Angels of Belle Meade

by Lindsey Iler

  “Do you mind if I check some of this stuff out?” I stare inside the folder to avoid meeting my aunt’s gaze.

  “Knock yourself out. There’s nothing of any use in there.” She leaves me to it.

  By the time the sun begins to set, stacks of books and papers litter the desk. Footfalls land on the stairs, and I still, hoping I haven’t run out of time.

  “What are you doing?” Garrison enters the room and shifts the papers around. “Do I even want to know?”

  “I’m searching for information about a red stone. There’s nothing here.” I circle the library, hoping to find something, anything.

  “Like the family red stone?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, stunned Garrison knows more than I do.

  “Jesus, I’m the last person this family trusts, but you seriously are fully in the dark.” He shakes his head. “When a Blackstone is born, we are each given a rock. It has our family crest on it.”

  “And what purpose does it hold?” My eyes narrow. What exactly is Garrison saying?

  “Everyone is different. Mine has a healing power.” He shrugs. “But they’re sort of useless. They don’t work on us. They’re meant for the person chosen for us.”

  “And we’re each meant to have one?” I ask to clarify.

  “As far as I know.” He waves as he walks out, not knowing he’s leaving me with the very information I came here to find.

  Lennox has the stone I never knew existed. Why wasn’t I given the right to pass it to her?

  If it’s a family tradition, if half-breed Garrison has one, then how did this birth right evade me?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lennox

  “He cannot come back here again, Lennox. You are putting yourself and the rest of us at risk.” Mr. Reynolds’ voice booms through the trial room.

  I shake my head, looking at Amilee and Emerson for the first time since entering the room. Amilee’s eyes stay on her feet, while Emerson’s are focused directly on me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, waltzing over to my throne and sitting down. The stone’s ridges fit the curves of my hand, reminding me of its presence and purpose.

  “One of you broke the simplest rule of them all, and now, we have to go to trial to correct the wrong,” Mr. Reynolds explains.

  “I didn’t tell him what we are, what we do. He already knew,” I explain, frantic of what will happen next.

  “Not you, Lennox. The Blackstones know what your families are because they are your opposites.” Mr. Reynolds’ attention swings over to Amilee, who hesitantly peeks up from her shoes. “Amilee . . .”

  Mr. Reynolds leaves the room. Immediately, I jump from the throne and run to my best friend. Emerson rests a soft hand on her arm, quietly letting her know she’s there for her.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I didn’t mean to tell him.” A harsh wail escapes Amilee’s mouth.

  A door slams, and Mr. Reynolds drags a person with a dark cloak over his head before the thrones.

  This is becoming all too familiar.

  The three of us take our seats, preparing for our next trial.

  “I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” Amilee whispers.

  I glance at her and then to the center of the room. A muffled grunt breaks through the thick fabric over the stranger’s face. He’s struggling as he pulls on his shackled arms. What’s his plan? Even if he breaks free, there’s nowhere for him to go. The Peacekeeper has spoken. He’s the reason we are here, the purpose behind my fiery bones.

  This person’s life will end.

  At the thought, my heart begins to race. It’s different this time. Sitting in Mr. Smelks’ home last night was terrifying, but now, seeing this person quiver, awaiting their fate, stirs something deep within me. Edric called it blood thirst. My brain inventories the weapons in my arsenal.

  Which one will I use this time?

  The blade was fun, but this time, I think I’ll go a little more complicated.

  “Dylan Chadwick’s crime is a complicated one. Please, Angels, take this one into consideration,” Mr. Reynolds says, easy and free of any burden.

  At the mention of Dylan’s name, my head springs up. Mr. Reynolds pulls the cloak from his head, and Dylan’s eyes burn into mine.

  The stranger isn’t one, after all. In front of me stands my childhood best friend.

  I start to stand, but Emerson’s hand grips my forearm, stopping me from running to Dylan. With a hand over my mouth, a cry escapes me, but I dig deep, realizing my time hasn’t run out.

  There is still time to save him.

  “What is his crime?” I rise, using the back of my legs against the harsh throne as a means to stay upright. “I demand to hear the crimes he’s accused of.”

  Mr. Reynolds strides forward. “No one demands anything from me.” A deep growl rumbles beneath his words, a warning to keep me in my place.

  “Consider me no one. Tell me his crimes.” The thumping of blood in my ears nearly deafens me. “Now!”

  At my thunderous tone, Mr. Reynolds flinches. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll start spilling information to me as I request it.

  “I’ll tell her,” Amilee says. Her eyes soften a fraction as they land on Dylan. “We’re meant to be a secret.”

  “But you told Dylan,” I finish.

  Amilee shudders at the truth. “Dylan wasn’t acting normal. Something was off. I kept on him, asking him what was going on, but he wouldn’t tell me. He found out there’s some unheard-of link between him and the Blackstones, some deep-seated secret. He felt alone, saying things like he didn’t think he belonged with his family. To make him understand the amount of secrets in this town, I told him there are things we’ve never known about roaming amongst us.”

  “So, you told him about us, what we do?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Lenox, please, do something,” Dylan pleads, pulling my attention away from Amilee.

  At his outburst, Mr. Reynolds strikes him with his fist. Dylan falls to his knees.

  I’m stuck between one loyalty and the other.

  I’m an Angel.

  I’m also his friend.

  Where do I draw the line? Does one end where the other begins, never to connect?

  “Lennox, listen to me!” Dylan screams, reaching a hand out to me.

  Mr. Reynolds stands beside Dylan’s crumpled body. “This is unlike any trial we’ve held before. He has committed no crime, other than being lent an ear by an Angel, and now, he poses a threat to each of you.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret!” Dylan shouts his promises.

  I believe him.

  It doesn’t matter though. The Peacekeeper, the hidden figure dictating our trials, will never allow Dylan to walk.

  Kill or be killed.

  “Since no crime has been committed, it’s up to you, Amilee. You will be the judge of his fate. You will etch his fate in stone for an eternity.”

  “I can’t,” she begs, looking at Dylan and then at Mr. Reynolds. When she turns back to Dylan, his eyes soften a fraction as she watches him.

  “You can, and you will,” Mr. Reynolds commands, coming forward and tucking his head close to Amilee’s. She dries her tears as he whispers in her ear. Whatever he says shocks her, and she sits a little bit taller.

  “Where there is a threat, there is a solution.” Amilee’s voice is shaking. “And the only solution for silence is removal.” She hands me a small blade.

  “You want me to cut out his tongue?” I take the knife and clasp it in my hand.

  “There is no other option, Lennox,” Emerson urges, nudging me forward.

  “No! No!” Dylan screams.

  “Lennox, do you believe in magic?” Dylan asks, sitting up in his bed. His hair is shorter now. He looks older. He only cut it because he was afraid the other boys would make fun of him. I miss the length though.

  I’m on the floor, tucked in my sleeping bag. It’s our Friday
night ritual, has been since we were in kindergarten. While others don’t understand our friendship, why I’d rather chase frogs instead of playing with Barbies, Dylan’s always gotten me.

  Do I believe in magic? It’s a bit of a loaded question. I’ve witnessed someone do magic before.

  The one time my mother took me out of Belle Meade as a child, I saw a man on the corner doing magic tricks. He had a deck of cards spread out in his hands and gestured for me to pick one. I tapped one, and he handed it to me. I tucked it back in the deck, but Mother pulled me away, disgusted I’d even entertained him. Before I got too far, the magician tapped his coat pocket, telling me to check my own.

  In the middle of the street, I reached into my pocket, and there it was. The ace of spades. My card. The one I’d picked out of all fifty-two.

  “Dylan, I do believe in magic,” I say, knowing it’s my full truth.

  “Sometimes I look at you and think you possess a bit of magic, Lenny. Is that strange?” Dylan sits up, no longer the little boy who dried my tears when Timmy Gallagher pushed me down on my way home, but a grown boy heading straight toward manhood as fast as a freight train.

  He’s always been my savior, the one constant in my life I’ve never doubted.

  I shiver as the memory loosens its hold on me.

  “It’s okay, Lennox,” he whispers. “Death is easy. Death in spite. I will learn this all tonight.”

  The words I’d scrawled across the paper at Amilee’s! How does he know them? I never said what spooked me that day.

  “Lennox, I said it’s okay.” Dylan raises his chin, exposing himself to my blade. His mouth falls open, offering me his tongue.

  I lift the blade and quickly skate it across the sensitive skin on his neck. He falls like a rock to the floor, no longer existing in the world where I need him most.

  He was my lifeline to normal, and now, that lifeline is severed.

  Amilee flings herself to the floor beside his body, clutching at his chest. Even with her best effort, she’ll never be able to stop the bleeding.

  “I gave him what he needed. A world without a tongue to speak your truth, isn’t a world Dylan would want to live in. I did him a favor,” I explain.

  “How could you do that to him?” Amilee releases a scream so loud, the glass windows ripple, begging to shatter. “He loved you.”

  “How could I do that to him? How could you?” I toss the knife at her feet. Dylan’s blood smears on the tile. “There are rules for a reason, and you broke the one we all needed you to keep.”

  We all know it’s true. The three of us, as a unit, were given only a few rules, and Amilee broke one that resulted in Dylan’s life ending.

  I can live with my part, but how will she?

  “Now, can we please close this trial because the last place I want to be right now is here,” I beg.

  “Amilee,” Mr. Reynolds barks. She doesn’t answer. Only a whimper tells us she’s alive. “Amilee, we need you. They need you.”

  “How can you do it?” Amilee stands. “How can you be so cold and callous?”

  “I’m not cold, and I’m not callous. I did what he would’ve wanted.”

  “You don’t know that.” She bumps her chest against mine. The fresh blood on her shirt causes me to wince. She pulls it away from her skin and grimaces. “Does this bug you? Seeing his blood on my skin? You spilled it. No one else but you.”

  “And what would you have had me do, huh? Rip out his tongue so he never speaks again?” I shake my head, beginning to feel my anger boiling over. “I did not choose this life, Amilee, just as much as you didn’t choose yours. Unlike you though, I don’t get to sit there and look pretty while someone else does the dirty work.”

  “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

  “Isn’t it, though? Are you trying to tell me you weren’t a single bit relieved when you were crowned the judge?” I cut a glance at Emerson. “Same goes for you.”

  “Lenny,” Emerson whines, knowing it’s the truth.

  “No, don’t. I do what I have to do to survive.” The adrenaline in my tank slowly creeps toward empty. My hands shake uncontrollably, and I tuck them in my pockets to hide the evidence. “The reality is, nothing we have to do is okay, but we do it because we’ve been told we don’t have a choice.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Mr. Reynolds intervenes.

  “Remember the other day when you showed me my weapons, Mr. Reynolds? When you all but promised I would never be asked to spill the blood of another who hadn’t committed a crime?” I dry the tears from the corner of my eyes, angry with myself for allowing them to form.

  “I do.” His gaze drifts to Dylan’s lifeless body.

  “And I’m meant to trust you, right?” I turn my back, heading for the door. “The only crime he committed was falling in love with an Angel and being a friend.”

  “It hurts right now, but, Lennox, it will fade. It comes with the territory. You don’t have a choice,” Mr. Reynolds says again.

  “Has anyone ever denied the position?” I twist on him, locking eyes. “Tell no lies, Mr. Reynolds. This Peacekeeper controls us but isn’t brave enough to show his face, and still we do its biddings.”

  “You don’t do the Peacekeeper’s bidding.”

  “Then what are we doing?” I ask. “Why do I stand here, my best friend’s blood strewn over this room?”

  “You protect your town.”

  “It feels like we’re protecting someone else’s agenda, Mr. Reynolds. How have generations passed where no one has questioned the authority blanket over this town? How is it I’m the first person to question the beliefs and rituals of the Angels?”

  “Perhaps, Lennox”—he smiles—“you are willing to dare the unimaginable.”

  “And what exactly is that?” I bark. My hands extend out, gesturing to our surroundings.

  “Freedom,” he whispers.

  *****

  I take the stairs one at a time, in no hurry to lay my head on my pillow. Once my eyes shut, Dylan’s last words will haunt me.

  Death is easy. Death in spite. I will learn this all tonight.

  The secrets of this town are buried deep. We’re all connected in one way or another. Some ties are sturdy, bound by rituals and blood. The others are fragile, uncertain.

  My room is dark when I walk inside. I flick on my light and a soft glow covers everything.

  A shower doesn’t wipe away the pins and needles pricking every nerve ending in my body.

  Ever since I found out I’m an Angel, I’ve struggled to come to grips that I’d be killing people. It’s the job of the executioner. I will fulfill it, not because I believe in what we’re doing, but because I have no choice. The Callahan blood pumping through me makes it so.

  The person staring back at me in the vanity mirror isn’t someone I recognize. There’s a thrill to that. I’ve been given a chance to become someone completely different than the person I was a month ago.

  I spin when I hear a knock on my door. My father crosses my bedroom floor and sits on the edge of my bed. We watch each other through my mirror.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers, as if he’s afraid someone will hear his sincerity.

  “I killed one of my oldest friends, the one person who believed I held some sort of magic in my little body.” I sit up straighter, hoping the movement will hold my tears at bay. “What do you think?”

  “There’s such uncertainty in this world, Lennox, an uncertainty you haven’t quite learned. You will though.” He stands and kisses the top of my head. “That boy was a casualty on the journey, and that pain you feel, the burning deep down in your gut, it will loosen its grip on you as you learn there are things bigger than you.”

  “I slit his throat. His eyes turned cold right in front of me.” My shoulders sag, and I wail in pain.

  “He was right about one thing, sweetie. You do hold a bit of magic inside of you, a magic no one saw coming, so hold on tight. Don’t let this steal it from you. Fight.�
��

  With those words, he leaves me alone.

  I don’t know what time it is, but I crawl into bed, pulling the covers tightly over me, and cry until sleep nearly takes me. These hands, this body, is capable of ungodly things, and still my soul weeps for the blood loss. I may never completely understand what drives me, what pushes me to commit these acts, or why it feels good in those moments, but I will always know, with every drop of blood that is lost, I will lose a little bit of myself.

  Just when I believe slumber will finally take me, push me further into oblivion, something hits the wall beside my bed. I sit up and hear it again, this time witnessing the picture frames rattle under the pressure.

  “What is Sarah Beth doing?” I say out loud, throwing the covers off me. As my hand hits the doorknob, I hear the same soft pound on the drywall, like a fist against a hard surface.

  My bare feet hit the hardwood floor in the hallway, and the floorboards creak under the pressure, warning me to step softer. Sarah Beth’s door is cracked just enough for me to see inside. There she lays, gently asleep, with her pink floral quilt draped over her still, small body.

  I place my hand on the door and open it. I cover my mouth, masking the gasp desperate to escape. If I allowed myself, I’d scream, but I know it’s no good. Nothing good will come from drawing the attention of Sarah Beth’s nighttime visitor.

  “What do you want?” I whisper.

  At the sound of my voice, the figure moves closer to my sister. I match its steps. Once I’m at the foot of her bed, I grip the footboard. My breathing is heavy, fear stricken for my sister’s safety. I won’t allow anything to happen to her, not under my watch.

  “I don’t want anything.” The muffled voice is strong.

  My eye catches on something shiny, and I inch around the bedpost. A blade appears out of the darkness. The pointy tip glides across Sarah Beth’s hair, pushing it away from her face.

  “You see, Lennox, there are consequences for not fulfilling a trial.”

  “But I did fulfill the trial,” I beg, watching the blade glide across Sarah Beth’s fragile skin, digging in enough not to break the skin, but to alert her nerves.