Fallen Eden

by Nicole Williams

  I peeked out the window above the sink to make sure Paul was staying put on the porch before dodging through the rest of the house, pulling down and collecting any of the framed photos that showed William. I wanted to stop and stare at each one, for at least an hour or two, but I could do that later. I left the rest of the photos out; Paul wouldn’t recognize any of the other Haywards.

  I entered the first bedroom down the hall and slid the pictures underneath the bed, where Paul wouldn’t find them since I was claiming this as my room and, despite what Paul might hope or imagine happening, there was no way he’d be allowed in my room under any condition.

  “Alright,” I yelled, closing the bedroom door behind me. “Come on in.”

  “Ready or not, here I come,” Paul said, stepping through the entry. “Wow, this is some place.”

  “Yeah, it will work, right?” I crossed my arms and leaned up against the wall.

  “It will work?” he repeated, looking at me if I’d lost my mind. “Do you know how much you’d have to pay to stay in a place like this in such a primo location?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Well I do and let’s just say it would deplete my rainy day fund in about three and a half hours.”

  “Must be some fund,” I teased, remembering the money from my second and last night at the Rue St. Jersey. At least we’d have a meager buffer before I had to go out and figure out how to scrounge up some more.

  “Well, baling hay for a couple months in the summer doesn’t exactly pay five bills a shift.” He looked at me with mock accusation. “Although since it didn’t require any leather-pant-wearing-coy-smiling-batting-my-lashes skill sets, I suppose that explains why.”

  “I forgot how obnoxious you could be.” I smiled, casually browsing the pictures on the walls, ensuring there were none left with William in them. I don’t know what Paul would have done if he found out the place was William’s—although I expected a reaction stronger than displeasure and slighter than outrage—but I didn’t want the added stress of worrying about it. There was enough that needed explaining already.

  “So why don’t you go take that hot shower,” Paul instructed, as if reading my mind. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee and then I’ll join you.”

  “I also forgot how delusional you could be,” I hollered over my shoulder as I turned to walk down the hall.

  “And I forgot how much of a tease you could be.”

  “I take my coffee dark and strong.”

  Paul laughed. “The opposite of how you prefer your men.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, slamming the bathroom door, hoping the water and steam could wash away so much more than sediment.

  The reminders of William were everywhere; I don’t know why I thought by tearing down the pictures I’d be able to hide him away under a bed. From the way my damp hair smelled of his herbal-earthy scented shampoo to the blue scrub pajamas and white undershirt I had borrowed for pajamas, his presence clung to me at every turn—as if these inanimate objects would not allow me to forget him. “As ordered, Madame.” Paul swept out of the kitchen, a mug in his hand, wearing a familiar set of pajamas. “Hey, nice outfit,” he said. “It seems the doctor look is all the rage for this season.” He wore the precise outfit I was, although they fit him better than they did me. “I hope your friend doesn’t have some sort of communicable skin disease because I pulled these out of the laundry basket.” He handed me the mug. “Gross, I know, but slightly less gross than continuing to sport the clothes I’d been wearing two days straight.”

  I took a sip of the coffee, trying not to think about Paul wearing the last thing William had when he was here. “So I suppose you’re ready for some answers?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t let me stall for much longer.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He crossed the living room and whished a slider door open. “Grab a blanket and bring your coffee. It’s cold out here, but the air is so pure it’s doing a power-washing on my lungs from the damage that dive you worked at inflicted on them.”

  “Great idea.” I grabbed the fleece blanket folded over the wooden rocking chair I somehow knew had been made by William—something in the details and the way it made my heart ache—and headed towards the door.

  “I almost forgot,” Paul smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead before marching towards the kitchen. “I have stuff set aside for s’mores.”

  “S’mores?”

  “I’ve got a fire crackling out there for you,” he called from the kitchen before coming back into view with a plate loaded with stacks of graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate. “A little moooo-d lighting never hurt any man’s chances.”

  I rolled my eyes and followed him out onto the balcony where a couple of lounge chairs were circling a fire-pit. “You’re going to ruin your dinner.”

  “I have dessert before dinner and then I have dessert again after dinner,” he said, sounding proud of himself.

  I plopped down onto the chair, wrapping the blanket around me. “With that kind of a diet, it makes it hard to get your protein in. Is that why you’ve lost so much weight?” I asked, trying to take a light-hearted approach to find out what was going on with Paul.

  His face went flat and his voice was guarded when he answered, “Yeah, well . . . I heard that creatine made men lactate, so I just said no to muscle enhancers and milk production.”

  He hadn’t fallen into my trap—I guess I’d have to be more direct.

  He stabbed a marshmallow with a roasting stick and handed it to me. “No more about me. I want to hear about you and just what the heck happened back in Paris.”

  I sighed, resting the marshmallow in the center of the flames instead of letting it brown gradually beside the embers. “Long version or short version?”

  “Honest version.”

  That was going to be difficult, considering I couldn’t tell the truth without mentioning things like Immortals, supernatural strength, and Alliances set on terrorizing one another.

  “Starting with,”—Paul placed his marshmallow beside the embers—“why were you in Paris?”

  I shrugged, sliding the charred mallow from the stick and throwing it over the balcony rail. “Change of scenery. Romantic notions. Impulsive. Take your pick,” I said, sounding blasé. “I didn’t really care where I went just as long as I ended up somewhere else . . . far away.”

  “Did this need to get away have anything to do with him?”

  I nodded, my throat too tight to respond.

  “What happened—if you don’t mind me asking?” He handed me another marshmallow, but I shook my head. Judging from the line of questioning so far, I wasn’t going to be able to stomach food until the grand inquisition was complete.

  “I do mind you asking, actually.” I pulled the blanket around me tighter and stared at the night sky where only a few stars were twinkling—I shivered when I saw William’s and mine flashing at me like a strobe.

  “That’s not fair. You said I could ask you any question.”

  “That’s right.” I turned my eyes from the sky and looked him hard in the eyes. “I said you could ask any question—not that I was going to answer all of them.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Fine. I don’t really want to hear anything about that schmuck anyways.”

  I took a chug of coffee so I wouldn’t fire off what I wanted to say back.

  “Who were the suits that seemed dead-set on killing me?” he asked, cracking his neck.

  I took another drink of coffee, stalling. “They were from my past, sent to pay me back for something I’d done.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Something bad.”

  “What?” he pressed.

  I pressed my lips in a line and shook my head once.

  He threw his hands in the air, tossing the roasting stick to the side. The mallow’s center oozed open. “Well, thank you sooooo much for all the enlightening information.” His voice was growing with each word.

&nb
sp; “I’m not who you think I am,” I said, focusing on the fire. “I’m not the good, innocent girl you want to believe I am.”

  “Yeah—I think innocent was off the table when I found you pouring shots in the red light district,” he said, turning away from me.

  A minute or two of silence went by, where it looked like he was expending every bit of self-control to keep quiet, before he spoke, “But you can’t fool me into believing you’re not good. That’s as obvious as you being torn about telling me what’s going on—what’s really going on.”

  At that moment, more than any of the others, I nearly divulged every nitty-gritty Immortal secret, but just as my confessional was about to spill from my mouth, I remembered why I needed to keep him in the dark. “If I told you anymore than what you know—just from what you’ve gathered from observation alone—you’d be in even more danger than you already are.” I stared into the fire, trying not to think about the lives of my parents lost because of me, or the lives of William and Patrick nearly lost because of me. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “I think I can handle whatever comes my way, thank you very much,” he said.

  I laughed despite the serious conversation; if only he knew . . . “If I wasn’t the only one who can protect you”—I raised my eyebrows at him the same time he did at me—“I’d tell you to run to the opposite corner of the world.” I looked down at my clasped hands. “If anything happened to you, I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Well if the men in black don’t off me, something else will,” he said, sounding serious enough to catch my attention.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, not about to let this porthole he’d opened close before I got some answers. “Are you alright?” I knew I sounded more concerned than an overly-protective parent, but I didn’t care. Something was wrong with him and I wasn’t going to ease up until I found out just what.

  He threw me an appeasing look. “It’s a figure of speech.”

  The fire popped and snapped, filling in the silence as I contemplated what in the world I was going to do now. We couldn’t stay here forever, hoping to hide from the storm coming, but I’d drug Paul into this mess face-first and I was going to see it through.

  However, having spurned the only people that were somewhat on my side, I couldn’t count on anyone but myself to protect Paul. I covered my eyes with my hand, feeling the tears stinging to the surface.

  “Come here,” Paul said, motioning me towards him.

  I felt like a zombie as I went to him and curled onto his lap. His arms ringed around me as he curled his chin over my head. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what’s going on, but it’ll be alright. I swear.”

  I wished everything could be alright again, but there was no going back to those few months where my life felt just right. There was no going back to the time where I thought everything was going to be more than just alright. I’d set fire to that part of my life and now would be living in nothing but the charred aftermath.

  “Thanks for keeping your promise and explaining everything,” Paul said, shifting my body closer against him. “I feel as enlightened as a monk.”

  “I didn’t think you’d have such loaded questions for me,” I said, trying to wiggle my head free from his chin. “I was expecting something more along the lines of, ‘What’s your favorite color?’ or—”

  “Blue,” he answered.

  “How did you know that?” I asked, picturing my favorite shade and the first time I’d seen it staring back at me.

  “You may be the most predictable mysterious woman I’ve ever met.”

  I wrapped one arm around him, trying to mimic the way I used to with William, breathing in the scent of him in William’s clothes. I wanted to feel William’s warmth, his body, hear his heart, but the harder I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember what it’d felt like to be in his arms, the farther I fell from him. I took one more breath in, the only piece of William I could conjure up in my embrace with Paul, before I wound my way out of his arms.

  I noticed the shadow in the corner of the balcony move an instant before it spoke. “Low and behold—the other man,” Patrick said, stepping into the light cast by the fire. “Although vermin seems more fitting.”

  I felt Paul’s body go rigid beneath mine, just as mine was.

  “This is the reason you left William?” Patrick stepped closer and pointed his arms at Paul. “For some scrawny, pasty Mortal who looks like he’s a stage away from comatose as he’s about to round first base with a woman?”

  I sat up, snapping through Paul’s arms. “We weren’t—”

  Patrick raised his hand at me. “Save it for someone who might believe you. Oh—and newsflash—that person isn’t me.” His voice was slightly less enraged than his face.

  “Who are you, pretty-boy?” Paul asked, pushing me aside to stand up. “And what right do you have to talk to her after everything that William-character did to her?”

  Patrick laughed a few notes, sounding crazy and hysterical at the same time. “He did to her? He did to her? You really don’t know who—or what—you’re dealing with do you?” He looked at me as if in explanation. “She’s a piece of work you don’t want to waste your sweat over.”

  Paul charged forward, butting against my body as I stepped in front of him to hold him back.

  “This isn’t the time, Patrick,” I said, not able to look him the eye. Knowing I’d probably never be able to work up the courage to again. “We can talk later.”

  “This is as good a time as any,” Paul shouted, bumping against my back.

  “Trust me when I say this, cowboy,” Patrick said, his eyes narrowing. “Think twice before picking a fight with me. I don’t start them, but I do end them.”

  “Patrick,” I stretched my arms out to stop Paul from escaping behind me. “Enough.”

  “Come on,” Paul said. “I can take goldilocks here.”

  “Yeah, come on, Bryn,” Patrick chided. “Cowboy can take me.”

  “Patrick,” I warned again. “That isn’t a fair fight and you know it.”

  His smile was as dark as the night sky. “I think fair fell out of the equation when he decided to go after another man’s woman.”

  “Darn right I’ll claim her if he won’t,” Paul hollered, thrusting his palm against his chest. “I can’t wait until I have the chance to get in his face and give him a piece of my mind.”

  Patrick’s smile stretched. “Nor can I.”

  “Stop it,” I yelled at Patrick, not sure how much longer I’d be able to keep the two of them apart. I never imagined someone like Patrick could threaten Paul’s life, but like so much in my life, the threat had come from the place I’d least been expecting it. “I know why you’re here and we can talk in private.” I indicated with my eyes to the interior of the house.

  “I’d rather suck snot than be alone with you,” Patrick said, crossing his arms. “The Council can kiss my you-know-what. I’m done with you.” He skirted through the slider door and fell out of view when he stormed down the hallway.

  “Where does he think he’s going?” Paul shouted, dodging towards the door. I didn’t stop him this time, knowing Patrick was back in Montana, probably two seconds away from telling William how he’d found me “rounding first base” with Paul.

  “He’s long gone,” I said, following Paul. “He drives as fast as I do,” I added, hoping the lie sounded natural. Given my experience with fudging the truth as of late, I was certain it did.

  “Who was that?” Paul demanded, spinning on his heels to face me. “And no more ‘you really don’t want to know,’ answers, okay?”

  At least Patrick would be easier to explain. “He owns this place,” I said, justifying another lie that, if only by association alone, he somewhat owned the place. “I guess he was a little surprised to find me here.”

  “He knows that sorry excuse for a man you were dating?”

  I swallowed. “They’re pretty good friends.” Or brothers who have lived
together for more than two hundred years and would do anything for each other—that too.

  “Good friends, huh?” he sniffed. “That must be why I hate him already.”

  “Angry much?” I said under my breath.

  “Not really, no,” he said. “It seems your ex boy-toy and his male-model friend on ‘roids are the ones that bring out the rage.”

  “Deep breath in, deep breath out,” I coaxed, demonstrating for him.

  He eyed me from the side, not looking amused. “Well, we better get packing.”

  “Why?” I didn’t want to leave now—or ever. If I couldn’t have William in the flesh, I could settle for his home.

  “Was there anything warm and welcoming about our conversation with the owner of this place?”

  “It’s more like a family place,” I said, skirting around the truth. “He doesn’t have the final say to kick us out.”

  “Who does?”

  “Not him.”

  He stared at me, his eyebrows peaked, and waited.

  When my lips remained glued shut, he thumped the wall with the butt of his palm. “Fine. I’ve had enough of Miss Evasive for one day. I’m hitting the sack.”

  I wanted to call out to him, to tell him I was sorry for everything, but knowing I owed Paul an eternity more than an apology, I stayed quiet.

  Marching down the hall, he wobbled and raised his arms as if trying to balance himself.

  “Paul?”

  He took another step, his knees buckling, sending him crashing into the wall.

  I was beside him an instant later, pulling him up by the elbow. “What’s going on?”

  He looked at me with surprise first—as if he couldn’t comprehend how I’d crossed the space between us in a heartbeat—before he glared. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Just drop it, okay?”

  Everything about his words, tone, and expression was familiar. It was the way I looked whenever I was keeping a secret from someone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE TRUTH

  The bacon was popping in the cast-iron skillet and the chocolate chip pancakes were forming bubbles along the outside—just as Cora taught me—overcast and late the next morning. It was ten and Paul was still snoozing. I hadn’t heard him stir once and if he didn’t soon, I’d have to wake him up so he could enjoy my peace offering—in the form of a warm breakfast.