The Halo Chronicles: The Guardian Page 9

  “It was just a customer—but the evil in him—the righteous fury he evoked in me. The minute he stepped into the store, his eyes settled on you—like a magnetic pull. My need to protect you went into overdrive.”

  Recollecting the horror of touching that particular darkness, I ask, “Would he have hurt me?”

  “I don’t think so. Not there. But he likes to hurt women—the kind of guy who thinks ‘no’ means ‘yes’.”

  “What did he look like to everyone else in the store?”

  “Handsome guy, mid 20’s, nice clothes, inviting smile—the perfect mask for evil. A perfect predator.”

  Gabriel’s words are chilling. There are deceptively attractive monsters walking the earth, and we’re the only two that can see them for what they truly are. It’s a terrible secret to keep… to share.

  “Gabriel, why can I see them? Why me? And don’t say because ‘I’m special’. I need a real explanation. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  He grips my shoulder. “You’re not crazy. You’re gifted. Unfortunately, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “All?”

  “I’m sorry Alexia, but you’re going to have to discover your gift on your own.”

  So much for confiding everything.

  Gabriel leaves me feeling conflicted. As I watch him walk away, his cryptic response reminds me that he’s been sent to complete an assignment. And while I trust him with my life, my heart is another matter. Find Derry. Avoid the darkness until I am no longer a minor. Keep control of my life. Do not fall in love.

  *

  Going to a crowded public place—willingly—triggers all kinds of unpleasant thoughts on the short drive downtown. Why do I draw the darkness? Is it part of my curse, or rather my gift as Gabriel would have me accept? Why do I even see it in the first place? My stomach begins to knot in anticipation, and not in a good way.

  Newport Levee on the Ohio River is bustling with activity on Saturday night. With an aquarium, a ton of stores, theatres, a giant arcade, and several restaurants, it’s a weekend mecca for entertainment and dining. But the unseasonably warm day has lured even more people than usual to the open air mall for a last outdoor fling before the colder weather of winter settles over them.

  Becke and I ride together. As Kate, our designated driver, pulls her white, retro Volkswagen into the drop off lane, the mass of humanity with their dull gray and flimsy yellow halos hits me. Everywhere I look, I see families, couples, and groups of teens strolling. While most are benign, the darker ones are there as well. And I know even more will come as the evening progresses, attracted by the bars and crowds.

  For a second I don’t move, struggling with my doubt as to whether I can go through with this. Usually I would avoid a place like the Levee at all costs, but Kate’s so happy I’m going out with friends, I can’t back out now.

  As I grip the door handle, Kate smiles a bubbly little smile, saying, “Girls, I’ll be right here at eleven fifteen to pick you up. All right?”

  We nod and thank her for driving before slipping from the safety of the car. Becke waves from the sidewalk as Kate drives away. Then she turns to me expectantly. In a light emerald sweater and peasant skirt, Becke’s ready for our evening out. Her strawberry hair’s been freshly cut and styled in a way to minimize the frizz. She wears light makeup and cute, yet sensible, shoes—green flats to match the sweater.

  I’ve also put on a little make up and dressed up—sort of—wearing a black sweater with my nicest jeans. Feeling uncomfortable enough about the situation, I couldn’t add to my vulnerability by wearing a skirt. But even my carefully chosen outfit is ineffectual as I helplessly survey my surroundings, completely frozen.

  “What time do you think the boys’ll show?” Becke asks nervously. Both her parents and the Fosters know there are boys in our group, but since it’s a group outing rather than a date, we haven’t told them we’re only four in total. We don’t want them to worry needlessly.

  As if on cue, Gabriel and Jonah come bustling down the wide staircase that leads from the pavilion to the street level. As we say our hellos, Gabriel puts his hands on me, tighter than usual, and whispers so only I can hear, “Sorry.”

  I whisper back though gritted teeth, “I’m fine.” Our covert discussion comes to a surprised halt as we watch Jonah take Becke’s hand in his. Maybe he’s simply escorting her up the stairs—or maybe, this is more like a date than I realize.

  Becke smiles shyly saying, “It’s a really nice evening.”

  Jonah, who’s wearing a shirt with a collar and khaki pants, bobs his head in agreement. “It’s really cool up there. There’s a pretty good band playing over by the aquarium and a balloon artist.”

  “Oh, have you guys been here long?” Becke lets Jonah lead her up the steps as Gabriel and I ascend behind them.

  “About an hour or so.” Dropping his voice Jonah confides in a mock sotto tone, “Gabriel’s never been here before, so he insisted we check the place out before meeting up with you girls. It’s a guy thing.” Giving us a wink over his shoulder, he turns his attention back to the red-haired girl beside him.

  Slowing down to gain a bit of privacy, I ask, “You checked things out?”

  Smiling but grave, Gabriel nods. “I wanted to be sure it was safe for you.”

  Even though I assume it is—because we wouldn’t be heading into the maelstrom otherwise—I want to hear him say the words. “Is it?”

  “Yes, Alexia, it’s safe. And I’m not leaving your side, so relax.” He gives me a brief, reassuring squeeze. “I want us to have fun tonight.”

  “Right.” I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but we’re heading into a mass of bustling halos. I can’t help but be on guard, and then I marvel at the fact I have to put my guard deliberately up, like a rusty, disused piece of armor. There’s something disconcerting but also freeing about the thought, because I’m no longer Alex, the girl who runs. I am me, the girl who’s staying.

  At the top of the stairs I stop to survey the colors in front of me. Other than a pocket of darkness to my far left, the scene is surprisingly benign. Plus Gabriel’s here, filling my left side, gently steering me away from danger. His nearness causes my anxiety to melt away, enabling me to see things in a different way.

  Observing the scene on the pavilion, I see interactions—before me are children, with heavy cones of dripping ice cream, testing their parents; unhurried older couples, strolling hand in hand, their lined faces softened in relaxation; younger, boisterous groups, pausing expectantly to listen to kiosk workers sell their wares like medieval fair hawkers—not merely light and darkness but humanity as it’s been throughout the ages. Suddenly I have the silly urge to buy a flowered wreath for my hair to commemorate the evening.

  From the opposite end of the square music begins—a folksy version of something originally meant to be punk, which draws us forward. As we drift toward the melodious sounds, Jonah asks, “Where are we going for dinner?”

  “Deweys?” My inflection goes up more like a question than a statement. He smiles, approving of the moderately priced pizza place I’ve chosen. “What movie did you guys choose?”

  Jonah’s broad grin widens. With a conspiratorial glance at Becke they answer in unison, “Surprise.”

  The cinema at the Levee has twenty screens, so it’s impossible to venture a guess. I glance at Gabriel, but he just shrugs in response, as baffled as I am. Whatever it is, they seem pretty pleased with their choice.

  *

  “Marriage of the Dead?” We’re in the indoor part of the mall, in the large central area. After gorging on gourmet pizza, we are progressing to the entertainment portion of our outing. The boys are in line buying tickets when Becke reveals the big surprise.

  Her eyes widen slightly as she tries to read my reaction. “That’s okay, isn’t it? It was Jonah’s idea to see a scary movie.” It’s amusing that despite Becke’s blatant preferences for comedies, she has deferred to Jonah.

  I give her my best reassurin
g smile. “I guess, it’s fine.”

  In a low voice meant not to be overheard, she explains, “Horror movies are great date movies. Lots of hand squeezing and if you get scared, just press your face into Gabriel’s chest.”

  It shocks me that Becke, of all people, thinks we’re on dates. “But this isn’t a date. It’s a group outing.”

  Rolling her eyes at me, she laughs. “Alex, that’s just what kids say when they’re not sure if the person they’re interested in wants the outing to be a date or not. Two girls, plus two guys, plus dinner and a movie equals double date.”

  Shaking my head in denial, I attest, “But Gabriel and I are just friends.”

  “Really?” She raises a slim eyebrow in disbelief. “He never leaves your side, he’s always touching you, and the way he looks at you when you don’t know he’s watching—”

  “How does he look at me?”

  “Like you’re the only reason he exists.”

  I let the blush on my cheeks answer for me. What am I going to say? That Gabriel looks at me that way because he’s my guarding angel? That he’s assigned to me? Of course he has some feelings—you must care about someone if you’re going to protect them—but those feelings are part of his mortal burden. His great sacrifice. His struggle. He isn’t really a teenaged boy, so how could he like me like one? The answer—he can’t.

  “Ready for some zombie mayhem?” Jonah rubs his hands together in exaggerated anticipation and I’m grateful for the interruption.

  “I guess…”

  Tucking an inky strand of hair behind his ears, he asks, “You’re not scared? Are you Alex?”

  I’ve never seen a zombie movie. In fact I’ve never seen a scary movie at all, so I don’t really know what I am. Instead, I bluff, “No way. It’s not like zombies are real or anything.”

  Trying to rattle me, Jonah challenges, “Aren’t they?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous Jonah,” Becke playfully chides, coming to my rescue. As she curls her hand around his bicep, leading him in the direction of the theatre, I think about the existence of good and evil and guardian angels. Maybe zombies exist, too?

  As if reading my thoughts, Gabriel captures my chin with his hand. Gently turning my face to his, he shakes his head. “There are no such things as zombies, except in movies.” Not completely convinced, I open my mouth, but he stops me by stating unequivocally, “Angels—real. Zombies—not real. Trust me on this one.” Then he winks.

  By the end of the movie, I learn two things about myself. First, I’m glad zombies aren’t real, because there are enough bad things in the world. Second, I don’t really enjoy movies. The actors’ halos get in the way. It’s hard to get drawn into the horror of a horde of undead ravaging everybody in sight when they’re surrounded by an innocuous yellow haze of goodness.

  I’m about to whisper this to Gabriel, when we’re interrupted by something far worse than zombies.

  “Gabriel!” His name reverberates across the hollow distance of the mall, drawing unwanted attention to both the self-absorbed shrieker and the unfortunate object of her cries. Helpless to do anything but wait, we watch as Naomi, dressed in a raspberry colored homecoming gown complete with tiara and sash, descends on us. Behind the teen queen bursts a profusion of garish colors, her own scary horde of homecoming cheerleaders from hell following in her wake. Homecoming cheerleader zombies from hell—now that’s a movie someone should make!

  Becke, with her hand still wrapped around Jonah’s upper arm, mutters under her breath, “Oh, joy.” Jonah remains silent, but his misty halo quivers slightly.

  Quietly, before Naomi can close the distance between us, Gabriel says, “Let me handle this.” Stoically he steps forward, like a knight about to fall on his sword in the protection of his people.

  “Gabriel! I thought that was you.” Clad in tight, reddish-purple fabric, Naomi’s dress leaves little to the imagination. As her hand shoots out to touch his shoulder, I notice her long, perfect nails are color coordinated for the occasion.

  We’re still the center of attention as her huffing entourage—complete with Kendra Douglas in a peacock blue mini-dress—comes wobbling up behind her. Apparently, the waxed marble floor of the mall and high heels don’t mix so well. Kendra nearly wipes out trying to stop and grabs at Naomi for balance, which causes Naomi to totter as a result. Ever the gentleman, Gabriel grabs Naomi about the waist and steadies her. Before he can let go, she places her girlish hands around his wrists locking him in place. To tear his hands away from her death grip now would draw more attention to our little group, not to mention appearing unspeakably rude.

  Contemplating the broader group, Gabriel asks, “I thought you guys were at the dance?”

  “It was lame.” Naomi gives a shake of her head, drawing attention to the sparkly symbol of teen royalty. “Besides I got what I came for, so no need to stick around.”

  Batting her eyelashes, Kendra adds, “And we heard you were here. So we came looking for you.” With a slight frown, Naomi lets go of one of Gabriel’s wrists to elbow Kendra in the side, indicating she should shut up.

  Gabriel uses the moment to his advantage and expertly slips from Naomi’s manicured clutches. “Well, we were just leaving, so, you guys have fun.” As he turns his back on them, Naomi grabs his shirt with her raspberry claws.

  “Wait, Gabriel. Hang out with us.”

  “I’m with friends. Sorry.”

  At the word friends, Naomi gives me a thinly veiled, triumphant sneer. Ever since I told her Gabriel wasn’t my boyfriend, she’s been abominably aggressive in pursuing him. Mostly Gabriel ignores her, but it still bothers me. A lot.

  “Yes, friends. Well, another time then. Come on girls.” Turning in a careful half circle, she walks away with her court haphazardly following.

  Watching their retreat, Jonah breaks the tension, stating, “You should’ve let her fall on her royal ass.” We all chuckle as accompanying images dance through our heads.

  Rolling his eyes at them, Gabriel agrees, “You’re right. I should have. Me and my stupid reflexes.”

  With mock sincerity Becke retorts, “We forgive you, this time, just don’t let it happen again.”

  As we escape from the confines of the mall into the open air and crowds of the pavilion, I can’t help but admit Gabriel’s right about the evening. I’m having fun. Becke must feel the same, because with a reluctant sigh she says, “Our ride’s probably waiting for us.”

  As she turns quietly to Jonah, I whisper in Gabriel’s ear, “You were right. I had a great time.”

  His smile reaches up into his eyes, crinkling them as he grins at me. “I’m glad.” We gaze at each other for a moment before he murmurs, “You shouldn’t make Kate wait. I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”

  And just like that the buoyant, carefree sensation in my chest dissipates, replaced by jagged anxiety at the awkward thought of my ‘friend’, who’s really a guardian angel, meeting my foster parents. Too bad too, because up until this moment, I’m having one of the best nights of my life.

  CHAPTER 7

  Three-fifteen. Gabriel will be here in exactly forty-five minutes. He won’t be late because, well, he’s a guardian angel and has absolutely nothing else to do except watch over me. So in forty-five—make that forty-four—minutes now, he’ll be in the living room of my foster parents’ home making small talk and sipping soda.

  Taking a deep breath, I focus on my inhalation and the controlled exhale. In and out. Centering and peaceful. When I feel calmer, I emerge from my room in search of busy work.

  Wearing a pleated denim skirt Kate bought me for special occasions, I don’t feel like myself, which fits since I’m having an out of body experience. My favorite burnt orange top and mud colored front tie sweater help a little, but I actively resist the urge to change into my most comfortable pair of jeans.

  Kate breezes past looking like she’s stepped from the pages of the latest fashion magazine. Her moss colored wraparound dress clings kindly to all the
right curves. All day she’s been fluttering around the house arranging flowers, preparing the meal—lamb with mint sauce, of all things—and touching up surfaces that she’s already polished to perfection. She’s nervous. We all are.

  When I ask to help, she tells me to just “relax”, as if I could in a skirt that barely falls to my knees. It would make a whole lot more sense to receive important guests in sweatpants. Then you could be at your most relaxed, instead of all dressed up and having to sit carefully, as if you were made of glass.

  It’s cold enough for Steven to make a fire, so I sit in a high-backed chair I rarely ever use because it feels too formal, and watch as he expertly coaxes blue-orange flames to life. Regarding his handiwork, he asks lightly over his shoulder, “Are you okay, Alex?” Even the slowest person could see I’m distracted, and since Steven’s perception is quite astute, I wonder what he really means.

  Giving a lame shrug, because I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, all I can think to say is, “Kate won’t let me help.”

  A counterbalance to his wife, Steven smiles—an easy, untroubled grin—and nods. “That’s just her way. She wants everything to be perfect for when we meet this boy of yours.”

  Inwardly, I groan. “He’s not my boy—or my anything—we’re just friends.”

  “Even so.”

  The leaping flames reflect off the surface of Steven’s hazel eyes, giving them an enigmatic quality, and again I ponder his deeper meaning. He stands and brushes stray ash from the sleeves of his forest green dress shirt. His cuffs are rolled to the elbows in a casual attitude belying the formalness of the crisp, starched fabric and precisely creased dress pants. Rubbing his hands together, he barks with enthusiasm, “Football. That’s what we’re missing.” Absently I nod, grateful for any distraction, even the sports kind.

  While Kate flutters and Steven argues with the television, I inhale the fragrant scent of burning hardwood and wonder about the freckled, red-headed boy whose picture adorns the mantle. Based on the one family portrait I’ve seen, I guess the boy would be about my age now. If he’d lived, would Kate be making lamb with mint for the first girl he invited to dinner instead of for me? I know I’m not a misplaced substitute for their dead child or anything, but the nagging question why me? percolates in the back of my mind.