Fragile Spirits

  She watched his every move, then settled her eyes on Alden. Her anger subsided slightly as she raked her eyes from his feet up to his too-long blond hair.

  “I’m Alden Thomas, Protector 438, and this is Lenzi Anderson, Speaker 102.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. She didn’t take it and instead turned her attention to me.

  “That leaves you, then.”

  Since leaving my home so many years ago, I’d never felt insufficient or unworthy. All those horrible feelings of inadequacy from my childhood reemerged, making me want to flee the room. Pulling strength from down deep, I crossed to her and held out my hand. She stared from my fingers to my face, but made no move to shake my hand.

  She spun to face Charles, who had crossed to the bookcase behind her. Her anger shifted to hurt and fear. “You lied to me. You said I’d be safe.” She gestured to me with her thumb over her shoulder. “He can’t protect me. I’ll end up just like my aunt.”

  From the back, her appearance wasn’t quite as shocking. She wore knee-high lace-up combat-style boots. Her net tights had huge holes in them—probably deliberate—that made the skin of her pale legs seem to glow through the openings. The conservative green and black plaid school uniform-style skirt was out of place with the black skintight tank top tied in a knot at her waist.

  Charles met my eyes over her shoulder and then turned his attention back to her. “I would caution everyone in this room to consider the adage ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’” To my amazement, he took her hand, and her emotions dialed down.

  She surveyed me from head to toe before looking back up at Charles’s face. “You said he was powerful. That he was the most promising new Protector you had discovered in lifetimes.”

  “That I did,” he responded calmly.

  Before I could enjoy a heady rush from the fact he’d said such a thing about me, her next words slapped me back down. She pulled her hand away from Charles. “He doesn’t look it.”

  Charles took a long pause and straightened his tie before he answered, masking all his emotions as usual. “Sometimes the most placid river surface hides tremendous depth and power, just as the opposite is true—under a stormy sea can lie peaceful waters.”

  “You sound like a fortune cookie.” She rolled her eyes and then tilted her head as she studied me. I forced myself to stand perfectly still, affecting a calm I didn’t feel. She turned her attention back to Charles. “You said I could try it out for a while before I commit to a forever kind of thing.”

  He nodded. “Indeed I did.”

  I couldn’t read her emotions clearly. She was a jumble of confusion, frustration, and something else . . . resignation, perhaps. Interpreting other people’s emotions when they were conflicted was difficult, and this girl’s turmoil was intense and all over the place, like a fireworks show.

  “Okay.” Her green eyes bored into mine. “You’ve got some time to prove you’re not a loser.” And with that, she left the room, Charles following.

  Loser! I was top of my Protector training class—chosen for an internship by Charles MacAllen, the Intercessor Council Gulf Coast regional director, because he believed I was a prodigy and showed the most promise of my cycle of Protectors. What did she mean, loser?

  I hadn’t been angry in a very long time, and the heat surging under my skin was uncomfortable. It pissed me off that this girl, with her bad attitude, pink hair, and creepy Goth (or whatever they were) clothes, had given me an ultimatum about not being a loser!

  “Wow,” Lenzi said.

  Race whistled. “Mercy, Paul. What are you going to do with that?”

  I wanted to tell “that” to get lost, that’s what I wanted, but I couldn’t. I was born for this, and I had to trust the Council’s decision. They must have had information that made them believe we would be well suited . . . maybe. The heat under my skin cooled, leaving prickles on the back of my neck and arms.

  I sat on the edge of the coffee table—something completely out of character for me, but I didn’t think I could stand upright one more second.

  Alden sat on the sofa. “Sorry, man.”

  “Can’t Paul do something?” Lenzi asked, sitting next to him. She put her hand on his knee. “He can’t really be stuck with her forever, can he? Can’t he refuse?”

  Race shook his head. “The Speaker holds the power, Lenzi. You know that.” He sat on the arm of the sofa. “All you can hope for now, Junior, is that she rejects you.” He gave a half smile. “Which looks pretty likely.”

  Race calling me Junior didn’t even make me twitch. Somehow it seemed insignificant. This was a nightmare. She was a nightmare. And all I wanted to do was wake up and end it.

  The doorbell rang. We never had unexpected guests. Because of the guard station, we always got a call first. Visitors were either from inside the business and expected, or they came in with Charles. The bell rang again.

  “Expecting someone?” Alden asked, standing.

  “No.”

  “Do you think it’s Smith up to something?” Race asked.

  Lenzi remained seated. “No. I don’t feel or hear him.”

  Alden strode to the door of the media room. “You wouldn’t feel or hear him if he’s possessed someone. He’s done it before.”

  Race jumped up to join him. I caught up just as they had made it through the foyer to the front double doors.

  Ding-dong.

  I looked through the peephole. I could only see the top half of a girl’s head. From the bit of her I could see, she appeared younger than me. Fifteen maybe.

  “Can I help you?” I called through the thick wood.

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Um . . . I’m here to see Paul.”

  Race patted me on the back so hard I almost coughed. “Ha! You’ve got ’em coming atcha from all directions, Junior!”

  “What do you want?” I called to the girl on the other side of the door.

  Alden looked through the peephole. “She’s tiny,” he whispered. “If Smith possessed her to get to Lenzi, he chose poorly. She’s not a challenge unless she has a weapon. Let her in.”

  I turned the key in the dead bolt.

  “I’ll grab her,” Race whispered. “You guys search her for weapons.”

  “Keep your hands in the right places, Race,” Alden warned. “You tend to get carried away.”

  Race’s blue eyes flew wide and an astonished expression washed across his freckled face. “Me?”

  “Yes,” Alden said as I unlatched the second lock. “Some things never change. You are one of those things.”

  When I pulled the door open, Race reached around me and grabbed the girl by the upper arm, dragging her inside and pinning her against him, facing out. She screamed, and Race put his hand over her mouth, muffling her shrieks while Alden did a quick pat down for weapons. “Calm down, sugar,” Race said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  She made a growling sound, and Race jerked his hand away from her mouth. “Ouch! Shit! She bit me.”

  She wriggled free from his grip. “Darn right, I bit you. What are you doing? Charles told me to come here and deliver Paul’s car. I didn’t expect to get jumped.”

  Fear and rage trickled in bursts from her. Her transmissions were weak, but could only mean one thing. “She’s a Speaker,” I said. “Just coming into her abilities.”

  Race turned his hand over and stared at his palm. “Dang, girl. You drew blood.”

  “And I’ll do it again too,” she threatened, straightening out her T-shirt.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’m Paul. This is Alden, and that’s Race.”

  She pulled my keys out of her front jeans pocket and handed them to me. “I’m—”

  “You’re Hannibal Lecter!” Race cut in. “Check out what you did.” He turned his bloody palm toward her, and she smiled and shrugged.

 
“I’m Cinda Weatherly. Charles’s new intern.”

  The world seeped away from under my feet, and the floor seemed to shift. I braced myself against the wall. Charles’s new intern. I’d been replaced.

  After meeting Vivienne, I’d been certain things couldn’t get worse. Man, oh, man, had I been wrong.

  FOUR

  Cinda wasn’t nearly as young as she looked. It turned out she was actually eighteen and worked part-time at an upscale clothing boutique. She and Lenzi talked shoes while Alden and I tried to appear interested in women’s fashion and Race flipped channels.

  “Thanks for bringing my car back,” I said during a rare pause in their conversation.

  “Sure.” Cinda ran a hand through her short, silky black hair. “Nice car, by the way.”

  It was a nice car. Too nice. The Mercedes had been a gift from Charles.

  “Well, we’d better be going,” Alden said. “I still have to finish the report about today’s attack before the reinstatement hearing tomorrow.”

  Lenzi stood and laced her fingers through his. “Bye, Race. We’ll see you in Galveston tomorrow, Paul.”

  “Um . . . no. Paul won’t be at the hearing,” Cinda said. “I’ll be there, and Race will act as a second Protector for you. Paul and Vivienne have been assigned a civilian oversight mission.”

  Lenzi grinned. “Your first official assignment, Paul! Cool.”

  Yeah. Cool. I’d been replaced as Charles’s intern and would have to spend the day with a girl who hated me. So very cool.

  “The file is on the seat of your car,” Cinda said.

  “That’s against code.” I hadn’t intended to sound so pissy, but it just came out that way. “You’re never allowed to leave IC documents in public view.”

  “Junior is all about the rules. He’ll get over that in a few lifetimes.” Race’s condescending tone sounded like he was making excuses for a naughty toddler.

  I needed to get out of the room before I either punched Race or my head exploded. “I’m going to go park my car in the garage and get the file.”

  “Thanks for letting us come here to take care of Lenzi.” Alden shook my hand. “And good luck with your new Speaker tomorrow.”

  Race remained seated on the sofa, which didn’t bode well for the rest of my evening. “He’s gonna need luck. That one’s a handful—a couple of them, actually.” He winked at Cinda, who looked awkward and uncomfortable standing in the middle of the room.

  “Charles told me to wait here for him.” She lowered down to sit on the edge of the chair farthest from Race.

  I nodded and headed to the door, eager to be alone with my raging emotions. I hated feeling out of control, and it was as if every ounce of control had been sucked away the minute I met Vivienne.

  I held the door for Alden and Lenzi, who got into his car, parked in front of mine in the circular drive. Once inside my own car, I took a deep breath through my nose, letting the familiar smell of leather drown out everything. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, trying to untangle the turmoil knotted up in my brain. I glared over at Race’s truck, parked at the curb. Maybe if I stayed in my car long enough, Race would leave and I wouldn’t have to deal with him again today.

  I pulled into the vast garage next to Charles’s silver Bentley and killed the motor. He must have already come back from returning Vivienne to whatever Circle of Hell she came from. I usually heard him come in, but I’d been a little distracted with my replacement and all.

  I pushed my remote, and the garage door shut behind me, plunging me into welcome darkness. I simply couldn’t face Race again today. I groaned and flipped on the radio. A popular pop song I couldn’t stand screeched from the speakers at full volume, nearly making me launch from my seat. Before I could switch the channel, the banging started. I looked over to find Vivienne pounding on my window. Ugh. I thought she was gone. I turned the radio off and opened the window.

  She smirked, hands on hips. “If you’re out here trying to kill yourself by carbon monoxide poisoning, you have to leave the car running in a closed garage.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “But then, maybe you’re trying to commit suicide by bad music. I know it would certainly kill me to listen to that.”

  “I—”

  “Charles sent me to find you. He wants you in the room with the TV.”

  Before I could raise my window and get out of the car, she strode away and disappeared through the door to the house.

  “I don’t listen to Justin Bieber!” I shouted after her. When I skidded into the side hallway of the house, she was waiting for me.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Seriously, I—”

  She pushed open the door to the media room. “I found him. He was jamming to the Biebster in his car.”

  “I was n—”

  “I love Justin Bieber,” Cinda said, swiveling in her chair to face us. “Your car has a great stereo. I rocked out the whole way here.”

  I gestured toward Cinda and waited for the apology from Vivienne that never came. She simply clomped over to the other side of the sofa from Race and sprawled out on it, putting her boots up on the upholstery.

  Charles cleared his throat. “I’m leaving town after the hearing in the morning. Cinda will help me tomorrow, while the two of you”—he nodded to each of us—“handle the ghost hunter television shoot.”

  Vivienne sat up. “Television sh—”

  Charles held up his hand to silence her. “Paul has the file and will fill you in over dinner.”

  Dinner! No. I wanted time alone. I loosened my grip on the file so I didn’t bend it.

  Charles turned his attention back to Cinda. “Race can help you get your things out of my car and carry them to your bedroom. You’ll be next to Paul. Second door on the left up the stairs.”

  I was certain my heart had stopped. My replacement was moving in to the room next to me. Well, at least I hadn’t been kicked out yet.

  “And Vivienne, dear, you will stay in the room at the end of that hallway for now.”

  Her too! My heart had stopped, because right then, it kicked back on so hard it hurt.

  “I’m not going to stay here,” she said. “The deal was I would live with my grandmother, not in this place . . . with him.” It felt as though her eyes burned me, but it was just her emotions that stung as she fired them my way.

  Charles slid his hands in his pockets. As usual, he revealed no emotion whatsoever. Even though he was a Speaker, centuries of practice had made him a master at hiding not only visual signals, but transmissions of emotions as well. “Her shop is almost built out. She will arrive tomorrow or the next day.”

  She didn’t pull her eyes from mine. “And if I decide that this isn’t going to work out?”

  Charles shrugged. “You and your grandmother keep the shop and quarters courtesy of the Intercessor Council.”

  Finally, she looked away from me toward him. “That easy?”

  Charles took a deep, suffering breath before he answered. “You of all people know that nothing is ever easy, Vivienne.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Typical answer.”

  Nothing with Charles was ever typical. I was shocked she spoke to him that way—like a petulant child—and got away with it.

  “Let’s go get your stuff,” Race said to Cinda as he stood and stretched. After they left, Charles moved toward the door.

  “Make this pairing work, you two,” he said. “It’s been a tremendous struggle for me to make this happen. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  Charles was the one who did this? On purpose? Silently, we watched him leave before I finally dared to meet Vivienne’s eyes.

  I studied her face, trying to read her emotions. They were jumbled, but fear played a large part of it. The instinctual need to pro
tect my Speaker kicked in. Well, it would have happened with any Speaker, I told myself. It’s how I was made. “Do you have a preference for dinner?”

  She sat up. “Something quick.” She stood. “And this isn’t a date. Don’t get any weird ideas.”

  “Don’t worry. Weird isn’t my thing,” I said before I could stop myself. I felt her anger flare.

  “Don’t knock something you’ve never tried,” she shot over her shoulder on her way out the media room door.

  “I don’t try things unless they appeal.”

  She stopped in the white marble foyer and faced me. She arched an eyebrow. “You’re quicker than I expected.”

  Her compliment gave me an unanticipated rush. “I’m a lot of things you don’t expect.”

  The other eyebrow rose. “That’d be a nice surprise.”

  “Don’t get any weird ideas.”

  She laughed, and suddenly something in me shifted. Just the sound of an honest laugh, coupled with the happiness her soul transmitted, caught me completely off guard. If nothing else, she was genuine . . . and prickly, harsh, obnoxious, and an overall pain in the butt.

  FIVE

  I opened the car door for Vivienne. “Any preference for food? Italian, American, Chinese, Mexican?”

  “Something spicy. I miss New Orleans.” She got in the car and pulled the door shut before I could close it for her.

  New Orleans. That explained the business with her grandmother; they must have just moved to Houston.

  I started the motor and she reached over and turned on the stereo. An electronic-sounding dance mix was playing on the channel Cinda had left up. Vivienne wrinkled her nose as if something smelled bad.

  I changed presets by pushing the button on my steering wheel and stopped on an oldies rock station. She relaxed and leaned back in her seat.

  I had a million questions I wanted to ask her—this girl, my Speaker, whom I’d waited on for years. But the timing seemed wrong. We were having a moment of calm, and I didn’t want to blow it.

  “Mexican okay?” It was the spiciest of the choices nearby. I opened the garage door with the remote.