I can see he’s getting frustrated that no one appears to be listening or reacting and he yells out again, “Eagle Squadron! Now! Over here!” After a few more seconds with no response, his face turns tomato red and he screams out with furious annoyance, “EAGLE SQUADRON OVER HERE, YOU DIRTY DIRTBAGS!”
I’m standing with my mouth hanging open at the ferocity coming from camo-boy’s six-year-old lips and that’s when I finally spot Charlie. He’s standing in the middle of the mayhem, laser gun in hand, and he turns and looks at the boy in camo and says, “Dude, you’re taking this way too seriously.”
I drop the present in my hand to the ground because I’m laughing so hard and that’s when Charlie sees me and runs over. He almost knocks me down as he jumps into my arms for a giant hug. “Declan!” he says as I lift him up. He wraps his arms around my neck and hugs me tight as I kiss his cheek. “Hey, birthday boy,” I say, “you’re getting so big! And I’m so happy to see you. I brought you a present.”
His eyes light up as I set him back down and crouch to his level to show him the package I dropped. It’s wrapped in his favorite shade of blue with a colorful striped ribbon on top.
“Can I open it?” he asks.
I nod. “Later, when you open all your presents. I’ll put it on the table with the other ones so it’ll be waiting for you. I think you’re going to like it.” I got him a Your First Magnet Set he was coveting the last time we walked to the toy store downtown.
He smiles excitedly and hugs me again. “Can I ask you a question?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Are firecrackers for eating or for blowing up?”
“What? Why?”
“Marcus said he brought firecrackers in his pocket. And matches.”
My eyes go wide. “Which one is Marcus?” I ask, trying not to panic. “We need to find him right away.”
Charlie points to a group of boys near the pool running in circles and screaming. One of them is clad in only a red t-shirt and Iron Man underwear.
That can’t be Marcus, he doesn’t even have pants, let alone pockets.
Another boy, standing off to the side, is peeing into the shrubbery.
As I take it all in with stupefied horror and amazement, the good news is, my nausea has been pushed so far back on the list of urgent priorities right now that it’s all but forgotten.
The bad news is, this is going to be a very long day.
The next few weeks of school, holidays, and finals whiz by so fast that I hardly have time to focus on anything other than day-to-day requirements and putting one foot in front of the other to get the things done that I need to. I’m slowly becoming mesmerized by the life that’s growing inside me, as evidenced by my growing belly and the soft, amazing kicks that blow my mind every time I feel one. With so much else to focus on, it’s been easy to forget about the danger looming ever-present in the background: dark guardians, and powerful Makers, and Avestan eventually recovering and returning to seek his hateful revenge on us once again.
I’m six months along now, entering my third trimester, and Alexander has made me feel so safe and protected all along that I find myself falling into a state of complacency.
But I know that isn’t good.
I need to stay alert and keep my guard up. Avestan has had months now to recover and he could reemerge into our lives at any moment.
As the new semester starts at UCSM I’m pleasantly surprised to see that Justin and I have a class next door to each other again. Last semester we had adjacent Econ classes that let out at the same time and we got in the habit of going for coffee (or in my case, decaf herbal tea) afterwards to chat. This semester, we ended up with classes near each other in the science building.
“Wow, you’re finally starting to show,” Justin says as we sit down outside Campus Coffee. Similar to A-plus Coffee on the other side of campus, this café also has a large deck with a view.
“I know,” I say, “it’s starting to feel more real by the day.”
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Terrified,” I say with a laugh. “But Alexander and I have been going to childbirth classes, so that helps a bit. And I’ve been babysitting since I was twelve so I know my way around a diaper. And I love kids. I babysit this little boy named Charlie Bing who I absolutely adore. He just turned six a little while ago. His party was nuts. Do you realize what’s happening at kids’ parties these days?”
He laughs. “I know. I have a little stepbrother. When I was a kid my parties were ten kids in the back yard with a blow-up kiddie pool,” he says. “He gets thirty kids at Jungle Jump Fantasy Land.”
“I know,” I laugh, “right? I’m realizing now how sedate my childhood was.”
He smiles. “Hey, is Charlie Bing by any chance related to Molly Bing?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised. “He’s her little brother. You know Molly?”
“Wish I could answer no to that question.”
I laugh. “Did you date her?”
“No, not me, thank God. She dated a friend of mine over the summer. I went over to her house with him once. I met Charlie. He’s a cute kid.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” I ask, my heart suddenly beating faster. Please don’t say Avestan.
“Huh? Oh, it was my friend Dan. You met him once. Tall, nice guy … stupidly gullible.”
My heart relaxes back to normal. I’m more on alert than I realized. “Stupidly gullible?”
He nods. “Gullible enough to believe Molly wouldn’t rip his heart out and throw it back in his face. Twice.”
I nod, sadly unsurprised.
I snap a photo surreptitiously of the man who I keep seeing everywhere I go on campus. He could be a fellow student who just happens to have classes in the same buildings as I do. And, I suppose, he also could have wandered into Campus Coffee at the same time Justin and I were there … coincidentally. But something about him is unsettling.
I tell myself the following stories, in the order of ‘nothing-to-worry-about’ to ‘run-away-screaming-in-alarm’: 1) he’s a student; 2) he’s a guardian who’s staying extra close because danger is nearby ; and 3) he’s a dark guardian here to kill me as soon as I let my guard down. Mostly likely number one is true. I know that—rationally. But that doesn’t preclude numbers two or three from also being true. Only I don’t think I would be feeling this uneasy if it was a guardian who was here to protect me. Then again, I have been on edge, regardless, and that pregnancy book warned me about surging hormones at this stage. I wonder if I’m going a little crazy?
After my last class I’m in close proximity to where Edwin teaches so I decide to go see him in his office and hopefully set my mind at ease. His door is open and I peek in to find him at his desk reading some papers. I knock softly as I step inside.
“Edwin?”
“Declan,” he says, looking up with a smile, “what a nice surprise. Come have a seat. How are you feeling? The nausea still bothering you?”
I sit down in the chair next to his desk. “Better, thanks. It comes and goes but it’s been gone for the last week so I hope that’s the end of it.”
He nods. “Glad to hear it. Now what brings you here? What can I do for you?”
“Edwin, I know you’re not supposed to tell me, but I need to ask you something.”
His expression shifts to a more serious one. “What is it I’m not supposed to tell you?”
“Well, there’s this guy who I think has been following me all day, and I don’t have a good feeling about him. I know you can’t tell me who the good or bad guardians are but I need to know if my feelings are right and if this is a dark guardian. And if it is, I need you to know that he’s following me. So that you can put more of the good guardians on my watch.”
He smiles. “I promise you, Declan, there are always good guardians close by.”
I nod. “I know, but I need to know about this one … in particular. I can’t let it go.”
Edwin’s eyes are filled wi
th concern. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did he try to talk to you?”
“No.”
“How do you know he was following you?”
“I don’t know for sure. But something about him made me feel uneasy.”
“Is he outside now?” Edwin asks, turning to peer out his window. He looks in all directions.
I shake my head. “I saw him when I got out of class but he veered off when I came here. But I took a picture … without him knowing.” I slide my phone out of my purse and pull up the photo.
Edwin studies the photo and as I look over his shoulder, I realize that the man looks no different than any other nondescript brown-haired man in jeans and a t-shirt on campus. Maybe I was wrong. “You felt something when he was around?” Edwin asks.
“Yes, but as I stare at the picture now it seems a bit foolish. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I’m starting to look more obviously pregnant and that has me worried because of what you said earlier. I don’t want Avestan to find out.” I shake my head. “I’m probably being crazy. He seems harmless now that I look at the photo. I think I’m being paranoid.”
“Perhaps,” Edwin says. “Or perhaps this was a dark guardian sent to find you … and his intense focus was precisely because you’re starting to look pregnant.”
I swallow. “So he was a dark guardian?”
“I don’t know, Declan,” he says, shaking his head, “I would need to see him in person to be sure—so I could feel his energy and see his aura. That doesn’t come through in a photo. But we have to assume that perhaps Avestan has sent sentinels ahead of his return and word of your pregnancy may spread back now to those who we hope it doesn’t.”
The thought forms a pit in my stomach. “Edwin, I feel like I’m always looking over my shoulder. I can’t live like this anymore. I need to know who the bad guys are. You need to tell me.”
Edwin squeezes my hand. “I know this is hard, Declan. But trust your instincts. And remember you’re never alone. There are guardians all around, all the time.”
“What if Malentus comes?” I say. “I don’t even know who he is. The only dark guardians I know to watch out for are Avestan and now Alenna.”
“If Malentus comes, guardians will be around you, to protect you.”
“That’s not good enough,” I insist. “I need to know what he looks like. I don’t care if it’s against the rules.” I’m standing my ground on this one. It’s not just about me anymore. It’s about my baby, too.
Edwin meets my eyes. “I don’t carry a photo, Declan.”
“Edwin, I need something,” I say, my eyes pleading with him. “It’s killing me not knowing.”
Edwin opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a sketch pad and a pencil and turns to an empty page. Edwin is an artist? He sets the pad down in his lap and turns in his chair and begins to sketch. The way he has the sketch pad angled up and the way he’s turned in his chair means I don’t have a clear view, but I can see the top outline of a face appearing from among his pencil strokes. When he finishes, he tears out the page and hands it to me. “If you ever see this man,” he says, “call me or Alexander right away.”
I look at the sketch and the face that inhabits the page takes me by surprise. It’s the face of a young man, early twenties, light hair, full lips, very handsome. The creeping horror I feel on seeing his likeness is twofold: one, in my mind I had pictured Malentus as far older and I realize now that I never would have recognized him, even if he’d been standing right in front of me; and two, the fact that this face—this exceptionally handsome yet ordinary face, someone I would have happily talked to in class or made chitchat with in the line at Campus Coffee—masks an evil so deep that even Edwin avoids speaking his name.
I stare at the picture for a long time and only then do I see it. Something in the eyes. Edwin managed to capture and convey with his pencil strokes something in this handsome man’s eyes that, if you know to look for it, shows what he truly is, deep down inside.
This is the man who made Avestan what he is.
This is the man who left Alexander with a jagged scar running down the length of his side.
And this is the man who set the wheels in motion for Burt Fields to kill my father.
I turn back to Edwin. “Thank you,” I say with uneasy conviction as I slip the sketch, hands shaking, into my notebook.
Chapter Eleven
I take the bus home and I watch for the man from campus but I don’t see him again. The sketch of Malentus is burned in my mind and I scan my environment constantly for him now. I see nothing and no one suspicious the whole ride home and I’m beginning to wonder again if I was just being paranoid. Avestan is most likely still recovering, Alenna must be with him, and Malentus is probably way too busy with other evilness in his corner of the world to come looking for Alexander.
Would they really bother sending some dark guardian scout to San Mar to look in on me?
I repeat these thoughts to myself many times but, if I’m being honest, it’s not a convincing argument. Alexander injured Malentus severely, striking a blow to his whole line. The knot in my stomach tells me that an attack like that won’t go unpunished.
I set my backpack down on the kitchen island and open the refrigerator.
“Did I raise you in a barn?”
I turn around to see my mom, who must have just walked in, look on disapprovingly as I drink orange guava juice straight from the carton. I set it down and screw the plastic cap back on with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, mom, I was dying of thirst. I just walked from the bus stop.”
She shakes her head. “It takes five seconds to pour it into a glass. But I’ll let it slide this time, only because you’re pregnant.”
I laugh. “Thanks. Do you have a date with Mark tonight?”
She smiles happily. “He’s taking me out to dinner.”
“Have you kissed the poor man yet?”
My mom blushes a little. “That’s not anything to talk about.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. By now I think Liz’s premature musings about my mother’s sex life have probably come true. I try not to think about the elaborate police officer-related scenarios that Liz has envisioned and shared with me many times as a joke. At this point I’m less traumatized than just laughing about the ridiculous images it conjures up. Liz kills me.
“Do you have homework?” my mom asks.
“When don’t I have homework?” I say with a sigh as I open my backpack and start pulling out numerous notebooks and folders and books and my laptop. I spread everything out on the counter because I like to do my homework at the island in the kitchen as my mom cooks. I can’t always—it depends on the type of assignment I’m working on because some require closed-door concentration—but I like to work here when I can. It’s peaceful being in the kitchen with my mom and I love the smells of whatever she’s cooking. I’ve been doing my homework this way since I was a kid and it feels safe … and nice. My mom has good energy. I survey the spread of books and papers lying out before me and try to decide what to tackle first.
The sound of my mom’s gasp causes me to startle in my seat and look up sharply. When I see her face, my eyes follow to what she’s looking at and my whole body cries out in alarm. The sketch of Malentus slipped out of my notebook when I pulled everything out of my backpack and my mom is holding it in her hand, staring at it, stricken. Her other hand is on her chest and the expression in her eyes is a mixture of both shock and confusion.
“What is it?” I ask, swallowing hard. “Have you seen that guy?”
“Yes,” she says, the tone of her voice sounding bewildered. “But I don’t understand … why do you have a picture of Malcolm?”
Chapter Twelve
“Malcolm?” I ask. “You mean the guy you dated in college to make dad jealous?”
She looks at me, still befuddled, but seemingly breaks out of her spell of distraction. “I didn’t date him to make your father jealous, De
clan. I dated him because he’d been after me for a while and I’d given up on your father at that point.”
“This,” I say, pointing to the picture with disbelief, “is Malcolm?” It’s more of a statement than a question. I’m still trying to absorb what she’s telling me. “The guy you dated? Are you sure?” The implications roil in my mind.
Malcolm is Malentus?
“Of course I’m sure,” she says. “I’m not that old, Declan. I think I can remember what people look like, for goodness’ sake. For a moment there I felt like I’d gone back in time.” She takes a deep breath, obviously still recovering from the initial shock. “How did you get this?”
“It’s just a sketch someone drew. In an art class.” Small fib.
She shakes her head slowly as if she’s trying to make sense of it. “Did they draw it from a photo? I’m sorry if I scared you. It’s just that this sketch looks exactly like Malcolm did when we went to school. As if no time has passed. It’s uncanny. Maybe it’s his son? Do you know this person’s name?”
I shake my head, still trying to comprehend whatever this means.
“Well, if you see whoever this is on campus, ask him if his last name is Valent.”
Before I can answer, she chimes in again. “You know what? Scratch that. Don’t ask him if you see him. Don’t even mention it. Don’t talk to him.”
“Why?” I ask. Not because I would ever approach Malentus in a million years, but because I’m curious why she’s instantly reversing herself.
“Because it ended badly,” she says, “between Malcolm and me, and I’m realizing now, seeing his picture, that it just brought back some painful memories.”
Revelation (The Guardian Series Book 3) Page 6
