Grace of Day - BK 4 of the Grace Series

by S. L. Naeole

  It didn’t matter what he said to me. I wasn’t going to let my dad believe that I was gone. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t something that I would do.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re about fifty miles out of Heath.”

  “Take me back—take me to see my father, Robert.”

  “Grace, I can’t-”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Yes, that too, but I can’t let you go back there. You have to understand how much danger you are in.”

  He held my arms, pinning them to my sides, as though that alone would be enough to convince me, to force me to concede. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was no guilt. As short-lived as it was, I despised him in that moment for that.

  “I can’t do anything but understand,” I said, my voice low, my eyes averting his gaze.

  “I know this is hard, Grace.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Please…don’t be angry with me over this. I don’t want us to spend what little time we have left at odds with each other.”

  When he pulled me towards him, my face resting against the dip in his chest, I didn’t struggle. I didn’t have the mental space to even try. I was too busy thinking about what it was going to take to see my father again.

  The first thing I needed to do was speak to him—he’d hear my voice and he’d know I was alright. He was my dad. He’d know even without hearing my voice that I wasn’t dead—he’d know just like Sean knew that Stacy was alive.

  “Stacy was fighting with Isis when Lark and Lem showed up. Lark left me to help her.”

  “Isis chose the wrong person to attack. Even as a human, Stacy was fierce and determined. With everything that her…change has given her, Stacy is a formidable opponent for anyone of my kind.”

  This was surprising news to me. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s faster now, obviously, as well as stronger. Her years of training, her knowledge of self-defense and attack—her mind is now sharper and she can utilize everything she’s learned much faster, more precisely.”

  “But Isis can read Stacy’s mind—she’d be able to see what Stacy’s going to do before she does it.”

  Robert rested his chin atop my head and I felt his disagreement. “Stacy’s reactions will be completely automatic, defensive, split-second actions that Isis wouldn’t be able to keep up with if she could even make them out to begin with. Stacy doesn’t think in English.”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t think in English. It’s quite normal, actually, for one’s thoughts in their head to be in the language that they first learn. They don’t realize it, of course, because their thoughts are their own, in their own voice.”

  “So why wouldn’t Isis be able to understand her?”

  “Because Isis is like most of living creatures on this planet, divine or otherwise: she’s a creature of her environment. She has existed among those who’ve only spoken one language. Every thought, every notion, every word has been in English, and if it were spoken in anything else it was simply unimportant. It wouldn’t take much of an effort for her to learn how to speak another language, but Isis is good for only one thing: destruction. She’s not capable of building, of creating, especially knowledge.”

  “But you understand?”

  “Of course. When my mother created me, every ounce of knowledge she possessed was passed into me. What she did not know, I learned, and I continue to do so every day. If I didn’t, I’d never have believed it possible to love someone as much as I do you.”

  “Just not enough to let me see my father,” I muttered beneath my breath.

  “Grace…”

  “How did you feel, Robert, when you learned your mother and your sister believed you had died? How did you feel when you learned that I thought you were gone?”

  “It devastated me—my first priority was to reassure you that I was fine, but-”

  I cut him off. “You couldn’t stay away—why should I?”

  He opened his mouth, I felt it. And then it closed, slowly, the pressure atop my head easing. There was a struggle, an inner struggle that I could sense within me.

  “Okay.”

  I pulled my head away to look up at him. “You mean it?”

  “Yes. But, not now.”

  “When?” I was urgent, insistent.

  “After everything is finalized.”

  “So in a day or two?”

  “Yes. But it will happen when I say, Grace. I can’t let emotion win out on this one—too much is at stake already.”

  I didn’t care if it happened at the snap of his fingers; my father was going to know the truth. But even the knowledge that all that was done wrong would be righted, the fact that right now, dad was in pain. He thought I was dead, and there was no one there to comfort him, no one there to make sure that he was eating, that Matthew was being cared for, no one there to make sure that…that he didn’t give up.

  “Thank you.”

  “I wish it was more. I hate only being able to give you these tidbits of promises, Grace.”

  “It’s better than nothing.” I tried smiling at him, but it was difficult, even after getting what I wanted. “What’s going to happen to Isis?”

  “Isis is dead.”

  It was like lightning shot down my spine. “Dead?”

  “Yes. Lark and Stacy make a very…efficient team.”

  “They always did,” I said, my smile finally finding its completion.

  Something in the back of my head started tap-tap-tapping, an annoying and persistent hint of something that I could not remember. I frowned at the blank screen that kept popping up at each turn, my search for the answer a dead end. “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “If I could tell you that there wouldn’t be a problem,” I said with mild irritation in my voice. “Look, never mind that right now. Where’s Stacy and Lark? What’s going to happen to them?”

  “They’re headed here, to meet us. Stacy is going to travel with us, while Graham and Lark will remain behind.”

  “You’re actually allowing Stacy to come with us?”

  “I have no choice. There is no one else who is capable of being with you who desires that you remain alive as much as I do.”

  I contradicted him. “Lem doesn’t want me to die.”

  “You remaining alive isn’t the only thing Lem desires, Grace.”

  My cheeks burned at the comment. “He has feelings for me, but only because I remind him of my mom.”

  “You don’t remind him of your mother, Grace. He sees in you the same thing I do: someone who loves without question, who is generous and kind, who’s forgiving, and who is as stubborn as a donkey in cement. He also sees that you love me, far more than I deserve, and he wants that. All angels do. It’s just he wants the feeling—I want the person it comes from.”

  “But it won’t matter soon, will it? It won’t matter what either of you two want.” There was a hopelessness to my voice that disturbed even me. “It won’t matter what any of us want. It’s as though even my choices are now being denied to me. It’s like they have all along.”

  “Stacy and Lark will be here very shortly; Graham, too.”

  The change in subject once more was a welcomed one, and I sighed away my doubts and my fears, my hurt and my sorrow. “And then what?”

  “They’ll take you to another home we own, a smaller, unassuming place. I’m going to return to your father. I’ll only be gone for a few hours.”

  “You’re not going to tell him that I’m still alive, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Not until we’re ready to leave.”

  “So…two days, right?”

  “Yes, two days.”

  Two days. Dad would think I was dead for two days. Would that be long enough to accept it? Would that be long enough for him to doubt anything else he hears after that?

  “Is he angry? At you?”

 
My questions seemed to burden Robert, and I saw that my dad was indeed angry. “He blames me. He isn’t wrong. Isis would have never known to find you at our home if I had not brought her there.”

  The beast that is guilt returned to take another large chunk out of me. “It’s my fault. You thought I was at my dad’s house. I was the one who walked out on you—I shouldn’t have shown up there, dressed…wearing what I was. I’m sure if I had been Isis, and I’d seen that, I’d have been quite pissed off, too.”

  Robert chuckled, a soft, deep sound in his throat that, despite everything that had happened in the past two days, made me feel warm and bubbly inside. “I do not regret for one moment seeing you in that red outfit. And, I will make you promise me that when we’re gone from here, that you will put it on again for me.”

  My eyes bulged in surprise and embarrassment. “You still have it?”

  He nodded, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “It’s in my trunk.”

  “But the trunk was in the house…”

  “In my room.”

  “Yes, but-”

  He sighed and rubbed my temple with his thumb before pressing a warm kiss there. “You remember what I said, Grace? About sanctuary?”

  “Nothing goes in or out unless you want it to.”

  “Exactly. Nothing in that room was touched. Nothing. Isis wanted to get in—she couldn’t. The house was nothing—it meant nothing. Everything that matters to me was either inside or outside, with me. You are the most precious thing in this life to me, and even if everything in that room had been destroyed, you weren’t.”

  “I couldn’t see or hear much of anything,” I admitted. “I couldn’t see anything at all, actually. And everything hurt—but I think I’m getting pretty good at dealing with that by now.”

  He grumbled, and I shrugged, unable to change those facts for him. “It’s the truth, whether we like it or not.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Without skipping a beat, I asked, “What did the police and firemen say when they saw that the entire house was destroyed except for one room?”

  “They said nothing. Lem filled their heads with what we wanted them to know, leaving them to believe that the room had been the furthest point from the blast origination. It was easy to make them see what we wanted them to see.”

  Including me dead. “Why did Ameila help you? More importantly, why did you let her?”

  This touched on a difficult subject, and he paused for too long. “Did you ask for it?”

  “No. She arrived as Stacy was leaving with you. Stacy was given explicit instructions to make sure that no one saw you and to drive until Lark found her. She knew Isis was after you—she knew what she had to do to keep you safe and she was willing to do it.”

  “And Ameila?”

  “My mother did what she always does. She brings closure to those who need it.”

  “And did she bring closure to you?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot forgive her for toying with us the way she has. Her meddling and her scheming have cost you greatly. You did not deserve to be thrust into this life with us. Had we never met, our calls might have never come, and you’d have been free to live your life without fear.”

  “Until Sam found me,” I said softly.

  “He would have never done that because there would have been no reason to—I wouldn’t have loved you.”

  I looked at him with sad eyes, and saw deep in those slate rings something that I never wanted to see. It was as though all of his thoughts were there, admitting to me the truth. He regretted coming to Heath. He regretted seeing me. He regretted all of this.

  My mind was closed to him, and he knew it. He didn’t ask me why, he didn’t ask me for entry. And for that I was glad that for now, all he could feel was my pain, and would likely attribute it to my father’s grief. How grateful I was to that then, the strange falseness of my death. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to cry without telling him the real reason for it. This way, he was allowed to keep his secret, and I was allowed to feel the guilt of it.

  HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT

  The “unassuming” house turned out to be one in a neighborhood similar to my own. The homes were identical for the most part, though much, much older in appearance and wear, each one facing its virtual twin across the street, the only differences being color and layout. The yards were all manicured here, and there were no cars parked out in the driveway. It was tidy, well kept, and left me feeling nervous as we approached the front door like a couple of door-to-door salespeople.

  Robert pretended to pull out a key, but the door opened without it, Lark standing behind it with a relieved look on her face. “It’s about time you guys got here,” she croaked.

  “What’s wrong?” Robert asked as he ushered me inside, away from the prying eyes of the neighbor across the street.

  “Mrs. Culpepper two houses down has been here three times already. She keeps asking me if we’re having a house party, and if we were, does our mom know about it. She is so nosy!”

  An indelicate sound escaped me at the tone of Lark’s voice. It was easy to forget that she was over five centuries old when she whined like the teenager she pretended to be. “Who’s the woman across the street?” I asked, my eyes darting towards the window and seeing that the curtain was drawn open, leaving the living room in full view of the curious stare that I could almost feel directly across from me.

  “That’s Mrs. Lorimax. If Mrs. Culpeper’s nosy, Mrs. Lorimax is the queen of gossip. She’s constantly filling everyone’s ears with stories about us. Most of them true, of course—we do come in at all hours of the night, we’re quiet, we’re strangely free from discipline—but it’s when she comes over and starts asking questions that I become really annoyed. This entire block needs a hobby, I think.”

  The curtain across the street closed, and I waited, and grimaced when sure enough, the sound of a door closing, followed by the slow slide of feed across pavement greeted my ears just a few moments before the doorbell rang, a loud, hollow peal that echoed in the small house. Lark groaned, but still walked towards the door and opened it, a false smile plastered on her face, her gaze staring straight ahead blankly.

  “Hello Mrs. Lorimax,” she said with little enthusiasm.

  “W-well, hello Lark,” the old woman said with a hint of surprise in her voice. “I didn’t realize you’d know who it was—you being blind and all.”

  Up close, the older woman looked almost ancient. Her skin was covered in fine wrinkles that reminded me of crepe paper. The lines around her eyes and mouth were deeper, turning into veritable canyons whenever she smiled, and even her smile was false in its meaning. Her eyes were a pale color, almost an aquamarine shade that had the inclusions of white cataracts, and her hair was a strange shade of…lilac?

  “Mrs. Lorimax, I told you the last time, I’d know you anywhere; that perfume you wear is unique and you’re the only person I know who wears it,” Lark explained through gritted teeth, her smile never faltering.

  The old woman wasn’t buying it. “Someone must have told you I was coming. Was it you, Robert? Did you give me away?”

  “No, ma’am. Lark is correct—your perfume is one that I can only place on you. It smells like it was made specifically to suit your particular chemistry.” At the compliment—was it a compliment?—the woman’s smile changed, turning from a rather empty sort of expression to one that was practically beaming.

  “You always did know what to say to make a woman feel better, Robert. How lucky your mother is to have a son such as yourself.” She finally shifted her focus onto me, as though only now realizing that I was in the room, and her eyes grew beady. “And who are you?”

  “I-I”

  I didn’t know what to tell her. Did I reveal myself to be Robert’s wife? His girlfriend? His soon to be next victim?

  “This is Grace, Mrs. Lorimax,” Robert answered for me.

  “Grace, huh? That girl you’ve been dating? So you’ve finally deci
ded to bring her around, have you? Too ashamed of where you lived or something, Robert? We might be old, but we’re still people you know,” she chastised before approaching me, walking right past an indignant Lark, and taking my hand, patting it with a cold, vein covered hand that looked more like a claw than anything else.

  “You are a pretty little thing—odd looking one way, fetching another—and you’re all Robert here ever seems to talk about. You’re not put off by where he lives, are you? No, you wouldn’t be. I don’t believe that Robert would ever date someone who cared about things like that.”

  I looked at Robert’s face and saw his sheepish smile, and I suddenly felt quite amused by this. How many times had I felt slightly awkward about my own home and its shabby condition compared to Robert’s impressive white colonial? To now be the one on the other end of the stick was different. I couldn’t let this Mrs. Lorimax believe that I cared about such things, though.

  “I think this house is charming, Mrs. Lorimax. It actually looks a lot like my own,” I said to her.

  “That’s what I thought. Now then, what’s the occasion?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her hand motioned between Robert and me, going back and forth as though the answer was obvious. “You’re here—there has to be some kind of reason.”

  Sure. Angels are trying to kill me, they just blew up Robert’s other house, and we keep getting interrupted before we can have sex.

  Robert began coughing, his eyes bulging out and I felt my face turn red; he had heard my thoughts; my mind was open again.

  “I’m here for dinner, Mrs. Lorimax.” It was as close to the truth as I could get, and even that was far from it, the guilt that weighed on me from the lie pulling down my smile a notch or two. Luckily, this went unnoticed by the old woman who nodded and began to trod towards the door.

  “If you have time, do stop over before you leave,” she called out as she walked past Lark, who still held the door open, an impatient frown on her face now having replaced the phony smile. “I want to give you something.”

  “Mm-okay,” I replied, watching her disappear behind the quickly closed door.