Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (13 page)

“Come on,” I muttered ruefully, releasing his arm at the same time. I started up the stairs but turned around when I didn’t hear him following. I questioned him with my eyes.

“The stair rule,” he reminded me pointedly.

I sighed loudly, and he got the message. He jogged lightly up the steps, passing me up about halfway. He waited in the hall, pointing toward my bedroom. “Eh?” he asked suggestively.

I led the way inside, closing the door carefully before turning to see him stretched out on my bed. “Comfy,” he complimented.

“Could you knock it off for one second?” I asked, my back against the door.

“Probably not. So! What’s this horribly embarrassing thing you want to ask me?” He reached for my old teddy bear and set it up on his stomach, making it clap its paws together.

My already pink cheeks turned red. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

The game of pat-a-cake stopped, and Toni looked at me with sincerity for the first time today. “Wow. You’re really blushing. What’s up?”

I pursed my lips, knowing I wouldn’t have long before Patrick would be up here, yet unable to form the words I wanted. “Look, Claire was talking to me this morning. She mentioned something, and . . . I’m curious.”

He nodded once. “Curiosity’s good. Except for its annoying tendency to kill cats.” He rolled his eyes at my lack of reaction. “Sheesh, relax! I’m kidding. Sorry I’ve got a sense of humor.” He suddenly lifted his chin. “What’re you curious about? I’m guessing it’s Guardian related.”

“Sort of.” I didn’t think my face had ever been this red. I kept my body against the door, hoping it would keep me from running. “Okay, so . . . I was wondering . . . can Guardians, um . . . I mean are they able to . . .”

“Reproduce?” he guessed, then chuckled. “Goodness, let’s not be embarrassed of our bodies here! God created them, you know. At least, that’s what Patrick’s always telling me.”

My face flushed. “How’d you guess?”

“You’re redder than a tomato—not the green ones, of course, but ripe ones—you’re in a relationship with a Guardian and unable to finish sentences. I’d say it was pretty obvious.” He tossed my bear aside and swung his legs out, so his feet were on the floor. His face was perfectly smooth and his arms were balanced on his knees. “Now, Kate, when you reach a certain age your body will start to undergo some changes—”

“Toni!” I hissed.

“All right, all right! Yes, Guardians can have kids.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Sure. I mean, we’re immortal and we live on an entirely different plane of existence, but we still have all the necessary pieces to play the game.”

“Toni, please don’t try to gross me out.”

“Why the heck would you ask me of all people, then? My way or the highway, girl.” He waited, but when I didn’t leave, he continued. “I’m assuming this isn’t just you asking on the FYI basis, so I’ll get right to the point. Immortals can create life with other immortals, because they exist on the same plane. They have little immortal babies who age until they reach their midtwenties, and then they become completely immortal.”

I considered his words. “Is it common for Guardians to . . . do that?”

“Make babies? Let’s keep our questions clear, so we can avoid misunderstandings. Frankly, no. Most Guardians chose this life because they didn’t want serious responsibilities or relationships.” He pointed to himself as an example. “There
are
some who get married to other Guardians, but it’s rare. It’s more common for Demons to have kids. And I guess I don’t have to explain that one to you—Demons enjoy breaking those ten guidelines religious people always go on and on about. Anyway, most Guardians feel pretty complete with themselves. They don’t need a significant other. That’s sort of why they chose this instead of heaven. You with me?”

“I think so.” I wasn’t surprised by his answer. I mean, Claire had revealed as much downstairs, that Patrick and I weren’t . . . compatible. Still, it was hard to hear. Especially since I’d been secretly hoping she’d been lying out of spite.

So Patrick and I couldn’t be parents together, because he was immortal and I was human. We didn’t live on the same plane. We never would.

“Is there a reason you asked me instead of him?” Toni asked, and for the first time his tone was calm, bordering on sympathetic. I almost preferred his joking.

I shrugged, folding my arms over my stomach. “I guess I didn’t want him knowing I was thinking about that.”

“About babies, or . . .
that?
”

I rolled my eyes. “Kids.”

He blinked. “You’re afraid of scaring him off with your serious plans for the future? I thought you guys were already to the I-can’t-live-without-you stage.”

“I don’t want him thinking I have any doubts or regrets.”

“
Do
you have any doubts or regrets?”

“Nope.”

“Liar. Your pants are
definitely
on fire.”

“Claire just gave me some things to think about. I guess I’ve been so focused on the moment and my own fantasies, I didn’t really stop to consider what Patrick might want.”

“Um, I’m guessing he wants
you
.”

“I know, I just . . . I’m trying to make sense of the future.”

“Well, that takes the surprise out of it.”

There was a knock on the door. “Kate?” Patrick called curiously. I gave Toni a warning look. He pretended not to understand at first, then he sighed and locked his lips. He even tossed away the invisible key, but as I turned to open the door I saw him snatch it back and push it into his pocket.

I pulled the door open, and Patrick’s eyes flickered over me to rest on Toni, sitting on my bed. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, turning back to me.

“Of course not,” I lied quickly. “I just wanted to beat it into his head that he’s not allowed up here anymore.”

“She dragged me up!” Toni defended himself quickly. “She pushed me onto the bed and everything. She’s abusive! Get out of the relationship while you still can, bro!”

I shook my head at him, but Patrick didn’t even bother to do that. “So you brought him up here, to tell him not to come up here anymore?”

“Talk about mixed signals,” Toni agreed. He stood quickly, brushing his hands together. “Right! Well, Kate, consider the message delivered. I’m going to go bug Claire now.” He slipped around us and started down the stairs without another word.

Patrick watched Toni’s retreat from his position at the doorway, and then he turned to look at me. I think he might have been preparing to question me, but he spotted the painting on my wall. “Yours?” he asked softly, thoughts of Toni gone in an instant.

It was an abstract starry sky with an especially bright shooting star. It wasn’t even close to realistic, and it wasn’t good at all.

I followed his gaze. “Um, yeah. Back when I was ten.” I’d been so proud of it at the time, I begged my parents to buy a frame for it. Their condition was that it would have to hang up forever, because they were afraid the expensive frame I wanted would just end up in the closet.

Their prediction came true—a couple weeks later I had a new masterpiece that I thought was better than the shooting star, but I was never allowed to take it down. I was feeling a little self-conscious to have Patrick see this first, of all things, but as he crossed my room for the first time to get a closer look at the canvas, I decided embarrassment was a small price to pay.

I moved to stand beside him as he silently made his observations.

“I’m extremely jealous,” he finally breathed.

I may have snorted. “Of this?”

His eyes remained on the painting. “Your ability to create from the imagination,” he clarified. “I could only paint the things I’d seen. You . . . you can paint anything.”

“Anything except a masterpiece. I’m much better at drawing, trust me.”

Patrick’s eyes came to mine, a half smile on his face. “May I be the judge of that?”

A minute later we were sitting on my bed, one of my large sketch pads in his hands. He flipped haltingly through my art, his words few but his open admiration more satisfying than anything he could have said. He complimented only the especially impressive ones. He was fascinated with a sketch I’d made of a small girl in worn suspenders, taking her picture in a mirror. He praised my creativity, the angle I’d chosen, and my shading. “It’s flawless,” he finally managed, attention riveted on the page. “Now I feel inferior.”

I rubbed his knee. “Don’t. You’re many things, Patrick O’Donnell, but never inferior.”

He didn’t reply, only turned to the next drawing.

I hadn’t shared my soul like this for so long, it almost felt wrong to let him thumb through my work. But at the same time, it felt so good. It was another bond we were creating together, and I wished I’d taken the time to invite him in weeks ago.

I became so absorbed in watching his profile as he examined each curve of my pencil stroke, I almost forgot to look at what he was currently seeing. I didn’t need to look at my drawings; seeing his face was more satisfying than anything I might have sketched.

He flipped yet another page, but his reaction was different this time. The skin around his eyes tightened. His lips pressed together, dropping the absent smile he’d been carrying for several minutes now.

I found myself glancing away from his almost grimacing face so I could see what had upset him. My breath caught in my throat, making it impossible for me to swallow.

It was a sketch I’d forgotten. I’d started it the day I returned home from the hospital, after my parents’ funeral. It was the last thing I’d sketched.

It was overwhelming how much emotion and anger I’d managed to pour into that single drawing. The girl was me, though she looked so consumed with pain and grief she was hardly recognizable. Fingers clawed uselessly at her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and filled with an agony not many people lived to feel in their lives. Her elbows were balanced shakily on her unsteady knees. She was sitting on a porch, though the background was wispy and almost unreal looking. Very indistinct. The only stark thing was the girl, and her suffering. Hair fell over her shoulders and framed her small face. It almost looked like her shoulders were shuddering, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

A caption under her feet read simply, “I should have died.”

Patrick wasn’t breathing. Maybe he now thought I was a lunatic, or at least disturbed. I peeled my eyes away from the page so I could see his face, morbidly curious to see his disgust.

There was nothing like that in his pale expression. His jaw was clenched and his posture stiff. But it was the moisture in his eyes that assured me he didn’t think me insane.

“Kate,” he croaked at last. But he couldn’t continue. The sketch pad shook in his grip.

I laid my hand over one of his. “It was after I got back from the hospital, after my parents died,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “I came home, and . . . I needed to draw. It was the only way I knew how to cope. It was the last thing I ever drew. I should have died in that accident. Died with them. But I didn’t. At the time, I . . .” I didn’t really need to finish. The picture spoke for itself. Quite loudly.

He swallowed laboriously, blinking quickly. His mouth cracked open thinly. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

I watched as a tear escaped his eye, dashing down the cheek turned toward me. I reached up to brush at the wet trail the tear left behind and his head slowly twisted to face me.

I was able to produce a thin smile, and I tried to keep my voice reassuring as my thumb traced light soothing trails against his skin. “That’s not me anymore, Patrick. Anything that remained of that girl . . . she died when I met you.”

He let the sketch pad sink against the bed, and in a swift motion he was suddenly cradling my face delicately in his hands. “I will never let anything happen to you,” he promised. “You will never go through that again.”

I followed my instincts and a second later we were kissing gently, his hands supporting my easy movements while my fingers smoothed over his face. I felt like we were sealing an unspoken promise, but I didn’t bother to stop and ask him if he felt the same. I just basked in his warmth and overpowering love, completely at peace with the world in that moment.

T
erence looked like
a respectable state senator or, at the very least, a prominent businessman. He had silver hair, a warm gaze, and noticeably weathered features. I still had no idea how old he really was, but Toni had mentioned that the man had changed his name at least twice over the course of his existence. The rumor was he had to change it to keep it modern. I wondered how long he’d been using the name
Terence
, and how soon he planned to change his name again.

He was a comforting sort of person. Easy to be around, calming with every word he spoke. He was also prompt; he was already sitting in a corner booth at the malt shop by the time Patrick and I walked in. Terence saw us immediately and waved us over, indicating he’d already purchased lunch for us. Patrick set a palm at the small of my back, guiding me carefully around the lunch crowd.

Terence stood, like proper gentlemen do in old-fashioned movies, and he gave us both a smile and a nod. “Kate, Patrick—I’m sorry if I’ve ruined any of your plans for the day.”

“No, not at all,” I was quick to assure him.

Patrick didn’t bother to keep his voice low—no one was close enough to be paying us any attention, and the room was pretty loud with the distracted lunch crowd. “What news do you have about the Demon Lord?”

Terence shook his head minutely. “All in good time. I thought we’d eat first. Pleasure before business, as the saying goes.”

“I think you’ve got that backward,” I warned him lightly.

He smiled and gestured to the food on the table. “A serving of cheesy fries and a cheeseburger might change your mind.”

He was right. Patrick and I slid onto the bench opposite the older Guardian, and we followed his lead as he reached for a heavenly-smelling cheeseburger.

While we ate, Terence asked how things were going, how my grandmother was faring, what the twins were up to, if I was looking forward to fall break. He worded the question tactfully, but he asked Patrick if Claire was driving him insane. He asked after the other Guardians and Seers—especially Maddy, Claire’s Seer. “She’s so young,” Terence sighed. “But I’m sure she’s perfectly safe. Claire is protective of her.”