"I don't care," I reply. "One more night. That will give us. . . ." I swallow hard. "
Time. I can pack. Carter can get his things together. . . ." I trail off. But each of us knows this has little to do with packing, or tying up loose ends, and that I'm only deceiving myself. I need Seth. Just one more day with him. To be me. Us.
At that mo
ment Joshua bursts into the room. "What's happening? The Council is calling everyone away."
Other Guardians appear, filling the already cramped living room in Carter's pool house. Some I've seen many times—older, stronger Guardians who removed the bodies o
f the
Diabols
I killed over the last few months. Others I recognize from the night Seth pulled me to the other realm. All assigned to watch over me. A common goal: to keep me safe.
"The Council is asking us to leave," she explains to Joshua and the others
. "The reason is unknown. At this point, it's best for everyone to comply."
"And what of the girl?" one asks.
"I'm keeping a watchful eye on the situation," is Mara's only reply.
"Mara," another says, voice gruff. "We pray you'll keep us informed."
She eyes him carefully. "I fear that would further harm those asked to protect her."
"We trust you," one of the females says.
"I'm willing to act as liaison between you and the Guardians, Mara. Information relayed to me will be passed on to anyone willi
ng to keep it," the man continues.
"It's a dangerous thing you suggest,
Malach
."
"You believe, then, that we should stand back and do nothing," he counters.
She sighs, her voice lowering further, barely audible. "I will pass on any pertinent information I
learn from the Council until I can determine a course of action. To anyone willing to be kept informed of the Council's intentions," she goes on, searching the faces crowded in the room, "I only ask that you use discretion. And please know that you will no
t be thought a coward should you choose to move on quietly."
Malach
turns to the Guardians. "We will devise a system of communication, so that we may stay informed wherever we are assigned."
"Speak nothing of this outside our circle," Mara warns. "Trust no
one."
One by one Guardians disappear, shimmering as they fade. Others vanish in the blink of an eye. Bursting out of sight like the bubble grown too thin to contain itself. And seeing them, hearing their willingness—their eagerness—to assist this cause fi
lls me with both a renewed hope and a sense of impending dread.
This might be bigger than any of us could imagine.
"Thank you," I tell the ones remaining. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. I don't take any of your help for granted."
In a momen
t they're gone, and Joshua is the only one remaining. He moves closer, hands crammed into the pockets of his jeans. And I'm overcome by how young he really is, how this role he plays never fully felt real to me; that he's more teen boy than teen Guardian,
and always has been.
"Before I go, I just want to . . . you know, say I'm sorry."
"What? Why?" I ask.
"Because I feel like I pushed you more than anyone else. To help us. I feel like this wouldn't be happening if. . . ." He shrugs, unable to look me in the
eyes.
Seth shakes his head. "Joshua . . ."
"No," I tell him. "It's not your fault. Not even close. I would've chosen this, anyway. One way or another, it would've happened."
A wan smile. "What am I
gonna
do, man?" he asks Seth.
"Go to the Council. They mi
ght be ready to assign you a new charge by now."
"But . . . I'll see you guys again, right?"
I glance quickly from Seth to Mara, then back to Joshua, the words willed from my lips quite possibly a lie: "Absolutely. I'm coming back. All of this? It's going
to work out. You'll see." And I hope that, by saying this, by believing these words, I can somehow make them true.
"They're waiting for you," Mara reminds him.
He nods, eyeing us wistfully, before turning to leave. My throat closes, refusing this goodby
e.
"Hey," I call. "I never want to come up against you in a real fight."
"Fists of fury," he says, smiling, bumping his knuckles against mine.
"Fists of fury," I repeat, just before he disappears.
"I'm
returning to my post to gather any information I can. To try to determine the Council's motives. I can't assign you new Guardians, but there are Warriors I trust. I'll move them closer."
"I don't want you doing anything that could get you in trouble," I te
ll her.
"No one ever made a difference by following the rules. You and I both know that."
I nod, feeling a smile pull at my lips.
"You surprised me, Genesis Green," she goes on. "Seth was right about you."
The words are like a life preserver, lifting me
out of the chasm. They give me permission to trust myself again, to breathe on my own.
"Tomorrow morning," Mara concedes, eyeing the two of us. "First thing."
T
WENTY-SEVEN
Mara vanishes, Carter leaves, and I'm alone in the living room. It feels
larger now, as if it knows the Guardians are gone, an eerie quiet settling throughout.
If Seth were to pull me into his realm now I'd find it empty. Or filled with beautiful demons. Waiting. Watching.
Seth?
I find him in the bedroom, standing with his
back to me, silent. I step inside and close the door. The lock clicks shut. Clear yellow light streams through the cracks in the blinds. He's perfectly still, staring at the window as if trying to see through it. The room is dim, painted in hushed blues an
d grays.
He turns. Our eyes meet, and his brows knit together, expression serious. And my heart splits down its seam. Because it's happening. Everything he feared. A threat I refused to seriously consider. And now the nightmares are real, coming true at th
is very moment.
A string of tears gathers on my lashes, staining my vision. Seth blurs as he moves closer. I shut my eyes, swallowing the knot in the back of my throat, feeling him as he stops in front of me. I
suck
in a quick breath as his hands grasp my
face, the senseless tears slipping carelessly down my warm cheeks.
"I'm sorry," I say, voice strangled, barely discernible. "I'm so, so sorry."
"
Shhh
," he whispers. He brushes a soft kiss across my forehead, each of my eyelids. I lean into him, choking ba
ck a heavy sob.
He runs his fingers through my hair, and a staggering sense of anguish pervades every corner of my being. And the reason . . . the reason I wanted more time—these last few hours—is standing in front of me, coming undone.
I pull his lips to
mine, and they travel down my cheek, grazing my jaw line, my neck, furious. A wave of heat rushes through my body. My pulse steps up, heartbeat erratic, and we move impulsively, crashing against the door. In a moment his shirt slips over his head, tossed
carelessly onto the floor behind us.
I sweep my fingers across his bare chest, desperate to feel him. And I'm so full of anger and hurt and longing. Because I've found the most beautiful, wonderful thing ever, and the worlds conspire to take him away from
me. Stripping me of the only thing I want, the only thing I could ever need. My everything.
We fall onto the bed, the sheets swallowing us whole. Something catches in my throat, and I
suppress another sob, breaths heavy in my ears. The world spins dizzily, my emotions tangling, heart pumping too fast, crashing against my ribs.
He stops, an intense silence falling between us. His fingers brush the length of my cheekbone, strokes his thum
b across my lips. His eyes meet mine, catching and holding them in his, features soft, beautiful, sending flutters through my stomach.
I need him
.
I need him like I need water and sunlight and air to breathe.
"I love you,"
he whispers, breath warm against my skin. "Forever."
The words barely move past his lips, disappearing between us. My eyes shut and a tear escapes, sliding soundlessly across my face, pooling at my ear. He leans in and kisses me gently, carefully, the stre
ams of sunlight tumbling around us as we are everywhere and nowhere all at once. Everything and nothing. Belonging to no one but each other as time slows, folding into itself.
*
*
*
I awaken in a tangle of sheets. The room is dark, and I'm alone. And I
wonder how it's possible that I could have slept my last day away. My last moments with Seth. I grab my clothes from the floor and hurry to slip them on.
"Seth?" I call, peeking in the living room. Everything is still. Quiet.
I move into the bathroom, ru
n a brush through my hair, then turn on the sink faucet. I bend lower, splashing my face with cool water, washing the sleep away. When I rise I'm not alone. I choke on a scream as a hand clasps my neck. She drives my head into the mirror, and spider-like c
racks burgeon from the point of impact. Blood trickles down my face, mingling with the water.
"You're wanted," Viola says, voice cool, level. "In the warehouse. By the boardwalk."
She fingers a brown elastic. From my ponytail. She stretches it taut betw
een her fingers and lets go, flicking it at me.
When I blink again she's gone.
I spin around on my heel, searching for her, chest heaving. There's no crack in the mirror. No blood pouring from my head. No gash at all. No bruise. It doesn't even hurt.
I p
ick the elastic off the floor.
She was there. She had it this entire time.
I spring to action, grabbing my black
hoodie
from the closet, my tennis shoes. I struggle to steady my breathing.
I can't let Seth know. He can't know anything's wrong.
My mind sl
ips to the others, and I wonder how I'll manage to meet Viola without them finding out. But then I remember: everyone is gone. All of the Guardians. Mara. And a new, more frightening realization: there's no one left to protect me.
This is what she was wait
ing for.
I slip the sweatshirt over my head and grab the knives from the kitchen cabinet. Not the training ones. The real ones. The ones meant for this very occasion.
Outside the air is hot and sticky, and night spreads across the sky.
The drive to the b
oardwalk seems to take twice as long as it should, and I struggle to maintain the speed limit. The AC is on full blast, but it does nothing to stave off the heat, and beads of sweat gather at my hairline.
I know the warehouse. It was part of the industria
l district before there even was a boardwalk. No one has occupied it since I moved to South Marshall, and, judging by its ramshackle exterior, long before that. The building is tall, shadowed in darkness, and made almost entirely of metal. Large garage doo
rs line one side, and a row of windows edges the top, most broken. I move toward it, stepping on grass and weeds punching their way through the asphalt.
The door is ajar, and the interior fluorescent lights flicker overhead. They're dim, warming as if jus
t turned on. I check the front pocket of my sweatshirt, making sure the knives are still
there. They are. I continue through the warehouse, footsteps padding lightly against the concrete floor. It's full of wooden pallets and boxes. A few scattered piles o
f thick pads. The kind of place that vagrants might call home. Addicts. Ax murderers. Demons.
"All right, Viola," I call, stopping in the middle of the massive building. My voice wavers as it echoes, leaking fear. My fingers curl around the handle of a kn
ife and I take another deep breath, pulling whatever confidence I can muster into my words. "I'm here. What do you want?"
No answer.
"I swear to God," I continue, voice heated. "I'm not going to wait all night.
I'm here. I'm alone. So come out and tell me what the hell this is about."
A laugh, coming from somewhere in the rafters. "You're no fun."
I twirl around, searching for the source, and, in the next moment, feel something behind me. I turn again and Viola
is there, standing almost on top of me, hovering. I step back, distancing myself.