In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 (15 page)

“Get the fuck out,” Aydin commands. He turns to me, his are eyes black, he closes them and takes a deep breath. His eyes blink open and they are clear and gray.

The man slowly rises next to me. There are popping sounds as he steadies himself on the table. He is inches from me. So close I can see the tight woven fibers of his shirt, the thick fabric of his jeans, the light hairs over his arms. My heart beats in my ears and the sickening scent of fear fills my nose. The rancher turns to look at me and nods before he walks out the door. His friends in the back stand and follow.

My breaths aren’t coming out right. My chest is constricted, forcing short, ragged bursts of air from my lungs. My hands shake, and my legs tremble. I bring my knees up close to me on the sofa.

What the hell just happened?

I point to the open doorway. “He just walked out.”

“Yes. As I asked,” Aydin nods.

“That was asking?” My voice is high and shrill. Noise roars in my ears. “I think you just broke his legs!”

“The man is fine. He just walked out,” Aydin points out.

Yes. I saw. He walked out. With two broken legs.

Aydin reaches out, grabbing my arm. His fingers burn into the skin and everything around me goes quiet. My pulse slows and air fills my lungs. “Charlotte, we are going to go back to the chateau now.”

-----------

I am thrown down hard into the small settee as we enter the parlor. My head swims, the scene in the bar tumbles around in my skull, shaken not stirred.

“What did you do to her?” Henri roars. He grabs my shoulders forcing me to face him.

“What happened?” Claudette crouches down, taking my hands.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Aydin’s voice is hard and mean. “Charlotte seems to have a hard time listening! If she had just kept her mouth shut, I could have handled the situation calmly.”

“What situation?” Henri yells.

“In town! Who knows who I've just pissed off!” Aydin’s voice booms, ricocheting off the walls, pounding in my ears.

“Who were they?” Claudette stands, placing her hand on Aydin’s arm.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen them before. They were new. Americans. There were three of them. One of them was all over her, trying to claim her.” Aydin shakes her off and runs his fingers through his hair, agitated.

“Why did you let her go off alone?” Henri demands.

“It’s not my job to watch her remember?” Aydin screams back. “Lance can only do so much, Henri!”

“It is your job! Lucius isn’t here!” Henri screams.

Who in the hell is Lucius?

“You were instructed to make sure she stayed here, Henri. She’s not marked.” Aydin’s voice turns cold.

“I was Aydin, but you called me away remember?” Henri steps closer to Aydin, challenging. Seems like a poor idea.

“When we said keep her occupied, I didn’t mean by trying to fuck her!” Aydin’s voice rattles the chandelier, violent.

Everyone around me is yelling. Aydin is pacing, shouting, his entire demeanor a far cry from the cool and collected man I have spent the week with. Far from the smiling, sensual man in the bar. He looks like he is coming unhinged, a wild panther clawing at the bars.

“She’s in shock,” Claudette says. I look down at the glass that she has forced into my hand. The clear liquid ripples as my hands start to shake, so I give it back to her.

Someone says my name, their voice, maybe Henri, rising in panic. I look up, Aydin has stopped pacing, his eyes focus on mine. My body is losing control, shaking violently.

“Come here.” Aydin’s voice breaks through the din in my head, velvety smooth. I stand, still trembling, and walk to him.

“What just happened?” My voice rattles in my ears. His thin frame holds a raw power, deceiving under his gaunt appearance.

“My god, Aydin,” Henri says. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t that bad, Henri, calm down.” Aydin’s voice is soothing. He radiates power and it wraps itself around my body, hot and dangerous. He reaches up, brushing my hair over my shoulder, his hand lightly touching the skin on my face. Fire lights under my flesh. Henri stands, coming forward but stops when Claudette grabs his arm, forcing him still.

Aydin brings my hands together in his. My body eases, the shaking stops and I am instantly calm. I feel myself spinning, my head hazy, my legs weak. Tears form behind my eyes, a pool of sorrow so deep my feet will never touch bottom. Aydin’s sorrow. Aydin’s pain.

“It’s time you talked to your mother,” Aydin says, softly. His words connect and shake me from my trance.

“Abigail is going to kill you, Aydin!” Henri yells. “Charlotte’s not ready!”

“That isn’t your choice, Henri,” Aydin tells him. “Go get Abigail.”

“You mean she’s here?” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. I spin to Henri. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“She is. She’s been here the entire time.”

What?

“The entire time,” I repeat.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Will someone, for the love of god, please tell me what is going on?” Now I am the one screaming.

“Charlotte.”

I freeze. My heart pounds in my ears. I can’t move, can’t breathe. For a long time I try to reconnect with the Earth, swirling out in space. I swallow hard and wrap my hands around my arms, my body again shaking. It has been twelve years since I have heard her voice. Twelve years, full of nights weeping for her, days cursing her.

Her eyes are bright and blue like my own. The same soft, honey hair. High cheekbones that hold the same light freckles from too many hours in the sun. No wrinkles are carved into her skin. Her hair isn’t streaked with gray as I imagined. She is suspended in time, thirty-seven years old. My mother stands before me, exactly the same as the day she left.

Chapter
Eighteen

The human mind is an incredible machine. It is in charge of sending messages to every single part of our bodies. Hardwired to find patterns, and make our eyes see what is right in front of us. It is designed to make sense of any situation. It is rational, or at least it is supposed to be. I’m pretty sure it is our emotions that mess up the signals. Making some of us see faces of god in pieces of bread or the sides of buildings. It is hope or faith that scrambles all rationale. Some of us succumb to these, some of us don’t.

I’m not one of them. I see the bread for what it is. Bread.

Though, I usually see the logic, I don’t forget there are different shades of gray that fall between the black and white. There is beauty in the Earths brutality, even a necessity to it. Light shines where one thinks only darkness falls, but I don’t ignore the shadows. I can still see the pretty rainbow and like the idea of a pot of gold. But I know it isn’t there. I base my entire life on this.

I stand staring at my mother and I think of two things. First and foremost: everyone has lied to me. Everyone. She looks healthier than the day she left. Second: my mother has found what is probably the best plastic surgeon in France. In the entire world.

I pride myself on my common sense.

Everyone in the room is silent, watching, like I’m under a microscope. Calmly, or at least I hope this is how I appear, I walk to the seat Aydin had thrown me in before and sitdown. My hands shake and I worry it is going to spread again to the rest of my body.

I do a quick calculation in my head. The last I saw my mother was twelve years ago. She would now be... do the math... almost fifty. Forty-nine to be exact. Yet, she isn’t. She is still in her late thirties. Almost exactly seven years older than me.

“Charlotte.” Abigail’s voice is quiet. She moves toward me, but I shake my head. My jaw clenches, the room seems to have lost all air, making it hard to force my lungs to work.

“You look well,” I say.

Claudette’s laugh is high, bursting with anxiety. The room is filled with it. The tension creeps out of my pores into theirs.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Abigail says. “I didn’t know of any other way to get you here. You would never come unless I lied.”

I nod. She is right. I wouldn’t have. I would never have flown to France if I hadn’t thought she was dying. But she isn’t.

“Are you going to explain to me what is going on?” My voice is quiet. Too calm. Too detached.

Everyone looks at each other. Their faces turn to one another like they are hoping someone else will volunteer to the task.

A figure comes into the room. He is tall and thin. He wears a dark navy suit, and I wonder what is so important that we are being interrupted by security. His face is distinctly Persian, his skin tanned and smooth. Long black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, with eyes so dark the pupils fade into the iris. He is young, very young. Maybe twenty.

Claudette rushes to him and gives him a hard embrace. I have yet to see her so happy to see anyone. She wasn’t even this excited to see Henri.

“Father.” Claudette kisses his face, smiling as she does.

I blink, hard, my lids heavy and slow. Everyone in the room turns again to watch me. I stand from my seat, my heart pounds in my head making me dizzy. A laugh rushes from my lips, a strange, strangled sound. I laugh again, this time louder. Eyes still watch, as what can only be described as complete hysteria bubbles up, and I continue to make these high pitched chortling sounds.

I have a tendency to have inappropriate timing.

Five faces look back. They hold the same expression; worry mixed with confusion. Except Aydin. He is still calmly watching me.

“Hello, Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I am Ashur,” the man says.

I nod. Of course, he is. Because it makes perfect sense, that Henri’s uncle from France, my fathers childhood friend, looks like he is barely old enough to buy alcohol.

Oh no.
The laughter stops abruptly. I rub my arms hard, digging my nails into the skin. I have lost touch with reality, yet my brain is amazing clear.

Dear god. I am insane
.

They are here to help me. That is why they have brought me to France. I’m crazy, like Emily. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it is only me. Maybe I can’t read people and feel their emotions. I just think I can. I see people how they couldn’t possibly be, plastered too young of faces on their bodies.
Do crazy people know they are crazy?

“She’s going to pass out,” Claudette says.

Noise roars in my head. Breathing is impossible, the air in my lungs comes out in chopped up bursts. The tingling signs of panic caress my fingers, spreading up my arms. Aydin’s hand wrap around my arm and everything stops. The sound vanishes and my breathing slows.

“How did you do that?” I ask him, still staring at the newly introduced Ashur.

“I can control your energy,” Aydin says.

I nod and look at him. His face is serious, but the corners of his mouth pull down. What he says makes sense in my new crazy world. My insane version, where people don’t age, and others can change your emotions with a simple touch.

My mother makes a movement indicating everyone should leave. Aydin starts to walk away.

“No!” I scream the word. Everyone freezes, staring at me. I don’t want him to leave. He is like a drug. Without him near, I may fall over the brink.

“Everyone needs to stay. But someone, anyone, better start talking,” I demand. Somehow I sound in control of myself. I sit back down and wait for them to situate themselves around the room. Aydin stays close to me, while Henri makes the wise decision to sit far away.

No one wants to be the one to start, so I turn to Aydin. There is no way a man that looks as thin as he, has the strength to throw anyone hard enough to shatter bones. No man does. I heard them crack, I heard the ranchers scream, saw his pain. I also saw the man standup and walkout from the bar. I rub my face with my hands. I look at Aydin’s eyes, liquid pools that seem to move in the light.

“What are you?” My jaw is so tight, my head aches.

“We have many names.”

“Any one of them will be a helpful explanation,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words. Pieces try to put themselves together, but my rather smart brain refuses to let them go there. Dark nights. Long days alone while they worked. One word keeps flashing in the front of my mind. Like a cartoon trying to teach me the meaning.

“Vampire.”

The answer is simple. I laugh again, but less edgy, more incredulous.

“The man that you say tried to claim me? Whatever the hell that means?”

“Vampire,” Aydin says.

“Oh, OK,” I say, smiling, my head nodding. This is funny. Joke is on me. I look over at my mother. “So that means, what, you are a Fairy? No wait. I have one better. A werewolf.” My sarcasm is back. I use it as a shield.

“Don’t be silly,” Aydin smiles.

“Me? Never,” I mock and return my eyes to him.

“There are no such things as fairies,” Aydin informs me, “Or werewolves.”

“Just vampires.”

“Yes.” A smile slither’s over his lips.

I stare at him and then look around the room. My eyes land on Henri. Claudette has her fingers intertwined in his, consoling him.

“This isn’t funny,” I choke. My chest tightens, a thick rope pulling my heart taunt.

“No, it isn’t,” Aydin says. I look back at him. He is easier to look at. Henri’s a damn liar and I can’t look at Abigail.

“Like blood sucking vampires,” I say.

“Yes,” Aydin’s lips pullup, flashing his charismatic grin. I glance back to Henri.

“But you aren’t.” Henri shakes his head solemnly, “And you are,” I say to Claudette. She smiles at me, almost sheepish. I look back to my mother. She is dressed in a simple black pantsuit, her hair down around her shoulders.
My god, I look just like her.

“You haven’t aged.” It is an obvious observation, one that needn’t be said, but my brain is trying to process the information. And failing.

“No, I no longer will.”

“Like, ever?”

“That is part of being a vampire,” Claudette says.

I really don’t like her.

“This is why I couldn’t come to see you,” Abigail says. “I wanted to see you desperately, Charlotte.” A single tear falls over her cheek, it is tainted a pale pink.

I gasp in horror. Aydin’s hand finds mine and grips it tight. Peace falls around me like a blanket. He controls my energy. I yank it away.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice is ice, hysteria edging back in. “Don’t ever touch me.”

Is that why I had been so calm in the bar? Had he been controlling me then? I had been calm in a situation where I shouldn’t have been. Snuggled up and cozy with this man that is telling me they are all vampires. His face turns to stone, and he quietly leaves the room.

“Don’t take it out on him, Charlotte,” Abigail pleads. “He is only trying to help you.”

My head swims, my arms tingle. I almost want to bring Aydin back, but I sent him away. Henri stands coming to sit next to me.

“No one come near me,” I swat him away, practically screaming.

Claudette rolls her eyes and stands. “I’ll come back when you have calmed down.”

Ashur nods in my direction, before following her out.

I stare at my mother a long time. She is so beautiful, even more beautiful than the last time I had seen her. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes so blue; a crystal ocean. They sparkle, the light hitting them, and they flicker alive and charged. Like Aydin’s. His liquid steel eyes, like nothing I have ever seen before. Like Claudette’s, the dark blue flecks that hold too many secrets.

I think of Abigail’s face the day she left. Her arguing with Daddy, the sounds of things breaking. Had she been forced to go? Was this her choice?

Her skin is completely flawless, but she still has the scar that runs down her jaw, a small line of raised flesh. From when the bathroom mirror fell and shattered, cutting her face. She is the same, exactly the same. No, not exactly. More alive. More vibrant.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“On your birthday.” Another pink tear falls. I wish she would stop. It’s inhuman. No one cries blood stained tears. Except maybe, vampires.

“Which one?”

“Your twenty-fifth,” she says.

The birthday my sister died. The day she tried to kill me.

“And then I couldn’t. You would not have been able to handle it. You wouldn’t be able to understand then,” she says, desperately.

“I’m not having such an easy time understanding now. I don’t understand why you left.” I have waited almost half my life, I needed her to tell me.