Acropolis (7 page)

Conor growls before pushing his chair into
the table harder than is necessary, his eyes still locked on Bea's.
I jump a little at the noise.

"
My
job, Mom!"

By now, I am looking at the hallway, and I
have to fight hard not to gape. There is a girl about my age
standing just inside the kitchen, and she is everything I'd never
be. She isn't skinny, she is petite. She isn't dark, she is blonde.
She isn't pretty, she is breathtaking. And, in that moment, I know
she is one of them. Maybe it's the way she holds herself, confident
and tall in a pair of skinny jeans, and a pink top with an empire
waist, but it's obvious she isn't completely human.

"I'm not here to commandeer your job,
Reinhardt," the girl says, her eyes on Conor's back.

I draw near Conor. I don't trust any of them
one darn bit, but Conor has hours and space marked on my radar.
That has to be enough at the moment. I feel a hand on my shoulder,
and I pause, my back stiffening.

"Shhhh . . ." Conor breathes before turning
back to his mother. "Why?"

Bea moves around the table, her steps
bringing her to Rachel's side.

"Because you were demoted, Conor. And my job
is to make sure the rules are followed. You're an Escort, not a
Guardian. And the girl is obviously already being tracked. The
Council didn't count on that. It means her level of security has
been raised and Rachel and Roach are more qualified."

Conor is at my back now, and I can feel his
anger. I wait to be afraid, but I only feel strange. I am
light-headed, my brows furrowing in confusion as the edges of the
room begin to blur.

"The hell they are!" Conor practically yells.
"I have a year of training on Rachel, and Roach is just plain
incompetent."

"The same has been said about you. Welcome to
the brotherhood," Roach sneers.

"Here we go . . ." Will mumbles.

I start counting slowly, taking deep breaths
in and out. The Rachel girl is staring at me funny, but I don't
care.

"It doesn't matter how you feel about it,
Conor. You were demoted. You must realize the limits your position
now holds," Bea says.

Conor's hand tightens on my shoulder, and my
world simply vanishes. It is the only way to describe the onslaught
of images that suddenly slams through me. . . .

A girl. Red hair. A man with red eyes. Blood.
Conor kissing the red-haired girl. Italy? Will . . . a crushed
fist. Conor turning to stone. A group of men and women. The letter
S. The letter O. Me . . . there is a photo of me. My medical
records. Conor's anger. . . .

I howl. It isn't something I mean to
do, but the sound escapes the same time a red ball of flame shoots
forth. Bea deflects it easily as Rachel ducks. I collapse, panting.
What
was
that!

"She tried to kill them!" Roach shouts.

I shake my head. I hadn't done anything! Had
I?

"What the hell!" Will exclaims.

There is someone next to me.

"What was that, sweetheart?"

Conor. I am still shaking my head. I
hadn't done anything. I
couldn't
have done anything!

"Emma?"

I look up, my eyes taking in the stunned
group of people surrounding me. My knees hurt where they have
slammed against the floor. My eyes find Conor. He is kneeling next
to me, his hand no longer on my shoulder.

"Red hair," I whisper. "Marcas?"

Conor's eyes widen, and he leans closer.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"You were staring at a photo of m-m-me. There
was a crushed fist . . . Will's maybe? And a girl . . . a r-red
headed girl. And anger. You were angry." I shake my head. I hadn't
meant to do anything!

Conor sits back on his heels, his breathing
deep as he stares up at his mother.

"She has her mother's powers," he says
softly. Bea nods. My mother?

"She tried to kill them!" Roach says again,
loudly.

"Would you just shut up!" Conor insists. He
starts to put his hand on my shoulder again, but stops, his eyes
taking in his splayed palm before looking at me.

"Anger. You said you felt anger," Conor
says. He keeps his eyes on me, but I know his next statement is
meant for the room at large. "She fed off
my
anger."

I am shaking now.

"She should be put down!" Roach exclaims.
Conor stands up.

"Now would be a good time to close that
mouth," Conor growls.

"You know I'm right. She's deadly! She should
be extermin . . ."

Conor's fist connects with Roach's jaw. I
don't see Roach go down, but I hear it. Roach groans.

"Just be glad I wasn't touching her shoulder
then. You'd be dead if I was."

"Conor!" Bea exclaims.

Will leans over Roach, scoping out the damage
as the cross gargoyle rubs his jaw.

"The Council is
so
going to have your head for this one," Will
says. Conor shakes his fist.

"It was damn well worth it."

Conor turns to his mother. I can tell he
isn't the type to talk back. The respect he has for his mother is
obvious, but the quick glance he throws at Rachel promises a
fight.

"Demoted or not, you know I'm more qualified.
They can travel with me, but I guard the girl."

Bea is staring at me, her eyes digging into
my skin. I look down at the floor, letting my hair fall in front of
my face. I am shaking, and I hate it. I hate that I am afraid, hate
that I don't know who I am. I have lived in this body for seventeen
years, and I don't know a dang thing about it.

"You'll need to speak to Gibson. Get his
permission and you have mine," Bea says softly.

I don't look up, but I can feel the tension
in the room ease.

"Thank you," Conor says.

I am pretty sure his mother nods.

"You and Rachel can sit with her tonight.
Take turns staying up," Bea orders.

I look up to find Conor and Rachel regarding
each other warily, but they don't argue. Apparently this is
something they can both live with.

"Will, take Roach and get some ice on that
jaw," Bea adds.

Conor's hand suddenly wraps around my upper
arm, and I jerk against his hold.

"Take it easy, darlin'. We need to get you
upstairs."

I relax as much as I can, letting him help me
up before following him toward the kitchen's entrance.

"And Conor . . ." Bea says suddenly. Conor
pauses. "It's not going to help your cause any if you keep breaking
the rules. Collaterals have their job for a reason."

I know immediately she's aware of the phone
call to my mother. Conor flinches.

"Dammit! How do you do that?" he asks hotly.
Bea "tsks."

"One of these days you'll realize your mother
knows everything."

Chapter 9

Conor

The moment Gibson answers the phone I know
I'm in trouble.

"You better have some pretty damn good
excuses for the list of transgressions I have for you, Mr.
Reinhardt."

I didn't, but I have always been a pro at
BSing my way out of a bad situation.

"Depends on the transgressions," I say
carefully.

There is a moment of swearing on the other
end of the line. I grimace as I steal a glance into my bedroom. The
door is cracked, and I can just make out Emma's bent form on my
bed. Thankfully, Rachel isn't in view.

"Where would you like to start? You bypassing
Roach's authority in Atlanta? Letting your mark make a personal
phone call? Or, better yet, punching a superior."

I try finding a nice, respectful way of
responding to the "punching a superior" comment, but I fail
miserably.

"Roach is about as superior as his nickname,"
I mutter instead.

Gibson is quiet a moment.

"I should probably reprimand you for that
statement, Reinhardt, but most of the time, I agree."

I am suddenly thankful for Roach's
anti-social personality. It gives Gibson and me a moment of
amiability, and I run with it.

"Let me be a Guardian again, sir. Just for
this mission. If I fail, I'll take the demotion without
complaint."

Gibson snorts.

"I'm supposed to believe the complaint
part?"

"I won't fail you," I insist.

He is quiet for far too long.

"We have high hopes for you, Conor. Your
father and your mother . . . amazing Guardians. But this mission .
. . she's not a normal hybrid."

I already know this. And yet, the girl
herself is sorely underprepared for the burdens being placed on
her. She is scared, untrained, and until recently, had no idea she
was anything other than a normal girl dying from a strange
malady.

"She trusts me," I say.

"She trusts no one," Gibson corrects. "But
you do seem to have a way with her."

I feel my hopes rise.

"This mission, Reinhardt. I'll give
you
this
mission. You screw
up, I'll be the first to know."

Of course he will. His daughter, Rachel, will
be traveling with me. She is going to be a burr in my side, but
I'll take it.

"Thank you, sir."

Even I know when to shut up and walk
away.

"And Conor?" Gibson says. My grip tightens on
the phone.

"Sir?"

"If my daughter gets hurt, I'll tan your
hide. And that's before I pull every limb from your body and feed
them to the enemy."

The call is disconnected. Gibson sure as hell
knows how to make an impression.

"He's a real winner, isn't he?" a female
voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Rachel leaning against my
bedroom door. Emma is still on my bed, her eyes on the two of
us.

"Is that a loaded question, Rach? Anything I
say is incriminating."

She grins.

"I take it you're going to be spending a lot
of time pleading the fifth?"

"That's what the amendment is there for,
right?"

She shrugs and backs away from the door so I
can move past her. Rachel is all kinds of wrong wrapped up in one
girl. It's not that she isn't likable. She just has two major flaws
(in my opinion only) working against her. One, she is an
overachiever. She wants to prove to Gibson she is more than
eligible for his job one day. Two, our families want us to marry,
and I am not interested.

"How are we doing?" I ask Emma as I move
toward her slowly.

Emma's amber eyes track me warily. She is
still sitting on my bed, her hair pulled over to one side of her
face, and I can see the tension in her body. Her muscles are tight,
ready to spring. I have never seen anything like it before. She is
like a wild animal found injured in the woods. No matter how much
my instinct tells me to avoid her, I am drawn by the idea of taming
her. And she is absolutely clueless about her effect on people.

"I'm okay," she whispers.

Her voice has a husky quality to it. It isn't
deep, but it is low enough to send shivers down the spine. She is a
quiet girl, no doubt, but all the anxiety has put her in constant
"fight" mode, and it is causing her dormant powers to open up. She
is downright intriguing.

It is dark beyond my room, the day having
slid into night, and I pull some sleep clothes out of a nearby
dresser. I throw a pair of flannel bottoms and a large tee at Emma
before turning to Rachel. Rachel holds up her hands.

"I've got my own, thank you."

I shrug and head toward the bathroom.

"I'm getting a shower. Why don't you two
change?"

Rachel pulls some clothes out of a large hand
bag sitting by the door. Part of being a good Guardian is traveling
light. Emma's face has gone red. It is obvious she is incredibly
modest.

"Try turning around while Emma changes. She's
the shy type," I whisper to Rachel as I walk past her into the
bathroom.

"As if I didn't notice," Rachel grumbles.

The shower feels good, and I spend longer
than necessary in the bathroom. It isn't until I hear Rachel
swearing that I throw on some clothes and walk into my room. Emma
is pushed up against my headboard, her eyes distant and red. She is
wearing my blue flannel pajama bottoms and a large navy blue tee
that has slipped off one shoulder. She is shaking.

"What'd you do to her?" I hiss. Rachel's jaw
tightens.

"I started chopping up vegetables and set up
a pot to boil her in. What do you think I did, Reinhardt?" Rachel
asks sarcastically. I ignore her and move to the bed.

"Emma?"

She doesn't move. I sit on the edge of the
bed carefully.

"Em?" I whisper. Her eyes swing vacantly to
mine before looking away. Her pupils are dilated.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"It hurts."

She is staring at the window, and I follow
her gaze. There is a full moon tonight. It takes me a moment, but
when realization dawns, I curse. The moon. She is being drawn by
the moon.

"Close the blinds, Rachel," I order. The last
thing we need is for Emma to fight her way out of the room.

Rachel did as ordered, her brows furrowed in
confusion.

"She's insane," Rachel mutters as Emma's
breathing calms. Her eyes bleed back to amber. Her gaze finds
mine.

"She's not crazy. Just untrained," I say
softly, my words as much for Emma as they are for Rachel. I need
Emma to know she is not falling apart. She just isn't prepared to
deal with her own powers.

"What's wrong with me?" Emma breathes. I
scoot next to her.

"Nothing is wrong with you. The she-Demon who
sired you is linked to the moon."

I hear Rachel gasp, but I don't look up. She
is a good enough Guardian to know which Demon I am referring
to.

"I'm not going to like my real mother much,
am I?" Emma asks. She looks tired, and I have the sudden,
undeniable urge to hug her. I settle for placing a hand on her
leg.