by Abbie Lyons
“You spied on me, or something,” I said. “You must have followed me home—”
“Did you see yourself? You looked like a wreck,” Aidan said. “I felt sorry for you.”
The words came out sounding perfectly nice. Rationally, I knew that. But still. There was something about hearing someone be sorry for you—not sorry for your loss, sorry for you—that can make you feel utterly pathetic.
“So what, did you set my apartment on fire too?” I cried. “Was that supposed to be helping me out?”
“No, I swear!” Aidan did a palms-up; my eyes had adjusted enough that I could see him. He honestly looked kind of scared, and my mind’s eye flashed back to Marius, glowering at me—at both of us—just moments ago. “That wasn’t me at all. I wouldn’t even know how to do that. But when I saw it, well, I wasn’t gonna let you die, right? And then...well, I had a letter with your name on it. And you didn’t have anywhere to live. And I just...” He scratched the back of his head. “Gods, you shouldn’t be here.”
The words were like ice down my spine. Even though I knew this was the truth.
“Why did you have the letter for me if you were coming after Scott?” I managed. “None of this makes sense.”
“It does,” Aidan says. “I swear, it does, but I can’t tell you anything else. You just have to trust me, okay? I thought I was helping. I thought—”
BANG. The door to our closet-space flew open. The light that hit us was hard and bright, and outside voices were clamoring. A male voice I recognized was roaring with anger.
“Get—out!”
I stumbled out into the light, finally freed of the claustrophobic space, head swimming, and saw the party had devolved into pandemonium. And not just regular spilled drinks and broken lamps party pandemonium, but—
A winged figure was hovering in the middle of the room, face contorted.
Marius.
Holding had a guy by the throat.
“You never speak,” Marius bit out, his voice reverberating off of every wall, “of that again. You are banished from here.” He dropped the victim, who crumpled to the ground. Marius looked around, his massive wingspan powerful as he turned his gaze about the room.
Chapter Ten
I’d never been so excited to go to classes.
“Excited” was a relative term, because it wasn’t like I was actually happy about sitting in a classroom. But I was pretty shaken up about what had happened at the party, and if classes had any kind of answers in them, then I was going to be goddamn excited about them.
The classes were in a series of buildings scattered across campus, a total culture shock from the last time I’d been in school, a cinderblock one-building high school that had looked more like a prison than any place for education. Then I’d ended up getting my GED anyway, which was way more my speed.
Here, though, I was going from one gorgeous architectural marvel to the next. After waking up with a throbbing head, I’d slipped out of bed and gotten dressed in my uniform, done my best with my night-after-a-party hair, and swiped some food from the dining hall (whole grain waffles and yerba mate tea, whatever that was. It didn’t taste too awful). Violet was already up and out of the room by the time I woke up, which was probably for the best.
Chomping away the remainder of my to-go waffle, I swung the school-issued messenger bag around my body and pulled out my class schedule. First up was...
“Philosophy of Human Emotion,” grunted the man at the front of the classroom. It was the little guy I’d almost mowed down the other day. He didn’t look any happier than he had then. “I’m Professor Silvestri. You’re the fresh meat. Let’s not make this any worse than we have to.”
Someone raised their hand in the front row—the Honoria chick from last night.
“What?” he said. “How can you possibly have a question already? I haven’t even said anything.”
“Honoria,” she said, even though he hadn’t asked her name. “I just wanted to confirm that this is the class for anyone aspiring to be a cupid?”
“This is the class for anyone who’s been assigned to the class,” Professor Silvestri said. He reminded me a little bit of Danny DeVito, which was somehow funny to me in spite of everything. “But yeah, fine, since you asked. The purpose of some guardians—who some call cupids—is to spark love between two humans, but you can’t just spark love between any two humans. They gotta be emotionally compatible. So you gotta know how emotions work. This class is all about understanding those human emotions.”
Inwardly, I groaned. I wanted to pick up arcane secrets, and instead I was in a class about getting in touch with my feelings? No thank you.
We spent the rest of the class listening to Professor Silvestri droning on and on about theories of the rational mind versus the limbic system...or something like that. I wasn’t listening. My brain was too tapped out from the previous evening, and the waffle’s carbs were starting to make me sleepy.
“Hey!”
A friendly guy-voice woke me back up as I zombie-stumbled out into the hall for my next class. It was Steve, the guy from Casablanca. I eyed him warily.
“Hey,” I said back.
“What a class, right? Ol’ Silvy there seems like he’s gonna be a real tough cookie. Hey, you doing okay after last night? You just kinda took off after the, uh...”
“The fight broke out?” I said. “Yeah. It was a little much.”
“Sorry about that,” Steve said, sounding genuine. “But man, shit got crazy almost as soon as you and Aidan went in the bookcase. I didn’t hear exactly what went down, but I guess that guy was like, shit talking Marius’s mom or something—”
“His mom?” I squinted as we left the classroom building for the bright midday sun of the quad.
“Or something,” Steve said affirmatively. “Like I said, I didn’t hear. But it musta been something like that for Marius to get that pissed off, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Where does Marius, like, hang out?”
“Oh, from what I can tell, he doesn’t do any relaxing,” Steve said cheerfully, peeling a banana he apparently had been carrying. “Hey, what’s your next class?”
I glanced at my parchment. “Protective Magic.”
“Me too! Wanna walk together?”
We already are? “Sure. Anyway, you were saying?”
“Oh yeah.” Steve chomped away at his banana, gesturing with the peel as he spoke. “You know what they say about those guys. It’s either going to class, getting some ass, or hitting up prac...tice.” Steve frowned. “Wait, maybe it’s something else.”
“When’s practice?”
“Ooh, I hate to break it to ya, Quinn, but there’s no women’s team.” Steve looked apologetic.
“No, I just want to...watch?” Was that a thing?
“It’s in the afternoons,” Steve said. “But I don’t think they like spectators for practice. I’ve actually been thinking about going out for the team myself, but—”
We stopped in front of our next classroom.
“Hey!” Lucy waved from the front row of desks. I sat down next to her, still thinking. Steve waved back.
“Oh good, you both survived!” he said. “Thus maintaining my perfect no-fatality record as a Casablanca bouncer.”
I was about to ask if fatalities were a serious risk at Casablanca when the professor swept in. It was Tavi, she of the pink hair, dressed to kill in a tailored jumpsuit and wrap blazer. She beamed at us as the rest of the class settled in.
“Welcome, class! I am so excited to be teaching first years. This is protective magic.
“Now, as you know, there are four main classes of guardian: Restorative, retributive, protective, and attractive.”
Was she serious? Attractive? My face must have showed disbelief, or else she just noticed I was there, because she caught my eye and smiled. “Ergo, the purpose of some guardians is to protect humans: against danger, anguish, fear, or any number of things. To do that, you’re going to have to lea
rn a bit of magic. Not all of you will end up as protective guardians, but the base skill set is fundamental and necessary.”
After that, it was an incredibly dull class about translating ancient sutras—“and NOT the kama sutra,” said the professor, a skittish looking man of about fifty named Professor Devon. “So get all those jokes out of your system now.”
My last class of the day was...
“Yoga?” I couldn’t actually believe it. I was tempted to skip, actually. Just go back to my room, and, I don’t know...lie in bed and think about what the fuck my life had become. But as I studied my map, I realized that the yoga class was located directly beside the athletic facilities—AKA the stadium. And if what Steve said was true, then the team would probably be practicing right about now.
Where the team was, there was Marius.
So sure, I’d go to yoga. But only if I could find a way to spy.
I HATED TO ADMIT IT, but probably the easiest place to spy on them from would be a tree.
Goddammit.
As far as I could tell, the stadium was kind of like a soccer stadium, except that this soccer stadium was inside a literal coliseum made of stone. Fortunately, I guess, for me, the actual practice field was a ways away in a clearing.
I scaled the tree quickly, considering I was a city girl for most of my life, and only scraped my shin once. Damn these stupid skirts. And so much for that yoga class helping me be more flexible. Once I was situated on a branch, I pushed aside some leaves and tried to peer out and see what was going on. I had never been much of a sports watcher before, but this was definitely beyond anything I was even remotely familiar with. If I had to liken it to an actual human sport, I would say it was sort of like a combination between soccer and polo, except played in midair. And with some kind of flying disc thing. Like if hockey and ultimate frisbee had a child that was murderous and played by angels.
Whatever it was, I could tell that Marius was pretty good at it, too.
He soared and swept through the air like a champion diver, tearing past opponents with frightening speed. But the rest of them were impressive, too—whatever they were doing. Basically, there was a lot of lining up, sort of like football, but the “line” was three-dimensional, more of a wall in midair. Then there was scrimmaging, passing forward, fouls, passes, what have you. But there was also tackling, and if you've never seen a guy get knocked out of midair, fall twenty feet, and slam into the turf, well...this was your chance to do that.
As they chanted out their various play calls and darted around in formation, their wings flapping into the air, I had to admit that I was pretty curious, and my curiosity must have gotten the best of me, because I was leaning forward so far that I didn't notice my hands leave the branch of the tree that I had been holding onto for security. I didn't notice the leaves brushing off of my shoulders and leaving me more and more exposed. I was too fixated on the easy grace and athleticism of Marius flinging the disc to his teammates, cupping his hands around his mouth and barking out orders in that raspy, deep voice. And then I guess he was getting hot, because he took off his T-shirt.
Fuck me. I would never mess with another girl's girlfriend, but come on.
He flung the shirt down toward the turf and it slammed against one of the painted lines that I couldn't quite figure out the purpose of...because it's not like any of this game was played on the ground.
My concentration broke, and with it broke the tenuous grip I had on my branch. My fingers went loose and I felt my shoes scrape and give way from my footing.
“Shit!” I yelled as I plunged from my leafy hiding place all the way down to the ground. I winced, and before I hit the ground, I wondered: is this what it feels like? Because this is the stupidest way to die.
Impact never came. Instead, I found myself falling upward, pulled by some unseen force, and when I dared to open my eyes, I saw that it was Marius carrying me.
Goddammit. Again.
“I can explain,” I said, even though I obviously couldn't. I couldn't even explain to myself why I thought this was a good idea, spying on them from a tree instead of just trying to find a time when I could get Marius by himself. But that time had passed.
“Don't bother,” he said. His wings pumped powerful gusts of wind around us as we settled just outside the ring of trees and, as far as I could tell, out of view of the rest of the players. Gradually we slowed and he sent me on the ground. My knees embarrassingly wiggly as I got my footing again.
“Look, I—”
“I get it,” he said tersely. “You probably want explanations, and...” Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a stunned look. “Gods,” he said. “Your face.”
“What?” I said, and instinctively touched a hand to my forehead, then my temple.
It felt wet. My fingers came away ruby red.
“Gods. You must have scraped yourself.” Marius said. “Those trees are full of thorns. I have no idea what you were thinking.”
“That makes two of us,” I bit out. Looking at my red fingertips made me queasy and a little dizzy. I wasn't a baby, but I really didn't like the sight of blood. In spite of myself, I wobbled a bit.
“Here.” Marius held out his hand and I flinched instinctively, darting away.
“Don't touch me,” I said. He withdrew his hand, but not all the way. I became very aware of the fact that he still wasn't wearing a shirt and was still breathing hard. His skin was lightly tanned and glistening. And clearly he'd been doing some kind of training regimen, because his muscles were taut and hard. I wasn't noticing, though. I definitely wasn't. But he wasn't wearing a shirt, so there wasn't much I could do short of closing my eyes.
“Relax,” he said, his voice huskier, but somehow less harsh, less abrasive. “Here.”
When I looked back at his face, his wings folded and disappeared. He looked for all intents and purposes like a regular human guy. Well, except for his admittedly preternatural bad attitude. This time, when he reached his hand to my forehead, I didn't draw back. But I did close my eyes and I felt the soft touch of his fingertips, warm but not clammy, as they skated across the skin of my forehead, then my temple. A cool sensation flooded across my skin, and when I opened my eyes and touched my head again, the bleeding had stopped.
“How did you...”
“I'm a guardian,” he said shortly. “Don't do that again. Now what do you want?”
“Sorry, I—” I put my hand to my forehead again, even though there was no need. Was I still dizzy? I felt like an idiot. Everything I had been thinking about so intently had flowed out of my head. No, focus. Think about Scott. Remember what Aidan told you.
“Why were you after my brother? Why won't even tell me anything? You know something so fucking tell me.” I swallowed, a hitch in my voice that I was desperate to get rid of. “You know I don't belong here. I'm human.”
“You are,” he agreed. Something about the words was like a cannonball slamming into my stomach. I knew I was human, I knew I was, except for that one brief seizure-like moment where I thought I had turned invisible, which I was convinced with some kind of hallucination brought on by stress or not eating or something. But to hear Marius say it felt final, felt definite. I don't know why I cared about being judged by him in particular. But still it knocked the breath out of me.
“So what am I doing here?” I asked. “Why me? You wanted Scott. He's dead. You got me.
That was a mistake.”
“Yeah,” Marius said. “It was.”
“Then why did you have an envelope with my name on it?”
Marius’s breathing had steadied a bit, and he dragged a wrist across his forehead to wipe off the rest of the sweat. In the distance, I could hear male voices shouting, and Marius put his hands on his hips, looking back toward the practice field.
“Just go,” I said. “You don't need to know.”
“I'll stay,” he said. “They need the cardio of just running around for a bit.” His gaze was flinty. “But I can't talk lon
g. What I'm about to tell you is not something that anyone should know who doesn't have the proper authority. And you definitely don't. Not just because you're not a guardian, but because even Guardians don't know a lot of what I'm going to tell you. But since you're here and these circumstances are extraordinary...” He chewed his lip and looked up from the ground, hands still on his hips. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, like I wanted him to take me into his arms and hold me against his chest, which was a ridiculous impulse.
I hated myself for it.
He wasn't mine.
I wasn't anybody's.
And I was here to find out answers, not cry on some dude’s shoulder.
“Scott was supposed to be one of us.”
“A guardian,” I said.
“No,” Marius said. “In the Order. Which I'm pretty sure you know about, so you don't have to play dumb.”
The twitch at the corner of his mouth indicated that that was as close as he’d ever come to telling a joke. I was known for being serious—Scott called me stony—but this guy made me look like a stand-up comedian.
“I have,” I said. “I'm not going to bullshit you. I don't know what it is and I don't know what you're all about, but I know it exists. As far as I can tell it's some kind of weird exclusive Angel fraternity.”
“It's more than that,” Marius said, “but sure.” His brushing aside of my assessment hurt my feelings, but I ignored it. “And the thing about fraternities is...”
I followed his train of thought immediately. “They are all male.”
“We're supposed to induct 7 new members every year.”
What is it with Guardians and the number 7? I wondered. This and the Greek everywhere.
“So Scott was one of them,” I said. Marius nodded. “And Aidan was too late to come give him his personal engraved invitation. So why do you have one with my name?”
“That's where the mistake comes in.”
“Why?”
He darted a glance at me that I would have almost said was playful if I didn't know him better. “Did you know that Quinn can be a man's name as well as a woman’s?”
