by Simone Pond
“Actually, you were right on time. That dude was about to accost me.”
She glanced into her rearview mirror, zipping a shaky left as the light turned red. “What dude?” she asked.
I figured she was human, otherwise she probably would’ve seen Glimmer Eyes. “Oh, just some drunk guy. Hey, do you think you could slow down? I don’t want to die on my birthday.”
She eased up on the gas. “Sorry. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Was it a good night?”
“Well, I’m going home alone, so I’m pretty sure that’s a resounding no.”
She let out a snort. “Well, the night is still young.”
“That’s what I keep hearing. But you know what sounds really nice? Hanging out alone in my new house, binge-watching Netflix.”
She turned down Fillmore. Not too many people were out and about; it was the grittier part of town. I saw some sort of altercation as we passed an alley—a flash of light and some screaming—but I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I had been drinking.
As we crested the hill, Pacific Heights gleamed before me like the land of Oz. The houses stood with grandiose opulence, and the shops along the sidewalks were swanky. Everything looked pristine and peaceful, the type of place you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder.
“Fancy neighborhood,” the driver said, breaking the silence.
“Just inherited my grandmother’s house over on Clay Street.”
“Congrats!”
“Yeah, I’m super excited. My first time living alone. And I start a new job on Monday at Lifting the Fog. Things are looking up. Well, except in the guy department.”
“Ah, you’re fine. The right guy will appear at the right time.”
She turned onto Clay and slowed down, approaching my grandmother’s house. Stopping the car, she pointed to a giant Victorian with pale green, peeling paint and bushes growing up around the tall windows. “This is you?” Disappointment filled the car.
I could see why. The house looked like squatters had taken refuge in it over the last few years. After my grandmother passed away when I was fifteen, the house went dormant as my family awaited my twenty-first birthday when I’d inherit the property. My parents hired people to take care of it, but after they disappeared four years ago, I had to let them go. I didn’t have the money or time for upkeep. Not while I was down at USC studying journalism. I’d always told myself I’d fix it up after I moved in and received the stipend that came with it. The place looked pretty bad—even in the dark—but I was hopeful.
“Are you sure it’s not condemned?” she asked.
I got out of the car and waved her off as I walked up the steps to my new front door. Sure, it was a mess. Yes, it needed a lot of work. But it was mine. All mine. As I fiddled with the front lock, the hairs on my neck prickled. I glanced over my shoulder to find Glimmer Eyes across the street, staring right at me. I had no idea how he knew where I lived. I felt that pulling sensation again, so I smashed my shoulder up against the door until it finally splintered open.
“Great. One more thing to fix,” I mumbled, slamming the door.
I dragged a nearby table over to barricade the broken door. I hadn’t been inside the house since I was a teenager, but underneath the mildew and mold it still smelled the same—roses and pine. I went to turn on the lights, forgetting the power company refused to turn on the electricity until I had electrical work done. So I turned on my phone flashlight and peered into the shadowy, dark rooms.
Everything was exactly as I remembered, only the brocade couches were threadbare with stuffing coming out of gaping holes in the fabric, and the ornate antique pieces looked sinister in the shadows. I hoped that upstairs would be less creepy. I had my very own guest room with pastel Laura Ashley wallpaper and a big white four-poster bed. I couldn’t wait to get up there and get settled, but on the third step, my left foot went right through the rotted wood. I yanked myself free, with great relief, but suddenly I was completely worried that monsters were cowering in the shadows. I decided it’d be better to sleep downstairs in the living room, closer to the front door. Just in case I needed to make a run for it.
I curled up on one of the couches with less holes and more leg room. Cold air seeped through the cracks in the windows and from unseen holes in the walls. I used a pile of dusty throw pillows to cover my shivering body. Clearly, I hadn’t thought about the state of the house, which was very unlike me. Maybe it was the excitement of moving to the city and being on my own. Maybe it was the desperate desire to be independent. But I hadn’t considered the place to be that bad off. I’d be spending tomorrow looking for a contractor to turn this ramshackle money pit into something inhabitable.
The shabby curtains shifted in the breeze, and light from the street lamp fell across the murky living room. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to force myself to go to sleep. It wasn’t a good night to have insomnia. I knew Glimmer Eyes was right outside my door; his presence gnawed at my stomach. How much longer could I avoid him and my destiny? Months? Years? If I were hyper-diligent about ignoring him, would he eventually go away? I wanted to get on with my new life, write award-winning stories and travel the world, exposing corruption. I wanted to take down the bad guys of the world. And what would guarding some silly scroll do anyway? The Monarchy could take that scroll and shove it up….
The street lamp outside the living room window crackled and buzzed, then shattered into a thousand pieces that fell to the ground like chunks of hail. I wasn’t sure if the Monarchy could monitor my thoughts, but I told myself I’d be more careful with my words.
I moved one of the throw pillows over my face and shivered in the dark. I planned to stay under that pile of musty pillows until the sun came up or the coffee shop opened. Whichever came first.
four
The next morning, I woke up with my T-shirt clinging to me and a pool of sweat dripping down the middle of my boobs. It was the same damn dream again; the one where my mother and father are stranded in an endless desert, trudging across the sand as their protective Armor emits a gleaming aura around them. My mother holds a luminous scroll in her right hand, and my father leads the path through the barren desert. Suddenly, a glimmering angel appears in the distance, his presence almost blinding. My mother and father smile with relief and pick up their pace. The beautiful statuesque angel stands before my parents. My parents look so small as she hands the illuminating scroll to the angel. Then, from out of the ether, a giant demon made of pure darkness with dragon-like wings and glowing red eyes manifests; he pummels the angel, attacking it with a razor-sharp dagger made of obsidian. The sunlight glints against the hard black blade as the demon plunges it into the heart of the angel. The ambush only lasts a few seconds, and the angel crumples to the sand, his once radiant light completely snuffed out. The winged demon snatches the no-longer glowing scroll and blinks out of the scene. My mother and father are nowhere to be found. I run to where the angel fell, but it’s too late; he’s gone and so are my parents. Every single time I have this damn dream, the demon slays the angel, takes the scroll, and my parents go missing.
I assumed the scroll the demon took was one of the Seven that belonged to the Monarchy. I had no clue what any of the Sacred Scrolls contained, but they were important enough to assign Protectors to guard them from the Shadow Order and other dark forces who had been going up against the Monarchy for millennia.
When I was a little girl and actually interested in this stuff, I asked my dad why the Monarchy allowed the Shadow Order to exist. He smiled and gently patted my head. “That’s why we’re here. To protect the Light from Darkness. One day you’ll get your Armor, which will protect you against evil as you guard the Light to help keep goodness in the world.”
By the time I was twelve or thirteen, I had stopped asking questions about the supernatural, mostly because they had ruined a lot of family dinners and took up a lot of my parents’ time. They were living busy double lives and it was a lot to
take in for a teenager with a slew of confusing hormonal changes. Hell, it was a lot to take in for a twenty-one-year-old! But as intense as they were, I really missed my parents. At college, I had been able to numb out by focusing on my studies while I waited for the Monarchy to find them and bring them back to their rightful dimension. But it never happened. And my resentment for the Monarchy grew. It was like they didn’t give a shit. I mean, these were Protectors of Light—descendants from angelic bloodlines. And the Monarchy just blew them off like that? Very uncool.
It was time to get on with my life, starting with hiring a contractor to fix up this mess of a house. I rolled off the couch and went to the dining room where all of my moving boxes had ended up. I threw on a pair of skinny jeans and my thickest sweater, but I still wasn’t warm enough. I found my dark gray coat, a scarf, and my brown knee-length boots. I looked like autumn in New York, but no, it was just San Francisco in July. It only takes one trip to Alcatraz without the proper layers…. I pulled my dark brown hair back into my customary ponytail, added some lip-gloss—just in case—and headed out to the coffee shop to obsessively search for contractors.
five
The coffee shop up the street from my house was way fancier than anything I was used to in the East Bay or near campus. They had goat-cheese scones with currants, and fresh thyme grown in their garden in the back. One cup of coffee was more than the last book I purchased. Granted, the book had been on sale, but still. Pacific Heights was proving to be borderline ridiculous, but still a nice place to live. I ate my expensive breakfast in the cushiest, most cozy armchair in the entire world. I thought about asking the managers if I could sleep in that chair until my house was fixed up. It definitely made up for the high prices.
With a strong caffeine buzz, I started scouring the listings for contractors. I created a chart organized by ratings and reviews. My grandmother, in her genius foresight, had left me enough money to do a decent amount of work, but I was still on a budget.
After another expensive cup of Jamaican Blue, I decided on the perfect contractor and gave him a call to get a quote. The phone connection was horrible; no matter how loud I spoke nothing got through. The customers started glaring at me, so I hung up and hid behind my laptop screen. When I peeked around, I noticed an incredibly hot dude—like so hot I started perspiring—was staring at me. His black hair was thick and messy in that effortlessly stylish way, and his eyes were so blue I wanted to dive into them for a swim. Strong jawline, broad shoulders, and masculine hands. He was the epitome of gorgeous. Of all the people to piss off, why’d it have to be the most gorgeous human being I’d ever laid eyes on? Without him knowing it, I put him on my list of men to help remove my burden of virginity. For all I knew, he could’ve been an ax murderer, but I was a million percent ready for that godlike man to deflower me. Suddenly, I became incredibly aware of how aware I was of him, which only made my heart pound faster.
“Sorry, I was so loud. It was a bad connection,” I managed to get the words out without sounding completely moronic.
“Oh, it’s not a problem. I’m sorry, I was eavesdropping. Sounds like you’re looking for a contractor?”
“Yeah….” I proceeded to over-explain the house situation, and how it was my birthday the day before and the dilapidated house was sadly my best present. I hated myself more and more as I continued spewing out way too much information. I couldn’t help myself. I was so afraid he was going to leave the coffee shop that I wanted to anchor him with my long-winded explanation.
He beamed a charming, yet coy smile. “Well, Fiona, today’s your lucky day.” Flirtatious, too? It was turning out to be a lovely morning!
I tried my hand at flirting back, grinning as I pictured him naked in my bed. Sure, we’d have to figure out a way to scale the broken staircase to get to the bedroom, but I was positive we’d work it out.
“I’m Asher Wells of Wells Contracting. I’d love to be your contractor.”
My mouth dropped open. You read that in books and think, please, that doesn’t happen in real life. But it does! And Wells Contracting was on my list—it had to be fate!
“Look me up. I’m legit,” he said, as I continued gawking like a buffoon.
I forced some composure into the forefront of my brain. “Oh, I know you are. You’re second on my list.”
“You mean I wasn’t first? I’m crushed.”
“Actually, you were more like tenth. Sorry. You’re a little out of my price range.”
“Well, go ahead and finish your calls. But here’s my card if nobody else works out. I just finished a big job down the street, so I’m available.”
Asher Wells stood up to leave and everything around me caved in. I couldn’t let him walk away, but I couldn’t get out of that overly comfortable armchair. By the time I pulled myself up and shoved my laptop into my bag, he was a block down Fillmore, and I wasn’t about to chase after him. I crouched in the alcove of the coffee shop and watched as he climbed into a brand-new black pick-up truck with gleaming rims and tinted windows, and his company logo on the door. He pulled away, and I clutched his card in my hand, wondering how soon I could call.
six
As I walked—floated—home, I thought about Asher Wells and his bright blue eyes. They looked like the color of the sky that kept peeking through the rolling fog overhead. How could the two of us meeting in that coffee shop not be fate? I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be my contractor. And if I got lucky, he’d be my first.
Despite the chill, I wasn’t in any rush to get back to the house, so I took a detour through Alta Plaza Park. The locals strolled along the pristine grounds with their dogs in tow, while others parked on benches reading actual newspapers and sipping coffee. While most people my age had never touched a newspaper, I’d grown up with them all over the house. They had a special place in my heart and reminded me of quiet Sunday mornings with my family; the three of us spreading out the open pages and sharing tidbits from our sections. My parents were quite the team; their investigative journalism took them all over the world. My goal was to follow in their footsteps—as far as journalism was concerned, not Protecting Sacred Scrolls. My job at Lifting the Fog would hopefully open doors at the Wall St. Journal and other prestigious papers.
I stopped mid-path because I was totally caught off guard. None other than Glimmer Eyes was back; he sat on the bench before me as if he had been waiting for my arrival. The whole thing with him following me everywhere was a bit unnerving. Didn’t he understand I had no desire to fulfill my destiny? At least the Protector of Light portion. But it was obvious Glimmer Eyes couldn’t take a hint, so I decided to initiate the conversation and set him straight.
“Okay, fine. I concede,” I said.
The lady sitting next to him gave me an odd glance and readjusted her newspaper to block me out. Glimmer Eyes got off the bench and waved for me to follow him down the path. He had a commanding presence—not quite as intense as the angel in my recurring dream, but pretty dang fierce. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was rather handsome. I guess it was hard to tell since I had been avoiding him. His mocha-brown complexion was as smooth as it was flawless; he kept his dark curls shaved close to his perfectly shaped head, and he had a warm smile. The only thing that let on that he wasn’t human were his eyes.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, Fiona. We’re going to that bench over there. More privacy.” His voice was a calming whisper, but powerful. But what was most peculiar about his voice was that it wasn’t coming from his mouth. It was inside my head.
“How’d you do that?” I yelled, causing a few heads to turn.
“No need to speak. We can communicate like this,” he said. Or thought. Or whatever the hell he was doing.
“I don’t like you being up in my head. It’s weird.”
“It’s the best way to communicate with you when there are humans around. Let’s keep walking,” he suggested. “And if you’re uncomfortable communica
ting in your mind, talk out loud and pretend like you’re on your phone. You’ll fit right in.”
He smiled brightly, and I immediately felt safe.
I adjusted my earbuds and followed Glimmer Eyes to the west end of the park where we sat on a secluded bench. I was worried he was going to hand me some Sacred Scroll and tell me I had to protect it for life.
“I don’t have any Sacred Scrolls,” he said.
“I really wish you wouldn’t read my thoughts.”
“You’re the one who invited me in.”
“Only because I can’t seem to shake you.”
His baritone laugh was warm and prickled through my body in the most pleasant way. Not romantically or anything like that—no, I wasn’t going to fall in love with an angel. He had a calming reassurance and made me feel like everything was going to be okay. It was a feeling of security, something I hadn’t fully felt since my parents had gone missing.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“Ezra.”
The way he said his name felt like he covered me with a cozy blanket and handed me a cup of hot cocoa. I was regretful I hadn’t invited him over last night to keep me warm on that hard antique couch.
“So, Ezra. I know what you’re here for and … hmm, how can I put this? Let’s see … I want no part of this Protector crap.”
The light in his violet eyes flickered, and I thought he was going to strike me down right there in the park. But once again he chuckled. I was grateful he had a sense of humor; Ezra was winning points with me.
“Your mother had a similar reaction. And so did your grandmother.”
“Defiance does run in the family.”
His eyes gleamed a little brighter, and his voice penetrated deeper in a more serious tone that had a twinge of finality to it. “What also runs in your family is Protectorship. It’s not something you can avoid, no matter how many corners you turn. It’s your calling.”
