Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (24 page)

“You couldn’t
breathe
for four whole weeks.”

“There were air holes,” she protested.

“
Or
walk through doors without collapsing yourself first.”

“We’re getting off topic,” she said.

I sighed. “So if you’re not going to talk to him about it, what are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe I should let him fess up first? If he really cares about me, he won’t wait too long, right?”

Someone cleared his throat behind us and Lee turned aside at once, giving me a view of Alex Perry, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Jack wanted to make sure you weren’t eating all the pie.”

Lee grunted. “Think I might pitch it into his face for that.” She reached past me, scooped up the pie and hurried from the room.

Alex was standing at attention in his stiff uniform, eyes drifting toward me.

I smiled, trying to make his stance ease up. “How was the food?”

“Excellent,” he answered at once. “Your grandmother is a gifted cook. I haven’t eaten that well in a long time.”

“She is pretty amazing.”

“Yes. I’ve thanked her already for inviting us, of course, but I should probably extend some thanks to you as well.”

My lips twitched wider. “We Seers need to look out for each other.”

His mouth bent upward in the beginning stages of a smile. “I suppose so.” He paused and then continued more slowly. “Claire mentioned you’re not going to be joining us on the mission.”

I shook my head. “No, I won’t be. It’s . . . complicated.”

“I understand. For a Special Seer, you still have a lot to live for.”

I know I looked taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘for a Special Seer’?”

“Haven’t you heard Dr. Radcliffe’s latest theories on why we’re different? He believes we suffer more loss than regular Seers.”

“I thought the reason was biological.”

“That’s one standing theory. It seems to make sense, but so does Dr. Radcliffe’s. He believes Special Seers lose—or will lose—almost everyone they love. That’s the case with most of us here, I think.”

“You mean our extra Sight is like . . . a bad omen?”

His broad shoulders lifted a fraction. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s all hypothetical. But it seems to be true, at least in my case. And Ashley’s. And Dr. Radcliffe’s.” He glanced out the window beside me, overlooking the backyard. His eyes didn’t seem focused on anything in particular. “I was fighting in the Middle East when a bomb exploded, taking out most of our vehicle.” I saw his eyes flicker down and I instinctively followed his gaze. His hands wavered, as if he were fighting the urge to hide them. It was that slight action that drew my attention to the scarring on his hands—the burn marks that I hadn’t been close enough to notice before. I could feel my face tighten into an expression of compassion, but his words kept me from speaking. “I nearly died in the explosion. All my buddies did. But I survived.” He was back to staring out into the backyard, his hands rolled into fists. “I was shipped home as soon as I was stable. My . . . girlfriend, Cynthia . . . she died in a car accident a week after I got back. My mom discovered a fast-moving cancer a month after I was released from the hospital, and she died a month after that. I never knew my dad, and I didn’t have any siblings. I found myself—abruptly—alone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, painfully aware of how inadequate the words were.

He tried to offer a slight smile, but his eyes remained cold. “My Guardian found me just after Cynthia’s accident. He’s convinced it was the Demons, trying to get to me.” He blinked, glancing back at me. “Maybe I’ll never know who was responsible, but I like blaming someone.”

“The Demon Lord?” I guessed.

His chin dipped down, a subtle nod, the lump in his throat bobbing once. “I volunteered immediately, knowing this mission would be dangerous. I have nothing else to lose and everything to gain. If I die, I’ll be with Cynthia and my mom. If I live to fight another day, I can continue to take down the remaining Demons.”

I noticed a touch of color in his cheeks as he glanced around the kitchen, eyes settling on the counter. “Should we carry that apple pie in too? Just in case?”

I tried to compose my face, knowing he didn’t need to see any more sympathy than he already had—my glistening eyes, my empathetic aura, they revealed enough. I moved to grab the pie, but he beat me to it with his scarred hands. “Allow me, ma’am.” His accented drawl was enhanced by his word choice. “According to Toni, you’ve already done more than just about any other Seer alive.”

“I just wish I had your bravery,” I said honestly.

“Trust me—you’ve got something better.” I cocked an eyebrow, and he actually gave me a smile before explaining himself. “You’ve got hope, Kate. And a lot of it.”

He turned and headed back to the family room. I was slower to follow.

I had hope? I suppose I should trust his eyesight. He could See things about me that I couldn’t. But if I had so much hope, why was I still so afraid of the future?

T
he TV was
playing in the background. Toni, Lee, Maddy, Jenna, and Josie were playing a card game in the living room. They’d just managed to get Alex and Claire to join in, though Ashley politely declined their invitation. Patrick and Jack were on dish duty, while Grandma, Jeanette, and Peter attempted to cram leftovers into smaller storage containers. Ashley and I were folding up tablecloths and setting aside the random salt and pepper shakers that had been left behind in the initial cleaning sweep.

Ashley was a pretty girl in her early twenties. She had raven-black hair and clear skin. She hadn’t said more than two words to me in the short time I’d known her, but she wasn’t really unfriendly. Just quiet.

I was still running the conversation I’d had with Alex through my mind, and I was more than curious to know what made this girl’s aura look do depressed. She didn’t seem like she was about to open up about herself, though, and I wasn’t going to ask her any prying questions. Instead we worked in silent companionship.

Once the tables were cleared I wandered into the kitchen, coming up behind Patrick and slipping my arms around his waist. He’d taken off his suit coat and hung it on the back door’s knob, and his white sleeves were pushed up to his elbows to avoid the water. His hands were plunged in soapy water when he looked over his shoulder at me, a smile brightening his face. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” I leaned closer, keeping my voice low. “I miss seeing you in a jacket already. You look great in a suit.”

He glanced back at the bowl he was scrubbing, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Kate Bennett, are you flirting with me? You should keep your voice down—you don’t want your grandma to hear you.”

I set my chin on his shoulder, my arms flexing around him. “I think she already knows how I feel about you.”

Jack stepped next to us so could rinse a platter Patrick had already washed, a towel slung over one shoulder. “Does she really?” He clucked, having obviously picked up the conversation. “Is that why she’s been as edgy as a bunyip?”

“A what?” I laughed incredulously.

“A bunyip! They’re strange buggers who thrive in the land Down Under.”

“Bunyip?” I repeated doubtfully, pulling my head back so I could see him better.

“Sure! You’ve never heard of them?”

“Never.”

“Well, now, that’s a little surprising.”

“Are they dangerous?” I asked.

He nodded. “Bloody yes.” I must have looked disbelieving, because he rolled his eyes. “You Yanks—you got more kangaroos loose in the top paddock than any Aussie. Even the drunk ones.”

“Aren’t they all drunk?” Patrick asked smoothly, handing the dripping bowl to Jack.

“I’ll ignore that racist comment,” Jack said shortly, spraying water over the dish.

“What about your racist comment?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Fine, in the interest of being fair, I’ll ignore that one too.”

I leaned forward so my forehead was near Patrick’s ear. “Is there really something called a bunyip?”

Jack overheard and chortled. “Of course not. I was just having a lend of you!”

“Huh?”

Patrick translated. “He’s taking advantage of your gullibility.”

I frowned at Jack. “Thanks a lot. I’m glad I have people I can trust.”

“You can trust me to keep your mind quick.” Jack winked. “It’s a real mythical creature, though, if that counts.”

I shook my head at him. “How long have you been a Guardian, Jack?”

“Since the mid 1800s. Why do you ask?”

“You’d think you would have found some time to mature a little.”

“And be bored for the rest of eternity? Not bloody likely.”

Grandma’s foot stomped on the other side of the kitchen. “Whatever you’re all blabbering on about, I’d appreciate it if
Uncle
Jack would stop using such language. If the twins pick it up, I swear—”

“Empty threats,” he muttered, too low for her to hear over the running water.

Patrick passed off a soapy dish to Jack before turning partially in my arms, hands still in the sink. “I love you,” he told me honestly—right before he drew out his soap-covered hands and pressed them against my face. I squealed and pushed away from him only to dive back toward the sink, succeeding in getting a handful of bubbles before he reached to stop me. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand and smothered my share of soap into his hair.

I could hear Grandma’s light scolding but Patrick’s easy laugh filled every other space, distracting me from everything else but him.

In the end, my dress was speckled wet and the shrug covering my shoulder was all but drenched, and his white shirt was covered in wet splotches. His hair looked darker, and mine was wet and stringy in places. He plucked up a strand, flipping it over between his thumb and forefinger. “It curls,” he stated, amused.

“Parts,” I admitted.

“I like it.”

“I’d like it more if it all cooperated.” I reached out to wipe his lips with my fingertips. “Did I get soap in your mouth?”

“More than a little.” He nodded calmly.

“You’ve made a lake on our floor,” Grandma scolded. “You two are on mop duty, I hope you know.”

Patrick shook his head at me—as if I’d started the whole thing. He turned to go back to the dishes but Peter had already replaced him as a dishwasher, so I smugly told my Guardian where the mop was located.

He moved to the broom closet, which was next to the pantry. I struggled to wriggle out of the wet shrug, but I was still meeting with difficulty by the time Patrick came back over with the mop. He set it down, leaning it carefully against the counter before reaching to help me escape the sopping thing. I thanked him once I was free, then draped it over his hanging suit coat, hoping to transfer some of the water to it. He rolled his eyes, guessing my motivation, and grabbed for the mop.

While he took care of the puddles on the floor I got a towel and wiped off the cupboards that had received some good splashes. Grandma and Jeanette wandered into the front room to put their feet up, and Jack and Peter went to dismantle the ersatz banquet table, leaving us alone.

Patrick and I worked easily side-by-side in the ensuing quiet. I would have been content with the continued silence, because it was so companionable, but Patrick’s hesitating voice wasn’t unwelcome by any means.

“The last Seer will arrive tomorrow,” he started from somewhere behind me. “They’ll probably be ready for you to teach them how to travel on Saturday morning.”

I let the damp towel slide across the edge of the counter, sopping up errant bubbles. “That works. I don’t really have any other urgent plans.”

I heard the wet mop drag across the floor before he continued. “I was just wondering if you intended to travel with them for their first time?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see that he was watching me, his hands curled around the unmoving mop handle. I kept my voice cautious. “I was planning on it, just to help them with the disorientation. Why do you ask?”

He lifted a single shoulder, his chin rising imperceptibly. “I was curious about where you intended to go with them. That’s all.”

I pursed my lips briefly before lifting the towel, moving to stand in front of him. I twisted the material in my hands, but that was the only nervous action that might betray me; my eyes met his without pause. “I was hoping that . . . Well, the first place I went worked for me.” I hurried to list my reasons. “It’s far enough in the past that it shouldn’t wipe them out for a day, especially if they don’t stay long, like I did last time. And the area is so secluded we shouldn’t stumble on anyone.”

I was a little surprised to see him nodding. “You’re right. It’s a good place.”

“So . . . you’re willing to open a memory for us to use?”

His eyes dropped to watch my hands wrapping around the towel. “I would rather send you to somewhere I knew was safe than leave it up to someone else. I’ve been considering this for a few days now, and I think I have a good memory in mind.”

“Is it after my last visit? Would your father know me?” I didn’t bother to hide the eagerness in my words.

Patrick almost smiled at the sound of my excitement. “I’m not sure how long after, but yes—he would remember you.”

I lifted one hand up to rest on his arm, fingers squeezing gently. “Since I’ll be there anyway, do you want to write him a letter or something?”

He let out a low, short laugh. It held the sound of lost hopes, but somehow it wasn’t entirely mournful. “I don’t know the first thing I’d write to him. My last memories of him weren’t exactly good.”

“But he didn’t mean any of that—anything he said was my fault—”

He let go of the mop with one hand so he could lay his fingertips across my open mouth, halting my apology before it could fully escape. “Kate, it’s all right. Really. And you can send him my love. I just . . . I can’t think of anything else I’d say to him.”

He shifted his weight and my hand slipped from his arm. He returned to mopping and I moved slowly back to the counter, wishing there was something I could say to ease his pain.

***

“Traveling takes concentration, but, most important, it takes the emotion of another person. This emotion is a doorway to a memory, whether it’s present, recent, or deep in the past. This could be one of the major reasons why only Special Seers can travel through memories. Regular Seers can only view one emotion—the present emotion.”