Sins of the Innocent: A Novella
Read Sins of the Innocent: A Novella Online
Authors: Jamie McGuire
ALSO BY JAMIE MCGUIRE
Providence (Providence Trilogy: Book One)
Requiem (Providence Trilogy: Book Two)
Eden (Providence Trilogy: Book Three)
Beautiful Disaster
Walking Disaster
A Beautiful Wedding (A Beautiful Disaster Novella)
Beautiful Oblivion (Maddox Brothers: Book One)
Beautiful Redemption (Maddox Brothers: Book Two)
Beautiful Sacrifice (Maddox Brothers: Book Three)
Red Hill
Among Monsters (A Red Hill Novella)
Happenstance: A Novella Series
Happenstance: A Novella Series (Part Two)
Happenstance: A Novella Series (Part Three)
Apolonia
Copyright © 2015 by Jamie McGuire
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at
www.jamiemcguire.com
Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations,
www.okaycreations.com
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
In the horror show of gods and monsters, I was the star. Conceived of my mother, a Merovingian—a direct descendant of Christ—and my father, the half-human son of a fallen angel, my very existence had prompted a battle that destroyed more angels than when Lucifer himself had been exiled from the sight of God. Before I could realize my destiny though, I was stuck in a different, very special kind of hell—high school.
My jagged fingernails tapped against the desk in succession, listening to the drone of conversation consisting of the latest breakup, which graduation party to attend, how many withstanding virginities had gone down in flames after last weekend’s prom, and whose attempt to be memorable with experimental red carpet fashion had gone terribly awry.
The laughter began after a short moment of shock-filled silence. Ice-cold soda soaked my arm and the side of my shirt from collar to waist.
“Oh. Unfortunate,” Lacie said, holding an empty can.
Per her usual, she didn’t say she was sorry. One thing I could respect about Lacie—she had no fake apologies. Everyone in the room knew she’d done it on purpose, like she’d been doing at least once a month since the seventh grade.
I squeegeed off the dripping liquid from my skin and walked across the cafeteria to the closest restroom.
The door slammed into the wall as I shoved through it, echoing loudly in the tiny room. After a quick check that no one was in the three stalls, I jumped straight up, quickly pushing aside one of the lightweight squares sitting in the metal grid of the suspended ceiling. I grabbed the brown paper bag, folded over at the top, in one movement before landing back on the floor without a sound.
The sack crackled as I rummaged through the gray skirts for one of the light-blue button-downs folded crisply on the bottom. The sack also contained gray slacks and a few pair of navy tights, all in compliance with the Providence All Saints Academy’s uniform.
“You okay, Eden?” a voice called from one of the stalls.
I sighed. “Fine, Uncle Bex. It’s soda. You’ve risked being compromised. Is that effective?” I asked, quoting his favorite question.
“Compromised?
You
didn’t even see me. And you checked.”
Once I changed into a dry shirt, Bex pushed open the stall door, a smug expression on his face. He towered over me, as tall as my father, wearing khaki slacks and a maroon vest and tie over his light-blue oxford to blend in. Even in a Catholic school uniform, any woman would swoon over his powder-blue eyes and goofy grin, but I didn’t see it. He just seemed like a big kid to me.
“I shouldn’t have to tell a thirty-year-old hybrid that standing on a toilet isn’t considered stealth,” I said.
He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning his backside against the sink. “It is when hiding from human high school kids. And I’m not thirty yet. I’m twenty-nine for just a little longer.”
“Close enough,” I said.
He frowned. “Since when did you start telling me what was stealthy? You’ve sure gotten pissy this year.”
I jumped up to return the sack to its spot.
“You went to an all-boy military school. Don’t talk to me about being pissy.”
“It doesn’t seem that bad. I would have loved coeds.”
I stared at him, all emotion gone from my face.
He held up his hands. “Okay, it sucks. But it’s what you make of it. You know when she’s going to spill something on you. Why don’t you pretend to drop something and bend down to pick it up? She’ll miss every time.”
“You think I haven’t thought of that? That’s insulting.”
“Then change it up.”
“I have, Bex. But if I do it every time or even most of the time …”
He nodded. “Good point. Want me to break her throwing arm?”
I tried to stifle a smile but failed.
Bex leaned over to kiss the top of my head. “Taking the higher road is hard, especially when you know you could easily snap her neck. I took out a Marine once when I was eleven. He’d been giving me so much crap for weeks …” He trailed off, lost in his moment of vindication. He sobered and then stood up straight. “But I lost.”
“Because you gave him your power by letting him influence your emotions?”
“Exactly.”
“And we can’t kill her. Keeping the Balance and all that.”
Bex gave me a quick hug. “One more week,” he said before slipping out the door.
By the time I pushed it open, he was gone. When I was young, his ability to go undetected in public places used to leave me unsettled. It only reminded me of the other things that lurked where others couldn’t see.
That was before I knew the truth—that the Others, the inhuman dark beings hiding in the shadows, couldn’t hurt me. Nothing could. By God’s own rules, under the condition that I respected and preserved the Balance, I was to be left untouched, the exceptional child to a Holy Father who had hated me before I was born. Of the many who—willingly or not—would bow before him, I would not.
I was born unafraid.
“Eden!” A gangly boy jogged to my side, pushing up his glasses. “Missed you at lunch.”
Morgan McKinstry had been trying to be my friend since moving to Rhode Island in the eighth grade. He was too asthmatic to run track, too skinny to play football, and too uncoordinated to play basketball. His wiry brown hair and round glasses reminded me of an awkward Harry Potter.
“Hey, Morg. How’s the newspaper coming?”
“Last and best coming up. Graduation edition,” he said, standing up a bit taller and puffing out his scrawny chest. His smile faded. “I saw what happened with Lacie. Is she ever going to get tired of that? No one even laughs anymore.”
“Probably not,” I said, stopping at my locker.
“So, calculus test today. Did you study?”
“Not really,” I said. It was the truth.
I had mastered calculus in the fourth grade. Dad had been giving me graduate curriculum since my freshman year. Mom had said that high school was an experience. Not that All Saints didn’t have above average scores in academics and one of the best athletic programs in the region, but I had already learned everything they were teaching.
All Saints was my mother’s alma mater, and she had been insistent that I realize my human side just as much as my role in the spiritual realm. I supposed it made sense. Technically, I was mostly human.
I pulled my books from my locker and let Morgan walk me to class. Students took their seats, quiet and ready to take their tests. I appreciated that most about the student body at All Saints. All but one were respectful, almost adults—knowing when to focus and when to let loose, when to speak up and when to keep their opinions to themselves.
As I pretended to struggle with each problem, a familiar coldness settled into my bones, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. When I was young, I’d associated it with the feeling to run, as if someone—or something—were after me. Now that I was older and understood the rules, fleeing was the furthest thought from my mind. Curiosity and a readiness to fight were my only impulses.
I peeked over my shoulder, seeing a creature crouched and settling on the edge of a cabinet running along the back of the classroom, rustling its eagle-sized wings.
“Eyes forward, Miss Ryel,” Brother Ramsey said.
I turned and looked down, scribbling the rest of the steps of the problem before writing out the answer, circling it, and raising my hand.
