Intuition: The Premonition Series (34 page)

I hardly leave my room the next day. I hear Russell stomping around the apartment agitatedly, but it makes me just want to pull the pillow over my head. I think he wants an explanation as to why I used that phone and almost ruined our new life here, but there is no explanation that won’t hurt him. How can I tell him that I hadn’t known how unrelenting the pain and loss of the family I had come to count on would be? It never ends, this ache for Reed. Russell is definitely stronger than me. He lost his family, too, but he isn’t falling apart. He’s adapting. I admire that in him. He is an ass kicker and I’m proud of him, even as I struggle to make him proud of me, too.

After allowing me to stay in bed for a day, he manages to cajole me into training with him the next two days. He has a way of getting me to do things that I don’t want to do. I think he knows me too well. He knows all the right buttons to push to get my compliance and it’s really annoying to come to that realization. I teach him more Bruce Lee and he instructs me on tree jumping. I’m not nearly as good at it as he is because my wings don’t span nearly as far as his. I had a couple of really scary encounters with tree trunks before I figured out that I couldn’t glide as far as him.

Russell was given a set of keys to the gym at the high school so that he can open up when the basketball coach is running late. We start going there late at night to train and I show him again how to run the walls. He takes to it with a natural ability and grace that is ingrain in him, using his increasing speed to defy gravity and propel himself onto the wall without much effort. The first time he accomplishes the feat, he jumps off the center of the wall and tumbles directly in front of me, managing to scoop me up in his arms and swing me around like a rag doll. He is so psyched about bouncing off the wall, he is… well, bouncing off the walls.

Russell has also managed to find some swords at a gun and knife show that traveled through the area a few weeks ago. He has gotten us quite a few weapons and when I ask him where he’d found them all, he informs me that the U.P. is a virtual treasure trove for all types of weapons. He says that there is even a slogan that goes: The U.P. is made for sportsmen. I don’t know what kind of sport involves wickedly sharp Samurai swords, but I guess I’ll have to go with it.

Russell is deadly with a sword. He is also patient, using all his knowledge and finesse to force me into positions from which I can’t retreat. Then, when it’s apparent that he could easily kill me, he stops and shows me step-by-step where I went wrong, trying to correct my mistakes. He makes it seem effortless, his skill with the weapon. There is something terrifying about watching him move like a powerful storm, coming closer and closer with frightening speed and control, knowing that if he wants to, he can slice me in half without a backward glance. But he never loses focus, never lets the intensity of what he’s doing overwhelm him or cause him to act wildly. I think he’s constantly conscious of what happened when I hit him with the marble and he knows now that it would not take much to lose perspective.

When Monday comes, I notice Russell watching me get ready for work. He looks apprehensive. “Ya know, Red, maybe y’all shouldn’t go in today. I mean, I hate to think of ya all alone there. Ya never know what those two are gonna do,” he says, referring to Lynnette and Autumn. He was really angry when he found out that they left me to cover for them so they could go get drunk before a party.

“They don’t bother me…much,” I shrug, thinking of the girls. They are more annoying than hurtful, since I really don’t care what they think of me.

“Still, why don’t ya look for somethin’ else—somethin’ durin’ the day with normal hours?” he asks.

“Why? It’s not like the Fallen don’t come out during the day or any other angel for that matter,” I point out, looking at Russell to see where he is going with this.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just used to the dangers associated with y’all bein’ a girl and bein’ human. I can’t seem to shake it,” he replies, smiling a little. “I always had to run over to Scarlett’s friend’s house after dark to walk her home. My mom didn’t want her out at night alone. I guess old habits die hard.”

Something about the image of Russell walking his little sister home at night makes me smile. He is such a lovely person, good for all the right reasons. Even through all of this, he has managed to keep that sweetness about him. It’s like he is good all the way to the core, so that it doesn’t matter how much of him gets scraped away— there is still goodness underneath.

“I dare any human to attack me. Pwnage, Russell,” I say, holding up the butter knife I had been using to spread peanut butter on a slice of bread I’m packing for my dinner tonight. When Russell looks at me skeptically, I chuck the knife across the room, impaling the fly with it that has been annoying me all morning. The knife embeds in the wall at the other end of the room, making a new scar in the wall to blend in with the others.

“Flossin’ again, huh?” he mutters, and I look down, smiling a little. “Hey, I was wonderin’ if y’all would come with me on Wednesday. One of the parents of the kids on the team is havin’ a little party for all the parents and coaches. It’s a cocktail and hors d’oeuvres thing. Blake and his wife Angie will be there and I think I kinda have to make an appearance.”

Blake is the coach of the team that hired Russell to be the assistant coach. I have met him a few times after the games. He’s funny, the way he whistles at me every time he sees me, like he can’t help himself. Angie just rolls her eyes at him when he does it. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, well nothing too bad anyway.

“What does one wear to an event like cocktails and hors d’oeuvres?” I ask him.

“Good question…somethin’ sexy…” he replies with a charming grin.

I roll my eyes. “I’ll call Angie and find out,” I reply. Russell frowns a little. He still hasn’t given me back my cell phone and I haven’t asked for it. I can see the thought of me having it back is not a good one in his mind. Sadly, I agree with him.

“How ’bout I ask Angie for ya. I’ll let ya know what she says,” he asks, and his brown eyes meet mine with concern.

“Sure,” I reply, packing up my sandwich in a plastic bag and putting it in the little cooler I take to work with me.

“I’ll swing by tonight, after you get off work,” he says smoothly.

He wants to pick me up. He’s worried about me,
I realize, and I guess I’m to blame for that, again.

“Okay,” I sigh, because it will probably take a little while for me to gain his trust back. He relaxes a little after that and I go to change for work. Putting on a black pencil skirt that stops just above the knee with a white blouse that I altered to accommodate my wings, I select the black heels that always make Russell stop and stare. He likes them a lot.

I walk to work thinking of the party. When I arrive at the library, I’m disappointed to find out that Fran isn’t back from her time off yet, so I’m stuck with Autumn at the circulation desk again. As the course of the evening wears on, I notice Autumn being unnaturally quiet. She is just sitting and watching me while I assist patrons, like she is studying me. The more I scrutinize her, the more suspicious I’m becoming of her behavior. She doesn’t seem right to me. Normally, she is chatty and filled with inane observations that make me think that she has never been out of Houghton, or at least she has never been farther south than the bridge. But she’s uneasy and twitchy tonight. There is a glassy tint to her eyes. I wonder if they had gotten more than just a case of beer when they were out at the river.

I spy Lynnette later by the photocopiers watching me, too. She looks slightly ill and her pupils are dilated to near blackness.
They are definitely on something,
I surmise. A very petty part of me hopes it’s a scary, face-melting, shadows-dancing, demon-frolicking trip.

By the time my shift is halfway done, I am truly creeped out by their behavior. Autumn follows me everywhere I go, even into the bathroom. I just about have to shut the stall door in her face and I can hear her outside the door biting her nails. I breathe easier when I go back out to the circulation desk and see Erin entering the lobby of the library, carrying two cups of coffee.

“Lillian!” Erin says, approaching the desk. “I brought you a cup of coffee as a not so subtle bribe.” She sets the coffee down in front of me. She flashes cream and sugar at me, drawing it from her pocket like contraband before balancing it on top of the coffee cup lid, along with a coffee stir stick. “I need your help again, eh. I need to find some more information for my project.”

“I would be happy to help you. You don’t have to bribe me, but I’m glad you did. I love coffee,” I say, relieved to see a friendly face. Autumn is earjacking our exchange with glazed fascination that is almost embarrassing.

Erin, noticing our audience, glances from Autumn and then to me again, making a little face that indicates she thinks Autumn is acting weird. Then she says, “I need to have more documentation on how the Schwarzschild radius can be calculated using the equation for escape speed.”

“That sounds gnar gnar. Let’s go see what we can turn up,” I say, coming around the end of the circulation desk. I have to stop, feeling my Autumn shadow trailing me. I turn to Autumn and say, “Autumn, can you watch the desk while I help Erin find what she needs?” Autumn’s gaze shifts to Erin, and then it comes back to me. She nods slowly and I exhale a deep breath when she goes back around the counter and sits down, biting her nails as her eyes continue to track me.

“Is she high?” Erin asks in a near whisper as we walk away from the counter toward the reference computer.

“I don’t know. She is acting strange though,” I reply, trying not to speculate.

“Hey, I want to tell you that you didn’t miss much last week, you know when we went to the bar. It was pretty dead,” she says conspiratorially, while I referenced her subject on the computer. “But the most amazing thing happened to me on Saturday night!” she says before taking a quick sip of her coffee.

“Yeah?” I reply, cocking my eyebrow and smiling because she seems eager to tell me her news.

“Yeah. I met the most amazing man!” she gushes. “He is extremely hot and he wanted my number! That’s why I haven’t been back in to work on my assignment,” she says, and it is BFO that she really likes this new man.

“Does this amazing man have a name?” I ask in amusement at the dreamy look on her face.

“Yes…his name is Finn Graham and he has the most
amazing
Irish accent. He is so hot and you might get to meet him because he said he might be stopping by with his brother Brennus,” she says with a pretty good imitation of an Irish accent when she said “Brennus.” Her anticipation is palatable.

“That does sound… amazing,” I reply, trying to be supportive. I feel awkward because it has been a while since I tried to be friends with a human that wasn’t in on all of my secrets.

“I know!” she agrees with a little squeal that makes me smirk in delight because it was just so… girly. I locate more books for Erin and help her set up on the main floor of the library at one of the study carrels.

When I go back to the circulation desk, Autumn isn’t there.
Figures,
I think,
she’s probably watching the dust motes blow around in the break room.

I begin to organize the mobile cart with the books that I will need to return to their shelves at the end of my shift, but as I lift a book from the shelf, my hand stills in midair. A cold, prickling sensation touches my skin and raises goose bumps on my arms. My entire body stiffens with the awareness that something isn’t right. I immediately scan the first floor of the library, trying to pick out anything that might be threatening.

The cold feeling intensifies to an icy chill on my skin as I zero in on the front doors of the library. Two men enter and cross the lobby’s tile floor, approaching the circulation desk. They are moving like graceful foxes, stealthy and sharp. They seem to be missing none of the details of their environment, but they appear relaxed and at ease with their prowess—a bad sign for me. Reaching over, I ease the letter opener out of the desk drawer, concealing it in my palm as they approach the desk.

The outside doors behind them close, causing the airflow to shift and make me downwind of them. Immediately, the sweetest scent I have ever smelled assails me…it’s floral…poppies maybe, and it’s making me want to rub my nose to get the reek out. My heartbeat kicks up. My wings are twitching inside my back, and I strain to keep them in.
What do I do? I
think rapidly. If they were angels, I would know what to do—I would have bolted the minute I saw them, but they aren’t angels…and they are not human.
Will they know that I’m not human?
I wonder as the shorter one, who is at least six foot tall, leans with a casual elegance against the counter of the circulation desk.