The Guardian

  “I don’t know anything . . .”

  “You do.” His face tightens as he struggles to control his anger.

  “I don’t, I swear!”

  “You’re lying!” he screams.

  “I’m not lying!” I scream back. My voice wavers. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t know anything.”

  He steps back, taking me in. I crouch down, sliding to the floor. I tuck my knees to my chin and wrap my arms around them, protecting myself.

  “It’s a shame. Because we could be really good together, you know?”

  Stu lets out another low moan.

  “We could,” Arsen repeats, louder. “We could be good together!” I snap back to attention as he stomps toward me, the echo of his boots bouncing off walls and the ceiling, filling my ears. “We could be good together!”

  I shut my eyes, nodding quickly. “We could be good together,” I confirm, pushing myself as far back into the cabinet as possible.

  “Funny. I think so, too.” He glances over at Ernie’s office. “Isn’t that funny?” he calls. I hear male laughter.

  “Just do this,” the girl replies.

  I force myself to take a breath.

  “You have something, Genesis,” he says, moving closer, towering above. “You have something . . . that I want.” He stops. Thinking. “A car accident. A little kid. The girl this morning. . . .”

  The blood drains from my face.

  They know.

  I swallow hard, shake my head in denial.

  “You were there every time. You’re a sounding bell. A warning. So . . . what? You know what’s going to happen before it happens? You call for reinforcements?” He stops in front of me. “That’s very noble of you. It doesn’t exactly help me, though.” He grabs my arm. In one, swift motion I’m on my feet, staring evil directly in its penetrating blue eyes.

  “You have been thwarting every good plan we’ve had since I met you,” he says through clenched teeth. He moves his hand to my neck, wrapping his fingers around my throat. “It doesn’t matter what it is. You’re always there. Always getting in the way. I was hoping we could work around you, but I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  I try to shake my head. I can’t move.

  “I want to know . . . where your friends are.”

  Seth.

  “I—I don’t know,” I stammer. He tightens his grip, slowly cutting off my air supply, strangling me.

  “Tell me!”

  “I don’t know!” I sob. I shut my eyes, and a tear slides down my cheek. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  Arsen lifts me off the ground with one arm. I claw at his wrist with my fingernails, digging into his skin, kicking my legs, searching for the floor. I choke as I lose more air.

  “Tell them to come!” he demands.

  “No!” But the word doesn’t surface.

  His face flushes red with fury, the vein throbbing in his neck. He squeezes his hand tighter, crushing my throat.

  “Tell them!”

  From the right, a fist. Arsen’s jaw cracks on contact. His grip relaxes and I fall, crashing to the tile floor. A searing pain slices through my knee. I scurry to the corner, crawling on hands and knees, ignoring the sting, trying to distance myself from him.

  “Well, if it isn’t The Complication,” Arsen says, rubbing his cheek, which is already turning a grayish purple color.

  Seth moves toward me, eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod my head vigorously.

  “I’m so sorry, I promised I wouldn’t. . . .”

  I shake my head, unable to speak. I don’t care what he promised. Or what he did. I am only, at that moment, insanely relieved to see him.

  He swallows hard. “I won’t leave you again. Not ever.”

  Behind him, Arsen laughs. “This is too perfect! Falling in love with a Guardian?” His grin is lopsided, amused. “It’s storybook. I actually can’t decide which one of you is more pathetic.”

  Seth stands, and turns around to face him.

  “You know, it’s okay. Because this makes it more fun for me. We’ll have a little battle, you can watch her die . . .”

  “Get out,” Seth demands.

  Arsen narrows his eyes at Seth. “You think I take my orders from you?” He shoves Seth into the counter. “You’re not even part of this. You’re not the one I want.”

  “You’re not getting what you want,” Seth replies.

  His eyes flicker. “I always get what I want.”

  Seth pulls back his arm. In one swift movement, he swings. Arsen catches Seth’s fist with his hand, holding him back. “We should talk about this. Genesis?”

  Seth wrestles free.

  “Wait a minute. Hear me out,” Arsen says. He lifts his palm to Seth, instructing him not to move any closer, then turns to me. “This doesn’t have to be hard. We can make it work. Am I bummed that you chose this loser over me?” he asks, watching me, but nodding toward Seth. “A little. But we can still be friends, right?’

  I refuse to answer. I can’t. It doesn’t matter what I say. Either way, it will be wrong.

  “See . . . what I’m thinking is something in the way of a truce,” he goes on. “Genesis works for me, you protect her,” he says to Seth. “Do whatever it is the two of you do when no one’s watching, and everyone’s happy.” He shrugs his shoulders, like this is no big deal. “Or . . . we could do this the hard way. I don’t want to kill you, Genesis. But I will.”

  “No he won’t,” Seth tells me.

  Arsen ignores him, kneeling until he’s staring directly into my eyes. They burn into me, hypnotizing. “Help us.”

  I shake my head.

  “Please don’t make me hurt you,” he goes on, his voice low, smooth. “I don’t want to. You’re special. Do you know that? You have a gift. Do you even realize what you could do? You could freaking rule this world.” His crystal blue eyes sparkle. My shadow reflects in them, grasping, pulling me in. “You would have all the power. We would listen to you. Respect you. You could have whatever you want. Anything. Name it. We’ll get it for you.” His voice lowers. “Whatever you need. It’s yours. Always. You will be like a Queen.”

  I shiver, feeling the weight of his offer bearing down on me.

  “I can’t help you.” The words come out as a whisper, scratching my throat. It hurts when I speak, when I swallow.

  He stands, rising to his full height. “Wrong.”

  Seth watches from the other side of the kitchen.

  “Who’s it gonna be, Genesis?” Arsen asks. “Who’s more important?” He walks over to Stu and kicks him hard in the ribs.

  “No!” I shout. My voice cracks. “Don’t hurt him!”

  An evil smile plays at Arsen’s lips. “That was easy. Surprising, but easy.” In a moment he turns, swinging his fist. Seth ducks, then grabs Arsen’s shoulders and knees him in the stomach.

  Arsen doubles over, coughing.

  Seth grabs his shirt collar and shoves Arsen into the door of the walk-in freezer. Arsen slides to the floor, leaving a massive dent in the stainless steel.

  I crawl closer to the office, needing to get to a phone. The girl with the tattoo sleeve meets me in the doorway. She kicks me backward, then grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it by the roots. I scream.

  In an instant there are more. Joshua, I recognize. The others, I don’t. But they’re here. They move in teams. Securing the two guys in the office. Guarding Stu. Moving in to help.

  The girl pulls again, lifting me to my feet, yanking my head back. In a moment a cool, metal blade slides across my neck.

  “Stop,” she orders.

  What surprises me most is not her quiet demand, but that everyone listens. Obeys.

  “Leave,” she commands. The two Diabols disappear, leaving the Guardians who held them grasping at nothing.

  “Tell yours to leave,” she says, her cinnamon breath blowing hot against my cheek.

  No one else moves. She jerks my head arou
nd; my skull throbs as she pulls my hair tighter. I scream again. She presses the knife further into my neck. I wait for it to pierce my skin. Seth watches, frozen, face ashen.

  “Tell them to leave!”

  I swallow hard. “Y—you should leave.”

  They look to Seth. He nods, solemn.

  One by one the Guardians fade—Joshua is last—until the only one left is Seth.

  “Viola,” Arsen says, eyes guarded.

  “This ends,” she replies firmly. “It ends now.”

  Arsen remains still, cemented in place. Viola maneuvers us closer to the stove top. I can feel the cold metal digging into my neck. She squeezes her arm tighter around me, reaching behind her. A crackle, and then a blue flame as the gas ignites.

  Viola drags me across the kitchen with super human strength, kicking cabinets open. She stops when she reaches Ernie’s stash of dishtowels. She leans us down. My knees bend, the injured one smarting, and I hover precariously, tilted back.

  The knife falls to the ground.

  Seth rushes toward us. I hear the sound of metal clattering across the tile. Viola growls, furious. She pulls me back to my feet, then throws a stack of the towels on the stove top. In an instant they’ve ignited. The kitchen fills with an unbearable heat.

  Arsen grabs Seth from behind.

  The flames rising from the burning towels grow larger, brighter. They bounce toward the walls and travel, kindling every combustible item they touch. A thick, dark smoke mounts to the ceiling. Already, Stu is coughing.

  Seth twists away from Arsen’s grasp and turns, punching him in the gut, sending him flying across the room.

  The lights overhead flicker. Flames sear my cheeks.

  Viola grabs my neck. “You are not going to ruin this for me!” she screams.

  The room pops, hisses, and the fluorescent lights overhead blow. The room fills with an eerie, orange glow. Viola’s eyes flash crimson, full of hatred.

  Seth and Arsen continue to battle as the flames jump from the kitchen to the dining room. Tables and chairs are slowly consumed. At that moment, I know I have a choice to make. We have minutes, maybe. I might die, but not without fighting.

  Smoke burns my lungs. I contort my body, twisting and thrashing until Viola loses her grip. I pull back my elbow and jab her in the chest. She flies backward, coughing. I run to Seth.

  Viola stops me, snarling, throwing me into the cabinets beneath the sink. I tumble to the ground, inches away from where Stu lies, broken and bruised. I roll over and onto my hands and knees. My fingers brush against cold metal.

  The knife.

  Heart pounding, I wrap my fingers around the handle and rise to my feet. My body feels light—otherworldly, even. As if the movements I’m making aren’t my own.

  “I am not through with you!” she cries, just before vanishing.

  I search, spinning around. But she’s gone.

  Above me, pieces of ceiling tile begin to fall, one by one, like tiny comets, tails flaming behind them. Sparks scatter, exploding across the floor as they hit. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand, trying to keep from breathing in the smoke and fumes, but the effort is futile. Sweat drips down my back.

  A piece of tile lands on my shoulder, burning through my shirt and searing my skin. I strike it frantically.

  We have to get out.

  Across the kitchen, Arsen grasps Seth by the neck, choking him. His face grows paler.

  Instinctively, I lunge for Arsen. The rush surprises him, and Seth is free. We fall into the stove, crashing together. Arsen reaches out to break his fall, screaming in agony as his hands dive into the pile of burning towels.

  I back away, untouched. He turns toward me, arms flaming, fire lapping at the edges of his body, face contorted into an evil grimace. I secure my hand tighter, clutching the knife.

  “His stomach!” Seth shouts.

  “What?”

  “Aim for his stomach!”

  My arm lifts as Arsen approaches, swinging, and, in a second, I’ve punctured his abdomen.

  His glassy blue eyes grow wider, pupils dilating, a mixture of shock and confusion enveloping his features. I let go of the handle and he stumbles forward, falling to his knees. Blood pours from the wound, cascading down his legs and onto the floor. It puddles around him.

  “We have to go!” Seth grabs my arm, dragging me out of the kitchen, fire raining around us.

  We’re halfway through the dining room, weaving between the fiery tables, before I pull back.

  “Stu!” My voice is a scream, yet it barely registers above the din, the cracking and hissing of the flames. “He’s still in there!”

  “No! It’s too late!” His eyes widen, sharp and insistent.

  I wrench my arm in an effort to wrestle myself away from his grip. I hyperventilate on the acrid smoke, heart pounding. “We can’t! I have to go back!”

  With one final tug, I’m free.

  I don’t hear what Seth calls out to me. I only turn, and, in a burst of irrationality, stumble-run back to the kitchen.

  The fire rumbles, roaring, like we’re trapped in the middle of a tornado. “Stu, can you hear me?” I cry. “We have to get out!”

  Stu doesn’t utter a sound. He doesn’t move. Not even a flinch. Tears sting my dry eyes.

  I bend down and shake him, pushing vigorously. Nothing.

  “Stu, come on!” I beg. “Please!” My throat burns as I take in another lungful of smoke, coughing. I grab his arms and pull his body across the floor, revealing a pool of blood.

  A portion of the ceiling crashes to the floor, a torrent of sparks exploding, scattering. I shield my eyes.

  In the next moment, strong arms grab me from behind, wrapping tightly around me, pulling me back by the waist. They haul me away from Stu and the kitchen.

  “No!” I scream. I call out to Stu, who remains motionless, trapped in the ocean of fire.

  I spin around, dragged by Seth as he tears through the smoke and flames. Panic trembles in my stomach as the entire world blurs and spirals in suspended motion.

  Seth pushes through the glass door and we escape into the cool, night air. A crowd already gathers in the parking lot. Sirens wail in the distance. I collapse in a heap on the damp grass. Skin burning. Sweat pouring off my body. Coughing. Sputtering. Chest heaving. Desperate for fresh air.

  As my body slowly slips away from the adrenaline-induced shock, the pain intensifies. My knee throbs. My shoulder stings. My throat and neck ache. My arms and clothes are black with soot and ash.

  Inside, something explodes. Sparks and flames burst to the sky, a sickening display of almost-beautiful yellow and red and orange fireworks. The ceiling caves. Windows rupture, shattering one by one, propelling shards of glass into the parking lot. There are screams. The crowd jumps back. Slate-colored smoke rolls out of the windows and ascends, disappearing into the black sky.

  Seth moves closer as I sob, smearing away my salty, gray tears with his thumbs, and I let him hold me as we watch Ernie’s burn.

  THIRTY

  I wake up in a strange room. In a strange bed. It isn’t quite midnight. A stack of prescription bottles waits for me on the nightstand.

  I sit up, shoving the scratchy hotel blankets off my legs. My head pounds. My knee, wrapped tightly in an Ace Bandage, aches as I stand and walk carefully across the room. I push back the curtain that hides the window. Outside, the moon rises above the sea. The white light reflects on the waves below, each one sparkling like hundreds of tiny diamonds.

  I unlock the sliding glass door and pull it back, stepping onto the balcony. The salty ocean breeze warms my skin and tousles my hair. I sweep the strands away from my face then fold my arms across my chest, hugging myself tightly.

  I breathe deeply and close my eyes. I see it all over again. The right side of the building collapsing, crashing, caving in. By the time the firefighters arrived there was no saving the diner. Instead, they worked into the night to keep the flames from spreading. I tried not to think abou
t Stu inside: broken, burning. Gone. Hopefully someplace better.

  The ambulance drove me to the hospital, and the night shift doctors and nurses examined me and took x-rays. I showered. They dressed the burn on my shoulder. Wrapped my knee. Sent me home at four in the morning with an arsenal of prescriptions. But not my real home.

  Home is no longer safe.

  The cops came around between all of this, asking a variety of probing questions.

  As far as they know, I am the only survivor. My story is the only story.

  I confirmed that Stu and Arsen were arguing when I arrived. I made no mention of Viola or the others. Arsen was responsible for all of my wounds—he attacked me, angry, but I don’t know why. I lied when I said that he started the fire with the towels. In my version of the story, I’m not even the one who stabbed Arsen. I barely escaped before the kitchen ceiling caved. Stu and Arsen never made it out.

  The story sounded so much cleaner this way. Easier. There was a fight. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stu was trying to defend us—a hero. The fact that our house was broken into on the same night? Destroyed? Pure coincidence.

  Is there anyone out there who is angry with me? Who might want to hurt me?

  I force Arsen’s terrifying blue eyes out of my mind.

  I don’t think so.

  But I know the truth, and that truth will haunt me forever.

  I slip on my flip flops and grab the hotel key positioned on top of the TV. Outside, the halls are empty. I ride the elevator to the lobby. The night clerk greets me with a smile I’m unable to return.

  In a few moments I’m passing the in-ground pool, lights glimmering underwater, the blue-green reflection a stark contrast to the blackened sky. I walk the weather-beaten wooden planks over the dune and descend the steps that lead to the beach. I kick my sandals off my feet and step onto the cool sand.

  It’s low tide. The waves sweep quietly to shore, then return to sea.

  Though it’s late, there are a few people scattered about: friends, couples walking together. A bonfire burns further down the beach. I shiver and turn away, pushing the images of the flaming restaurant out of my mind. I sit down in the sand near the water’s edge. I can almost feel Arsen’s fingers wrapping around my neck. Pressing. Squeezing. I swallow hard.