by Dyan Brown
“We should sit back down. And slow down on your drink; I want you calm for this conversation, not comatose.” He turns to walk around the countertop, and before he can take Grayson’s seat again, I quickly stake my claim.
When he comes around the corner and sees where I’ve chosen to sit, he pauses, arching an eyebrow at me and chortling softly. “If I’m right,” he says, situating himself on the sofa, “you have more than just one or two questions for me. So, shoot.”
I take a deep breath and try to collect the thoughts that have been racing through my mind all week. “I guess originally, I wanted to ask you who or what are you, but,” I wave my hand dismissively, “mystery solved there. My next question would be about the Harvested Guild.”
I pause, and when Cedrick nods for me to continue, I look to the floor, thinking I’ll find courage there. Finally, knowing I have someone to talk to freely, words begin to spill from me in a waterfall of thoughts I’ve been keeping inside.
“Well, my uncle didn’t seem to think too much of my idea about trying to reason with them. But I can’t live knowing that every day for the rest of my life, I will be hunted. That’s just not in my nature. Knowing there’s someone out there who would hurt my parents – or even my cousin, just to get to me is more than I can bear, and they’d all be blindsided.” My heart constricts, and I grasp my locket. I’ve already lost Sahra; the mere thought of losing anyone else physically hurts.
“I can’t sit idly by knowing innocent people, good people, gifted people, are being murdered. I realize these things happen everywhere every day, and that’s why I’ll keep drifting even after he tells me not to. I find purpose in it, and I’ve been missing purpose in my life for a long time. But I also know that if there’s a chance to end a greater evil, one that threatens those I love—” Courage now found through my own words, I’m finally able to meet his eyes. “I will take that chance. I just don’t know how.”
Cedrick drinks in what I’m saying. His eyes lift again toward the ceiling, as though he is having a conversation with God himself about my soapbox rant. Lowering his eyes to the ground before lifting them, he finally speaks. “You are special indeed, Sam. I’m here to show you what to do, and Carl’s right about reasoning with them—it won’t work. Their leader has built an army far greater than you realize.” He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and taking a sip of his divine wine, thinking.
“Over the last hundred years, while the progression of technology has boomed, the decline of man himself has progressed more so. There have been numerous wars between countries, two World Wars, and countless gang wars, not to mention dictatorships, restriction of religion, political corruption, and failure of family values. All of these things have led to where humanity finds itself today.” He puts his glass on the table and laces his fingers together.
“People are taking their own lives and killing each other. Depression, anxiety, and hopelessness are spiraling humankind down a perpetual cycle of self-destruction that will end in the total obliteration of both man and Earth. The Harvested Guild feeds off this decline and helps it along its way.” His fingers splay wide, intertwining with lazy grace, before he sighs. “This cycle has to be stopped.”
“But more war?” I ask, frowning. The thought is nauseating. My hand drops from my locket to clutch my glass as if it’s my only link to reality.
“A new Crusade,” he corrects. “And you will lead it,” he adds, making my eyes rise to his as they widen in wonder.
“Crusade? Lead a Crusade against an army of murderers trained by a fallen angel?” I feel dizzy. “Why me?”
“You are different, Sam,” he says simply, still holding my gaze.
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what you mean!” My voice cracks in frustration.
“There’s a power in you that hasn’t been seen in a very long time. Do you know how long it’s been since a Gift has shifted from one sibling to another? Five hundred and ninety years ago—that’s how rare this is. It was prophesized that it would happen again, but only once more. You’re the third in all of history. God knows the strength that lies in your heart. I imagine that’s why he chose you.”
He reaches over and puts his hand atop mine. Its warmth calms me to my core, radiating peace through my body. I feel the same numbing tranquility I did the last time he touched me on the highway.
“Your drive and passion to protect those you love, and even those you don’t know, is so great that you’ll bring together an army of Divinely Touched to fight against the evil threatening God’s gifts and mankind as a whole.
“Also, excuse me for blowing my own horn, but you do have your own supreme being to train with. You are not alone in this battle.” He squeezes my hand firmly before releasing it and taking his calming effect with it.
Something stirs in my chest—not pain, as usual, but pride. Pride in knowing that what Cedrick just said about me is true; pride in knowing that my life matters, that I can make a difference. But despite feeling honored to have been chosen, I can’t imagine going up against an army of evil… let alone leading an army of my own. It dawns on me that I may have to actually fight someone. Kill someone. I swallow hard. I’ve never even properly hit anyone.
It suddenly feels like the world is sitting on my shoulders, waiting for me to save it. I take another deep breath, and then another.
“Okay. How do we find the other Touched?”
14
“Where did he say you’re going tonight?” April leans against my bathroom doorframe, making my carefully chosen outfit look mundane against her couture.
“He wouldn’t say. He seems to like to do that.” I return to awkwardly applying foundation. “I don’t really mind it, though.”
“It’s sweet,” she says, a small smile edging the corner of her mouth, but there’s a note in her tone I can’t place.
I pause and look at her in the mirror, powder brush mid-air in front of me. “You’re still okay with us, right? I know it’s been over a month now, but I don’t want it getting weird for you and Grayson or you and me.”
She waves a dismissive hand in front of herself, swatting away my words as she would a fly. “No, no. I said it before, and it’s still true. I think you guys are good for each other.” She inhales as if to continue but then extinguishes the breath with a sigh. “Want me to help?”
Smiling, I offer my tiny eye makeup kit to her. “Please,” I say, wondering if it’s envy that I saw in her eyes just now.
Returning the warmth of my smile, she takes the compact from me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear makeup.” She opens the compact and inspects the contents, tilting the square, flat container back and forth in the light. “How old is this?”
I can tell she’s attempting to be polite, but her brash nature always comes through. I huff a short laugh. “I don’t know, maybe two or three years? It’s not like it’s my mom’s or anything.”
She makes a sound of disgust and throws the compact in the trash. Before I can protest, she’s halfway across the apartment, heading toward her own bathroom. “Trust me! Don’t keep makeup that long—especially that stuff.”
She means cheap stuff.
Back with a square, pale-pink makeup bag covered in pristine white and even paler pink flowers and scroll font, she orders me up onto the counter. “I thought you were smart enough to not smear a petri dish on your eyelids.”
“It’s just dinner. Don’t do too much, all right?”
“Natural, you got it.” Her lips are pursed in concentration. “Want to borrow some clothes, too?”
“Yeah, uh, I don’t think you own a pair of socks that would fit me.”
She snorts, knowing I’m joking, but I really don’t see myself ever wearing her clothes, even if I could fit in them. Closing my eyes, I let her apply what turns out to be just a first layer.
“I’ll stick to mine. Thanks, though.”
“Yup,” she replies, lingering on the word in her concentration and letting
the p pop as she ends.
“What’s with your new guy?” I feel her hand twitch slightly at my mention of the guy who’s been staying over often lately, yet I’ve never seen him.
She snorts. “New guy? More like guys.”
If I hadn’t already known she was a good liar, this would have turned me into a believer. She obviously isn’t ready to talk about him yet, so I play along. But these last few weeks, the revolving door of men in her life has stopped. Either Cousin Red is around for an astounding amount of time and I’ve just been hearing the TV in her room, or she’s got a guy she genuinely likes. I make a noise of marked interest as she tells me to look up.
“All right…” her voice trails as she swipes a few lightly feathered strokes on the inside corner of my eye. “Look at me.” April smirks and nods. “Good.”
Glancing back over my shoulder into the mirror, I see she’s used subtle tones of brown and lavender with hints of a brassy bronze under the tear duct of each eye. The green of my eyes brightens from the lavender, and the bronze changes the color of my hair to a brighter shade. The coloring is still natural overall, yet it changes my look.
“It’s lovely, thank you.” My words are soft and sincere. “You’re very good at color; maybe you should try art sometime,” I suggest subtly and slide off the counter.
“I used to paint, actually.” There’s a wistful look on her face while she seems to be thinking back to a memory.
“Why did you stop?”
The sardonic eye roll she gives wouldn’t fool a child. “Ugh, it’s so boring. I found the colors in department stores much more interesting.”
Liar. I let it go and mutter in agreement as I hear Grayson come in the apartment. Maybe it makes me a bad friend to not press her, but the more I get to know her, the more I see that the harder she’s pressed, the harder she pushes. You’d think her family would’ve figured that shit out by now—hashtag not my business.
I straighten my dark olive green, silk, baby doll top. Taking a deep breath, I walk out to meet him.
Grayson’s smile is as blinding and contagious as always. “You look beautiful, Samantha,” he says before placing a feather-light kiss on my mouth. The fact that he’s in jeans gives me pause, but he pulls off dressy casual all the same. “You ready?”
“Absolutely.” I don’t know what I’m ready for, but I really don’t care, either. My uncle’s reminder to be careful whom I trust plays through my mind, but I shove it away. “Let’s go.”
Grayson steps aside, holding the door for me. As I tell April goodbye over my shoulder, I notice a small movement and catch her handing her brother a small, dark bag. Involuntarily, my eyebrows shoot up in question, and April gives me a look that says not to mention it. Thankfully, Grayson doesn’t seem to notice the exchange.
His hand brushes lightly against the small of my back as he guides me toward his truck. The touch is warm, even against the heat of the early evening air. There is so much comfort in that one touch that my chest warms, mimicking the warmth of his hand. He slips to the side of the door, putting himself between the bed of the truck and me.
Grayson’s trying to be smooth, but he slightly falters in his attempt to slip the bag into the bed of the truck without my notice while opening my door. It makes a soft thump on the side of the truck before he lifts it high enough to make it over the edge. As I slide into the truck, a wry smile makes its way onto my face as I try not to make it too obvious that I saw him. Grayson’s pride is extremely important to him, but I try not to let that get in the way.
“All right,” he breathes as he closes my door and hurries around to his own, straightening his black button-down shirt on his way. “So,” he says, buckling his seatbelt, “you want to know where we’re going?”
“You mean I finally get to know?”
“Well, it’s just dinner and a movie.” He puts the truck in reverse and steers clear of the other cars as we head toward the front of the complex.
“So, where are we going?” My eyes narrow slightly in suspicion as I drag out the question. You don’t make a big deal over dinner and a movie.
Grayson smiles, but there is uncertainty hidden within his tone. “Ever tried sushi?”
“Do you count a California roll from the grocery store?”
Trying to hide a laugh with a smile, he shakes his head no, still staring ahead into traffic.
“Then, no. But I’m open to the experience.”
“Good. I like showing you new things.”
The restaurant isn’t far from the apartment, perhaps a few miles, and there’s only space for a single row of cars in front of the building. There are two spots open, and Grayson takes the one on the side to allow the most space for his oversized truck. The red brick of the simple, square building is offset by black awnings that play well with the scrolling, wrought-iron details on the double glass-door entrance.
We’re seated quickly by the hostess, handed menus, given ice water, and receive a small dish of thin-sliced, herbed, and gently marinated cucumber. I sip the water since I’m sure that’s what it’s for and try to hide my confusion at the other two items. Grayson picks up his chopsticks and gingerly lifts a pale green sliver to his lips.
“They serve this as a palette cleanser before the meal,” he says in explanation.
I nod and fumble my chopsticks into what I remember is the way to hold them. After a few clicks to assure they’re firmly in place, I try the cucumber. Subtle flavors of a sweet vinaigrette flood my mouth, and I’m sad there are only five or six slices. It’d make a fantastic salad.
“How much of a sushitarian are you?” I ask as I look over the creative names of the different rolls, not really taking anything in.
He grins and chuckles. “You like making up words, don’t you?” The light plays over his face, highlighting a small bump on his nose, which is hardly noticeable unless you’re at the right angle.
“I do.”
Placing his elbows on the table, he looks over at me, contemplating. “Hmmm, let me think.” He taps a knuckle gently on his chin thoughtfully before continuing. “Well, I come here about once a month, usually for lunch. There are about four or five things I love here, but I haven’t tried everything. Stay away from anything with eel in it. I know it’s rude to rub your chopsticks together, and that too much soy sauce on your sushi is telling them they didn’t make it right, or something like that.” He pauses, frowning. “Oh!” he says with enthusiasm. “You should never stick your chopsticks into something and leave them sticking up. There’s also something about how you lay them to let the server know you’re done or still eating, but I don’t really remember the placement.”
I can’t help smiling at him. “Where’d you learn all that?”
“Spent a summer in Japan.”
“Seriously?” My eyebrows feel as though they’ve shot into my hairline.
A slight color comes to his face as he laughs. “No, sorry. Couldn’t help it. I read most of it somewhere, like on a menu, and learned other things from friends,” he says. “I’d love to go to Japan, though. All over East Asia, actually. Korea for Taekwondo, and China for the tech.”
The waitress comes back, and I ask Grayson to order since I would do a terrible job of it. I must get him to train me in Taekwondo. Cedrick will teach me some fighting skills, but I know I’d learn more from Grayson. I mean seriously, how much could an angel know about self-defense? Although I find it shocking how much he knows about taking someone down.
“So, you still need to take me with you to a class.”
A frown line appears between his brows. “I still worry about you getting hurt.”
Crossing my arms over my stomach, I watch his eyes drop to the cleavage I’ve just pushed up. He shifts in his seat, and I’m hoping that’s distracting enough for me to convince him to finally start teaching me to fight. “You wouldn’t let me get hurt.”
“No, I—”
“How often have you been hurt in training?” I say, cutting him off
.
Grayson’s eyes widen. “A lot, Samantha,” he says in such a manner that I press my lips to the side and bite the inside of my mouth. He begins to list body parts. “I’ve broken my left radius, three fingers, and my nose. Twice. Sprained my instep, both ankles, and jammed more fingers and toes than I can think of. And I’ve been training since I was seven years old.”
“Maybe you were a klutzy kid,” I tease, but then I press my lips together quickly to keep from laughing at the confused expression on his face.
A slow smile creeps across his face, and laughter begins to bubble up from both of us until we start to draw the attention of the other diners. We’re still simmering with laughter as the rolls are set before us. White and black plates are placed on the table with dynamic works of edible art on them.
“Would you like your ahi tower mixed?” the waitress asks, and Grayson nods to her. She picks up the square white plate with the upright cylindrical display. The different colors are layered from a white rice bottom to a dark pinkish-red mince and thinly sliced avocado with tiny red pearls dotted on top. With a few pushes of a fork, she smashes the tower, and my face must have betrayed my surprise because Grayson stifles a laugh at me.
“What?” I say in defensive embarrassment.
“Nothing. You’ll like it this way. I promise.” The corner of his mouth perks in the lopsided smile that always makes a hint of his dimple show.
“I trust you,” I say simply, and examine the rest of the plates on the table. “I see a lot of avocado, so I’m happy.”
The waitress—Kourtney, according to the glimpse I get of her nametag—sets the plate back down. The tower, now thoroughly mixed, has been transformed into the shape of a fish. I smile at the cute design. “Enjoy your meal,” the tiny blonde woman says before walking away.
Grayson shows me how to mix the wasabi into the soy sauce and dips a corner of a roll into the mixture. The one I start with is a dragon roll, and it’s so good I wiggle in my seat—mainly because it’s covered in layers of sliced avocado and has fried shrimp or something in it. The ahi tower is amazing, too. The small pearls that were on top mix with the creamy texture of the avocado, rice, and fish. Occasionally, they pop between my teeth, and a subtle new flavor comes out. I find myself trying to find more of them.
