by R.K. Ryals
Chapter 8
Emma
The table has grown quiet. The food is almost gone, and the gargoyles have spent most of the afternoon discussing their plans. They seem to know a lot about me. From what I've gathered, they have access to both my adoption and medical records. I know little about them.
The sky outside the French doors is darkening. I am spending the night here. I should be relieved, but I'm not.
"She can have my room," Conor says. "I'll sleep on the floor."
This doesn't get a good response.
"She needs to be locked up," Roach grumbles. Will gives him a hard look.
"She's just a girl, Roach. Lighten up a little."
Conor's mom stands up.
"Your room is fine, Con, but you won't be sharing it," Bea says firmly.
Conor stands opposite her. My gaze moves between them. I know I should be upset that they keep referring to me as if I'm not present, but I honestly like that they seem to keep forgetting I'm here. Good guys or not, they are strangers and that makes them dangerous.
"She's my job, Mom. She can't be left without supervision."
The word "supervision" makes me feel like a five-year-old child. Couldn't he have used the word "protection" or even "company"?
"I'm well aware of what she needs, Son, and I've made arrangements."
This gets my attention. I stand anxiously as Conor leans across the table.
"Arrangements?" he asks, his voice low. His accent has deepened.
Bea's eyes never leave her son.
"Rachel, you can come in now," Bea calls out. Conor doesn't look away from his mom, but he does narrow his eyes.
"You're serious?" he whispers furiously.
"As a heart attack," his mom replies, smiling sweetly.
"Should I be concerned you seem so opposed to the idea?" a female voice asks, and I turn slowly. My heart rate is back up again, and I know my temp is definitely higher than 103. I hear chairs scrape against the floor, and I know Roach and Will are standing now too.
Conor growls before pushing his chair into the table harder than is necessary, his eyes still locked on Bea's. I jump a little at the noise.
"My job, Mom!"
By now, I am looking at the hallway, and I have to fight hard not to gape. There is a girl about my age standing just inside the kitchen, and she is everything I'd never be. She isn't skinny, she is petite. She isn't dark, she is blonde. She isn't pretty, she is breathtaking. And, in that moment, I know she is one of them. Maybe it's the way she holds herself, confident and tall in a pair of skinny jeans, and a pink top with an empire waist, but it's obvious she isn't completely human.
"I'm not here to commandeer your job, Reinhardt," the girl says, her eyes on Conor's back.
I draw near Conor. I don't trust any of them one darn bit, but Conor has hours and space marked on my radar. That has to be enough at the moment. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I pause, my back stiffening.
"Shhhh . . ." Conor breathes before turning back to his mother. "Why?"
Bea moves around the table, her steps bringing her to Rachel's side.
"Because you were demoted, Conor. And my job is to make sure the rules are followed. You're an Escort, not a Guardian. And the girl is obviously already being tracked. The Council didn't count on that. It means her level of security has been raised and Rachel and Roach are more qualified."
Conor is at my back now, and I can feel his anger. I wait to be afraid, but I only feel strange. I am light-headed, my brows furrowing in confusion as the edges of the room begin to blur.
"The hell they are!" Conor practically yells. "I have a year of training on Rachel, and Roach is just plain incompetent."
"The same has been said about you. Welcome to the brotherhood," Roach sneers.
"Here we go . . ." Will mumbles.
I start counting slowly, taking deep breaths in and out. The Rachel girl is staring at me funny, but I don't care.
"It doesn't matter how you feel about it, Conor. You were demoted. You must realize the limits your position now holds," Bea says.
Conor's hand tightens on my shoulder, and my world simply vanishes. It is the only way to describe the onslaught of images that suddenly slams through me. . . .
A girl. Red hair. A man with red eyes. Blood. Conor kissing the red-haired girl. Italy? Will . . . a crushed fist. Conor turning to stone. A group of men and women. The letter S. The letter O. Me . . . there is a photo of me. My medical records. Conor's anger. . . .
I howl. It isn't something I mean to do, but the sound escapes the same time a red ball of flame shoots forth. Bea deflects it easily as Rachel ducks. I collapse, panting. What was that!
"She tried to kill them!" Roach shouts.
I shake my head. I hadn't done anything! Had I?
"What the hell!" Will exclaims.
There is someone next to me.
"What was that, sweetheart?"
Conor. I am still shaking my head. I hadn't done anything. I couldn't have done anything!
"Emma?"
I look up, my eyes taking in the stunned group of people surrounding me. My knees hurt where they have slammed against the floor. My eyes find Conor. He is kneeling next to me, his hand no longer on my shoulder.
"Red hair," I whisper. "Marcas?"
Conor's eyes widen, and he leans closer.
"What are you talking about?" he asks.
"You were staring at a photo of m-m-me. There was a crushed fist . . . Will's maybe? And a girl . . . a r-red headed girl. And anger. You were angry." I shake my head. I hadn't meant to do anything!
Conor sits back on his heels, his breathing deep as he stares up at his mother.
"She has her mother's powers," he says softly. Bea nods. My mother?
"She tried to kill them!" Roach says again, loudly.
"Would you just shut up!" Conor insists. He starts to put his hand on my shoulder again, but stops, his eyes taking in his splayed palm before looking at me.
"Anger. You said you felt anger," Conor says. He keeps his eyes on me, but I know his next statement is meant for the room at large. "She fed off my anger."
I am shaking now.
"She should be put down!" Roach exclaims. Conor stands up.
"Now would be a good time to close that mouth," Conor growls.
"You know I'm right. She's deadly! She should be extermin . . ."
Conor's fist connects with Roach's jaw. I don't see Roach go down, but I hear it. Roach groans.
"Just be glad I wasn't touching her shoulder then. You'd be dead if I was."
"Conor!" Bea exclaims.
Will leans over Roach, scoping out the damage as the cross gargoyle rubs his jaw.
"The Council is so going to have your head for this one," Will says. Conor shakes his fist.
"It was damn well worth it."
Conor turns to his mother. I can tell he isn't the type to talk back. The respect he has for his mother is obvious, but the quick glance he throws at Rachel promises a fight.
"Demoted or not, you know I'm more qualified. They can travel with me, but I guard the girl."
Bea is staring at me, her eyes digging into my skin. I look down at the floor, letting my hair fall in front of my face. I am shaking, and I hate it. I hate that I am afraid, hate that I don't know who I am. I have lived in this body for seventeen years, and I don't know a dang thing about it.
"You'll need to speak to Gibson. Get his permission and you have mine," Bea says softly.
I don't look up, but I can feel the tension in the room ease.
"Thank you," Conor says.
I am pretty sure his mother nods.
"You and Rachel can sit with her tonight. Take turns staying up," Bea orders.
I look up to find Conor and Rachel regarding each other warily, but they don't argue. Apparently this is something they can both live with.
"Will, take Roach and get some ice on that jaw," Bea adds.
"Take it easy, darlin'. We need to get you upstairs."
I relax as much as I can, letting him help me up before following him toward the kitchen's entrance.
"And Conor . . ." Bea says suddenly. Conor pauses. "It's not going to help your cause any if you keep breaking the rules. Collaterals have their job for a reason."
I know immediately she's aware of the phone call to my mother. Conor flinches.
"Dammit! How do you do that?" he asks hotly. Bea "tsks."
"One of these days you'll realize your mother knows everything."
