Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) (24 page)

"We have been responsible for so many needless deaths…" Ambrosia added.

Wade nodded. "When we fail to control our emotions, yes, and that is exactly the outcome the Grigorians are hoping for. When they hurt people, by whatever means, they are hoping to push us into showing our weaknesses and revealing ourselves to them." Wade got up and picked up a framed photograph of Ambrosia and Gary. The broken glass face fell away in shards to the floor. "If you show your emotions, especially now that you know who," he paused for a moment to correct himself, "what you are –"

"I 'm an Altairian, like you, and a Guard from the house of Bulguardi. Here to find and protect the Wafes."

"Yes, that is exactly who you are. So you cannot risk exposing yourself to the Grigorians. If they get a hint of what you are, they will come for you, to see who you are protecting."

"But you are more than that, aren’t you?" Ambrosia asked.

"Yes," Wade said. "I am a Royal Guard; my orders come directly from the Guardians."

Ambrosia nodded. "When Grace grieved, nothing happened?"

"Well, that isn't technically correct. It rained for days, she was responsible for that, but her human body was still so much stronger, and she had no idea that she was responsible for any of it, so she gave nothing away. They knew who I was, and after my death they were watching both Kate and Grace. I could sense them at the funeral. But like us, they are very good at camouflaging who they really are."

"And what about Gary, do you think they knew who he was when they attacked him?

"I don't believe so. Otherwise they never would have-"

Ambrosia slumped down on the sofa. "Killed him..." she said, finishing the sentence for him. A small frail sigh slipped from her throat. The room gave a tiny shudder. She held her breath to calm herself. She could not, would not, lose her control ever again. She had a duty to do, revenge Gary's death.

"We are more valuable to them alive," Wade said, sitting down beside her. "They like to travel in packs. There would have been three, or possibly four against one. He didn't stand a chance." He didn't tell her that Gary's defenses would have been weak because he was more preoccupied with thoughts of his proposal to Ambrosia than an impending attack.

"Why didn't he have mistletoe in his bloodstream to fend them off? He drank the coffee, too."

"Which is the only thing they can't detect mistletoe in. Blood."

Ambrosia exhaled and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry. Wade put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to be okay? I can have someone stay with you, if you don’t think you can do this alone." He looked around the ruins of the once neatly furnished apartment. "I will have someone take care of this. In the meantime, we have a safe house?"

"No," Ambrosia said, shaking her head. I have friends I can stay with."

"You can't tell them anything about this. You will put them in danger. Gary's actual death will not be reported, because if they catch on that he was one of us, the first person they will come looking for is you. A fictitious person will be invented, and a missing persons report will be lodged. Right now they think they got away with it. You will have to make something up, something convincing."

"How can I make anything up to sound convincing? Everyone knows how much Gary meant to me."

"Tell them anything. Tell them he got a job transfer… and you don't want to leave… it's over and you changed your mind. People change their minds all the time. Humans are very good at that, changing their minds. So you're giving him a few days to get his things out of the apartment and you don't want to be there. Trust me, it is easier to fake a lie than it is to try and control your emotions."

Ambrosia shook her head, she hated to lie, she hated that this was what their life had become, a lie.

"If you can't do this, if you need help-" Wade began.

"I can do this; I will do this, for Gary. Everyone else will believe the lie… but I will know the truth."

Wade watched her, studied her. He felt a calm radiating from her where only minutes before there had been a violent burst of hot energy threatening to boil over.

Ambrosia changed the subject. "So ultimately, the Grigorians want the Wafes," Ambrosia said. "And if they control them, or kill them, no one is safe, is that right?"

"Yes." Wade answered. "If they succeed, they will have uncontested control over every human soul on earth, and on Altair. Every soul... and we would have lost. We must return Altair to the Guardians and the house of Bulguardi, making it safe for the pinnacles to return. Then, and only then, will mortal souls have a safe haven to return to."

Ambrosia got up and walked to the kitchen again to fill her glass. She didn’t want to know anymore. It was far too much to try and comprehend in one evening, when such a huge part of her still wanted to do nothing more than curl up on her bed and grieve for Gary. "Just let me get a few things from my room," she said.

Wade watched her go, then pulled something from his pocket. This would be the test.

Ambrosia went to the top of her cupboard, pulled down a small overnight carry bag and opened it on the bed. She went around the room, packing the bag with the bits and pieces she would need for the next few days. She went to her top drawer and dug her hand under her t-shirts until she found what she was searching for. She unfolded the piece of paper and stared at the dog-eared picture of a girl in a wedding gown. She thought about all the years she had treasured this photograph. How she had studied every detail, and how many times she had imagined herself wearing it as she stood next to Gary. This picture had personified the dream she had held in her heart for so long. She folded it up again, then tore the picture into tiny little pieces and threw them into the air like confetti. She returned to her bed, zipped up the bag and walked from the room without turning back. "I'm ready," she said.

Wade walked over to her. "Gary wanted you to have this," he said, handing her the little blue box.

Ambrosia dropped the bag at her feet, taking the small box from Wade. She opened it slowly, then stroked the white gold ring with her finger, an involuntary moan escaping her lips. "He was my soul mate. No matter how many centuries passed by. We always found each other. Not right away, but eventually, and now just like that, in the blink of an eye, he's gone. Forever," she whispered.

Her tears threatened, but she held them at bay. Gulping her tears back into submission, she knew there would be no sacred places or graveside vigils. She understood that she could never allow herself to shed another tear for the man she had loved so completely. She felt a part of her let go, then slowly shrivel up and die. She held the tiny box in her hand, looking around the shattered room, saying her silent farewells, swearing that she would revenge Gary's death, even if it meant losing her own life in the process.

Wade leaned down and picked up her bag, "Ready?" he asked.

Ambrosia nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. She would not be back. This part of her life was over. But she wouldn't stay with friends either, that would be too hard. She would stay at the safe house that Wade had told her about. She had decided that it was time, now that she knew the truth about herself, to be with people of her own kind.

Grace felt as if she was viewing the scene unfolding around her from a parallel universe. It was as if she had become invisible to everyone but herself. Abe was sauntering off down the hall shouting, "all for one and one for all..." Damon strode toward the door with Eric's body tossed over his shoulder. He paused for a brief moment to speak with Angela. Then she closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

"Can someone
please
tell me why I am the only one freaking out about all of this?" She glanced from the pool of blood on the tiles to Angela, expecting some kind of logical explanation that would explain why Damon had just stabbed a crazed Eric through the heart with a toy wooden sword. "Shouldn't I call Wade, the police, somebody… anybody?"

"Wade's busy, and we'll talk soon," Angela said. "Firstly, though, we have to clean this blood up off the tiles before it dries. It is far easier to clean the blood up while it's still wet."

"How do you know this stuff?" Grace asked, completely baffled.

"Dexter," Angela replied, shrugging and thinking that was as good an explanation as any. "You grab the mop and bucket, and I'll get the bleach."

Grace stood motionless, and stared disbelievingly at Angela. "Dexter?" she repeated.

"Yes, Dexter. Come on, Grace," Angela persisted. "Get a wriggle on, go get the mop and bucket. Oh, and put some hot water in it, too," she said, searching under the kitchen sink for a bottle of bleach. Angela found one and shook it. "Plenty," she said, pulling on a pair of oversized rubber gloves. She turned around to find Grace still rooted to the spot. Angela shrugged her shoulders and planted a questioning look on her face. "What are you waiting for?"

"Okay, then. I'm going," Grace said, walking down the hall to the laundry. "But I swear to God, I could really do with some answers right now…"

"Yes, no, maybe," Angela called after her as she peeled off a wad of paper towels and dropped it into the sticky pool of congealing blood.

* * *

Grace rolled over lazily and opened her eyes. She stretched her arms out above her head. On a mattress at the foot of her bed, she could see Abe sleeping soundly. Grace winced, rubbed her head, and found a huge bump the size of a golf ball. She tried to remember, but nothing came to her. She had no idea how or when she had banged her head so badly. She sat up and hopped quietly out of bed so as not to wake Abe, or her mother in the next room, tiptoed through the half-opened doorway and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. "Coffee, coffee, coffee," she said to the empty kitchen. She put the kettle on the stove, grabbed her usual mug from the drip tray and made herself a coffee. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, so she'd give it another half-hour before waking Abe and making pancakes for their breakfast.

She peered through the kitchen window and wondered how Angela's night at East Point had gone. She gave a little laugh and shook her head. Angela would have been bored in the first five minutes. Josh would have been enjoying himself because Angela was there. And Sonndra would have been trying to keep the peace between Amber and Clair as they squabbled over Jackson. Oh well, at least they were speaking again. Well sort of. Tony and Eric would... She paused. "Eric," she said out loud, saying the name as though that would help her remember something. She continued to gaze through the window.

A chill suddenly crept up her spine, and she gasped, spinning around, expecting to see a face, but no one was there. She felt relieved, let out a slow breath and walked over to the kitchen table. On the back of one of the kitchen chairs hung a jacket. She couldn't remember Zach having a jacket like that. Her eyes moved to a spot on the tiled floor in the lounge room. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see there, but there was most certainly nothing misplaced or different about the room. She put her mug down on the table and picked up the jacket. Perhaps the name of the owner would be printed inside?

"Hey, Grace, you're up early," Zach said, startling her. He took the jacket from her hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I probably should have hung this up in the laundry as soon as I got home last night. That storm was a beauty, wasn't it?" He wandered off down the hall to the laundry with the jacket. "Is there enough hot water in the kettle for another cup?"

"Yeah, sure, it's just boiled. I'll make you one."

"Thanks. So," Zach asked, "what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Hmm, nothing much," Grace replied, pouring the hot water into Zach's mug. "After breakfast I'll walk Abe home, and then Angela and Josh are coming here. We're going to the Bean for lunch. The plan is to meet up with the others, so they can tell me all about their big 'adventure' at East Point last night. Don't suppose you could give us a lift?"

"Yeah, I can do that, I'm catching up with some of the boys at
O'Regan's
to play pool." Zach pulled out a chair and sat down. "Thanks, this smells great," he said, taking the steaming mug from her hands.

"So you haven't caught up with Angela yet?"

"Nope, not since Josh and Andrew picked her up here last night, why?"

"No reason, just asking. I'm putting toast on, want some?" he asked, changing the subject.

Grace shook her head. "If you're happy to wait for another 15 minutes, I'll make you some pancakes."

"Well then," Zach said, sitting back down, "that's an offer way to good to refuse."

From down the hallway came a bang, then an "Ouch," followed by a mumbled, "I'm hungry." Abe fumbled his way down the hallway, rubbing the side of his face. When he took his hand away Grace was horrified to see an angry bruise there.

She jumped up. "What have you done, how did this happen? Your Mom will kill me. Let me look at it..."

"It's nothing," Abe mumbled feeling a little embarrassed. "I just walked into the bedroom door."

"Here, sit down, and I'll get you some ice," she said, pulling a chair out for him next to Zach. "I can't believe how fast the bruise has come up."

"Hey Buddy, nice Spider Man Pajamas," Zach said, smiling.

Grace paused at the freezer door, her hand resting on the handle. A sentence played in her head.
My little brother had a pair just like them when he was a kid about your age.
She pulled the freezer door open and pulled out a bag of frozen peas.

"I've just had one of those Déjà vu
moments," she said, wrapping the bag of peas in a tea towel.

"What's a Déjà vu?" Abe asked, yawning. He pulled a face as Grace placed the cold pack against his cheek.

Another voice joined in. "It literally means, 'already seen,'" Angela said, walking through the front door. "It's when you experience the feeling that you have already witnessed or experienced that exact situation, even though the precise circumstances of the former encounter are uncertain and were perhaps just imagined. Émile Boirac, a French psychic researcher wrote about it." Angela pulled out a chair and sat down.

"What else?" Abe asked, taking the bag of frozen peas away from his face.

"Oh, no you don't, mister. You have to keep them there if you want that swelling to go away," Grace said, pushing his hand and the peas back against his cheek.

"Well, the experience of déjà vu is usually accompanied by an uncanny sense of familiarity. The 'previous' experience is usually ascribed to a dream, although in some cases there is a distinct feeling that the experience has genuinely happened before."

There was a knock on the door and Abe spun his head. "Don't open it!" he begged.

Grace stared at him in disbelief. Was it, whatever it was, happening again? "Why not?" she asked, afraid of what Abe might say.

"Because it's," he looked at Angela and she frowned, "probably my Mom, and I don't want to go home. We haven't had our pancakes yet." The front door eased open, and Grace smiled when Joshua poked his head in.

"Did I hear someone say pancakes?"

"Yes!" shouted Abe excitedly, looking at Grace this time. "We're having pancakes."

"Okay, I get the hint," Grace said standing. "Pancakes it is."