Eternity (17 page)

He groaned and pulled me towards him and before I knew it his lips were on mine. It was a hard, passionate kiss and the thrill of it drew me out of my daze. I leaned in, wanting more. Sensing this, his arms fell from my shoulders and slipped around my waist as his kiss deepened.

After what seemed far too short of a time, he drew back and reviewed me as if I were a sculpture. “Yes, I believe that did the trick to shake you out of your mood…”

“Eran,” I hissed. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it too…”

“Oh no…I never said that,” he replied with his traditional smirk. “I enjoyed that very much.”

I scowled playfully at him and then spun around and headed back to my room to finish getting ready. I began to smile then, a complete reversal. Somehow, Eran always knew what to say and do to make me feel better. It must be, I deduced, because of all we’d gone through, the wonderful and the horrible.

We met again downstairs in the kitchen where Felix was impressing Campion with his escargot omelets, while Rufus looked on successfully subduing his disgust. Ezra sat behind her newspaper, sipping coffee, and ignoring the scene at the stove.

“You should try these,” Campion suggested, taking a forkful of egg and snails.

His wide, encouraging eyes could not convince us though.

“I think we’re going to treat ourselves to coffee and beignets before school,” Eran informed them. “Café du Monde?” he said to me.

“Great idea,” I replied and then caught sight of Felix’s disappointment. “Although since we’ll be missing out on the omelet…maybe you could save us one in the refrigerator?”

I was already certain it would end up down the sink disposal but the request seemed to appease Felix, who turned back towards the stove to cheerfully start another omelet. Eran and I headed out the back door but not before Eran winked his approval at my approach.

The ride through morning traffic was slow and we had only a few minutes before class started – biochemistry with Ms. Beedinwigg - but that wasn’t what concerned me. As we moved through the streets my hair stood on end and then rested down repeatedly, similar to a static-laden brush nearing and pulling away from the hair on one’s arm, except mine came with searing pain. The reaction, I knew, was towards the hidden Fallen Ones now entering the city.

I tried to hide the fact that I was feeling this way but the moment the bike stopped Eran turned to me. “More of them have arrived, haven’t they?”

“Yes,” I replied, getting off the bike while diligently scanning our surroundings.

“I could feel your responses as we passed them,” said Eran also surveying the area.

I sighed, aggravated. “I’m still working on controlling my reaction.”

“You’ll get there,” he reassured me. “How about we pick up those coffee and beignets and get to school?”

As we stepped into line, I noted that he seemed more relaxed now that he’d planted his army around us for additional protection. One thing hadn’t changed though. He still refused to show any romantic interest in me while in public. This was incredibly dispiriting but I knew it would not change for fear that if the Fallen Ones knew of our feelings for each other they may decide to come after me simply to hurt Eran. Eran had been through more than enough. For this reason alone I fought back the urge to take Eran’s hand and kept some distance from him until we’d eaten and were back on the bike. At that point, I was allowed to touch him or I’d fall off the bike while turning the corners. I was very thankful for the corners.

We reached school and made it into our seats just as the bell rang.

Ms. Beedinwigg was already at the front of the class, dressed in her usual drab dress and combat boots. Her hair was recoiled in a bun and her glasses again hung around her neck. This, I realized, was her camouflage. No one would ever suspect that she was an expert in combat.

She didn’t address Eran or I throughout the class, instead concentrating on her lesson of lipids interaction with the body. There was absolutely no sign that she was part of a family hired to train me in defense.

Bridgette and Ashley, however, paid plenty of attention to us.

While Ashley stared emotionless and with trivial interest, Bridgette held a concentrated stare as if she were working out something in her mind.

Throughout the next hour, Bridgette glanced continually in our direction, irritating me more each time.

If Eran noticed, he didn’t act on it. He kept his focus on Ms. Beedinwigg, never bothering with notes as he already knew it all.

It wasn’t until after class did I learn what it was that bothered her.

At the bell, Ashley stood, slipped her laptop into its bag, and headed for the door. Bridgette, however, crossed the room towards Eran and me.

“Eran,” she called out, smiling like a hunter who’s just caught its prey. “Have you thought any more about participating in the prom?”

“No,” he said flatly. His head was bowed down as he collected his book and notepad but I had the feeling he was avoiding her.

I didn’t bother hiding my grin.

“Well, I’m holding on to hope,” she joked, playfully tapping her finger against his shoulder.

“You may be holding on a long time,” he replied plainly. “Magdalene, I’ll be at the door.”

“I’m right behind you,” I said, unable to restrain my grin at this point even if I’d wanted to.

Then I turned and saw Bridgette’s face.

She was my least favorite person out of a student body that hated me. I couldn’t detect a single redeeming quality in her. Now, she was openly flirting with the love of my life. Yet still, after that single glance, I found sympathy for her.

The expression she held while watching Eran stroll away could be described in one word: dejected.

The hunter had turned into a child having been told no.

Then, as quickly as it had developed, my compassion for her dissolved.

As Eran reached the hall, and beyond earshot, she seized my arm.

Stunned, I tilted my head towards her. “Bridgette, release me,” I said calmly.

“I see you leave with him every day…and then you ride up on your Toshiba-”

“Harley,” I corrected her.

“Whatever…You show up with him each morning. You sit together at lunch. He walks you to your classes. What’s going on? Are you two dating or not?”

It wasn’t any of Bridgette’s business, really. She had no right to know about us. Yet, every part of me wanted to tell the truth…that Eran and I had loved each other for centuries, a love that started in mutual respect and friendship and grown into an unconditional, absolute, and profound devotion to one another.

While that was my desire, I had to refrain. Telling her that we were in love would jeopardize our lives since Bridgette would never keep that kind of gossip to herself. The entire school would know by lunchtime and so would the Fallen Ones.

Bridgette waited impatiently for her answer so I gave her one.

“He’s not interested in you,” I said not really caring if she were offended or not. “You’re only making a fool of yourself at this point…Look at the way he just behaved towards you and you’ll see it.”

Bridgette’s face changed then as her memory rewound to the moments before. It became clear to her that she had been disrespected and her entire being seemed to darken.

I left her standing at my desk and met Eran at the door but not before peeking over my shoulder at her. She had her eyes on us, narrowed and brewing, and this time she didn’t try to hide behind an artificial smile.

Now, she was a scorned woman.

Eran didn’t ask about the discussion on the way to my next class. It seemed he already knew what had transpired without me needing to tell him. Personally, I was happy to ignore it too. Bridgette wasn’t my preferred topic. Instead, I started the conversation on a more pleasant note and mentioned that my sculpting class had received their clay and today we would begin carving a chunk of it.

My anticipation and his enthusiasm for me lasted until we reached my classroom door. There, he gazed at me briefly and then started down the hall towards his class.

Neither one of us knew that my excitement would be short-lived.

Once inside, I chose my sculpting tools from a bin and took a seat on a tall stool in front of an even taller miniature desk. The clay was passed out by Ms. Johnson who explained the assignment as she circled the room.

“Art is self-expression. We must embrace that creativity, not deny it. Therefore, I’m giving you carte blanche authority over this clay. Create what you wish. Take a moment to envision what this block of clay will become. It has a purpose…It wants to be something. Listen to it. Allow it to tell you. Visualize it and then begin.”

Following her instructions, I closed my eyes and the vision came to me. From that moment on, I could not recall a single thought or movement until she was standing over me. For an indeterminable amount of time nothing disrupted me. No voices, no scuffing of the stools against the concrete floor, no shuffling of notepads, absolutely nothing penetrated my awareness.

Then Ms. Johnson cleared her throat, shaking me from my trance.

“What are you doing, Ms. Tanner?” she demanded.

I blinked several times, trying to regain my consciousness.

“Do I need to ask it again?” she said, in a self-aggrandizing way.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.

“
That
is what I mean.” She pointed past my shoulder to the chunk of clay I’d been working on, although it was no longer a chunk.

What had started out as a large, gray brick was now an immaculately detailed rendering of what looked to be a Fallen One. It was perched on the board where the clay had sat, its feet positioned at the edge where its overgrown fingernails hung. Its mouth was open as if it were screaming exposing long and jagged teeth. Its wings were out, extending past the foot long board, and so defined that I’d carved its feathers in detail.

I recognized it instantly as my winged attacker during my time in London.

Taking a sweeping look at the others students’ clay, I found that none of them had come close to what I’d done. Most were lopsided chairs, nondescript head busts, or warped logs meant to be something more.

All in all, what I’d accomplished, in a seemingly very short time, was remarkable. Ms. Johnson, however, did not feel the same way.

“Its hideous…Get it out of my class,” she ordered before turning to the rest of the students. “I said make this clay your own…I did not say to take your under-indulged, juvenile, dungeons and dragons fantasy out on this innocent clay.”

I should have been fuming at the way Ms. Johnson scolded me for, by all reasons that I could determine, an exemplary job. Yet, as I picked up the sculpture and left the class that was the last thing on my mind. I was immersed in trying to understand how I could have created this detailed and proportional replica of my enemy without any previous sculpting experience and without any recollection of actually doing so.

I was so deep in contemplation that it wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall did I notice I wasn’t alone.

The hair on the back of my neck tickled and gradually lifted to pull aggressively at the back of my neck.

Turning, I found Marco approaching me in the empty hallway, wearing his polo and khakis security uniform.

“Ms. Tanner,” he said, mockingly. “Do you have a reason to be out of class?”

Focus, I told myself. Focus on something other than your reaction, control it or risk being unprepared if he tries anything.

Suddenly, like a curtain being drawn open, I noticed the world around me. I heard a teacher’s voice through the walls as clearly as if I were standing in the very same room. She was lecturing on the Civil War. I smelled the mint bubblegum left on the door of a locker down the hall. I heard the static of the electronic signs mounted along the walls. Lastly, I noticed that the hair on the back of my neck was settling down enough to respond.

“Don’t patronize me, Marco,” I snapped. “Eran told me about you.”

“He did?” said Marco, stepping closer. Too close. “So you know of our history together?”

“We have no history.”

“Then he didn’t tell you everything.”

“I’m not going to play this game with you, Marco.”

He moaned seductively. “I’ve missed the way you speak my name.”

Instinctually, my lip curled up, repulsed.

“I can see that you haven’t…” he pouted.

“No,” Eran’s voice, declarative and unyielding, came up behind me. “She hasn’t.”

I turned to find him marching up the hallway, drawing in my breath at the sight of him.

“You’re testing my patience, Marco,” Eran said irritably, stopping beside me and a small step ahead, blocking Marco from me.

Holding his ground, Marco refused to take a step back.

“What do you want with Magdalene?”

Marco shrugged. “Just catching up with an old flame…”

Unaffected at the jibe, Eran stepped forward, closing the gap between him and Marco. Their chests were nearly touching now. “Consider yourself caught up,” said Eran, blatantly hinting for Marco to leave.

Marco appeared unflustered. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve acknowledged it so I’m going to explain it to you…I’m the authority here. You’re the student,” said Marco, his tone foreboding.

Eran responded through tight lips, his anger heating up. “You have no authority.”

“On the contrary…” said Marco sneering, “I could assign you to detention. That would leave dear Maggie exposed…vulnerable.”

Eran chuckled contemptuously then. “You don’t seriously think I would ever leave her alone?” His shoulders shook with quiet, ridiculing laughter. “You don’t think I’ve left my army in the afterlife? Marco, they are all here…prepared to intervene if it becomes necessary…Eager for it, in fact.”

Only then did Marco step back, fear floating across his face. Yet, he was still compelled to counter. “That may be the case but more of us are arriving each day. Attendance here has never been higher. Soon you will be outnumbered.”

Eran smirked, radiating confidence. “I look forward to that.”

Marco scoffed. “You have no idea what you’re up against, what is headed your way. Revenge will be so rewarding…” He continued backing down the hallway until he was a safe distance and he could flee unharmed. “They’ll be here sooner than you think.”