Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (7 page)

I take a deep breath before answering Nick’s complaints. “First of all, it’s not that I don’t love you. I definitely don’t not love you. I just have a lot going on, and you keep trying to get in the way of the one goal that’s keeping me sane.”

“That goal is going to lead you down a path that I can’t follow...“

“Second, it shouldn’t be any business of yours, or anyone else’s, what I decide to do with my life. I didn’t stand in your way when you were contemplating revenge. So either stand with me, or stand aside.”

“I can’t support you in this… If you succeed, you’re only going to get bitter because you’ll have nowhere else to place all that anger, and you’ll just slowly destroy yourself. You won’t get any closure out of killing Lily. You’ll just become a monstrous version of yourself.”

I glare at Nick for a moment, before asking, “Do you agree with Michael, then? Do you think I’ve become unhinged? Too angry and distressed to function?”

“No… I just know that you’re not the best version of yourself that you can be right now. And I’m willing to fight to get her back, but only if you’re willing to let me.”

That pulls me up short. I tear my gaze away from him, and massage my temples for a moment. I can’t look at him anymore. I stare out onto the lake as I respond, “You can’t always fix what’s fucked up, Nicholas. I don’t need a hero.”

“You do. And you’re not fucked up.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I’m tired of the way you treat me, when all I want to do is help-“

“If you’re tired of me, then go.”

Nick is silent for so long, that I’m afraid I broke him somehow. Hell, I probably did. I should have thought before I spoke, but I meant what I said. If he can’t be here for me, then I won’t let him hold me back. After an eternity of tense silence, he whispers, “Fine. I’ll see you around, Heather.” Nick stands upright, and I’m certain he’s watching me, hoping I’ll say something to call him back. But I can’t. I won’t. He strides toward the house, and as he leaves, I can almost feel one of the last remaining links to the life I knew and loved snap, and fall to the wayside.

7

             
Somehow, it never occurred to me how much breaking up with Nick would hurt. I expected to feel relieved, or at least numb to the loss. But it’s like a hole has been carved out of my chest, as if he’d claimed a piece of me and took it with him when he went. And that hole pains me more and more every time we cross each other’s paths in the house. He looks at me through harrowed eyes. I always turn away before he can read any sign of weakness in my expression. We made our choices. He chose wrong.

              Losing Nick only drives me to dive into training headlong. Every morning, Michael sits with me on the banks of the lake and talks me through a series of complicated stretches. When he’s satisfied that we’re both limber, he shows me fighting techniques that he’s picked up over the years. A large portion of them are nothing new; I learned a lot about the art of combat under Krystal’s tutelage. But I humor him, and perform exactly as he instructs until he’s satisfied that I’ve grasped the concept. We break for lunch, and then he has me practice what I’ve learned on Tyrael.

              Though we got off on the wrong foot, part of me feels sorry for Tyrael. I’m sure when he agreed to being Michael’s guardian angel, this wasn’t in the job description. He tends to walk away from practice sessions with all manner of bruises and scrapes. One afternoon, he looks so beaten up that I pull him aside afterwards to apologize.

              “Don’t worry about it,” Tyrael murmurs though a swollen lip. It’s a shame he doesn’t talk more often; his voice is soothing and gentle, reminiscent of Nick’s. He’s probably a perfectly nice guy, who I’ve randomly decided can serve as my guilt-free punching bag.

              “Are you sure?,” I ask nervously. “I’m worried I’m going to kill you one of these days…”

              “Don’t worry, ma’am. Angels are notoriously hard to kill.”

              “Oh? And why is that?”

              “I shouldn’t say…”

              “Oh come on, how does one go about killing an angel?”

              Tyrael looks around, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Michael wouldn’t want me to tell you. I’m sorry.”

              I wasn’t expecting
that
kind of answer. I’m honestly a little hurt. I ask, “Why wouldn’t he want me to know?”

              “Michael may like you, but he knows better than to trust you with such information. He says you’re too volatile.”

              Okay, maybe more than a little hurt. But I can see Michael’s point; I’ve been more in control lately, but that doesn’t change the fact that I
did
go a little overboard when he first pitted me against Tyrael. Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t know what it would take to kill him.

              As if I don’t have enough problems to deal with, every once in a while I’m forced into uncomfortable conversations with Agent Rivera. I’ve learned to dread answering calls from restricted numbers; he only wants our communication to be initiated on his terms. He peppers me with questions about what I want to do with the clan; change up old rules, sell old real estate, negotiate with other clans. I don’t know why he cares as much as he does. There are only two of us left. Well, three, if you count Nick, which I don’t.

              “Do you at least have an idea for what you want to call this clan of yours?,” Agent Rivera asks after a long and frustrating discussion.

              “I don’t,” I tell him. “Because I don’t care.” And I don’t. All I want to focus on right now is getting through Michael’s training. Everything concerning the tattered remains of the Caelestia clan will have to come later.

We’re a few days into September by the time Michael is satisfied with how well I fight barehanded. Or, rather, I’ve learned everything he can teach me in that department; evidently, hand-to-hand combat isn’t his specialty. That would explain why he never spars with me himself. He knows plenty about the art in theory, but finds himself lacking in practice. When Michael breaks the news to me, my only question is, “What are we moving on to?”

              Michael looks almost jovial as he says, “Starting next week, I’ll be personally instructing you in armed combat.”

              “Armed?” My mind automatically jumps to the specialized pistols Krystal left in my care. Surely he doesn’t mean those?

              “Yes. Even as a Nephilim, it would be unwise to send you into combat without a proper weapon. So on Monday, you will accompany me to retrieve the greatest gift I can give you.”

              “A weapon? Golly gee, Dad, it’s what I always wanted.”

              Michael’s cheeks flush, and he stares at something over my shoulder. “You’ve never called me Dad before.”

              Evidently, Michael still hasn’t been around humans long enough to learn how to detect sarcasm. But he looks happy, if a little embarrassed, so I decide not to ruin his moment. Instead, I shift gears, and ask, “Does this mean I have the weekend off?”

              “Yes. You can spend the next few days doing as you please.”

              I suppose to a normal person, that kind of news would be amazing. But I’m confused; if I’m not going to be training all day, what am I supposed to do? I already spend my nights reading, and have finished most of the interesting pieces in Michael’s collection. I could spend some time with my mom, or Alyssa, but the former is firmly engrossed in her manuscript, and the latter spends too much of her time around Nick. I think what I need is to get the hell out of here for a while. But how?

              For a while after Michael gives me the weekend off, I lie on my bed, staring up at the white stucco ceiling. On a whim, I pull out my phone, and decide to pass the time with a game I haven’t played in ages. While the app loads, it occurs to me that I haven’t used my phone as a phone in quite a while. The only person who calls me regularly is Agent Rivera. My next thought brings on a wave of excitement. I’d completely forgotten; I
do
have people I can hang out with, relatively nearby. And they’re only a phone call away.

              I pull up my contacts list, and scroll down until I find the person I most expect to be free. The phone rings, and before long, a familiar voice asks, “Hello?”

              I smile into the receiver, relieved that she actually answered. “Hey, Rachel. Are you doing anything today?”

***

              At first, when I look at the address Rachel gave me over the phone, my instinct is to fly right over. I’m fast, I could make it in under an hour easily. Then I remember Michael’s explicit instructions: “Never fly over populated areas. I’ve learned that most humans don’t take kindly to things outside of their understanding.”

              I’m still sorely tempted, but I know that Michael’s right. Flying into a city would be way too risky. But Michael doesn’t own any cars, and even if he did, I never bothered getting my license. I ponder over how I’m going to get all the way to Rochester for a good five minutes before I remember that I’m a spellcaster. I could just teleport over to where she is.

              I pull up an image of Rachel’s location on Google Streetview so I can at least have an idea of where I’m going. What I find is a brown brick apartment building roughly near the center of Rochester. I focus my energy there, and before long, my physical form is transported to the right location, and my feet crunch against the gravel on the roof of Rachel’s building. Within seconds, I spot the door leading into the building itself, and start my journey downward. Before I forget, I retract my wings, hardly even flinching as they disappear into my skin. I repair the fabric on the back of my shirt, and as I do, I realize that Michael was right; I barely notice the pain anymore.

              A few minutes later, Rachel pulls open the apartment door when I knock, and silently gestures for me to back out of the doorway. She follows me outside, and whispers a greeting before explaining, “Landon’s fighting with the director of a gallery in Indianapolis.”

              “What’s the problem?,” I ask in a hushed voice.

              “He wants to sell more of his pieces so we can afford the rent, but the director is claiming that they’re not his to sell anymore.”

              “He could just paint more.”

              Rachel looks at me as if I’m insane. “He hasn’t exactly been in a creative mood lately. His parents were still in Tudor City when New York… you know. And there’s a hold up with their affairs being handed down the line, so right now we’re both just poor and grieving.”

              I nod my understanding. I keep forgetting that I’m not the only one who’s been through hell these past couple of months.

              Seconds later, Landon steps out into the hallway to join us. “Hey kid,” he says to me with a fake grin plastered on his face. “Feel like going for a drive? I need to get out of here.”

              “I know the feeling,” I reply. “Let’s go.”

              Landon leads the three of us to the parking lot, and I have to jog to keep up with his furious pace. With the push of a button, he unlocks a cherry red pickup truck, and I climb into the backseat while he and Rachel take up the driver’s and passenger’s sides respectively. The engine roars to life, and in a few brief minutes, we’re on the road, turning onto the highway heading east. Once we’re traveling at the appropriate speed limit, Landon asks, “What have you been up to? None of us have heard from you or the others in weeks.”

              In a few words, I explain that I’ve been busy learning everything I can from Michael, while the others have been engaging in their own activities. When I mention that Nick and I broke up, Landon and Rachel exchange a strange look. Neither of them explains what just happened, so I ask, “What? Was it something I said?”

              “It’s nothing,” Rachel says. “I just thought you and Nick were gonna be together for a lot longer.”

              “And
I
think it’s high time you branch out a little,” Landon chimes in. “I love Nick, but you might be just a little too tough for the poor guy.”

              I’m sure my cheeks are bright red by this point. I’m not hearing this. “Guys, please-“

              Rachel punches Landon on the arm, and asks, “Who could possibly be more of a match for her than Nick?”

              “I can think of one ex-goth who’s been patiently waiting…”

              I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, and ask, “Can we please talk about
anything
else? I’m begging you.”

              Landon sighs, and flashes me a brief smile in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about that. What would you rather talk about?”

              “What have you two been up to?”

              “Well, I’ve been trying to find a real job while selling most of the art I’ve already got. Spoiler alert: it’s not going well. And between that, and paying rent, and eating three times a day, and making sure we have cable and wifi… Being a real adult is even harder than it looks. Avoid it at all costs.”

              I laugh, and ask, “What about you, Rae?”