by S W Vaughn
"Doesn't anything tire him out?” Megan stared at the approaching figure. “I don't know about this, Grace. Are you sure he's not going to ... you know, flip out and kill us?"
"I'm sure."
"Why are you so convinced?"
"I don't know."
"Great. That isn't very reassuring."
"True. But it's all I've got. Sorry.” Grace gave a tired smile. “Without that bitch around, he isn't going to hurt anyone. I know he won't."
Megan shook her head. “I hope you're right. I mean, he just killed two angels and ... Christ, look at him. He's..."
Beautiful.
"I was gonna say huge, but yeah. That, too."
Silver had nearly reached them. Grace returned her attention to the unfamiliar landscape. “Hey, Megan. Any idea which way is home?"
"None. I was hoping you knew."
Grace sighed. “Well, I guess I could try..."
"Nephil, what do you seek?"
Silver's voice jolted her. He stood at the edge of the ravine, watching her, his features blank. “Er. I'm looking for ... you know, maybe we should introduce ourselves, so you don't have to keep calling me Nephil. My name is Grace."
"Grace.” He seemed to taste the word, a new delicacy.
"Yes. And this is—"
"Megan,” he said.
"Right.” Grace smiled. “Okay. I'm looking for home. Lor ... I'm not sure which way we came here.” Mentioning Lorin right now probably wouldn't be a good idea.
Silver pointed beyond her. “This direction. What is home?"
"Home is where we live.” Fresh sorrow filled her. So many little things he wasn't familiar with, had no idea existed. “Do you know how far away we are?"
"Yes."
Grace waited. He didn't elaborate.
"So ... how far is it?"
"It is there."
"Uh..."
Silver extended an arm to each of them. “I will shift you to home."
"Shift?” Grace glanced at Megan. The girl shrugged. “Okay,” Grace said. She took his hand and Megan did the same.
No sooner had Megan made contact with Silver, than they stood before the camp house in the glow of the porch light.
"Whoa.” Megan grinned. “He's way better than you at this, Grace."
Grace laughed. “I think he's had more practice. Come on, let's go inside."
"Wait a minute.” Megan stared at the front door. “Are they even here? I mean, we have no idea what happened after we left. And that angel guy had a gun! What if he...” She glanced at Grace, paled, and ran up the steps.
"Megan, they're okay. Silver—"
The door opened just before Megan reached it. Michael stood inside, drawn and haggard, a flashlight in one hand and Zane's gun in the other. “Megan! What happened? I was going out to look for you. Is Grace with you?"
"Yes, she's right here. We're fine. Is everyone here all right?"
"We are, oddly enough.” Distress clouded his face. “After you two and that crazy redhead disappeared, Zane came after me and he just stopped. Like he couldn't get to me. And then he vanished.” He set the flashlight down and patted Megan's arm. “I'm going to call a couple of cabs and get us out of here before he comes back. Why don't you...” His eyes widened. He pushed past Megan and lifted the gun. “Let her go, damn you!"
"Michael, no!” Grace moved in front of Silver. “He's not ... I brought him here."
"You what? Have you lost your mind?” The gun shook in his hand. “Jesus. He's controlling you. Grace, please, come here. Come up here with us."
"He's not controlling me."
"Megan, get inside.” Michael approached the steps slowly, his gaze and his gun locked on Silver. “Let her go. I'll kill you, I swear to God I will. I know what you are.” Grace, get away from him.
No! Michael, please ... listen to me. He's not dangerous. It was his—
Michael jumped to the ground and shoved Grace aside. She sprawled in the grass with a startled grunt. He pressed the gun into Silver's throat and fired.
Silver stumbled back. He remained on his feet, staring wordlessly at Michael. His gleaming blood flowed from the wound. Splashes and droplets stained Michael's arm and face.
"What the hell?” Michael shook his head and pulled the trigger again. A mercurial spray erupted from Silver's shoulder.
"Stop it!"
A shriek from the porch drowned Grace's cry. Megan ran at Michael and jumped on his back. She scrabbled for the gun, pushed down on Michael's arm.
Grace struggled to her feet. Tears blurred her vision. She moved in front of Silver, her back to Michael. “Are you okay?” she whispered. “Can you heal?"
Silver nodded.
"I'm so sorry. He shouldn't have done this.” Grace whirled to face Michael, who still fought to dislodge Megan and raise the gun. “Damn it, Michael, he saved your life!"
"Yeah, right!” Gasping, Michael threw Megan off and brought his arm up again. “He's a monster, Grace. Whatever he said, he has to be lying. Get out of the way."
"He saved your life,” Grace repeated softly. “He stopped Zane from killing you. Because I asked him to."
"Bullshit."
"He saved my life. And Megan's. Michael ... Zane is dead. Silver killed him."
"Silver?” Michael blinked and glanced at the streaks on his arm. “But Zane is an angel."
"Yes. And Silver is Nephilim. He's one of us, Michael.” Grace stepped forward and gently pushed his extended arm down. He didn't resist. She lifted his free hand, touched his fingers to her temple. “Look."
Michael froze. Memories rushed through her and into him: Silver chained inside the box. Grace releasing him. Silver trapping and skewering Zane, as though the angel had no more power than an angry kitten. Lorin striking him. Lorin pinning Silver to the ground to go after Grace. Silver destroying her. The rush of painful recollection threatened to knock her flat.
At last, Michael pulled free. He regarded Grace for a long moment. “Okay,” he said in hollow tones. “I was wrong. I'm sorry."
"Then he can stay?"
"What, here? With us?” Michael shook his head. “No. No way.” He can destroy angels. If he decides he wants us gone, we can't stop him. Nothing can. He's too powerful.
"Michael, please. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.” He won't hurt anyone. I know he won't.
How do you know?
Ask him.
Michael frowned at Silver. “Hey. Stalker."
"His name is Silver,” Grace said.
"Fine. What are you going to do if you stay here? Will you kill us, like you did the other Nephilim?"
A shudder passed through Silver. “I do not wish to kill. I will not kill again."
When Michael didn't reply, Grace Reached to him. He could have killed you a hundred times now if he wanted to. Don't you think he would have when you shot him?
"Grace, I'm sorry. I just don't think..."
The tree house. “He can stay in the tree house. No one uses it anyway, right?"
"Yes, and there's electricity up there,” Megan chimed in. “If it gets cold, we can bring heaters in. Michael, I think Grace is right. He's not going to hurt us."
Michael's eyes narrowed. “If there's any sign of trouble, he's leaving. Anything at all. Understand?"
"Yes.” Thank you.
"Don't thank me yet. I may change my mind in the morning.” Michael sighed and stuffed the gun in his pocket. “You two are something else, you know that?"
Grace smiled. “We know."
* * * *
Silver stood in the center of the tree house, displaying no reaction to the place. His sheer size made the ample space and its full-sized furnishings look like a child's bedroom.
Grace worried he wouldn't fit on the bed.
His wounds had healed and Grace had washed the blood from him, but he remained half-dressed. No one had a shirt or shoes big enough for him. The evenings stayed warm for now, but soon he'd need more substantial clothing. Probably. Maybe. Did he e
ven get cold?
He hadn't spoken a word since Michael addressed him directly. Grace suspected it would take some time for him to start acting instead of reacting. She moved beside him and gestured vaguely. “What do you think? Do you like it?"
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
Damn. Something Lorin had said resurfaced in Grace's mind: He has no thoughts of his own. The bitch had been proud she hadn't allowed her son to think for himself. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “We'll take this one step at a time. First, I want to make sure you're warm enough. Wait here."
Silver nodded. Grace entered the screen porch, grabbed a blanket from one of the bunk beds and returned to drape it around his shoulders. “That should help. I'll get you some real clothes soon."
Silver fingered an edge of the blanket. His gaze moved to the porch doorway and back to Grace. He said nothing.
Grace sighed. “Maybe you should just get some rest for now. Things might look better in the morning. There are beds out here.” She started toward the porch and stopped when she realized Silver wasn't following her. She turned to face him.
"Lorin is gone.” His voice emerged hesitant, as though he didn't dare believe his words.
"Yes.” Grace refrained from elaborating, certain that expressing her joy at Lorin's demise wouldn't benefit Silver at the moment.
"Will you command me now?"
"Oh, no. Silver...” Her throat clenched. For an instant she couldn't speak. “No. I'm not going to tell you what to do. I won't order you around like a dog. She shouldn't have either. She was wrong."
"I have no purpose. Who will command me?"
"You will."
"I do not understand."
Grace closed the distance between them. “You can choose your own purpose. You're free, Silver. I'll help you learn about the world, about people and feelings and all the wonderful things Lorin kept from you. If you let me, I'll guide you—but I won't command you. You'll make decisions. You'll think for yourself.” She paused, tried to gauge his reaction. “Do you understand, even a little?"
"I will ... command myself. Choose my purpose."
"Yes.” A tentative smile formed on her lips. “For now, you can start with a simple decision. Would you like to get some rest? It's been a long night."
Silver scanned the room slowly. He moved toward the table beneath the window and touched one of the moon chairs. “These are ... seats?"
"They're supposed to be."
He settled cautiously into one. “I have decided to think."
"Good. That's good.” Grace stifled a yawn. “And I've decided to sleep. I'll be back in the morning to see how you're doing.” Will you Reach for me if you need me?
Yes. With that, he seemed to shut down and resume his blank state.
Tears scalded her eyes. She blinked them back and started for the ladder. One step at a time. At least he'd done something without being told. For him, any progress at all was a miracle. She did hope he wouldn't remain a zombie for the rest of his life, but with the living hell Lorin had put him through, it wouldn't surprise her.
She descended a few rungs, stopped. “Goodnight, Silver."
He met her gaze and offered no response.
Grace continued to the ground and trudged toward the camp house. Exhaustion and despair slowed her steps. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe she couldn't do anything for him, and he didn't belong here. She still didn't know why she believed he could become anything more than a tool—a discarded tool, now that Lorin was gone. Should she trust her feelings?
Halfway across the yard, a tenuous voice sounded in her head.
Good night ... Grace.
Relief and hope brought tears she couldn't hold back. Her feet found a lighter rhythm and she covered the remaining ground with ease.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 32
Grace closed the door of the room she temporarily shared with Megan. After only two weeks, the four-bedroom camp house already seemed cramped. Bailey and Dawn had become fast friends after the fire and bunked together in the next room down. David had proudly accepted the invitation to stay with Ace and Kaden, and Evan roomed with Michael.
Silver apparently didn't need sleep. He also didn't seem to require food or water. For the first few days, she'd brought him three meals. Each time, she found him still seated in the chair, the food untouched. He acknowledged her presence but made no attempt to communicate. She'd cut back to two, and then one, to avoid wasting food he apparently wasn't going to eat.
If he didn't snap out of it soon, she would have to do something. She just didn't know what.
Grace opened her laptop and pushed the power button. She still had to get online through her ability, but the new house being built further back on the property would have cable access complete with Internet. They anticipated completing construction in mid-fall. Kendra had not only deeded the property to Michael, she'd also transferred a substantial amount of money to an account in his name. Paying for a rush job on a thirty-room mansion barely made a dent in the supply. The rest of the Carrington fortune would eventually fall to Grace when the court dust settled. A Federal judge had issued a media gag on the case until the investigations into the deaths here were completed.
Thoughts of her mother summoned guilt and confusion. She'd wanted to understand her, to know why she'd acted the way she had. Now she would never have the chance. She glanced at the brown paper bag resting on the surface of the desk, and reminded herself to bring it to Silver after she finished here.
Her laptop finished pulling itself together. Grace sat down and accessed her e-mail. A week ago, she'd sent Comp the numbers from four of her remaining cashier's checks. Twenty grand altogether. No amount of money would compensate for what he'd been through on her account, but at least it was a start. As of yesterday though, there had been no response.
Today she had three new messages. Two were junk. One was Comp. She clicked it open and smiled as she read the note.
Kitten: I said double. That's two times, not four. You need to work on your math skills. I won't turn it down though. Obviously, I'll need new equipment. This helps. You're a doll.
Glad to hear your redheaded pal is taking a permanent vacation. A little disappointed, too. I had plans for her. One of these days you and I will have to get together and chat. I still haven't told you all the weird shit I found. I'd say you wouldn't believe it, but something tells me you would.
Keep in touch. Broken bones come and go, but an ID junkie is forever. Especially one as dangerously fascinating as you. CR
Grace signed out shaking her head. Comp remained one of life's greatest mysteries. It was impossible to determine what made him tick. She suspected he didn't know himself, but at least he enjoyed trying to find out.
Her gaze fell on the top drawer of the desk. She'd left it open a crack—it had a lock, but the key was long gone and it had taken her hours to get it open the first time. This had been Kendra's room. Her mother had left a few things behind, including a journal.
Grace pulled the drawer out and extracted a slim, leather-bound volume. Like most things in Kendra's life, her interest in journaling had been sporadic. Grace knew what a flake her mother had been. If the woman had just exercised a bit of empathy, a little concern for things outside the realm of appearances, a lot of struggle and heartache might have been prevented. In retrospect, Grace suspected Kendra had been terrified to lose the spotlight. She almost felt sorry for her.
Then again, without those few disastrous years, she never would have met Megan or Michael and the others. Or Silver.
The journal entries in the front of the book dated back to before Grace was born, when Kendra had summered here with her parents. Grace intended to read them all through some time soon. For now, though, the ones that interested her most were the last half-dozen or so. They were more recent. And they concerned her father.
According to her journal, Kendra's primary reason for donating the land and permanently moving to t
he Adirondacks had little to do with Michael. She'd cared for him, but the heart she'd poured onto these pages still belonged to Beckett. She had lingered here where they'd originally met, and built a house that was visible through miles of surrounding forest in the hopes he would return. She'd wanted to tell him that her father was gone, no longer a threat. Finally, she'd longed to know whether he still returned her affections. Her love.
From the moment she'd read the journal, Grace became determined to pick up where her mother left off. She would remain here and watch for his return. Soon, she would expand the effort, start searching the surrounding woods for signs of a hermit angel who shared her blood, and her heart.
First, though, she would learn to defend herself against bears.
Grace closed the book and replaced it. Shrugging, she stood and stretched and headed outside with another meal that would go uneaten. Sandwiches, an apple, and a bottle of water. No doubt she'd end up replacing the last untouched bag with this one.
Muffled rock music reached her ears from the porch. She glanced toward the former greenhouse, saw vague silhouettes of people and instruments inside. They were practicing again. Megan's compelling voice rose above the strains of guitar and bass, the rhythmic riff of drums. Though Michael had lied about quite a few things, including the existence of a band, he actually did play a mean guitar. He should; he'd been at it for thirty years.
Now the band had officially formed. Evan and Kaden rounded them out, and Grace had to admit they sounded good—at least, from a distance. She hadn't yet braved standing inside the greenhouse while they played. She'd decided to hold off on a face-to-face performance until Megan had finished “her” song, which the girl had said would be any day now.
The late afternoon sun slanted east, casting dappled and shifting shadows on the exposed surfaces of the tree house. If she didn't know it was there, she wouldn't have been able to find it. The music from the greenhouse carried clearly today. Just before she reached the rope ladder, the current song ended and they switched to a slow and haunting ballad.
