Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace)

by K Anne Raines

  “Hey, you okay?” He moved out from under the shadow of the building’s awning, letting the moon’s luminosity shine down to unveil his face.

  And what a face!

  Grace couldn’t tell for sure the color of his hair or of his eyes. The moon cast shadows across the plains of his face, revealing perfectly spaced eyes, high cheekbones, and a square jawline. In black and white, he was gorgeous. She could only imagine how beautiful he was in Technicolor.

  “I’m fine. I just didn’t see you there.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” he said.

  Confused, Grace flipped her head around to see if someone else had crept up on her. No one stood behind her, to the side of her, or anywhere near him. Had he been speaking to her?

  She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in question. “No, what?”

  “No, hell hasn’t frozen over.”

  Had she said that out loud? No, she thought. Still confused, she didn’t speak. She peered at him questioningly.

  “When you got off the phone you asked if hell has frozen over.”

  “Huh, I didn’t realize I said anything out loud.” Embarrassed, and so very thankful for the shroud of darkness, she blushed. No surprise there.

  “No worries,” he said. “It happens to me all the time.”

  “What? Talking to yourself?”

  “No, strange men standing in the dark talking to me.” He delivered the line totally straightfaced, which made it hard for Grace to tell if he was joking or not. Or if he was just being a jerk.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Yes, I’m joking.” The corners of his mouth turned up a little, softening his face into a boyish smile. A smile she could easily get lost in.

  The sound of distant applause brought her down from Lost In Boyish Smile Boulevard back to Orchard Street. Quentin must be worried by now, she mused. “I have to get back inside. My friends are probably wondering where I am.”

  “Yeah, okay. It was nice chattin’ with ya.”

  “It was nice talking to you too.”

  Grace turned back in the direction of the coffee shop, and strode purposefully down the sidewalk toward the sounds of music and people. Toward safety.

  “It’s Darius!” he yelled from behind her.

  Grace halted and peeked at him from over her shoulder, pretending not to understand. “What? I know I wasn’t talking to myself out loud this time.”

  “No, but I know you were wondering my name.” And there was that charming boyish smile again. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, making her skin heat in more places than just her face. She needed to walk away.

  She increased her pace, walking quickly toward Latté Da’s, the day’s events tumbling inside her head. Her mother was acting weird, it was suddenly raining hot men all around her, she was saying things out loud she could swear she’d only thought, and had shamelessly flirted with three separate guys in less than twenty-four hours. Hell had definitely developed permafrost.

  “I didn’t catch yours!” Darius shouted from the corner.

  “You wouldn’t, because I didn’t give it,” she shouted back. With a new flirtatious bounce in her step, she sashayed the rest of the way back to the lighted storefront of the coffee shop.

  Quentin was easy enough to spot with his broad shoulders and raven hair, once she got past the crowd. What she didn’t expect to see was the blond guy standing next to him.

  Perfect!

  Grace bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t led Zeke to believe she was meeting him back at the coffee shop for a date. She straightened her spine and cautiously made her way to where both men stood.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice sounding uncomfortable even to her own ears.

  Zeke smiled, revealing a dimple. “Hey.”

  Tommy’s band started up with another very loud riff, relieving her from talking duty. Quentin leaned in to her ear. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah,” she yelled. “Just my mom checkin’ up on me.”

  He leaned in to say something else, but she couldn’t hear over the drummer’s strangled cat-screeching into the mic. That’s when the whole atmosphere morphed. Part of the crowd started to move and circle. The rest of the onlookers moved back. Emily moved quickly, grabbing Grace by the elbow, and pulled her to the front of the shop with Quentin right behind them.

  Emily’s warning came out loud and rushed. “If you don’t want to get trampled, you’ll stay with me.”

  “Why would I get trampled?” Grace asked. Her eyes followed the roiling crowd in front of the stage. Kids were being thrown every which way. Panic washed over her as she watched, certain that it was an all-out brawl. Yet everyone who was thrown out of the crowd immediately pushed themselves back into the fray. This wasn’t fighting, she suddenly realized. This was moshing. And moshing didn’t look fun to her…not at all. She’d only seen it on TV before, never in person, and from where she stood, that was enough. Her body and head hurt just watching the abuse. She didn’t think she could handle much more of the screaming and pushing, and turned to Quentin, hoping he was ready to go.

  “You ready? I don’t think I can handle any more.”

  “Yes,” he said, sounding relieved.

  Grace grabbed Emily’s arm, pulling her attention from the crazy scene in front of them. “Hey, Em, we’re going to go. You alright until Tommy’s done?”

  “I’m good. There’s only one more song after this.”

  “If you see Zeke, tell him I said bye.”

  “Will do. See you at school, sweets,” Emily said, giving her a hug good-bye.

  As Quentin led the way, her skin crawled with that eerie someone-is-watching feeling. She scanned the crowd to her left and her eyes locked on to Darius’ eyes, surprisingly an emerald green. Her earlier thought about him was right; he was even more beautiful in color. His unruly hair was a perfect shade of sun-kissed golden brown. Bronzed skin covered his frame, complementing the Chinese throwing star cross necklace that peeked from the V of his T-shirt.

  With her attention trained on Darius as they wove through the crowd, she smashed into Quentin’s back when he stopped unexpectedly, knocking them both a little off kilter. Quentin turned and braced the both of them so they didn’t crash to the ground, then laughed softly as he caught her eye.

  “Are you okay to walk, or is the mocha going straight to your head?”

  The only stable, consistent thing in Grace’s life right now seemed to be her blushing. On cue, her face turned beet red. Certain the capillaries in her face would just give up and rupture from all the constant abuse, she sighed. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I didn’t get that. Come on.” He chuckled again. “Let’s get you home.”

  As inconspicuously as possible, she tried to sneak a final peek at Darius. Her eyes widened as she spied a flaming redhead leaning over on a single ruffled peep-toe stiletto, whispering in his ear. A glance back to Darius revealed he was still watching her. She willed herself to look away, but her eyes refused to listen.

  Darius winked at her and finger-waved good-bye when she reached the door. She tossed back an awkward wave and silently prayed the seductive redhead was somehow an unlikely relative.

  “So, it looks like I owe you a pizza,” Quentin said as he steered the Shelby away from Latté Da’s and down Orchard Street.

  “And a personal one-on-one with the Jag. Don’t forget.” Grace jabbed a warning finger at him.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He threw a sideways glance her way before returning his focus to the road. “Shelby here is a very impressive piece of machinery.”

  “Yes, she is.” Grace’s voice revealed a touch of pride, matching the fiery sparkle Quentin noticed in her eyes whenever she talked about her car.

  He turned on Montgomery, then down Belmont toward Christophe’s. The forced close proximity to Grace in the car made his seneschal band pulse and burn, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. The armband bonded him to each Chosen he guarde
d, and changed with every one of them. It altered to match the uniqueness of the individual, signifying a brand of sorts of the Chosen’s soul. To the layperson, it looked like an everyday tattoo. But to those who knew its secrets, it was an unmistakable Guardian’s band. For that reason alone, he had to always be mindful of when it showed and around whom.

  He parked next to the Jag and got out, watching Grace as she made her way around the car to take over the driver’s seat. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere. It’s probably the house, he thought.

  Quentin watched her settle into the seat, then pushed the door closed and leaned over to rest a hand on the open window. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. It was fun.”

  “Yeah, up until the part where moshing became dancer’s choice,” she said, scrunching her nose. “No, thank you. I don’t want any part of that.”

  “I would have to agree with you.” He noticed her smile. She had a beautiful smile. A smile, he reminded himself, that he shouldn’t be noticing. “Okay…well, I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”

  Grace rested a hand on the gearshift and looked up into his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go to the bank.”

  “Alright. Sweet dreams, Grace.”

  “G’night.” She shifted the Shelby into gear and gave him a little wave.

  As he watched her drive into the darkness, he found it curious that his band was already so far along in its transformation with Grace still being three weeks away from becoming entirely Chosen. Maybe she was closer to the change than he thought? His bond with her was already stronger than with any one of his prior charges.

  Her burn lingered. He could still feel her, even though she’d traveled half a mile down the road. The feeling was enticing, to say the least. That Grace had just gotten in her car and driven off left him feeling bereft, disappointed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected. He did, however, know he sure as hell shouldn’t want anything more than the impersonal good-night he’d gotten.

  Quentin stood in the darkness, watching her taillights flash brightly as she braked before making a turn, then disappeared from sight. He needed a release. Some kind of avenue to get himself under control. Grace was under his guardianship. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  He gave himself a mental shake as he made his way into the house, forcing his thoughts back to his duty. What he really needed to do was get her to the bank and back to Christophe’s, where he could protect her better. Maybe having her in close proximity where he knew she was safe would help. At this point, Grace didn’t need to know he had lived in Christophe’s house all this time. It was the way of the Guardian and Chosen. They lived their lives under the same roof, living together with the same purpose.

  The fact that Grace was a beautiful female might prove to be a bit of a challenge for him. If he didn’t find a way to control his attraction to her, the necessary living arrangements could very well end up being the death of him.

  Grace was somewhere between drifting and dreaming of moonlit faces when a light tap on her bedroom door stirred her.

  “Grace? You awake?” her mother asked from the lighted bedroom doorway.

  Irritated that the beginning of a Darius dream was interrupted, she opened one eye to a slit. “Barely.” With her luck, it wouldn’t be one of those dreams that picked up exactly where it left off, no matter how many times it was broken up with interruptions. The thought just irritated her more.

  “I was just making sure you were home. I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were back.”

  “Since when?” Grace cringed inside, realizing the filter from her brain to her mouth wasn’t fully awake yet.

  Her mother’s face fell into a frown as her voice cracked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing really, other than your timing couldn’t be more perfect.” Yep, her filter was apparently broken. Or out cold.

  “My timing?” Her mother’s voice rose an octave.

  Fully aware the timing issue was about way more than the dream, she decided to rip the Band-Aid off completely. No more picking at it. Grace sat straight up in bed and looked her mother square in the eye.

  “Yes, your timing. Other than the obvious reasons, you decide now to worry and act all motherly, just three weeks before I turn eighteen? How convenient.”

  Stunned, her mother stood in the doorway gazing painfully back at her. Grace could see a pool of tears forming in her eyes, but was too agitated to care. When her mother spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

  “Convenient? Is that what you really think? That I’ve been waiting around all this time for your inheritance? That I’ve not really cared for you?”

  “It’s not what I think, Mom. It’s what I’ve felt.” Surprised by the anger rising within her, Grace focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself down.

  “You don’t know anything,” her mother said loud enough for her to hear clearly. “And I don’t care what you think you’ve felt. All I’ve done the last eighteen years is care for and worry about you. I’ve always done what I’ve had to do.” Her mother’s spine straightened.

  “I don’t know how it was when you were in school, but Maslow’s hierarchy of needs includes love.” An angry rush of heat tore through Grace’s body with every new word spoken. Her limbs trembled with the need to spring out of the bed, but she stiffened to keep her poised muscles in check.

  Before answering, her mother took in a deep breath. “Clearly, you’re home safe. Not so sound, but you’re home, nonetheless. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Laney shut the door, pulling it closed a little harder than necessary.

  Grace screwed her eyes shut tight and held back the frustrated yell she wanted so badly to let loose. How could her mother just waltz in and pretend like the last fifteen years didn’t happen? Oh no, it happened. Just not how I remember it, she thought. She threw her covers back with a sharp swipe of her arm and stormed into the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hoping it would calm her down. Once she’d turned the cold tap on full, she leaned over, plunged her cupped hands under the faucet, and threw the cold water on her skin.

  “Ahhh!” Grace yelled, as much from the shock as from anger, then picked up a towel to scrub at her face as her mind tallied justification for the resentment bombarding it. It was all too easy to conjure images of the shock that would engulf her mother if she woke to find Grace gone. And even easier to imagine the tears that would follow as the vulture of guilt ate at the carcass of her mother’s Graceless life. Then her mother would see things her way, and feel nothing but remorse.

  Who was she kidding? Her mother would probably just be relieved if she ever left, and thank her. Funny how guilt works. One would think it would be symmetrical, everyone feeling it equally. Grace had learned it was usually one-sided, and Laney was too narcissistic to be affected by sensibility. In this respect, Grace wished she was more like her mother. The words she’d thrown at Laney were purposely hurtful. Even though she didn’t regret them at the moment, Grace knew she would soon. The iniquity of her verbal transgression would haunt her until she yielded to it.

  Which is when she’d deal with it.

  She grabbed her cell off her nightstand, got back into bed, and shot off a text to Quentin.

  Grace: Howz ur head frm the awsum tunes?

  According to the time on her cell, it was ten after midnight. She stared at the screen, hoping he wasn’t sleeping. Seconds later, it buzzed.

  Quentin: Great. How are you?

  Grace: My headache isn’t frm the music :(

  Since he didn’t text back again right away, she suddenly hoped she wasn’t bothering him—waking him, interrupting him, annoying him.

  Quentin: What’s wrong?

  Grace: Fighting with the mom is all. Fun times.

  Quentin: Sorry. Is it because you were out late?

  Grace: No. Long story.

  Quentin: I’m all ears.

  Quentin was a lot of things, but all ears wasn’t one of them. Tee-hee, she giggled si
lently.

  Damn, she thought. I really am losing it.

  Grace: Im 2 angry 2 sleep.

  Quentin: Wish there was something I could do to help.

  Grace: U answered my txt.

  Quentin: Can I call you?

  For a moment, she just stared at the phone. His question made her stomach do flip-flops. She was still stewing a little, but at least her heart wasn’t trying to pound out of her chest from mad adrenalin.

  Grace: Yes.

  It only took three seconds for her cell to ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi there.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But sleep is overrated.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You want to talk about it?”

  Did she? She wasn’t sure. Talk? Yes, but about it? She didn’t think so. “That’s not a today conversation.” Grace smiled, wondering if he’d remember his own words.

  The lighthearted chuckle in her ear made her smile. “Very good, grasshoppa. You’ve been paying attention.” His retort made her giggle.

  “Seriously,” she said, her laughter calming. “Were you really sleeping?”

  “Yes, but it’s not a big deal. Do you want to talk about why you and your mom were fighting?”

  Grace settled back into her pillow and pulled her covers up under her arms. “Maybe another time. Not tonight. I just want to think about something else so I can sleep.” Absentmindedly, she slid her fingers along the silky edge of her blanket.