“Ah, the lovebirds have decided to make an appearance.”
That familiar Scottish burr had Devon stiffening in surprise.
“You must be jesting,” he muttered against Ellie’s lips.
“We missed ye!” Cristian proclaimed jovially.
Ellie settled on the flats of her feet and pulled back, blinking her eyes wide, obviously as shocked as he. “Did I just imagine that?”
“Unfortunately, not.”
Slowly, reluctantly, they turned. Cristian lay upon a lounge chair, his chest bare, bathing shorts on and an ale in hand. It was the smirk that really annoyed Devon. But he wasn’t alone. Oh no, the entire group had arrived. Ashley sat on a chair next to Cristian’s, wearing a swimming suit that should have been illegal. Even worse, Camile and Miranda stood hand in hand behind the two, in equally revealing clothing. They were all dressed for the beach, as if they meant to stay awhile and all were grinning as if they knew something Devon and Ellie didn’t. Devon had to resist the urge to curse. The thought of picking up Ellie, hightailing it back to the hut and locking the door briefly flashed to mind.
“Sorry,” Ashley said, although she looked anything but. “I kept him away as long as I could.”
“Two bloody days?” Devon snapped. “That’s all we get?” He crossed his arms over his chest, attempting to glare them into shame.
Yet, surely they wouldn’t be here merely to interrupt their trip. Something important must have happened. If not, he would be forced to murder them all. “No offense, but what the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Tis important.” Cristian lifted the amber bottle taking a drink before answering him.
Devon clenched his teeth, waiting impatiently. Yes, important indeed.
“We have a message for ye.”
“Wonderful,” Devon muttered, slipping his arm around Ellie’s waist and bringing her closer. He felt their peaceful trip slipping between his fingers, much like the sand. “What, pray tell, is the message?”
Cristian settled his bottle in the sand and stacked his hands behind his head, his chest muscles flexing. “I had an interesting visit from Michael.”
“Michael, as in, the angel?” Ellie asked.
Ashley nodded.
Ellie stiffened beside him; he could practically feel her pulse speed up and knew she expected the worst. “Tell me the demon isn’t back.”
“No,” Ashley said, standing. “Nothing so horrible.”
“Then why are you here?” A sea gull cried out in outrage, hovering over the water’s edge, demanding answers much like Devon wished to do. “What is it?”
Cristian settled his bare feet into the sand and stood. “We’ve been invited to be reinstated.”
Surely he had misheard Cristian. Devon glanced down at Ellie and read her confusion. “Reinstated?”
“Seems there are too many dark ones and not enough help on earth.” Cristian shrugged. “We’ve been invited to help maintain control. Powers reinstated and all.”
The shock was almost more than he could contemplate. Devon sank onto a lounge chair, Ellie settling next to him. Her warm hand rested on his thigh, her touch comforting. She watched him, studying his face as if looking for answers. Become a warrior again? And just when he was used to being human. He wasn’t sure how to feel.
“So much for retiring,” Miranda said.
“What about us?” Ellie asked, looking toward Ashley. “How do we fit in? We’re not fallen angels.”
Cristian winked down at her. “Ye’ll be our sidekicks.”
Ashley shoved her elbow into Cristian’s gut. “As if. We’ll all be on equal footing.”
He was barely aware of their conversation, barely cared. His gaze found the sun, a brilliant ball of light in the sky. The waves roared toward the shore, shells tumbling onto the beach. He wanted to help, needed to help this beautiful world, this planet, these people. But he didn’t want to give up what he had with Ellie.
“Like the Scooby Doo gang?” Miranda asked.
“As long as I’m not Shaggy,” Cristian muttered.
“What about Miranda?” Ellie asked.
She laughed. “I’m very happy with no powers. I’ll answer phones, thank you very much. After what we’ve been through, I’m perfectly happy being human.”
They all turned toward Devon and Ellie, awaiting their response. What the hell to say? The thought of having powers once more thrilled him, he couldn’t deny it. But he would give up every ability to make Ellie happy.
“It won’t be exactly the same,” Cristian said. “We’ll still, for the most part, be human. We decide what powers we want. Who we fight. How we age. When we die. Everything.”
Devon’s gaze found Ellie’s. He wanted a family with her, a life, but would she be willing to head back into the fray?
“Can we have a moment, if you please?” Devon asked, keeping his gaze locked to Ellie. He could read nothing in her emerald eyes and it worried him.
“Aye, of course. We’ll be at the bar.”
The small group headed toward the Cantina located up the beach. Their conversation faded and all that was left was the soft crash of waves and cry of birds. The wind swept from the sea, gently ruffling Ellie’s hair.
“Well?” Devon squeezed her hand. “Do you really want the stress? We’ve been through so much already. If you prefer this, peace and quiet…”
“Peace and quiet is good…sometimes.” She shrugged, looking thoughtfully toward the ocean. “You told me once that I’d been given these powers for a reason. It’s a gift. I’ve only just started to understand them. I want…I would like to know more.”
Devon smiled, drawing his fingers down the side of her face. “You miss it, don’t you?”
She slid him a glance and grinned. “A little.” She threw her arms around his neck. “A lot.”
“My little warrior.” Devon stood, pulling Ellie to her feet. “Then I say we start kicking some paranormal arse.”
“Indeed,” Ellie whispered against his mouth. “Indeed.”
The End
About Lori Brighton
Lori has a degree in Anthropology and worked as a museum curator. Deciding the people in her imagination were slightly more exciting than the dead things in a museum basement, she set out to become an author. She sold her first book, Wild Heart, to a New York Publisher and has since started self-publishing.
To find out more about Lori visit her at: www.LoriBrighton.com
Interested in more? Read an excerpt from Lori’s Young Adult novel, The Mind Readers below!
The Mind Readers
Lori Brighton
Chapter 1
The man sitting across from me at the café was thinking about murdering his wife.
He imagined stabbing her and pretending like it was a robbery. Or perhaps, he thought, he’d take her hiking, push her off a cliff and say it was an accident; that she’d slipped. I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t work, that in those CSI shows on T.V. they always suspected the husband first.
Instead, I huddled deep within my down jacket, the diner booth pressing uncomfortably hard against my back. I didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want to know his thoughts. I wished he’d keep them to himself. But I suppose he couldn’t help it. The thoughts seeped from his mind like the fog currently drifting in from the harbor.
Slowly, I slid him a glance out of the corner of my eye. With his thinning brown hair combed neatly into place, and his blue button-up shirt free of wrinkles, he looked like a normal suburban dad. But if there was one thing I’d learned early on in life it was that normalcy, as we thought of it, didn’t exist. It was amazing and frightening what humans were capable of.
His pale blue eyes met mine. My heart slammed frantically against my ribcage. I dropped my gaze, my long, dark hair falling around my face like a curtain. He’d noticed me looking at him. He was wondering if I was a virgin. He hoped I was. Pervert. Bile crawled up my throat. I wrapped my hands around my cup of C
hai tea, hoping the heat would warm my insides. It didn’t.
But the guy sitting at the table next to me who’d been imagining killing his wife and was now imagining seducing me wasn’t the problem. No, it was the guy sitting across from me, the man with his bright orange hunting cap pulled low over his eyes, the guy waiting for the right moment to rob the café… he was the one who worried me.
For a second I thought about alerting the owner. Common sense and years of warning got the better of me and I remained stubbornly silent. With a trembling hand, I latched onto the strap of my bag, gripped my cup and slid from the booth.
My conscience screamed at me to return, to help, say something. Years of warning overtook any soft feelings. Shifting my bag strap to my shoulder, I scurried from the café before guilt got the better of me. Outside the air was crisp, cool. It was early fall and the bees were swarming an overflowing trashcan. Dumping my cup, careful to avoid the stinging insects, I pulled my hood atop my head and stuffed my hands into the soft, fleece-lined pockets on my jacket, trying to get warm…always trying.
A black truck zoomed by, sending fall colored leaves of orange, red and yellow into the air. For one brief moment, as the leaves settled around me, I felt like I was in the safety of a snow globe. But safety was an illusion. We were never safe. Not the people in the café. Not the few pedestrians strolling down the sidewalks. And certainly not me.
A deep shout resounded from inside the café, a muffled demand. I shouldn’t have been surprised, still my heart made a mad leap for my throat. People screamed, the sound noticeable even through the thick glass windows. I wouldn’t turn back.
I stepped off the curb, glanced left, then right and darted across the street. I had five minutes to make it home in time and couldn’t be late…again or Grandma would worry. I focused on the long road that led to our small Cape Cod style cottage, focused on the crunch of brittle leaves under my sneakers, focused on breathing. I would not react to the scene around me. I couldn’t. As Grandma repeatedly warned, my very life depended on silence.
Boom!
A sudden blast rang through the air, vibrating the glass windows. A flock of black starlings burst from the maples lining the road. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath of cold air and resisted the urge to drop to the cracked sidewalk. Surprise faded quickly and guilt churned deep within my gut. A sickening guilt that was almost unbearable. So much regret. Angry at myself, I shoved the feeling aside.
A woman with gray hair who was walking her poodle next to me froze, her gaze pinned to the café. “My God, I think they’re being robbed!”
I didn’t respond but continued down the sidewalk, forced my feet forward as she fumbled with her cell phone.
Taking in a deep breath, I slipped the ear buds of my iPod into my ears. Home. I had to make it home before I was late, before nerves got the better of me and I was sick all over the sidewalk. Or worse, before I turned and raced back to the scene.
But even as I attempted to ignore the guilt thrumming in time with the music, anxiety clawed its way into my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I knew, deep down, I could have stopped it. If only I wasn’t a coward. If only….
Sometimes it really sucked to be able to read minds.
Chapter 2
“Café was robbed, one person shot. They just announced it on the news.” Grandma lifted her remote and turned the volume down on the T.V. nestled in the far corner of the counter. She was settled behind the round table where we ate all of our meals. A table that, according to her, had come across the ocean with her English grandparents over one-hundred years ago. I was pretty sure I remembered her buying it at a garage sale when I was a kid.
Hello to you too, Grandma.
I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table and headed straight for the refrigerator, my sneakers squeaking in protest over the pea green 1970’s linoleum. I shouldn’t have been annoyed by Grandma’s blatant attempt to pry. I’d been living with her since I was five and my ability had surfaced. Grandma hadn’t said so, but it was obvious Mom pretty much thought I was a freak and had shoved me into Grandma’s capable arms, the one person who understood. Another freak.
I barely remembered Mom. But overall, my childhood hadn’t been horrible. Lonely, as we’d moved a lot; a little complicated as Grandma had to explain away my uncanny ability to know what others were thinking. But I couldn’t complain. I had a roof over my head and plenty to eat. Most importantly, she protected me as well as she could.
Grandma didn’t look like your typical old lady. Yeah, she was in her fifties, but she colored her dark hair and refused to cover her trim body with something as hideous as a housecoat. I got my hair and eye color from her, but my smaller features from my mom’s side of the family. Grandma was blunt and a little cold and it showed in her narrow face. But she’d taken care of me when no one else would, and for that I was reluctantly thankful.
“Anyone die?” I asked, pretending a nonchalance I certainly didn’t feel.
“Nope.” She said the word with ease. Her lack of empathy had always bothered me, but I guess years of running for your life would do that to a person. She snapped her cookbook shut and peered up at me through her wire-rimmed glasses. I tried to ignore her hazel eyes, but it was impossible. I swear Grandma’s beady gaze could read a person’s soul. It was why I’d never lied to her. What was the point when she’d know the truth?
I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the refrigerator and couldn’t deny the relief that released sweetly from my gut. No one had died. Just injured. No death. No guilt. At least not this time. But it was there, always in the back of my mind. Shame was the worst of it, knowing I could help if I’d just open my mouth. But as Grandma had taught me early on, there were worse things than feeling guilty, like feeling dead. I hadn’t realized a person could “feel” dead, but knew it was pointless to argue with Grandma.
“Cameron, isn’t that the café you visit?”
I pulled the refrigerator door wide, the burst of cold air adding to my unease. As if she didn’t know where I went. As if she didn’t know every tiny thing I did. “Yeah.”
“Were you there?”
I pulled out a can of coke, letting the chill aluminum numb my fingers, hoping that numbness would move to my heart, my gut, my brain. No such luck. “Yeah. I was there”
There was a short pause. I knew what she would ask next. Not that I could read her mind. I’d never been able to read Grandma’s thoughts like I could others. Grandma had learned, over the years, how to keep her thoughts to herself. An ability she refused to share with me and I knew why…then she wouldn’t be able to spy on me. Her power would be gone. And at times like this, I resented the hell out of her.
“Did you know?” she asked, her own voice casual.
Did I know the man was going to rob the café? Did I know he had a gun? Did I know someone might die and I could stop it? I swiped my hands on my jeans, wiping away the condensation. Slowly, I nodded.
“You didn’t say anything?”
Annoyed, I released a puff of air through pursed lips. Why did she even bother asking? She knew the answer. “No,” I grumbled.
“Good girl.” She pushed her chair away from the table, the legs screeching across the linoleum, and stood. “You’d only be courting questions and trouble. You remember what happened in Michigan. Always remember that when you want to warn someone. I’m going to the garden.”
Michigan. There it was again. As if I could ever forget the incident. The time I’d blabbed and we’d almost been caught. The time I’d realized I couldn’t trust anyone with my secret.
I watched her move to the door, my bitterness growing with each step she took. Whenever she praised me for keeping quiet, it felt so patronizing. Like inside she was smirking. Good little girl had done what she’d been told once again because she was too afraid to rebel.
The screen door banged against the frame and she disappeared into the back garden. Truth was, Grandma controlled me; she knew every one of my dark s
ecrets, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. At times I felt beaten down, exposed, exhausted. Imprisoned like an animal at the zoo, constantly watched. One of these days she’d find me pacing my room…back…forth.
At other times I felt ready to explode, like a giant piñata full of secrets. I’d imagine myself standing on top of a table in the cafeteria and proclaiming to all that I could read minds. That for the past year I’d read every single one of their ridiculous thoughts. The idea left me grinning.
But in less than one year I’d be free of Grandma. She had to know I was eager to attend college, yet she never said anything. She had to know that when I went away, I could do whatever I wanted. She had to know I had plans to visit her as little as possible. Part of me worried that she had some nefarious plan to keep me by her side forever. I shuddered at the thought.
Slowly, as if pulled by some invisible string, I made my way to the screen door. Grandma stood in the middle of our small, overgrown yard, just stood there, looking at her stupid lilac bush. She worked on that thing night and day and still it didn’t bloom. Why, I wanted to know, would she waste her time? But she never could give me a proper answer. She’d lost her son, she’d lost her daughter-in-law and maybe she knew she was losing me. Was the lilac some desperate attempt to hold onto something?
A horn blared out front, pulling me from my morose thoughts. For a brief moment, I paused, feeling bad about leaving her here alone. She didn’t have friends, she didn’t have family but for me. Her entire life revolved around some desperate attempt to keep us safe from unknown enemies. I knew, deep down, she was only trying to protect me, but it didn’t make me feel any less caged. The horn blared again. If I stayed here, I’d become alone and bitter. I’d become her, and I couldn’t let that happen.
I set my pop on the counter and moved to the front door. Emily was parked alongside the curb, her new red convertible shiny, free of dents and scratches. I knew that wouldn’t last long, the girl had almost flunked Driver’s Ed. I hadn’t said how ridiculous it was to get a convertible when you lived in Maine. Icy roads and convertibles didn’t mesh. But Emily loved the car and Emily got what she wanted, everything but attention from her parents.