Chapter 22
Emma
I feel like a horrible person. No matter how many times I try to tell myself I hadn't enjoyed the idea of killing Lyre, the simple truth is, I had enjoyed it.
"I wouldn't beat yourself up," a steady male voice says, and I look over at Will Reinhardt sullenly.
It has been hours since the training session, the evening meal has come and gone, and I am sitting in a sectioned off space in an old stable. Beyond an open door is a large room full of bunk beds. Top bunks are for Guardians, the bottoms are for the hybrids they are assigned to protect. I have been placed alone in a room that contains only one bunk bed, a small table with a single drawer, and a straight back wooden chair. There is a thick wooden door separating me from the rest of the hybrids. For now, it stands open, and I feel the wariness emanating from the room beyond. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think my actions in training have delegated me to some sort of weird solitary confinement.
"I'm trying not to care," I say honestly.
I'm sitting down on the wooden chair, and I'm facing the outer room. Curious gazes glance in occasionally, but the other hybrids mostly avoid me with the exception of Deidra who is even now sitting cross legged on the top bunk. She's eating a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.
"They are so not worth it," Deidra says hotly, her small hands gesturing derisively at the door.
Will is leaning against the wall near the room's exit, and he shoves away from it, his face sympathetic as he moves to my side. He crouches next to me. This close, the resemblance between him and Conor is kind of scary. Will shares the same dark blond hair as his cousin, the same startling blue eyes, and the same boyish charm. But there's something younger about Will, and it's not just his age. At seventeen, only a year separates the two boys, but Conor seems more . . . used. It's such an awful word. Maybe jaded is better.
"Being a Demon doesn't mean you're evil," Will says softly.
Deidra snorts.
"You're too tolerant, Will Reinhardt."
Will looks up at the imp, his eyes hard.
"And you're too pessimistic for your age."
Deidra shrugs. She crinkles the empty bag of chips and throws it easily into a metal wastebasket across the room before grabbing the low railing on the side of the bed, using it to flip onto the floor below. In normal society, she would have made an amazing gymnast.
"You hang around here long enough, you get that way," she says as she peers out the door."But you, Emma Chase, were magnificent today!"
Deidra is beaming when I look up into her face. She's too young to crave revenge but that's the emotion I feel coming from her, and I don't want to encourage it.
"How is it that everyone I meet here already knows my name?" I ask, changing the subject. It's a reasonable question, and the first thing that comes to mind. Will grins.
"Hon, that's just the way things work here. It's uncanny isn't it? When I was inducted into the Inner Circle, there wasn't a single dead-blasted person who didn't already know who I was."
Deidre rolls her eyes.
"You're a Reinhardt."
I ignore her. Will's answer has made me curious.
"The Inner Circle?"
Will looks at the door, his face hesitant. For a moment, I don't think he'll answer, and then he nods.
"The Inner Circle is a group of gargoyles who have come into their powers and are trained enough to enter service. Most begin as escorts. This is a transport job. Rarely does one enter as a Guardian."
Deidra has moved away from the door.
"Finally! Interesting convo! Tell us about Conor."
Will's eyes narrow. "What?"
I can feel Deidra's excitement, and it makes my heart beat faster.
"She's got a crush," I say with a grin.
Deidra scrunches her face, crossing her arms defensively.
"And what if I do?"
The corner of Will's mouth lifts, the humor in his eyes obvious.
"You wouldn't be the first, Imp, but I'm not talking about Conor. I don't gossip about family."
An image flashes through my mind, and I find myself staring at Will's fist.
"What did he do to your hand?" I ask.
Will's confusion is obvious until he follows my gaze. He flexes his fingers, his eyes finding mine.
"You can see that?"
I nod. He flexes his hand again, and I know he is torn between the need to defend his cousin and to keep his mouth shut.
"Conor came into his powers earlier than usual. He was sixteen when he presented with signs of the change. His affinity with water especially, and his ability to climb anything. And then . . ." Will lifts his hand. "And then, when he turned seventeen, the two of us got into a pretty nasty fight. It was stupid really. I don't even remember what it was about. A girl, maybe? I don't know, but I-I went to punch him."
Deidra is practically hanging from Will's shoulder now. Her eyes are bright.
"And then what?" she asks.
"And then I turned to stone, and the bones in his hand shattered," a voice says, and we all look up quickly, our faces red.
Conor Reinhardt leans casually against the open door frame, an eyebrow raised. My chest feels funny, but I ignore it. I keep seeing Will's fist in my hand, the bones like powder. It is healed. In my head, I see this, but there is metal in Will's hand now too.
"It didn't mend properly," I say.
Conor's gaze moves to my face.
"No," he says, "Will didn't have enough healing ability in his body yet."
Will looks at me.
"How did you know that?"
I shrug. I don't know how I know anything anymore.
"Deidra," Conor says softly, his eyes still on me. "Marion will be looking for you. Lights out in twenty minutes."
Deidra nods, her gaze moving between us.
"Okay . . . see you tomorrow, Emma?"
I look up at her and grin. She sounds so hopeful, I can't help but feel warm. She's young, she's a little annoying, but she was an instant friend when I needed one. I wink and nod. She smiles, her teeth flashing before skipping out of the room. Conor nods his head at Will.
"Go with her. Make sure no one hurts her," Conor orders.
Will stands, pats my leg once, and is gone. Silence hangs between us. I'm not sure how long we stand there before I notice the room beyond getting quiet, people climbing into their bunks. With no windows, I'm not sure how late it is, but I'm assuming it's time for bed.
"Did you get a chance to shower?" Conor asks.
I nod once. Will had taken me to a bathroom in one of the cottages after dinner, standing outside while I showered and changed. I'm wearing Conor's pajamas again, now freshly laundered. There's a clean red t-shirt and a new pair of jeans folded on a small table against the wall.
Conor points at the bed, and I move to the lower bunk. It has only one pillow and a simple threadbare, grey comforter. I hate grey.
"You'll be kept here until they can trust your powers," Conor says as he steps further into the room, reaching behind me to pull the door closed.
I am suddenly in an alternate universe where they let eighteen-year-old boys sleep unchaperoned in the same room with seventeen-year-old girls. One look at Conor and most girls would be thrilled by this sudden turn of events. I am just plain terrified.
"Shouldn't we keep the door open?" I ask.
Somehow, I manage to keep my voice from shaking, and I consider this a triumph.
Conor looks down at me.
"Are you afraid of being alone with me, Emma?"
I shake my head, probably more vigorously than the moment warrants.
"N-no, but . . ."
"We don't run the same way a normal society runs, Em. You've proven dangerous. I'm your Guardian, and I am sworn into a very specific code of conduct that says it is illegal for me to touch you," Conor says before climbing onto the top bunk. I notice he keeps his shirt on.
"Oh," I mumble before sliding down under the covers.
I stare up at the bunk above my head. A few minutes later, the lights go out. I assume they run on a universal switch. The room is pitch black. I feel my heart rate pick up. I'm afraid of the dark. Or I thought I was.
The energy running through me feels different now. I wonder suddenly if all the fears I'd once felt had been fears I'd picked up from others. The feeling I feel now is contentment, safety. The dark seems to be calling to me. I sit up.
"Em?" Conor says. I hear him shift in the bed above.
"I wonder if they know the door doesn't help," I ask, my eyes staring into the blackness surrounding me. I'm feeling calm, disturbed, uneasy. It's too many emotions at once.
"What do you mean?" Conor asks.
I sigh.
"I can still feel their emotions."
The scene in the hallway with Lyre earlier has done something to me. It's as if a dam has burst open, and there is no bridge between my emotions and others. They all collide.
"You've always felt them," Conor says gently.
I shake my head even though I know he can't see me. "No."
Conor climbs off the bed. How he sees is beyond me.
"Yes, you have. The world is full of fears. You have always been surrounded by them. Think about it, Em. You were dying. You were in hospitals. People in hospitals are afraid. You picked up on that. And now that you're not around that, you're becoming more aware of what emotions are yours and what aren't. Most Demons fear nothing."
I am angry, and I wonder if it's my own emotion.
"This is ridiculous," I say.
I hear a catch in my voice, and I hate it. The bed dips, and I feel Conor climb in next to me. I'm cross legged now, my back against the wall, and I feel his arm touch mine.
"All of this has happened too fast to process, and you haven't asked any questions."
"I have them now."
Conor inhales deeply.
"Then ask them."
I turn my face toward the sound of his voice.
"Why does everyone know my name?"
Conor barely pauses to exhale.
"Gargoyles work as a group. Every family is plugged into a network depending on status. As soon as you were selected for Extraction, your name went through the ranks. Your medical and personal records were given to those who would have the most contact with you."
"And how did they get those?"
Conor is silent a moment.
"You've been in the system for a long time, Em. Most hybrids aren't discovered until they are older. We've known you were a Demon since you were born. A gargoyle by the name of Delilah Simpson found you. Your mother was with a human man in the Northwestern United States. I don't know his name. Delilah probably does. There was a Demon attack in the town your father lived in. More than likely, Satan became aware that Enepsigos had a child."
"And why does Satan care?" I ask.
This conversation is surreal, but I go with the flow. I'm getting answers. That has to be enough.
"That's a hard one. You are the daughter of Enepsigos. He may have been after you for power, or he may just want you dead. Hybrids are becoming a problem in Hell. In Heaven, Angels are forbidden to lay with mortal women. If they break this rule, they become fallen or exiled. The same rules don't apply in Hell. And the hybrids are beginning to outnumber the full blooded Demons."
I don't say anything for a while. I just stare. It's funny how if there is no light, the eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I can make out vague shapes now. Each time I blink, my eyes have to readjust.
"Is Satan worried about an uprising?" I finally ask.
Conor moves closer, his arm fully against mine. I'm not sure he's aware of the movement, but I find myself hoping he doesn't move away.
"Possibly. It would help our cause if there were an uprising. But, for now, we are more worried about a war between Heaven and Hell on Earth. It would put humans in the crossfire. Gargoyles are here to protect mankind. If there is a way to minimize the chance of war, we'll take it. If that means training hybrid Demons to fight against their own kind, we are not above it."
His voice is low. He rocks his leg, and I feel it bumping into my knee. I don't think he's nervous, I think he's restless.
"It might help if you try liking us," I say suddenly. Conor pauses.
"Liking who?"
"Hybrids," I answer. "I wonder if the animosity at this school is as much the Demons' fault as it is the gargoyles. You already have us judged. Am I the only hybrid who can feed off emotion? Do you ever wonder if the anger is channeled?"
Conor doesn't answer right away. When he does, he is facing me. I can feel his breath on my face.
"I honestly don't know."
He sounds tired. I like the charming Conor better. The one who seems to have it all figured out. I'm too close to him, but the dark makes me brave, and I don't move away.
"We have to quit meeting like this," I say lightly. "You know, nighttime, intense mood."
Conor chuckles.
"She's suddenly got a sense of humor, our Emma Chase."
I smile, and it feels good. I feel different, stronger. I am suddenly glad the gargoyles found me. For the first time, I feel like I am living. And I'm not afraid. Even knowing I face death here, even knowing there are a million challenges ahead I'm probably still not aware of, I am living. I can discover who I am. I am not death anymore.
There is a rustling sound in the darkness, and I feel something slip into my hand. It's a piece of foil wrapped gum.
"It's not mint ice cream, but it'll have to do."
I grin as I unwrap it. It's spearmint.
"It's not raining either."
"Do you want it to?" Conor asks.
I sit up.
"No!" I say quickly. "I may not remember much of that sea journey you took me on, but showers and baths are enough water for me for awhile."
Conor snorts, and I realize he's trying not to laugh. I am tempted to hit him, but our connection is too new. He still makes me nervous, and I'm not sure we are even friends. It doesn't matter how comfortable I feel around him. He's my Guardian. My life is in his hands. It's a little daunting knowing this. I'm fallible.
"How long will they keep me separated from the other Demons?" I ask.
Conor is still.
"I don't think it will be long. You seem to be a fast learner."
I feel anger sweep through me, and I know it's coming from the other room. I've felt this anger before.
"Lyre plans to kill me," I say.
Silence stretches between us and then, "She's jealous."
I'm not expecting this response from Conor, and I know my mouth hangs open.
"Of my power?" I ask.
"Partly," Conor answers.
Partly?
"There's another reason?"
"Yeah," Conor says. "Me."
I don't move. My chest is tight. Nothing I say in that moment will be right. I want to ask why, but I don't.
"I've made mistakes," Conor says suddenly.
I still don't move, but I do breathe. The exhale is audible.
"Everyone makes mistakes," I say slowly.
"You say that because it's the nice thing to say."
Conor shifts away from me.
"I say that because I'm not quite sure what you're getting at. Is this a confession?" I ask.
Conor laughs, but it sounds as harsh as it does amused.
"When I was sixteen, I slept with Lyre."
It is blunt, his words, and rushed. And for a confession, this is a bad one. If there are words I'm supposed to say, they don't come to me. I'm not quite sure how to feel. On one hand, I don't know Conor well enough to be incredibly upset. On the other, I think I have a Deidra crush on him, and it's been severely skewered.
"Oh," I say finally.
Conor moves and I know by the way one of his legs brush mine that's he's brought his knees up and is rest
ing an arm across them. Being tall is not comfortable on these beds. I would know.
"I could make an excuse, but I won't. I didn't know she was a Demon at the time. But my actions are still the same. She's not the only one. The only Demon, but not the only girl."
My voice is small when I speak again.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask
"Because I don't want you to idolize me. And don't pretend you don't feel disgust. I made my reputation. I can't change it, and I don't know that I would now. My mistakes have shaped me. I think in the end, I've overcome them."
I don't doubt this, but he's right. I feel jaded by his confession. I think maybe I have been too sheltered. Conor sighs before moving off the bed.
"Go to sleep, Emma."
I hear him climbing to the bunk above mine.
"You're going to need the rest. Tomorrow you won't be with the other hybrids. You'll be faced with full blooded Demons."
His words don't comfort me. And as I fall asleep, all I can think is, my Guardian is not perfect. He is fallible. He is real.