earth before…in other lifetimes? Together?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes,” Reed replies.

“Soul mates?” I say, trying to understand what he is telling me.

“Yes,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“As in reincarnation?” I say, fumbling now with the concept that was clearly not taught in my Sunday school classes.

“Yes,” he says, plucking imaginary lint from the sleeve of his shirt.

“What happens to Russell’s soul if mine is not available anymore?” I ask him, extremely alarmed by what he might tell me next.

“Maybe he’ll find a new soul mate,” Reed says unconvincingly.

“What are the odds of that happening?” I ask him, feeling ill.

“I don’t know,” he replies.

My eyes narrow as I stand and restlessly begin pacing in front of him. “Let me see if I understand you. You’re saying that Russell and I are soul mates—we spend our lives searching for each other. Only this time, I’m an angel. Since I’m an angel, I’ve become immortal, so unless something should kill me and my soul gets into Paradise, Russell will be left without a soul mate?”

“Yes,” he replies as his eyes scan my face, seeing my pain. “Although, he could choose to come back again and find you in his next life,” Reed admits, and by his expression I know he is not thrilled about that scenario.

I stop pacing as I say sarcastically, “Wow, this just keeps getting better and better, Reed. So what you’re telling me is that I’ll not just be breaking his heart in this lifetime, I get to keep on breaking his heart for eternity, is that it? Is that about right?” I am nearly ranting at this point, clearly taking out my frustration on Reed for the situation I am in.

“He may choose a new destiny—you are not in control of every aspect of this.” Reed explains compassionately. “Russell may have already chosen before coming here…I should not have told you this. I can see that it will torment you.” He sounds contrite for telling me what I had insisted upon knowing.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my aching forehead. “Reed, you had to tell me. I need to understand all of this.”

What am I supposed to do? Rsed has a pull on me that is almost lethal in its intensity. I want him… need him. Then, there is Russell and being with him is so natural, like I’ve always belonged to him.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Reed says, less as a question and more as a command.

His mention of dinner reminds me that I have obligations. “Oh no! What time is it, Reed?” I ask frantically.

“It’s three forty,” he says, looking at his watch.

“Three forty! I’m late for the portrait!” I say in a panic, while searching for my bag.

“Evie, what portrait?” Reed asks as he stands, handing me my bag.

“Mr. MacKinnon asked me if I would sit for him so he can paint my portrait. I told him I would and that I would be at his studio at three thirty. I’m late! I have to go!” I don’t stop to explain more, but put my arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss goodbye. I turn to leave, but his hand snakes around my waist, holding me to him.

Reed frowns. “You plan on going there alone?” he asks in disapproval as I glance up at his face.

“Yes. Let’s have dinner tonight. I’ll be done by five o’clock— you can pick me up here when I’m finished because I’ll just be upstairs in the art studio,” I explain, seeking a compromise that would allow me to speed things along.

Reed doesn’t let my anxiety affect him at all; instead, he seems more determined to take his time. “When did you agree to this?” he asks.

My eyes narrow, “Why?” I ask.

“I’m curious,” he says with his eyes narrowing a bit more.

I sigh, “Do you want to come with me?”

“What an excellent idea,” he smiles, linking my elbow with his as he guides me out of the dark room.

CHAPTER 12

The Portrait

Climbing the stairs of the Fine Arts Building hand-in-hand, Reed and I find a brass placard on a door declaring the room to be “MacKinnon Studio.” As we step in, I gaze around at the spacious artist’s studio; it occupies a large corner of the old building and has the appeal and charm that one associates with the old craftsmanship of the turn of the century. Leaded glass windows line the back wall, and the lighting in the room is impeccable.

A young woman sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room stands as we enter. “You must be, Genevieve,” she states smoothly, approaching me with her hand extended. “I’m Debra, Mr. MacKinnon’s assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Debra’s hand in introduction. She’s about my height with long, dark hair. Her black-rimmed glasses, which cover her warm, amber eyes, can only be described as librarian, but her air of authority, not her glasses, makes her seem older than me—maybe a senior. “This is Reed Wellington,” I continue politely with the introductions.

“Ah, Reed, of course, how are you?” she states briskly, shaking his hand.

“I’m well. It’s nice to meet you, Debra,” says Reed with a charismatic smile.

“Well, please come in. Mr. MacKinnon will be joining us soon. He wants me to get started with your hair and makeup before he gets here. How much do you know about what we’re doing today?” she asks me, moving over to a closet near her desk in the corner.

“Not much,” I say. “I know that I’m supposed to sit for a portrait, and that you need pictures, so that Mr. MacKinnon can work without me being here as often.” I add sheepishly, feeling naїve for not getting more details than that before agreeing to this. I peek at Reed and I can tell by his frown that his thoughts are straying along those same lines.

Debra says, “He’s going for the ‘Goddess Persephone’ thing with you—a queen who inspires devotion—or, something like that. Anyway, I have a dress for you—I think Mr. MacKinnon got it from the theatre department. They did The Iliad a few years ago. The dress is a little revealing because it’s a Grecian gown that plunges in the front and it’s backless from the shoulders to the small of your back. But, it covers all the important parts. It’s a little transparent under this lighting, but hey, that’s art.”

I can’t look at Reed as I begin to blush when Debra pulls the costume from the closet. It’s ethereal all right; it is exquisite white silk with gold piping interlacing the bodice, not at all the cheap theatre department material I expect.

“Please, come and sit over here, and I’ll get started on your hair,” Debra directs. I sit down at a lighted mirrored table and Debra begins working on my hair. “You can have a seat over there.”

Debra points to a comfortable seating area that has a sofa and chairs. Reed goes to a lounge chair and sits down, watching me disapprovingly. I can tell I’m going to hear about whatever it is that he is thinking. Deciding not to worry about it, I watch Debra in the mirror. She deftly weaves my hair into an intricate pattern of small braids with delicate, golden threads adorning them. The effect is startling, and when she finishes, I feel rather like a goddess. She applies a soft layer of cosmetics to my face in such a way as to make my skin appear to glow.

“Well, that’s it,” Debra says. “There is a bathroom over there where you can change your clothes.” She retrieves the gown from the closet and follows me to the bathroom.

“Okay,” I reply uncertainly, taking the beautiful creation she hands to me.

The dress is so delicate; it floats around my arms as it cascades like liquid toward the floor. I go into the bathroom and disrobe, and then I carefully step into the white, gossamer silk, feeling it cling to my body, as fabric will when it’s wet. I had hoped that I’d be able to wear my bra with it, but there is no way. The bodice plunges midway to my abdomen and barely covers my breasts on either side. The back of the gown is almost nonexistent; my skin is bare all the way down, revealing the two small dimples on my lower back. The dress covers me just above my rounded posterior, flowing with a long train behind me. I’ll need to pool the train of the gown over my arm if I don’t want it to drag on the ground, but the length in the front is perfect, as if it were made for me.

Debra sighs when she sees me in the dress. “It’s beautiful on you,” she says, adjusting the fasteners so that the gown lies perfectly. “Mr. MacKinnon just arrived. He’ll pose you, and then we can take the pictures.”

“Okay,” I say, realizing that I have to leave the bathroom in this gown that feels like little more than cobwebs covering my body.

Debra seems to know what I am thinking because she leans closer to me and says, “You look wonderful, and just remember, it’s art, and who knows, it could become a piece of history one day.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it,” I say before taking a deep breath and walking out of the bathroom.

The conversation that is transpiring between Mr. MacKinnon and Reed turns to silence as I approach them from the bathroom. I’m not looking at Mr. MacKinnon as I near them because I’m captivated by the smoldering darkness that enters Reed’s eyes.

I want to move right to Reed, but Mr. MacKinnon steps in front of him and speaks directly to me, “Genevieve, you’ve exceeded my expectations. You’re lovely. We should begin. Please, if you would step this way, I have set up over in this corner,” he says, leading the way to a lighted area that has a dark backdrop and a Grecian style chaise. I sit stiffly on the chaise, feeling uncomfortable in the spotlight.

“Now, has Debra told you the theme that I’m going for with this portrait?” he asks.

“She mentioned the Goddess Persephone,” I say as I lean back against the bolster of the chaise, following the gesturing movements of Mr. MacKinnon.

He lifts my feet onto the chaise and arranges the train of my gown in such a way as to drape over the end of the lounge. In this position, I face Reed directly. We make eye contact, and there is a heat in his eyes that I can feel. My body becomes liquid; all of the tense embarrassment flows out of me, and it is just the two of us. I can hear that Mr. MacKinnon is taking pictures, but all I can do is watch Reed watching me.

“You’re Reed Wellington?” Mr. MacKinnon asks Reed as he continues to snap photos of me from different angles.

“Yes, that’s right, sir,” Reed answers him politely as he approaches the set and stands near the light.

“And how do you know our model here?” he asks charmingly, making small talk.

“Genevieve is my…girlfriend,” Reed says in a sexy, possessive way.

I’m somewhat taken aback by the term girlfriend. It is almost ridiculous that someone as perfect as Reed would desire someone like me, insane really, and yet, he’s becoming so much more than my boyfriend that the term seems inadequate to describe what is between us.

“Your girlfriend, is that right?” Mr. MacKinnon replies with a smile.

“Yes, she’s mine,” Reed says, never taking his eyes off of me. His words warm me, making me feel desired. Reed’s eyes soften as he says, “She almost allowed someone else to accompany her here today, and I can’t help but think of how close I came to missing seeing her like this.”

“Yes, that would’ve been unfortunate. But there will be the portrait,” Mr. MacKinnon assures him.

“I’m eager to see how it turns out,” Reed says.

“As am I,” he replies from behind his camera. “Genevieve, I want to try something else…a different pose. Allow me to tell you about the Goddess Persephone, so that you might better understand what I’m thinking.”

Drawing nearer to me and holding his camera away, he says, “Pretend you are the Goddess Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. Hades, the ruler of the Underworld, has taken you from your home and your mother Demeter. You love Demeter dearly and wish to see her again. Hades has given you a pomegranate to eat. You know that if you eat the pomegranate, you will have to remain in the Underworld with Hades for all of eternity. However, if you do not eat the fruit, you will have to leave the Underworld. You would then never be allowed to return to the Underworld or to Hades. You care for both Demeter and Hades, so you must choose which of your loves will have you for eternity.”

Stepping forward, Mr. MacKinnon places a pomegranate in the palm of my hand. I look at it dumbly for a moment, and then the scope of his words hit me. Reed or Russell. Angel or soul mate. I have to choose which of them will be the love, not only of my life, but also of my existence. Anguish in its purest form rolls over me in wave after wave of torment.

“That’s perfect, Genevieve. You’ve captured the very essence of the struggle,” Mr. MacKinnon says as he snaps my photo at different angles. I can’t look at Reed now. I don’t want him to see my struggle because I don’t want to hurt him, just as I don’t want to hurt Russell. Mr. MacKinnon purrs with satisfaction as he says, “Well, you’ve certainly provided me a range of things I can work with. I think I prefer the sultry pictures we took in the beginning of the sitting to the others, but it will be a tough decision.”

I’m not listening to Mr. MacKinnon. I want to escape from the lights and hide myself away in a dark corner. I rise from the chaise and begin to walk to the bathroom to change out of the gown, but I hesitate, and turning to Mr. MacKinnon, I ask, “What did Persephone decide? Did she eat the fruit?”

“Yes, she did, but not all of it, only enough so that she could return to Hades for half of each year. A divine compromise, they are rare amongst the gods,” Mr. MacKinnon says softly.

I am quiet on the car ride to Reed’s house for dinner. I’m feeling edgy after my experience at the art studio with Mr. MacKinnon. I want to erase today and start again. All the knowledge I’ve gleaned is beginning to eat at me, and I feel like my brain is corroding.

When we reach Reed’s house, he opens up my door and escorts me into his home. He must’ve called ahead to Andre, or maybe Greta, because the large, formal dining room table is set for two; the finest china graces the table, as does what appears to be real silver silverware. Reed holds out a chair next to the head of the table for me, and then he seats himself. I look around the cavernous room in awe; this isn’t Saga, and it is also far from the dining I do with my Uncle Jim. Andre, Reed’s personal chef, enters the dining room with two dinner plates not long after we are seated.

“This smells wonderful, Andre,” I say, breathing in the aroma. “Thank you.”

“It is very nice to have a guest. I hope you enjoy it,” Andre says, and then he turns and leaves the dining room.

“Do you eat here every night? In this room, I mean?” I ask Reed contemplatively, while tasting fish that melts in my mouth.

“Usually, why?” he asks as if evaluating my question.

“It’s nothing…it’s just that…” I say, my voice trailing off when the image of Reed eating here all alone in this big room comes to me. How lonely this must be with no one to share things with, but then again, it may be his idea of unwinding after having to pretend to be human all the time.

“It’s just what?” he asks me curiously.

“Well, it’s so formal. I feel like your parents are going to walk in any minute and scold us for using all the good china.” I say plainly. Reed laughs at my comment. “Does Andre know about you…I mean…you know…that you’re special?”

“No, I’m sure he has seen some things that have made him wonder about me, but I don’t believe he knows my secrets. I try not to keep the same staff around for long because people do catch on,” he says wryly. “I compensate them well when I have to let them go,” he adds as he fills the glass stemware in front of me with wine.

We eat together in silence for a while. I feel awkward and stiff, not knowing which piece of silverware I should use, since there are three forks, and although the food is delicious, I can’t enjoy it in here.

“Okay, Reed, let’s go,” I say, rising from my seat and picking up my plate and wine glass.

“Where are we going?” he asks in surprise, but stands immediately when I do, probably out of politeness.

“You do have a kitchen, don’t you?” I reply, selecting one fork and one knife from the several on my place setting.

“Yes, this home is equipped with a kitchen,” he replies with a puzzled expression.

“Well then, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll follow you until you can draw me a map,” I say, smiling at him encouragingly. We need less formality between us, and I’m not going to get that in the dining room. A look of intrigue crosses Reed’s face while he picks up his plate and begins leading me from the dining room to the kitchen.

Reed’s kitchen is the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever seen. It has sleekly crafted wooden cabinetry that hides the appliances so that you have to guess where the refrigerator is located. The granite counters gleam in the light from the fixtures above, and a polished wooden table sits just in front of a large, stone fireplace. The fireplace is not lit, but it doesn’t need to be; it is romantic even without a fire.

I set my plate on the table next to Reed’s as he pulls my chair out for me. “Better?” he asks when I am seated.

“Much. Thank you,” I say, smiling at him. This is better. It’s intimate and cozy, more personal.

“I have never eaten in here. It is nice,” he comments before gazing around the room as he takes in the scenery.

With an expression of amazement, I say, “You’ve never eaten in here? Reed, you are baffling. I keep trying to figure out what you are doing here.”

“I told you what I’m doing here,” he replies, picking up his fork again and continuing with his meal.

“I don’t mean the smoting thing. Or is it smiting? Anyway, no I mean, why are you at Crestwood? It hardly seems to be a big draw for demons,” I say.

“It is not, and that is why I’m here. I don’t like to just run across them when I’m not prepared to fight them. That is why I chose Crestwood. It lacks the, what were your words, draw for demons?” he asks smiling. He becomes serious though, when he says, “No, Crestwood is not a place the Fallen find interesting. That makes it a sanctuary, Evie. If you want to avoid them, you find the places they don’t like. I wish to avoid them when I’m not hunting them, so that I do not have to be in a constant state of vigilance.”

“Why don’t the bad angels come to Crestwood? I mean, I would think that fallen angels could recruit at schools,” I point out.

“The Fallen can at most schools, but Crestwood is different. There is not much of nightlife in this sleepy town and there is almost nothing to do here other than study. That is not very conducive to sin. Quite frankly, it is boring here,” he smiles.

“It’s not boring,” I say incredulously, thinking of the past few days.

“It is not boring with you around,” Reed amends with a grin.

“So, when you are looking for demons, please excuse the trite terminology, demon hunting, where do you go?” I ask. It sounds like such an absurd question when I say it out loud.

“The Fallen are drawn to the prison that is located a couple of towns away, in Jackson. They enjoy extreme suffering,” Reed explains. “They enjoy watching a soul in torment, and some of the prisoners have already shown a weakness for evil.”

My eyebrow rises as I ask, “Really? So the suffering going on inside the prison attracts them, like bait, and you send them back to Hell…uhh the abyss place, is that it?”

“Some make it back to Sheol and some do not,” he says offhandedly.

“What do you mean, some do not?” I ask in a puzzled tone.

“I mean, some of the Fallen just cease to be,” he says. “Since angels do not have souls, there is no chance to be redeemed. The Fallen will never be allowed into Paradise again. But if they survive, they could go back to Sheol, theoretically. I try not to let that happen.”

“Could that happen to you?” I ask in fear. “Could one of the Fallen kill you?”

“It will not happen to me. I am extremely good at what I do,” Reed replies confidently. “I succeed because I know myself and I know my enemy.”

“But, it’s a possibility?” I ask doggedly, scanning his face for his response.

“Genevieve, since I have met you, I am beginning to believe that anything is possible, and now I have more of an incentive to maintain my advantage,” Reed says gently. I feel off-kilter for a moment as I think of losing Reed. What would an eternity be like for me knowing that I would never see him again? I shudder, and fear must show on my face because Reed frowns as he asks, “What is wrong, Evie?”

“I don’t want you to be a soldier anymore. Can you do something else?” I ask him softly.

Reed’s eyes widen. “Why?” he asks in surprise.

“Because, Reed, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but there always seems to be something bigger and badder out there, and I can’t—how would I—I don’t know how to grieve for an eternity,” I say worriedly, looking down at my plate.

Reed’s eyes soften. “Evie, I don’t know whether to be extremely offended that you think I’m so weak that I would allow myself to be taken by one of them, or to be pleased that you would mourn for me,” he replies with a smile.

Pushing what is left of my food around on my plate, I say in a small voice, “It’s just that it seems like eternity would be very dull without you. But, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad not to have someone around who enjoys ordering me around.” I finish with a pout. “I’ll bet you’d end up being really annoying anyway.”

“What would you have me do?” he asks, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Retire, isn’t there a pension plan for someone like you? I mean, you’re like older than the hills. It might be time to hang it up, pal, maybe take up golf or something,” I say agitatedly. “What are your hobbies? Let’s see if we can find you something else to do,” I add, crossing my arms in front of me.

“I cannot do that. This is my purpose. I have been sent to do this job, and I will do it,” he says calmly but firmly.

“Then, I’ll be a hunter, too. You can teach me to be a soldier, and I’ll help you,” I reply. If he intends to be out there endangering himself, then I’ll go too and try to make sure that he comes back to me.

“No,” he says flatly, and I can tell that he thinks by saying this it’ll end the conversation.

“Why not?” I fire back.

“There is too much risk for you,” he says patiently.

My eyebrow arches. “Now there is, but what about when I change—evolve—whatever I’m going to do?” I challenge his logic.

“No,” he says more firmly.

“Reed, if you can risk being ended, then I can, too,” I reply evenly.

He stands then, and reaching over to my chair, he pulls it from the table with me still in it. He turns it so that we’re facing each other, then he crouches down to look directly into my eyes.

“You are too young to understand what you are asking me to do. You have not seen violence on the scale necessary to defeat the enemy. You are so innocent; it is difficult for me even to taint that with what I must tell you, in order to help you understand what you are—what is happening to you. It is becoming more and more difficult for me not to insist that you come and stay with me here, but that would pose its own set of dangers to you,” he says, and I am intelligent enough to know he is speaking about himself as the threat, given our attraction for one another.

Reed continues, “My need for a positional advantage has to be weighed with the circumstances of our attraction. So, we need to discuss some rules for you that will help to protect you.”

“Rules?” I reply, wrinkling my nose. “That sounds grody. I’d much rather talk about something else,” I say, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around his neck. I rest my forehead against his.

He groans as if in pain, “Evie, you don’t know what you do to me.”

He closes his eyes and stands slowly, pulling me up out of the chair with him. My arms stay linked around his neck as my body presses against him. He bends his head down to lightly brush his lips to the sensitive skin just under my ear. To say it pleases me would be ridiculous in its simplicity. His arms tighten around my waist as his fingers softly caress my skin where my shirt hitched up. I want more, crave it, but it’s my turn to groan in pain when Reed gently, but firmly, pulls back from our embrace.

His eyebrow rises as he asks, “What was I saying?”

“I don’t know, let’s not worry about it now,” I reply, looking at his broad chest and toying with one of the buttons of his collared shirt.

“Evie,” he says roughly.

“Reed,” I breathe.

“You are not helping me,” he scolds lightly.

“I know,” I rest my head against his chest.

“Rules,” he says firmly.

“Fine,” I say, stepping back from him. “You can tell me what you’re thinking, but I’m not agreeing to anything.”

“Evie, this is for your protection,” he tells me in a gentle tone.

“We’ll see. What did you have in mind?” I ask.

“I want to know if you choose to leave Crestwood for any reason, even if it is to go to one of the neighboring towns. Stay out of bars and taverns,” he says, stern. “No Seven-Eleven without me and nothing remotely dangerous,” he finishes in a bland tone.

“That last one is vague,” I reply.

“Genevieve,” Reed sighs in response to my objection.

A small smile touches my lips. “What? It’s vague, and when a rule is vague, it begs to be broken,” I say, defending my position. “Let me recap: if I want to leave town I need to check with you, no bars, and no Seven-Eleven alone,” I say while ticking his list off on my fingers.

“Nothing dangerous,” he reminds me.

“Okay, no running with scissors,” I say, smiling up at him while adding another finger.

Reed’s eyes narrow, “Genevieve, you have to take this seriously,” he says with authority.

“I’m trying, Reed. It’s just that I’ve been raised to be independent. My Uncle Jim trusted me implicitly. I rarely needed permission to do anything, and for the most part, he was right to trust me,” I explain.

“I expect you to try very hard to be good,” he says.

My eyebrow arches. “Or else what?” I challenge, wondering just what he has in mind if I fracture a rule or two.

“I believe in positive reinforcement, rather than negative,” he says with a sexy smile as he traces my lips with the tip of his finger, leaving a scalded path where he touches me.

“That’s very sensible of you,” I reply as a shiver that has nothing to do with fear runs the length of my body.

Reed lifts his finger from my lips with a reluctant smile. “We should get going now. We both have practice,” he sighs, but his eyes remain sultry as if he is plotting some forms of positive reinforcement. “I just have to change, then I will take you to your room to meet your friends.” I am disappointed that our dinner is over; I want more time with him. “I will just be a moment,” Reed says, and true to his word he is gone.

I hardly see him move because it has been a heartbeat— a blink—my eyes only catch a vague impression of him. I am alone in the kitchen in an instant. Startled, I sit down in the chair behind me. I don’t have long to wait for him; it is maybe ten seconds before he just materializes in front of me again.

The smile on his face shows the depth of his amusement over my astonishment. He had changed into his practice uniform and has his equipment in tow. It would’ve taken me thirty seconds just to reach the front door of his house, let alone to get upstairs where I assume his bedroom is.

“That was quick,” I say, understating the obvious.

Reed’s smile is ethereal. “It’s nice not having to hide what I am, or what I can do, from you. It pleases me that you are not afraid of me,” he says, extending his hand to me to help me rise from my seat.

My heart hammers in my chest, seeing his smile. “Will I be able to move that quickly?” I ask as we leave the kitchen on the way to the front door.

“Probably,” he says with a shrug.

“Uh oh,” I reply, thinking that having that kind of ability could pose some problems for me.

“What?” he asks in concern.

My forehead wrinkles as I admit, “Well, I had a hard time pretending to limp when my knee was supposed to be bruised. I can just see me forgetting not to just pop off when I’m late for class or something.”

Reed takes my hand to reassure me. “You need to cultivate an awareness of your surroundings and everything that exists within them. After awhile, it will become second nature to you,” he says.

“I might have a hard time with that because the only thing I seem to be aware of is you,” I say, blushing at the admission of such an embarrassing fact.

“That is going to be a struggle for both of us,” he states plainly. “I, too, lose sight of my surroundings when you are near. It is a danger we will have to overcome because it makes us vulnerable to the enemies.”

He opens the front door for me, and we walk out to his car. When I am seated, I hear a beep coming from my bag I’d left in the car. Finding my cell phone inside, I check the missed calls; there is one call from Russell and one call from Freddie. Dialing my voicemail, the first message should be from Russell, but when I listen to it, it is just a clicking sound, indicating that the caller had hung up without leaving a message. I cringe, wondering what our next conversation would be like. It will be brutal for both of us; there is no doubt.

The next message is from Freddie. He had missed me at lunch and dinner and is worried about me. I debate whether or not to call Russell back. Holding my phone to my lips absently, I stare out the window, watching the town of Crestwood float by me. Our next conversation has to be in person.

“Russell call?” Reed asks as if he is all knowing despite his protestations.

“Yes,” I reply, not knowing what to say.

“What did he say?” he asks me with concern.

“Nothing, he hung up.” I don’t lie. What would be the point?

“I see,” he says sympathetically.

“Do you?” I ask in surprise at his tone. I expected a different reaction from him.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he says simply.

“So am I,” I reply sadly.

“What will you tell him?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly.

“Evie, you do not have to make any decisions now. You have time to figure out what you want,” Reed says softly again, and his concern for my feelings makes me want to cry.

“Reed, I’ve put some thought into it already. If what you said comes to pass, then what kind of a life could I possibly have with Russell?” I ask sadly. “If I become as strong as you are, I would run the same risks that you have with me now, only I probably won’t have the restraint that the millenniums here on Earth have taught you. I would probably end up crushing Russell without meaning to.”

“Yes,” he agrees evenly, but he sounds as if he doesn’t think that would be such a bad thing to do to Russell.

“Then, there is the fact that Russell will age while I will not. What will happen to him when people start thinking he’s a dirty old man for being with such a young girl?” I ask. “He probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about that after a while.”

“True,” Reed says sagely, but he looks as if the thought of Russell growing old is rather a funny one.

“And then, there is you. Even if I chose Russell, I don’t think I would be able to be…” I trail off, not wanting to explain.

“To be what?” he asks curiously.

“To be faithful to him,” I reply, blushing. “It’s like no one else exists when you’re around.” Reed reaches over at my words and grasps my hand. Bringing it to his lips, he kisses it. “So, I don’t know what I’ll say to him,” I explain quietly, turning again to stare out the window, not seeing any of the scenery going by.

When Reed speaks again, it is in his angelic language that I don’t understand. It comforts me with its sweetly lilting melody, and I feel calmer when he finishes.

“What did you say?” I ask him serenely.

“The same thing I told you when you were in my car with me after your premonition,” Reed replies quietly as his eyes meet mine, making my breath catch a little.

I think for a second, and then say in disappointment, “Oh, yeah, I get that I’m a frustrating creature.”

“I was not exactly truthful when I told you that was what I said,” Reed replies, smiling at me.

“Reed, you’re capable of subterfuge? I thought you were supposed to be an angel,” I tease him lightly.

Reed’s smile is rueful when he replies, “We are going to have to redefine your definition of angel.”

My eyebrow quirks, and I ask, “What did you say then—in the car after my premonition?”

“I said that you are poised to be the most perfect creature I have ever encountered, under God, and the affection that I feel for you cannot be measured on Earth, or in Paradise. That is a rough translation, but it sounds better in Angel,” he explains as his green eyes hold mine.

“That’s what you said?” I breathe, unable to completely believe what he’s telling me.

“Yes,” he says as his eyes soften. We pull into the parking lot of my dorm, and Reed parks, letting his car idle.

“When did you know that was how you felt about me?” I ask him quietly.

“At the lake, when you Tasered me,” he replies, smiling.

My eyes widen. “What?” I ask feeling stunned.

“You have so much courage…you were so magnificent,” he says in admiration.

“I was terrified,” I try to explain.

“Yes, but that is what courage is: it is acting in the face of fear,” Reed says as a justification of my emotions. “I had to reason with myself that hugging you in that moment would not produce the effect I wanted. It probably would have scared you more.”

“Good call,” I say, thinking I might’ve had a heart attack if he’d tried hugging me after I’d Tasered him. “You still wanted me to leave after our run in at the lake,” I point out.

“I have a duty, and I was worried that helping you would be in direct violation of that duty. I hoped the feelings that I have for you would pass in a millennium or two if you were not around,” he says. “Foolish huh?”

“Very,” I agree, momentarily in awe of his beautiful face. Tearing my eyes away from his, I say, “We’re going to be late for practice. I better go up and change so I can meet the girls.”

“See you tonight?” Reed asks when my fingers move to the door handle.

Disappointment floods me as I say, “I can’t—I promised Brownie and Buns that we’d hang out.”

“Oh,” he says, dropping his chin and smiling. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” I agree breathlessly.

I am on the verge of leaving the car when Reed catches me up in an intoxicating kiss. It doesn’t feel like a kiss goodbye; that is its masquerade. This kiss is more like having a gentle wind caress my lips in introduction, as if it exists just for me now. Slowly pulling back from him, I see wisdom within the stormy-green fire of his eyes, and like the wind, they, too, hold secrets unimaginable to me. My fingertips touch my lips where his had just been. I want to imprint this moment in my mind so that I can recall every single detail of it later.

“Bye.” I manage to say breathlessly to Reed as I get out of his car.

“Bye, Evie,” he smiles before I close the door.

CHAPTER 13

Coldwater

I avoid Russell for the next few days during classes. It is tricky because we usually run into each other at meal times in the cafeteria, so I don’t go to breakfast or lunch. I know that avoiding Russell is only going to make all of this worse, but I don’t have a clue as to how I will explain something that is nearly inexplicable. Since most of the facts about what is happening to me are not only ludicrous, but also forbidden information, I’m at a loss as to what to do. Add to that my absolute inability to lie to Russell effectively, and I have a disaster in the making.

I spend every moment that I’m not in class with Reed. He asks me so many questions, everything from my first words as a baby to whom my date had been for prom. I eat dinner with him every night in his kitchen, and we go for walks on his estate. I ask him questions, too, but he is reluctant to talk about himself or his past. I think it’s because he has had to hide so much for so long that revelations don’t come easily for him.

We watch a few movies in Reed’s media room, but I can tell he’s not into watching chic flicks. It is funny though, seeing him try to understand a romantic comedy. His heavy sighs of exasperation whenever the male lead shows any sign of vulnerability makes me have to bite my lip so that I won’t burst out laughing. Today, however, it is amazingly simple to avoid Reed if I want to, since he is not in class, and I can’t feel him anywhere on campus. Where can he be? What’s he doing?

I am surprised to see Freddie approaching my private study alcove in the library. He shrugs off his backpack and takes a seat in the chair near mine. “You’re alive…I was wondering where you’ve been, and believe me, I’m not the only one,” he says with his warm, Freddie smile.

“Freddie! I’m sorry. You called me and I completely forgot to call you back. I’m so psyched to see you,” I say, beaming at him.

He looks good today. His hair is growing out; it reaches just past his brows now. Freddie is looking… cute—he’s facebookable. I think, watching him kick back in the chair. When did that happen?

“Hiding out, Evie? Is this your new lair?” he asks, assessing the situation like my own personal analyst.

“Hiding out? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have really hard classes, and I don’t want to get behind,” I flounder.

Freddie’s eyebrow arches. “Sure. I guess you don’t want these then?” Freddie says, opening his bag and withdrawing two granola bars before dangling them in front of me.

“Freddie! I did tell you already that I love you, right?” I ask, snatching one of the granola bars from his hand and tearing off the wrapper.

“Sure you told me, but it’s phat to hear it again,” he says, grinning as he tosses me the second bar.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say between mouthfuls of granola. “I need your help Freddie. I have a mission. Are you game, or are you lame?” I ask.

“I’m game, what do you have in mind?” he asks with an expression of intrigue.

“I have to get a firewall for Russell, but I’m kind of avoiding him at the moment. So, I was hoping that if I went and picked one up, you could hook me up with the installation?” I ask. “Maybe you can come with me to Coldwater to pick it out, too. I thought I’d go Saturday morning. You in?”

“You know, he asked me if I’d seen you twice today?” Freddie asks with a speculative expression.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I reply, feeling ashamed of my behavior.

“Aren’t you afraid that this firewall is going to send him mixed signals?” he asks me pointedly. “I mean, that’s why you’re in the loneliest place in the library, right, so you won’t run into Russell?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” I ask, chewing on my lip.

“BFO, blinding flash of obvious,” he states brutally.

“What gift can I give him, Freddie, that says, ‘You’re probably the best thing that could ever happen to me, but I can’t be with you?’” I ask him dejectedly. “Because I’ll run right out and get it, regardless of the cost.”

“I don’t know, Evie, but I don’t think you’ll accomplish that with a firewall,” he says with pity.

“Well, maybe it will say, ‘I can’t give you what you want, but I can give you what you need,’” I say sadly.

“A firewall is for protection. What are you protecting him from?” Freddie asks me.

I stare at him in shock; he has an uncanny knack of reading me. I will have to be careful of what I say around him. He is way too intuitive for his own good. “I hadn’t realized the doctor was in, Freddie. Are you a Psych major or something?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “How’d you know?” he asks.

“You’re going to be way too expensive for me when you open your practice,” I say, smiling at him sincerely.

“The couch is always open to you,” he says kindly. “I’ll pick you up at nine on Saturday?” he asks me. “To get the firewall…” he adds, when he sees my confusion.

“Yeah, Freddie. Thanks,” I reply gratefully.

When I return to my room, there is a note attached to my window. Opening it, I read it quickly:

Dear Evie,

I have to leave town for the weekend. If you need me, please contact me on my cell phone. Stay out of trouble and remember the rules. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Reed

I read Reed’s note several times before I crumble it up, throwing it in the garbage can. It remains in the garbage can for at least five minutes before I pull it out, ironing the wrinkled paper with my hands. I read it again, and then it is back in the garbage can again. That note is the most disappointing letter I’ve ever received.

Not only will I not be able to see Reed all weekend, but he also doesn’t say where he is going or what he is doing. He doesn’t say definitively that he’ll be back when the weekend is over either. He tells me to stay out of trouble—like that’s an option given my current lifestyle—and there is the fact that he doesn’t even leave an endearment in there to savor. I’m not counting the “Dear Evie” part because that’s just how you’re supposed to open a letter. Some boyfriend.

Then my paranoid side kicks in, and I start wondering if he is avoiding me. Ugh! Well, good luck because you’re stuck with me, I think. He did leave a note, I admit after sitting on my bed dejectedly for a while. Still lame.

Buns and Brownie save me from spending the night in a deep depression when they come bounding into my room, insisting that I go with them to the party at the Delt House. “The theme is, ‘Peeping Toms and Soccer Moms,’” Brownie informs me while throwing open my closet and rummaging through it.

Despite everything, I laugh. “That’s so funny,” I smile. “Are you going to dress up?”

“We’re going to try to look like MILFs,” Brownie shrugs. “We were thinking of going so that we could check out the composite we want to take for the war. I think those things are screwed into the wall, so we can’t just lift them off—we’ll need a screwdriver.”

I nod my head. “One of those battery-powered screwdrivers would be the fastest. It may make some noise, but not enough for them to hear us if they’re having a house meeting. When do the Delts meet again?” I ask.

“Wednesdays, sweetie,” Buns reminds me. “I’ll buy a battery-powered screwdriver.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to get in their house late at night?” I ask.

“Sweetie, it’s a frat house. There is always someone awake at night in a frat house. I swear those guys play their game consoles all night long,” Buns says, sounding annoyed. “I can’t wait until you see the cute little spy outfits we got online. Yours will look great on you, and it will be very helpful if you get caught because you’ll look too cute to torture.”

“A duel purpose, lovely,” I reply. “I don’t plan on getting caught, though.”

“Does this say MILF or MIRF?” Brownie asks, holding up a short black skirt.

“What’s MIRF?” I ask Buns, trying to figure out the new acronym.

“Oh, it means, ‘Mom I’d Run From,’” Buns says helpfully.

Brownie finally opts for a short skirt and blouse. When I put them on, she makes me turn around and applies a bumper sticker to my bum that reads: “Proud Parent of an Honor Roll Student at Crestwood Elementary,” like I’m a minivan or something.

“You know what would look good with this? The gold bangle bracelets Elise gave me,” Buns says.

“Gold bangles?” I ask, with a crooked smile. “I thought we were supposed to look like soccer moms.”

“We’ll be the LA soccer moms with the au pairs and botox,” Brownie says with a cheeky grin.

When Buns returns with the bracelets, I put them on, and I have to admit, they’re very beautiful. The bracelets make a musical kind of clicking sound when I move my wrist that is kind of sweet, too.

We walk to the Delt House together and when we near it, JT stands up on the railing of the deck and shouts, “Buns!”

“Sweetie!” Buns calls back in typical Buns fashion.

“Ladies, welcome to the Delt House,” JT says, sweeping his arms wide. “Pete, look who’s here,” he says, indicating Brownie. “And Evie! Pete, quick, get her a beer before she passes out,” he says, grinning at me while holding up the peeping torn binoculars from around his neck. “Have you ever been here before, Evie?” JT asks me.

“Once, when I visited the college for a campus tour,” I say, while mentally counting the number of steps it takes to reach the front door from the porch. JT gives us a guided tour of the Delt House; I pay particular attention when he shows us the billiard room that is lined with the most recent composites for the house.

When our tour progresses to other parts of the house, I make the excuse of having to go to the bathroom, telling my group that I’ll catch up with them afterward. I quickly go back downstairs to the rooms near the billiard room. I’m looking for a utility closet for something we’re planning. I luck out when I locate one in the hallway near the billiard room. It’s perfect for what I have in mind. It is the size of a walk-in pantry and it’s only being utilized for cleaning supplies and toiletries.

On a whim, I check the room on the other side of the utility closet. This room is a den with comfortable brown-leather armchairs and low, polished wooden tables that are perfect for spreading out books. As I admire the dark wooden wainscot that circles the room, I notice that I’m not alone. My eyes briefly rest on a couple kissing in the corner, and I quickly look away from them, embarrassed to have barged in on a private moment between them.

I start to back out of the room when recognition hits me; my attention shifts back to the lovers entwined. Russell, sitting in the armchair with a cute little blond on his lap, is to use his own words, helping himself to her. Jealousy like I’ve never known before courses savagely through me. I flush hot and then cold in a matter of seconds. Standing frozen, I finally regain my composure and continue to back out of the room.

Grasping the handle of the door gently, I try not to make a sound, but the bangle bracelets on my wrist click together, alerting Russell to my presence. Russell’s brown eyes lock on mine for a brief moment before I dart out of the room. From behind the closed door, I hear him say, “Ahh shoot, Red, holdup!”

In the hallway, I frantically begin looking around for a place to hide. I immediately duck into the utility closet and close the door. Standing there, panting in the dark, I try to make sense of everything I had seen in the room next door. Had I really just walked in on the love of my past several—I don’t even know how many—lifetimes macking on some girl he just met? I wonder stupidly as hurt and betrayal war inside of me, vying for supremacy.

It’s unreasonable for me to feel this way, given the fact that I know that I can’t be with Russell. This is undoubtedly the best thing for him, but, at this moment, rational thought has no place in my world of hurt. I back up from the door until I come up against the far wall of the closet. I slide down the wall to sit on the floor among the shelves full of rolls of toilet paper and refill bags of liquid hand soap. When the shock of seeing Russell with someone else begins to wear off, I realize that all I want to do is go home and cry.

Hot tears well up in my eyes as I grit my teeth in an effort to keep them back. I can’t cry now… not here with all of these people around to witness it. I have to get out of here.

I don’t try to move when the doorknob of the closet turns and the door begins to open. Light from the hallway slowly falls on my face, and then I hear Russell’s sigh of relief. He quickly slips into the closet, shutting the door behind him. He slides down the door to sit in front of me, blocking out most of the light and making it hard to see his face. Our feet touch as they meet in the middle of the closet, but neither of us speaks for a while, until Russell asks, “Red, why is it that I feel like I need to apologize to ya for this?”

“You don’t, Russell, but I’d be lying to you if I said it doesn’t hurt,” I reply softly, knowing exactly why he feels like he needs to apologize. It’s our connection to one another that is tearing little pieces of his heart away and mine, too. But, I can’t tell him that, any more than I can stop it from happening.

“Yeah, well, I can say that I know how ya feel,” he replies. In a frustrated tone, he asks, “Why’s this happenin’, Red? I can’t be the only one who thinks that we’re perfect together. I can see it in yer eyes when ya look at me. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. Is Reed really yer boyfriend?” Russell asks as if the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He doesn’t wait for my answer before he says, ‘“Cuz I gotta tell ya, Red, I see you with him, and it eats me up inside.”

This is it—this is the moment that I’ve been dreading since I realized what I am, and more importantly, what I’m not. I’m not human enough for Russell, if I was, this may not have been a forgone conclusion. If there was no Reed and my undeniable attraction to him, I know I would’ve been happy with Russell. We would’ve been perfect for each other, but that isn’t safe for Russell. I have to keep Russell safe from what I am and what I’m going to become. He’ll always be in danger if he’s around me, especially if other angels discover that I exist.

My throat constricts, making it almost impossible to speak, but I manage to ask softly, “Russell, what is that girl’s name that you were kissing?”

Russell replies gruffly, “Candace…but it’s not what it looked like, or maybe it’s exactly what it looked like, but ya shut me down, and I saw ya with Reed. Are all y’all together…”

“Yes,” I say cutting him off. “Reed is my…boyfriend. I’m with him, so you should go and see if Candace is still available because I’m not,” I finish, nearly choking on the last couple of words.

I’m grateful that it’s dark in the closet because I don’t think I would survive seeing the pain I’ve caused him with my words. I’m barely surviving the pain I’ve caused myself with my words. Russell is quiet for a while as if processing what I had said to him. I listen to his steady breathing while suppressing the urge that I have to jump up, throw my arms around him, and try to comfort him.

I am concentrating so hard on remaining where I am that he startles me as he says, “Genevieve, just so ya know, this wouldn’t hurt y’all so much if y’all were makin’ the right decision.” Rising from the floor, he leaves the closet, gently closing the door behind him.

Or, maybe because it does hurt so much, it makes it the right decision, I think sadly as I hear him walk away from the door. When I know that he is gone, I leave the oppressive closet and go to find the girls. Whispering covertly to them, I tell them I have some information regarding the composite that I need to write down before I forget it. I explain to them that I’m going back to my room, and when they say they’ll come too, I persuade them to stay and have fun. I want to be alone.

Walking back to my room, I jot down what I can recall regarding the composite, and then I change into my pajamas and go to bed. As I lay awake, crying my heart out into my pillow, I vow that these are the last tears that I’ll cry for Russell.

I spend the next morning worrying about Reed and wondering where he is and what he is doing. This doesn’t help lighten my mood when Freddie picks me up in his white Mercedes and we start on the road to Coldwater. I’m cranky from not getting much sleep last night.

“Freddie, this looks suspiciously like an import. Aren’t you from around Detroit? Shouldn’t you be driving a car made in Detroit?” I ask as I half tease him and half scold him.

Freddie puts his index finger to his lips. “Shh, Evie, she’ll hear you. She was a graduation present from the rents,” he says, petting his steering wheel and grinning. “What’s up with you? Late night party?” Freddie asks me sweetly, reading my mood.

“Not exactly,” I say, and then everything that happened with Russell last night comes tumbling out of my mouth in a rush of uncontrolled emotion.

Freddie lets me talk, listening quietly without interrupting me as I pick apart every detail and nuance that occurred. “And now, I’m going to Coldwater to get him a stupid firewall. I bet Candace wouldn’t go all the way to Coldwater to get him a stupid firewall,” I say scathingly.

Freddie’s eyebrow arches as he says, “I bet you’re right, Evie. I’m sure Russell would prefer your firewall to her firewall and your software, too. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have followed you into that closet last night, but you already know that.”

I exhale slowly. Freddie’s telling me that last night is the direct result of the decisions I’ve made. But I can’t explain to him why I have to do this to protect Russell or the way I feel about Reed.

I sigh, “I know, Freddie, but it’s like there are these two sides of me, and one side wants Reed, and the other side wants Russell. I just want to be whole again.”

“You will be, Evie. You’ll figure it out, and in the meantime, we can take care of Russell’s computer so that Candace can send him emails,” he says playfully, looking at me with a cheeky smile on his face. I stick my tongue out at him as if he’s my bratty brother.

We make it to Coldwater and find an electronics store that stocks firewalls. It doesn’t take me long to pick one out because they only have a couple of models. I make the purchase, and then Freddie and I leave the store. When we stumble upon a small coffee shop, we go in and order a couple of coffees to go.

As we exit with our café lattes, heading to Freddie’s car, I fumble with the plastic lid of my cup, dropping it on the pavement. Bending down to pick it up, I notice a young man passing me on his way into the shop. I admire his tailored, black-leather jacket before a shiver makes the hair on my arms stand up. Something about the man strikes me as being off. I can’t put my finger on it until I stand up and notice his shadow on the ground. It isn’t walking away; it is facing me.

I feel myself growing pale, and my breath rasps along with the rapid pounding of my heart. I study the darkly twisting shadow; it moves like a separate entity. The coffee lid slips from my numb fingers again and a few moments lapse before I can make my legs move. Hurrying to Freddie’s car, I spill coffee over the rim of my cup. Freddie unlocks the doors and starts the engine.

Climbing into his car, I lock the doors before peering out the back window. As Freddie pulls out of the parking lot, the man with the dysfunctional shadow stands by the coffee shop door, watching our car drive away. I shiver in dread, wondering, What was that thing? I scan the auxiliary mirror to see if he’s following us. He noticed me, or at least his shadow did, I think as I shudder in fear again.

Freddie notices that something is wrong and says, “Evie, are you okay? You look pale.”

“Uhh, yeah, Freddie, I’m fine, my coffee is just a little bitter. I should’ve added some more sugar,” I say, using a napkin to wipe the coffee off of my hand.

I burned it when I had spilled my coffee, but I ignore the pain, knowing that it will probably be healed by the time we get back to Crestwood. I use my napkin to cover my hand so that Freddie won’t notice my burn. Leaning back against the seat, I close my eyes. This was a bad idea, I think and wonder how I’m going to explain what I saw to Reed when I’m not even supposed to be in Coldwater.

He’s going to be one hostile angel when I tell him what I did. He wasn’t here to ask, I think grasping at straws, but then I look at my cell phone, and I can already hear the argument that I hadn’t even tried to call him. I worry about the shadow man all the way back to Crestwood as Freddie discusses how he will install the firewall in Russell’s room for me. Freddie doesn’t seem to notice my tension before he drops me off in the parking lot of my dorm.

The drums of the marching band playing at the field house echo outside my window. Russell’s first game is going to start any minute. I had planned on going to support him, but my being there would probably have the opposite effect on him right now. I’m probably the last person on earth he wants to see, I think, and that fact makes me more miserable than I can say.

Lying on my bed, I become aware that I really miss Reed, which is pathetic because he has only been gone a little more than a day. It doesn’t take long for me to break down and try to reach him on my cell phone. I am disappointed when he doesn’t answer. As I listen to his sexy voice on his voicemail message, I wish that I had some way to record it so that I could play it back over and over again like an obsessed groupie.

When I hear the beep that indicates that I should leave a message, I am at a loss as to what to say because I hadn’t planned the call at all. My voice sounds almost breathless as I say, “Hi, Reed, it’s Evie…I miss you…come home soon.” Hanging up the phone, I cringe and cover my face with my hands when I think of the message I just left. You’re so not a playa.

I go to bed early, watching the night sky outside my window and trying to imagine what Reed is doing. I wake up sweating in the dark, clutching my chest where the shadow man had stabbed me in my dream. Gasping for breath, I sob, trying to rub away the echo of pain. I’m whole, I assure myself. I’m uncut... Coldwater was a bad, bad, idea, I think, feeling panic overwhelming me.

With trembling hands, I pull my blanket up higher around me, and I realize that I haven’t taken Reed’s warnings seriously—I’ve been in a state of denial. Reed had said that there are entities out there that would like nothing better than to get their hands on me, but I hadn’t been able to grasp it fully. I’m grasping it now that I’ve seen one of them. If that thing had really come for me in the night, I doubt I’d have even seen it coming. I’d probably already be dead. I hug my pillow as I lie in my bed, waiting for the sun to come up.

CHAPTER 14

Opposites Attract

Getting up early in the morning, I go to breakfast at Saga. Sunday morning isn’t a popular time to eat breakfast due to all the late night partying. Except for a handful of students, the place is empty. Freddie is alone at our table, and as I approach him with my tray, I almost laugh because he reminds me of someone’s dad with his morning paper spread out on the table and a steaming cup of coffee waiting to cool.

“Good morning,” I say.

Freddie lifts his chin in a nod, “Sup, Evie, did you hear? The Chargers won yesterday,” he says cheerfully.

“Yeah, I heard. That’s sweet, huh?” I ask rhetorically.

“It was close, though: twenty-one to seventeen,” he grins.

“Aces,” I reply. “Did you have any problems with the firewall?” I ask, chewing my oatmeal slowly.

“No, it was so easy it almost installed itself,” he says, not looking at me.

“What?” I say, noticing his demeanor is off.

“Nothing,” he says evasively.

“What, Freddie?” I ask him again, seeing that there is something he isn’t telling me.

Reaching down into his bag, Freddie pulls out what is left of the firewall. It looks as if someone had taken a hammer to it, or maybe run it over with a car. “Russell kind of uninstalled it,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” I say, looking at the dented ports and lopsided casing that no longer covers the machine fully. “You might as well throw it out because I doubt they’ll take it back.” And I’m not going back to Coldwater, I think numbly.

“In Russell’s defense, Evie, my boy was really stinking drunk last night,” Freddie says, attempting to lighten the blow of seeing the mangled hardware.

“Right, that makes it so much better, thanks, Freddie,” I say sarcastically, seeing Russell’s anger in the twisted metal.

“Sorry,” he says simply.

“No, I’m sorry. I put you in the middle of this, and for that, I’m truly sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I promise,” I reply, putting my hand over his. “This is between Russell and me, and I’m getting the message loud and clear. I believe the message is: leave me the hell alone.”

“At least he didn’t do what Mason was urging him to do,” he says.

“Oh yeah, what was that?” I ask, feeling my heart sink with dread.

“Mason wanted him to throw it through your window,” Freddie says disgustedly.

“Well, with buddies like that, he ought to be okay,” I say numbly. “So, what are you up to today?” I ask, trying to change the subject and hoping that Freddie will have pity on me and put the firewall back in his bag so I won’t have to look at it all through breakfast.

“Nada. You?” he asks, plucking the unit off the table as if reading my mind.

“Laundry,” I answer in relief. “Then, I have my first game this afternoon.”

“Who’re you playing?” he asks.

“The Kappas I think,” I answer, taking a sip of orange juice.

“What time?” he asks.

“Four,” I say.

“I’ll be there,” he replies, smiling.

“Thanks, Freddie,” I say, but I can’t return his smile no matter how hard I try.

Our first game is drawing a bigger crowd than I expected. The new uniforms might have something to do with that. Our jerseys and skirts are red with a vertical black stripe on either side. The collared, sleeveless shirt molds itself to my body, as does the skirt, leaving little to the imagination. Red knee socks complete the outfit, covering my shin guards. The Kappas are in navy blue skirts with lighter blue tops and light blue knee socks. We all resemble an updated version of the Catholic schoolgirl outfit, which I think is part of the draw.

Seeing Freddie milling around on the sidelines with a couple of other guys, I wave to him. I am just about to go over and speak to Freddie when I notice Russell arriving at the field. He isn’t alone. A flush stains my cheeks when I realize he’s with the girl he was snogging the other night. What is her name… Candace? If jealousy could be a living thing, then it resides in me when I see them holding hands and standing close to each other, talking intimately.

Why is he here with her? I wonder, until I notice that Candace is wearing a blue uniform, and it dawns on me that Russell is here to cheer her on. Attempting to hide my outrage, I storm over to where my teammates are warming up. As I stretch, I try to ignore them when Russell gives Candace a good-luck kiss and a less than fraternal pat on her butt before she joins her team.

It’s too dangerous for me to be around him, I think, reminding myself once again that it is better for Russell not to be anywhere near me, but it’s hard to remember that with the hot coils of envy burning me.

The referees signal the captains up for the coin toss, and Brownie goes to call it. Tossing the coin in the air, Brownie wins it, and she elects to take the center pass. I run onto the field to get into position near the centerline. A few moments later, Candace lines up directly across from me near the white, chalky line.

It seems grossly unfair to me that she can be beautiful, even with a sneer on her lips as she says, “Hey, psycho, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my boyfriend’s room.”

My eyes widen as I ask, “Excuse me?” unsure of what she means.

With a condescending smile, she adds, “It’s probably illegal what you did yesterday—messing with Russell’s computer.” She rests her stick across her knees as she leans forward. “Everyone thinks you’re a psycho freshman groupie for breaking into his room,” she says, watching my face.

I’m so mortified; my blush matches my red jersey. For a moment, I have a vision of crushing her throat under my cleat. I’m on fire inside, but my tongue turns to ash in my mouth, so I can’t respond.

The referee sets the ball on the line before blowing his whistle. Buns takes possession of the ball to start the game. Hitting it ahead to Brownie, we run up the field together while Brownie flicks the ball to Weeza. I easily run around Candace, who is actively attempting to get in my way. Trying to anticipate the play and be in a good position to accept a pass, I hear the sound of my own breathing. The noise from the crowd fades as I focus on my objective. I don’t have long to wait for a pass as the ball comes arcing toward my stick from Babs. Bringing my stick down low to control the ball, I redirect it forward toward the D. Easily outmaneuvering Candace, I propel the ball into the striking circle as Buns runs ahead of me to take a position near the goal.

I scoop the ball toward Buns, who brings her stick down to handle the pass; then she redirects the stick, sending the ball in the direction of the goal. It sails by the Kappas’ goalkeeper, who lunges awkwardly toward it. Goal! I think as the crowd bursts into applause. Grinning, I hug Buns, congratulating her on an excellent shot as we walk back to our huddle. The Kappas now have possession of the ball from the centerline. I go to the mid-field line once again, and Candace lines up opposite me.

Candace sends me a fake smile from across the chalk. “You know, we were all talking about coming over to your dorm room last night…we were going to throw that thing you put on Russell’s computer right through your window,” Candace says smugly.

“That thing is called a firewall, Candace,” I reply in a low tone.

She wrinkles her nose. “Whatever, geek,” she retorts.

The whistle blows, and one of the Kappa attackers flicks the ball ahead, trying to get it by me using poor stick handling. I easily take possession of the ball, reversing it. Pushing the ball ahead to Babs, I sprint forward so that I can help her out near the striking circle. The Kappas don’t even touch the ball before Babs scoops it ahead to me again.

Entering the D with Babs, I notice the Kappa defender screening her own goalie. Knowing the goalie can’t see me through all that traffic, I immediately search for an opening before taking a shot at the goal. The goalkeeper hardly even moves in the direction of the ball as it flies into the goal. The crowd on the sidelines applauds my goal loudly, but I almost don’t feel good about it because now I have to go back to the center line and listen to Candace again.

I walk over to the huddle, receiving congratulatory hugs from my teammates as the referee sets up the ball on the center line again. Lining back up, Candace doesn’t look happy. “Nice goal, psycho,” she says with faux sweetness. “That’s about the only way a girl like you is going to score. Is it true what Russell said about you…that you’re still a virgin?”

My eyes narrow, I will kill him, I think as color flees from my face. Russell must have told her that… said something. When the whistle blows, I don’t move and neither does Candace; we both stand eye to eye, sneering at each other.

Brownie sees what is going on and runs back to pull me away from Candace. “Don’t let her get to you, Evie,” Brownie says, putting her arm around me. “I’ll trade sides with you. You can line up on the other side. We’ll get you the ball so you can score again. They really suck this year.”

I try to shrug it off, “Sure, okay,” I reply, but all I really want to do is just go back to my room and hide for a while.

I switch sides with Brownie, and I am given the ball several more times, scoring on each possession. By half time, it is over. The crowd has dwindled because the Kappas are being shut out seventeen to zero. The referees talk to the captains, and the Kappas agree to forfeit the second half.

Walking over to the sidelines, I pour water into a paper cup. Searching the crowd for Freddie, I can’t find him. He must’ve left before half time. I really can’t blame him because it was an awful game to play, let alone watch. Sipping my water, I hear Candace complaining to Russell about the referees and bad officiating. She’s delusional if she thinks they had any chance of coming back in the second half. Russell doesn’t say anything about the game, but he tries to make her feel better by taking her in his arms and hugging her. A painful ache swells in my chest as I watch them together. I remember what it feels like to be held by him like that, and I have to turn away.

Deciding that I’ve been tortured enough for one day, I look around for Brownie and Buns. I want to let them know I’m ready to leave, but I pause and bring my hand to my abdomen when a small, fluttering sensation tickles me. Dropping the paper cup, I search around for any sign of Reed while the sensation grows steadily. Within a few heartbeats, I see him walking toward the field from the parking lot near the field house.

Seeing Reed again causes me to have tunnel vision; I forget everything else around me except him. Awash with excitement and the anxiety of a new relationship, my feet leave a snaillike pattern in the dewy grass as I move toward him. All the anger and embarrassment of the past couple hours melts away as I pick up my pace, running the last few steps to meet him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rest my face against his chest.

“Reed,” I breathe softly, “You’re back…I missed you.”

CHAPTER 15

Light And Shadow

A slow, sexy smile travels all the way to Reed’s eyes as he hugs me to him. Leaning close to my ear, he murmurs, “I missed you, too,” like he is telling me a secret that only we share. My heart beats harder with happiness while my cheeks flood with color. “Did I miss your game?” he asks me with disappointment in his tone, looking over at the field.

I give a little shrug, “You probably would’ve made the second half, but the Kappas had to forfeit—it was a shut out,” I reply, grateful that there’ll be no second half.

“That bad, huh?” he asks me with a quirk of his eyebrow. When I nod, his green eyes sparkle with pleasure. “Did you score?” he asks me interestedly, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear that has escaped from one of my braids.

“Yes, but everyone scored at least once, so that’s not such a huge accomplishment,” I say honestly, watching him as his smile grows a little bigger.

“Do you have plans now, or can you take a ride with me? We could go to my house for a while,” he asks me softly.

A small laugh resonates from him when I immediately nod my head enthusiastically. Turning around, he keeps one arm around my shoulder as we walk to his car. I spy Brownie and Buns watching me leave with Reed, so I wave goodbye to them as we retreat to the parking lot. Reaching his car, he pauses before opening the passenger door to kiss me gently. Feeling breathless and giddy, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I breathe near his ear.

“So am I,” he whispers in return.

Opening my door for me, he waits while I climb into the seat. Walking around to the driver’s side, he gets in, too. Taking my hand, he places a tender kiss on it before releasing it so he can shift the car into gear.

A small frown clouds his eyes as he says, “I am sorry I left you here alone this weekend. I have been worried about you. How have you been?”

“I’m better now that you’re back.” I say evasively, and then ask, “Where did you go? Your note didn’t say.”

“A friend contacted me regarding a military issue he needed help resolving,” Reed says soberly. “I didn’t want to go—I didn’t want to leave you here unprotected, but had I not gone, I would have run the risk of my friend becoming suspicious about what would keep me from a mission,” he says, looking at me pointedly. “I would like to avoid that if at all possible.”

Frowning, I ask, “Why wouldn’t you want your friend to come here?”

Reed scans my face briefly before he answers reluctantly, “My friend is an angel.”

“Ohh…and that’s a problem because?” I trail off, hoping his answer wouldn’t be terrible.

Reed’s frown deepens and his lips thin a little as he says, “Let me be perfectly clear about this, Evie. Just because he is not a fallen angel, that does not make him safe to you. Do not confuse our nature with that of a greeting card angel. We are warriors, lethal predators, and in many ways, our time here on Earth has taught us self-preservation, and in some cases, self indulgence as well. Zephyr would most certainly recognize what you are, and I would rather not kill him if I can avoid it,” he says evenly.

“You’re sure that he—um, that Zephyr—would try to hurt me?” I ask sadly, thinking that if Reed is afraid to trust his friend to be near me, to know that I exist, then we have some serious issues to discuss.

“I don’t know. As I said before, we are jealous creatures, and there is any number of things that he could object to where you’re concerned. You elicit extreme emotion, and I don’t know if he would interpret you as a threat, or something else,” he says.

Studying him for a moment, I can tell that he has thought a lot about this. My eyes narrow as I wonder aloud, “If not a threat, then what?”

Reed’s voice is a little stiff when he replies, “Perhaps he would be drawn to you as well.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, you mean I might give him butterflies, too?” I ask, doubtfully.

“Yes,” he says gravely.

“And that thought bothers you?” I ask him in surprise.

“Yes,” he says, watching the road ahead.

I sigh heavily as I ask, “Reed, why would you choose to help me over your friend—your ally?” I still don’t really understand just how I’ve won him as my champion. I’m a half-breed and he’s, well, a perfect being.

Reed’s frown deepens as he says quietly, “You are my responsibility now, and I will protect you.”

My heart sinks a little as I mutter, “You make me sound like I’m an obligation.”

“You are alone, and you are fragile,” he murmurs, gazing at me as he drives through town.

“Kittens are fragile. I’m a woman…um, an angel… thing,” I end uncertainly.

Reed tries to suppress the smile that is forming on the corners of his lips as he says, “You are kittenish compared to us—as any angel would be at your age. That’s why I want to hide you— at least until you grow stronger.”

“Is that why you didn’t call me all weekend, so your friend wouldn’t overhear you talking to me?” I ask him, suddenly understanding that he was protecting me by not calling me.

“Yes…I did listen to the message you left me a few times. I liked it. Next time, leave a longer message and tell me about your day or, I don’t know, anything. I like hearing your voice,” Reed admits.

“Okay,” I say, smiling, “if you promise that the next time you leave me a note, there will be at least one endearment in it because I don’t count ‘Dear Evie’ as an endearment.”

“You didn’t like my note?” he asks.

“No, I didn’t. It was lame,” I say with a little pout.

“It was lame? What should it have said?” he asks in amusement, while regarding my demeanor.

“Hmm, let me think…Dear Evie, whom I adore passionately, I promise to be back as soon as possible because I’ll miss you too much to be gone long. In fact, I can’t possibly leave without you, so I’ll see you when you get here,” I finish, smiling coyly at him. Reed’s eyes turn a deeper green while he watches me explain the note I want him to write to me.

“I left you that brief note because I didn’t want to pressure you,” he says softly. “I know that you must have feelings for Russell—how could you not? He is your soul mate. I am not really sure where I stand with you. But I liked your voice message, and I would not mind if you chose to greet me the way that you did at the field again.”

“You’re asking me where you stand…with me?” I ask as we ride up the well manicure driveway to his home.

“Only if you’re ready to talk about it,” he says gently.

I listen to his even breathing for a moment, trying to collect all of the splintered fragments that make up such a complex being—so that I can try to explain to him what he is to me. A blush creeps over my cheeks as I say in a breathless voice, “You’re what I want. No other angel, or man, will ever stand above you in my esteem, in my regard, or in my love.”

I don’t think Reed was at all prepared for what I had just said to him. We haven’t quite reached the circular drive in front of his house when he applies the break and the car rolls to a gentle stop. He isn’t looking at me; rather, he’s staring out of the windshield at the darkening sky. “But, I was sure that you and Russell…that it is meant…that you and he—” Reed begins, but I interrupt him.

“No. I told Russell this weekend that you are what I want,” I explain, attempting to read what he’s thinking.

Reed, stiffening as if he’s angry, says firmly, “Evie, you don’t have to do this. I will protect you regardless of who you choose to be with. You need not fear that you will lose me as a guardian if you and Russell…”

My eyes widen as I realize he doesn’t believe me. “Reed,” I explain quickly, “I love Russell. I have a feeling that I’ve always loved Russell, and that I’ll always love Russell. But it doesn’t matter anymore how I feel about him because all of that is obscured now. You outshine everything, and I find that I only want to be with you.”

In an instant, Reed cuts the engine of the car and disappears from the driver’s seat. A half a second later, I jump, startling as my door opens.

With an apologetic grimace, he says, “Sorry,” while unbuckling my seatbelt and lifting me out of the car in one fluid motion.

In less than a second, we’re at the front door of the house; mere fractions after that, I’m in a room I haven’t been in yet. It’s a spacious bedroom, probably the master bedroom by the look of it. Reed sets me on my feet by the door, and I creep forward into his room. Gazing around me avidly, there is an enormous bed centered against the far wall. The other walls are lined with oil paintings in guided frames. There are also polished, gleaming bookshelves with row upon row of leather-bound books—probably works of art in their own right.

“Your room?” I ask, turning back to him where he stands leaning against the closed bedroom door watching me.

“Yes,” he replies. “I want to show you something.”

“You do?” I ask, smiling as I wander over to the bedside table.

My eyes roam lightly over an intricately carved statue that stands no higher than a foot tall. I pick it up, studying it. Allowing my fingertips to trace over the smooth, ash-white surface, I marvel at the detail and delicate lines of the lissome woman in repose on a Grecian chaise. She looks like a goddess, and there is something really familiar about the piece— the dress the woman wears in particular. As I focus on the statue’s face, recognition dawns me. It’s me! This is a carved statue of me.

“This is the dress I wore to sit for the portrait Mr. MacKinnon is doing!” I whisper.

“Do you like it?” Reed asks from just behind me.

“It’s beautiful. Did you do this?” I ask in awe that he can produce such magic out of a piece of stone.

“Yes,” he replies softly.

“I didn’t know that you’re an artist!” I exclaim, studying the delicately carved figure.

“I haven’t done anything in a while until recently…I was inspired,” he says with a stunning smile that makes my hands feel shaky.

I gently set the statue down and content myself with just looking at it from where it is on the table. Noticing another one next to it, I can’t help picking it up. This one resembles me as well, but this time in a field hockey uniform. My marble likeness is frozen in an aggressive pose on the brink of smacking the ball with my stick; the likeness is uncanny.

I study it for a moment, and then I ask, “Those statues, the ones in the library, the one you crushed when I was here before, you did those, too?”

“Yes,” he says, and I can tell he is remembering the day I had hurt my knee.

“The one you broke was of an angel. Was she a friend of yours?” I ask, smiling over my shoulder at him.

“Evie, do you miss anything?” he asks. He embraces me from behind, his arms wrapping around my waist.

I place his work gently back on the polished table before I twist in his arms. Pressing my ear to his chest, I listen to his heartbeat pulse a driving rhythm in my ear. No,” I say breathlessly.

Reed gently pushes me away from him as he says softly, “Evie…I brought you here to show you something. Something you need to see before you can make any decisions about what it is you think you want.”

“What do you want to show me?” I ask with a puzzled expression as he backs a few steps away from me.

Reed’s eyes are dark and watchful as his hand reaches up to his crisp, white shirt, slowly unthreading a button through the eyelet. Heat creeps into my cheeks as each button exposes more of his perfect chest and torso. When his shirt lies loose, he pauses to gauge my reaction. I didn’t really know that I’d moved closer to him, so it is a surprise to me when my fingertips graze his bare chest. His skin is smooth and perfect, lacking the imperfections of human flesh. With every centimeter of his skin I touch, my heart races a mile. As my hands travels upward under his shirt, I lift it off of his shoulders, sliding it down his arms and letting it fall to the floor.

This is where some of my courage begins to desert me. Apprehension enters Reed’s eyes as the sound of popping and crunching bone resonates from behind him. My eyes widen, seeing a mass of charcoal-hued feathers rising from behind his broad shoulders and continuing to arch well past his neck to about midway behind his head. The raspy sound of my shallow breathing echoes in my ears while his wings retract into a resting position. He hasn’t unfolded them fully so I have no idea just how far they can expand.

I am vaguely aware of my fingernails digging into the palms of my hand as I breathe only one word, “Oh!”

I back away from him a few steps before coming up against the edge of his bed. My knees buckle, and I half fall down on it, catching myself to rest on my elbows. It’s as if time has slowed down or maybe it just doesn’t exist anymore as I focus all of my attention on the creature in front of me. Staring at Reed, I think that maybe it hasn’t been too long since my transition into adulthood—and the subsequent abandoning of a world where things like this are possible—because being thrust over the threshold into this uncanny reality isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Slowly, so as not to break the spell of this moment, I climb off his bed. I creep forward tentatively, feeling his perfect, predatory eyes tracking every nuance of my movement toward him.

Reaching out, I trace the line of his clavicle to his left shoulder, circling around him and feeling his iron-strong contours play beneath my fingers. My fingertips slip from his shoulder to his charcoal-colored wing; they skim down the strong, downy appendage, feeling its silky texture. His wings nearly reach to the floor and are pointed, like that of a falcon. Lifting my hand, I place it upon his other wing, continuing slowly around the back of Reed like a ring to his Saturn. When I am before him again, my arms reach up, circling behind his neck.

“You’re magnificent,” I breathe, touching his hair gently. “Can you move them?” I ask, wanting to see the graceful limbs demonstrate their power.

Reed nods, his eyes never leaving my face. Extending his wings quickly, they make a snapping sound like a sheet being shaken out. The edges of his wings spread wide, causing the feathers to serrate to sharp points.

My eyes soften as I ask, “They’re lovely. When do I get mine?”

Reed’s eyes soften, too. “You’re not frightened of me?” he asks me in a perplexed tone.

With his dappled, charcoal wings towering around me, I say honestly, “A little, but it’s really more thrilling than frightening. How do they fit inside you? They’re huge! I mean, is it uncomfortable to pack them away…because I don’t get how they go in and out like that…does it hurt? What’s it like to fly? How did you learn to use them…did you just know instinctually, or was there, like, a flight school?” I stop talking when Reed bends down and kisses me.

He breaks off the kiss soon after beginning it, to my absolute frustration, to ask, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because you’re a really good kisser,” I reply, rising up on my tiptoes and trying to start up where we left off in the kiss.

Reed pulls back, just enough to see my face better, and says, “Every human I have ever encountered who has seen my wings is…well…terrified. I have to persuade them that they saw nothing in order to get most of them to stop screaming at me.”

“Oh, well, maybe it’s because I already knew what you are, you see, so I wasn’t very surprised. Anyway, you’re not the scariest thing I saw this weekend,” I reply as an afterthought, before again attempting a continuation of the kiss.

“Pardon me, what did you say?” Reed asks politely, frowning.

My teeth tug at my bottom lip. You idiot! Way to ruin the moment, I think, closing my eyes in a grimace that lends weight to my words.

“Evie, what did you see this weekend?” Reed asks sharply, grasping both my upper arms and frowning down at me.

“I was going to tell you, but I forgot because I was so happy to see you—”

Reed cuts me off by letting go of one of my arms and covering my mouth with his hand. His voice is edgy when he says, “The scariest thing you saw this weekend was…”

He stops speaking and uncovers my mouth so that I can fill in the blank. I quickly tell Reed about going to Coldwater and seeing the shadow man in the parking lot of the coffee shop. When I finish, Reed’s frown is darker.

“Evie, that thing, your ‘shadow man,’ is nothing short of a demon from Sheol wrapped in a human host,” Reed says, looking grave.

My voice is weak as I ask, “A what?”

“When the Fallen are awarded a soul from a human, they take it to Sheol, to the abyss. It gets changed, mutated by them over time. It grows more corrupt, and if it becomes evil enough, they release it so that it may find a human host, someone vulnerable in some way, to possess. To most normal humans, the possessed person can usually go undetected. They never see what it truly is. There are exceptions, but for the most part they wreak their havoc on the world unchallenged by humans. We can see them easily and dispatch them when we come across them.” He pauses to study my face, before he says, “It sensed you, and yet it did not attack you.”

His comment strikes me like a veiled accusation. I pale, stammering, “Well, we were at a coffee shop. Maybe he hadn’t had his first cup of coffee yet…I mean, I rarely start working until I get that first cup of coffee.”

Reed’s lips turn down grimly. “No, Evie, that’s not it…you said his shadow seemed to be looking at you?” he asks me.

I nod, feeling a lump forming in my throat. “So, are you saying that it probably thought that I was one of them—an evil spawn released on the world to destroy it?”

Reed’s eyebrows rise. “No, that is not what I’m saying! Evie, what I’m saying is either it did not realize what you are exactly, and it was puzzled, or it was intimidated by you because you are part angel.”

“You mean, it might’ve thought I could kick its’ butt?” I ask, relaxing a bit.

“Yes, it’s strong—much stronger than you are, but I’m not sure it knew that. Whatever the case was, whether the demon was confused or intimidated, you were lucky. That thing could have eviscerated you without even spilling your coffee,” Reed says slowly, trying to make me see the gravity of the situation. His eyebrows lower dangerously as he points out, “You should not have even been in Coldwater.”

My face is ashen as I say, “I know, I know, I know!” Trudging over to his bed, I sit on the edge of it and hug one of his pillows for comfort, the mocha-silk bolster flattens against me as I say, “I know we talked about the rules you want me to follow; we talked about a lot of things…and I know that I’m different. I saw my knee mend itself, and I understand that you’re an angel and that you told me there are scary monsters, but that doesn’t mean I could actually wrap my head around the dangers of my actions.”

Dropping my eyes from his and worrying the edge of the pillow with my fingers, I continue, “It’s like my brain can’t dwell on the fact that I need to be cautious because there are seriously so many phenomena occurring in my life from day to day that I’m becoming unable to focus on them all. You could say that I was pretty much in denial about scary monsters until I saw the shadow man, but now that I have, I’m totally on board with the rules. You say, ‘no Coldwater,’ and I say, ‘Amen.’”

Flopping back on the bed with my legs still dangling over the edge, I put the pillow over my face to hide. The bed moves under Reed’s weight as he sits next to me, pulling the pillow from my face to ask, “When?”

“Saturday mid-morning,” I reply, staring up at him apologetically.

“Did it follow you?” he asks, staring down at me tensely.

“I don’t know. Freddie was driving. I watched the auxiliary mirror to see if it was chasing us, but I didn’t see anything.” I explain, rising up to lean on my elbows.

“Who is Freddie? What did you tell him?” he wants to know.

“He’s just a student—my friend—and I didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t seem to notice that anything was sketchy,” I reply quickly.

“You had better start from the beginning of the weekend and try not to leave anything out.” Reed sighs, lying down on the bed next to me on top of his wings. His arm stretches up to drape across his eyes, like he’s weary of my explanations already.

I start from the point that I had found his note on my window. I am brief when explaining the party at the Delt house. I tell him Buns and Brownie had invited me to go with them as my reason for being there. I don’t want to explain the plot to swipe the composite because I’m afraid that our plan might fall under the heading of “nothing dangerous.”

I am very nonspecific about my conversation with Russell as well. It isn’t because I don’t want Reed to know about it—I believe he deserves to know the specifics of what occurred between Russell and me. It’s just that I’m still emotionally raw over what happened and I can’t trust myself not to cry if I tell him everything.

When I end, I study Reed’s face to see how he’s reacting to what I had told him. He’s in much the same position that he had been in when I had started. His arm shields his eyes from me so that I can’t see what he’s thinking. At his continued silence, my mind races, and I begin to understand what I’ve done. Panic slithers icily through my veins, and I feel sick.

“I’m dead…aren’t I?” I ask Reed in a near whisper. “All I had going for me was the fact that no one knew I was here. That was my advantage, and now it’s gone.”

Reed’s arm falls away from his eyes, and he frowns. “No, Evie,” Reed says gently, “it will be okay—there are other advantages.”

“What else is there?” I ask him bluntly, feeling anxious and scared.

“There is you and there is me…you are cunning and courageous. Soon you will be strong enough to face your shadow man and defeat him. Until then, you have me,” he says, which makes my throat burn with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp, feeling guilty and horrible.

Reed’s hand reaches out to cup my chin, lifting my eyes to his, he says, “I’m sorry, too…I should never have left you alone. I should have made you see the importance of what I was saying. You would never have been there without me if I had not made the wrong decision.” His jaw is tight as he adds, “The problem I am facing with you is that you are so unorthodox that it is difficult to predict what you will do next. That is a great asset to protect you against your enemies because it makes you formless, but it also makes protecting you difficult for me as well,” Reed says, his expression pained.

“Reed, I’m a logistical and tactical nightmare. You can’t be in two places at once. Stop making this about anyone else’s bad judgment but mine,” I say grimly, and as an exclamation point to my statement, my stomach growls loudly.

Reed’s eyes narrow suspiciously, “When did you last eat?” he asks.

“Breakfast I think,” I reply, but don’t tell him I barely ate then because the smashed firewall made me lose my appetite.

“Evie!” Reed says sternly. “You need to eat. You should take better care of yourself,” Reed says, getting up off the bed.

I replace the pillow I had taken from his bed. Looking up at Reed again, my mouth falls open because his wings are no longer visible. “How did you?” I ask, gazing fixedly at his back while he shrugs into a new t-shirt that I never saw him move to get.

His smile is heart stopping, making me forget what I am saying. Looking down so that I can try to remember what I’m doing, I realize that I’m still in my grubby hockey uniform and cleats. I smile self-effacingly, saying, “I hope Andre has leftovers in the refrigerator because I’m not dressed for dinner.”

“I gave Andre the weekend off since I was not here. I’m sure we can manage in the kitchen if that is more appealing than dining out,” Reed says.

“Whatever you have I’m sure is fine,” I reply.

At a more sedate pace than when we arrived, Reed leads me out into the hallway. We pass several doors in the corridor leading to the staircase. I want to peek in at each one to see what lies beyond the doors, but my stomach growls again, and I resign myself to asking for a tour of the house later. When we arrive in the kitchen, Reed has to show me where the refrigerator is housed because the sleek cabinetry artfully hides it. I rummage through the refrigerator and freezer until I spot something divine.

“Reed! You have frozen mac and cheese!” I grin at him, pulling out the familiar orange box with black lettering from the freezer.

“Is that good?” he asks me with a skeptical expression.

My eyebrows rise, “You’ve never had it?” I ask him.

“No, I don’t think so…it must be something Andre enjoys,” he says, studying the box suspiciously.

“Reed, you haven’t lived!” I say enthusiastically. “Where’s the microwave?” I ask, looking around for the appliance so I can cook it.

After Reed points it out to me, I get to work preparing the mac and cheese. Reed, watching my every move, helps me locate a bowl. Using a fork, I stir the creamy, piping-hot macaroni, and then I scoop a little bit out. Blowing on it softly to cool it, I cup my hand under the fork so that I won’t drop any.

I bring the fork to Reed’s mouth, saying, “Taste this!” Reed never takes his eyes from mine as he allows me to feed him the mac and cheese from my fork. “What do you think…it’s good, huh?” I ask, realizing now that the act of feeding him is so sensual that I want to do it again.

“Delicious,” he replies in a sultry tone that makes me almost drop the fork “May I?” Reed asks, taking the fork from my hand. He scoops up some mac and cheese and blows on it as I had done. Holding the fork near my mouth, my heart nearly separates from my chest as I let him feed it to me.

“Mmmm,” I smile, “almost as good as Twinkies,” I murmur.

I retrieve another fork from the drawer, before hopping up onto the counter to sit next to the bowl of mac and cheese. Reed grins as I pat the counter on the other side of the bowl. He follows my lead and sits next to me, using his fork to get another bite of macaroni for himself. We eat together in companionable silence. I keep stealing glances at him whenever I can’t resist any longer.

“What’s our next move, Reed?” I ask as we finish the macaroni.

“I want you to stay here tonight,” he says, watching me for my reaction. “I will give you a bedroom to sleep in near mine.”

He wants to torture me for breaking the rules. I begin to squirm a bit, imagining sleeping so near to him, feeling the butterflies all night long and having to resist the pull of our attraction.

Resting my fork in the empty bowl, I ask, “Is that such a good idea?”

Reed nods. “I have to make sure your shadow man is not waiting for you. I’ll go and do a sweep of the area and your room,” he says, putting his fork in the bowl and hopping down from the counter.

“Wait!” I all but shout at him. “You can’t! What if he is there? He is really creepy and you could get hurt—I’m coming with you,” I finish, jumping down off the counter.

In the next second, I’m right back up upon the counter, seated as if I hadn’t moved at all. Reed’s hands rest loosely on my waist while he stares into my eyes with a smile that could melt ice. “No, you’ll stay here,” he says firmly.

“It’s freaky how fast you can move,” I say breathlessly.

“Is it?” he asks with a sublime smile.

“You know it is,” I reply.

His tries to suppress his smile, “Speed is an asset when one is hunting shadow men,” he replies.

“But what if he really is out there,” I reason, touching Reed’s hair gently.

“He is really out there,” Reed replies, “You saw him.”

I pale as I whisper, “Yeah, I saw him.”

“And if it followed you, I will find it,” he replies with a menacing look that I know isn’t directed at me.

Panic increases my need to keep him here, so I ask, “Won’t that just release the evil soul from the body? It could then return to Hell…uh, Sheol, couldn’t it?” I try to think about what that might mean for me if its evil soul makes it back to Hell and is able to report what it has seen.

“Yes, but I have no choice. I cannot have it stalking you,” Reed answers grimly. Reed’s fingertips brush my cheek. “Evie, it is okay. There is no way a shadow man can hurt me. He is almost as weak as you are,” he says, trying to reassure me.

“Gee, thanks Reed, that makes me feel sooo much better,” I say sarcastically, and he laughs delightedly at my sullen expression.

As I frown at him, Reed’s smile turns sultry. “You are so beautiful, you make me want to forget my duty and give in to your every whim,” he says softly while his cheek grazes mine. “But, really, Evie, it is not even a challenge to dispatch the shadow man if it is around. So, I will show you to your room and you can relax while I go and take care of a few things.”

I can hardly think, let alone argue with Reed as he helps me off the counter. Then, he leads me upstairs to the room next to the one that I know to be his. He opens the door and I let out a deep sigh because it is so lovely. A beautiful wrought iron headboard graces the bed, which is covered with a snowy-white comforter and large, sumptuous pillows. Dark hardwood floors are adorned with thick, white rugs. Glass-fronted bookshelves containing art as well as books make a library of one wall. The huge bathroom attached to the room only makes the suite more splendid. It has every amenity ever conceived for a bathroom, including a spa tub with separate spa shower, heat lamps, heated towel racks, beautiful sinks with scented soaps, and bath salts.

Looking around in wonder, I whisper, “This is the nicest bathroom I’ve ever been in.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Reed says as his eyes soften. “There are towels here, and there are robes there in case you need them,” he says, opening doors to the linen closets. We return to the bedroom, and Reed shows me the cabinet that houses the TV and the mini bar.

Trying to delay Reed’s departure, I say, “You don’t have to go now. We could watch some TV.”

Reed smiles and pulls me into his arms. Kissing the top of my head, he says, “I will be fine, Evie. Relax.”

His assurance does nothing to relieve the panic rushing through me. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck while standing on my tiptoes. Touching my lips to his, it is like tinder; all of the passion I’ve been holding back since I saw him at the field slowly emerges and catches fire. I’m not sure of how long we were locked in each other’s arms, but Reed groans before he gently pulls away from me.

Opening my eyes, I whisper in his ear, “Now you have incentive to be careful.”

“No, now I have incentive to kill him quickly,” Reed whispers back, then the wind stirs my hair, and without my seeing him leave, he is gone.

Relax…I think as I lounge in the huge bathtub in the beautiful bathroom. I unbraid my hair and wash it before lying back to soak in the tub. I should be enjoying this, but I’m not; I’m worrying about Reed. I give up trying to relax and use my toe to push down the lever to engage the drain. Wrapping myself in a large, silk robe I find in the closet, I walk into the bedroom.

The room is warm—balmy from an Indian summer. I push back the wispy, white curtains at the window next to the bed and open it, letting a soft breeze dance over my skin. As I gaze at the autumn moon, I think of Reed out there alone—casting his swift, predatory shadow from above while hunting an even darker prey. Turning away from the window, I search for a distraction—maybe some TV would help. Locating the remote, I switch it on and sit on the bed, but I can’t focus. I just keep waiting to feel fluttering in my stomach to alert me that Reed has returned. Lying back against the pillows of the bed, I close my eyes to see if that will help me feel him.

I must’ve fallen asleep because when my eyes open, the first sign of dawn’s light comes shining through the long, white curtains. I stir in the big bed, feeling fluttering in my stomach. My eyes search for Reed, finding him just inside the door, leaning against the wall, watching me with a strange look on his face. Smiling sleepily at him, I sit up, rubbing my eyes, but when I pull my hand back from my face, a shower of red floats past my line of sight. I look down in confusion to see what it is and discover rose petals, in the deepest shade of red, blanketing the bed.

With a half-smile, thinking it is a supremely romantic gesture, I ask Reed, “Did you do this?”

My lazy smile falters when Reed shakes his head no; it dissipates completely when I read his grim expression. Pulling back the blanket, I try not to disturb the petals as I get out of bed. Tightening the belt on my borrowed robe, I walk to where Reed is standing statue-still. From the vantage point by the doorway, it’s clear that the roses haven’t been arranged haphazardly; rather, they’re strewn in an intricate pattern. It’s as if a cold draft is blowing across my skin as I easily recognize the shape of a circle and infinity sign entwined.

My voice is tight as I again ask, “You didn’t do this?” He shakes his head slowly, still staring at the bed. “If you didn’t do this, then who?” I ask him, hoping he has an answer. Using his index finger, he points up and my heart begins beating wildly in my chest. “Someone was here—another angel?” I ask.

“Yes,” Reed affirms grimly, and all of the hair rises on my arms. “It was probably a Reaper angel or a Virtue angel… they’re duty isn’t to kill, that’s what Power angels do.”

“Are you a Power angel?” I ask him.

“I am,” Reed nods. Then, in a deadly calm voice, Reed asks, “What haven’t you told me, Evie?”

My mouth goes dry, “Um, what do you mean?’ I hedge.

“What don’t I know about you?” he asks in the same voice.

“Let me think?” I say, looking up, “Well, I told you I was having nightmares, right?” I ask.

“You did. Can you connect them in any way to this symbol?” he asks.

“Sort of…” I say tentatively, while seeing his jaw tighten.

“Explain,” he says in a low tone.

“Um, well…that symbol you see there—on the bed—it’s always in my dream.”

His eyes narrow. “How so?” he asks calmly.

“Uh, well, in my dream, there is this necklace with this symbol on it—circle and infinity—and I’m trying to hold onto it.”

“A necklace? Have you seen it before? Is it yours?” he asks me in rapid-fire succession.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it recently,” I say sheepishly.

“Where?” he asks me, looking truly grim now as if he knows the answer to his question.

“On Russell,” I murmur.

Reed grows very pale as all emotion flees from his face. Quickly, I rush into an explanation regarding what Russell had told me about his necklace, Russell’s Paradox, and how his family treated it like a joke.

When I finish, Reed asks stiffly, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Unease rattles through me like a penny rolling down a staircase. “I didn’t know it was important—what do you think it means?” I ask him worriedly.

Reed frowns, but only says, “You should get dressed. I brought some of your clothes back from your room.” With a gesture of his hand, he indicates the bag that had been dropped just outside the bedroom door. Then, he is gone.

I retrieve my clothing from the hall and think about Reed’s reaction to the roses left on the bed. He seems more upset about it than I am. Maybe it’s because I’m more immune to the symbol, since I’ve been dreaming it for months; but the pain that I saw in his eyes worries me. He must think that he knows what it means, and he isn’t completely thrilled about it.

After I change, fix my hair, and brush my teeth, I put my hockey uniform back in the bag. Finding the wastepaper basket, I manage to pick up all of the petals before I make the bed, and then I head downstairs in search of my angel. I find Reed in the kitchen, sitting at the table waiting for me. He rises, pulling out a chair for me to sit in. After seating himself, he passes me a tray of French toast. I serve myself as he pours me a glass of orange juice. I study his face to see if his mood has lightened at all. It hasn’t; he can hardly look at me. That’s a bad sign…

Unwilling to dive right in on theories, I ask in a sanguine tone, “How did it go last night?”

He doesn’t look at me as he replies, “Badly, I didn’t find it.”

“You didn’t see the shadow man?” I ask, needing to verify what I think he means.

“No sign of it. I checked the campus too, just to make sure it was not lurking somewhere nearby,” he says, pushing his food around on his plate.

“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask, putting my hand on his gently.

He pulls his hand back from mine to grasp his glass of juice, but he doesn’t drink it, he just holds the glass rigidly. Alarm bells go off in my head. He’s really upset.

Sighing, I ask, “Okay, what do you think it means?”

He is still for a while, and I think he isn’t going to answer me, but then he says in a quiet tone, “I think it means that you are meant for Russell.”

“What!” I explode at him; utterly in shock at the conclusion he has come to. “How did you get that from a bed of rose petals?”

Reed’s lips turn down grimly, before he explains, “You said Russell wears those symbols around his neck, the circle and the infinity. They are symbolic of him. Roses are a symbol of love, and they were strewn all over you,” he says almost resentful. “If you look at it another way, it could be seen like this: the circle to represent Russell’s Paradox, a vicious circle. But what if you are the paradox that belongs to Russell…for infinity, which is eternity. His necklace would really be saying Russell and Evie for eternity… and so would the bed of roses.” His jaw is so tight now that I doubt that he is capable of saying another word.

“You’re wrong—I know you are because I wouldn’t feel this way about you if I was meant to be with him. I crave you. I burn for you,” I say as honestly as I can, even when sharing such emotion with him is embarrassing. I want to make him see that his theory is off somehow.

Reed’s expression darkens. “It is probably a survival trait. Angels will be attracted to you so that we don’t actually destroy you,” he replies in disgust.

“You don’t know that, since I’ve never met another angel, and that still doesn’t explain why I’m attracted to you. The symbol may be about Russell, I’ll give you that, but the rose thing is a stretch,” I reason with him, hoping I can make him see that he’s jumping to conclusions.

Still not looking at me, Reed says, “Finish your breakfast, Evie.”

“I am finished,” I reply, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. He’s being ridiculous, but he obviously believes what he’s saying.

The drive back to campus is a quiet one filled with tension and brooding stares. When we arrive at my dormitory, Reed parks the car in the back. Turning toward Reed to kiss him goodbye, he stares straight ahead and won’t look at me. I gaze out of the windshield ahead of me. The beautiful, dense maple trees that edged the lot are just beginning to change color from green to vibrant oranges and reds.

“Don’t do this, Reed, you’re wrong…I can feel it,” I say, and my voice sounds pleading, even to me.

Reed’s voice is flat as he says, “I will still protect you, that will never change, but we should not…we cannot…I cannot be your love,” he finishes and he sounds resolved. He believes that I’m intended for Russell and he’ll obey what is ordained for me.

“You can’t be serious,” I say numbly, just above a whisper. “I can’t go through this without you. I love you.”

“Don’t love me. I’m not for you,” he says harshly, gripping the wheel tensely.

“It’s too late. I already do love you and I can’t stop,” I reply sadly with tears filling my eyes.

Reed still wouldn’t look at me as he says, “You will recover as will I. We should avoid each other’s company for a while. I will be nearby if you need me, if the Fallen should come, but given our attraction, it would be best if we do not socialize with one another for a while. It will help us get over each other.”

“I don’t want to get over you,” I whisper.

“You don’t have a choice—I cannot love you,” Reed replies vehemently.

“But, I can’t be with Russell. I can’t be with anyone because I want you. I need you,” I say, trying to rest my hand on his cheek to get him to look at me.

Reed stops me before I can touch him by gently pushing my hand away from him. Color floods my cheeks as I realize that I have resorted to throwing myself at him. I feel shattered and broken inside.

“I see,” I say, understanding that he wants me to leave now. “You don’t have to bother being my bodyguard. Thanks for your help. I guess I’ll take it from here.”

I push my way out of his car. With my world crumbling, I stumble toward my room with tear-blinded eyes. I want to disappear from his sight before I fall apart. I manage to hold back every tear until I make it to my room; that is the only victory over my misery that I’ll have for a long, long while.

CHAPTER 16

Formal

I rarely come out of my room for the next few days, so I miss all of my classes. Buns and Brownie almost tear the hinges off my door to make me talk to them. I try to explain to them the reasons for my depressed state—why I can’t get out of bed, but it only gets worse when I realize that I have to withhold almost everything from them. I can’t tell them about the shadow man, or angels, or the fact that I’m not a normal person. I can’t tell them that I’m much more than human, or that I’m afraid to go home because I might lure something eerily inhuman home with me. They don’t know that Russell is my soul mate, or that Reed is an angel, or that my life is now one giant question mark.

After an entire box of tissues and incoherent, broken words, all that I can think to tell them is the silly cliché that my boyfriend dumped me. Even without knowing all of my reasons, they somehow seem to understand that I’m really hurting, and they want to help me. The girls postpone the theft of the Delt composite; under the circumstances, they know I can’t go through with it. They spend all of their free time trying to get me to do the essentials, like showering, eating, and going to class. After a few days, I get over my self-helplessness and begin taking care of myself again, and although it’s sort of mechanical, at least I’m making it to my classes.

Hockey practice is the worst, however, because I have to go to the field each night and ignore the fact that Reed is so close. The intense butterflies cause mayhem on my insides, but I can’t talk to him. When I try, he brushes me off like I’m some sort of pathetic, reject ex-girlfriend. He hardly responds to anything I say, and that’s if he gives me a chance to say anything at all, because mostly, he just walks away from me.

I realize quickly that I have to accept his decision because I can’t stalk him, no matter how much I want to. I’m trying every day to accept the fact that I’ve lost him. He was being honest when he said he wouldn’t be my love. He will not.

I know he’s around though, still watching over me, but it’s from afar. I feel him nearby now and then, especially at night. Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed, I feel fluttering in my stomach, and I know he’s checking on me. Maybe he is worried about me, since I have a feeling my heart isn’t singing anymore.

Freddie goes out of his way to try to cheer me up. He meets me outside of some of my classes and studies with me in our special spot in the library. I give him the same story, that Reed dumped me, and he doesn’t question me about it. I can tell he somehow knows that there is more to the story. We still sit at our table for meals, and I never notice if anyone else is around or not.

Contemplating a particularly runny bowl of oatmeal, while sitting next to Freddie, I look up when the chair next to mine is pulled out and occupied by a very large human. Russell is also eyeing my spoon, seeing the oatmeal drip off of it like soup.

“Yer not gonna eat that, are ya, Red?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. I stiffen in my chair. The last thing I want is the reason that I got dumped to come and sit down next to me. “Ya look like hell. Are ya okay?” he asks in a low tone, and I feel surprise and irritation at seeing concern in his brown eyes.

“Haven’t you heard? I probably am from Hell; well, half of me is anyway,” I mumble without much emotion. I see the look that Russell gives Freddie; it’s that guy mind reading thing again. “I’m awesome, Russell, thanks.” I snap, hoping that will be enough reassurance to make him feel his obligation to me is fulfilled and he can just go away.

“Ya don’t look awesome,” Russell observes. “Ya look like ya haven’t slept in weeks…and I saw yer last hockey game. Ya stunk, Red.”

“We still won,” I say dully.

“I’m surprised ya noticed. It looked to me like ya couldn’t have cared less,” he states matter-of-factly. “And that’s not like

I shrug. “Russell, I’m fine, and I’m sure that you have much better things to do than to eat breakfast with me. Look, there’s Mason, maybe you two can find a gnarly piece of hardware to go beat on,” I say with sarcasm as I point to the table where Mason is sitting, watching us. “I’ll see you later, Freddie.” I say, getting up from the table.

Russell catches up to me in the hallway outside and walks along next to me until I stop and face him. “What?” I bark.

“That’s it, Red, get mad. That’s the girl I know. I don’t know the other girl who walks around like a ghost,” he says angrily, “The girl who has given up everythin’ that was ever important to her just ‘cuz her boyfriend dumped her.”

“You know nothing!” I retort angrily, “And you’re one to talk. You haven’t even spoken to me since that night at the Delt House. Or, is this how you gloat? Well, go for it Russell, enjoy it!”

“No, this isn’t how I gloat. This is how I say, I’m sorry!” he yells back at me.

“What are you sorry about?” I shout back, not caring if I draw attention to myself.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been yer friend. I’m sorry I busted the firewall ya bought me…and I’m sorry yer heart got broken,” he replies tightly. My expression must’ve told him that I’m about to cry, because in seconds, my face is pressed to his chest, and he is holding it there with his hand on the back of my neck.

“Ahh, Red, don’t cry,” he says soothingly while I try really hard not to sob in front of all of the people witnessing our fight.

Russell leads me out of the crowded corridor with his arm slung protectively over my shoulder. Moments later, we are outside and hidden behind a wall on the side of the building. I can’t hold my tears in any longer. Russell’s arms go around me as I cry into his chest.

“He’s the stupidest…thing I’ve ever seen,” Russell whispers in my ear, which only makes me cry harder.

When I finally manage to pull myself together, I step back from Russell, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my nose and face. It’s colder today. The fall weather is beginning to make its presence known, so I shiver when the wind picks up and blows my hair back.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say simply, because I don’t want to start blubbering again. “Does this mean we can be friends again?”

“Yeah, Red, we can be friends again…but ya gotta take a shower ‘cuz ya look awful,” he says, giving me a cheeky grin. He kisses me on my forehead and gives me a quick hug.

“Thanks, Russell,” I say shakily. My throat still feels raw from crying. “Are you sure our friendship will fly with Candace? I got the impression that she’s not my biggest fan.”

“She’ll deal with it,” he shrugs in apparent unconcern.

“She won’t deal with it well,” I say, knowing that I’m going to be bringing the wrath of Candace down on me.

“Don’t worry about it, Red. I’ll handle Candace,” he smiles.

“I really don’t think anyone ‘handles Candace,’Russell,” I persist. He just smiles at me indulgently. “I have to get to class. I can’t miss any more if I want to do well. I’ll see you around.”

“Lunch? I’ll see ya at lunch, okay?” he asks me.

“Sure,” I say shakily.

So Freddie, Russell, and I begin eating our meals together again, but it isn’t exactly like it was before. Now, Russell and Freddie take turns nagging me about what I eat, or more specifically, what I don’t eat. They also take turns trying to make me laugh, with mixed results.

True to form, Candace has a major melt down over Russell’s friendship with me. She sees us walking together in the hallway, and she throws her books at Russell. Of course, I excuse myself so that he can “deal with Candace,” which I hear from a reliable source (Freddie) takes awhile. Since she eats at her sorority house, Candace doesn’t have many opportunities to dig at me. But whenever I do happen to see her in the union, or in the hallway walking to class, she always mouths the word “psycho” to me. I haven’t told Russell. What would be the point?

I’m getting better at faking being okay. I’m able to look presentable, listen in all of my classes, and get through hockey practices without drifting toward the lacrosse field involuntarily. When Uncle Jim arrives for the Homecoming football game, the instant he steps out of his car, I nearly break down in his arms. I’ve never had to hide my emotions from him. It’s a struggle for me to act like everything’s fine as I pretend to be adjusting to college life well. I take him to the football game, and we both try to figure out what is happening. Afterward, we walk together through campus to the catered event in the quad.

Arriving at the banquet tent, I see that it’s even more lavish than the one at the lake had been. The tent is not only set up for a sumptuous dinner, but there is also a band and a dance floor within the tent. My uncle and I wade through a sea of people, but we manage to make it to the food before it disappears. We find seats among a couple of other families, where we engage in small talk with everyone at the table.

In the dim light of the elegant tent, I glance at my uncle sitting beside me, and the pain in my chest eases for the first time in weeks. I’ve missed him so much. I haven’t been home at all to visit him because I’m afraid to go home——I’m afraid of the scary things I could unwittingly lure home with me. Don’t think about that now…

I am distracted from the conversation at my table by a familiar laugh coming from a table nearby. Over my shoulder, I glimpse Russell smiling broadly at someone. He had taken a quick shower after the homecoming game and is now the center of attention, along with Candace, at her table.

“Who’s that?” my Uncle Jim whispers in my ear, following my line of sight to Russell.

“Oh, that’s my friend, Russell. I think I emailed you about him a couple of times,” I say, looking in my uncle’s warm eyes, which are searching mine. “You fixed his computer, remember?”

My uncle nods slowly, studying Russell at the other table. “Is he why you’re so sad, Eaves?” Uncle Jim asks me, intuitively picking up on my emotional state.

My fake smile wavers a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say evasively. “I’m completely geeked that you’re here, and Russell is my really good friend.”

“Hmm. If you say so, pal,” he says, but I can tell he isn’t buying it at all. “Boys sometimes don’t know a good thing when they see it. Just remember that you’re special. I think you’re the most wonderful person at this school.” My eyes fill up with tears then, because he has no idea just how special I am, but I know that, despite it all, I can always count on his love. Seeing my tears, he hugs me to his shoulder tightly. “It will be all right,” he says reassuringly, and I nod at his words, even though I can’t see how anything will ever be all right again.

It is starting to get late, and since Uncle Jim has to drive a few hours home, we decide it is time for us to walk back to my dormitory. I hold his hand as we walk toward the front of the tent, and when we are about midway there, I feel butterflies taking flight in my abdomen, which is now usually accompanied by a tight, constricting pain near my heart whenever I feel it. Keeping my head down so that I don’t have to see Reed’s beautiful face ignore me like I don’t exist, I keep walking behind my uncle, wishing that this pain will end soon because it’s getting hard to breathe.

“Genevieve,” Reed’s voice says ahead of me.

Glancing up, my eyes widen in surprise, hearing Reed speak to me after weeks of nothing at all. He’s standing near the entrance of the tent, just a short distance away. His face is unreadable, so I can’t tell how he feels about seeing me here. If the past weeks are any indication, I’m sure Reed won’t mind too much if I just keep walking. But Uncle Jim notices that Reed said my name, so he pauses in front of Reed politely, allowing me the opportunity to speak to him.

Summoning some of the pride I have left, I square my shoulders and try to smile at my uncle, who waits for an introduction to the young man in front of him. “Hi, Reed,” I say softly, feeling some pride in myself when my voice doesn’t break or crack. “How are you?” I ask him, trying to act as normal as possible.

“I’m well, and you?” he inquires, and I can tell he is reading every signal that my body language is giving off.

He is attuned to those kinds of signals, so I’m probably not fooling him at all, but I’m sure that he’d prefer lies to the truth, so I reply, “I’m good. Please let me introduce you to my uncle, Jim Claremont.” I turn toward my uncle and continue, “Uncle Jim, this is Reed Wellington, he’s my…” my brain stutters to a halt.

My what? My love? My friend? My angel? I think sadly. I feel myself blushing before I think of a title that fits and say, “He’s my TA…for physics.” The pain of that cheap title makes my heart constrict again, but I plaster a fake smile on my face to cover it.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Reed says, extending his hand to Uncle Jim.

“Likewise, Reed,” Uncle Jim says warmly as Reed studies my uncle curiously.

I wonder if Reed can see any resemblance between Uncle Jim and me, I think as they converse briefly about Crestwood. Reed must be doing something official for the school because he is dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

“Physics, huh?” Uncle Jim says, while looking at me. “How’s that working out for you, Eaves?” he asks, smiling at me proudly.

“Oh, you know…I had a few problems at first that Reed was able to help me with, but I think I’m getting the hang of it now, so everyone can relax. I’ll figure it out,” I say and see Reed’s face darken.

Reed hides his frown before my uncle sees it, saying smoothly, “You know that I am always available if you are in danger of falling behind. I can help you work out the problem.”

“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you, Reed. You’re such an angel, I don’t know what I’d do without you around,” I say stiffly.

“You could always try solving one of those mathematical paradoxes,” he replies, before his jaw tightens.

“No, my heart is just not into that. I don’t want to bring that into my nightmare schedule,” I reply sadly. “It was good seeing you. If you will excuse us, my uncle and I are on our way out. Enjoy your evening.”

I think I really touched a nerve in Reed because he seems to want to say something else as his eyes argue with mine, but after a few seconds, he nods while he says, “Of course. Goodnight, Genevieve.”

Uncle Jim and I leave the tent, walking the short distance back to my dormitory together. I have to struggle to keep my sorrow locked inside of me, so that I won’t cry on his shoulder. Hugging me tightly, Uncle Jim tells me that he loves me. Watching him pull away, I desperately want to go with him, to escape from Crestwood and pretend that this has all been just a bad dream…pretend that my life is something that I can wake up from. But I know I can’t go with him; he is safer with me here. The only way I can protect him from what I am, is to stay away from him as much as possible.

When I finally reach my room, I am completely exhausted. Flinging my heels into my closet, I change my clothes. After brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed without bothering to turn off my lamp. Then, I do what I’ve been doing for a while now. I cry myself to sleep.

I have a couple more sittings with Mr. MacKinnon, or should I say Sam, which is what Buns always calls him. I take Buns with me as a chaperone because she insists. I finish changing out of the Grecian dress and hang it back in the closet when Buns says, “Sweetie, Sam’s planning on letting you keep the dress when he’s finished with the portrait!” Buns smiles delightedly. “Isn’t that fantastic?”

My eyebrows rise. “Why? What am I going to do with a dress like that?” I ask her, shaking my head.

“There is a formal coming up at the Delt House. JT was talking about it at the last party,” Buns says significantly, eyeing me with growing speculation.

“Do you want to borrow the dress?” I ask her. I could see Buns in the dress. She’d look stunning.

“No, I was thinking you could wear it to the formal, if there was someone you wanted to go with. JT and I thought maybe we could fix you up with someone.” I must be making a face because she says quickly, “Or you could pick someone. It’ll be so awesome, and you know it won’t be the same without you.”

“Where is it being held?” I ask her conversationally with absolutely no intention of going.

“Not far from here. It’s in Ann Arbor, at some hotel ballroom or other,” Buns replies, while petting my hair, which she does when she’s being motherly.

“Okay, maybe… we’ll see,” I say, trying to think of an excuse not to go. I have several reasons not to go—like big scary monsters that inhabit places like Ann Arbor, but I’m not at liberty to tell Buns this excuse, however valid.

“Sweetie, you can leave it all to me,” she says, almost drunk on the power I’ve given her.

True to form Buns doesn’t waste any time arranging things for me. She sets me up with a junior named Owen, prelaw. She also decides that the portrait dress would be too hard to dance in, due to the train, so she and Brownie order a new dress for me online when they are each getting one for themselves.

Now, I have a decision to make. I can go to the formal and not tell Reed, hoping for the best, or I can tell Reed and see what he says. I deliberate over it for a couple of days, but finally, I am swayed in favor of telling Reed. Memories of the shadow man are still too vivid in my head to just blow off the dangers of leaving town without an escort.

After hockey practice, I tell the girls that I need to find out what the assignment is for physics. Then, I run to catch up to Reed as he walks to his car after practice. I think for a moment that he is going to ignore me completely because he doesn’t stop walking when I call to him. When he makes it to his car, he reluctantly turns and waits for me. I stop several feet from him because it’s less uncomfortable the farther we are from each other.

“I need a chaperone, Reed,” I say, looking off to one side of him so that his perfect face won’t distract me.

“Why?” he asks me stiffly.

“I’ve been invited to the Delt formal, and it’s in Ann Arbor,” I say, raising my chin a notch when I hear him growl.

“No,” he says, turning his back on me like the conversation is now over as he opens up his car door.

“Why not?” I ask him unhappily.

He slowly faces me again. “Because I don’t feel like babysitting you while you play with a bunch of drunken frat boys,” he replies.

The blood rushes to my face as I blush. “Fine,” I mumble, turning to walk away.

I feel awful, like he has just reached into my chest and squeezed the last drop of blood out of my heart. I drag my stick along the ground, swinging it every few steps. The noise that my field hockey stick is making grows louder and louder, sounding like deep soughs in an echoing cave.

Halting, I look around me in confusion because there are other sounds hitting me with painful clarity, too. A basketball being bounced in a driveway several houses away sounds like the echo of a wrecking ball. I instinctively back away from it to protect myself from the noise.

Then, I quickly duck my head as something flies by me with the terrifying clamor of a buzz saw, causing every hair on my arms to stand on end. Looking around wildly, it takes me a second to rationalize that it is a dragonfly making that noise, not a vicious monster.

In the next moment, a grating, feminine voice sounds as if it is shouting through a bullhorn pressed to my ear. I search around me and see a woman talking on her cell phone a hundred yards away. She pushes a stroller toward me with alacrity, and the sound of her voice is becoming unbearable. Turning, I run. I have to escape from here before she blows out my eardrums.

With my head down, I don’t realize that someone is in front of me until I run right into his arms. My head comes up sharply as he holds me to him to steady me. Reed! I think as I continue to cover my ears, but what I really want to do is wrap my arms around him for protection from the chaos.

“I…” I start to say, but I wince because the sound of my voice hurts.

Reed doesn’t speak, but puts his finger to his lips, indicating that I shouldn’t talk. I nod, following him to his car. The crunch of our shoes treading on the gravel in the road is painful. I feel nauseous as if I’m on the deck of a ship that is swaying violently in the current of the sea.

As we arrive at Reed’s car, he opens his door and reaches inside to the glove compartment, extracting a box that contains a set of earplugs. He hands me the earplugs, and I put them in my ears, immediately feeling better. I straighten my posture, only then realizing that I had been hunched over.

“You’re fine, Evie. This is normal because your hearing is improving. Right now, everything will seem like a detuned radio with the volume turned all the way up. It takes a few days for it to even out, and then it won’t hurt you. You should be able to control it after a while. You’ll be able to focus on something you want to hear and tune out the background noise. Wear the earplugs most of the time, but take them out when it’s quiet so that you can practice tuning out the background noise,” he says. I think I see compassion in his face, but I can’t be sure because he’s still very stiff around me.

“Thanks,” I say gratefully. I’m somewhat relieved, at least the pain in my head is gone…it’s only my heart that still feels dead.

“If you have any questions about it over the next few days, you can email me about it,” he says, but I can tell he wants to get away from me.

How very clinical it all is, like I’m his patient. I nod, not trusting my voice. I turn to go, but he stops me.

“When is the formal?” he asks.

“This weekend,” I reply.

“Okay, you can go. I’ll arrange it,” he says grimly.

He’s not happy in the least that he is caving in to the request. I don’t push him, I just nod my head, and it gives me a lot to consider as I walk back to my room.

The day of the Delt formal, Buns presents me with the dress she bought for me online. It is a sleeveless, metallic-silver creation that clings to my every curve and hugs my shape. It’s very much like the dress that I wear for the portrait, because it exposes my back, but this dress is much shorter; it stops at my mid-thigh, so it will be interesting when I sit down in it.

“I’m going to be cold,” I complain to Buns, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

“No, sweetie, you’ll be hot,” Buns corrects. “I’ll get you a wrap.”

Brownie applies my makeup. She uses a lot of dark eyeliner and shadow, but the effect is intriguing. It makes my gray eyes seem lighter. I put on earrings that are the same metallic-silver as the dress, and then I sit down on the bed to put on my strappy, silver heels.

Buns and Brownie each have metallic gowns, too. Buns has a soft gold dress, and Brownie’s is a shimmering copper. Each dress is a variation of a flowing, haute-couture gown that also stops mid-thigh like mine. Standing all together, the effect is surprisingly chic. Buns hands me a black clutch purse and a black wrap. I covertly put my earplugs into my clutch. I don’t know if I’m going to need them tonight, since my hearing seems to have leveled out this week, but better safe than sorry.

I’ve been practicing tuning out background noises. It was hard, at first, because I could hear everything from the crickets chirping outside to the mice scurrying around in the basement of the dorm, but I’m managing to get a handle on it. It’s like my brain is expanding so I can accommodate and process more stimuli from the outside world, increasing my awareness of my surroundings. Weird.

“Sweetie, Owen is going to swallow his spleen when he sees you,” Buns says, scrutinizing me with a smug grin that makes me remember that I’m actually going to have to go on a date now.

The Delts are waiting for us in the formal lobby of Yeats when we descend the stairs. Owen, my date for the evening, is handsome in his own right. He is tall, almost as tall as Reed, and his warm brown eyes register surprise when he watches the three of us enter the room. His black suit is tailored to fit like it was created just for him. Paired with a French-cuffed, white dress shirt, silver cuff links, and a silver tie, we have the aura of a well-matched couple. I wonder briefly if Buns has orchestrated that as well.

JT introduces me to Owen, then he turns to Buns, Brownie, and me and says, “Ladies, you’re all dressed for sin, let us see what fresh hell we can make tonight!”

Buns laughs loudly, taking JT’s arm as Owen presents his arm to me. He escorts me to the waiting limousine outside. The trip to Ann Arbor takes less than an hour, and JT, Pete, and Owen tell us amusing stories on the way. Owen is a fairly interesting date, telling me about the first time he met Brownie and Buns during the Delt Wars last year. Somewhere between Crestwood and Ann Arbor, the ice between Owen and me melts, and I start to feel a little less awkward with him. Maybe it’s because he seems genuinely interested in my opinions, or maybe it’s because he’s really quick witted and won’t let JT monopolize all of our attention. By the time we arrive, I feel comfortable being here with Owen.

Holding my hand to help me exit the limousine, Owen tucks my arm securely in his as we walk together to the lobby. Just before entering, my Reed radar goes off, warning me that he is already inside. I knew he intended to come tonight. He’d sent me an email earlier in the week, telling me that he had made the arrangements to be here so I could attend. But, it was Buns who had let me know that Reed was bringing a date. I see them standing together immediately upon entering the wide door that Owen holds open for me.

Reed doesn’t turn around when I enter, and I’m grateful because I’m sure the look on my face would turn him to stone as I scrutinize his date. Buns had done some recon this week, finding out everything she could about Reed’s date, so there wouldn’t be any surprises for me. Her name is Caroline and she’s a junior in the Kappa house. She is my opposite, I think grimly, assessing her attributes. Caroline is petite, maybe 5’1”, and she looks delicate, like she’ll break apart if someone touches her. With her long, blond hair and pale-pink, empress-waist gown, she just screams the word sweet.

Thankfully, I am saved from considering Caroline any further because the booming voice coming from behind me takes all of my attention. “Good Lord, Red! Where’s the rest of yer dress?” Russell asks, only half jokingly when I turn to look at him.

I knew that Russell had been invited tonight as well. We’d talked about it at lunch this week. He was only able to make it because the Chargers had a home game earlier this afternoon. The Delts are interested in Russell as a prospective pledge for next semester, so they invited him to formal as a pre-rush perk.

A smile softens my lips because Russell is extremely handsome in his dark gray suit, white collared dress shirt, and black tie. His broad chest and slim waist make the suit jacket he wears look better than the other designer-suited men here. It’s because it is on such an appealing physique and not because it is expensive or well made.

Candace, standing next to Russell, looks as if she has been sucking on lemons the entire way to Ann Arbor while her eyes rake me from head to foot. The demure, pale-blue dress that she wears is almost floor length. She is very lovely, with her blond hair piled high on her head and cascading diamond earrings sparkling brightly in her lobes, but I can tell that there is something very wrong by the brittle smile on her face.

“The rest of my dress is on layaway. I’ll be able to afford it by next semester,” I say dryly. “You don’t like it?” I ask him, trying to smile.

“Now, I didn’t say that…” he says with heat in his eyes, and to my utter annoyance, something inside of me responds to it.

Candace sees the look Russell gives me, too. Her hands tighten on her clutch, so I hurriedly turn to Owen and say, “Russell and Candace, this is Owen Matthews.

“I already know him, don’t I, Owen?” Candace retorts somewhat rudely.

Owen takes it in stride as he says, “Yeah, we go way back. I think we had a couple of classes together last year. Are you ready to go find our seats, Evie?” Owen asks me with a conspiratorial smile. I nod, grateful for any excuse to get away from Candace.

Entering a private dining room, it is clear right away that most of the couples are already seated. In the confusion, Buns and Brownie are ushered to a separate table from Owen and me. I try not to let my disappointment show as Owen holds a chair for me facing a glass-tiled wall that cascades with water. I don’t allow myself to look around to see where Reed is seated, but I know he is close, really close, judging by the way my stomach is reacting.

After Owen seats himself, he smiles warmly before introducing me to his roommate, Scott, who is dating a sophomore named Chloe. Scott begins to tell Owen and me a funny story about why he and Chloe almost didn’t make it here tonight. But, I stop listening to Scott midway through his tale.

As Reed passes behind my chair, his fingertips graze my skin, trailing a warm, sensual caress across my back. A flush stains my cheeks at the intimate contact, and an airy breath catches in my throat. I close my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the sensation his touch leaves on my bare skin. It is as if every molecule in my body comes to life in an instant. When I open my eyes, the chair on my right side moves, and Reed seats himself next to me. Stealing a glance at Owen on my left, I see him debating the selection of lager on the menu with Scott.

Assuring myself that Owen is occupied for the moment, I whisper to Reed, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing is unconditional, Evie,” Reed says in an equally low tone.

My eyebrows rise in confusion. “What do you mean?” I reply, holding up my menu so no one will see our exchange.

Reed mirrors my action, opening his menu, too. “If your plan is to torture me, then I will not be the only victim,” he says softly.

“Are you accusing me of trying to torture you?” I ask incredulously, still trying to keep my voice low.

Reed’s eyes darken. “Please, don’t act naїve, not in that dress,” his replies.

“It’s just a dress. What’s with you?” I murmur, shaking my head in confusion. “I’m not the one who turned his back on us. That was you. The only strategy I’m employing here is to try to have fun and to be just a normal girl.”

“You are anything but normal,” Reed says, “and as for your date, he is a complete waste of time.”

Owen turns to me then, and asks, “What would you like to drink, sweetheart?”

Reed stiffens in my peripheral vision. Not good.

“Water is fine for now, thanks,” I reply, trying to smile at him. Owen returns my smile warmly before giving the waiter our drink order.

“Why did he call you ‘sweetheart?’” Reed asks me in a low tone filled with menace.

I put my menu back up, pretending to read it, so that I can say, “I don’t know. I just met him. Maybe he likes me.” I shut up completely when Reed’s hand brushes my thigh briefly under the table. The heat from the contact shoots through me like a conflagration.

Lowering my menu, I stare at Reed in confusion for a second, but Russell distracts me; he holds out a chair for Candace to sit in directly across from us. Candace picks up her napkin, snapping it out to place on her lap as she gives me a brittle smile. Russell seats himself beside her, frowning across the table at Reed with equal dislike.

Russell takes off his suit jacket, draping it on the back of his chair. “Reed, I’m surprised to see ya here. I didn’t know yer a Delt,” Russell says antagonistically as his eyes measure the distance between Reed’s chair and my own.

“Hello, Russell,” Reed says in a blasé tone. “I’m not a Delt. I came because a friend asked me to,” he says, gazing at me significantly.

He casually picks his menu back up and begins reading it as if he dines with all of us every night of the week. I study his profile for a moment until I realize that I am staring at him, and then I quickly hold my menu up, trying to read it. The waiter is still making his way around the table, and as he nears Russell, I hear Candace say in a waspish tone, “Russell, I need a drink. Get me a Stoli Raspberry on ice with diet Seven-up, not regular Seven-up and I want a lime in it, but if they don’t have a lime, then I want a lemon.”

“She’s a nightmare,” I murmur under my breath, and Reed laughs quietly next to me. He’d heard my comment and is savoring the fact that Russell has his own issues this evening. I resist the urge to look at Reed again because a part of me is desperate to see him smile.

“What looks good?” Owen asks, smiling at me.

“Mac and cheese,” I reply quietly without thinking, and then glance up at Reed, seeing his green eyes training on me.

“Do they have that on the menu?” Owen laughs, appearing to look for it.

“Probably not. The salmon looks good,” I reply, blushing. “What are you going to get, Owen?” I ask him, trying to cover up the fact that I can hardly breathe as I sip my water and avoid eye contact with the rest of the table.

Managing to regain my composure, I almost lose it again when I see Russell watching me from across the table; his brown eyes hold mine. I try to smile so that the concern I see there will lessen. Candace notices the direction of Russell’s eyes, so she gives me a crocodile smile as she asks, “Evie, wherever did you get that dress? It’s so…you…and not much else.”

“Buns ordered it for me online. It is me, isn’t it?” I ask, not wanting to back down from her thinly veiled insult.

“Your date is really enjoying it,” Reed says under his breath, so that only I can hear him, but I ignore him.

Owen, eyeing me appreciatively, says, “I think it’s perfect.”

“See,” Reed breathes menacingly.

I try to smile back at Owen, but I hear two sets of growls, one from Reed and the other from Russell. “Thank you, Owen,” I reply, but I’m on edge now, waiting for the next shot to be fired at me.

“Caroline, your dress is so pretty, don’t you think so, Reed?” Candace asks from across the table, but her eyes are still on me.

“Yes. Caroline is pretty this evening,” Reed politely agrees with Candace, while his arm comes up to rest casually on the back of my chair. His hand is very near my back and the proximity is making me squirm.

“Pink looks lovely on you, Caroline,” I agree, but it sounds a little strained because I am trying to leverage Reed’s arm off my seat discreetly with my elbow. It doesn’t work; he’s way too strong for that.

“Thank you,” Caroline replies in a bored tone, then she gives me the I-Know-You’re-The-Ex-Girlfriend smirk.

We order our meals, and I make small talk with Owen, Scott, and Chloe, ignoring the rest of the table, but Candace is determined to bring me back into the conversation. “Evie,” Candace smirks, “we were just wondering how long you and Owen have been dating? I’ve never seen you two together.” Her eyes are on me when she asks the question, but then they dart briefly to Caroline.

“This is our first date,” I reply, trying to keep it brief and not give away any details. I treat it like an interrogation because that’s exactly what it is.

“Oh, that’s so sweet, isn’t it, Russell?” Candace asks, giving Russell a toothy smile. “I think that’s so great, Owen. It’s nice to see you dating again,” Candace adds patronizingly as she directs her comment to Owen.

“Thanks,” Owen says, looking at me uncomfortably. Something is going on and everyone seems to know what it is but me. Looking at Russell, he is angry about something because he is glaring at Candace, but she’s ignoring him and acting nonchalant.

“No, really,” Candace says, taking a sip of her Stoli, “it’s just nice that we can all sit at the table together and not feel awkward at all.”

I almost smile, because as I glance around the table, everyone here looks to be feeling completely awkward. Everyone, that is, with the exception of Reed; he’s cool and removed from all of this.

Candace smirks, saying, “You dated Caroline, for what… almost a year, wasn’t it? That must’ve been hard when you two broke up, but now you’re moving on with Evie, and Caroline’s moving on with Reed.” She pauses to look over at Reed, and then at me before she goes on. “Caroline and Reed look so cute together, too…” Candace trails off when she looks over at Russell, seeing the murderous look he is throwing at her.

“Candace, that’s enough,” Russell says softly, and he seems embarrassed to be seated next to her.

Looking down at my plate, my mind races. Is Candace right? Is Reed ‘moving on’ with Caroline? I wonder as a stab of pain sweeps through me, but I realize in the next breath that Candace couldn’t possibly be right. Reed is immortal while Caroline is human and very, very breakable. Whatever they are to each other, he won’t tell her his secrets; it isn’t allowed. He can never share what he is with her, like he has with me. She’ll never know that he is an angel, but all of my rationalizing doesn’t stop me from feeling jealous of every moment that she gets to spend with him.

Owen addresses Candace as he casually puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’re right, it’s not awkward at all,” he lies glibly. “I’m very lucky to have Evie as my date tonight. I plan to make quite a habit of seeing her from now on.”

I smile up at Owen’s face even as my mind still races. So, Owen and Caroline had dated. I wonder if Reed knew that and had asked Caroline tonight as some sort of strategy. What’s he up to? I wonder with my eyes narrowing because this reeks of strategy.

I am grateful that once Candace let me in on our table’s intrigue, she doesn’t have much left in her arsenal. She isn’t getting the reaction from either Owen or me that she wants, and she is frustrated by it. Reed and Russell, on the other hand, are growing more and more surly as the meal progresses. No one is more relieved than I am when Candace, Caroline, and Chloe excuse themselves to go to the bathroom after dinner is finished.

Then, Owen rises from his seat, saying, “Do you want to go to the bar and get a drink? Scott and I want to check the score of the game.”

“Um, I don’t have a fake ID,” I say, smiling sheepishly, “but you should go. I’ll wait for you here.”

“Are you sure?” he smiles. “I can bring you back something.”

“I’m sure, and I have water,” I say, indicating my glass.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll be back in a second.” He squeezes my shoulder in a gentle caress before he and Scott leave the table.

Looking around, I realize that this leaves me alone with Reed and Russell. I want to escape to Buns’s and Brownie’s table, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I leave Reed and Russell alone together, so I stay. Their dates will be back soon to chaperone them, and then I can leave and find the girls.

“Russell, can I ask you a question about football?” Reed asks, leaning back in his chair as his arm casually hitches around the back of my chair again.

Russell eyes him skeptically and says, “Yeah, sure.”

“It is about the team you played in the game this afternoon. I was wondering why their player didn’t pick up the ball when our team fumbled it in the fourth quarter?” Reed asks distractedly, while playing with a piece of my hair that has spilled over his hand.

Russell thinks about Reed’s question for a minute, seeming confused by it. “What game were ya watchin’ ‘cuz I don’t recall…” Russell trails off, and then he looks at me, and then at Reed again. Frowning, Russell replies, “Oh… that fumble. Well, ya see, the ball rolled out of bounds…so the defense couldn’t just pick it up and run with it. And then, y’all should’ve seen the ball, it looked like someone smashed it to pieces,” Russell says in anger.

A strange expression crosses Reed’s face and he is just as short when he replies, “I thought the other team would try to keep the ball and fix it, not give it to the water boy to play with.”

Russell’s eyes narrow dangerously. “They tried fixin’ it, it just takes time,” Russell says curtly. “They have a game plan, and it was bein’ executed. It shouldn’t matter ‘cuz it was the fourth down so the ball won’t go back to the team that fumbled it,” Russell says passionately.

“Hmm, football is an interesting game. You never know what may happen next,” Reed replies casually as his thumb brushes softly up against my shoulder, making me shiver.

“Yer date is on her way back to the table,” Russell says quietly, eyeing Reed’s close proximity to me. “You might want to stop playin’ with Evie’s hair.” Reed sighs heavily, releasing my hair.

Buns’s musical voice replaces the heavy silence at the table. “Wow, I don’t mean to breakup the party here, sweetie, but we’re going over to the ballroom to set it off,” Buns says, assessing the table. “This looks about as much fun as a dentist appointment,” she continues, scanning our faces gravely. “Brownie and Pete are already in there. JT is pulling the other guys away from the game as we speak. Unless you’d rather stay here…” Buns trails off as I shoot out of my seat, not giving her an opening to leave me behind.

“No, no…hold up, I’m going with you. I’ll see you guys later. Have fun tonight,” I say to them, linking arms with Buns.

“Wicked, let’s bounce,” Buns says, and then turns to Reed and Russell, “gentlemen, enjoy the rest of the evening with your dates!”

The ballroom is just off the main hotel lobby. I walk with Buns from the restaurant and through an impressive atrium to get to it. Soft lighting from elegant chandeliers make the ballroom appear much more upscale than I had been expecting. We spot Brownie and Pete immediately. Brownie hugs me when she sees me and says she is sorry that I had gotten separated from them. The music starts, so Brownie and Buns drag me out on the dance floor with them.

After a few songs, JT, Pete, and Owen join us. I see Russell on the dance floor with Candace. Russell is…well…Russell is hot. He has a natural grace. He moves his body effortlessly. Just watching him free style is amazing. The music slows down, and we all leave the dance floor to get some water. Owen is on his way back from the bar with our drinks when Reed bumps into him. Reed says something to Owen that I try to hear, but I’m having trouble tuning out the music that blares from the speakers. Owen looks a little confused as Reed lifts the water glasses from his hands.

While Reed walks away, Owen passes right by me, heading over to where Caroline is sitting with Candace and Russell. After Owen bends down to whisper in Caroline’s ear, I see her nod. A slow, triumphant expression spreads over Caroline’s face while my date leads her to the dance floor and begins slow dancing with her like they’re lovers.

I frown, watching them as Caroline’s arms wrap tightly around Owen’s neck, like she has been waiting for this moment for a while. Then, I understand what is happening. Reed persuaded Owen to ask Caroline to dance. Pawns, to be manipulated and played… is that what we all are? Is that what I am? Reed has already left the ballroom, so I follow him out, catching up to him near the coatroom. He has just given his ticket to the coat check attendant as I approach him.

“You crossed the line…does that matter to you?” I ask quietly, not looking at him, but raising my chin a bit higher while I watch the attendant search the racks.

“You pushed me over it,” Reed replies, and he is so close his breath tickles my neck. My body reacts to the closeness, but my mind is all fury. “What are you doing with Owen?” Reed asks in frustration.

“Whatever I want to. I’m not a puppet, Reed. I get to choose who I will love and who I will be with—you don’t get to decide,” I try to say this evenly, but anger leaks into my tone.

“You don’t love Owen,” he says as a justification for his actions.

“No. I love you,” I reply in a soft tone. “I’m not a military exercise, Reed. Whatever this is…whatever you’re trying to accomplish, just stop.”

I am about to leave but he holds my arm and says, “You should be with Russell.”

My eyebrow quirks as I say, “Ah, I see, you’re being cupid… how ironic. What is this then—are you trying to provoke Russell into action, or me? Well, I’ve got news for you: I can’t be with Russell—don’t you get it? I love you. If I try to be with Russell, I’ll only end up hurting him more. He deserves someone who loves him with her whole heart.”

“You’re so stubborn, Genevieve,” Reed says in frustration. “You make yourself so sad for no good reason.”

“No, Reed, you make me sad,” I reply, and he releases my arm like I’ve burned him.

Walking back to the ballroom, I stop at the entrance, seeing Owen and Caroline still on the dance floor together. Caroline is kissing Owen’s neck. Perfect! I think, shifting back toward the lobby just in time to watch Reed leave through the outer doors. I’m not going back in the ballroom. I’ll be better off hiding in the bathroom the rest of the evening because Candace is going to want to gloat about this one.

Resolving to hide in the ladies room, I begin walking across the atrium near the attached hotel when a voice behind me says, “Angel.”

I turn to see a beautiful young man attired in a pale gray, silk suit. He isn’t wearing a tie, and his white collared shirt is unbuttoned casually. A lock of his blond hair is lighter in the front as if the sun has kissed it, and his eyes are the deep blue of a dark pool. A shadow of a beard graces his face, but it doesn’t disguise his strong jaw line. It enhances it. He can’t be much older than twenty, but I don’t recognize him from school.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were speaking to me,” I say, realizing I don’t know him. I take a step in the direction of the bathroom, but he catches my elbow loosely in his grasp.

His blue eyes shutter seductively as he asks, “What is your name, little one?” Reaching out, he touches my hair almost reverently.

“Um, why?” I ask nervously, weirded out by the expression of delight on his face and by the fact that he is touching me. I scan the atrium to see if I recognize anyone I can call to, but we are alone for the moment.

Smiling as if I’m an exquisite jewel he’s just found lying around, he says, “Because I must have a name for the singularly exceptional creature I find before me. It cannot be angel, because you are more than an angel, are you not?”

“Um…my name’s Genevieve,” I say, definitely feeling alarm, my heartbeat speeding up.

He cocks his head to the side, studying me for a second. “Your heart is beating so fast, Genevieve, are you afraid of me?”

I let out a breath like he has punched me in the stomach. Holy Freaking Crap! He’s an angel! Don’t freak out—ask him his name, like you’re interested—buy time, I think.

“What’s your name… angel?” I ask as confidently as I can, hoping that my bluff has improved.

“Sebastian,” he replies immediately to my question with a grin. “You are incomparable,” he continues, and then he moves so quickly I couldn’t have avoided him if I had been a thousand yards away. Holding me in his arms as if I am a gift that he intends to unwrap, he scrutinizes me like he will memorize every detail of my body.

“You have a soul,” he breathes, and it would be sexy if it were not so completely creepy.

“Yes, and I plan on keeping it, so don’t get any ideas,” I reply grimly, not knowing what else to say.

Sebastian laughs delightedly at my rebuttal, before saying, “What a paradox you are! You change everything, Genevieve. Do you know that?”

“I have heard that somewhere before, but change is a good thing, right?” I try to smile back, but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace than a smile.

Sebastian hoists me in his arms and moves toward the outside doors. I think he’s so distracted by me that he’s forgetting to use a human pace because the room is whirling by faster than it should. We are across the lobby and to the doors in seconds.

Pushing against his chest, I try to wiggle free. “Please put me down! Where’re you taking me?” I ask Sebastian, really frightened now.

From across the lobby at the entrance to the ballroom, Russell yells, “HEY, WHERE’RE YA TAKIN’ MY GIRL?”

Sebastian doesn’t stop to deal with Russell, but heads out to the parking lot instead. “You are with the humans?” Sebastian asks, frowning disgustedly. “You know, we consider that slumming. It is a good thing that I found you when I did. You really cannot associate with trash like that and expect to survive long.”

Fear makes it hard to breathe. “Sebastian, I’m here with somebody, and I can’t just leave…” I start to say, but am interrupted when Sebastian stops. I look in front of us to see Reed blocking our way. “Reed!” I squeak, unable to say more.

Sebastian growls low and menacingly at Reed, and it has to be the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Reed doesn’t react to this threat; in fact, he is fairly bored with Sebastian’s aggressive warning. “I want her,” Sebastian rasps, and his voice sounds eerily like a wild animal’s. A shiver of revulsion runs the length of my body as he holds me closer to him.

“You will have to get in line then, and it forms behind me,” Reed says, taking off his jacket and tie and resting them on a nearby car. Reed unbuttons his collared shirt. As Sebastian watches Reed, I become aware that he’s deliberating about what to do next. He keeps squeezing me uncomfortably, like he wants to put me down but he can’t actually make himself do it.

“Hey freak! Yer not goin’ anywhere with her!” Russell yells from behind us, and Reed actually smiles.

Sebastian scowls. “Really, little one, you do keep very strange company,” he whispers in my ear as he nuzzles my neck. “We will have to rectify that in the future. I will insist upon it.”

“Sebastian…please, don’t hurt them,” I plead, my breath catching in my throat as the revulsion of his touch hit me in waves. He has a particular darkness to him—I can smell it, feel it, but I have no experience with it to be able to name what exactly it is.

Reed fishes in the pocket of his jacket, and then he pulls out his keys. “When he puts her down…” Reed says, tossing his keys to Russell, “and he will put her down, or I will rip his arms off…” Reed says with menace, looking at Sebastian, “take my car and get Evie out of here. I am parked over there.” He points behind him.

Sebastian, growling again in anger and frustration, gently lowers me to the ground. When my feet touch the pavement, he points directly at Russell even though he never takes his eyes off of Reed, and says, “Do not make me come after you, boy. I will have her.” The menacing tone makes my knees shake. Pausing in his assessment of Reed, Sebastian says to me, “I’ll just be a minute, little one.” And then, he presses his lips to mine, kissing me roughly.

That gets a reaction from Reed. I don’t even see him move, but he hits Sebastian so hard, it knocks him back fifty feet or more into a docile-looking minivan parked in the lot. Sebastian smashes right through the windshield of the vehicle, falling between the tan, bucket seats. The minivan’s shrill car alarm goes off. We all watch the van for a few seconds as the shock of what just happened paralyzes Russell and me. I am sure that no one can survive the crush of being thrown through a windshield like Sebastian just had, so when the teal-green sliding door of the minivan flies off its hinges, crushing the car next to it, a scream tears from my lungs in utter horror.

Slowly, Sebastian emerges from the interior of the van. When he is fully out of it, he takes off his gray-silk, suit jacket and shakes the broken glass from his sun-kissed hair. Smiling ominously, he calls to me, saying, “Don’t be alarmed, Genevieve. I haven’t been harmed. We’re just getting started.”

I hold my hand over my mouth so that I won’t scream again. Reaching over, Sebastian rips the chrome-plated side step off the van. Before I can figure out what he intends to do with it, it is embedded in the side of a car directly behind where Reed had been standing a fraction of a second ago.

“Russell, now would be the time to get Evie out of here,” Reed says without looking at us, but focusing directly on Sebastian.

Even as I turn to Reed to tell him that I’m not going anywhere, he disappears. In the next second, Reed has pounced on Sebastian who is still fifty yards away. The two become locked in a malicious struggle, each one trying to tear the other apart. I don’t get a chance to try to help Reed because Russell picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

Russell runs with me in the direction Reed had indicated his car was parked. He has the keys out, hitting the lock button, looking for flashing lights and a horn honk to direct him to the vehicle. Pausing for a second to look down an aisle of cars, a screeching of metal grows louder behind us so I crane my neck upward to try to see what it is.

Russell turns toward the sound at the same time, so I can’t see what’s happening, but then Russell shouts, “AHH, SHOOT!”

Leaping forward into the next aisle of cars, we land hard on the ground just as the teal-colored minivan that Sebastian had smashed rolls over and over several times on its way past us. It lands in a heap of twisted metal and gives an abbreviated honk before falling silent. Russell, looking at me incredulously for just a second, seeks validation from me for what he just sees happen. My eyes are as wide as his as I nod to him, letting him know that this is real; he isn’t dreaming. Scrambling to his feet, Russell drags me to mine. I hear snarling behind me as the fight between the titans ensues. Wanting to go back to help Reed, I pull against Russell’s grip on my wrist, trying to make him let go of me.

“We have to go back, Russell,” I plead as he drags me down the line of cars.

A terrifying noise sounds from across the parking lot, making us both pause again. My heart pounds in my chest as one of the huge parking lot floodlights, which is held in place by a thick concrete column at its base, comes crashing down where we had last seen Reed and Sebastian. Unable to see over the cars in front of me to get a good view, I flinch because it sounds ghastly as the lamps shatter and the area goes dark.

I try desperately to reason with Russell again, “We have to help Reed!”

“No way, Red!” Russell says between his teeth, scooping me up again and running with me over his shoulder.

He runs fast down the aisle of cars, seeing the flashing lights he was looking for. Locating the car, he opens the driver’s side door, shoving me inside. Russell makes me climb into the passenger seat before jumping into the driver’s seat. He fumbles around, trying to find the automatic seat adjuster so he can move it back to accommodate his long legs.

“Russell, we have to go back. Reed’s all alone with Sebastian,” I say, looking out my window into the darkness to see if I can catch a glimpse of them.

“We can’t help him, Red—yer buddy, Sebastian, just threw a minivan at us—a minivan, Red! Our only chance is to run ‘cuz if that thing gets us, you will be his,” Russell says roughly, using the words that Sebastian had spoken to him.

He twists in his seat to look out the back window while putting the car in reverse. Peeling out of the parking space, he slams the car into first, leaving tire tracks on the ground as we bolt through the parking lot.

“Russell, please—go back—we can hit him with the car or something,” I plead, looking frantically out the back window. I can’t see them at all—maybe they have taken flight. I try to see if I can see them through the glass of the sunroof.

“He’s strong enough to throw a minivan, Red! He can stop this little car, too, if he wants. Who’s that guy anyway, and what does he want with ya?” Russell asks angrily, scanning me for answers as he drives way too fast through the city, blowing red lights while looking for signs for the highway. He is breathing hard, and I suspect it is more from adrenaline now than from the exertion it took to escape the parking lot.

“His name’s Sebastian, and I think he wanted…me,” I say reluctantly, clutching the seat as Russell squeals the tires around a corner when he spots a sign to the highway.

“Why does he want y’all? He looked like he was havin’ a hard time puttin’ ya down,” Russell asks, and then he looks me over, adding, “y’all can’t ever wear that dress again, Red.”

Rolling my eyes at him, “Are you serious?” I scoff, thinking this has nothing to do with my dress and everything to do with what I am.

“Hell, yeah, I’m serious! What was that guy? And don’t act like y’all don’t know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout ‘cuz y’all were datin’ one of them not too long ago,” Russell says tersely.

“Russell don’t—” I begin but I’m cut off.

“Don’t what, Red? Don’t freak out? Don’t ask questions? Don’t care ‘bout ya?” he shoots the questions at me in rapid-fire succession.

“Yes!” I yell at Russell. Then, I say in as rational a tone as possible, “Think of it this way, Russell, you really don’t want to know.”

There is a red light in front of us and Russell has to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting another car. Reed’s car just about goes sideways, but Russell manages to bring it back in line before bringing it to a screeching halt.

Russell scowls. “Yeah, Red, I really, really, do want to know!” he yells back at me.

“I can’t tell you, Russell,” I say quietly.

“Ahh, hell! This is the same conversation we’ve been havin’ ever since I met ya,” Russell continues to yell at me, watching for the light to turn green again.

“Well, get used to it because I really can’t tell you,” I reply adamantly. “But, if you turn around and take me back, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out all on your own.”

“And risk that thing gettin’ his hands on ya again?” he asks in revulsion, flooring the car when the light turns green. Russell finds the on-ramp for the highway and buries the needle on the speedometer.

“Russell…please!” I beg him.

“Shut up, Genevieve. I’m not takin’ ya back there, no matter what ya say,” he replies as if I have lost my mind. “Did ya hear that guy? He called ya ‘little one,’ like ya were his pet or somethin’. What’s he gonna do to ya if he gets ya back?” he asks grimly. “This is the only way I can protect ya from him, and I’ll do it, even if ya don’t like it.”

Russell’s phone rings and he pulls it from his suit pocket. “Yeah?” he barks as a greeting, and then holds the phone from his ear as screaming comes out of his phone. When there is a break in the yelling, Russell replies, “Evie wasn’t feelin’ well, so I’m drivin’ her home.” He has to hold the phone away from his ear again as more screaming ensues. “Fine, goodbye,” Russell says, ending the call and looking grim.

“Candace?” I ask softly.

His jaw tightens. “Yep,” he replies.

“She’s mad?” I ask as it just registers with me that Russell has dropped everything to come to my rescue…again.

“Y’all could say that,” he replies with a sour expression.

“But she’ll forgive you, right…” I say, but trail off when he gives me a sidelong look that says: “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Russell,” I say, trying to mean it.

Russell exhales a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Red, it was over with Candace the minute I walked in and saw y’all in the lobby in that dress. She knew it; I didn’t have to tell her,” Russell says, not looking at me.

“It’s just a dress. Have you all gone crazy?” I ask in frustration. Looking down, I see that my dress is hitched up dangerously high on my legs, and I try to pull it down modestly.

Russell sighs deeply, like someone trying to figure out how to explain a complicated concept. “It’s not the dress,” he says, looking at me. “Red, I know y’all don’t know much about men, but seein’ ya there like that, it just hits ya and ya start thankin’ God that there is such beauty in the world and that yer lucky enough to have seen it.”

“Please,” I reply, trying to deny his words as I blush.

“I’m serious. Ya find yerself thinkin’ that there’s nothin’ ya wouldn’t do for such beauty. I just didn’t think I’d get to test that desire so soon after thinkin’ it,” he says.

“You’re insane, Russell, and the next time something like this happens, I want you—no, I expect you to run the other way,” I warn him fiercely.

“What do ya mean, the next time this happens—are y’all sayin’ we should expect more of these things to be ‘round?” he asks grimly. I nod, and Russell is silent for a while. I sit, unmoving in the passenger seat, feeling hollow with fear for Reed.

“Ya know, I always felt smug ‘bout my strength. I’m not sayin’ I’m the strongest man alive, but I’m stronger than most. I’ve never known what it is to feel weak until I met ya. I watched that Sebastian move like some bad guy out of a comic book, and then I saw Reed toss him like a football…” he trails off, thinking. “Reed didn’t look surprised that Sebastian was there, did he? He was cool as if it was all business, just another day at the office, except when that freak kissed ya,” he says, looking at me, assessing my reaction to what he is saying.

I don’t look at him. He is starting to piece it together, and I wonder how long it will take him to figure out the truth. And, what will he do when he knows?

Russell’s phone rings again. Looking at the display, he hands me the phone, “It’s for y’all.”

Grasping his phone like a lifeline, I answer anxiously, “Hello?”

“Evie,” Reed says, because he knows my voice anywhere, just as I know his.

“Reed,” I choke. He survived…thank you God, I pray, melting into the seat.

“It’s okay,” Reed says simply, and I know he means that Sebastian is dead.

I exhale slowly, trying to calm down. My hand is shaking, and it’s difficult to keep the phone to my ear. “Was he…bad?” I ask, because I’m not sure if Reed had killed a divine angel to save me. At the same time, I know Russell is listening.

“He was Fallen,” Reed says, understanding what I am asking him.

“I’m so sorry, Reed, I…” I am crying, but I can’t help it.

Reed’s voice is soft and sweet, when he says, “Ssshhh, it’s okay, Evie. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“No it won’t…it will never be all right,” I whisper into the phone.

“Yes, it will. Trust me, it will,” he says soothingly.

“When are you coming back?” I ask him. I need to see him, to touch him, to assure myself that he’s okay.

“Tonight. Late…I have to clean up the loose ends here,” he replies.

“Will I see you?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond to my question.

“Let me speak to Russell,” he says instead, and I understand then that nothing between us has changed. He is still just my protector, nothing more.

Handing Russell the phone, I feel utter defeat. Russell just listens to whatever Reed is telling him, and then he looks over at me. His only reply is, “I’ll see her home. I’ll take care of her.”

CHAPTER 17

Delt Wars

Things revert back to how they were before the Delt formal, except now, Russell watches me even more closely, and Reed stays further away, if that is possible. I attempt to talk with Reed about what happened at formal, specifically about Sebastian, but he shuts me down again. I want answers for all my questions. How did Sebastian know right away what I am? Am I giving off some kind of signal? What can I do to change, so that this will never happen again?

Deep down inside of me, I already know that there is nothing to be done. This is how I am and I can’t change it. To be honest, what I really want is for Reed to hold my hand and talk to me in his angelic language, so that the fear that threatens to overwhelm me, doesn’t break me down any further. But, Reed won’t talk to me in any language, so I have to keep pretending I am okay.

Russell can’t be any more attentive than he already is. His worry for me is palatable, and he finds reasons to be by my last class each day, so he can walk me to my dorm. He is also concerned every time he has to go out of town to an away game. He must have coordinated something with Freddie, because whenever he has to leave, Freddie is around to watch me, like a babysitter.

I know that I should do something to make Russell and Freddie leave me alone because my nightmare is becoming more and more acute by the day. I try to explain to Russell that it is not safe for him to be around me, but he wants details and information I can’t give him. He is determined to help me, even when I know he can’t.

I notice Russell studying me when he thinks I’m not aware of what he’s doing. It’s almost laughable, since I’m becoming more and more aware of my surroundings by the day. Everything around me has a new clarity; things are crisper and more in focus. Other differences are becoming apparent as well, especially in the cognitive realm. I don’t have to concentrate as hard in class to understand the information being taught; I can just listen with half an ear to get it. Not only that, I can recall information verbatim, if I’m asked about it later. This makes my mid-term exams almost enjoyable, if I can enjoy anything anymore.

Without my schoolwork to focus on, I have too much time to obsess about my other problems. I often pace around my room, restless for something to concentrate my energy on, so my mind won’t torture me with what if scenarios. That is what I am doing before I realize I am down the hall, pounding on Buns and Brownie’s door.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Buns asks when she comes to the door.

“It’s on,” I say flatly. “We go Wednesday.”

“Sweetie! Are you sure?” she asks excitedly, not having to ask me what it is. She knows instinctually that I am talking about the composite theft and kicking off our own version of war with the Delts.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Can you be ready?” I ask her as Brownie comes to the door.

“Oh, we’re ready, sweetie. Brownie, it’s on!” Buns says eagerly to Brownie.

“Yes!” Brownie grins as she grabs Buns’s hands, and they scream and jump up and down like banshees at a bonfire.

“Aces. I have an idea for how we can end the war,” I say. “You know that the Delts are having a costume party this weekend?”

“Yeah, we were trying to decide what we’re going to wear to it,” Brownie says.

“I’m all over it. Leave it to me,” I say.

We throw ourselves into the planning of the war. Every moment not spent in class we devote to preparation for Wednesday. I am grateful for any distraction that keeps me from thinking of Reed. Wednesday evening comes quickly, and we are ready. The black outfits that Buns had shipped to her are professional in every way. Buns drives us to the drop off point a block away from the Delt house.

“Okay, Buns, we’ll meet you over by the McIntyre dorm. If we have to split up, Brownie will make it to McIntyre, and I’ll go to the clock tower at Central Hall,” I say, reviewing the plan. “You ready, Brownie?” I ask. She looks more like an international assassin than a college sophomore.

“Let’s go. Stay frosty,” Brownie says, getting out of the car and carrying the nylon-covered portfolio tube with all of the equipment in it for the job.

Keeping to the shadows, we run to the Delt House. We crouch behind the evergreen bushes beneath the window to the billiard room and set to work removing the screen. Earlier today, Buns had visited JT and had unlocked the window for us. Peeking quickly inside, I hear the meeting going on in the basement as if I am outside the basement door with my ear pressed to it.

Cupping my hands together like a step, I hoist Brownie through the window. I hand her the cylindrical portfolio case before she reaches down to help me in. Extracting the mini flashlight from the bag, along with the battery-powered screwdriver, Brownie holds the light while I extract the composite from its frame. Reaching into the portfolio, I take out the replacement poster we brought with us. We put it in the frame and hang it back on the wall.

Taking out the post-it notes with the rating of each of the Delts, we place them on the composite. Brownie uses the camera to take several digital pictures of the composite with the ratings on it. Putting the camera back in the portfolio, I extract another poster; it is one of their clues to solve where we will stash the composite.

I tiptoe down the hall to the storage closet I’d used to hide from Russell a few weeks ago. After I step inside I close the door behind me. I hang the poster on the back wall using double stick tape. When I am finishing up, a gavel bangs in the basement indicating that their meeting is adjourned. Uh-oh, I think. I open the door of the closet and hurry down the hall.

“Hey!” an angry, male voice shouts from the basement stairway.

Opening the billiards room door, I slam it behind me and say, “Time to go!” Brownie is already waiting for me by the window. She jumps out, and I use the strap on the portfolio tube to secure it to my back before jumping from the window, too. “Split up. I’ll go Central, you go Mac,” I whisper, and Brownie nods.

We both take off running in opposite directions. The billiard room is filling up with angry Delts, and I can hear them reacting to the poster we’d left them in the composite frame. It is one of those yellow-dot smiley-faces with the caption that reads, “Have A Nice Day,” except our smiley-face is flipping them off.

Running through the dark night, I can’t contain the giggles coming from deep within me. My gloating doesn’t last long, however, as I become aware of the pursuit being mounted behind me. A couple of the cars in the Delt parking lot are firing up with doors slamming and wheels peeling out. My escape route to Central Hall is next to the road, perfect for a car to follow. I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I won’t be able to make it there on foot before the cars catch up to me. I either need to hide until they pass me, or to find a shortcut. Frantically, I scan the houses for a potential hiding place.

Looking anxiously over my shoulder, a car containing fraternity men drives slowly toward me. Flashlights throw tunnels of light out of both sides of the car, illuminating the bushes and hedges that line the houses on either side of the street. They are stalking the area carefully so that they don’t miss me.

“There she is!” someone yells from the car behind me.

Fear thunders through me with every rapid pulse of my heart. Taking several more strides with my head down, a few moments pass before I realize that something is different. I feel as light as air, like gravity can no longer exert its force on me as strongly as it had only seconds ago. My strides are longer, exponentially longer, and my feet move so rapidly that they blur. My bones feel like they are less dense, too. It is as if the bars on the cage of this body that I’ve known all of my life are somehow being shed, and I can step through them, free.

With a gasp of air, I look up; the scenery around me moves so fast that I panic, coming to an immediate stop in my tracks. Panting, not from exertion, but rather from alarm at the power that has unleashed inside of me, I exhale slowly to calm myself. My entire body quivers with kinetic energy, and I am having difficulty harnessing the power that wants to surge me forward. The pool of headlights behind me creeps nearer. Trying to control the outpouring of power propelling me forward, I attempt to maintain a slower, more human pace, but within seconds, I am accumulating more and more speed.

The scenery in my peripheral vision whirls by me at tremendous velocity while my frontal vision picks up every object and detail in front of me, assessing it at the same time. I run another city block in what seems like a few steps. I know where every parked car is, every street sign, every uneven crack in the sidewalk, and I can navigate them as if they don’t exist. My vision is absolutely clear; pristine is a better word for it, since now I can see almost as well as I could during the day, just without the ability to see color differential.

I have night vision! I think, gasping and gazing up at the night sky. The stars look so close, and everything is shimmering in the non-light, like I am seeing some kind of heat signature given off by the objects in my field of vision.

Looking back at the car behind me again, I see the expression on the faces of the angry Delts. They are keyed up because they had caught a glimpse of me ahead of them seconds ago, and now I am no longer in the range of their headlights. They continue to speed up, looking for me again. A slow smile touches my lips while my body moves forward at excessive speed; it is becoming clearer to me with every step that even the wind can’t catch me. I can only imagine what the Delts think they see and how they rationalize the fact that I appear to dematerialize in front of their eyes.

Laughing, I push myself faster as fear rapidly melts away. I want to know how far and fast I can drive myself, since I am not even breathing hard. I run through town just like a silent rocket on the salt flats. The sound of the wind whistling by me is enrapturing. I avoid everyone on the sidewalk by making wide, arcing paths around them, but I notice that I carry with me a tail wind that startles each in his turn when he is hit by it.

I run out to the lake, and then I run around it, seeing all of the creatures that watch me pass them in the night. I want to go on forever. I want to just keep running and never look back. Remembering that Buns and Brownie will be looking for me at Central Hall, I reluctantly turn back toward campus. My trip to the lake had only taken me a little more than ten minutes. I travel with equal speed all the way back, easily avoiding anything that nears my path.

Arriving at the steps of Central Hall, I feel exultant. The old, brick clock tower, covered in ivy several stories high, is almost as detailed to me now as it would be in daylight. Walking up the steps of the sweeping veranda, it doesn’t feel like I am picking a good hiding spot, since I can see everything so clearly. We had specifically chosen this spot as an extraction point because the old building is so dark at night. I have to keep telling myself that no one else can see me because no one else has vision like mine.

Sitting down on the veranda in the darkness, I peer out between the large, white posts of the balustrade, feeling much like a cat must feel as it prowls the dark of night. I watch for the Golden Goose to pull up in the parking lot so that I can go down and meet them.

“What are you looking for?” a deep male voice asks right next to me.

A gasp of fear tears from me while I turn toward the voice, seeing a young man next to me on the porch. I hadn’t seen anyone sitting there a moment before, yet there he is now, grinning at me as if he, too, is surprised. “Oh my God!” I say in fear, quickly scooting back away from him.

There is something definitely not right about him. He is pale, and his clothing is different as if he is in a period play set sometime in the nineteenth century. Standing up, I thrust both of my arms out in front of me to ward him off if he makes a move toward me. “You, stay there!” I order, backing my way down the steps, intent on running the moment my feet hit the sidewalk.

The man doesn’t move, but he is watching me go, smiling all the while as if he has a private joke that amuses him. I don’t have a chance to run because right when I reach the bottom step, I am locked in an embrace that holds me pinned immobile where I stand.

“Having fun?” Reed asks in a tone that definitely lets me know that he is not having any.

“Reed! You scared me—don’t do that!” I say in anger, wanting to hit him for nearly making me jump out of my skin. “I thought you were with that guy over there,” I say, and belatedly notice the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

“You can see Will?” he asks, tightening his grip on my arms. He sounds excited as he drops his frown for a moment.

“Will? Of course I can see him, he was sitting right next to me. He was just sort of there when I looked next to me. He freaked me out!” I say warily, before turning back to see what Will is up to on the porch, but he is gone. “He was just there! I saw him! He asked me what I was looking for,” I try to explain to Reed. “He has blond hair—longer, like a surfer, with these side burns that look like mutton chops.”

“That is Will. He stays here,” Reed says, nodding toward Central Hall, and there is a definite excitement in Reed’s tone.

My brow wrinkles. “What do you mean he stays here? Nobody stays here. It’s an administration building,” I reply in confusion.

Reed lets his hands fall from me. “If you can see Will, that means your vision is improving,” Reed says, acknowledging the recent evolution of my latent angelic nature.

I rub my forehead. “What does my vision have to do with the guy on the porch?” I ask uncomfortably, and then I see headlights coming toward the parking lot of Central Hall. I duck down, pulling Reed by the shirt toward the bushes at the side of the building. He follows me, but he isn’t attempting to hide or evade notice in any way.

Reed’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing out here, alone, at night, Evie?” Reed asks with definite irritation in his tone once more.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Nothing. It was a nice night, so I thought I’d go for a walk,” I reply, adding a shrug to try to make my lie more convincing.

“You went for a walk at night, in a black outfit, with a case strapped to your back?” Reed asks skeptically.

“You said you know the weird guy on the porch. Who is he?” I ask, evading his question. I move nearer to the building when I see some more headlights driving by.

“Will is a soul,” Reed says in the typical Reed fashion of using the least amount of words as possible. He is watching me and moving with me, frowning.

“You know something, you’re stingy with words. You have to work on that because it’s seriously starting to tick me off,” I say rashly, trying to make sense of what he is saying. At the same time, I am trying not to be discovered by a car full of angry Delts.

“Okay, let me spell it out for you then. Will is dead. Will died a long time ago. Will has no physical body; he is a spirit,” Reed says with an edge of irritation.

“Will’s a ghost?” I ask, forgetting to hide now as I straighten up. I scan Reed’s face for any sign that he could be teasing me. He looks completely serious, so I wonder if my life can get any creepier.

“Yes,” he replies, “I think they mostly prefer to be called souls, but ghost will do for now.”

“Of course. Let’s be PC about it,” I say as I shiver. “What’s he doing here?”

Reed turns toward the porch again and says, “Will was a little angry with God for having survived the war, only to come home and die of cholera before his wedding.”

“What war?” I ask, trying to see if I can glimpse Will lurking in one of the windows of Central Hall.

“The Civil War,” Reed replies.

“Sure…the Civil War, what was I thinking?” I stammer sarcastically, trying not to go into shock over the discovery of a dark side to my newest ability. “Well, it sounds perfectly reasonable to me. I’d be a little annoyed, too, if I were Will…so you’re saying Will can’t get into Heaven because he’s angry at God?” I ask, feeling that it is a harsh judgment.

“No, Will is welcome whenever he chooses to go. He just has not chosen to do so,” Reed says calmly as if I am a petulant child.

“Oh, so he’s being stubborn?” I ask for clarification, feeling a little guilty for jumping to the wrong conclusion.

“That seems to be the human condition around here,” Reed replies.

“Am I going to see more ghosts…I mean souls, like Will, from now on?” I ask him, hoping he will reply in the negative.

“Yes,” he replies.

My eyes narrow, “And you didn’t think this was information that I would need prior to stumbling across one?” I ask angrily.

“Evie, they are just like most humans,” Reed tries to explain, but I cut off his argument.

“No, Reed, they aren’t like most humans. Most humans I know aren’t dead. They have pulses, Reed…they breathe, and other humans can see them,” I fire back at him.

“I didn’t come here tonight to debate souls with you,” he says with a sigh, turning aside my argument.

“Just why are you here then?” I wonder, instantly dropping all of my anger as it sinks in that this is the first time I’ve been able to have a conversation with Reed since formal, and I am wasting it.

“I was checking on you. You sounded different tonight,” he says in a gentle tone, and I watch him as he puts his hand to his forehead, rubbing it.

“I did…you were, what? Listening to my heart again?” I ask, and smile when I see him frown.

“You were really afraid at one point, and then you…”

“What did I do?” I ask quietly, watching his face for clues.

“Your heart started…singing,” he says as his eyes soften.

“Oh? Ohhhh! Reed, you have to see this. Here,” I say, pulling him back behind Central Hall, “stand right here. Don’t move.”

I turn away from him to adopt a runner’s starting mark stance. “Watch this!” I call over my shoulder. Then I shoot up out of the crouch as fast as a splash of yellow lightning sprawls across the darkened sky. I run by the library, and then turn and run back, feeling the rush of wind streaming through my hair as the scenery rolls by me at excessive speed. The entire circuit takes me only a few seconds. Approaching Reed, I slow down as I leap at him, hoping he will catch me.

When he does, I wrap my arms around his neck and say, “What do you think of that?”

“There aren’t words in your language,” he says softly, and then he kisses me with all of the intensity and passion that I have craved for the past weeks.

My entire body melts against his as I kiss him back. His grip on me is fierce as if he has lost control, so I press my advantage. “I’ve missed you so much, Reed,” I whisper against his lips. “I won’t give you up. I can’t.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Reed says, turning his head as I begin kissing his neck. “Sometimes we do not get what we want, what we long for. Sometimes we are asked to sacrifice what we want,” Reed says sadly, holding me tightly in his arms.

I stop kissing him. Straightening, I search his stormy-green eyes again. “But that’s cruel,” I murmur warily.

Reed laughs mirthlessly. “Ask Will if he thought that dying right before his wedding was cruel, and then ask him how much he enjoyed watching his love marry his best friend. Maybe then you will begin to understand that what I am saying is relevant,” he explains, setting me back on my feet in front of him.

My eyes plead with his as I say, “You are wrong, and I will prove it to you. No matter how hard it is. You are meant for me.”

“No one wants to be proven wrong more than I do,” Reed says tiredly. “Everything about you calls to me. Your skin begs me to touch it, and when I do it burns me like a drug and I want more. You are like a cut that never heals. I just keep bleeding,” Reed says while he disengages from my embrace. He nudges me gently toward the front of the building. “You had better hurry, your friends are waiting for you in the parking lot, and I can hear Remy’s car, filled with angry frat boys, coming down the street.”

“I don’t care about that,” I say, but Reed interrupts me.

“I have to go, Evie. I should not have come here tonight… I could not stay away, when I heard your heart,” he says, and turning away from me, he is gone in an instant.

“Reed!” I yell, but he doesn’t come back. “You love me…”

Buns and Brownie are in the parking lot when I pull myself together enough to make it to the car. Jumping in the backseat, I mutter, “Remy’s on his way; we’d better go.”

I change back into normal clothing as Buns speeds away unseen. We go to the library as planned, emailing the ransom photos to the Delt House web master under a contrived user name. We go back to our dormitory, and I say goodnight to the girls. I stay awake awhile, trying to figure out a way to disprove a negative. How am I going to get Reed to see that Russell and I are impossible, that only he and I are right for each other?

“What a bunch of whiny little mama’s boys!” Brownie rants when we all meet up in her room after classes the next day. “I honestly didn’t think they’d get the administration involved with this, since this is what they do to us every stinking year!”

“Sweetie, I told you we shouldn’t have given Remy a four. He’s the president, and we totally owned him,” Buns says, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. She and Brownie had been hauled in for questioning by the Dean of Men because the Delts had reported the theft of the composite and named them as suspects.

Buns goes over every nuance of the interview with Dean Andrews in minute detail. He couldn’t make them confess to anything, so he had to let them off with a warning. “Anyway, it’s nearly time for karmic retribution. Our whole house is ready,” Buns announces to Brownie and me.

“All right, mount up, we’re moving out,” Brownie says as she tightens the thigh holster of her automatic paintball gun.

The fitted camouflage cargo pants and t-shirts we purchased for the occasion look excellent on her. She hands me the yellow-tinted shooting glasses that complete my equipment. I check the safety on my paintball gun as we head out to the Golden Goose and drive out to Arden Lake. When we arrive, I see that trenches are already dug on the sandy beach with ammunition set up at intervals along them. Buns and Brownie give a rousing speech about payback for the rating system, which gets the girls fired up. I make sure that my backpack is well stocked with paintball ammo and get into position in the trench between Buns and Brownie.

The Delts prove to be wily adversaries, we realize as we watch several carloads of young men arrive at the beach. They recruited just about every freshman boy they could find to aid them in their war against us. They are uncharitable about it as well, using the freshmen as infantry soldiers, throwing them at us first to deplete our ammunition before they engage in the fight.

“Cowards!” Brownie taunts them, picking off several freshmen in front of her. “We have to move out of the trenches, or all we’ll hit are the freshmen,” she yells to Buns and me, then turns to the other girls and gives the order to storm the beach.

Moving out of the trenches and up the beach toward the Delts, it is apparent they have come prepared with their own paintball guns in tow. The beach rapidly becomes mayhem. My improved vision gives me a huge advantage over everyone else. I am able to put a paint slug anywhere I want to on any opponent. I manage to hit Remy several times in the chest and a couple of times in the trigger hand, making him drop his weapon and run back toward the parking lot for cover.

Unfortunately, I also see who picks up Remy’s weapon. Russell trains the gun on me, and with an evil grin on his face, his first round of bullets rain on me like rice at a wedding. I manage to get off a couple shots before I have to retreat. My gun needs to be reloaded, but there is no way I am going to be given the opportunity to do so, because with Russell’s long strides, he will be on me in a matter of seconds. If only I could use my speed to evade him, but I can’t expose myself, so I am doomed.

I almost make it off the beach to a secluded picnic area before I am tackled from behind, dropping to a soft landing in the sand. It doesn’t hurt, and I lie there laughing as Russell’s arms loosen their grip from around my legs. Rolling me over onto my back, he takes my gun from me, tossing it away into the sand. A triumphant look crosses his face as he gazes down at me, covered as I am in blotches of paint from head to toe.

“Surrender,” he says in a deep southern drawl.

“Never!” I giggle at him, wondering who has brought him here.

“Ahh, so, it’s to be torture, is it?” he asks as he tickles me without leniency.

“Mercy!” I say, laughing. “Anything, just stop!”

“Anythin’, well now, Red, ya asked for it,” and before I can object, Russell bends down, pressing his lips to mine in a deep, heated kiss that takes me off guard in its intensity.

For a few moments, I respond to the heat of his kiss, because it is like being home…safe…it feels as if I have been kissing him all my life, even though this is the first time. But, it is more than that; it is like I have loved him all my life, or much, much longer. Even as my soul soars high, urging me to continue the kiss, the angel part of me is livid and is now actively trying to push Russell away from me. That part of me will never be satisfied with anything but Reed, no matter how he feels about me.

The intense heat and physical upheaval that hits me every time I am near Reed is not there with Russell. I don’t know if it is angel vs. human attraction, or if it is just a primal thing I have for Reed, but I crave it, and I want nothing less than all of it. Russell draws back at my insistence, looking down on me with smoldering eyes because he had felt my initial response to his kiss.

“So, there’s hope after all, Red,” Russell says, almost to himself as he sits down next to me in the sand. “I knew y’all loved me.”

“Russell I can’t…” I say, rising to my elbows.

He interrupts me, saying in a serious tone, “Ya know, I’ve thought a lot about the first night we were here at the lake together.” He is not looking at me, but out at the tranquil water. “I always wonder what would’ve happened if I’d kissed ya then, before Reed had shown up. If I’d kissed ya, would ya have been less wrapped up in him?” he asks me rhetorically, while pulling his hand through his tawny hair. Then, he looks at me with his warm brown eyes and continues, “I know ya don’t know, but it’s just one thing about all of this that tortures me.”

“I’m sorry, Russell…” I say, wanting to cry.

“Shhh,” he says, picking up my hand and kissing the top of it. “Come on. Don’t let me ruin yer perfectly good war that y’all worked so hard on,” he smiles. He pulls me up and dusts the sand off of me like I am a child. “Red, yer a pretty good shot. I thought ya had me until y’all ran out of ammo.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, still choking on the guilt that hits me twofold now. I feel guilty for betraying Reed and guilty for hurting Russell again. Does this never end?

Retrieving my gun from where Russell had thrown it, I walk with my head down, so I won’t have to look Russell in the eyes. When we get back to the main part of the beach, the war is all but over. Buns and Brownie are negotiating terms with Remy and a few other Delt officers. It is agreed that the Delts will get the last clue to the composite’s whereabouts tomorrow at their costume party.

Russell squeezes my hand as we near the girls. “I have to find Mason and get a ride back to the dorms with him. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, okay?” he asks with concern clouding his eyes. I nod my head, trying to smile at him, but it falls short. “Don’t worry, Red, everything will work out. Trust me,” he whispers in my ear. His cheek brushes mine when he draws back to smile at me sweetly before jogging away with an easy grace to catch up with Mason.

Buns, Brownie, and I are walking back to the Golden Goose when JT pulls up next to us in a black Range Rover. “Hey, Buns!” JT yells as he stands up through the sunroof of the vehicle. We stop and stare at JT, or what we can see of him with all of the windows blacked out like a diplomatic vehicle. Hearing him is certainly a problem too, since the car’s stereo vibrates the pavement beneath our feet, drowning out everything else.

JT pops his head back into the car, turning the stereo down so that it is no longer sub woofing. “Want to go for a ride, ladies?” JT asks when he comes back up. “Pete and I are going to go to the Seven-Eleven—get slurpees—drive around—play some insane music,” JT says. The passenger side window of the SUV rolls down and Pete becomes visible in the driver’s seat.

“That could be gnar, what do you think?” Buns asks us enthusiastically.

“Sure, why not?” Brownie shrugs, engaging the safety to her gun, and then all eyes are on me.

I am about to decline and tell them that I would see them later. Reed had made me promise not to go to the 7-Eleven without him. Reed, I think and feel paralyzed. Intense pain that I have been keeping at bay rushes through me like a bitter poison. Then, the memory of Russell’s kiss assails my senses. A deep scalding pain pierces my heart as the angel and the soul that make up who I am tear at each other like vicious enemies.

I just want it to end; I want the pain to stop, I think miserably. I am so tired, not in a physical way, but weary in a way that no amount of sleep or rest will help. Suddenly, I am in a rush to get to the 7-Eleven. I want to hasten my fate, not to run from it. I want it to be over.

“Let’s go,” I say, opening the back door of the SUV and climbing in.

“Tight.” JT says from the passenger’s seat as I slip over to the opposite door, allowing room for Brownie and Buns. Pete turns the stereo back up, but not as loud as before, and we head off.

Rolling my window down, I close my eyes, feeling the wind blowing on my face. Whatever is going to happen, it seems preferable to the constant ache in my chest. When we arrive at the 7-Eleven, I am the first one out of the car. Instrumental music plays softly as I move past the cash register and the clerk with the red smock uniform. I turn down the back aisle of the store, walking swiftly to the light that had given me the smack down and positioning myself directly beneath it.

I stand there waiting for something to happen…anything, because I just want this to be done. The light flickers once. Adrenaline flashes into my system, causing my heart to race as I flinch a little, anticipating the deafening blast of sound that is the prelude to the insanity. Seconds tick by, but nothing happens. I gaze up at the light, trying to stare it down and bend it to my will for once.

“Hey, sweetie, do you want a cherry or a blue raspberry?” Buns calls to me from the slurpee machine in the front of the store.

Crushing disappointment hits me then. Nothing is happening. What do I want to happen? I think, looking down at the floor. The color drains from my face when I think about what I am doing here. Do I really want my premonition to happen? That would mean carnage and destruction for everyone in the store, I assess and panic, looking from Buns to Brownie.

Intending to get my friends out of here immediately, I take a step forward, but a flash of red stops me. A teardrop of crimson stains the tile at my feet before a few more drips falling from above spatter onto the floor. Blood? I wonder in confusion.

As I freeze in indecision, something shiny drops from the light above to the floor. Going down on one knee, I pick it up from the ground. My hand shakes as I quickly turn the blood-smeared silvery pendants over in my hand. The circular pendant makes a soft sound as it rubs against the metal of the infinity symbol. Russell’s necklace…my mind races. I clutch the worn, leather strap tightly in my palm. It came through the light— with blood.

Suddenly, I am moving to the front of the store. I have to get my friends out of here. “I’ll take a cherry, Buns.” I say, moving to her side and helping her put the arching plastic lid on the cup. I pull her along by the elbow, feeling relief that Pete, JT, and Brownie are already cashed out. It takes longer than I think it should for the cashier to make change for the ten I hand her for the slurpees.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Buns asks me. “You’re sweating,” she observes as we leave the convenience store and get into the Range Rover.

“I’m not feeling very well,” I murmur. “Can you guys drop me off at our dorm?” I ask, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

“Sure, Evie, we have to get the car back anyway.” JT replies, and turns the stereo way up.

When I get back to the dorm, I say goodnight to Brownie and Buns, then head to my room. The second that I am in, I am on the phone dialing Russell’s number. My hand is shaking so badly, I can hardly hold the phone to my ear. Russell answers on the second ring, “Hello, darlin’,” he says with a slow, sexy drawl.

“Russell,” I say breathlessly as relief floods through my entire body. Sinking to my knees on the floor, I want to ask him if he is okay, but that would make me sound like a psycho, so instead, I say in a tight voice, “Uh, hi, Russell. I was wondering, did you lose your necklace?”

“Wow, yeah, I just noticed a few minutes ago that it was missin’, did ya find it?” he asks me excitedly.

I close my eyes as I think, you could say I found it, or you could say something gave it to me.

“Yeah, I found it,” I murmur in a strained tone.

Russell sounds puzzled as he asks, “Was it at the lake?”

“Uh huh, I’ve got to go, Russell. I’ll bring it with me to breakfast tomorrow,” I answer him quickly. I don’t know what to tell him, or what not to tell him, but it is clear now that Russell is in this, no matter how much I wish it otherwise.

I need to protect him, but I don’t know how to do that, I think, feeling utterly helpless. The only thing I am sure of is that I’ve been completely naїve, thinking that I am going to be able to save Russell from this.

“Sure, Red. Are ya okay? I mean, ‘bout the lake and the… kiss?” he asks with concern in his voice. “I didn’t mean to push ya, it’s just that ya looked so happy in that moment and…”

“I’m okay, Russell,” I reply in a gentle tone. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll see y’all tomorrow. Goodnight, Red,” he says, and there is something in his tone that is like a caress. It makes my breath catch.

I end the call and sit on the floor, clutching Russell’s necklace in my fist. Finally, I rise, gather my toiletries, and I walk down the hall to shower. Standing under the raining water, I let it beat on me as I cry silently. He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay, I think like a mantra, trying to get the blackness of dread to leave my soul. I clean all of the blood off the necklace so that I won’t have to explain it when I give it back.

Returning to my room, I towel dry my hair and brush it out. I slip into a white t-shirt and some underwear. I am so keyed up that I need to find something to distract me from the horrible thoughts going on in my mind. I sit down at my computer and type an email to Uncle Jim.

Nearly finished with my correspondence, filled with disgustingly happy lies, I pause, feeling the first stirrings of butterflies in my stomach. My heart skips a beat, like it always does when I feel Reed nearby. Then my heart sinks again, because I know from the last weeks it won’t matter if he is near, he won’t unbend at all with me. So, when the fluttering grows in intensity with each passing moment, it becomes harder to concentrate on what I am doing.

I click the mouse to send my email just seconds before my windows open behind me. Not turning around, I try to remain calm as anxiety gnaws at me. Why is he here? I wonder to myself. Don’t get your hopes up; he’s not here because he wants to be, I tell myself as my stomach twists painfully.

“Genevieve! We have to talk. Now!” Reed barks from the fire escape. I jump in my seat. “Meet me in the parking lot,” he growls. “I will be in my Range Rover.”

“No,” I say, getting up from my chair and walking to the windows. “Goodnight, Reed,” I say, closing them firmly.

I see the look on his face; he is stunned. I glance down at myself, realizing I am only wearing my t-shirt and underwear. I don’t care. This is my room, I think, turning away from the window.

The windows open again, and before I can turn around, Reed is in my room. “We will talk about this,” he says in a low tone from just inside my window.

With his arms crossed over his bare chest and his arching, charcoal-colored wings exposed, he is every inch an avenging angel; he is also the most undeniably striking creature I’ve ever seen. My hands ball into fists, and I grit my teeth so that I won’t just cave in to his every whim. If he can be stupid and unreasonable, then so can I.

“There is nothing to talk about, Reed,” I reply, feeling raw and trapped. I’m going to lose everything. I lost Reed and now I’m poised to lose Russell, too, because I don’t know how to save him.

Reed’s eyes narrow in a predatory way. “We could discuss your trip to the Seven-Eleven tonight,” he shoots back.

“We could, but there is really nothing to tell,” I lie, raising my chin a notch, but since I am a lousy liar, he must’ve read it on my face. His wings twitch, and his eyes scan me like he is reassuring himself that I haven’t been physically hurt. “I’m fine, Reed,” I sigh.

Reed’s jaw is taut as he says, “Tell me what happened, now, before I lose it.”

My eyes widen. “Are you okay?” I ask him, because I’ve never seen him this upset.

His wings twitch again. “No, I’m not okay.

Deciding that I have to tell him before he explodes, I outline the whole story. When I show him Russell’s pendant, his I-need-to-smash-something face appears.

His lips harden in a grim line. “You are not to go there again,” he says in a stern tone with a note of finality.

My eyes soften as I ask, “Do you honestly believe that will be an option for me? I’m smart enough to know that I have an appointment there, whether I’m willing or not. I’m also smart enough to know that whatever is warning me about what is coming wants me to be prepared for it…like there is an opportunity to change the outcome.”

“Evie, you cannot go to the Seven-Eleven ever again,” Reed says, but this time he uses his persuasive voice, and it slithers and echoes in my ears like an annoying itch that I can’t scratch.

I take a step back from Reed, frowning at him because he knows his voice doesn’t work on me. “Reed…” I say, holding my ears, trying to get the ringing to stop.

“We will go away, Evie. Just you and me…we can go anywhere you want to,” Reed says, but he doesn’t use his annoying voice this time, he uses his sexy voice, which is way more compelling. “I have a few houses in Europe and some in Asia…or, we could go to South America. We can leave tonight,” he says urgently.

“Reed…” I stutter as he moves around like someone on time-lapse film, packing my clothes into a bag he must’ve gotten from my closet. Picking up the necklace that is lying on the table next to my bed, I sit down, looking at it. If I leave, Russell doesn’t have a chance. My shoulders round as I murmur, “I can’t go with you.”

Reed scans my room, saying distractedly, “Yes, you can. Do you have a passport? It doesn’t matter, we can stay in my home in Vermont until we can get you one, if we need to.”

“Reed,” I say, willing him to look at me.

“Evie,” he says, and then he is right in front of me, kneeling so that he can see into my eyes. “I cannot let you go…I thought I could, but I cannot. I thought I could just wait it out. Russell cannot live forever, and when he is gone, you would be mine. I mean, how long can he possibly survive, another eighty years? I could wait…it would be excruciating, but I will wait for you, if I have to. But now, I could lose you.”

Smoothing his hair back from his brow, I look into his eyes and say, “It will be all right. We’ll have all the time we want after…”

I don’t get a chance to finish, because he is up rushing around again. “No, we go tonight,” he says as he continues to pack my things.

“This decision will haunt me for the rest of my life, and since that will be an eternity…” I say, trying to reason with him. I go to his side, seeing him put my toothbrush in the bag.

“I can make you go, then it won’t be your decision, but mine,” he says, scanning the room for anything he might’ve missed.

“I can’t…I can’t, please, Reed…please.” I get in front of him and put one arm around his neck and one on his face, trying to get him to look at me again.

“We are leaving,” he says again, but when his eyes meet mine, I shake my head sadly. All of a sudden, I am in his arms. “You don’t know what you are asking me to do,” he says, speaking into the small space between my hair and my neck.

“I’m asking you to help me save Russell,” I reply, resting my head on his shoulder as I dreamed of doing for weeks, but it is bitter sweet. I can’t help feeling happy to have him in my arms again, but the circumstances of his surrender taint it.

“No, that is not what you are asking me. You are asking me to risk your life in order to save his. That is much different,” he explains.

“It’s what I’m being asked to do,” I say quietly. “I think that this is undoubtedly about Russell…about saving Russell. He’s my soul mate. I owe him this.”

“Evie, if something happens to you because of him, I’m not sure I will be able to stop myself from killing him,” he says fiercely.

“Shh, Reed, it’s going to be okay,” I say, smoothing his hair back gently with my hand. “Can I tell him? You know, about what I saw before and his necklace?”

Reed is quiet for a while, and I am aware that he is struggling with what to tell me. Finally, he lets out a long breath and speaks slowly. “I think that, if you tell him what will happen, it would be like making it preordained, with a fixed outcome. There may be no way to change it if he were to know prior to the event.”

“So, you’re saying that, if I tell him anything, I could be sealing his fate?” I ask him, shuddering as I think that I could’ve easily told Russell this evening.

“Yes,” he says reluctantly as if he much prefers that outcome.

I hug him tighter when I catch a glimpse of Reed’s side of this. If Russell doesn’t survive, then there would be no question of who I am supposed to be with, since Reed would be the only one left to claim me. By helping me, he is risking losing me to Russell.

“Why are you helping me save Russell?” I ask him.

“I don’t know what losing him will do to your soul. It seemed pretty happy when he kissed you tonight,” he replies casually, but he presses his body closer to mine possessively.

I flush with embarrassment and regret as I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest. “I’m very sorry,” I choke. “I didn’t intend for that to happen, please believe me when I say that it’s you that I want.”

Reed’s voice is tender when he breathes, “I know. I watched you push him away and deny what your soul wanted. Why did you do that?” he asks.

“Because he can’t kill the pain of not having you,” I say bluntly, bringing my hands down to his chest. “Why aren’t you shouting at me,” I ask shamefacedly.

Reed’s cheek softly brushes against mine as his shoulders round toward me protectively. “Because I realized how much you must want me if you could resist that kind of pull from your soul…it is humbling, the way you are determined not to give me up. You are so obstinate, Genevieve, what am I going to do with you?” he asks, resting his forehead against mine.

“Not obstinate, but you’re right, I’m determined,” I reply. “And, what is it that you would like to do with me?” I ask him, smiling devilishly into his green eyes, hoping that he would forgive me for the kiss on the beach.

Reed’s eyes darken. “I want to get you out of here, go, and never look back,” he states plainly, and I can tell he hasn’t quite given up on that plan.

“We can go wherever you want as soon as Russell’s out of danger. I promise. It will be just you and me,” I reply anxiously.

Reed’s arms tighten around me, and his tone is just as firm as he says, “No matter what, you cannot go into the Seven-Eleven without me again. Ever. Do you understand?” he asks me in no uncertain terms.

“I understand,” I agree immediately.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. You have me so wrapped around your finger I can hardly trust any of my decisions,” he says while he brushes my hair back from my face.

“You could stay the night. I don’t want you to go,” I reply, searching his eyes. I want to make sure that he isn’t going to go away again and have time to think about giving me up.

As if reading my thoughts, he smiles and shakes his head, saying, “Don’t worry, I plan to be so close from now on, you may have to reevaluate what it is you want.”

A sanguine smile plays upon my lips. “Reed, there is nothing that I want more than to always have you with me,” I reply.

But I soon find out that it takes strength and control in order to do nothing more than sleep next to Reed in my bed. I understand now what Russell had said about getting a tour of “the nicest parts of hell.” I think that Reed is affected as well by our close proximity, judging by the heavy sighs coming from him as I lay my head on his chest, listening to the powerful drumming of his heart.

At one point, I ask Reed, “Do you even need to sleep?”

“Yes, I sleep,” he replies, stroking my hair and I hear the smile in his voice. “But, I don’t require as much as a human does. I only sleep a couple of hours a night.”

“Oh, that must come in handy at tax time, when you have to account for all of your wealth,” I say, and I am gratified to hear him laugh. “I wonder if I’ll sleep less later.”

“I don’t know—I hope not,” he says seriously, which takes me aback.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because, this is nice,” he says, and his voice is so sexy, it makes me feel languid as I snuggle against him.

“Why did God bother with humans, when he already had such perfect creatures, like you?” I ask him offhandedly, because I’m struggling with what he can possibly see in me.

“Angels are not perfect, Evie. I have been among humans for a long time and I am only now beginning to understand what it is about them that is so compelling. Humans are so frail, and yet, they cling to life and to each other as if there is nothing else left for them. I used to be baffled by it, since I have lived in Paradise, and I know what awaits them. But, now, I am beginning to see what it is to need someone else so much, you would do anything just to be near her, to touch her, to love her,” he says, stroking my hair in a hypnotic way.

“What about half-breeds?” I whisper.

And I smile as he says, “Oh, especially half-breeds. I am extremely partial to half-breeds.”

CHAPTER 18

Birthday Wishes

“Hi,” I whisper, smiling sleepily at Reed as I lift my head from his chest. Gazing at him, it’s amazing to me that he doesn’t look like he has been in my bed all night. He looks perfect.

Reed’s smiles, “Good morning.”

“This is way too perfect to be my life,” I murmur, putting my head back down and snuggling tighter to Reed’s side.

He laughs a little while he strokes my hair. “This is better. I like holding you while you are sleeping much more than…”

My brow wrinkles. “What?” I ask in confusion. Rising on my elbow, I catch his guilty expression. “Much more than what?”

Reed sighs. “Much more than sitting out on your fire escape,” Reed replies with reluctance.

My eyes widen, “You sit outside my window?” I ask. He nods slowly. “Why?”

“When you have nightmares, I sit on the escape, and your heart doesn’t race as fast,” he says, watching me for my reaction.

“Reed, I have nightmares every night,” I murmur.

Reed frowns. “I know,” he replies. “You sleep better the nearer I am to you. Maybe it’s because of our attraction, the pull we have for one another. But, I would probably do it anyway because…I cannot seem to stay away from you for long.”

My eyebrows rise. “You can’t stay away from me?” I ask him, not fully understanding what he’s saying, because for the past several weeks, he has done a pretty good job of staying away from me.

Reed’s lips flatten in a grim line. “During the day I stay far enough away from you so that you don’t know I’m there, but, at night when you are asleep…I can get closer,” he admits.

I frown. “Oh…” I breathe, trailing off.

Reed’s eyebrow arches. “Oh?” he asks.

“You have been protecting me without my knowing it?” I ask with my heart thumping harder.

“You have become my most important mission, Evie. Protecting you is all I want to do; everything else is minor in comparison,” he murmurs, like a confession.

“Urn…okay,” I breathe.

“Okay?” he asks, hopefully. “You are okay with me protecting you?”

“I have let you protect me, Reed,” I reply in confusion.

Reed tries to suppress a frown. “No, you said I couldn’t be your bodyguard anymore.”

“What about formal?” I ask.

“You only asked me to ‘chaperone’ you,” he counters.

“I’d call what you did to Sebastian a little more than chaperoning,” I reply with a shiver. “So you’ve been watching me without me knowing you were there?” I ask, not sure how I feel about that.

“Yes…I’ve been waiting far too long for someone like you to just let something harm you,” he replies.

“Someone like me?” I ask him as my heart beats furiously.

“A light that moves me…a hand I long to hold…”

“Oh,” I reply, feeling completely happy.

“Oh?” he asks.

“So…you want your old job back?” I ask him shyly.

“I never allowed you to fire me,” he replies in a sexy smile. “What are you doing today?”

“Ugh, I have class. I can’t blow it off either, since I’ve done enough of that,” I say. “What about you?”

His eyes soften and become almost shiny. “I have a surprise for you, but it’s not ready yet, so you will have to wait until tonight,” he says. “You are planning to go to the costume party, right?” he asks, already knowing my plans.

My eyes narrow a little as I sigh, “Yeah, I’m supposed to go with Brownie and Buns. We have to show the Delts their last clue to finding their composite.”

“I will meet you at the party tonight,” Reed states definitively.

“I won’t see you until tonight?” I ask him in disappointment.

Reed’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, and then he slowly brushes his lips against mine. When he pulls away to gaze into my eyes, he says, “It will be worth it, I promise. You will like your surprise,” he smiles.

“What is it?” I ask him in a daze from his kiss.

“It’s a surprise, remember?” he asks in amusement.

“Okay,” I smile, too. “But, this better be good, because I’m giving up a whole day with you.”

“It will be worth it. I promise,” he murmurs against my lips, before kissing me gently again.

Rising from my side, Reed asks me to go over my plans for the day again. He is coming across as a little nervous, like he is afraid I’m going to do something dangerous or reckless before he sees me again. I assure him that I am only planning on going to my classes, and then to the costume party at the Delt house tonight.

Leaning down, Reed kisses me goodbye. “I will see you tonight,” he says with a sexy smile. As he straightens, his dark wings unfold from his back, spreading out around him like a mantle.

“Tonight,” I agree breathlessly, before Reed goes to the window and disappears from sight.

I get ready for class quickly after that, putting on Russell’s necklace so that I won’t lose it. I head to Saga for breakfast and find Freddie at our table.

His eyes are animated, so I quirk my brow, asking, “What’s up?”

“Happy Birthday, Evie!” Freddie says, grinning at me. “How does it feel to finally be considered an adult? You can vote now,” he beams at me, taking a sip of his juice.

“Is today the thirtieth? October thirtieth?” I ask incredulously.

“Uh huh…you didn’t know it was your birthday today?” he frowns.

I rub my forehead anxiously. “It must’ve slipped my mind. How did you know it was my birthday?” I eye him suspiciously; I can’t ever remember telling him the date.

Freddie sighs at me and says, “Freshman Directory, it was in your bio. Dude, I’ve never heard of anyone forgetting her own birthday before, especially a chick. You’re really sketchy, Evie.”

My eyes roll playfully. “Thanks, Freddie. You’re so sweet to get me just what I always wanted for my birthday: insults and a hard time,” I reply.

“I was going to tell you how shady it is to be born on devil’s night, but now that I’ve already given you enough grief, I’ll just give you your present. So, here you go,” Freddie says, placing a beautifully gift-wrapped box in front of me.

My eyes widen. “Freddie…you never cease to amaze me with your kindness,” I say honestly, staring at the package. “Why did you do this?”

Freddie’s brow wrinkles. “Because you’re my friend. Open it, Evie,” he says, smiling.

I pull the ribbon and paper off to find a polished wooden box, encrusted with dragonflies. “Oh, Freddie, this is beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“An antique store—this area is littered with them. But, that’s just the box, Evie. You have to open it,” Freddie says excitedly, and I hardly know what to do because this gift looks terribly expensive.

My eyes meet his blue ones as I say, “Freddie…you didn’t have to do this…”

He rolls his eyes. “Would you just open it? I got a really good deal on it—I’m very practiced at negotiations,” he says, winking at me.

“Okay…” I reply, before opening the box.

Inside the box is a round silver compact with an etched dragonfly on the lid. Three inset opals make up the torso of a dragonfly’s body. The ornate wings of the insect are incised into the silver lid of the compact. Running my fingertips over its cold surface, I trace the delicately carved lines of the wings. Looking up, I smile at Freddie, before opening the lid of the compact. Inside is a small mirror.

“Freddie,” I breathe his name reverently, “I’ve never had something so beautiful in my life. Thank you.” I close it with a snap and run my fingers lightly over the silvery surface again, feeling the coolness of each opal beneath my fingertips.

“It is a shame if my gift really is the prettiest that you have ever received,” Freddie says to himself, but since I have really good hearing now, I hear every word.

“Hey, what’d I miss?” Russell asks before sitting down on my other side with his tray of food.

“I gave Evie her birthday gift,” Freddie says, and I hold up the compact for Russell to see.

“Very pretty,” Russell says, smiling at me. He isn’t surprised, so he must know it’s my birthday, too.

“Happy Birthday, Red,” Russell says, pulling a small, unwrapped cardboard-box from his bag and placing it on the table in front of me. “I can’t wrap to save my life, sorry,” Russell adds sheepishly.

I frown and look from him to Freddie and back again. “Russell…I don’t need gifts,” I say.

“Yeah, ya do. Yer a girl—it’s like genetic or somethin’,” Russell says with a grin as he pushes it nearer to me.

I reluctantly open the box. Under the tissue paper, I find a silver bracelet with a small, metal pendant attached to it. Examining the pendant, it is a silver medal of St. Jude Thaddeus.

Quirking my brow at Russell, he smiles at me, saying, “It’s St. Jude. He’s the patron saint of desperate situations. I thought he might come in handy.”

His smile is warm, but I see something else in Russell’s eye… fear. He’s afraid for me.

Holding the bracelet out for him to take, I ask, “Will you put it on me?”

His fingers brush my palm as he picks up the bracelet. Holding my wrist nearer to him, he fastens the clasp. I jiggle my wrist so that the pendant rests on top.

My eyes cloud as I murmur, “Thank you, Russell.”

“I sincerely hope ya don’t need it, Red,” Russell says quietly, but we both know that it is more likely that I will.

I imagine him thinking about Sebastian and the minivan when he was picking out my birthday present. It occurs to me then that my life hardly resembles what it had been on my last birthday. It has become almost unrecognizable to me when I see it in those terms. Will it always be like this? Will a pendant be enough protection to see me through to the next birthday? Will Russell be there with me? I wonder.

Looking back at Russell, worry etches in his face. I smile reassuringly at him. “I have your necklace, Russell,” I say, reaching up to unclasp it from my neck. Handing it to him, he put it on. Remembering the pendants covered in blood, I shiver.

“Thanks,” Russell says, examining the clasp for damage. “I wonder how I lost it? It looks fine…must’ve just slipped off. Are ya cold?” Russell asks in concern when he sees me rub my arms to dispel the goose bumps.

“I’m okay. What are you guys doing tonight? Are you still going to the Delt costume party?” I ask, hoping they are. I need to stay as close to Russell as I can from now on.

“Yeah, I got invited to the party, since the Delts still seem to be interested in me as a pledge for next semester. Freddie said he’d come with me,” Russell replies, and I see the look that Freddie and Russell exchange. They’re coming to babysit me and I’m going to babysit Russell.

“Well, you two make a nice couple,” I say, trying to bring some levity to this birthday party. Freddie throws his balled up napkin at me while Russell just laughs.

“I’ve got to run. I’ll see you guys tonight. Thank you for my present, Freddie.” I say, leaning over and pecking him on the cheek. “And thank you for my present, Russell,” I say, but when I would’ve kissed him on the cheek, Russell turns his head fast at the last second, so I end up kissing him on the lips.

“Yer very, very, welcome,” Russell says smoothly, grinning at me with his dimples exposed.

“Russell!” I say in exasperation, and I hear him chuckling as I walk away.

Dead people! I think, while a cold shiver slips through me. I move entirely too close to Buns as we walk together to the Delt house. She finally just links arms with me to keep me from bumping into her every few feet.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” Buns asks as I sidestep another apparition in my path: a deceased middle-aged man in a hospital gown that seriously needs to have the back fastened more securely, since he is representing a really bad image of eternity. The next soul, however, is much worse. He is a young man who appears to have only recently died, based on his clothing. Judging by the way half of his face is scraped off, I’m guessing his motorcycle is buried next to him.

“Your wings are getting tangled in mine. Hold still, I’ll unhook them,” Buns groans.

I wait anxiously next to her as she unhinges the wing of her costume from the wing of my costume. Brownie is just ahead of us on the sidewalk, next to the pasty old lady soul with her just-as-dead cat. The cat is taking an interest in the lavender-color wings of Brownie’s angel costume, gazing at her feathers as if it would like nothing better than to spring at them.

Buns, Brownie, and I, along with their entire sorority house, have dressed up as those runway models that do the lingerie show attired as angels. I’m wearing a white camisole over a lacy push up bra. Along with an exceedingly short skirt and pink angel wings, my outfit is my way of being tongue-n-cheek about what I am. Too bad only Reed will get it. I had been fairly excited for this party, knowing that Reed will be here, but now the dead people are ruining it. They are literally everywhere. It’s like the cemetery is open and the ghosts are taking a holiday.

“I think I have our wings untangled. There, sweetie, that’s better,” Buns adds, brushing a stray piece of hair back from my brow.

She clips it back, using one of the golden butterfly clips that she and Brownie gave me for my birthday. She arranged all four of the golden clips artfully in my hair before we left the dorm this evening. “You look sexy, sweetie,” she says, smiling at me.

“Thanks, so do you,” I reply. “And thanks again for the butterflies. They’re so beautiful. They remind me of the Golden Goose,” I add, because they’re the same color as her car.

“You’re welcome again, sweetie. Brownie spotted them when we were out shopping, and we agreed that they were meant for you,” she smiles, leading me again towards the Delt party while I try not to walk through anybody disgustingly dead.

When we arrive at the Delt house, it is awash with scantily clad sorority angels. JT and Pete spot us as we walk up to the wooden deck of the house. JT is dressed as that really freaky guy from that slasher movie, wearing a mask and carrying a fake chainsaw that makes an authentic mechanized noise. As we approach him, JT waves the chainsaw menacingly; it’s buzz saw-like noise carves the air. Immediately, a sharp pain etches across my back, and a twitching sensation follows as adrenaline courses through my body. Anxiously, I look over my shoulder, thinking I snagged my costume on something, but I can’t see anything wrong.

Taking his mask off, JT grins at us, “We found the composite!” he notifies us. “Whose idea was it to hang it on the other side of the lingerie angel poster in our storage closet?” he asks, looking at all of us in turn.

“That was Evie’s idea,” Brownie replies, “she said it would be easier to try to hide the composite in plain sight than to try to take it somewhere and hide it. That way, a crime was never really committed, since we just moved the composite, rather than stealing it from the house. We were able to be honest with the Dean when we told him we didn’t take the composite, and we knew that none of you would take the poster down, not with angels in lingerie on it,” Brownie says, beaming at me.

“That’s sick, Evie. You’re wicked,” JT says appreciatively, saluting me with his beer bottle.

Feeling my back twitch again, I reply distractedly, “JT, I think it was Nietzsche who said ‘Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes into you.’”

JT roars with laughter, and I think that Pete enjoys my comment, too, but I can’t quite tell because he is wearing an old, white hockey goalie mask, so I can’t see his face.

“Come on, Evie, let’s get you a drink,” JT says, still laughing as he leads us in the door.

We find several coolers of beer set up in the billiard room, and when we walk in, we receive cheers from the room of frat boys. Taking our bows, we are each handed a beer from the cooler. As the girls talk to Remy, I glance around and notice Will in the corner of the room, watching me. Holding my breath, I freeze as he nears me, his ghostly image raising the goose bumps on my arm.

Feeling myself growing pale, I whisper to Will, “What do you want?” before I face a composite on the wall, so no one will see me talking to myself.

“Reed spoke to me about you. He asked me to keep an eye on you if I saw you around campus. I’ve been looking for him— came here to warn him. Word is out about you in my community. The dead know that there is a human here what can see them, so they’ve come to enlist your services, ma’am,” he says grimly, not looking at me as he speaks, but constantly scanning the room as if making sure that no one observes us.

I cringe. “I’m only half human,” I correct him softly.

A crooked smile touches his ghostly lips as he says, “Yes ma’am, I reckon you are at that, but none of ‘em have reckoned that…yet.”

My hand tightens on the bottle in my hand. “You mean all these dead people are here to see me?” I whisper in bewilderment.

“Yes, the old bat that lives in the Fine Arts building saw your reaction to me on the porch and told everyone she knows that there’s a seer on campus. It’s no wonder her husband killed her,” he mutters in displeasure, “she can’t keep her mouth shut for a second. Most of the souls want you to contact their loved ones for them…the ones that still have loved ones, that is.”

My eyes lift to his as my jaw tightens in fear. “I can’t do that, Will. I’m trying really hard to keep a low profile here,” I say helplessly.

“Yes, I reckoned that, too. Reed told me. You need to pretend like you can’t see us. The other souls don’t know who you are; they’re just hoping to stumble across you,” he replies sagely. “You should go hide until they give up looking for you. This is gonna attract attention. Attention you don’t want,” he says significantly, allowing his eyes to rest on me briefly, to see if what he’s saying is getting through to me. Judging by the way my legs have gone numb with fear, I’d say I get the picture.

“Thank you for the warning, Will. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can,” I reply. Will nods, and then he disappears through the exterior wall of the fraternity house.

Intent on leaving, I sneak by Brownie and Buns. I don’t know how to explain to them sufficiently that I have to leave the party tonight because the dead want to commune with me. I will have to think of something to tell them later, after I am safe.

Leaving the billiard room, I turn the corner to head out the front door, but I stop when I see two young men just beyond the threshold of the entrance. Neither one of them is wearing a costume, but that’s not what gives me pause. What gives me pause is that they both have that shine to them that is becoming familiar to me. By shine, I mean unbelievable beauty, the type of beauty that humans rarely possess, the type of beauty that I’ve only seen in the faces of angels.

They haven’t seen me, not yet anyway, and I am grateful that someone has started the music because the thumping of the bass is probably helping to camouflage whatever it is that my heart likes to do to give me away. Creeping down the hall, I crouch down in order to keep several people in the angels’ direct line of sight. As the crowd gets thinner toward the end of the hallway, I straighten up, trying to appear to be walking like a “normal human” if the angels happen to glance my way.

Making it to the end of the hallway, my blood pounds in my ears, and I am having trouble breathing evenly. Intense fear washes over me. Every cell in my body screams for me to turn around and check where the angels are in proximity to me, but I resist doing so.

Rounding the corner hurriedly, I walk right through a soul who must have had his head beaten in with a baseball bat. His jaw hangs askew, and he has lost most of his tongue. His left eye is out of its socket and is sort of hanging there, still very much attached. He looks atrocious. I can’t contain the gasp that the sensation of being inside of him elicits from me. It feels like I am in a freezer and I am being shocked by static electricity; it isn’t really painful, it’s just scary.

Noticing my reaction, he turns back around and says, “Hey! I’ve been looking for you!” but it doesn’t come out very clear because he has a lisp from only having a partial tongue.

Pretending not to have heard him, I hurry down the back stairs to the rear exit. I move supernaturally fast in my haste to get away, hoping that no one is around to observe me. I make it through the exit and into the parking lot in back.

“Red! Just the gal I was hopin’ to find and lookin’ heavenly might I add. Freddie just went inside to look for ya,” Russell grins at me under the soft yellowish-glow of the floodlights.

Russell is wearing a white toga and looks every inch the Greek Senator with the red, theatrical cape, a green-leafed laurel in his hair, and leather sandals, but playtime is over for me. I have to escape the warriors that stalk the house in search of the creature that has attracted the souls to it. I don’t intend for them to find me here.

Feeling ghostly pale, I say, “Russell, listen to me carefully and don’t interrupt. I’m about to have an occasion to use that birthday present that you gave me today. There are two Sebastians inside, and I think they’re looking for me. I have to leave. Call Reed; tell him I’m going to his house. Do you understand?” I ask him, while my voice trembles in fear.

Russell stares at me for a moment before he nods and all signs of the grin vanish from his face. Moving toward me, he catches me up in his embrace, squeezing me hard. “I can drive ya, let me get a car,” he says, but I shake my head.

“I’ll be okay. I have to go now before they find me,” I whisper in his ear. “You do know that I love you, right?” I ask him softly. “You’re my best friend.”

He squeezes me tighter, burying his face in my neck for a brief second before setting me back on my feet. “I know,” he replies. “Go,” he says with fear in his eyes. I go, and I can only imagine what Russell must think as he watches me disappear in an instant from his sight, leaving behind the fake pink wings I had worn for the party.

Gliding through town silently, my feet make almost no noise as they hit the ground lightly, propelling me nearly effortlessly forward at a dizzying speed. Fear spreads through me, making this run less than enjoyable. I constantly look over my shoulder to see if I am being pursued. I run up the long drive of Reed’s house, only slowing to open the front door and enter at a normal rate of speed because I am conscious of the fact that Andre might be around. I think briefly of knocking, but I am too freaked out to rest on manners, so I barge right into the foyer.

“Reed,” I call loudly, even though I know full well that if he is in the house, he will hear me, even if I whisper his name. I recognize right away that he is not home, since there are no butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Damn, where are you? I wonder.

A soft rustle of fabric coming from the library down the hall, alerts me to the fact that someone is here and has gotten up from a chair in the library. Walking forward and hoping to speak to Andre, I only make it to the front of the staircase when I stop dead in my tracks, because it isn’t Andre that I heard in the library. It isn’t even human but angelic.

I scan the perfect figure of the angel in front of me. He looks to be around twenty. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, he manages to make the simple outfit sexy. He is tall and well proportioned with thick brown hair and ice-blue eyes, the kind of eyes that are seen once and never forgotten because they are impossibly blue. The scowl registering on his face as he scans me, however, detracts somewhat from the beauty of the whole package, leaving me with the impression that I would prefer ugliness, any day of the week, to this reaction from perfection. When he speaks to me in his angelic language, he uses a commanding tone. Of course, I don’t understand a word of it, but it is lovely, whatever it is he is saying.

Hesitating, I see that he is waiting for a response from me, so I lift my shoulders in a shrug. Slowly, his dark-brown eyebrows pull dangerously close together over his ice-blue eyes. Then, my fear doubles as a low, primal growl accompanies his severe frown.

I quickly try to speak past the tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry,” my voice shakes, “I don’t understand your language. You’ll have to speak English.”

His eyes widen as one eyebrow arches a little. It takes a moment before his brows draw together again. Realizing my situation is bleak, I glance over to the front door, gauging the distance to it. It is too far away for me to escape. Looking over my shoulder, I notice the staircase leading up to the second floor. Without premeditation, I start inching my way backward toward it, deciding to try to flee upstairs. I have to at least attempt to escape, even though I’ve already surmised that it is nearly pointless to do so. The angel in front of me is a lethal killer; I probably don’t stand a chance. Please, God…I need a distraction.

The phone in the angel’s pocket begins ringing; I flinch at the sound of it. Never taking his eyes from me, he pulls his phone from his pocket, answering it. He doesn’t speak to the caller, but instead, he’s listening to whatever the caller tells him.

My heart aches in my chest as I continue to inch my way back toward the staircase. Putting my foot on the first step and my other foot on the second step, I climb backwards up the stairs, still facing the predator in front of me. The angel’s blue eyes follow me, but he hasn’t made a move toward me yet, even though he is assessing everything that I do.

I am startled by the angel’s soft, deadly tone as he says, “No, I think I will stay. Something very interesting just walked in.”

The caller must be saying something else because the angel just listens again. I put my foot on the third step and the other one on the fourth step, moving up the stairs while he tracks me with an intensity that makes me sweat. Feeling a twitch move across my back, I ignore the foreign pain, continuing to focus on the threat in front of me.

The angel’s frown becomes sinister. “Why have you not taken care of this yourself?” he asks in disgust.

As I put my foot on the fifth step and the other one on the sixth step, the angel growls at me; it is a deeply terrifying sound, making my heart slam against the walls of my chest. I freeze where I stand on the sixth step.

The angel’s voice booms loudly as he snarls into his phone, “You are willing to take that chance?”

Stiffening at his fury, my legs shake beneath me. The angel looks away from me then, toward the front door, so I put my foot on the seventh step and the other one on the eighth step. He glances back in agitation, glaring at me. I freeze on the steps, pretending that I haven’t moved while he wasn’t looking.

His jaw becomes rigid. “It has redemption—not if I send it back to the abyss…” the angel says in a scathing tone.

I put my foot on the ninth step, and the other one on the tenth step, before feeling a tearing pain across my back. It makes me take a deep, gasping breath in. Trying to ignore the pain, because it isn’t as significant a threat as the angry angel only steps below me, I slide my hand up the railing, still trying to edge my way upward.

“Maybe you have lost your perspective in this matter,” the angel injects into the phone again, taking his eyes from me to gaze around in exasperation.

I put my foot on the eleventh step, and I nearly have my other foot on the twelfth step when a slicing pain stops me. In my next breath, all the air in my lungs is forced out of my body. Looking down at the angel below me, I try desperately to gauge his reaction to what is happening to me. He is completely still, watching me with his cold blue eyes. Another punch rocks me, and as I gasp again for breath, something forces its way through my back with the sound like a parachute releasing into the wind. A rending, tearing sounds at precisely the same time as my shirt and bra fall away from my body, leaving me half naked on the stairway.

Bringing my hands up to my breasts, I cover them from the stranger in front of me. Shock tears through the confusion in my mind as I realize I’ve just sprouted wings. Chancing another glance at the angel below me in the foyer, he regards me with something like surprise in his beautiful eyes. Seeing that this is my best chance for escape, I take it.

Turning swiftly, I sprint up the remaining stairs with my wings stretching out and moving of their own volition. When I make it to Reed’s room, I burst through the door, slamming it closed behind me and locking it securely in place. Backing away from the door, I just manage to clear it before the angel on the other side kicks it in. Freaking strong angel!

I continue to back up with my arms crossed in front of my body. He follows me into the room; his sharp, predatory eyes stalk me, and for a moment I feel as if I can see myself reflected in their icy depths. I can’t sense even the smallest hint of mercy or compassion in him for me. He’s going to kill me in Reed’s room. What if Reed walks in before he’s done? Will he kill Reed, too? I wonder, and then I still.

“Was that Reed on the phone?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, but he stops his pursuit of me for the moment. “He’s coming here, isn’t he?” I ask, panicking again. My question is met with silence. “You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” I state rhetorically, knowing that it is his intention. “You’ll need to hurry. I don’t want Reed to walk in while you’re doing it. He will try to defend me, and I don’t want him hurt. So, just do it fast…please,” I say, straightening up out of the defensive crouch I had adopted at some point in my retreat.

I can’t seem to drop my arms to my sides, so I hug them over my breasts and close my eyes. My breath comes in short gasps, and my heart drums like the wings of a hummingbird. I hear the clocks in the house all ticking in synchronization. How Reed managed that, I don’t know, but they keep perfect time together. I also smell Reed’s scent in the room, and it is a little comforting to me.

As the moments pass, I grow nervous about the time. The clocks keep ticking. Time is running out. Reed will be back at any time. Fear chokes me while beads of sweat run down the sides of my face and I swipe them away shakily with the back of my hand.

“Why are you afraid? I was told you have redemption,” the angel sneers from in front of me.

I moisten my lips in order to speak because my mouth has gone so dry. “Maybe it’s the human side of me that fears death,” I reply in a near whisper, not opening my eyes. “This life is all I can remember. It’s all I know—and I don’t know that I will be granted redemption. Reed seems to think so, but there is a chance that I’m evil…in which case, you’d be sending me to Sheol. I hear it’s not very fun there, so I’m hoping that Reed is correct. But, whichever way, I guess I’m about to find out. If I see you in Paradise, then, no hard feelings—if I don’t, well then, good job. Either way, you have my forgiveness if you do this before Reed gets here.”

“You have a serpent’s tongue. Why would you forgive me?” he asks me, angry now…or frustrated.

I don’t hesitate when I answer him, “Because the worst thing I can imagine is that Reed would cease to be on any plane of existence. I can forgive anything short of his annihilation. Please, do this now, before he returns,” I beg him, feeling dizzy with anxiety. I sway on my feet as trembling continues to take hold of me.

“Did you just plead for me to kill you?” the angel asks in an incredulous tone. He is still so near that I can feel his breath on my hair.

I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “Umm…sort of, I guess so. I can do a better job, if you’d like.” I say, sinking to my knees, and resting my forehead against the carpet beneath me. “Please hurry, so you don’t have to hurt Reed,” I say softly.

“You are a Seraph, and yet you would bow to me?” he states with confusion in his tone.

Looking up at him from my position on the floor, my eyes widen when he sinks to his knees in front of me. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what a Seraph is,” I say, rising back up onto my knees and crossing my arms over my breasts again.

“You do not know what a Seraph is?” he asks me in shock. I shake my head, waiting for his reaction. “Seraphim are the highest order of Angels. They are God’s guardians.”

“How do you know I’m a Seraph?” I ask him haltingly, trying to ebb the trembling fear that shows no sign of lessening.

He reaches out, and I try not to pull away from him as he touches my wing; it flutters at the contact. “Your wings, they are fiery red,” he observes.

“They are?” I ask, because I haven’t actually seen them yet. I’ve been so focused on this predator, that I haven’t been able to evaluate them. Now, I glance back at them, seeing that they are, indeed, red, the deepest red. They are small too, reaching only to my waist, not the powerful wings that Reed possesses, I think in disappointment.

“Why are they so small?” I ask, and the disappointment is there in my tone.

The angel gives me a half smile, shocking me when I see it. “You have never seen your wings before tonight?” he asks me pointedly. I shake my head. “How old are you?” he asks curiously.

“I just turned eighteen.” I say shivering as my body is starting to sag from fatigue that fear has wrought upon it. A thought creeps into the back of my mind and takes root in my consciousness. Before I can stop myself, I ask the angel, “What order of angel is Lucifer?”

Scanning my face with his ice-blue eyes, he says, “Lucifer is Seraphim.”

My breath catches as tears immediately cloud my vision. A couple of tears escape as I inhale my breath, trying to hold back the burning sob in my throat. Feeling as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, I ruthlessly reign in my emotions and gain control again. Using the back of my fist, I wipe my tears away, and then I cross my arms in front of me once again. I nod to him, acknowledging what he has just told me.

“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to know anymore. Let’s just get on with this, okay?” I say, feeling conquered.

“Get on with what?” he asks.

“The smoting…or is it smiting? Whatever you call it,” I reply in exasperation. “Before Reed gets back, remember?” I ask, trying to hold back my raw emotion.

“You do not know if the Fallen are responsible for you being here?” he asks, ignoring my question.

I shake my head. “I never met my father. I didn’t know that he was an angel until recently,” I reply.

His expression turns thoughtful. “There are many Seraphim where we come from, too. It would make sense for God to choose one among them to create you,” he reasons.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” I ask tiredly, giving him a ghost of a smile. My head is pounding. I sway again as tiny black spots swim in my vision. “What order of angel is Reed?” I ask, catching myself and striving to maintain my balance by sitting back on my heels.

“He is like me, a Power angel. We are created to prevent the Fallen from taking over the world and to keep the universe in balance,” he replies with authority.

My lips turn downward. “And I seem to have been created to do the opposite. I throw everything off balance with my mere presence,” I state flatly.

One of his eyebrows arches cunningly. “Perhaps…or perhaps you are the perfect balance…human and angel,” he says as if he is considering all of the angles to our puzzle carefully.

Tires screech on the pavement just beyond Reed’s driveway, and my eyes snap open wider. Time is up for the bargain I would’ve made with this angel. The gravel in the drive crunches and sprays as the wheels of a car toss the pebbles recklessly behind it. Applying the brakes at what sounds like the last possible second, there is hardly a breath between that sound and the sound of Reed’s voice calling from the foyer.

“Evie!” he says, but I can’t answer him. I don’t want him to come up here. I want him to be safe. My eyes fall pleadingly on the angel in front of me, because only he has the power to make that a reality.

“She is here,” the angel replies, sitting back and continuing to watch me. In seconds, Reed is in the room and has me cradled in his arms. He presses my head into his chest, ignoring the fact that there is someone else in the room with us. “I did not harm her,” the angel speaks to Reed in a defensive tone.

Reed presses his forehead to mine while he ascertains that I’m intact, and then he lets me go, whirling on the other angel in the room. Reed’s shirt tears instantly and falls away from his body, while his gray wings arc out in menace. He flies at the other angel, driving him through the door and out into the hallway.

“Reed, don’t, he didn’t hurt me! Please stop!” I plead when they come crashing back through the doorway, grappling with each other.

The other angel sprouts his own light brown wings, which topples the furniture and knocks artwork from the shelves. He and Reed pitch back and forth near the center of the room like gladiators in an arena. Reed lands several brutal punches before the other angel throws him back. Reed continues stalking him, looking for another angle to penetrate his defenses.

“Zephyr,” Reed scowls blackly, “she is part human. Can’t you hear her heart racing? I’m surprised she hasn’t fainted from fear,” he grits out. “What did you do to my door?” he asks when he notices that it hangs at a severe angle from its hinges.

Zephyr maintains a defensive stance, shrugging his shoulders toward the door as he says, “She locked the door. I should have had her before she got here, but she is quick. I was surprised she could outrun me.” He smiles at me appreciatively, and I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

“I thought you were going to kill me,” I say quietly, gaining their attention. I try to keep it, hoping to distract them from killing each other.

“I intended to kill you,” he says, and although his voice was very silky, I know he means every word he says. “The way Reed spoke of you on the phone, and then looking at you, I thought you had persuaded him to help you.”

“Why didn’t you kill me then?” I ask him out of morbid curiosity, seeing Reed grow more and more tense.

“You convinced me not to,” Zephyr replies, glancing at Reed to see that he is no longer out for blood, but listening to our exchange.

“How did I do that?” I ask tiredly, not understanding how I had convinced a hostile angel not to do what he is essentially programmed to do.

“You didn’t cower or bargain with me for your life, but offered your life to me to save Reed.” Reed growls in reaction to Zephyr’s words. “But, the fact that you granted me forgiveness for what I was about to do to you, that is what really tied my hands. You have such courage…”

“Zephyr, if you ever do anything like that to Evie again, you will pray for death,” Reed says in a quiet tone.

Zephyr grunts. They are eyeing each other speculatively as if to size up the competition, should that day come. Zephyr’s response shocks me more than anything else that I’ve been through tonight when he says in a serious tone, “I will kill anything that attempts to harm her.”

As I force my legs to move toward the attached bathroom, they feel heavy and lethargic. When I reach it, I close the door behind me, leaning against the wood feebly. I want to lock it, but I’ve been shown, first hand, that it won’t matter, should one of them really want to get in. Fighting the urge to fall apart right here, my throat burns with unshed tears, but I know that if I start crying, I won’t stop, so I try to hold them off. I’ll just stay in the bathroom until Zephyr goes away, I think.

After using the facilities, I go to the sink to wash my hands. Shock is the forefront emotion to what I see reflected in the mirror. I have indeed sprouted wings; there is no getting around it, and they aren’t just red, they are crimson. They are small, petite almost, by the standards I have seen for wings; those being Reed’s powerful charcoal-gray wings and Zephyr’s light brown wings. My wings only reach to my waist, while Reed’s are longer, almost the entire length of his body.

Can I move them voluntarily? I concentrate on lifting them, but I have little success. Maybe it’s because you’re tired, I think, seeing myself in the mirror. I look wilted. How am I going to put them away if I can’t seem to move them? I can’t even get dressed! Feeling disgust, I turn away from the mirror and see Reed standing in the open doorway. I gasp, bringing my hands up to cover my breasts again.

Reed holds up his hand in a gesture of concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I brought you something to wear,” he says soothingly, entering the bathroom. In his hand he holds a long-sleeved, black garment that appears to be made of cashmere.

“How am I supposed to put anything on with these sticking out of my back?” I ask in a soft tone, not looking at him. I don’t want to see his reaction to my puny little wings that are bad-girl red.

“I bought several of these for you earlier, anticipating that you would need them. Here, this top slips on in the front and ties in back. You put your arms in the sleeves, and then a ribbon at the nape of your neck secures it in the back. The back of the garment is mostly bare until about midway, and then another ribbon threads through the fabric on both sides like a corset, so your wings can remain out or they can be retracted. You need only pull the ribbon tight and tie it in the back here at your waist. It will allow your wings to move freely while the fabric remains in place against your skin.”

I nod, taking the garment from his hand without looking up. Turning away from him, I slip it on. I attempt to tie the ribbon at the nape of my neck, but my hands shake, so I keep fumbling with it. Reed brushes my hands away gently, tying the ribbon for me. He then makes quick work of the ribbon at my waist. Turning me toward him again, he hugs me tight in his arms, and I nearly break down, but I manage to hold it in.

“You are so quiet, Evie. You have to tell me what you’re thinking,” Reed urges.

“I was thinking that this is a very clever design for a top. The material is so soft and warm. Thank you,” I say. “I was worried that I was going to have to wander around half naked until I can figure out how to retract my puny wings.” I say the last part with a measure of the contempt that I have for my new limbs.

“You don’t like your wings?” Reed asks me, sounding surprised.

“Not really…how come they’re so small, and why can’t I move them?” I ask him, looking at the middle of his chest.

I don’t even want to talk about their color, I think.

“Evie, they are perfect,” Reed says, and when I frown, he lifts my chin so that I will meet his eyes. “Truly, they are perfect. They are small now because you are young. They will grow larger over time, but truly, they couldn’t be more beautiful than they are now. You will be able to control them soon. It will take some time, but you will learn,” he says as he gently strokes my wing.

“You like them?” I ask in surprise. “I thought there was something wrong with them.”

“Evie, you have no idea how much I like them,” he says ruefully. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

“How is that possible? They’re crimson!” I state blandly. “Why aren’t they white or grey, like yours?”

“They are crimson because you are a Seraph. If you were an Archangel, they would be white, or if you were a Power, like me, then they could be several other colors. Only Seraphim have your coloring, and that means you outrank Archangels, Thrones, Virtues, Cherubim, Powers…but don’t let it go to your head because you still have to listen to me while we are here,” he states, smiling.

“Don’t be ridiculous. How can I possibly outrank anybody? I’m a mutant, and if you hadn’t noticed, most angels would like nothing better than to crush the soul right out of me,” I reply dully. “You were right that day at registration, when you said we’re screwed. I’m screwed, aren’t I? I’m never going to survive.”

“You just did survive, against all odds. Zephyr is a machine when it comes to killing the Fallen…and yet, you managed to survive him,” Reed says soberly. “Not only that, I would lay odds that he would fight to protect you as well. You have won him over, and he is a powerful ally. You also survived the other one, at the formal, and you survived me as well. You have some sort of power over us. It seems that, in each situation, you find the weakness that turns us to your side. Even the fallen one was captivated.”

“I survived Sebastian because you were there, and as for you, well, I had the butterflies on my side,” I reply softly. “And I’m not so sure about Zephyr. He scares me to death.”

Reed’s face turns grim as he says, “I am sorry that I wasn’t here tonight. When I think of what might have happened to you…I don’t know what I would have done if he had harmed you,” he says anxiously. “I went to Chicago to pick up your birthday present. I was going to give it to you at the party, but Russell called me when I was on my way back to town. He told me you were coming here and why. I had already received a call from Zephyr, telling me he was here because there were souls hovering all around town. I cannot think of what stirred them all up…” he says in frustration at the bad timing.

“Zephyr isn’t the only angel in town, Reed. I spotted two more at the Delt house when I was there. I asked Russell to call you—Russell! I have to call Russell and tell him I’m okay. I left him at the party, and I was in a hurry—he knew why I had to go. He must be so worried…and nobody is watching him!” I gasp, gripping Reed’s hand urgently, brushing aside the fact that I know exactly why the souls are walking around town. “Please, let me use your phone.”

Reed hands me his phone, but I pause before dialing. I hear a crunch of tires on the gravel driveway outside, announcing a new visitor is arriving and at breakneck speed, by all indications. The car comes to a quick halt near the door to the house. Then, someone shoots out of the car, not even bothering to close the car door.

The front door opens up with a crash as Russell calls out, “Red!”

“Damn! It’s Russell, what do I do? He can’t see me like this! How do I get these things back in?” I ask Reed urgently, turning back to the mirror. I try to move them again, but they won’t budge.

“Don’t worry, I will just persuade him to leave,” Reed starts to say until I grab his arm.

“No, you can’t do that! I’m supposed to be watching Russell, remember? You have to get him to stay, and you have to help me get rid of my wings!” I plead.

“But, I like your wings,” he says, smiling sweetly while stroking them again.

I swear, if he keeps doing that I might purr like a kitten. Don’t think about that right now, just concentrate!

“Please!” I say through gritted teeth, closing my eyes and balling my hands into fists.

He is out of the bathroom in seconds, but I don’t have much time to wonder about where he has gone because he is back almost instantly. Carrying with him a full glass of what suspiciously smells like cognac, he offers it to me, saying, “Drink this. It will help you relax, and then you should have some hope of retracting them. They won’t go back in if you’re panicking. I’ll go speak to Russell, and then I’ll be back.”

A second later, Reed is gone again, and I hear him speaking to Russell in the foyer below. Shortly after that, he leads Russell toward the library. Since I don’t have time to waste on savoring my cognac, I gulp it down in one long swallow, and then I almost die. I cough and wheeze and can only breathe shallowly for a couple of minutes.

Reed tries to suppress a laugh as he enters the bathroom again. “Evie, I will never be bored with you around. Did you just drink that whole glass?” he asks me, smirking.

“Yes. Now, show me how to make my wings go back in,” I say, while wiping tears from my eyes that have nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with the cognac I just ingested.

“You have to calm down…relax,” Reed whispers as he leans close to my ear, tickling it with his breath.

“How am I supposed to relax? Russell is downstairs with the angel who was going to kill me just a few minutes ago, and I’m stuck up here with a set of bright red wings sticking out of my back, and you’re not helping me!” I say in frustration, attempting to will my wings back into my body. Glancing over at Reed, he’s smothering a grin. “You’re laughing now? This is funny to you?” I ask.

“Well, you should have seen the look on Russell’s face when I introduced him to Zephyr. He looked rather annoyed that you are here alone with us,” Reed says, smiling. “Zephyr wasn’t too pleased to meet Russell either. I wonder why…”

“Reed! Go downstairs and make sure Zephyr doesn’t kill Russell,” I say adamantly.

“Zephyr wouldn’t hurt Russell…unless Russell says something stupid,” Reed replies, unconcerned as he leans against the countertop.

“Reed! Help me!” I plead desperately.

“You want my help?” he asks, and I nod my head, glaring at him. “Okay, I will help.”

He pushes off from the counter, approaching me slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. Swiftly, he picks me up off my feet, seating me roughly on the counter. A surge of thrilling anticipation courses through me instantly while I wait to see what he will do next.

Standing between my legs, he pulls the butterfly clips from my hair, one by one, setting them on the counter, while my eyes devour every lovely contour of his angelic face. My hair hangs loosely down my back, until his hand slips under the mass of it at the base of my neck, gathering it tightly in the fist of his hand. Pulling my head back, so that my face tilts upward, he lowers his lips with agonizing slowness to mine. When our lips finally meet, his kiss sears me more intoxicatingly than the brandy, causing my face to flush and my breathing to become desperate. Gripping his upper arms with my hands, my nails dig into him lightly as I try to pull him closer to me.

“That is it, Evie, try to pull me to you,” Reed whispers against my lips. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I kiss him with all the desperate passion that I thought, only minutes before, I would never get to share with him again. Then, Reed pulls away from me.

Intense frustration shoots through me then as I open my eyes. “Why are you stopping?” I demand breathlessly, searching his face, which looks a bit too smug for my liking.

“You did it,” he smiles. I must seem confused because he adds, “your wings…” and he points to the mirror behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I can no longer see my wings in the mirror. I am back to looking human again, but I can’t help feeling disappointment because it hadn’t taken very long at all and the method of getting them to retract is very, very, satisfying.

“Oh,” I say lamely, touching my fingertips to my swollen lips. “I thought you said I had to relax. I don’t feel relaxed.” I feel like I’m being consumed by fire, I think to myself.

“This was the other way to do it,” Reed replies with smoldering eyes. “You were so focused on pulling me to you that you were able to do that to your wings.”

“Oh,” I say again lamely, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” he says softly, leaning forward and caressing my neck with his lips. Then, he whispers, “Do you want to go downstairs now?”

“Downstairs?” I stutter.

“Russell…library…” he replies, still kissing my neck lightly.

“Umm…ahh…yes,” I groan, pulling away from him. “I’d better go downstairs before Russell starts looking for me. I don’t want to try to explain what happened to your room.” Jumping down from the counter, I have to steady myself against it as the alcohol I had just chugged begins to “relax” me. “This should be interesting,” I mutter, squaring my shoulders. “Zephyr is still downstairs?” I ask, hesitating because I don’t think that I really want to ever see him again.

“Yes. He is still here. He wants to speak with you further. You are fascinating—I don’t think I am going to be able to get him to leave willingly until you answer more of his questions,” Reed replies, leading me out of the bathroom.

“What if I get the answers to his questions wrong?” I ask as fear shoots through me again, making my wings restlessly twitch inside of me. I have to calm down or they are going to come popping out of me again. I take a deep breath, trying to relax.

“You won’t get them wrong,” Reed says reassuring me, while walking with me hand-in-hand toward the library.

I don’t have time to worry about what Zephyr might do because Russell immediately rises from his chair when he sees me. Before I can say a word, he lifts me off my feet, embracing me in a bear hug that forces the breath from my body; I feel oddly comforted by it, even as low growls come from both of the angels in the room.

“How did you get here so fast, Russell?” I ask him, hoping he will set me back on my feet before one of the angels decides he has hugged me long enough. Judging by their impatient breathing, it isn’t going to be long from now.

“I told Freddie I forgot somethin’ at our dorm, so he lent me his keys. I still had my clothes in his car, so I changed on the way,” Russell says grimly, indicating the jeans and t-shirt he is wearing instead of the toga I had left him in earlier. He sets me back on my feet, but holds my hand in his. “But, ya beat me here…” he trails off.

Feeling myself paling, I murmur, “Yeah, I beat you here.”

His eyes narrow as he says, “I saw the ones you were talkin’ ‘bout when I went inside to get Freddie’s keys—the Sebastians. I’m startin’ to be able to recognize y’all,” he says, turning to Reed. “Just look for the super attractive people in the room, who seem to have a glow about ‘em, and my skin’s crawlin’ instantly,” Russell says in a surly tone. “They were definitely lookin’ for somethin’. And they kept talkin’ to the walls. It was creepy,” Russell adds as a shiver escapes him.

Stealing a glance at Zephyr, I try to judge his reaction to what Russell is saying. What will Zephyr do if he realizes that Russell is figuring out what they are? Sitting back in his chair, Zephyr toys with the glass in his hand. His eyes aren’t on Russell, but instead, he is studying me.

I pull Russell over to the sofa. Sitting down in the middle of it, I make Russell sit next to me. “Did they realize that you were watching them?” I ask him pointedly.

“I don’t think so,” he says. Rising from the couch, I go to the bar in the corner. Pouring a glass of whatever the amber liquid is, I walk back, handing it to Russell. Taking it from me, he sips it as I sit down next to him again. Reed sits next to me on the opposite end of the couch. “Are ya one of them, Red?” Russell asks, indicating Zephyr, and then Reed with a movement of the glass in his hand. I sit silently for a second, trying to formulate a response to his question, since he always knows when I am lying. But he goes on before I can speak. “I’ve never noticed that glow in ya…before tonight…but it’s there, like yer bein’ lit from the inside. Yer skin, it shines a little, like theirs,” he says, indicating Zephyr and Reed again.

“It does?” I ask him faintly, looking down at my arm as if it is a stranger’s arm and not my own. My skin does have a shine, a dim illumination to it that I have never noticed before. I wonder if it is an aftereffect of my wings popping out of me. Looking again at Russell, he nods sadly at me. I frown in concentration, saying, “I don’t know what I can tell you, Russell, but maybe it will be all right to tell you this: I’m not one of them…” I say, watching Russell exhale in relief at my words. I almost make up my mind not to finish, but I owe him some kind of an explanation, so I continue, “And I’m not one of you either…I’m, well, I’m a little of both.”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at me with a mixture of shock and pain on his face. He needs more of an explanation, so I rush on, “You know how I said that I didn’t really have parents? Well…my mother is dead. She died giving birth to me, but no one really knows who my father is. I don’t think there is any question anymore that he is very much like Reed,” I explain, praying that this will be the last time I am responsible for the pain in his eyes.

Why do I keep doing this to him? I keep hurting him, I think with remorse.

“How long have ya known this?” Russell asks me pointedly, his glare pinning me to my seat as he disengages his hand from mine.

“I figured it out right before you started dating Candace,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you. There are these rules, and—”

“What rules?” he asks disgustedly as his pain is rapidly turning to anger.

I’m not doing this well! He doesn’t understand. I have to do something, but what? I think in desperation.

“I can’t tell you.” I say lamely, reaching for his hand that he had withdrawn from me, but he pulls his hand back from me, so I can’t take it in mine again.

“Ah… more secrets, of course, why am I surprised? They know, don’t they?” Russell asks rhetorically, looking at Reed and Zephyr. I nod lamely, which only seems to be making him angrier. “So yer sayin’ yer half human and half…” he trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blank. He looks at each of us in turn, and when we all remain mute to his question, he says, “Y’all are creepy. I gotta go.”

“Russell, don’t go…” I say as he gets up from the sofa.

“Why? Are ya gonna explain to me what’s goin’ on here?” he ask sarcastically. “‘Cuz I gotta tell ya’, Red, I feel like y’all are playin’ a game with me, and I don’t know the name of the game, or how to play it.”

“Trust me, Russell, this isn’t a game,” I say adamantly.

“Then, tell me, Evie,” Russell grits out, while pulling his hand through his tawny hair.

“I can’t,” I say in frustration at his stubborn insistence at knowing what will seal his fate.

“Bye,” Russell says, walking toward the door of the library. I twist around on the sofa, driving my knees into the cushion.

“Russell, remember when we were on our way back from the formal, and I kept begging you to go back, so that we could help Reed fight Sebastian?” Russell pauses at my words. “Remember what you said to me? You told me to shut up, that you weren’t going to take me back there. You said the only way you could protect me was by not going back, and that you’d protect me, even if I didn’t like it. Well, the only way I can protect you is if I don’t tell you everything you want to know now, and I’ll keep my mouth shut, even if you don’t like it.”

“Yeah, I remember, Red. I still gotta go. I’ll see ya later,” he says, not turning around, but walking out of the library. I would’ve followed him, but Reed holds me by the wrist, so that I can’t get off the couch.

“Let him go, Evie. He has to figure it out on his own, and you won’t be helping him if you say more,” Reed reasons with me when I struggle to break away.

Turning back around, I slump against the cushion. “How am I going to protect him, if I’ve completely alienated him? He thinks I’m creepy…” I say sadly.

“You are not creepy,” Reed says soothingly, taking my hand.

“You’re not a good judge of creepy, Reed, since you’re creepier than I am,” I say warily, looking over at Zephyr when I hear him laughing at my comment. “I wouldn’t laugh too hard, pal, because you’re the creepiest one of us all.” This has them both roaring with laughter. I am not amused, since I am being entirely serious.

Zephyr beams at me, “Evie, just when I despaired that there would never be anything new under the sun, you come along to save me from my boredom.”

“I’m delighted that you find me amusing, but at the risk of sounding rude, how long are you planning on staying?” I ask with faux sweetness.

“As long as you need me,” Zephyr replies in a gentle tone. Then, he directs his comments to Reed. “Where will you move next? I have several options, if you need them. We need to train her to defend herself, once she is stronger. Do you plan to recruit more help? I can help with that as well.”

“I was thinking of somewhere less populated, Greenland or Iceland, but Evie doesn’t speak Danish or Icelandic. The Falkland Islands are an option; they are English speaking, for the most part anyway,” Reed counters rapidly.

They are talking about strategy and leaving. “I’m not leaving,” I say, getting up from the sofa to pace the room. Reed knows I can’t leave, so why are they discussing it?

“I may have a better option. It is a private island,” Zephyr says, ignoring me as he lays out an exit plan from Crestwood.

Feeling a sharp, painful movement in my back again, I know I have to remain calm. Stalking over to the bar, I pour myself a glass of the amber liquid from the beautiful decanter. I don’t know what they call it, but I call it liquid heat, since it burns even hotter than the brandy had when I take a giant sip of it.

Reed is by my side in a moment, taking the glass from my hand. He pours me some water and presses it into my hand. I sip it slowly, trying to regain my breathing. “I’m not going anywhere, Reed. You know I can’t leave,” I whisper.

Zephyr interrupts to say, “What are you saying, Evie? Of course you must leave here. There are souls roaming around this town. They are acting like a beacon, attracting all matter if things that you are unprepared to encounter.”

“I can’t leave Russell. He needs me, so I’m staying,” I say tightly.

“You are referring to the boy who just called you creepy? He is your soul mate, is he not?” Zephyr asks intensely, his piercing blue eyes missing nothing.

My wings move inside me again. Damn.

“I really don’t care if he finds me the most repulsive creature on Earth. I have to help him, so I’m not leaving. And Will already warned me about the souls. He said that the soul in the Fine Arts Building saw me talking to him and told all the other souls she knew about it. They’re all looking for me. Will said if I just pretend not to see them, that eventually, they’ll go away,” I say as nonchalantly as possible, sitting back down on the sofa. “I’ll just hide out until they go away.”

“Who is Will?” Zephyr asks with a puzzled frown.

Frowning, Reed replies, “Will is a soul.” To me he asks, “When did you have the occasion to speak to Will again?”

I explain the entire story to him about stealing the composite, the war on the beach, and Will’s warning tonight at the Delt party. Reed’s expression darkens, while his arms crossed in front of him, just like a parent. Zephyr’s brows rise, and he looks at Reed questioningly.

Reed, turning to Zephyr, says, “She just turned eighteen. I don’t remember being this irresponsible when I was eighteen, but then again, I hardly remember having been eighteen. And she has made some questionable friends.”

“Whose idea was it to dig the trenches on the beach, near the water?” Zephyr asks intensely, but doesn’t wait for me to respond before saying, “The fact that you were on sandy ground is good, because it’s not incendiary terrain, but it was traversable terrain, which means your enemy could not burn you out, but they could come to you. You allowed your forces to become isolated when you failed to employ watercraft, and you cannot fly yet, so that is not an option open to you. You then were in entrapping terrain, and you needed to move out of it quickly. When the enemy arrived with unexpected allies, your position became fatal terrain, which means you had to be prepared to fight with intensity and a will to survive, because to not engage would be to die. Who were your generals?” Zephyr demands.

“Zephyr, they are human children. They had paint guns. It was playtime.” Reed says seriously.

Zephyr, looking a little disgruntled, says, “I see. But still, Evie, you must learn to become unfathomable to your enemies, so that you may cast your enemies into positions from which they have nowhere to go,” Zephyr coaches, wanting to continue my tactical training. He seems genuinely concerned about my lack of knowledge of warfare. Something about that makes me soften toward him inexplicably. I smile at him, and he smiles back.

I stop smiling when Reed says, “Evie, we really do have to leave Crestwood now. This place is going to be crawling with curious angels.”

“No,” I reply, folding my arms in front of me, adopting my severest frown. “I’ll stay here, at your house, if you want me to and wait them out, but I’m staying in Crestwood.”

Zephyr sits back in his seat again and asks, “I am missing something, unless it is your strategy to be unorthodox?” Reed fills him in on my premonition at the 7-Eleven and the necklace falling from the light. Zephyr grunts when Reed finishes telling him everything that has been going on. “But, this is very, very dangerous for you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“I can handle it. I can’t run, not from this. If I run now, Russell loses. I can’t have that. So, come up with a plan that involves us staying until Russell is safe, and I’ll follow it to the letter. I promise,” I say, reading the expression on Reed’s face. I turn to Zephyr and continue, “Zephyr, this seems to be your forte, how can we win this?” I ask, trying to motivate them to change tack to my way of thinking.

“Evie…” Reed says in a gentle tone, moving toward me slowly, and I know that look on his face; it is his this-is-for-your-own-good face.

“No, Reed,” I say furiously, gasping again as my wings shoot out of my back of their own volition. At least my shirt stayed on this time, I think instantly as I try to breathe evenly after having all the air punched out of my lungs again. When I regain my wits, I scowl, “Perfect! You see? I can’t even travel now. Not with these things coming out of my back when I get upset and I’ll be really, really, upset if you make me leave. You can count on that.”

“Zephyr, you didn’t stand a chance, did you?” Reed asks softly over his shoulder as he comes to sit next to me on the couch.

“Not really. You?” Zephyr asks, watching me as if I am an aquarium of rare tropical fish.

“Well, she didn’t have the wings then, but no, not really,” Reed replies humorlessly. Taking my hand in his, he says to me, “You are correct, Evie, we cannot travel now. We will have to stay until you adjust to your wings. So, you will be staying here, at my house, from now on.”

“Thank you!” I say, throwing my arms around him and hugging him enthusiastically. “You won’t regret this. I’ll be really, really low key. I’ll follow all of the rules.”

“Oh, there will be plenty of rules. Think of this house as a compound. From now on, you will need to be escorted to and from here,” he replies grudgingly. “Zephyr, are you staying?”

“You have to ask?” Zephyr replies. “There are two targets to defend. It will take skill to coordinate, and this will give me the perfect opportunity to teach Evie tactical strategy while we do it.”

“Thank you, Zephyr. If you’ll help me save Russell, I’ll completely forgive you for scaring the wings out of me,” I say, grinning at him now.

“And I am sure I will completely regret doing so, but if you will forgive me, then I must help,” he grins back.

As Reed and Zephyr discuss strategy, my very long day catches up to me. Resting my head against Reed’s shoulder, my eyes droop and I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch because the next thing I know I am being lowered into the bed I had slept in the last time I was here.

“Reed…what time is it,” I ask, trying to sit up in the bed.

“Shhh, it’s late. Get some sleep, Evie, you are exhausted,” he says softly.

“Where are you going? You have to stay. I haven’t had much time with you today, well, much time when we weren’t arguing about something. You didn’t tell me about Chicago.” I say, trying to keep my eyes open and only managing to do it for brief intervals.

“I can tell you tomorrow,” he says, smiling at my stubborn determination to stay awake.

“I’ll fall asleep faster if you stay with me,” I say, scooting over so that he can lie next to me.

When he relents and gets into the bed beside me, I hug him to me. “If I could save a moment of time, this would definitely be one. I never seem to get enough time with you,” I whisper dreamily, feeling his arms around me.

“Come away with me and you can have eternity with me,” he says, but his tone is strained with worry.

Smoothing my fingertips over his cheek, I say, “If I leave now, Russell will always be the regret that will lie between us, like a disease. I never want there to be anything between us. I want it to be just you and just me.”

Reed’s face inches closer to mine on the pillow as he says, “Let me try to explain something to you, Evie. All of these years that I have been here, it is as if I have been sleeping. I have to always pretend to be something that I am not—pretend to be human. When I am not pretending to be human, then I am hunting evil, vicious angels who want nothing more than to…” his voice trails off and there is hollowness in his tone that reflects the loneliness of his existence. “But now, I am awake, for the first time in my existence, and not only am I awake, but I feel flames when you are near me. You have changed things for me. There is no reason to pretend around you. If I had to live without you now…now that I know what I have been missing…” The need in his voice makes me want to promise him anything, give him anything, just to fill that void in him. “I cannot go back to sleep, Evie. You are the only thing that makes me want to live. If you leave here, if you ascend to Paradise, or even if you are cast into the abyss, or taken there by the Fallen…I will have to follow you, no matter where you go. Even if I have to pursue you into the dark…if you cease to be, then so will I. You are my sin and my redemption.”

“Reed, don’t talk like that—I would never want that for you, never.” I say, hugging him tight.

“Then it’s your job to survive. Promise me that you’ll do everything in your power to live,” he says.

“Shhh, Reed,” I say immediately, trying to soothe him.

“I mean it, Evie. I spoke to Zephyr, and he told me what you did—what you said—trading your life for mine. I can’t have that,” Reed whispers.

“Reed, I’ve never been in love before, and as far as being loved in return…never like this. There is no limit to what I would do for you,” I whisper to him, trying to make him see how much he means to me. “You make me want more—more time, more of your love, more of you—and I promise you, I’ll make sure you’re never, never bored again.”

“Evie, if I have you, I know I will never be bored again,” he smiles, and holds me until I fall asleep in his arms.

CHAPTER 19

Art Exhibition

In the morning, I awake to sun streaming in the windows of Reed’s guest bedroom. Reed is next to me when I open my eyes.

“This is for you,” he says simply, extending an ebony box to me. Taking it, I sit up and rest against the pillows.

What is it?” I ask with a small smile.

“Your birthday present. Open it,” he smiles at me with an air of anticipation.

When I lift the lid to the box, an exquisite necklace rests against a bed of black silk. I know absolutely nothing about jewelry, but the stone in the center of the platinum setting is the most beautiful gem I’ve ever seen. It is blood red in the shape of a shield.

“What is it?” I ask in awe as my fingers tremble a little when I touch the beautiful jewel.

“It’s a rock. I found it a long time ago,” he explains with a shrug.

“This is a rock?” I ask him as my eyes widen.

“Technically, it’s a red diamond,” he says, taking it from the box. I gather my hair and allow him to put it on me. “I cut the facet of the stone—shaped it—but I wanted to have it set properly, so I took it to a friend of mine in Chicago.”

When he finishes clasping it to me, I lift the gem to look at it as I say, “And you found this diamond?” I ask in disbelief. “Just lying around?”

“Yes. It reminds me of you…it, too, is full of hidden fire,” he says, his voice soft with affection. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe as I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “When did you find it?”

“A few centuries ago—in Africa,” he replies.

“Of course you did,” I say to cover up my shock. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

I spend the next few weeks at Reed’s house waiting for the dust that I’ve unwittingly stirred up to settle. I can’t go to my classes, but Reed has taken care of that for me. He picks up all of my assignments from class, and then he tutors me so that I don’t fall behind. I can tell that he believes this is a waste of time, since he plans for us to leave Crestwood as soon as Russell is safe, but he is kind enough not to say it. I am hoping that I can stay long enough for things to go back to normal. Well, maybe not normal, because normal is a stretch for me, but back to the way things were before, so it will be safe enough to stay. I don’t want to leave Crestwood. I would miss Brownie, Buns, Freddie and…Russell.

Brownie and Buns think I am shacking up with Reed in our own private love nest. I let them think it because I can’t come up with a better excuse for me being here night and day. If they only knew the complete torture it is to try to sleep in the same house with Reed. His very presence sets my blood on fire, but I am completely breakable right now. Thankfully, my supposedly active love life doesn’t stop them from coming over to check on me daily. Since field hockey has ended for the season, I don’t have to make excuses for not going to practice. But, they are worried that I am getting too obsessed with Reed again.

“Sweetie, you should come back to the dorm. We miss you,” Buns says one night when we are sitting in Reed’s media room watching movies. Zephyr is here, too. He just can’t stay away when Buns and Brownie come over.

“I know I should go back to my room, Buns, but it’s just so much nicer here. You’re both welcome here anytime you want to come and hang out. Plus, this way, Zee can hang out with us, too.” I reply, gazing at Zephyr who is seated between Buns and Brownie, looking very content.

I think, secretly, both girls prefer coming here as well, because of Zephyr, but I don’t say it. So, things fall into a routine, of sorts. The girls visit me everyday after class, and I scheme over ways to get through to Russell. I miss Freddie though. I talk to him everyday on the phone, but he’s not into coming to Reed’s house to see me, which annoys me.

Reed invites my Uncle Jim to his home in Crestwood for Thanksgiving. It is under the guise that Reed would have to spend it alone, since his parents are supposedly in Europe on business. Since Uncle Jim and I usually just make a couple of turkey lunchmeat sandwiches to celebrate the occasion, Uncle Jim agrees to come to Crestwood to celebrate the holiday. When they meet again, Uncle Jim seems to really like Reed, but then, what’s not to like?

We pass Zephyr off as Reed’s cousin who has come into town at the last minute. It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch. They do have a fair resemblance to one another, since both Reed and Zephyr appear young, like they are entering their twenties. When you speak to them, however, it is absurd that no one can see that they can’t possibly be as young as they look. Neither of them can pull off slang well.

After the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever tasted, all due to Andre and his sheer genius in the kitchen, Reed introduces my uncle to his gaming room. Uncle Jim finds particular interest in Reed’s high-tech, liquid-cooled Alienware Notebook. It is fun to watch my uncle and Reed with their heads together discussing gaming strategies and speculating on upcoming technologies. I enjoy spending the day with them, but in the back of my mind, I worry about Russell, who had gone home to be with his family.

Russell hasn’t spoken to me since my birthday, when he’d called me creepy. When school starts up again after the break, I try everything I can think of to get Russell to come to Reed’s house so that I can speak to him, but he ignores all of my attempts. I call him, and he won’t answer his phone. I leave him text messages, I send emails, and I even break down and write him letters. Reed will absolutely not bend when I plead with him to let me go and try to talk to Russell.

Zephyr, it turns out, is one of the best assets I could have ever prayed for because he agrees to watch Russell for me while I am grounded. He doesn’t complain about it either, at least, he didn’t complain until today. He walks in the door, going straight to the library to pour a drink from the bar. Following him into the room, I try to speak, but he holds up his hand to me, rubbing his head as if he has a killer headache.

After he has a few sips of his drink, he turns to me and says, “Explain the sour blond girl to me.”

“I’m sorry, the sour blond girl?” I ask him in confusion as I walk across the library to his side.

“Yes, the one that never stops speaking, but really has nothing relevant to say. The one that makes me want to kill something,” he expounds, and then takes another deep sip from his glass.

I inhale a huge breath, making a gasping sound, and say, “Candace!” Grabbing the glass out of his hand, I take my own large sip of it. “What’s he doing? Did he get back together with her?” I ask in a pained voice as the liquid burns a path down my throat. Frowning at me, he takes the glass from my hand, replacing it with a glass of water. Then, I start ranting, “Why am I even bothering to try to save him, if he has decided to slowly kill himself with her? She’s like taking poison, you know, but that slow poison that doesn’t kill you all at once, it kills you by degrees, a little bit each day.”

“I see your point. At first, I thought she was just for comfort. But, the fact that he didn’t get rid of her, leads me to believe that her incessant talking makes him unable to think about anything else—or anyone,” he replies significantly, holding his glass out of my reach when I would’ve stolen it from him again. “Drink your water,” he says in a stern tone.

“I think he likes girls that talk a lot. His sisters talk a lot he once told me. Maybe Candace is his type.” I say, trying to sound offhand about it.

“How is that possible, when she is nothing like you, and you are his soul mate?” he asks me with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“He won’t answer any of my phone calls, and I think he’s deleting my text messages without reading them. He thinks I’m a monster…maybe I am,” I say despondently. “I have to do something.”

“Why? He is in no danger from—I am sorry, what was her name again?” Zephyr asks me.

“Candace,” I reply, wrinkling my nose as if I smell something awful. “If he’s with her again, that means he’s in pain… and if he’s in pain, it’s my fault.”

“Some pain is unavoidable,” Zephyr replies.

“You have to take me with you when you follow him tonight, Zee. I have to see him for myself. I have to make sure that he’s okay. I can’t just stay here. He’ll never forgive me if I don’t talk to him,” I plead with Zephyr, hoping he will see my point of view.

“You want his forgiveness? For what?” he asks me, and his tone becomes severe. I don’t say anything, but he gets the picture. “You want forgiveness for what you are—because you are not entirely human?” I nod, dropping my eyes from him because his stare makes me squirm a little. “He cannot absolve you for that, and maybe you should stop seeking absolution for something you have no control over.”

“You have to let me see him. Please?” I beg. “Reed won’t do it. He’s being way too over protective. I know he’s just being cautious, but you both said that the souls have all but disappeared. You haven’t seen any other angels in days, especially after you took care of those Fallen that were hanging around campus. They seemed to have gotten the message: come here and we’ll kill ya dead.”

“Yes,” he says with a slow smile, “it has been quite satisfying protecting you. You are like a lure for the supernatural, drawing us all to you. Maybe we should let you out. I still feel like killing something.”

Even though Zephyr had said it teasingly, I jump at his comment. “It’ll have to be tonight then. Reed is supposed to make an appearance at the fund raising event tonight,” I say.

“He won’t be pleased that you went out without him,” Zephyr predicts, watching me for my reaction to his words. “And, you did promise to follow orders to the letter,” he reminds me, throwing my words in my face.

“I said I’d stay here until it was safe. And, I’ll be going with you as a chaperone, what could be safer?” I ask him, playing to his ego.

He narrows his eyes at me. I widen mine, attempting to look innocent. “If you get Reed to agree, then I will take you with me, but he has to agree. I’m not going to be in the middle of your manipulation. Let me know what he says. No, don’t bother, I’ll ask him myself before he leaves,” Zephyr replies, watching me over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.

“Fine, Zee!” I say in frustration, and then I add, “Just how old are you? You don’t let me get away with anything.”

“It’s not age, it’s experience, and I’m not wrapped around your little finger like everyone else around here,” he replies, smiling. “You’re really cute though. We need to work on your ability to play on your opponent’s weaknesses.”

“What are your weaknesses?” I ask him scathingly.

“I don’t have any,” he says with a straight face, which makes me burst out laughing.

“Uh huh. I’ll find them…trust me,” I grin.

In the Range Rover outside Russell’s dormitory, I shiver in the passenger seat. The weather has definitely turned from fall to winter. I want to ask Reed to turn the car back on, so that I can blast the heater vents directly at my frozen fingers, but I already feel really guilty for making him do this, so I’m trying to be as undemanding as possible.

“Are you cold?” Reed asks softly.

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m okay.”

“You are shivering,” he points out.

“I’m fine,” I insist.

“Evie,” Reed says my name with exasperation.

“Okay, I’m fffreezing,” I say, “please ppput the heat on.”

Reed immediately starts the car. Turning the heat on full, he points the vents at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks with a frown.

Leaning nearer to the vents, I sigh, “I didn’t wwwant to bother you.”

Reed’s eyebrows rise. “And freezing was preferable to bothering me?”

“I know you don’t want to do this. I was just trying to be less of a pain,” I say, glancing at him. “I could’ve come with Zee.”

His perfect lips flatten in a thin line. “It’s not that I object to being here, it’s that I think you should be at home…safe.”

“Russell won’t talk to me there,” I murmur as I watch the front of Russell’s dorm for any sign of him.

“I could have brought him to you,” Reed says with a small, sublime smile.

“That wouldn’t be helpful,” I say with a frown, imagining Reed forcing Russell to come and see me.

“Why do you need to talk to him now?” Reed asks. “Zephyr has been guarding him. He is as safe as we can make him. We should have just let Zee come tonight as planned.”

“I don’t know why I have to talk to him now, I just do,” I murmur.

“You love him,” Reed says in a low tone, and the ache that I see in his eyes makes me feel awful.

Reaching out, I take Reed’s hand in mine while I say, “I love you so much it hurts sometimes. When you wouldn’t talk to me, it felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was slowly drowning without you. I know I have to be with you. But, I also know that there is a piece of me that loves Russell—he’s my best friend. I have to make sure that he survives whatever is coming, or that piece of me will suffer forever. I can’t afford to make any mistakes. There won’t be any do-overs in this. I don’t have the luxury of time on my side to get you or Russell to see reason. I feel like time is almost up. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask him, sadly. “Please, don’t mistake my desperation as me not loving you.”

He lifts my hand in his, kissing it gently. “You know, it’s easy to forget that you are just eighteen years old. I am certain that you’ve been here on Earth many times, in many different lifetimes. I know you don’t remember Paradise, but I’m certain you are from there as well,” he says softly.

His certainty that I am not evil soothes the raw ache inside of me. “Why do souls come back? I mean life is kind of hard. Why do we have to do it more than once?” I ask.

“There are many different reasons for a soul to return to live another life, but in your case, I would say it is because you are an ace of sorts,” he smiles at me.

“An ace?” I ask, unsure of what he means.

“An ace, in a deck of cards. Have you ever played that card game War?” Reed asks me, and I nod my head. It is probably the only card game I know. “The ace is the highest card and the two is the lowest. The object of the game is to collect all of the cards by facing them off against each other. The ace always ends up winning more cards when you play it. I suspect you always seem to win more souls for our side to take back to Paradise with you. God seems to like aces. He plays them as often as He can.”

“You really think my soul is an ace?” I ask him, struggling to get what he is saying. “But, you don’t know that for sure…I mean, I could be an ace for the other team, couldn’t I? You can’t tell if my soul is evil or anything like that, can you?” I ask him, trying to clarify his theory.

He frowns, saying, “You are not evil.”

I sigh, “I know you think I’m not, but you can’t be completely certain.”

“I’m certain,” he replies immediately, no longer willing to entertain the possibility that I am on the other team.

I sit quietly next to Reed while he strokes the back of my hand in his. “You think that time is almost up…for your premonition?” Reed says in a deceptively casual tone that is not reaching his eyes.

My heartbeat thumps heavily as I nod, “Uh huh.”

“Then time is up…we will leave tonight,” Reed says with a mixture of finality and relief.

“Reed…I can’t,” I begin.

“Evie, you cannot possibly imagine what you mean to me… we have a much better language to describe the love I feel for you, but it doesn’t translate,” he says. “If something were to happen to you,” His jaw grows taut. “You have to escape this before the chaos buries you beneath it. I won’t risk your life like this anymore. I cannot let you go…I cannot.”

“I’ll never leave you,” I whisper, moving into his strong embrace. “I promise you that I won’t.”

“Zee can guard Russell,” Reed says, still holding me close.

“Just let me talk to Russell,” I plead, trying to avoid committing to his will.

Reed sighs deeply. “You have tonight. If you don’t find him, you can send him a postcard. I’m making arrangements to leave in the morning.” He pulls back from me to look in my eyes.

Glancing away from Reed, I try to come up with a way to make him relent and let me stay. Then, I spot Russell heading out of his dormitory with a backpack full of books, and my heart beats harder in my chest. It looks as if he’s heading to the library to study. Finals are next week, so it makes sense that he would be cramming for them. Turning to Reed, I say nervously, “There he is. Wish me luck.”

With a small frown, Reed mutters, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I reply, opening the car door and climbing out. As I close the door, I discreetly hide the necklace Reed gave me beneath the silken neckline of my blouse. Then, I catch up to Russell in the parking lot by the bookstore. “Russell. Please stop…1 need to talk to you.”

“Go away, Genevieve,” Russell says, seeing me behind him. The scowl on his face makes it clear he really means it.

“Russell, please—I know you think I’m creepy, but you have to talk to me,” I beg him.

Turning around, Russell says angrily, “Why? Why do I have to talk to ya? Why can’t ya just leave me alone?” Whirls of his breath curl and float away from his face.

“Because I’m worried about you. Because I can’t rest until I know you’re okay, and you’re not okay—so here I am, trying to be your friend,” I answer.

“Ya can’t be my friend,” he says without having to think about it.

“Why?” I ask him sadly.

“Cuz yer not normal—yer a freak!” he spits out.

I try to ignore the pain squeezing my heart as I say, “Yeah—I guess I am a freak, but I’m also the same person you met on the first day of school. There isn’t much difference, except for the fact that I have evolved a bit since then, but essentially I’m the same.”

“What’re ya tryin’ to do to me? What do ya want from me?” Russell asks me, and the pain in his voice almost breaks me.

“I just want to help you. Please, Russell,” I reply.

“Ya want to help me? Well, then, get outta my head—get outta my dreams, stop callin’ me, and stop writin’ me. Go away and never come back. I never want to see yer face again. Ya creepy half…thing!” Russell says with his teeth clenching. Thinking he might hit me, I back up and put my hands out in front of me.

“Shhh. Russell, it’s okay…I promise, I’ll go away soon. I promise you. You won’t have to see me ever again soon. I just want to know that you’re safe, and then I’ll go. I’m so sorry, Russell——I’m so sorry,” I whisper as hot tears run from my eyes.

Russell stalks toward me then, looking desperate. Grasping my chin with one hand, he forces me to look into his eyes. “Ya just stay away from me, do ya understand? Just stay away.”

“Russell, I’m so sorry…” I trail off because he squeezes my face tighter, making me wince. He lets go of me then, backing away. He turns, and picking up the backpack he had dropped, he walks away toward the library. He never looks back. Leaning against a parked car, I try to stop crying. The piece of me that loves Russell twists inside of me and writhes in pain.

Can I exist without a soul? I wonder. I feel like I am about to find out because that part of me feels like it is dying.

Slowly, I walk back toward the car. As I come into view, Reed is instantly at my side. He growls when he sees my bruised chin. “I will break his jaw,” he says in cool anger, “then I will really hurt him.”

“No!” I cry, grasping his hand. “Russell is just freaking out a little. This is nothing,” I say, indicating my chin. “I just have to keep things on the down low from now on, since it’s clear he wants nothing more to do with a freak like me. We just have to be stealthy, so he doesn’t know we’re watching him.” I whisper, because I’m having trouble maintaining a normal tone.

“We no longer need to remain here. I will kill him, and then we will leave,” Reed states plainly.

My heart races in panic. “You’re not going to kill Russell. I’ll be completely healed in ten minutes or less,” I say adamantly.

Reed’s brows draw together dangerously. “He hurt you,” Reed replies in a forceful tone.

“I Tasered you by the lake, remember?” I ask him quietly.

He frowns at me darkly, “That was different. You were scared, and it didn’t even hurt me.”

“Russell is scared, too. I see his reaction as the same kind of thing—and I can handle it,” I say, opening my car door and getting into the passenger side. “It’s like you said earlier, I have a talent for eliciting strong emotion in others. I can see that now.” I watch him get in the car and start the engine. “Beware the power of the mutant.”

Reed frowns. “You are not a mutant. I have seen mutants, and they look nothing like you,” he says.

“You’ve seen mutants? What do they look like?” I ask him, watching his scowl fade a little.

“I want to show you something,” Reed says, turning the engine on and pulling away from the curb. Grateful to be back in the car, I immediately turn all of the heat vents at me and put the fan on high. “I have helped Zee follow your soul mate for weeks now,” he continues. “And I have watched him come here everyday for the past week since it opened. I will show you his spot,” he says, pulling up to the Sage Center.

Exiting the car, Reed escorts me inside the building where the art exhibition is in full swing. A bar is set up in the lobby of the first floor and elegantly attired men and women mill around, discussing the art and the artists on display. He leads me up the grand staircase, to the second floor of the building, to where the Sam MacKinnon Art Exhibition adorns the walls. The exhibition has drawn a large crowd of well-dressed patrons tonight, and I feel a little out of place in my jeans. I am grateful that I have on one of the sexy, silk tops that Reed had given me; that helps to dress up my jeans. Shrugging out of my coat, I take my gloves off as we approach the gallery.

Reed ushers me beyond several beautiful portraits to the one on display away from the rest, like it has its own place of honor outside of the others. This painting has special lighting and seating near it. Gazing at the exquisite brush strokes, I am in awe that I had posed for this portrait. It looks as if it could’ve been painted centuries ago; it is in the style of a Rembrandt or a Vermeer.

Reed shows me to the bench directly in front of it. Pointing to the seat, he says, “This is where Russell sits when he comes here.” Sitting quietly on the bench he indicates, I study the portrait critically. Sam had chosen to go with the sensual pose that he must’ve gotten when I was watching Reed that day. I notice several people admiring it overtly.

Reed disappears for a moment, and then he returns with a brochure for the exhibition. The portrait of me is on the cover of the brochure. “Russell takes one of these each time he comes here. It is like he cannot help himself,” he says, sitting down next to me on the bench.

“Thank you,” I say simply as tears well up in my eyes.

We sit there together for a long time, neither one of us speaking, until the crowd dwindles. Then, I feel Reed stiffen next to me. It is not overt, just a tensing of his muscles, but it sends alarm bells off inside my head. Glancing at him, I try to see what has set him off.

“Evie,” Reed says calmly, “when I tell you, you must run as fast as you can to my house and find Zee. You will not hesitate, and you will not try to assist me. Do you understand?” he asks in a tone so low that only I could possibly hear him.

My heart thumps painfully as I ask, “What is it?”

“Fallen—at least three—all fanning out,” he replies succinctly. “I will help you escape, don’t worry, just be ready,” he says.

“I’m not leaving you…” I begin, but Reed cuts me off.

“You will follow my orders,” he says firmly. Reed’s eyes dart around the room rapidly, assessing our surroundings. His jaw grows taut. “There may be more Fallen here than this. I have to get you out of here. Go to Zephyr; he will keep you safe until I get there,” he says quickly.

All of a sudden, I feel like we are trapped in a tight box with no room to move around. “But, what about you…” I start to say.

Reed’s eyebrows draw together, “I’m not breakable, like you,” he explains urgently. When he glances at my face and sees my doubt, he growls, “You have to listen to me now, Evie.”

With my heart pounding in my ears, I see a beautiful angel enter from the emergency stairwell near us. He is striking, with black hair almost to his waist and topaz-color eyes. He could be an Aztec warrior stepping through time if it isn’t for the fact that he is dressed to blend in for an art exhibition. His eyes zero in on me as if he knew I’d be here. All of the hair on the back of my neck stands up in an instant. My wings move within my back. They want to pop out, and I don’t think I can keep that from happening.

I look over my shoulder, catching sight of two more angels behind us. One is very, very tall, with white-blond hair; he resembles a Viking in stature. The other one is more normal, with brown hair, but beautiful, nonetheless. How did they find us?

Rising from the bench with blinding speed, Reed upends an easel that had displayed a smaller portrait. With a swift movement, he rips a couple of the wooden legs off of it, holding one like a javelin. Drawing his arm back, he throws one faster than I can track it. Seeing the fallen angel with the brown hair lift off of his feet and rocket backward, I realize where the javelin had gone. The wood embeds in the wall behind us, impaling him there. Crumpling listlessly, I think Reed has killed him for sure, but then his head moves and he looks back up at us wickedly. Regaining his feet, he ruthlessly tries to pull himself off of the stick skewering him. Reed throws the other stick, crushing his skull, and he stops struggling.

A harrowing scream lodges unvoiced in my throat. Shifting my gaze back to the Aztec angel in front of me, he has already sprouted his wings; they are covered in thick, black feathers trimmed in white, like a vulture’s. Reed doesn’t hesitate at all as his shirt tears away from him, exposing his wings with a loud whoosh sound. He picks up the bench next to mine, holding it in front of me like a shield. Something riddles the front of the bench as splintering holes punch through the wood. When the rapid fire drumming stops, Reed throws the bench at the Aztec angel; it smashes him back into the stairwell, knocking the gun out of his hand. This all happens in a fraction of a second. People don’t even realize that they are in the presence of angels. The humans haven’t heard the gunshots from the silencer. They seem frozen in place, like statues, while the angels fight around them. But then, I realize they aren’t really frozen; the angels are so much faster than them that it is as if we don’t share the same plane of existence with humans.

Reed bends down, pulling a short-handled knife from the leg strap under his pant leg and a small metal disk. In one fluid motion, he swings the knife forward, releasing the blade. Spiraling with a whistling sound, it flies at the angel behind us. Finding its mark, the blade sticks out of the Viking angel’s eye. Nausea chokes me as I turn away from him. I don’t see if the knife wound stops him because Reed scoops me up in a flash, holding me in his arms like a child. The metal disk breaks open, spewing hazy, white smoke into the room. The smoke hides the dead angels in its cloud. After Reed pulls the fire alarm in a blink of an eye, we are at the railing of the balcony, overlooking the lobby in a millisecond.

Reed whispers in my ear, “When you hit the ground, run. Don’t stop for anything until you reach Zee.”

I don’t have time to say “excuse me” as I fall through the air toward the lobby floor. Reed had pitched me over the balcony a couple of floors up. Landing on my feet before going down on one knee in a crouch, I touch the floor lightly with the palms of my hands. I’m okay, I think, recovering quickly from the shock of being thrown off the balcony. I shoot up off my knee and run in the direction of the exit. The entire place is in chaos. People rush to exit through the front doors, trying to escape from smoke and the blaring noise emanating from the fire alarms.

Almost making it to the exit, I see something approaching me like a freight train in my peripheral vision. Before I can react, it runs right into me, forcing me through the window in front of the Sage Center. The glass shatters as we land in a heap on the front lawn of the auditorium. Pieces of glass cut into my skin. Trying to clear my head, I look over, seeing the chiseled profile of an angel lying next to me on the ground. Turning his face toward me, he lets out a feral growl; but before he can hurt me, Reed pounces on him, smashing his fist into the angel’s jaw, crushing in the side of his face. Blood spatters me as I sit frozen, watching.

“Run, Evie!” Reed growls, while another angel tries to run past Reed to get to me. Reed twists up, catching him around the neck, clothes lining him. They grapple together on the ground before Reed tears his head off his neck. Growls sound behind us as several more angels burst through the broken window of the Sage Center.

Reed’s eyes meet mine. “Run!” he shouts at me.

Scrambling to my feet, I just evade an angel’s out-stretched hand by a hair’s breath. I have no time to think as I run toward the parking lot. Dodging through small groups of people by parked cars, I have to put out my hands as I plow into the side of a white Mercedes.

“Evie, hey, sup?” Freddie asks, smiling at me from inside his car.

“Freddie!” I say, opening his car door and jumping into the passenger seat. “Go, Go, Go!” I scream at him, rolling the window up and locking the door. The car moves forward at a snail’s pace as Freddie smiles at me delightedly.

“Evie, it’s so good to see you. I missed you! You look awful!” He laughs at me from the driver’s seat.

“Freddie, you have to go faster. I have to get to Reed’s house! There are bad guys out there, and they’re trying to hurt me. Go faster!” I urge him in a panic. “I need to find Zee,” I shout at him.

I start searching through the back window of his car to see where the angel behind me has gone. He has to be out there, I think. He can probably skip faster than this car is going. I wince when I twist, clutching my side as a sharp pain penetrates my panic. I’m getting blood on Freddie’s car seat, I think, feeling the blood oozing from a cut on my head.

Freddie clucks his tongue sympathetically, before saying, “Did Volos break your ribs when he pushed you out the window? Well, I did say, ‘Get her to my car by any means necessary,’ so I really can’t complain about how it was done.”

“Freddie, I…” I say as confusion clouds my mind.

“You know, I really love that name you gave me…Freddie. It’s so innocent and pure. A Freddie would never hurt you, would he? A Freddie would be your best friend. Alfred is always suspect and, well, nerdy,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I’m going to keep my name, Freddie, if you don’t mind, because it really will suit my new life. I plan on doing everything right this time. No more killing and maiming—it will be a new chapter in my life,” Freddie says pleasantly, smiling at me lovingly.

“I…don’t…what are you talking about?” I ask him, feeling like someone is running a cube of ice down my spine.

As if reminded of something, Freddie says, “Ohh, that’s right, you don’t know what I am, do you?”

Holding my aching ribs, my voice is weak as I whisper, “You’re Freddie…you’re my friend…”

Freddie smiles sadly, before brushing my hair back from my cheek as he drives. “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, you have no idea. I know that you’re the one person to have understood me and loved me anyway. I truly regret that things have turned out this way. But, it really is your fault. I had a handle on everything. You were mine, Russell was mine, and I could’ve had you both with me forever. Well, maybe not Russell, but certainly you. But, you ruined it, didn’t you?”

My skin grows pale as drips of blood fall from my jaw. “Freddie,” I whisper, “are you an angel?”

“Of course. I’m really surprised you never figured it out. Maybe it’s because I’m not like the ones that you seem to surround yourself with lately,” he replies blandly. “I had to stay away from the Powers or they would’ve dispatched me. Usually, they tend not to notice Reapers. That’s why I was sent to do this job. It’s why I’ve been so good at it until now. They almost don’t even see me; I’m so beneath their radar. Power angels aren’t interested in me because I have a legitimate reason for being here.”

My fingers tremble as I touch the cut on my head. “A Reaper?” I ask in confusion.

Freddie smiles at me sympathetically again. “I’m a Reaper… an angel of death, Evie. I negotiate souls for the damned,” he says plainly, and I try to keep my mouth from falling open. “I thought I was going to have to tell you before now, especially when we went to Coldwater and saw the possessed one. It did follow us, you know? It wanted to tear your heart out, but I wouldn’t let it. I had to shrive the possessed soul, just to stop it from killing you. That won’t be looked upon favorably where I come from,” he says, with a grimace as his jaw tightens in anger.

“You saved me from the shadow man?” I ask in a whisper because my throat is very tight.

Freddie suddenly grins. “Yes, shadow man…that’s good, that’s funny!” Freddie chuckles. “I noticed that you noticed him. I was impressed at how brave you acted trying to protect me from what you saw. I had to take care of it because you’re mine, my love,” he says earnestly, and goose bumps break out on my arms. “But, I’ve lost you, haven’t I? The Powers are going to take you away from me, and there is little I can do to stop that. I would have to answer for my mistakes in the abyss if I let you slip away from me. They don’t tolerate mistakes,” he says, shuddering.

“Freddie,” I gasp, “I’ll help you…”

“How?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.

“I…don’t…Reed can…” I begin.

Freddie scowls at me. “Your Power will shred me the moment he realizes that I’ve been near you,” he says in a sinister tone.

“But,” I stutter.

“I thought he was going to shred you—that night by the lake. But, he didn’t…he fell in love with you instead,” Freddie says grimly. “There is almost something magical about you, Evie. You’ve enchanted him…” he trails off, thinking. “I had to break you two up…I thought the roses on the bed were quite clever. I knew you’d recognize Russell’s necklace in them… and that Reed would freak because he knows better than to get between two soul mates. Divine Powers are so pathetic… always looking for signs in things, waiting to be called back to Paradise,” he sneers.

“You did that—the roses at Reed’s house?” I ask as my hands tremble. He doesn’t know about my nightmares; he just did it to break us up.

“I was desperate. You two were together all the time. If Sheol had discovered that I’d lost control of you…” Freddie’s scowl eases as he says, “But, don’t worry, I’ve come up with a plan to avoid the retribution of Sheol. Of course, this will piss them off, but whatever. You’re my free ride out of that, aren’t you?” he smiles, and even though I don’t know what he is saying, it makes me feel nauseous. “I had to enlist the aid of other fallen angels tonight just to get you away from your boyfriend. I needed strong fighters—Powers and Archangels. But, everything has a price. I had to promise that I would give you to them, once I have what I need. They think the Seraphim in Sheol know of my plans.”

“You mean the fallen Seraphim?” I squeak.

Freddie’s blue eyes seem dull—soulless. “Who do you think sent me to watch you in the first place? They’re all interested in you,” he says cunningly.

Goose bumps rise on my skin. “Why are the Fallen interested in me?” I ask him bluntly.

“You have to ask?” he asks incredulously. “What about you isn’t interesting?”

My lips thin in a grim line. “But, I’m just a…I’m not…” I stammer.

Freddie’s expression turns thoughtful. “You really don’t know, do you? I’ve always wondered if you knew something because it’s hard to believe that you’re this naїve…innocent. Interesting…there are so many things about you to want. I’m surprised your boyfriend hasn’t enlightened you on the many facets of what you could be,” Freddie says cryptically.

“What could I be?” I whisper.

Freddie’s eyes narrow, “You could be a powerful weapon…if you could be controlled,” he says in a thoughtful tone.

“What?” I ask breathlessly.

Freddie smiles ironically. “Of course, no one but me knew exactly where you’d gone…until now. I hadn’t told them that you’d come to Crestwood, since I haven’t been back to Sheol in a while. I had to stay away so that you wouldn’t smell it on me. It can be very…rank. Only the angels that answer to me know you’re here now, but they’re all vicious deceivers—nearly impossible to control. I didn’t trust any of them—that is, until tonight. They’re going to help me get what I want.”

Something squeezes my heart painfully. “And, what’s that, Freddie?” I ask him coolly, but my hands are shaking badly.

His eyebrow quirks cunningly as he asks, “What would solve all of my problems and give me a clean slate?”

My eyebrows draw together in confusion, “I don’t…” I trail off as something occurs to me.

“Yes,” he smiles grimly, seeing my face growing deathly pale. “Your soul will give me redemption. If I refuse to sin after you give it to me, then I’ll be allowed a place in Paradise.” His harsh expression begins to fade, being replaced by a dreamy sort of smile. “I can’t wait to see the look on the Cherubim faces when I stroll along the…” Freddie begins speaking in his angelic language, so I can’t understand a word he says. As he rambles on, his face flushes.

I interrupt him. “Why would my soul give you redemption? How do you know that it’s not evil and would bar you from your Paradise?” I ask him searchingly.

His expression turns bitter. “The Sheol Seraphim don’t share their information with Reapers; they just give orders—I only know what I’ve observed of you,” he says with his jaw tight with anger.

“So, you don’t know where I came from?” I ask him in a soft tone.

“No, I was assigned to you recently, just before school started,” he replies. “But, knowing you as I do, I find it highly unlikely that your soul has ever been to Sheol, but I really don’t care if it has. Once I take it from you, I’ll purify it one way or another,” he says with smugness. “I’ll have to rip your soul from your body in order to assess its level of sin and evil. We never know what we’re getting until the soul leaves the body…and then the negotiations for it begin.”

I wince at his words. “Purify it? How?” I ask him urgently.

Freddie’s eyes narrow in a belligerent way. “I’m a Reaper. I know every angle there is to achieve redemption—selfless acts, sorrowful amends… Once I have your soul, I will no longer be damned, and I’ll get to keep something of you with me for eternity because I really do love you, Evie,” he says with a semblance of regret. “I would‘ve taken care of you, but you chose to ignore me. I was all you needed, and you ruined it.”

The shock of what he is saying is wearing off, and I am increasingly desperate to get away from him. “Freddie!” I say, while my fingernails claw the door handle, trying to pull it open, but it is locked.

“If you try to leave, I’ll break your arm,” Freddie says with menace. He put his hand on my arm and squeezes it until I think it will break. As I whimper in pain, he lets go of me.

Panting, I whisper, “You’re talking about stealing my soul from me one minute, and then saying that you love me almost in the same breath; it’s a little schizophrenic. Do you expect me just to hand my soul over to you?” I ask in a thin voice. “I don’t know how to do that, even if I wanted to.”

“Don’t worry, I’m an expert with souls—Reaper, remember?” he asks with a humorless smile.

Feeling like an insect trapped in a hot car, I look around for a way out, asking, “So, Reapers are evil, is that it?”

“No, not all Reapers are Fallen,” Freddie says with a darkening frown, “but no one thinks very much of us, on either side. We don’t rank very high among other angels.” He points to his chest vehemently, saying, “I was made promises in Paradise by the ones who said they would change that, but we were all cast out. It was even worse for me after the fall,” Freddie seethes, embittered from the disillusionment of unfulfilled promises. “But…now I’m in charge. I have complete control here. The other angels will follow my orders,” he says, like he is assuring himself more than me. “They don’t like it, though,” he says conspiratorially. “We operate on what you would call a caste system. I’m one of the lowest orders in that system. A Reaper is looked upon very much like a garbage collector. In Sheol, I’m just someone who brings in the trash. They don’t realize how much effort it takes to prove a soul is evil!” he finishes belligerently.

“Freddie, I’m not giving you my soul,” I say in a quiet, shaking tone. “When Reed gets his hands on you, there won’t be anything left to send back to Hell,” I warn him, trying to convince him to stop his plan.

“Are you sure about that, Evie?” Freddie asks with dull-blue eyes. “Because Russell is going to be so disappointed if you don’t.”

“Russell?” I ask breathlessly as he turns the wheel, pulling it into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven.

My heart races, making me feel dizzy as I sit looking at the façade of the 7-Eleven. All of the lights are on, but the windows are blurry; they are obscured by what appears to be waves of heat, like the kind that come off of hot pavement in summer— but it is winter. I can almost imagine it is a mirage that will disappear any moment. Freddie moves supernaturally fast to my door, opening it for me.

He extends his hand to me, but I don’t take it. “C’mon, Evie,” Freddie sighs irritably. “You know I can easily make you go in there without much effort. But, I know I don’t need to, because Russell needs you. You’re not going to let him die, are you—your soul mate? Not when you can save him. I’ll let you save him. It can be your last, selfless act.”

I tremble at his words, spoken without malice. I avoid taking the hand that Freddie offers to me, stepping out of his car without aid. Straightening, I gaze at the building ahead of me, trying to hear what is going on inside. It is silent. No sound penetrates the blurry image, but the smell is like nothing I’ve ever inhaled before. It’s as if the worst offal has been strewn around and left to bake in the sun for days, and even that analogy can’t begin to describe the odor. My wings fly out of my back on their own, just as I turn and retch all over the interior of Freddie’s Mercedes. That might’ve been somewhat satisfying, if it hadn’t hurt so much; my broken ribs ache from the involuntary movement.

“You’re a Seraph!” Freddie growls at me, jealous. I can’t answer him as I attempt to wipe the vomit from my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re the most beautiful Seraphim I’ve ever beheld,” he says grudgingly. He reaches out and touches my wings gently, and I nearly vomit again. “You know that Seraphim are the highest rank…” he begins.

“I don’t care about that, Freddie,” I reply in a croak.

My comment surprises him. “You want to see mine?” he asks me, but before I can answer him, he takes off his shirt, unleashing his wings.

I don’t know what I would have expected Freddie’s wings to be like, but they are so far removed from the expected that I’m convinced I wouldn’t have guessed this. His wings aren’t like Reed’s wings, or even mine, since ours both resemble that of an avian. No, his wings are the exact image of a dragonfly’s wings; he has four, two on either side of his back. They are an iridescent bluish-green, and they look so thin, I can almost see through them. When he moves them, it sounds like a vibrating buzz saw, just like I would expect from a dragonfly. I reach out with my fingertips in horror and fascination, touching his wing; it feels delicate, like stiff paper.

“I’m so stupid, Freddie, how could I not have known about you?” I ask him sadly, drawing my hand back from him. I want to mourn the death of my friend because this isn’t the Freddie that I know. “I love you like a brother, Freddie. Don’t do this.”

Freddie’s eyes narrow viciously. “Just look at this like sibling rivalry then. You have what I need, and if it comes down to you or me, then I choose me. I can’t go back to Sheol and tell them I failed and let you leave. Reed will never let me near you. I only just avoided him to get this far. He’s not stupid; he would’ve discovered me sooner or later. Although, he’s quite blind whenever you’re around. He has trouble seeing anything but you. You’re his Achilles Heel, if you know what I mean. Now, do I have to go in there and bring out a piece of Russell to convince you he’s in there? Or, are you going to come in and cooperate with me so that I can start my new life?”

I rest my hand on his arm pleadingly. “You don’t want to do this, Freddie.” I say, trying to reason with him. “You and Russell are friends. Russell loves you, I know it,” I beg.

“I’m not so sure about that. I just watched Russell turn on his own soul mate in the parking lot tonight. I doubt Russell loves anything like he does you and yet, he almost smashed your face in,” Freddie says as if this intrigues him. “I didn’t see that coming. It kind of gave Russell a new flavor to me. He can be turned, you know, we could turn him to our side I suspect. Would you like me to see if he’ll go evil?” Freddie asks me, and I feel sick again.

“Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to deserve this!” I rasp.

“That’s it, Evie, I knew I could count on you. You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you? I was hoping that you would. Now, shall we go? I’ve left Russell with some very nasty angels. They’re not good company,” Freddie says, taking my hand and dragging me effortlessly forward toward the 7-Eleven. “Time to save your soul mate.”

He holds the door wide for me, and I recoil from the scene ahead. Placing his hand on the small of my back, Freddie ushers me into the florescent-lighted horror show. Searching for Russell among the desolation and destruction around me, I spot him at the back on the floor. A red-headed angel with the white wings of an Archangel guards Russell. Russell isn’t moving, but he is breathing. He has bruising near his left temple, and the cut above his left eye oozes blood onto the floor. He is unconscious.

Stepping as lightly as I can around the debris littering the ground, I know it really isn’t debris, but pieces of flesh. There is so much of it that it is as if someone had unwittingly stepped on a land mine and was blown to pieces. My foot slips on it once or twice before I even step in a few feet; the vinyl tile on the floor is as slick as an ice rink from the blood covering it.

There are pieces of bodies everywhere I look. Seeing a torso with a red smock covering it, I know that the clerk hasn’t survived the angels’ rampage. Near the dismembered torso, I spy a strikingly handsome angel with olive skin, sitting on the floor. He is holding the hand of a dead girl to his lips, casually ripping the flesh from her fingers with his teeth. Thick mottles of blood run down his chin on either side. Looking up at me, it takes a fraction of a second for his face to be a hair’s breadth from my own. Wincing in terror, I turn my face away from the scent and sight of blood on his face and teeth while he smiles broadly at me. Unbelievable fear makes my insides fall to pieces as I recognize him as the monster from my nightmares.

Freddie puts a restraining hand on his chest. “Gaspard, not yet! She’s not ready for you quite yet,” Freddie says at my side. “Be patient, killa, it will not take long, and then she’ll be yours, like I promised.”

Gaspard speaks to me in Angel, but it is not even remotely compelling when it is delivered with tiny droplets of blood-soaked spittle. I don’t shrug at him when he is done speaking because I’ve learned that they consider that rude, so I whisper in a low tone, “I don’t speak your language.”

Gaspard smiles at me again, showing the flesh that is stuck between his teeth. “That is too bad. It sounds so much better in Angel, than it does in Human. I just told you that the centuries here have been worth every moment that I have suffered, now that I get to desecrate you, my beautiful Seraph,” he breathes, shuddering with delight and pressing his cheek to mine. The blood on his face smears my cheek, delivering its metallic scent to my nostrils.

“I’m sure I won’t enjoy a moment of that, Gaspard,” I whisper back, clenching my teeth so that I won’t gag again. Being near Gaspard has me reeling and off kilter because he is such a strange, even absurd, dichotomy. His black hair is finely groomed and well kept with no stray hair to mar his perfect forehead or the masculine shape of his arching eyebrows. Only an angel could have a straight nose like his is. His mouth is sensual in its shape and fullness, but the gore that covers him and the sadistic twist of his top lip, makes my heart pound with revulsion and ache to get away.

Gaspard smiles angelically. “It could surprise you…you smell so delicious. Fear is just pouring out of you. It smells so…stimulating,” he says, inhaling deeply as he licks the blood from my cheek. I jump and shy back from him as a feral growl rips from his throat. He instantly turns from me to the angel approaching him from behind. He snarls a warning as if he is protecting his kill from another predator——his kill being me.

My legs have gone numb, but I’m not sure if it is with relief or with fear as the other angel says, “She’s not yours, Gaspard. I outrank you in this mission. You must relinquish her to me.” This is the angel with the white wings and the red hair that has been standing by the coffee machines as I entered. He is the angel that was guarding Russell’s limp body.

Hesitating for only a moment, Gaspard stands up, straightening out of the defensive crouch he had adopted. Stepping back from me a fraction, he shrugs passively. A wicked smile crosses the other angel’s face as the red-headed one comes toward me. I brace myself for whatever he might do to me, but I don’t find out. Gaspard reaches out, grabbing him by the throat as he tries to saunter by. Snapping his neck, Gaspard then rips the head of the Archangel right off of his body. He continues dismembering the angel as blood spatters across my face and body. The crunching and grinding sounds are almost unbearable as I close my eyes to block out the horrifying gore in front of me.

“Well, I don’t think Cade saw that coming,” Freddie remarks. He turns to me and says, “Archangels think they own everything; they’re kind of snobs, but they forget that Power angels sometimes don’t play nice. Sucks to be him.”

Gaspard, breathing hard from the exertion of dismembering his partner, doesn’t look a bit remorseful. In fact, he is smiling at me almost tenderly. His twisted sneer is gone, and he is attempting to wipe some of the blood from my face with his hand. It is not working well, since his hands have more blood on them than my face does. “Ah, mon cher,” he says in a seductive tone, “do not worry, he will never have you. You are mine, and I don’t share.”

“Thank you, Gaspard, you’re too good to me,” I reply softly, trying to match his seductive tone. “But, you know, it was probably all for naught, since Freddie plans on taking my soul from me. I doubt that I’ll survive very long without it. You may have just killed your friend for nothing.”

The back of Freddie’s hand cracks across my face in an instant, knocking me into the stacks of shelving. Looking up from the floor where I have landed, I face away from the two angels who are arguing heatedly about what I have just revealed. Gingerly putting my shaking fingers to my cheek, it aches, just like in my nightmares.

Movement in the corner of the store catches my attention. Turning, I see several people huddling there. Horror and bewilderment mar their faces. They are pale and clinging to one another, so I motion for them to run. I don’t think that the angels will pursue them, now that they have me. But I realize after seeing the terror on the face of the girl with the piercing in her brow, that she is the clerk whose torso I had spotted earlier. It will make no difference if they run now, because they are already dead. I have to turn away from their faces. I’ve failed them—I’ve failed to realize that Freddie would be the one to perpetrate this crime, and now they are all just souls, helplessly trapped here with me.

I think that I might go insane in a moment; the fear that has numbed me before is now driving me slowly crazy. Crawling on my hands and knees away from the souls, I try to get to Russell.

I don’t get far. Freddie’s hand on my shoulder lifts me up, dangling me above the ground before him. Rage twists his face as he sneers at me, before throwing me effortlessly backward into the glass door of a refrigerator at the back of the store. Something in one of my wings snaps on impact while the glass cracks like a spider’s web. Sliding to the floor in a heap, I lie there for a moment, entirely still, until my lungs decompress. Wheezing out a cough, I try desperately to get air back into me.

Walking in front of my line of sight, Freddie squats down, bringing his face to where my cheek rests against the floor. “You know,” he growls, “I think I’ve changed my mind, Evie. I think I’ll just go ahead and kill Russell, and then I’ll beat the soul out of you. You’ll give it to me if you’re in enough pain. It really doesn’t matter to me how I get it,” he says as his wings buzz in agitation.

I want to beg him not to hurt us, but all I can do is groan. Grasping me by the arm, he drags me effortlessly across the floor, back toward the coffee machines where Russell is. My body leaves a clean path on the floor, mopping up all of the debris as he sweeps me over it.

Coming to rest right next to Russell’s body, Freddie drops my arm, and it sprawls out limply. I can’t move yet to see Russell next to me, so I watch Gaspard in front of me; he is extremely agitated. He has sprouted dove-gray wings; they’re long and powerful. He is pacing the floor with supernatural speed, and every now and then, he pauses to run his hand through his black hair. He seems like he is torn about something. Maybe he is afraid there isn’t going to be much of me left to play with once Freddie is done with me. Maybe that’s a good thing, I think to myself.

Walking over to the counter by the cash register, Freddie picks up a velvet cloth lying on it. The cloth contains several tools and a few knives. Selecting a thin, sharp knife with a bone-colored handle, he throws the rest aside. Stepping between my body and Russell’s body, Freddie crouches down, showing me the blade of the knife in his hand. Putting his finger to his lips, he giggles before his face twists in a sneer. Then, he turns the knife, plunging it into Russell’s thigh.

All of the blood drains from my face, and tears brighten my eyes as a hoarse scream tears from Russell’s throat. “No, Freddie, stop! I’ll do anything you want, I’ll give you anything you want.. just stop, please…stop,” I beg him in a wheeze.

“Oh, I know you will. This is just for fun,” he says, pulling the knife out of Russell’s thigh and wiping the blade on my silk top.

“Son of a…Lord, that sucks! I’m gonna kill ya, Freddie! I promise ya, I will kill ya. I’m gonna squash ya like the bug ya are,” Russell shouts and then groans, writhing in pain next to me. Turning over towards Russell, I can only imagine what a shock it will be to him to see me. I am covered in blood and my red wings are exposed. When Russell notices me, he freezes and all of the blood drains from his face. “Ahh shoot, Red, what are ya doin’ here?” he yells at me, holding his thigh. Then, closing his eyes, he says, “I told ya to leave. I told ya to go and to never come back. I wanted to save ya! I didn’t save ya!” Balling his hands in fists, he brings them to his forehead.

“Russell, what? No…you’ve got it wrong! Freddie is here for me. He wants something I have,” I say, searching his face. “He’s going to let you go when I give it to him, aren’t you, Freddie.”

Freddie’s smile is angelic as he says, “That’s right, Evie. Just give it to me and Russell can go.”

Russell pulls his fists from his eyes. “What’s he want, Red?” Russell asks between panting breaths, trying to control the pain in his leg. He is looking at me now like he is seeing me for the first time, which makes sense, since he has never seen my wings before this moment.

I am cognizant enough to realize that this is the last moment I will ever get to spend with Russell. This is the image of me that he will carry with him for the rest of his life. “Nothing that I’m not willing to give him, right, Freddie?” I say in a soft tone, making sure that Freddie knows I am going to go along with his plan, so that he won’t continue to hurt Russell. “I just want to make sure that Freddie will honor his part of the bargain, when I give him what he wants.”

Russell’s expression turns desperate as he asks, “Red, what does he want?” I don’t answer him. Finding his hand, I hold it in mine.

Freddie frowns, saying, “Evie, you ought to tell him, since it involves him. You see, Russell, Evie is the most extraordinary being we’ve ever seen. She’s an angel who possesses a human soul—a half-breed. She said she’ll give me her soul if I agree not to kill her soul mate, which is you. She can be assured that I won’t be able to kill you after she gives me her soul because I will have to try really hard not to sin so I can get back into Paradise. But, the really interesting part comes after I take her soul from her. Will we, then, be soul mates, you and I? I hope so! I can’t wait to bump into you in your next life. Won’t that be fun?”

“Red, if y’all give yer soul to that devil, I’ll never forgive ya! Never! I’d rather die now than be saddled with him forever,” Russell spits out. “Ya make me attracted to him and…ugh… don’t ya do it,” he pleads with me.

“Shh, Russell, it will be okay. I’m positive that you’ll never be attracted to Freddie, since he’s a sadistic creep. He’ll mess up sooner or later, and then he’ll be sent back to Sheol. You’ll be okay,” I reason in a soothing tone.

“What happens to her if she gives ya her soul?” Russell asks Freddie in despair.

Freddie’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she’ll hang around for a while, waiting, as her body dies slowly, and then she’ll probably go into the dark alone. I suspect that Gaspard will hasten the darkness, since he’s super violent,” Freddie says, sounding giddy as he explains. He is getting what he wants, and it is making him euphoric. Gaspard, showing relief over this pronouncement, slows his pacing to grin in delight.

“Red, c’mon…y’all can’t do this. It’s wrong and ya know it!” he pleads with me. “What am I gonna do here without ya anyway? Ya can’t do it, ya just can’t!”

“I can’t watch him kill you, Russell. You have to live,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine when I see the pain and fear in his brown eyes.

Russell’s voice cracks as he says, “I can’t watch ya die either…”

Freddie snarls in disgust next to us. “Okay, this is making me want to puke. I’m ready for my soul now. Just don’t resist me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Freddie says, gripping the handle of the knife and straddling my thighs so that I can’t move beneath him.

Freddie speaks in Angel; his voice is so musical that it’s calming me, lulling me as I stare up at him. Closing his eyes, he concentrates hard, making arching symbols in the air with his knife. A pulling sensation erupts in the core of my body when he draws the knife over me, inches from my flesh. As his knife passes downward again, my eyes widen, and a harrowing gasp comes from me. Clutching my chest, I attempt to hold myself together, while something tears inside of me. But it is no use; I am ripping apart from the inside out.

“Alfred, you stupid, evil parasite! Get off of Evie before I knock your nasty head off of your shoulders!” Brownie calls from the doorway of the store. Inching in the door, Brownie growls as she sizes up Gaspard, who has stilled his pacing and is crouching to attack.

“Sweetie, you can’t give Alfred your soul; he will ruin Paradise,” Buns chimes in, coming to stand next to Brownie. With her eyes never leaving Gaspard, she hands something to Brownie; it is a stick that resembles field hockey equipment, but it is crafted of shiny gold metal with a deadly blade curving wickedly at the end.

I’m not sure if I gasped from the pain in my chest or from the shock of seeing Brownie and Buns with butterfly wings. Buns looks just like a faerie; she has delicate-looking, golden butterfly wings that shimmer in the florescent lighting. Brownie’s wings are more bronze with bold, russet accents. Their wings float effortlessly as their eyes hone in on Gaspard in front of them.

Momentarily distracted from his task, Freddie loses some focus, allowing me to breathe again. Swallowing deep, heavy gulps of air, I crane my neck to better see what is happening. The girls are fanning out, both eyeing Gaspard, looking for a weakness in his defenses. I notice their subtle signal to each other just before they attack Gaspard in synchronization.

Seeing that the girls have distracted Freddie, Russell wastes no time. He sits up quickly; pulling his arm back, he punches Freddie in the face using all of his strength. Freddie hardly moves at all when Russell hits him, proving to us both just how much of an angel Freddie really is. Scowling blackly at Russell for just an instant, Freddie takes his bony knife and plunges it into Russell’s chest; it makes a sickening, sucking sound as he twists it a couple of times before pulling it back out. Russell’s blood instantly gushes from the wound, wetting his shirt in a ring of scarlet.

“Ouch,” Freddie chuckles, watching Russell with amusement.

Russell puts one hand to his chest briefly, looking down at the gaping hole that Freddie’s knife had made, and then he slumps back on one elbow. He can’t hold himself up for long. Collapsing to the floor, he lies staring at the ceiling, panting in pain and shock. Horror and rage spur me, and I sit up instantly, grabbing the knife from Freddie’s hand. Turning the handle of the wicked-sharp blade, I plunge it into Freddie’s side, knocking him back off of me in one fluid movement.

“Ouch!” he shouts for real this time as the slice I made in his side bleeds in earnest. “You stabbed me, Evie!” he snaps incredulously, glowering at his side, and then at me. I don’t reply. Getting to my knees, I swing the knife again, trying to cut him, trying to make sure he stays back. Instantly, he scuttles away from me out of my reach. I will have to try to get up if I want to stab him again, and I am not sure I can do it.

The noises behind us are growing wilder. Buns and Brownie are taking turns carving little pieces out of Gaspard and then dancing away before he can return the favor. I can’t give their fight much of my attention, focusing instead on Freddie in front of me.

“You can’t win, Evie, no matter what you do. One of us is going to kill you sooner or later. You may as well give me your soul now, since I can purify it. Otherwise, you die with that soul, and you’re going straight to Sheol because it’s pure evil,” he smiles at me. “Give me the knife, and I’ll spare you that. I’ll spare you the fires of Hell,” he says soothingly, holding out his hand for the knife.

My determination falters while my eyes well up with tears. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “My soul is evil…I’m from Hell?” I ask him, staring into his eyes. Freddie smiles at me, nodding. Slowly, I draw the knife up and begin to hand it to him. At the last second, I turn the blade on him, scoring it over the palm and drawing his blood from a deep wound. I shiver, watching the blood drip down his arm while he cradles his hand to his chest. “You’re a liar, Alfred. I’m not going to trust you.”

“That was a mistake, Evie. I’m going to bring you so much pain you’ll beg me to take your soul,” he promises evenly as bitterness seeps into his tone.

“Don’t, Freddie…” I beg with my voice shaking. “You can just leave…please…leave us alone…” Holding the knife tight in my hand, I swipe it at him in desperation, but he is no longer listening to me. He is watching the fight behind me between Gaspard and the girls. The frown on his face tells me what I want to know: Gaspard is losing.

Glancing over at Russell, Freddie smirks, “You lose, Evie. Your soul mate is dying. Sucks to be human. I’ll be back when it’s your turn,” he snarls quickly. Then, in the time it takes me to exhale, he circumvents the girls and Gaspard and is gone from the store.

Hearing Russell gasping, I turn back to see his still body lying on the floor. Crawling on my hands and knees to his side, I clutch the knife in a death grip. Russell’s face is pale as I put my hand on his cheek. He looks at me then; his brown eyes are dilated so that most of the brown is obscured by the blackness of his pupils.

“Russell!” I say in misery, dropping the knife and searching for his hand. Finding it, I squeeze it firmly. He coughs, and blood runs from his mouth. Alfred is right, Russell’s dying.

“Please don’t die, Russell,” I beg, “please…”

Hot tears slide from my eyes down my cheeks as I panic, looking around for something that I can do to help him. I put my hand on his wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood as it pumps out of him. God, please help me! I beg in my mind.

All of the fluorescent lights in the building flicker as my hand on Russell’s wound begins to heat up and glow; it is as if my hand is being lit from inside of me. Crying out in agony, I try to pull my hand away from Russell because the intense heat is turning to fire. We are both burning from the searing inferno of energy pulsing out of me. Screaming in pain, I can’t lift my hand from him. We are welded together like scalding hot metal.

Other pain registers in my mind, too. A throbbing ache, building in my thigh, finally breaks over me in a crescendo of pain. Putting my other hand to my thigh, I attempt to ease the white-hot ache. A sob twists from me before my chest breaks open, and I sag to the floor. Feeling something warm and wet pooling on my stomach, I look down listlessly; a growing blotch of red spreads over my blouse as my blood seeps out from my chest. The heat in my hand lessens, but I hardly realize it because of the stabbing pain near my heart. Tasting blood in my mouth, blackness obscures my vision. Waves of energy are flowing out of me to slip away into the air, like the scent of a flower drifting in the breeze. I can rest now,.. so tired, I think as I begin to float away….

“You promised me,” a whispering voice says in my mind, its tone caressing me. Light dances in my eyes as I try very hard to see the lovely one speaking to me in such a graceful voice. Images fracture and obscure as colors meander and bleed together in a distorted kaleidoscope of pain. The darkness is so cool…soothing; it floats and sways around me, wrapping me in a blanket of nothingness, away from the pain that torments me.

“Fight…” the voice whispers to me, but it no longer sounds lovely—it sounds taut and filled with an urgency that I don’t understand. I have to find him—tell him not to be sad. As I struggle, the darkness recedes; searing, ragged pain replaces it, making me want to go back into the darkness.

I can’t find him, I think, disoriented. Trying to move my ear closer to his voice, my head lolls as I search for him. Reed’s voice sounds broken—hushed—speaking to me in Angel— compelling me to find him.

Another voice interrupts the steady stream of musical words that have me clinging to the clouds they create in my mind. It is a deep, commanding voice that I think I recognize, but I just can’t think…

“Reed,” the commanding voice says, “you have to let us help. We have to stop the bleeding…”

Another, much softer voice adds, “Sweetie, give Evie to Zee. He’s going to bind her wounds so that you can move her. We’ll give her right back to you,” it says plaintively. My heart races painfully. “Sweetie, here…you can put her down here, and then you can hold her hand.”

A low, growling snarl rumbles from Reed. “Don’t touch her…”

“Sweetie, please…” comes the soft voice. A moment passes, and then every cell in my body begins objecting to the fact that I am being moved.

The commanding voice says, “You can hold her hand while I wrap her chest.” I think I cry out as sheer pain collapses in on me like an avalanche of snow, covering me beneath its depths, and I surrender to it.

CHAPTER 20

Revelations

My head hurts… no, scratch that… my entire body hurts. Even my eyelashes are aching, I think, struggling to open my eyes. The light in the room is dim, but it feels blinding, bringing tears to my eyes. The white curtains, hanging in my room in Reed’s house, are closed, so I shouldn’t have this problem.

I gaze around in confusion because this doesn’t resemble the room I’ve been staying in for the last few weeks. It has hospital equipment in it. There are carts in here with machinery that I can’t even begin to name. Noticing an IV stand next to my bed, my eyes follow the plastic tubing down to my wrist where it is sticking out of my hand uncomfortably. I want to pull it out, but I am distracted from the discomfort by the angry, whispering voices just outside my door.

“You need to let the humans go home now—her fever has broken—you cannot persuade them to stay any longer,” Zephyr whispers tensely.

Reed’s voice, barely more than a growl, whispers, “I will tell the nurses to go, but I am keeping the doctor.”

“He is not necessary…” Zephyr begins to argue again, but Reed cuts him off.

“I will persuade the doctor into thinking that he has been at a medical conference when this is all over…” Reed argues in a low tone.

I am not sure what they are talking about, but it doesn’t sound good, and Reed doesn’t sound right either. He sounds irritable and unreasonable, which is not what is abnormal. What I find abnormal is that he sounds desperately so.

Zephyr starts to argue further, whispering harshly, “It is an unnecessary risk for them to remain.”

Feeling anxious about their argument, I say feebly, “Zee, leave Reed alone. He doesn’t sound right.” But, it is my voice that doesn’t sound right; it sounds weak and raspy. Am I sick? I wonder, not understanding what is going on.

There is a quiet pause from the hall, and then the door of my room crashes open. Instantly, Reed is in front of me. Smiling at him cautiously, I am overwhelmed by how he can look so good when he looks so bad. Although he is still breath-takingly handsome, he is uncharacteristically disheveled; his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is tussled. He also looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He is pale and drawn.

“Hi,” I say in a croak that doesn’t sound like me. He doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “Are you okay?” Staring at me, Reed does not respond to my question either as his eyes search my face. “Here sit down next to me,” I manage to say with my gravelly voice, patting the empty space beside me on the large bed. He crawls up on the bed next to me, snuggling in close to my side. Resting his head on my pillow, his hair falls down over his eyebrow, so I lift my hand to his brow to brush it back from his face. My arm feels heavy, and I am having trouble keeping it from falling listlessly back onto the bed. “What’s wrong with me?” I ask Reed warily.

Tight, grim lines form at the corners of Reed’s mouth. “You have been ill…” Reed replies in a hush tone, his voice trailing off.

My eyebrows rise. “I have? Huh. Have you been sick, too?” I ask him sympathetically, because he looks really tired. He nods at my question, and when I put my hand on his cheek, he turns his lips to kiss my palm. “Stay here with me. You should rest…” I whisper. Reed inhales deeply, closing his eyes tight. I am startled by his reaction to my words. He looks very sad. “Reed, what’s wrong?” I ask him, dreading his response.

“Nothing is wrong, Evie. You are alive,” he replies in a hoarse tone.

“Oh…” I say, not really getting what he is saying. I must’ve been very sick. I can hardly move, and my chest feels like someone drilled a hole in it.. I inhale a sharp breath.

As I bring my hand to my chest, my fingers skim over the over-sized white button-down shirt I have on. A flood of reality hits me all at once. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m panicking I have to… what? I have to stop him… I have to stop Freddie. He’s going to kill Russell!

“Reed!” I whisper urgently, in a voice that is so thin and breathless that I am not even sure he can understand me. “Freddie is bad—he wants to hurt me—he wants to hurt Russell—he killed Russell! Oh my God, Reed!” I rasp in horror, “He killed Russell—and I couldn’t—and I tried, but he just wouldn’t stop…”

Reed reaches over, pulling me into his arms. He strokes my hair as he says in a gentle, soothing tone, “Russell isn’t dead, Evie. You saved him.”

Weeping against his chest, I shake my head. “No” I sob, “Freddie stabbed him here, in the chest,” I say in denial, touching my own chest and wincing as if I have a wound there.

Reed’s arms tighten around me. “I know. You healed Russell. You took his wounds from him—you took them into your own body,” he says the last part angrily, like he doesn’t approve at all.

My breath hitches in my chest. “I healed…Russell? That’s… how could I have done that?” I whisper skeptically, still mourning Russell.

Reed’s lips brush the top of my head. “Evie, how do you even exist? It all makes no sense, but here you are, and Russell is downstairs, and I thought that I had lost you…” he stops talking then. He just strokes my hair gently as if I am as fragile as glass. After a few moments, he says, “You were the conduit to heal him at the very least. It was your hand that touched him, your body that absorbed his wounds.”

I sniffle. “So…Russell’s alive?” I ask.

“Yes,” he replies.

“And you think that I healed Russell?” I ask, wiping away a tear.

“Yes,” Reed says.

“And there is a downside in that I had to transfer his wounds to myself?” I ask Reed for clarity.

He nods briskly. “I will say there is a downside, Evie,” Reed says. Leaning over, he gently unbuttons my shirt and shows me the brutal looking scar on my chest. It is right in the same spot that Freddie had stabbed Russell with his knife. The necklace that Reed had given me rests just above it. Reed then pulls back my blanket, showing me the small, red scar from a wound in my thigh. It appears to be in the same leg and the same place where Russell had been stabbed.

As I touch the scar on my leg, I wince at its tenderness. “Russell is really downstairs?” I ask him softy.

“Yes. Do you want me to go and get him for you?” he asks with a deflated sigh.

I shake my head. “No, not yet. I don’t want anyone but you right now,” I whisper honestly. “Is he okay?” I ask as Reed tucks the blankets back around me.

Reed’s reply is stiff, “He is better than okay. You healed every wound he ever had. You even straightened out his nose for him. He looks different. I might have to break it for him again,” he grumbles, holding me tightly in his arms. “Brownie and Buns are downstairs, too,” he adds in a softer tone. “They wouldn’t leave you. They are worried about you, so I let them stay here.”

My eyes widen as I inhale deeply. “They’re angels! I didn’t know they were angels! Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I ask, astounded by their deception. “And their wings! You should see their wings! They look like butterflies!” I exclaim.

A small smile touches Reed’s lips. “They are Reapers,” Reed says, but when he sees fear enter my eyes, he quickly adds, “They are not Fallen. They both collect souls for Paradise. Reapers have different wings from ours. Some are like butterflies, and there are others that look like ladybugs and beetles,” Reed starts explaining to reassure me.

An ache in my chest makes my voice sound hollow as I murmur, “And…some look like dragonflies.”

Reed frowns. “Yes…until I find Alfred, and then he won’t have any wings to speak of,” Reed says calmly.

A shiver shakes me as I think, Freddie… he isn’t Freddie anymore—my Freddie is dead. All that’s left is Alfred.

Feeling my heart beating heavily in my chest, I ask, “How did Brownie and Buns know that we were there?” If it hadn’t been for the girls, I would’ve been without a soul, and Gaspard would’ve had a new toy to break.

Reed’s eyes darken as he frowns. “They weren’t aware that you were there at first. They became curious when they felt the souls that had been released by the massacre. Alfred made a mistake when he allowed Gaspard to kill all of those humans. He should have made his lieutenant wait until after he had taken your soul to kill the humans,” Reed explains.

“But he didn’t…” I say, feeling sicker as I remember the dead lying strewn on the floor.

“No, he didn’t,” Reed agrees as his mouth forms a grim line. “Buns and Brownie were there to do their jobs and collect the souls, but then they found you there with Alfred and Gaspard. Apparently, the girls seem to believe that you are their girl, and they did not take it well that Alfred and Gaspard were killing you. Reapers are usually non-violent.”

I remember everything now with a clarity that makes me tremble in fear and loathing. I try to tell Reed everything I can remember, and some of what I have to tell him is so difficult for me that my throat burns in pain as if someone is choking me. I have to stop several times so that I can sip some water before I go on.

The hardest part is telling Reed that the fallen Seraphim know about me and had sent Alfred to watch me. I’m not exactly sure why I feel so much shame in telling him that, but I suspect it is because I am afraid of what it means. If they know that I exist and had sent someone to watch me—watch me, not kill me, does it also mean that they had a hand in my very existence? I don’t know, and neither does Reed, but the thought makes me nauseous.

Reed, seeing worry and pain in my eyes, squeezes me tighter as if he will protect me from my own fears. “I’m very sorry. I should’ve never let you go out,” he says self-effacingly. “I should have known about Alfred. The Reaper is right; I am blind when I’m with you. I can see nothing but you, and that makes me ineffective,” Reed says, bringing his hand to his forehead and rubbing it.

“Reed, the only reason I’ve made it this far is because of you,” I say incredulously. “If it weren’t for you, Sebastian probably would’ve made a pillow of my bones by now, or whatever it is that those vile things do.” I shudder, having seen firsthand what the Fallen are capable of doing.

“I must be more disciplined in the future. There can be no more mistakes,” Reed continues. “I have to find Alfred soon. I’ve let him go, and he could be anywhere by now, but…I don’t think he will stray too far from you. He will be desperate, if what he said is true about not being able to go back to Sheol a failure. He needs your soul now, more than ever.”

I twist my hands together as I think of him. “Alfred said that he had a legitimate reason for being here. What do you think he meant by that?” I ask him, because I don’t quite understand everything that transpired. My head is beginning to ache, and I want to close my eyes, but I fight the urge.

Reed covers my hands in reassurance, saying, “He is a Reaper, just like your friends. They usher the soul to Paradise, or if it is damned, then they take it away to the abyss. The angels of death go where they are called. We as Powers don’t pay particular attention to them because, even if they are evil, they are here to do a job that is not disputed.”

My eyebrows rise, “You’re saying that, if a human is bad, then someone like Freddie will come to get his soul when he dies?” I ask, and Reed nods.

“You are not safe until we find Alfred and destroy him,” he says darkly.

In a small, panicky voice, I whisper, “That means Russell isn’t safe either. We have to protect him, Reed. Alfred knows all about Russell. That’s why he used him to get me to go with him to the Seven-Eleven.”

“And, you were willing to give away your soul in order to protect Russell,” Reed says in a hush tone of pain. “Evie, why? You promised me that you would do everything to survive. I thought I was watching you die.”

Seeing the raw, aching hurt on Reed’s face, I realize something. “You think I chose Russell over you?” I ask him, seeing how it must look to him, after all the promises I had made.

“Didn’t you?” he replies with a quiet kind of bitterness that runs deep.

I shake my head. “No. Never. I will never want anything as much as I want you. I will never love anything as much as I love you,” I say passionately.

“Then, why did you do it?” he asks in bewilderment.

“Because I had to, and I hoped that one day you would forgive me for it,” I whisper, and I begin to cry again because I know that I’ve hurt him badly.

“Then…you are still mine?” he asks me searchingly.

“That is never in dispute. I will always be yours,” I wipe at the tears on my face. “I’m so sorry,” I cry harder.

“Shhh…my brave girl…my love. You have to rest now, or you will make yourself sicker,” Reed whispers comfortingly. He pulls me closer, drying my tears with the corner of my sheet.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you so happy that you’ll have to forgive me eventually,” I whisper hoarsely, trying to ease the ache in my chest.

“You don’t need to be forgiven for anything…and I am happy. You are alive, and you love me.”

“Reed,” I say.

“Evie,” he says back, the way I used to do to him when we argued, before I knew he was an angel. He smiles at me.

My eyes droop, and I know that I am falling asleep. “Don’t leave. You look very tired. You need to rest. Sleep here with me, okay?”

“Sleep, love,” Reed says, and because I can’t fight it anymore, I obey.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me I missed finals? I’m going to lose my scholarship!” I say, panicking and attempting to get out of bed. I feel a restraining hand on my shoulder, holding me down. Reed, sitting next to me, is apparently ready for me to freak out over the news that I’ve been in bed for, not days, but weeks. I have missed my finals and we are well into the winter break, fast approaching Christmas.

From the armchair next to my bed, Buns says, “Sweetie, we took care of it for you. I wrote a letter to the administration stating that you’d been very sick. When you’re better, they’ll let you take your exams.”

Brownie, standing by the window, chimes in, “I’ll help you study for your art history exam, since I’ve met several of the artists you’re studying.” My eyes must be really wide because she laughs at my expression.

“And I will help you with your History of Western Civilization exam,” Zephyr says firmly.

Buns gives him a skeptical smile. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Zee?” Buns asks.

“Of course.” Zephyr says, frowning. “Why would I be a bad choice to help her?”

“Sweetie, you have a slightly different perspective on history than the humans do,” Buns tries to say gently. I see she is trying very hard not to smirk so Zephyr will not be offended.

Zephyr growls from the corner of the room, before he crosses his arms over his chest and leans up against the wall, looking sullen. “I will be correct with my facts. It’s not my fault if the humans get it wrong in their history recordings. I should know because I was there.”

I sigh tiredly, rubbing my forehead. “Ugh, there is so much to do. I don’t even know where my books are,” I say unhappily. “I have to do well or I’ll lose my scholarship.”

“Sweetie, you have an angel’s brain. This won’t be that hard,” Buns remarks. “But even if you didn’t do well, you wouldn’t lose your scholarship. Reed is the benefactor of your scholarship fund, and I doubt he’d let them take it from you.”

Dropping my hand from my forehead, my eyebrows rise. “What?” I ask her, and then glare at Reed accusingly. “You mean you could’ve yanked my scholarship at any time and sent me packing?” I ask him incredulously.

“Yes. But that would have been rude,” he smiles at me sweetly.

“How close did you come to doing it?” I ask, not fooled for a minute.

“I filled out the paperwork, but then I talked to you at registration, and I couldn’t go through with it,” he replies, grasping my hand and kissing the back of it.

Abruptly, several thoughts occur to me. “Oh my gosh, Uncle Jim! What in the world am I going to tell him? Has he called? Does he know that I was sick? What happened to the people at the Seven-Eleven? Are the police involved? Where’s Russell? Did he miss finals, too? You didn’t let him go home, did you? He can’t go home, Freddie…Alfred is still out there! I have to get dressed. I have to call my uncle!” I say in rapid succession as questions whirl around in my brain.

“Brownie and I took care of the souls; they’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about them, sweetie,” Buns says simply, watching me close. I don’t know how I know that something is really wrong, but I do.

“You’re not telling me something,” I say, beginning to feel paranoid as I look at their faces, which are suddenly turning grave. “Where’s Russell?” I ask them.

“He’s downstairs in the library, I think, sweetie,” Buns says in a gentle tone. “We wanted to talk to you first, before you talk to Russell.”

A disquieting chill trickles over my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms. Slipping to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the floor. I feel so weak, I think. I no longer have an IV. Reed had persuaded a cardiac specialist and several members of his staff to come and take care of me when I was first injured. Then he erased every memory of them ever being here from their minds. They are gone now because I am getting better.

Glancing at Buns again, her expression has changed from forced cheerfulness to an ancient, stoic mien. With graceful simplicity, she begins, “Your Uncle Jim, his soul, I am told, is the purest, most gentle and kind that the Reaper who had the honor of transitioning him had ever beheld…”

My heart contorts and my throat constricts tight, “No. Don’t tell me, Buns. I don’t want to know. Please don’t tell me,” I whisper, standing up and trying to take a step toward the bathroom door. I have to get away from them. I can’t hear whatever they are all here to tell me.

A gentle breeze touches my legs, and then Reed lifts me in his arms. “Evie, you have to forgive me. I was so focused on you— on keeping you alive, that nothing else seemed important.”

Tears blind me. “Don’t tell me, Reed,” I say in a tight voice, putting my finger to his mouth to hush him.

“Evie,” Buns says with a note of guilt, “we thought that Alfred would run and hide from us in the deepest hole he could find. We didn’t suspect—we went there, to your uncle’s house, but it was too late. Alfred must’ve gone straight there, so we probably couldn’t have stopped him, even if we knew…” Buns trails off.

“No, Buns!” I scream at her angrily, wiggling and fighting for Reed to put me down. He does, but only because he probably thinks I would hurt myself, not because it has any effect on him whatsoever.

Limping to the bathroom, I close the door. Looking around for somewhere to hide, I choose the shower, shuffling feebly across the floor to it. I turn it on, stepping in with Reed’s white, button-down shirt still on me. I let the water wash away the tears that I feel will never end. I lean up against the wall of the shower, but I can’t hold myself up anymore, so I slide down the wall to the floor. My poor Uncle Jim, what did he do to you? My mind cries in anguish so overwhelming and intense, it makes the pain I had endured to this point seem like nothing.

Alfred had promised to bring me so much pain that I would beg him to take my soul. He is delivering on that promise. I would’ve given my soul to save Uncle Jim, but he hadn’t given me the option.

The door of the shower opens. Reed turns off the water before picking me up off the wet floor. He cradles me in his arms. “He’s dead?” I ask in an anguished whisper, but I already know the answer.

“Yes.” Reed answers, not giving me any details. Walking to the vanity, he sits me down on the counter. He wraps a thick, warm robe around me.

“Funeral?” I ask in a hush tone, because this had happened almost three weeks ago. I sag against Reed limply.

“There was one. The Reapers made the arrangements. You were too sick to go. It wouldn’t have been a good idea for you to be there anyway because of Alfred. We can go there, to the cemetery, when it’s safe,” he says quietly, smoothing my wet hair away from my face.

“Did the police investigate?” I ask him numbly. It is strange how my brain still works, even when I feel dead inside. Reed finishes tying the belt on the robe before lifting me off the counter. He carries me back into the bedroom to my bed. Everyone had gone back downstairs, so we are alone.

“Yes. They came here to speak to you, but they believe that you had been in a car accident. Zee and I destroyed your car. I will buy you another one. We needed to make it look like that is how you got hurt,” he says. “The police, investigating your uncle’s murder, believe that he was probably killed by one of the angry spouses that your uncle investigated.”

“Why do they think that?” I ask him quietly.

Reed’s brows draw together in concern as he reluctantly says, “They think that because of the violence employed in the crime.”

“How did he die?” I ask as I hold my breath, waiting for Reed’s response.

Reed doesn’t say anything at first, until I turn and look at his eyes. “Badly,” Reed replies, not saying anymore. I nod my head, acknowledging what he is telling me. He is saying that I don’t want to know, and I believe him. He nudges me to lie in the bed, covering me with the blankets.

“I should’ve given him what he wanted. I shouldn’t have resisted…why did I resist?” I whisper wretchedly.

“No, Evie, don’t say that. I will take care of it. Alfred doesn’t understand what pain is…not yet, but he will, I promise you,” Reed says. “I will define the word ‘suffering’ for him.”

Reed’s words are meant to comfort me, but avenging my uncle hardly matters to me at this moment. Uncle Jim is dead and nothing will change that fact, not even Alfred’s pain. I close my eyes. I want nothing more than to go to sleep and never wake up. Tears run down my cheeks again, but I am too tired to wipe them away.

I awaken to find someone holding my hand, and I look over to see Russell staring at me sadly from a chair he had pulled up to my bed. “Hey, there ya are, Red,” he says with a softening of his eyes as he bends over my hand, placing a kiss upon it.

“Russell, are you…okay?” I ask him groggily, trying to sit up in bed. I still feel weak, but I don’t want him to see that. He notices anyway, and he gently helps me to sit up. Looking him over to see if he has any outward injuries, he looks to be in perfect health.

“I’m sorry, Red,” Russell says bluntly, peering down at my small hand in his enormous one. “I tried to make ya go away. I’d been havin’ these nightmares for days, ‘bout the Seven-Eleven. I knew somethin’ bad was gonna happen, and I didn’t want ya involved, so I tried to make ya go away. But yer stubborn, and I should’ve known y’all would never give up on me,” he says, looking up at my eyes again and grimacing. “I didn’t understand what was happenin’.”

“You were having dreams, just like I was?” I ask him, stunned.

“I wouldn’t say just like ya ‘cuz I was never hit by a light, or given a necklace in my nightmares,” he states emphatically, and I realize that Reed, or someone, had filled Russell in on some of the details that he was kept in the dark about before now. “Y’all should never have gone with Freddie. Y’all should’ve gone for help…found Zephyr,” he says, scolding me while he shakes his head.

“Russell, I had to go, you’re my soul mate,” I say plainly, and I know that he understands what I am saying because I’m his soul mate, too.

“Yeah, I am, so ya know how I feel ‘bout y’all tryin’ to give up yer soul for me. Don’t ya ever do anythin’ like that again, do ya understand?” he says with heat in his tone.

I can feel my face paling. “Russell, Alfred is still out there. He still wants my soul, so you aren’t safe until we get him,” I say with urgency.

Russell’s shoulders hunch a little as his eyebrows draw together. “Yeah, I know, Red. My family isn’t safe while he’s out there either. Reed is takin’ precautions to have my family protected.” Russell replies. “Buns and Brownie are gonna go with me to my house for Christmas. I can’t go home alone. I need them to be my bodyguards,” Russell says. There is something different about him and I am trying really hard to figure out what it is. His frown lifts a little. “I can’t wait to see my family. I miss them so much,” he says, and then he looks at me quickly as if he had said something totally inappropriate. I know that he is thinking about my uncle, and I try really hard not to let any tears form in my eyes.

“I’ll bet they miss you, too,” I murmur, proud of myself for not choking on the words.

Russell, trying hard to be cheerful, says, “I don’t know how I’m gonna explain to my family ‘bout my nose,” Russell says, smiling at me. He turns his head slightly to the side, so that I can see his straight nose more clearly from another angle. It looks perfect; in fact, Russell looks more handsome than even a straight nose can account for. There are other, subtler changes in him that I am beginning to distinguish, too.

“Ya know, I never did figure it out what y’all are, until I saw that angel with the white wings in the Seven-Eleven. I didn’t know that there are bad angels. Bad angels…isn’t that what they call an oxymoron?” he asks me sadly, and I nod at him, understanding fully what he is saying. “What they did in there, to those people…” Seeing him shudder, I squeeze his hand tight because I can’t speak. “Well, I’m relieved to know that not all of ‘em are like that.. just the fallen ones.”

He knows, I think. They must’ve told him everything. I am surprised they told him because of the rules. “I’m sorry, Russell. Alfred only had to observe us together to know that you are my soul mate, and he hurt you because of it. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t stop him. I’m so sorry…” I say, putting my forehead on top of our clasped hands as they rest on the bed next to me.

“Red, didn’t ya hear anything I’ve been sayin’? I’m sorry, ‘cuz maybe if I had figured all this out sooner, then that devil wouldn’t have gotten ya and nearly killed ya,” he replies, sounding sick with remorse and grief. “I’m gonna take care of it, though. I’m gonna find that little evil insect, and I’m gonna exterminate him.”

Looking up at him, I am surprised by how adamant he sounds. “Russell, what are you talking about? He’s an angel, and you are human. You’re no match for him,” I say as a warning.

“Zee said he’ll train me when I’m ready, and then we’ll hunt the little maggot down and send him into the dark like he’d have sent y’all,” Russell says, gritting his teeth in anticipation of that day.

Confusion wrinkles my brow. “What?” I ask him as fear courses through me. “Zee can’t train you. He has to be really careful not to hurt you because he could crush a human like a stick of butter,” I explain, trying to reason with him.

“He can’t train me, yet. Yer right, I’m too soft right now, but that won’t always be the case. Ya see, Evie, ya changed me when ya healed me,” Russell says in a quiet voice. He is trying to be gentle in his explanation. “Buns thinks that when ya took my wounds from me, y’all gave me back pieces of yer own self to, sort of, fill in the blanks. It did somethin’ to me. I’m evolvin’ now, just like y’all are,” he says sadly as he watches my face for my reaction to what he just said.

“What did you say?” I ask. I still as I stare at him, waiting for him to answer me.

“I’m tellin’ ya that I’m no longer just human,” he says plainly.

“Are you telling me that you’re turning into an angel?” I ask him in alarm.

“It looks as if ya aren’t the only angel with a soul ‘round here anymore,” he says stoically. “I’m a freak, too,” he jokes, trying to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes because it is purely done for my benefit.

“How do you know?” I ask him in desperation, trying to deny what he is saying. I need to find the loophole that will let him out of this down side of my ability. I need to find a way for Russell to be a normal person, so that he can have a normal life. Looking at me for a moment, he pulls a pocketknife from his jeans. He releases the blade, and then makes a small cut in his thumb. I watch as his blood wells up and drips from his hand. In minutes it has stopped bleeding, and in ten minutes it is almost as if it had never existed.

I sit back on my pillow. Then, I turn away from him. I can’t look at him, at what I’d done to him, anymore. I had saved him so that he could be hunted, just as I am hunted, reviled, just as I am reviled, and cursed, just as I am cursed.

“I have no words to tell you how much I wish…” I choke and clench my teeth, “how much I regret…I would never had wished this on you. I should have…but I couldn’t let you go. Now you will be hunted, just like I am.”

I can’t go on. I’ve brought my destruction upon him, and now there is no going back. I had asked God for help to save Russell’s life, but I had not been specific about the means of doings so, nor had I been aware of the consequences he would face because of it. I am not God. I do not know His mind; this is a lesson to me.

“Red, ya didn’t do this to me. This is something more than y’all,” he says, and reaching for my chin, he turns my face toward him again. “I have a job to do here, just as y’all have, and I can cry about it, or I can be like my friend and face it bravely, whatever comes. I’d like to think I’m not a coward, so I’ll man up… or angel up…whatever,” he says ironically. “Anyway, y’all can’t turn back the clock on it. It’s done, and I think I might eventually enjoy bein’ an angel. I have to say that I’m already enjoyin’ some of the benefits it has brought me.”

“What benefits?” I ask him, disbelieving that there are any benefits to being half angel and half human anymore.

“Well, for one thing, Reed can’t persuade me to do anythin’ anymore,” Russell smirks. “And now, they let me in on all the secrets that y’all know. Buns thinks I’ll have red wings like y’all—that I’ll also be Seraphim, which seems to irritate Reed. I’ll outrank him in Paradise, if we ever get there.”

“Russell, we’re kind of mutants, I don’t think we’ll outrank anything.” I say seriously.

“Ya know, I thought that I couldn’t be more freaked out when I thought y’all were aliens. When I thought ya were some kind of alien spawn, or somethin’…but, this is way stranger than that,” he says with some levity.

“Tell me about it. Try thinking you are the alien spawn, though, and are just waiting around for something to come crawling out of you,” I reply, trying to bring my own brand of humor to the conversation. “It’s no fun being creepy, is it?”

“Naw, but at least I have y’all to be creepy with. It should be an interestin’ eternity, anyway. Can’t wait to see what happens next,” he says in a thoughtful way.

In a casual tone, Reed says, “It is quite interesting…and we’ll have all of eternity to find out, so maybe we should let Evie rest, so that she can get better.” As Reed walks into the room, Russell stands.

An unpleasant frown forms on Russell’s lips. “Yer right,” Russell says in a stiff tone to Reed, “Red and me will have all of eternity to talk ‘bout it. I just worry about ya. I mean y’all could get called back to Heaven at any time. It’s probably about time ya had some R and R. Who can say what will happen next?”

Hearing Reed growl, I see Russell immediately tense and go into a defensive stance, just like an angel would. I wonder briefly if it is an instinct. “What’s going on?” I ask them in surprise regarding their demeanor toward one another. Looking from one to the other, neither one of them answers me for a moment. They just continue to eye each other.

Then, Reed says, “Nothing, love. I was just checking to see how you are doing.”

“I’m fine. Russell and I were just talking about how creepy we both are,” I explain, holding my hand out to him.

“You are not creepy,” he says, sitting down next to me on the bed. Taking my hand, he kisses it lightly. “Russell, on the other hand, is up for debate.”

“Reed!” I say defensively. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s okay, Red.” Russell says. “I really need to go and pack for my trip home. We moved all of my clothes and stuff here, since I guess this is gonna be headquarters from now on until Reed and Zee figure out our next move.”

“When are you leaving to go home?” I ask him with worry.

“Tonight, the girls and I have a flight out of Detroit. We’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’ll miss ya, Red. I wish y’all could come,” Russell says with concern in his expression.

“I’ll miss you, too,” I say, but I feel relief that I’m not going. I’d ruin it because I will be mourning my uncle. Even now, I am just barely able to hold the burning ache at bay so that Russell doesn’t have to witness my sorrow.

“Take care of her,” Russell says to Reed in an austere way.

“With my life,” Reed replies immediately, but it is more of a vow than a retort.

Russell walks over to bed and, leaning down, he places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “I love ya, Red,” he says.

“I love you, too, Russell,” I smile into his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he replies and turning, he walks from the room, leaving me with Reed.

CHAPTER 21

Winter Break

I gain physical strength over the next few days and I am able to get out of bed and start taking care of myself. My scars fade rapidly, and then they just disappear as if they never existed. If only the emotional scars would heal like that, but I know that I will carry them for as long as my memory can hold them. I think my memory is determined to never forget a single detail of that night, weeks ago, since I have vivid nightmares of it each time I close my eyes to rest. I try to appear normal for Zephyr and Reed, but I don’t think I’m fooling either one of them, since they have supernatural hearing, and I cry myself to sleep almost every night.

I realize just how hard it had been for Reed while I was ill when I come downstairs for the first time and I see what he did to the dining room. It is almost empty now because Reed had smashed just about everything that had been in the room. Zephyr says Reed had made matchsticks out of the table, so they had already disposed of it. The ornate candlesticks that had graced the table are now indistinct hunks of metal, but a few resemble something out of a Dali painting; Reed had bent them in such a way that they appear as if they’d melted.

It’s partly the reason Reed had terminated his staff: Andre and Greta. After all of the commotion with my recovery, the doctors being here, having to trash my car, and the police showing up, Reed just couldn’t keep persuading his staff that things weren’t extremely weird around here. He also realized that we would soon have four full-blown angels and two half angels in residence, so someone will always be messing up at the wrong time in front of Andre or Greta. He gave them both huge severance checks and found them new positions elsewhere.

On Christmas morning, Reed, Zee, and I all converge in the library, where Reed and Zephyr both stack armloads of presents in front of me. “Um, wow, guys,” I murmur while nearly buried beneath a mound a gift-wrapped packages. “This is very nice and all, but, uh, nobody gets presents like this. It’s a little too much.”

“What do you mean?” Zephyr asks me in a serious tone.

I look around again at the towering piles of gifts. “I mean, you’re going to spoil me, and then I’ll be rotten, and you won’t like me anymore,” I reply.

Zephyr frowns. “You cannot rot,” Zephyr replies, “your physiology is equipped with defensive—”

“I don’t think she was being literal, Zee,” Reed interrupts him with a smile.

“Never mind,” I say under my breath when I realize they have no idea how over the top this all is. I have to try harder not to ruin their first Christmas with a half-human.

I open box after box of extravagant gifts. There are perfumes, a cell phone, iPods, a laptop, shoes, bags, coats, belts, jewelry, make-up, clothing, hair accessories, field hockey equipment, new snow skis and ski boots, snowboards, and that’s just what was wrapped. There are other things that couldn’t be wrapped like the new red Range Rover.

Reed tries to hide his excitement as he holds my hand and leads me out to the driveway to see the car. “I had to get you a new one after what I did to your car, so it’s not really a gift,” Reed explains.

“Reed, it’s a Range Rover, not a used car,” I reply, knowing this cost ten times what my other car was worth—maybe more.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, trying not to let me see his disappointment.

Hurriedly, I say, “I never expected that you’d buy me a new car! Thank you, Reed,” I say, throwing my arms around him to hide my face in his chest. I am so overwhelmed by all that everyone has given me; I don’t know what to do. Reed seems pleased by my reaction. Picking me up off my feet, he gives me a gentle hug that is full of restraint—like he might break me.

“I like Christmas. This is fun,” he says with a smile in his tone as he sets me on my feet again.

“You know…you don’t have to buy me expensive gifts…I just like being here with you,” I say as we turn to go back into the house.

“Evie, most of us have more money than we know what to do with, so it’s nothing to either of Zee or me to buy you anything you want,” he informs me, walking back to the library.

“Why don’t you use your money to, I don’t know, cure extreme poverty or something like that, if you have so much of it?” I ask him probingly. We sit back down in the library by the tree, and I admire the lights that Reed had strung over it.

“We can’t. It’s not allowed. We aren’t supposed to tamper with human lives in any way. We can’t interfere like that. It would throw things out of balance, skew them,” he says, trying to explain it to me.

“Oh, I see. Can’t go helping the humans,” I say with sarcasm. “So how are you getting away with giving me all of this?” I ask him, spreading my arms to indicate all of the gifts that filled the room.

“Loophole, you are not entirely human, now, are you?” he smiles at me winningly and I smile back.

“If you can’t tamper with humans by giving them money, then how do you get away with being a major contributor to Crestwood?” I ask him, and realize that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me all day.

“I don’t give them all of the money myself. I mostly persuade the wealthy to contribute a little money to the school,” Reed explains.

“But isn’t that still cheating? I mean, if you persuade them to do it?” I ask with a crooked smile.

Reed put his finger to his lips. “Shh…no one seems to have noticed, yet,” he says with a sublime smile.

“Do you do that, too, Zee?” I ask Zephyr who is checking out the hand-held GPS that Reed had given him.

Zephyr’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Why would you think I could persuade the humans to do anything?”

My eyes widen. “You can’t? But, I thought that it was a trait that all real angels could do,” I say in confusion.

Zephyr laughs then at my naiveté and says, “Reed is the only angel I have ever known to be able to influence humans like he does. Can you imagine if we all could do it? The Fallen would have won for sure, since they would have probably told all the humans to kill each other, and then just collected their souls for Sheol. Game over, they win. No, thankfully, Reed is the only one who can persuade, and he only uses it for good. Well, mostly—I have a feeling that those doctors would disagree, but that was an emergency situation, and we will not worry about that now.”

“He’s very unique then,” I say as I watch Reed watching me.

“Yes,” Zephyr says, shrugging.

I remember then that I have gifts for them, too. “Oh, I almost forgot to give you both your presents!” I say excitedly as I go to the tree and find the presents I had bought from the Internet. I hand them each their wrapped boxes, watching them while they open them.

Zephyr smiles wickedly when he opens his first present. It is a Caracara knife. “High-carbon stainless steel with black tungsten DLC Coating and a titanium handle with carbon fiber. Thank you,” Zephyr says, not looking at the packaging, but knowing the weapon by sight alone. I shiver, seeing him wield the knife to test its weight and agility, grateful that he seems to like me now.

He opens the next gift, which is a box of Twinkies. “What are these?” he asks in confusion.

“Those are Twinkies; they go well with cognac,” Reed explains as I muffle a giggle. Zephyr doesn’t look convinced, but that doesn’t stop him from slicing the box open with his new knife and wickedly dissecting a poor, defenseless Twinkie.

Reed opens his first present from me, which are several boxes of frozen mac and cheese packed in a cooler to keep them from thawing while under the tree.

“What’s that?” Zephyr asks in a suspicious tone.

“It’s mac and cheese. Have you ever had it?” Reed asks Zephyr.

“No,” he says positively.

“You haven’t lived, Zee,” Reed says, smiling into my eyes. He opens the next present and looks at me in confusion for a moment.

“It’s my Uncle Jim’s class ring. He always used to wear it, and I loved playing with it when I was a little girl. I called my friend Molly and asked her to get it for me from my house and send it here. I want you to have it. You don’t have to wear it. It will make me happy to know you have it. I loved him more than anything in the world, and now I love you as much as that,” I say, trying really hard not to cry again because it seems as if that is all I ever do anymore.

Gathering me in his arms, Reed holds me. “Thank you,” he whispers in my ear, and then slips the ring on his finger.

“I don’t know how you did it, Evie, but you made us both look stingy,” Zephyr says, getting up from his seat and taking his box of Twinkies with him as he leaves us alone in the library.

“Thank you for all of my presents.” I say to Reed, kissing his cheek and feeling his smooth skin beneath my lips.

“Do you know what I keep thinking about?” Reed asks me.

“No, what?” I reply.

“I keep thinking about how much I enjoy this,” he says.

“Christmas?” I murmur, distracted by his seductive lips.

“Yes…and you being here with me. I have a family now, you and me…” he trails off, watching me to see my reaction.

My heart beats faster. “Me?” I ask, feeling a warm sensation wrap around my heart, surprising me. “I’m your family?”

“Yes,” he says gently, “and I will protect my family against anything that threatens it.” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the back of my fingers gently.

“Just about everything threatens it,” I reply with a sad smile.

Reed’s fingers tighten on mine. “Zee and I are working on some strategies to change that, Evie,” he says in a serious tone.

“You are?” I ask, feeling a small spark of hope grow inside of me.

“You shouldn’t worry; I will take care of you,” he says with so much conviction that I feel myself beginning to believe that he can.

Concern clouds my eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” I say, wanting to protect him, too.

“Evie,” he says my name like a gentle caress, “I love you… and I’m not asking for your permission to protect you,” he says with a smile.

My eyebrow quirks at his arrogance, before I say, “No, you’re not. I guess I’ll have to let you then, because I love you, too.”

“I guess you will,” he grins, too happy to hide it. Slowly, he pulls me to him, brushing his lips gently against mine, and for the first time in weeks, I feel completely safe.

Coming Soon

Intuition: The Premonition Series

BOOK 2

EVIE

CHAPTER 1

New Year’s Eve

“Okay, sweetie, it’s time to get up now,” Buns says in a brisk manner as she breezes into my room at noon. Heading immediately to the windows to open the curtain, she dispels the cavelike atmosphere. Light bursts into the room, causing me to squint at her and cover my eyes against the glare.

“Buns, what are you doing here?” I ask her groggily, shielding my eyes with my arm. I love my room in Reed’s Crestwood house, but the windows let in a lot of light. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Russell’s house until next week?” I ask in confusion as I grip my pillow and pull myself up to a sitting position.

“Aren’t you amped to see me, Evie?” Buns counters with her hands on her hips, assessing me. I’m sure I look really bad because I haven’t brushed my hair today so I probably have major bedhead.

“Of course I’m psyched to see you, I missed you. How was your down home holiday?” I ask, thinking about how warm and beautiful Buns had described Russell’s family to me on the phone.

“It was a lot of fun, very endearing—I was having an amazing time. Scarlett, Russell’s sister, is just like us. She’s ready to stir up some trouble at a moments notice,” Buns says, eyeing me shrewdly.

“Is Russell back, too?” I ask her, sitting up straighter in bed and rubbing my eyes.

“Russell is still at home with his family. Brownie stayed with him. They’re fine. They’ll be back in a few days, just before classes start. I came back early because Reed called me,” she says with a disapproving look.

“He did? Well, you should’ve stayed with Russell. He needs you. What if something happens?” I ask, feeling uncomfortable with the fact that Russell is still several states away with only Brownie for protection; even though Brownie is strong and vicious in a fight, it still worries me because fallen angels are even more vicious.

“Nothing will happen. They’re fine. You, on the other hand, are not. Reed said you aren’t getting out of bed. He’s worried,” her reply is stern as she looks at me like I let her down.

“I get out of bed.” I say with a frown, trying to remember when I was last up. It was yesterday I think—or maybe not. “I’m just tired,” I finish defensively.

“No, you’re doing that self-helpless thing again like you did before when Reed wouldn’t talk to you. I don’t think I can live through another one, so you’re getting up now,” Buns says, pulling me out of bed without effort because she is really freaking strong—angel strong. “I don’t want to hear another word about this until you’ve showered and gotten dressed. The clock is ticking, let’s go,” she says in a militant way.

“FINE!” I retort, and storm toward the bathroom feeling harassed. After I take a shower and dress, I rejoin Buns. She is sitting on my bed waiting for me.

“We’re getting you out of the house today. What do you want to do?” Buns asks me as she gets up and moves towards where I stand by my closet door.

“We’re allowed to leave the house?” I ask her in shock because I haven’t been out for most of winter break.

Buns frowns. “You are now and I’m gonna lose it if they have a problem with it. No wonder you’re so depressed, sitting here with nothing to do but dwell on everything that has happened. Those Powers can’t figure that out?” she asks rhetorically. “They’re going to have to compromise their need to have every angle covered and keep in mind that you’re part human, too. You need to be out doing stuff. You’re a teenager!” she says as if that would explain everything.

I’ve been on virtual house arrest since waking up from my injuries a few weeks ago. Just thinking of what happened then sends shivers down my spine and I have to lean up against the wall by my closet door. I can hardly think about the massacre at the 7-Eleven without feeling a wave of panic hit me. Being FUBARed by my ex-friend, Alfred, has taken a serious toll on me.

“What are we going to do?” I ask her, feeling like I can crawl into bed and go back to sleep.

“Let’s start out with a run, and then we’ll plan what we’re gonna do tomorrow night.” Buns says with girlish excitement.

“What’s tomorrow night?” I ask her in confusion because I don’t even know what day it is.

“Evie, tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve. You didn’t know that?” she asks me with a worried look.

I shake my head. “Things have been a little out of focus for me since you left—kind of abstract. Reed and Zee have been great. I feel really bad that I let them down,” I reply.

“You didn’t let them down. They just don’t know what you need. It’s just like when you didn’t know you were an angel. You had Reed menacing you and you were evolving abilities you couldn’t possibly comprehend—you needed a distraction, so Brownie and I tried to provide that whenever we could, so you wouldn’t dwell on it,” she says, smiling at me.

“I’m still floored that you knew all along what was going on and I had no clue that you and Brownie are Reapers. You could’ve let me in on it,” I say.

“Sweetie, we couldn’t tell you, and since we are really good at fooling humans, you just never guessed,” she says, shrugging. “I doubt you would’ve taken it well if we just announced to you that we were angels of death. That’s kind of a dark freak flag to be flying as far as most humans are concerned. Even though we knew you’re both human and angel, we kinda reasoned that you weren’t really aware of that.”

“Why did you decide to help me out?” I ask, since I don’t understand just why they have been so good to me.

“Like we said before, Evie, you’re a kindred spirit. You have a bit of a wild side in you, just like Brownie and me. Not all angels are like that, at least, the divine kind of angels,” she says, handing me my running shoes from the closet. “And, we thought it was kind of lame that you had to go through your evolution into angel here on Earth with all of the dangers clawing at you, while every other angel we know of has gotten to evolve in Paradise, safely tucked away with no care or fear to mar the event.”

“Oh, that sounds nice…I didn’t know I was getting completely gypped,” I reply with sarcasm, wondering what it would’ve been like to feel completely safe while all of this is happening.

“Evie, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you had been a Seraph in Heaven when you evolved, you would’ve been completely pampered,” she says with a sheepish smile. “You would’ve been the darling of the Seraphim, I’m sure.

I give Buns a skeptical look. I doubt that any of them would ever think I’m darling. “Pampering is for wimps,” I say, trying to make light of it all.

“Exactly!” Buns replies happily. “So, we’ll just go tell the boys that we’re going for a run, and then we’ll plan New Years. We’ll probably have to stay somewhere around here because I doubt Reed will let us go to London or Paris for it. He’ll probably have a problem with New York, too. Maybe I can convince him to let us go to Chicago. That would be epic,” she says, beginning to get excited about getting out of Crestwood.

“Good luck with that. I couldn’t convince him to let me out past the courtyard,” I reply, giving her a pessimistic smile. Reed has been extremely sweet, but unbending when it comes to what he considers dangerous and risky.

“Well, this conversation will have ‘awkward’ written all over it then, because I plan on getting my way,” she says with heat in her voice.

But as it turns out, Reed is very accommodating when it comes to Buns’s requests. He just retrieves his shoes and coat when he hears we plan to go running and follows us out of the house without a word. I am surprised until I realize that he must really be worried about me.

Running out to Lake Arden, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. It’s cold because it’s the middle of winter but that doesn’t bother me like it would’ve before I started evolving. I am beginning to acquire the armor-like angel skin that protects me from things like cold and extreme heat. The transformation has been seamless, happening a little bit each day. Reed said it would take several more months to complete the transformation.

After we run around the lake, Buns pauses on the trail that leads back to Reed’s house. “Sweetie, I’m going to head back and see Zee. I’ve missed him,” she says, smiling, as she looks from me to Reed. “I want to start planning for New Years, too. You should stay—get some more exercise.”

“Okay,” I reply, watching Reed. She nods her head, and then she is gone in a fraction of a second, leaving behind only her light footprints in the snow.

“Do you want to walk this time?” Reed asks, falling in step beside me on the path.

“Sure,” I reply, trying to concentrate on the scenery around me, so that I won’t stare at his profile. The beautiful angles of his face makes me want to reach my hand out and touch him.

Reed puts his gloved hand in mine, tucking my arm securely in his. We walk for a while, not talking. The butterflies that pull me toward him are ever-present, but it’s more reassuring than sensual at the moment. I turn my face toward the lake, feeling the breeze coming off of it. Smoky breath rises from us, mixing together above our heads like lovers entwined.

Finally, I break the silence. “I’m sorry, Reed,” I say in a strained tone that disturbs the quiet hush of the snow-blanketed trees.

Reed looks surprised when he turns toward me, his green eyes searching my face. “For what?” he asks.

“For not being able to deal with this better,” I say with regret. He squeezes my arm tighter as we walk closer together.

“Evie, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he says quietly. “I am the one who should apologize. I have caged you up to protect you, only to discover it’s killing you,” he says, sounding contrite.

“No, it’s not that really—it is just that there is not a lot to do but sit and think about Alfred…or my uncle.” I say in a hush voice, thinking of my Uncle Jim and the fact that I will never see him again. Alfred had made sure of that. He had made sure that my uncle suffered before he died.

We walk a few steps more before I can say, “It just seemed easier to sleep and not think about anything.” I pretend as if the nightmares that haunt my sleep don’t exist. “You must’ve been worried to call Buns.”

Reed frowns. “I don’t have very much experience with human emotions. This is all new to me. I’m trying to understand your emotions and mine, too. I’ve felt a different range of emotions since meeting you,” he smiles down at me as we continue walking arm-in-arm.

“A different range?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.

Reed studies our clasped hands. “Let me think…” he sighs, “well, elation is an emotion that I have not experienced for sometime, not since I’ve been here and I don’t remember it being so—intense,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.

“What made you elated?” I ask him, breathless as his beautiful smile melts my heart.

“When you told me that you would never love anything more than you love me,” he says in a soft tone. A blush of happiness warms my cheeks and I listen intently as he continues. “Desire is also stronger, more—potent.”

I nod knowingly, because I share the same unquenchable desire for him.

Reed’s eyes darken as he continues, “Well, Powers are often jealous, but I have never felt that emotion so strong as when I had to watch you with Russell—thinking that I would have to wait for the next eighty years until he died to call you mine,” he says as his jaw clenches. “That was more than jealousy… that was sorrow.”

It is my turn to squeeze his arm as we round the far side of the lake. “And then, there is an emotion that I don’t ever want to experience again. That one is called agony,” he says, scowling a little when he names it. “That is what I felt when I thought you were dying.”

I find it hard to breathe all of a sudden and I have to take several deep breaths to try to slow down the beating of my heart. He notices and stops to sweep me up in a hug that lifts me off my feet. “And then, there is love,” he says in a voice soft with affection, “an emotion I have never really believed existed. But it does exist and it has a name…and her name is Evie.” He hugs me tighter. “And I can’t live without her, now that I have found her. So tell me what to do to make you come back to me and I will do it.”

I wrap my arms securely around Reed’s neck, snuggling into him as I try to formulate the words that I need to say so he will know what he means to me. “I have thought a lot about you and the way that you can hear my heart. You said it sings to you, like the call of the Sirens to a sailor at sea. I think it sings to you because you were listening with your lonely heart and it calls to you because it is meant for you. I’m still here…I would’ve given up without you. You’re why I survived. I just miss my uncle,” I say, swallowing hard to get past the lump in my throat.

“I will help and Buns is back, too. She will know what to do. I was so wrong about the Reapers, Buns and Brownie. They have been the best for you,” he says, placing me back on the ground.

“No, you’re the best for me,” I say, taking his hand and walking back toward his house. And from now on, I’m going to try to be the best for you, I promise myself, realizing the pain he has been going through watching me in my sorrow.

When we arrive back at Reed’s house, Buns is already in the game room researching sights on the Internet. “Oh, sweetie! There are several parties going on in Chicago tomorrow! There is one at Navy Pier! They’re having 9 different DJ’s and a fireworks display at midnight. Evie, did I ever tell you about the fireworks the Song Dynasty set off in the 9th century? I was really young then and I was just beginning to understand why I wasn’t blending in very well.” She smiles at me and I can’t tell if she’s teasing, or if she is serious.

I look over at Reed and see him frowning. “Buns, can you find something else…something a little more feasible…tactically?” he asks.

When Buns turns to look at Reed skeptically, Zephyr, who has been sitting close to her, decides to contribute to the discussion. “Buns, honey, that is a bad call. Do you realize how many Fallen will be at an event like that? And Reed is right; it is entrapping terrain, which appeals to me if we did not have Evie. Maybe you and I can go next year and see how many Fallen we can end before the ball drops,” he says with a smug smile that has Buns smiling back at him.

“We’re getting out of Crestwood, that’s nonnegotiable,” Buns states flatly.

“Okay, but maybe we avoid huge parties—something with less of a crowd?” Zephyr offers and I catch Reed smiling a little as he watches Zephyr work on Buns and her sense of celebration. “You know, for Evie’s sake, not because you are not the best event planner we know.” He is really good at strategy. I will have to listen more intently to his dissertations on the matter.

“For Evie’s sake,” she agrees stiffly, turning back to the computer screen. She pulls up website after website in rapid-fire succession. “Okay, how about something a little more recreational?” she offers, and I see Zephyr’s and Reed’s faces light up with interest.

“Recreational?” Zephyr asks, squeezing closer to Buns to peer at the screen. Reed drops his hand casually on my shoulder, caressing it.

“Snowboarding?” she says, flashing us an impish grin. “There are a bunch of small hills with ski lifts in this general area that do midnight runs on New Year’s Eve. I’m sure there is something going on at one of them where we could either ski or board until sometime around midnight, and then head in to the chalet for a midnight toast,” she says, smiling as she watches Zephyr’s face light up.

“That is my girl!” Zephyr says possessively, scooping Buns up off of her seat and twirling her around so fast they becomes just an impression for a moment until he sets her back on her feet.

“It’s off the chain, right, sweetie?” Buns asks, turning to me, “What do you think?”

“Sounds amazing,” I reply.

“You are truly a force of nature, Buns.” Reed agrees, leaning forward and kissing Buns on the forehead, which makes her smile deepen. “Let’s decide the resort we are going to go to so that Zephyr and I can get some satellite shots of it, for strategy. Then, we will plan our assault on the slopes.”

I try to keep my face as neutral as possible and not let them see that there is a war going on inside of me. One side is rejoicing at the prospect of getting out of the house and living again, the other side of me is scared to death of what might happen once I leave the house. My heart must be giving me away because Reed pulls me into his arms. Hugging me, he says, “It will be okay. Nothing will touch you.” He presses his cheek to mine and the heat we generate is intoxicating.

“I’m looking forward to boarding. I can’t wait to see how angels can slay a mountain,” I whisper in his ear, letting my cheek brush over his in a caress.

“I was created to slay,” Reed replies with a smile that almost stops my heart.

“I found it!” Buns’s tone is smug as she swivels in her chair to face us. “It’s a five star resort a few hours north of here. It says they’re booked for the holiday, but we know what that means,” Buns laughs, swiveling back.

I glance at Reed’s face, then Zephyr’s; they both do seem to know what she means by that. “I’m sorry, Buns, does that mean we can’t go?” I ask in confusion.

“No, sweetie, of course not. That just means they only have the really killa suites left for the VIPs.”

“Oh—are we VIPs?” I ask, trying not to sound ignorant. This makes Zephyr laugh like I have made a joke. His eyes sparkle at me like he is waiting for me to say something else amusing.

Buns smirks, too, and replies, “You know it. Reed, get her a black card.”

“Already done. She just has not been anywhere to use it,” Reed replies.

“What are you talking about?” I ask in suspicion. I think I might know what it is they are saying, because I’ve seen the black credit card Buns uses to burn through cash like she printed the benjamins herself.

“I have a card for you. I don’t plan on us separating anytime soon, but you can carry it and use it however you would like,” Reed says, and frowns as he watches my mouth drop open. “What did I say?”

“I can’t take your money,” I reply, watching his face get darker.

“Why not?” Reed asks in confusion.

“Because it’s not right,” I reply.

“Why is it wrong?” he asks.

“Because it’s yours,” I reply evasively. Does he really not get that taking his money is completely grody?

“But, when I give it to you, then it is yours,” he says, smiling at me because he thinks what he is saying is logical.

“Buns, you get why I can’t take his money, right?” I ask, looking for help.

“No…it’s just money,” she shrugs, and I’m beginning to believe they are printing it somewhere.

“I have my own money, Reed, but thanks,” I say in embarrassment.

“Evie, you have a few thousand dollars—that is not money, that is…” he trails off when he sees me duck my head to hide my deepening blush of mortification. My house is for sale, but no one seems interested in it, since the previous owner was viciously murdered in it. Most of our things have been removed and put into storage, for which I will need to reimburse Reed when the house is sold. Although, I don’t think he’s going to let me. The funeral arrangements for my uncle had probably cost a lot, too, but no one will tell me who paid for it, or how much it cost. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Reed asks, trying to make eye contact with me.

“No…I just have to start looking into Internet gambling and see if I can beat the odds,” I reply, since there is not a lot I can do right now to earn money. Having a homicidal angel, like Alfred, bent on beating the soul out of me is seriously hurting my chances of getting and maintaining gainful employment.

“Evie, we can consider all of this a loan, if it makes you feel better, and you can pay me back later,” he says, holding up my chin and looking into my eyes.

“When am I going to be able to pay you back, sugar daddy?” I ask him in a worried tone.

I watch the way his sensual lips curve cunningly as he tries not to smile. He notices I am not smiling, so he says, “Let me take care of you. It’s all I want to do.”

I sigh. “I have no choice right now but to rely on you for help, but I’m not taking the credit card,” I say firmly.

“Evie,” Reed’s tone is cajoling.

“Reed,” I reply as I dig in.

“What’s a sugar daddy?” Reed asks me, and then laughs when he sees my blush deepen. “That bad, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah, that bad.” I reply. “When are we leaving, Buns?” I ask to try to change the subject away from my waifish existence.

“I’m going to call them and make the arrangements. How long do you two need to plot and scheme?” Buns asks Zephyr and Reed.

“A couple of hours. We’ll be ready by tonight.” Zephyr replies and Reed nods.

“Sick! We can go tonight and be on the slopes after breakfast tomorrow,” she says happily, and then she jets out of the room in an eighth of a second to get her phone and make the arrangements.

“I’ll go pack.” I say, feeling the mixture of excitement and dread again. I speed to my room in seconds so that they will all think I am just excited.

Alone in my room, I go to my closet to get my suitcase. As I pull it down from the top shelf, a box that had been partially hidden falls down with it. Kneeling on the ground to retrieve the box, I freeze. It is a wooden box with dragonflies encrusted on its lid. Someone must have gotten it from my dorm room when they had brought over my things. My hand shakes as I reach for it.

My touch is light as my fingertips brush over the wood, feeling the intricately carved images covering the surface. Freddie gave me this for my birthday, I think, as I lift my fingertips from the box as if I have been scalded by it. He had been telling me what he is with his gift, only I hadn’t realized it at the time. I shudder as I recall touching his paper-like dragonfly wings that had buzzed and vibrated in agitation.

I’m so stupid. How could I have let this happen? Guilt and shame hit me. I open the lid to the box and see the small, silver makeup compact inside; on the lid is etched an ornate dragonfly with inlayed opals that comprise the torso of the dragonfly. The stones gleam evilly in the dim light of the closet.

I didn’t see what he was, and as a result, many people had suffered and died including my uncle, I think, as my hands curl into fists. This gift is a physical representation of my stupidity. It is a reminder that I have to look at things differently from now on. I can’t afford to be stupid and naїve anymore or the ones I love will suffer for it. This is my bitter reality. I pick the compact up, hugging it to my body in despair. I can’t fail again because the price is too high.

Feeling the small latch on the compact beneath my fingertips, I flip the compact back over and look at it. Depressing the button, it opens with a soft click, dispelling a small gasp of air that was trapped inside. I raise the lid, revealing the mirror. For an instant, all I can see are my eyes looking back at me. I look haunted: deadened by the thing I hold in my hand. But then a movement in the mirror distracts me from the image of myself. It startles me so I look behind me to see what could possibly have moved. There is nothing there. I peer in the mirror once again, noticing that the image of me is murkier, less crisp.

Something moves in the mirror that is not a reflection; a truly distorted and shadowy shape shifts within the glass. The longer I watch it, the closer it seems to be coming and the more it takes on a definite form…as if a shadow is running toward me down a long corridor within the mirror that is in no way a reflection of any room I have seen in this house. But it isn’t just a shadow, it’s a swarm of flies all working together to form the shape of a man.

Coming to my senses in the next instant, I try to snap the lid of the compact shut, but it is levered open and refuses to close. Tossing the compact away from me, it crashes to the floor. Hissing emits from the mirror, casting a stench in the air that I had prayed I would never smell again. Black clouds of flies come pouring out into the air, billowing from the mirror to sway and undulate grotesquely until their dark mass implodes into a single image of a man—a shadow man. He is like the one I had seen in Coldwater with Freddie. It only takes the shadow man a fraction of a second to grin at me evilly before he lunges forward to kill me.

About the Author

I live in Michigan with my husband and our two sons. My family is very supportive of my writing. They often bring me the take-out menu so that I can call and order them dinner. They listen patiently when I talk about my characters like they’re real. They rarely roll their eyes when I tell them I’ll only be a second while I finish writing a chapter…and then they take off their coats. They ask me how the story is going when I surface after living for hours in a world of my own making. They have learned to accept my “writing uniform” consisting of a slightly unflattering pink fleece jacket, t-shirt, and black yoga pants. And they smile at my nerdy bookishness whenever I try to explain urban fantasy to them. In short, they get me, so they are perfect and I am blessed. Please visit me at my website: www.amyabartol.weebly.com

Table of Contents

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT PAGE

For my mom, Gloria, the eternal optimist who never allowsanything to remain in the past tense…especially her love

Contents

CHAPTER 1 MOVING DAY

CHAPTER 2 ORIENTATI ON

CHAPTER 3 ARDEN LAKE

CHAPTER 4 REGISTRATION

CHAPTER 5 FIELD HOCKEY

CHAPTER 6 THE PROMISE

CHAPTER 7 THE HISTORY OF ART

CHAPTER 8 THE SPEED OF LIGHT

CHAPTER 9 FOREIGN LANGUAGE

CHAPTER 10 THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION

CHAPTER 11 PARADISE LOST

CHAPTER 12 THE PORTRAIT

CHAPTER 13 COLDWATER

CHAPTER 14 OPPOSITES ATTRACT

CHAPTER 15 LIGHT AND SHADOW

CHAPTER 16 FORMAL

CHAPTER 17 DELT WARS

CHAPTER 18 BIRTHDAY WISHES

CHAPTER 19 ART EXHIBITION

CHAPTER 20 REVELATIONS

CHAPTER 21 WINTER BREAK

COMING SOON

CHAPTER 1

ABOUT THE AUTHOR