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
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
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