Angels of Belle Meade

by Lindsey Iler

  “What’s your skill?” I ask.

  Mrs. Saville’s stare widens in surprise. Maybe it’s not something that is talked about. These are the kinds of things we need to be aware of. Clearly, I can’t hide my regret for the question because she reaches out and pats my hand.

  “Back when your mothers and I were the new reign of Angels, we had no idea what to expect. Each of our talents were triggered by different events, but there was something we didn’t know that we can now pass down to you.”

  “What’s that?” Amilee sits up, her spine straightening, eager to hear Mrs. Saville’s answer.

  “Our minds are far stronger than we could ever have imagined. It took me nearly three months to figure out my talent, because I didn’t believe in myself and what I was meant to be.” Mrs. Saville smiles at us. “It’s okay to not feel any different, but there will be a shift. You’ll feel it down in your bones. For the last nineteen years, the three of you have been relatively normal, at least in your own right. Your mothers and I knew you’d be thrust into this world.”

  “Do we all have the same abilities?” Emerson asks.

  “Some may be similar, but for the most part, each of your abilities will complement your position.” Mrs. Saville stands and pulls the books from each of our hands, slamming their covers and tucking them in the crook of her elbow. “The only thing I will say is be sure to learn to walk before you run.”

  She leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her, and the three of us inspect each other, shocked by her soft but stern warning.

  “Ohhh, you’re in trouble.” Amilee pokes Emerson in the shoulder.

  Emerson kicks at her. “I’m going to get those journals back. We’ll learn before we’re taught.”

  Leave it up to Emerson to be desperate to learn something new. She’s known as the studious one in our group, always doing extra credit and spending her evenings lost inside a novel.

  Amilee checks her watch, tapping her finger on the face. “We better get going. Mr. Reynolds will have our heads if we’re late.”

  *****

  If Mr. Reynolds tells me one more time how this will all make sense shortly, I’m going to grab the fire poker and jam it through his skull.

  We’ve been going over details for more than an hour. We’d walked into this rundown church museum with confidence, and right now, when I look at my best friends, my own frustration screams back at me from their eyes.

  “Let me explain something to you, girls.” He walks over to a tall bookshelf and comes back with three books in his hands. As one is given to each of us, I flip the cover to see the same symbol embossed into the title page that now mars my once-perfect skin. “None of this is supposed to make any sense to you. Consider yourselves amateurs. It will take time and practice.”

  “If it’s meant to be natural, then why do we need to practice?” Amilee asks, a chuckle rumbling in her chest.

  I’m glad she’s taking this seriously.

  “This”— he pushes down on the cover of my book—“is yours to keep. It has all of the information you will need to survive this.” With a quickness belied by his age, he flips open the page. “This is your Peacekeeper. Yours are all the same, although, Lennox, yours is the first to appear visibly. When the time comes, it will call for you. You will listen.”

  “The name is a little deceiving, don’t you think?” I say, sitting back in my chair. The hard wood bites into my back, and suddenly, I feel like I’m back in elementary about to be schooled. “We cause destruction. No peace comes from us, so why is this thing pulling us to our destiny called a Peacekeeper?”

  “Would it make you feel better if we give it a different name? No matter what it’s called, it still holds the same purpose. It did before you, and it will after.” Mr. Reynolds shakes his head.

  I wonder if our mothers challenged him, too.

  “From what I’ve gathered, you expect the three of us to decide someone’s fate.” I shiver, afraid that, at some point, the three of us will have to do something I’m not sure we’re capable of. And then what?

  “Correct, but why do you have to decide for them?” He glances between the three of us as we stay silent. “Let me explain something you don’t fully understand yet, and that’s okay, because you’re new to this.” Mr. Reynolds’ heavy frustration echoes through the room. He grips at the tips of his hair and tugs. “Belle Meade is full of secrets, secrets that will soon be revealed to the three of you. You will finally be awakened to the grime that sticks to every surface of this town. It’s been hidden from you for your own safety, but now it’s not, and there is nothing you can do to escape it.”

  “No offense, Mr. Reynolds, but this is all kinds of bullshit. What it sounds like to me is, we’ve been born into this life, where our fate is basically etched in a fucking stone, and you aren’t willing to give us anything. Doesn’t exactly give me the warm and fuzzies.” Amilee checks with Emerson and me. “What about you girls?”

  “Yeah, it’s awfully chilly from where I sit,” I say.

  “So, what are our roles?” Emerson asks. “I mean, clearly there are three of us. So, what are our roles?”

  “Since you’re asking, it won’t hurt to fill you in,” Mr. Reynolds explains, twisting to Amilee. “Amilee, you are the judge. You hold the knowledge inside you to decide who has broken any laws.” His gray eyes shift to Emerson. “You’re the jury, Emerson. You essentially decide if a crime is offensive enough to be punished.”

  My best friends circle in their seats to face me. I despise their matching sympathetic smiles. My jaw goes slack because I already know the role I’m expected to play.

  “Executioner,” I whisper. “I’m the executioner.” My legs begin to tingle, and pain streaks up and down my spine where I envision my wings would be. When I stand, my knees give out.

  “I know the titles seem scary, but I promise they’ll come to you naturally. It will be like a switch is flipped, and you’re reborn to play your part.” Mr. Reynolds’ attempt to calm my nerves is appreciated, but still, the back of my neck becomes slick with sweat.

  “So, where do we go from here?” I ask.

  Amilee reaches her hand across the table, but I jerk mine to my lap. If I’m the executioner, I might as well cool my heart to the point of frozen. She nods in understanding while submissively slinking down in her chair.

  “We train. You learn your heritage. Don’t complain when you have to do some unsavory things. It’s all pretty simple.” Mr. Reynolds stands, circling the table. “Just as your ancestors before you, you aren’t going to be thrilled with some of the things you’ll need to do, to people you’ve considered friends since you were young. Just know you were born into this for a reason.”

  “And what reason is that, exactly?” Amilee asks. “Because as far as I can see, Belle Meade is a normal town with normal people.”

  “Your eyes aren’t open to what this town has hidden, Amilee. Certain secrets will be revealed as you continue your training.” The way Mr. Reynolds stares at me makes me sit up straight. His stare is intense, dark with the truth of his words. “Keep your books safe. If it falls into the wrong hands, well, let’s just say we don’t want that to happen.” Identical books are placed in front of us. “Guard it with your life. If anyone tries to commandeer this from you, you have every right to kill them.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Emerson urges.

  “Every. Right. To. Kill. Them.” Mr. Reynolds enunciates every word. “You will kill them. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You might as well get used to killing people anyway, Lenny.” Amilee giggles. Her attempt to break up the awkwardness, nonetheless, is appreciated.

  “It’s not funny, Ami.” I laugh with her. At this point, it’s either laugh or cry, and I’m not one to cry in front of others.

  “So, what else do we need to do today? Anything is better than spending it here.” I stand, hoping Mr. Reynolds doesn’t stop us. “Grab your things, ladies, and let’s get out of here.”
Emerson and Amilee follow, their books stuck under their arms.

  “We aren’t done here, girls. There’s still a lot to go over,” Mr. Reynolds calls out to us.

  We, like a synchronized dance, circle in his direction. Our hands rest on our hips, and we glare at him. If what we know so far is true, we don’t answer to anyone, and by the way his eyes scream with defeat, I’d say he’s come to the same conclusion.

  “Tomorrow, no matter what, you will have your asses in these seats for as long as I say.”

  “Should you really be demanding things of us, Mr. Reynolds?” I challenge him.

  “You may be the ones to fear, but I will not be intimidated by you.” Mr. Reynolds’ voice shakes as he slings his threat.

  “See you tomorrow, Mr. Reynolds,” we say in unison.

  The sun shines high in the late afternoon sky. We slip our sunglasses on as we pass under the gothic-style doorway leading to the parking lot.

  “Now what?” Emerson asks, a grin on her lips.

  “Let’s go wreak some havoc, shall we?” Amilee’s eyebrows perk up.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask, uncertain of what my own body is capable of.

  The front door of the church slams open.

  “Girls, don’t make me have to remind you, your position in town isn’t public knowledge.” Mr. Reynolds pants through several deep breaths. “It’s imperative to keep it within a close circle.” He points at us. “You hold more power in your tiny bodies than you’ll ever begin to understand.”

  “No one can know?” I question.

  “Lennox, the three of you are going to do things some may find unforgivable. You don’t want word getting around that you’re responsible for family members missing. Do you understand?” The tension created by the subject, bulges from his neck in the form of a feisty vein.

  “Essentially,” I bark.

  “Good girls,” Mr. Reynolds says.

  “Mr. Reynolds,” I call before he can slip back inside.

  “Yes?” He faces me.

  “The missing people, the signs in the grocery store, is that all because of . . .” I let the thought drift into silence, afraid of his answer.

  “Lennox, try to relax. I shouldn’t be letting you girls loose, but something tells me you need today to process everything. Tomorrow, the hard part begins,” he explains.

  “Thank you,” we say over each other.

  “And girls, Happy Birthday. I never had the chance to say that last night.” Mr. Reynolds smiles before disappearing into the church.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper, running my hands through my hair. “What the hell is happening?”

  “Our birth right is a big, filthy bitch,” Amilee answers, wrapping her arms through mine and Emerson’s. “Now, let’s figure out a way to celebrate the shittiest birthdays we’ve had in nineteen years. You heard the old man. Tomorrow our lives are fucked.”

  Chapter Five

  Lennox

  Clothes are scattered all over Emerson’s large bedroom, and makeup covers the vanity in her en-suite bathroom. Amilee cranks the music until it’s pulsing through the room. The three of us dance as if we have no worries. But oh boy, do we have plenty.

  “So, where are we going tonight? And, please, tell me it isn’t Hannigans.” I slip the slouchy sweater over my head and fidget with the material until it slips off my left shoulder and exposes the perfect amount of skin.

  “No, Lenny, you can take a deep breath. We aren’t going to the forest. I still don’t understand your fear of the place.” Amilee concentrates on smearing red lipstick across her mouth. “Dylan’s having a party in our honor.” She smacks her lips together and makes a silly ducky face.

  “Dylan, huh?” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “Give it a rest.” Amilee slaps the air between us. “He’s gorgeous. I like to look at him.”

  “Are we thinking about letting him kiss us?” I nudge her in the side, snatching the black tube of lipstick and applying a matching shade.

  “I’m thinking about letting him do more than just kiss us.” Amilee smirks, leaving the bathroom.

  “What about you, Lennox? Any guys catching your eye?” Emerson asks, knowing the answer.

  In the past, I haven’t bothered with gallivanting with the opposite sex like most girls my age. It’s not that they weren’t vying for my attention.

  My mind zips back to that last night in the woods. Edric.

  “Nope,” I say with a shrug.

  “No one?” Amilee pokes.

  “Does it look like I have time for a guy? I just found out that I’m essentially the Grim Reaper.” I separate the top half of my hair and secure the bundle with a ponytail holder.

  “There’s always time for a guy, even if you lurk in the night to kill those who cross you,” Amilee jokes. I scowl in her direction, and she shrugs. “What, too soon? And nonetheless, something tells me this job is going to be lonely, so you might as well have someone warm to come home to at night.”

  “I’ve never met someone who does it for me,” I admit. “You know what I mean? Someone who mixes my insides to a pile of mush. The kind of person who makes even the cruelest day seem bearable.”

  “I’m talking about sex, Lennox. You don’t have to get married to get, you know, a little stimulated,” Amilee suggests, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

  “Clever advice coming from a sassy little slut like yourself, Amilee.” Emerson snickers behind her.

  “I’m hardly a slut,” Amilee argues her innocence.

  “How many?” I ask. This number is something I should know, but at some point, I’d stopped paying attention.

  Amilee holds up her fingers one by one until all ten stand at attention. Her slow stare to her wiggling bare toes says enough. “What?” She shrugs.

  “If you can’t count them on your two hands, and you’re only nineteen?” Emerson offers.

  “I own my shit, okay? That doesn’t make me a slut. It makes me . . .” Amilee’s words fade.

  “Free?” I suggest.

  “Open?” Emerson adds.

  “One day, Lennox, the right boy’s going to come along and rip your thick exterior and other things down.” Amilee reaches toward my jean zipper, and I swat her hand away.

  “Very funny,” I growl. “Now, can we get going?” Outside, it’s already dark. “It’s getting late.”

  “We can’t show up early to our own party, Lennox,” Emerson argues, grabbing a clutch from her desk and tucking it under her arm.

  Amilee and I follow Emerson down the grand staircase. Mrs. Saville is waiting at the bottom with a bright smile on her face and three cupcakes on a silver platter. A single candle burns in the middle of each treat.

  Mrs. Saville beams with pride when she spots her daughter. “I know yesterday wasn’t what you girls expected.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Emerson kisses her mother on the cheek before blowing out the candle. Amilee blows hers out, leaving me for last.

  “Maybe your wishes will come true,” Mrs. Saville says.

  “Doubtful,” Emerson whispers. “We’re headed over to Dylan’s,” she explains. “Don’t wait up.”

  “You don’t need to tell me where you’re going, sweetie. You’re an adult now with new responsibilities. If I can’t trust you to be safe and make wise decisions, then how can I trust you to take care of Belle Meade?”

  There it is, another reminder of our responsibilities.

  Mrs. Saville checks us all over. Her head nods, almost like she understands our apprehension and fear.

  “It’s all going to be okay, girls. Go have fun.” She smiles, her smile lasting longer when she shifts her attention to her daughter. “But not too much fun. And please, don’t forget that no one can know. The secret stays between our families and a select few.”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” Emerson says, waving as we walk out the front door.

  In the driveway sits a familiar black town car. As we approach, my mystery driver from last night steps out, a grin perfe
ctly in place.

  “Good evening, ladies. I’ll be driving you,” he says.

  Amilee and Emerson jump up and down. They’re just happy no one needs to argue about who will be the designated driver. As they slip inside, I stand still, my eyes never leaving the dark god.

  “Lennox.” He gestures to the open door.

  “You know, you could have warned me.” My clenched fists bite into my hips. Something tells me he knew exactly where he was leading me and a part of me would love to slap his beautiful face right now.

  “Are we really going to do this?” He braces his hand on the top of the door. “It wasn’t my business to tell, miss.”

  “But you know what I am?” I ask.

  “Yes, ma’am, I know what you are,” he answers.

  “We were told only a select few know about our presence here in town. So, please, explain what makes you so special to be privy to that information?” I straighten my spine, pretending confidence I don’t quite feel.

  “I’m your driver.” His eyes twitch from side to side but never truly land on mine.

  “You’re lying,” I say. “Now, if you aren’t going to tell me why, at least tell me your name.”

  “Victor, ma’am. I’m responsible for your well-being while you are away from the safety of your home.”

  “Ahh, see”—I click my tongue—“Victor, you just gave yourself away. You aren’t just my driver. You’re my security. There’s no just dropping me off, is there?”

  This is when I should thank him, but I won’t. I never like someone to have the upper hand, especially someone who I don’t know, and if Victor knows I’m grateful for his intrusion, then I’ll be indebted to him.

  “No, ma’am. I’ll be present at all times; you just won’t see me,” he answers.