Revelation (The Guardians, Book 3)

by Katie Klein

  "Wow," I mutter beneath my breath, heels tapping across marble tiles as Carter steers me toward the restaurant just off the main lobby.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Fleming?" The hostess verifies our reservation with a cheerful smile. My throat tightens, eyes flicking to Carter. "The rest of your party has arrived. If you'll follow me. . . ." She grabs two menus, winds through the already crowded dining room as we trail behind. Around us gazes rise, conversations dim, and I find myself twisting a topaz ring around a finger cold with anxiety, a surge of unease making my head grow light.

  Kitty Fleming stands as we approach the table, tiny frame hugged by a simple black sheath, arms draped in a sparkly red shawl. Carter leans down to kiss her on the cheek, and, as she pulls me into a friendly embrace, my memories flit to the last time I saw her: Selena's funeral. Nose raw with grief and wet eyes concealed by designer shades.

  "Let me see it," she insists.

  It takes a moment for me to realize she's asking about the ring, not quite familiar with the role of bride, though it's first on everyone's list—appraisal of this hackneyed gesture of forever love. I lift the rock on my left hand and, as she clasps it in hers, find myself admiring the stone, the setting, the size, along with her.

  "Oh, this is exquisite, Carter," she tells him. "I'm so grateful you didn't inherit your father's poor taste in jewelry." To me, she says: "I must have left a million hints lying around our apartment when we were dating, just to be safe."

  I slip into the booth beside Carter, mustering a polite laugh. "Trust me. I didn't have to do anything like that for Carter," I say, casting a knowing glance. His grin deepens into a lopsided smile, lighting his eyes. And for a second I see the old Carter, hinting at all the times we shared—long rides, long walks, long talks—before any of this ever happened. This charade works for us, suits him well.

  "Well, I know you want to get straight to it," she says, producing a stack of papers, "so here's what the attorneys left for us. These are the contracts with your offer. The seller accepted your terms. This just makes it official."

  "And you're sure this is the best one available?" Carter asks.

  "For your price range, yes. It's in a very safe area," she assures us. "We're still having some crime issues, but we have it on good authority they'll be resolved soon."

  I force my expression not to betray the doubt rolling inside. Good luck with that, I want to tell her.

  "They have onsite security," she continues, "and the HOA dues include access to the tennis courts and a boat slip in the harbor."

  "HOA?" I ask.

  "Homeowner's Association," Carter clarifies, flipping through pages, scanning and initialing and signing.

  "The condo comes fully furnished. The seller was desperate to get rid of it." Mrs. Fleming turns to me, all hand gestures and breathy satisfaction. "I can't wait for you to see it, Genesis. The view is stunning."

  Carter passes the pen, points to where I sign.

  "Your father and I couldn't believe your final offer was accepted," she tells Carter. "In fact, we're looking into a few of the other vacant units as potential investment properties."

  When I finish, I click the pen closed, gather the papers together, and slide them back to Carter's mom.

  "I'll get these in first thing in the morning. The seller said two weeks to close was not a problem."

  "Perfect." Carter leans back in the booth, slips his arm around me, tucking me neatly into the space beneath his shoulder. And, for tonight, I pretend things never changed. That we were never separated by ten thousand miles and two different lifetimes. That this is how we were meant to be from the beginning.

  "So. . . . It goes without saying we're glad you're coming home." Mrs. Fleming plays with the stem of her wine glass, twisting it in circles between her fingers.

  "It was Gee's decision," he says, throwing a glance my way. "Can't take the ocean out of the girl."

  My spine stiffens, straightening. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Fleming. I know this probably came as a huge shock to you."

  A flawless smile. "Please, call me Kitty. And yes, it did. I'll admit it. First that you even left town to begin with," she says, speaking to Carter. "I know you and your father had your differences, but I like to think we could have worked around them without you fleeing to the other side of the state."

  "It was complicated," I mutter, shrugging, hoping this can somehow pass as a suitable explanation for everything we put her through.

  "How is he?" Carter asks.

  She exhales a heavy sigh, refuses to meet his gaze. "Well, you're nearly nineteen, and that makes you an adult. You have your own life that you want to live, and he respects that. He does hope, of course, you'll eventually come to your senses." She reaches for her wine glass, takes a delicate sip, returns it to the table. "You've no idea the little fires I've had to put out since you left. Everyone is talking about it. After I made the mistake of telling Cheryl you'd gotten married, everything snowballed. God, that woman cannot keep her mouth shut." Another sigh, another sip of wine. "There's so much speculation. It's all been very scandalous."

  "I knew people would think I was pregnant," I say, shooting Carter a murderous glare. "I'm not, by the way," I add, for Kitty's sake. "Just so we're clear on that."

  She tips her head back and laughs. "One thing you will quickly learn, Genesis, is that gossip follows the Flemings wherever we go. I'm planning a little soirée in your honor, anyway. As soon as you're settled."

  "No parties, Mom. Please," Carter begs, frowning. "There's a reason we wanted to keep this casual."

  Her hand lifts to stop him, head shaking. "I have been dealing with the Women's Auxiliary at the Club for over two months now, Carter. All I want is a small gathering of close friends and family to introduce Genesis. They'll see there's no scandal apart from two very tempestuous teenagers who decided they couldn't live another day without each other, and our lives will return to semi-normal. You may even get a blender or two out of the deal. Monogrammed towels. His and hers bathrobes."

  Carter groans beside me. "What do you think?" he asks. "Are you okay with a soirée?"

  "I'm okay with monogrammed towels," I mutter.

  Kitty smiles brightly, glass lifting in a toast. "Spoken like a true Fleming."

  ELEVEN

  I breathe crisp, autumn air through my nose, arm stretching, extended. Any distractions—any outside influences—are forced away as I listen, focusing on a world buried in darkness. I aim, squeeze the trigger. Leaves rustle overhead, trees rubbing together, birds escaping the forest. But the sound doesn't explode, echoing off the range like before.

  The silencer works—not quite noiseless, but muted—so vague it would be nearly impossible to determine from where the shot was fired. I try not to imagine a time when this will be an asset.

  I finish the clip, feel my hip for the holster, reaching for a new one to snap into place.

  The breeze shifts, chills crawling up my spine as I count them. Seven. Seven bodies. Standing in a semicircle. Surrounding.

  My chest tightens as I reach for the blindfold, that familiar, nauseating wave tumbling over my body, dragging me to a miserable depth.

  No.

  I push against the vision—the flashes of light, sharp colors.

  Seth.

  My knees weaken, trembling with heartache. He's here. Right next to me. White dress shirt. Dark hair plunging to his eyes. The only thing I ever wanted. Everything I remember. My heart beats erratically, on the verge of exploding, when he disappears, vanishing from sight. I rush the ground. On my knees. Images flickering.

  Seth reaches for me, pulling me from the road and danger. Lifts me off locker room floors. Wraps his arms around me. Lures me from the sea. Hauls me from flame. . . . My mind swirls in fits and starts, month after month after month replaying in such rapid succession my stomach is left turning.

  I rip the blindfold from my eyes, blinking fiercely.

  Clouds bruise the late afternoon sky.

  Six men and
one woman border the edge of the forest, assessing me, clothes better suited for a passion play—dark brown robes, pearly white sashes cinching their waists—like they've stepped out of the past. The men have long hair—white or gray—reaching past their shoulders, beards unshaven for what might be decades. The woman is slender beneath the shroud, flaxen hair spilling in ringlets down her back, red lips set in a deep frown. Only one looks different from the rest. Younger. Clean-faced. Salt and pepper hair cropped close to his head.

  He steps forward, separating from them, producing the annihilated target. "Very impressive, Ms. Green." His voice carries, filling the space between us. "Mara trained you well."

  The Council.

  A tremor slides along my skin, muscles quivering as I rise unsteadily.

  A smile flickers, thinning, eyes measuring mine. "You're a very difficult person to find."

  "You managed," I point out.

  He exchanges a look with another, and the older man's plump cheeks redden with laughter. They share a quick conversation in an unknown tongue, and the chuckles spread across the group.

  My fingers grip the gun tighter, squeezing in my fist as I practice self-restraint. "What do you want?" I ask. The laughter dissolves, pure arrogance left in its wake. Arrogance times seven.

  "The question, Genesis—may I call you Genesis?" My jaw tightens, smarting from pressure, as I refuse to answer. "The question is," he continues, "what do you want?"

  His face flashes in my head, a memory.

  "You wanted to help us—to make a difference. You were desperate for a purpose. You demanded it." I swallow hard, unsure of the direction this conversation is heading. "But above all else, you wanted something that could never be yours."

  Seth.

  "Someone," I correct.

  "You failed," he simply says. The words hang frozen in the air, suspended, my every regret confirmed aloud. "You failed miserably. Your selfish pursuits have cost you everything. Everyone you tried to help is gone. Everyone in your inner circle . . . gone. Your Guardian is fallen because of you. You let a demon possess you—a demon who, I should mention, is now controlling you from the outside. You were given a gift, Genesis. Great responsibility. The chance—the opportunity—to change the world. And now everyone around you has suffered the consequences of your actions."

  "Seth only killed to protect me," I explain, chest aching, struggling to keep my voice level. The wind shifts, leaves swirling across the forest floor, the air around us thick and charged.

  "Seth is not a Guardian," he reminds me. "He is no longer our concern."

  My heart inches to my throat, temper flaring, pointed and defiant. "He's my concern, and he shouldn't be punished for what he did. He doesn't deserve to go to Hell."

  A wicked, egotistical smile. "At some point in our lives, we all deserve Hell."

  "Why don't you tell me why you're here," I demand.

  "Very well. Despite our reservations, we are impressed with the level of success you've exhibited in such a short frame of time. Tell me, Ms. Green. What skills do you possess?"

  "Self-defense. Combat. Knife-throwing." I wave my gun. "Firearms."

  The Council members exchange looks among them.

  "And you know of the centers. What it takes to kill a Diabol."

  My body grows rigid, cautious. "Yes."

  "Excellent."

  My skin burns with cold as another draft blows between us, eyes connecting with the woman's icy blue. She shakes her head ever so slightly, ringlets shifting. Doubting me. A spark of biting anger flames inside. "Just tell me what you want from me."

  "We hesitate. It appears you're already marked."

  The tattoo stings beneath the sleeve of my sweatshirt, a reminder of the promise I made, that I would do whatever it takes. That, even now, I'll do whatever it takes. "I'd still like to hear what you have to say."

  "You are not loyal to this demon, then? This Diabol who wishes to control you?"

  "No one controls me. I'm loyal to myself. And whoever can return Seth to me," I add, the words a gamble, jeopardy on my lips as I voice them.

  One of the Council members moves to speak, but the man—the one with shorter hair—lifts a hand, silencing him.

  "And if we could promise that Seth would be restored to his place as your Guardian, you would consider assisting us?"

  Without hesitation: "Yes. I would."

  Something like surprise writes itself across his features, eyes widening. "Yet you have no idea what we plan to require of you. The potential danger. The cost."

  "Look," I begin. "My whole life flipped upside down this year. I chased demons. I killed. I watched my friends suffer. Die. Nothing you could possibly ask of me is worse than what I've already done, and nothing I could experience is worse than what I've already seen."

  An amused smile. "We shall see. At this time, we only want to know we have your word—that you're willing to help us. Further instructions will be provided at a later time."

  "So that's it?" My eyes bounce from Council Member to Council Member, choked with disbelief. All of the anticipation. All of the sleepless nights, this never-ending nothing. . . . "So I'm stuck waiting? Again?"

  "For everything there is a season," he says.

  A forced laugh, a surge of murderous fury. "What does that even mean? What kind of time frame are we talking about? A few days? Weeks? Years?"

  "Soon."

  I don't know what "soon" means to them. I don't have a forever to wait. But, unless Viola comes for me, I'm without options. "Whatever. I'll be back in South Marshall within the week. You can find me there."

  Quiet laughter ripples through the group. "Running to your demon?"

  "It was my home, first," I remind them.

  TWELVE

  They disappear as quickly as they arrived, vanishing within a blink. The wind pushes through trees, the naked branches swaying, bony fingers stretched skyward. I stare at nothing. At empty space. Aside from my racing pulse, the Council left no evidence of their visit at all and, if I just stand here long enough, I could even convince myself the entire assembly was imagined. That they do not exist. That this never happened.

  I cram the gun into my hip holster, climb the steps leading to the deck, take one, final glance at the back yard. Deserted.

  Inside, Carter sifts through stacks of papers, stopping occasionally to scratch something out, to write a note in a margin, his laptop open beside him.

  "There was a fire last night. In South Marshall. The old Palms Hotel burned to the ground," he says.

  "Viola?"

  "Or someone connected to her. They're calling it a serial arson."

  "That's convenient."

  At this, he changes the subject. He's thinking about pizza for dinner, if it's all right with me. He also grabbed a few cardboard boxes from the grocery store for the move, because we shouldn't need many.

  "Pizza's fine," I tell him.

  He glances up at me. "You okay?"

  I hesitate an answer: "Yeah."

  He flips to another page in the pile. "You don't look it."

  I force my eyes not to roll. "Thanks." But I know I have to tell him. And I know he's going to hate this. "It's just . . . the Council stopped by," I mutter, hoping the words will disappear between us, that they won't reach his ears, that he won't hear them.

  But his eyes prick to mine, narrowing, giving his undivided attention. "What?"

  "The Council decided to pay me a visit."

  "Now?" He leaps from his seat, crossing the room in seconds, peering through glass doors at empty woods.

  "They're already gone."

  He faces me, accusing. "Why didn't you call for me?"

  "I didn't—I wasn't in any kind of danger."

  "What did they say? What do they want?"

  A single, threatening word: "Me."

  "Why?" he demands to know.

  "I don't know. They wouldn't say. But if I help them, they'll make Seth my Guardian again."

  His eyes harden. "An
d you believe them?"

  "I have to believe them. I have no other choice!"

  "They left you, Gee! They abandoned you! They asked for your help once, then they let whatever happened to you this summer happen! You can't trust them!"

  Our voices elevate until we're shouting, words crawling across my skin, and again I'm stunned by how easily he slips into Seth at moments like these.

  "They're more powerful than the Diabols! They're the ones who can give Seth back to me. They took his power. They can give it back!" Words tumble one after the other after the other, filled with wild abandon and reckless hope.

  "What about Viola?"

  "She doesn't have to know. I can still help her. Both of them have promised Seth. Either way, if I do what they say, I win."

  Carter's eyes soften to smoke and ash, stinging with sadness. "Do you win? Really?"

  "If I have Seth, then yes. I win. If I can put all of this behind me—move on with my life—then yes."

  "You told two very powerful . . . things you'll help them. A demon and an angel council. You have no idea what they're going to ask, or what they're going to make you do." A heavy pause. "What would Seth want?"

  I swallow the knot cutting my throat. "That's not fair."

  "It is fair," he replies. "You say you're doing this for him, but I have to be honest with you, Gee. I don't think he'd want you helping them."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "He'd want you safe."

  "Seth sacrificed everything for me," I remind him, world slurring behind tears hastily blinked to nothing. "What am I if I don't at least try to get him back?"

  His shoulders stiffen, eyes holding mine. "What if they're two opposing requests? What if they're mutually exclusive?"

  "Then I'll pick the one who's most likely to give him back."

  "The Council," Carter confirms, nodding. "Viola is going to be pissed. Viola is already pissed."

  "I'll figure something out."

  A caustic laugh, a note of exasperation in his tone. "No. If you don't help her, she'll kill you. If you don't help the Council . . ."