Chloe's Guardian (The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1) (11 page)

“That jerk Todd! She should have never dated him. He’s a tool.”

Ah. Boy trouble. Of course.

“That’s what I told her, too. So, uh, her store? The one on…”

“I dunno. It’s next to the old theater. The Federal, I think.”

“On Federal Boulevard?”

“Well, duh. Where else?”

“Okay, well I don’t want to keep you. I imagine you feel terrible.”

“Miserable. Terrible. I’d open the door, but you do not want this.”

“Well, nice to meet you, um, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Michelle.”
Bahshell.

“Michelle, thank you. Maybe I’ll see you again. Goodbye.”

Horatius went back to Federal Boulevard and had to guess whether to go north or south. He went north and after nine blocks with no theater, turned around. Within three blocks of his wrong turn, he found the theater and its neighbor, Chloe’s convenient store. She was at the counter, visible through the plate glass window. Stiff as a statue, she stood facing the back wall.

The bell on the door chimed when he went in. Chloe didn’t respond. Another employee was filling the cooler along the back wall with bottles.

“Hello.” He said it two more times, the third as a question.

She turned slowly. Dark half-moon shadows were under her red rimmed, puffy eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess of curls. Just like her sister, no comb could have been through that in days.

When she finally focused on Horatius, they opened a little wider.

“What are you doing here?”

I have been cursed to spend some time with you
. “I was in the neighborhood.”

She stood unchanged, with her arms limp at her side. Her head only tilted slightly. “And you just happened to walk in here?”

“No, I worked a bit to get here. I was looking for you.”
Mebahel made me come.

“You didn’t come back. I missed my plane.” Her words were as flat as the floor she stood on.

Her appearance was pathetic. So different from when he’d seen her last. “What happened…that’s not what I planned to occur.”

She turned back away and fixed her eyes on the back wall again.

“I talked to Michelle. She told me you weren’t doing well.” The enticing spark was gone from her eyes.

Chloe shrugged.

Two thin kids in tight black clothes entered—girls, boys, both, neither, he couldn’t tell—and they went to the back coolers and worked around the other employee to select their beverages. Several cars came and went at the gas pumps, but they paid outside and didn’t come in. A tall cowboy with a spectacular hat leafed through some magazines then picked up a sixty-four-ounce bottle of Dr. Pepper and a bag of Ruffles.

When the cowboy approached the counter to pay, Chloe rang up the total like she was a robot. She was oblivious to the man’s flirtations.

“Well, hey there you pretty young thing, ya’ll gave me a twenty instead of a five,” he said with a smooth western cowboy accent. He handed back the bill and gave her a toothy smile. It didn’t rattle him a bit when Chloe gave him the new change and turned away without acknowledging him.

The cowboy tipped his hat at Horatius before he passed through the door. Horatius liked that hat. It had style. After the cowboy, the unusual couple at the back coolers left, and Horatius said to Chloe, “When is your work shift over?”

Chloe stared at him with glassy eyes for a moment before focusing enough to process his question.

She shrugged. “Midnight.”

“How do you plan to return home? You aren’t driving, are you?”
She can hardly operate a cash register.

“I’m walking.”

“Is midnight a good time to be out, without an escort?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The words came out like she was tranquilized. She was nothing like he remembered. Whatever this new way was, it was broken.
She
was broken. Tenderness surprised him when it seeped into his feelings for her.

“I will walk with you.” If he was to be her Guardian, he could at least start with the basics and keep her alive. Jabamiah had said not to kill her. He would keep someone else from doing it, too. “You may call me Horace, by the way. That's how my close acquaintances address me.”

She shrugged and turned to face the back wall again.

Since the girl didn’t protest, and her co-worker spent most of his time in the back room, Horatius stayed and stood inside the front door by the newspaper rack for the rest of the night. When a group of juvenile delinquents came in, he kept his eye on them. They did no more than buy some Pepsi, cigarettes, and frozen Dove bars, but Horatius didn’t like their emanations. All but one of them exuded evil. When the obvious leader, who had a goatee and wore a wife beater, eyed Horatius with a challenging glare, Horatius picked up a newspaper and buried his face in the metro section. He didn’t want whichever Fallen Celestial held that young man to see him and discover his location.

When her relief finally came—fifteen minutes late—Chloe went to the back room to punch out her time card and walked out the front door, never acknowledging Horatius. He fell in beside her as she drifted down the sidewalk.

“You should never walk home alone. Especially after dark.”

She shrugged again.

“Truly, Chloe. It dangerous. Maybe you don’t care about dying. But there are things that could be worse than dying.”

She finally made eye contact. “I don’t even know you.”

“That gang that came in probably live around here. You are just asking for trouble by walking home alone.”

“If something happened, maybe Todd—” It was almost inaudible, and she stopped herself before finishing.

She had it bad, all right. How could he possibly help someone so self-destructive? What had been done to her to make her care so little?

“Listen, nothing is going to happen. I’m going to make sure. That’s why I am here. Think of it like I am making up for not helping before. Okay?”

A shiny black SUV with dark windows and a thumping bass speaker slowed down and drove alongside them for a minute. The loud beat and rap lyrics pulsed the air around them. Horatius turned and glared right at the driver’s window, even though he couldn’t see in. The streetlight’s reflection moved over the hood, the roof, the back, as it crept along. They lingered a little longer then took off with a squeal. It woke Chloe up.

“Did you know them?” Chloe said.

“Know their type.”

“Don’t stare at them. They might shoot you.” She said it with no emotion.

When they got to Forty-First, she turned onto the street like she was alone. Horatius swung wide to follow and catch back up with her after he missed the turn. They didn’t talk until they got to her house.

When she walked up to her front door, Horatius stayed down on the sidewalk.

He said, “What time will you leave for work tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “Three.”

“I’ll see you then.” He waited until she was inside, the door closed, and the porch light went dark before he went to find a bed for the night.

***

The next day at two-forty-five, Horatius paced back and forth in front of Chloe’s house, waiting for her to come out.

Thirty minutes later, he rang the doorbell. Michelle came to the door.

“Hello again.”

“Hey.”

“I’m Horace, Chloe’s friend. I came to walk her to work. Is she leaving soon?”

“Left an hour ago. Went in early.”

A shot of irritation made him growl. She was not making this easy for him.

He jogged all the way to the convenience store. Once again, he found Chloe standing like a zombie as customers came and went at the pumps and milled around the store.

“Hello, Chloe. I waited for you.”

She shrugged her standard indifferent gesture. “Had to come in early. You didn’t give me your cell.”

As though you would have called me.

Horatius took his spot by the door, standing under a fan so he could cool off from his run. “I will just wait over here.”

Another shrug.

How can I help someone so apathetic?

People came and went. Few paid attention to him. Certainly not Chloe. And her co-worker left, saying he couldn’t wait around any longer for his relief, who never arrived. After two or three hours passed, Horatius bought a microwaved pocket sandwich, four Slim Jims, and a six-pack of Heineken for his dinner and returned to his station at the door. When the store was empty, he enjoyed his refreshment. When customers came in and out, he greeted them, trying to add interest. The beer not only made his assignment more tolerable, but it certainly made him more charming.

“Have a good day.”

“Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

“Thanks for coming. Until next time.”

“Great hat. Go Rockies.”

“Beautiful baby, madam.” Big smile.

He had several phrases to keep it fresh.

When the digital clock above the counter flashed to eight-oh-seven, a feeling of imminent danger jolted Horatius out of his complacency. Something was happening in the heavens. The Fallen and Pure were battling.
Pit of
Tartarus, I shouldn’t have had those five beers!

The door swung wide, and the five delinquents strutted back in.

They spread out, acting casual and aloof. Their attempt to look nonchalant, separating to browse the merchandise on different aisles, didn’t fool Horatius. One picked up a can of motor oil, another rearranged baby supplies—he was the most nervous of the five. A third hovered near a laughing couple who played with the ketchup dispenser while their hotdogs sizzled on the rotisserie rack. The one with gold front teeth who still wore a wife beater met his buddy’s cold eyes then scanned the rest of the store doing reconnaissance. They both flashed looks at Horatius and then shared a knowing glance.
They’re going to execute their plan soon.

Horatius slipped on his Ray-Bans to hide his eyes. He wasn't about to give away his presence to the Fallen possessing these punks.

After the playful couple paid for their hotdogs and left, the kid with the gold grill and goatee trotted up to the counter. He pulled out a Glock, bobbing and weaving like a boxer. He jabbed the handgun right at Chloe, sideways and at eye level. Like a real pro gangsta.

“You wanna die tonight?”

CHAPTER
14

Chloe stared down the gun barrel and didn’t move. Her eyes registered the first real emotion Horatius had seen since Scotland.

“Empty the register.” He threw a wadded plastic Wal-Mart sack on the counter.

“You don’t want to do that,” Horatius said, trying to keep his words crisp and hard in spite of his tongue feeling loose and thick.

Another 9 mm came out from the buddy. “Shut-up, clown,” the kid yelled. His accent was thick. “Think you’re something with those shades? You won’t feel so cool when you’re dead,” he said as he shuffled in place.

Horatius needed to keep Chloe from danger. His head was foggy. He tried to shake it off.

The one calling him a clown was an annoying distraction. Horatius concentrated. The gun in the punk’s hand became molten metal. He screamed and tried to drop it. Some of it seared to his hand. Some got on his other hand. Some on his leg. Third-degree burns propelled him out the door, yowling and cursing.

The transmutation weakened Horatius, but he ignored it. He turned his attention back to Chloe. This was his chance to help her, to help himself. Maybe he’d finish up tonight and be relieved of his requirement.

After his buddy’s sudden departure, the one with Chloe turned back toward her and lifted his gun arm again and straightened it into a hard beam.

“I said empty the register. Do it. Now!”

Chloe struggled with the sack, then with the register to find the right sequence of buttons to open the drawer.

Another of the punks left his motor oil and moved up on Horatius. He pulled out his gun.

“Get on the floor,” the punk yelled.

Horatius ignored him. He was trying to think of what he should do. His mind was so foggy.

“Drop to the floor!”

Horatius refused to budge.

“One move, I pump you with lead.”

Shut up! I can’t think with your constant rambling
.

An idea!
The old snake trick. Simple, easy. It wouldn’t take much power.

The kid’s shoelaces became serpents. They swirled up his legs and disappeared into his baggy shorts. The gun turned into a poisonous frog. The kid threw it and screamed.
Herpetophobia. Good choice
. The kid yanked down his shorts past the snakes and stumbled out the door.

The leader yelled at his retreating companion. But he couldn’t get him back. The door closed after him with a bell chime.

Horatius turned back to the leader. “Put the gun down, leave now, and I will let you live.” Of course he wouldn’t
kill
him.
They
would not be pleased. But he could hurt him.

The guy with the gold front teeth laughed. It wasn't a very confident laugh, not after two of his buddies unexpectedly abandoned him. But he found enough courage to point his gun at Horatius. “We got ourselves a tough guy,” he said to Horatius.

Chloe dropped out of sight behind the counter as soon as the punk turned his attention on Horatius.

Good. Stay down.

“Put the gun away. You are about to get really hurt,” Horatius said.

The punk swaggered closer and waved the weapon in his face. But when he took in Horatius’ height, he bounced back to a safer distance, one where he would not have to lift his head to look at him.

“This is my last warning,” Horatius said.

The kid’s arm went rigid and he aimed. Every muscle in his face clenched. He was ready to pull the trigger. Horatius really wanted to just kill the kid. But that really wasn’t an option. Instead, he’d get his attention. All at once, every hair on the kid’s body burst into flame. Sparks exploded all over him and the hairs flared, flashed, and burned quickly down into their pores. He sizzled. The air stank with fried hair stench.

His head was not shaved close, so all those hairs joined together and his head caught fire. His thick eyebrows burned hot then sputtered out. His goatee flashed. He crumpled into a ball, screaming, swatting at the flames beneath his clothes. The fire from his ears burned a little longer, as did his oily head, because of the earwax. He should have listened to his mother and used Q-Tips more often.

In less than a minute all the flames were out. His wife beater was scorched. His bad luck he had so much body hair. Though still bent in half, he got himself off the floor enough to stagger out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The two gang members at the back of the store shared a look then raced each other to the door. They ran past Horatius while he leaned on the doorframe to recover from expending his power.

Chloe peeked over the counter after they left and the door chimed shut.

“Are you okay?” Horatius asked from the door.

“What happened? I smell smoke.”

“Everything is okay now. They’re gone. You’re safe.” He couldn’t really get off the doorframe.

“Should I call the cops? Or at least my boss?”

That was a good idea. Others to help while Horatius got his strength back.

Sirens blared. Red lights throbbed. The police took statements and wrote notes. Chloe called her mom. She came and took her home. That was a good thing, because Horatius needed a drink so badly, God himself couldn’t have talked him out of it.