Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace) (13 page)

She couldn’t believe how nervous she was. Her nerves were so shot, she found herself trembling as she made her way next to him. With a heaving breath to steady herself, she fumbled with the key, barely getting it in the second keyhole. She turned it counter-clockwise as instructed.

“
Now, all you need to do is pull the handle down and open it.”

Greedily, she sucked in a final cleansing breath, and pulled the handle down. Inside the door was a brass-plated box with another keyhole on the outside and a handle she used to pull the box from its place. The box wasn’t heavy and nothing clanked or moved around as she laid it carefully on the table.

“
Your key will also open the box,” he said. “Unless you need anything else from me, I am going to excuse myself to give you some privacy.”

Pulling the chair out, she sat down. “Thank you.” Faintly, she heard the door latch click as Mr. Maryott retreated. “Here goes nothing.” She turned the key.

The opened lid revealed a silver bag similar to the inside lining of the backpack. Not finding the opening, she carefully pulled the bag from the brass box. The object inside was hard, somewhat round, and about a foot long, but she still had no clue as to what it could be. She pushed the box away and placed the silver bag on the table, hoping to find the opening. Grace inspected every square inch of it, which revealed no opening, no zipper, and no seam. What the heck?

Frustrated, Grace leaned over the bag. “Just open, darn it!” she said, forcing the words through tight lips. As if yelling at the dumb thing will open it, she added mentally.
Almost ready to throw it across the room, she looked around for something that might cut or rip the bag. Her eyes found nothing, so she gave up and grabbed the bag, gripping the rounded thing inside.

And without fanfare, the end just fell open.

Grace all but dropped it on its side on the table, then sat gaping at the hole. There was no rip, or tear, and still no seam. It was just like the bag was made that way, with a seamless opening.

With her left hand, Grace gripped the smooth object and pulled the bag off with her right. Seeing it offered her nothing. It was definitely some kind of container. Maybe an antique of some kind?

The color was beautiful, but indescribable. It reminded her of periwinkle, but had an opalescent sheen. She flipped it over to see the bottom and then back to look at the top, slowly turning it in her hand to examine all around it. Suddenly, she felt a vibration run through her palms. Gasping, she dropped it in her lap.

Curious, she peered down at the container just as an iridescent shimmer rippled along its surface. Opaque holographic letters raised one at a time across the face as if it were introducing itself.

“
Pandora?” she read aloud. “Is this some kind of joke?”

A voice spoke behind her. “I’m afraid not, child.”

Moving faster than she thought possible with instincts she didn’t know she had, Grace jumped from her seat and whirled around, holding the container protectively behind her back. Her body stiffened as she crouched into a defensive pose, ready for attack. Shocked at her own automatic movements, almost like muscle memory, Grace mentally shook her head but remained in position until she could assess the situation. Where in the world had the woman come from?

“
They’ve chosen well,” the woman said with a smile. She stood a few feet away, her posture erect and proud in an almost regal way. Her arms dropped loosely in front of her, her fingers intertwined in a relaxed and nonthreatening pose.

Grace’s mind froze with surprise and confusion as she forced out, “Who are you?”

“
I am Limye.”

Her senses, as well as the woman’s demeanor, convinced her that the woman was not a threat so she relaxed somewhat. Grace stood up straight, abandoning her defensive posture, but kept the container at her back. “Come again?”

The woman laughed in a grandmotherly sort of way, which was really disconcerting because she didn’t appear to be much older than Grace. She was very short, with long black hair pulled high at the crown of her head in a pony, dark chocolate eyes, and beautiful dark skin that almost seemed to glow. She was one of the most beautiful women Grace had ever seen.

“
People usually have trouble with my name at first. It’s Lim-yay. Limye.”

“
Why are you here, Limye?” Rudeness wasn’t normally part of Grace’s M.O, but she felt rather protective of the whatever-it-was behind her back. She didn’t understand it, but she knew to listen to her instincts.

“
I’m a kind of Guardian. I’ve come to let you know you can call on me if ever you need.”

Grace’s mind whirled.
“No offense, Limye,” she said in a terse voice, “but I don’t think I’ll have any need to call.”

“
You might someday, child. You’ll be eighteen soon and no longer hidden. They’ll realize you’re a Chosen and will stop at nothing to find you.”

Limye was making her uneasy again. Shifting slightly, Grace wondered if she should be worried. The lady might be crazy, but she somehow knew who she was. And who were the “they” that would stop at nothing to find her?

“
I don’t understand,” Grace insisted.

Limye’s features settled into a patient smile. “You’re a Chosen, Grace, just like Christophe. Your job is to protect Pandora’s jar. Evil will come out in force to take it from you. And if they succeed…well, let’s not think about that just yet.”

Grace didn’t want to think about any of it, because it sounded completely absurd. Instead, she laughed. She laughed loud and hard, tears streaming unhindered down her face. When she finally caught her breath, she looked back at Limye, who was patiently looking back at her.

“
People usually have trouble with that part as well,” Limye said.

“
It’s because it sounds—”

“
Crazy?” Limye finished her sentence. “I assure you, it’s not.”

Needing to adjust her uncomfortable position, Grace cocked her hip and passed the jar behind her from one hand to the other. “I’m sorry, but it sounds completely crazy.”

“
In time, your eyes will be opened. But now you must hurry. Put Pandora back in the bag and in the backpack, and do not take her out until you’re at your grandfather’s house. Do you understand?”

“
Why do I—”

The woman’s smile disappeared and her tone became sharp as she interrupted. “Grace, you must hurry. Do you understand?”

Limye’s urgency jarred her. The lack of understanding left her frustrated and confused, while a litany of questions zipped around in her head. What the heck was a Chosen? Why did she have to protect Pandora? What in the world was a Guardian…some kind of fairy godmother? The more she questioned, the more crazy Limye seemed. Grace decided to take the opportunity offered and get the heck out of Dodge.

“
Yes, I understand.”

“
Good,” Limye said firmly. “Now go.”

Carefully, she nestled the container in the bag, put the bag inside the backpack, pulled its strap over her shoulder, and made her way back to the front doors of the bank. Two words from her grandfather’s letter kept playing over and over in her mind as she walked through the lobby—trust and answers. Once she pushed through the glass doors and back into the suffocating arms of the heat, she walked the short distance to where Quentin stood waiting.

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him with exasperation. “Apparently you have some answers I’m looking for?”

His face stretched in a knowing grin that twisted her insides. “That I do, Grace. That I do.”

It was hard not to focus on the allure of his smile. It pulled at her in ways she’d never felt before and complicated an already bewildering day. She nodded at him without returning his smile and suggested tersely, “We better get going.” Not waiting for a reply or to see if he was following, she turned on her heel and crossed the street. Grace didn’t know what was going on, but she sure didn’t want to wait around to see if Limye was coming too or not, and picked up the pace getting to her car.

Despite the windows being down, the unease that wedged itself between Quentin and Grace during the drive to the manor felt brutally suffocating. He couldn’t scoot close enough to the opened window to get a pardon from its stranglehold, and as far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get back to the house fast enough.

The seneschal band always tingled and warmed more in her presence. And sometimes when her emotions were high, he felt them hammer through his veins. Like now. Internally, she was spinning six ways to Sunday, and he was struggling to sit still. Moved by a compulsion he had yet to understand, Quentin shifted in his seat, trying to squelch the urge to fight whatever or whoever was upsetting her.

Unable to stop his hands from fisting, he watched her from the corner of his eye. Her furrowed brows clearly revealing her internal struggle—confusion, anger, and fear—while his internal male struggled with getting lost in her outer beauty. He was mesmerized as his gaze roamed, appreciating the sight of her. The rays of the sun played artist, brushing highlights around the halo of her long brown hair, stroking a bronzed shimmer along her skin and down the length of her…

“
What?” her voice demanded, screeching his thoughts to an abrupt halt like a needle being dragged across a record.

“
What? I didn’t say anything,” he said. Embarrassed at being caught in his perusal, his face warmed by the second.

Quickly, she turned her scowl on him and then back to the road. “Were you staring at my legs?”

“
What?” He tried to sound incredulous. “No, of course not. I was staring at the speaker in your door.”

“
There aren’t any speakers in my door,” she snapped.

“
Well, see, that’s why I was staring. I didn’t think there was a speaker, so I was trying to figure out what I was looking at.” Oh hell, he thought. Is that the best I can come up with?

“
So that’s the story you’re sticking to?” she asked, obviously not amused.

He thought for all of a second before answering her. “Yes, that’s the story I’m sticking to. Because it’s the truth.”

Grace smiled and chuckled softly without humor. “Okay, Quentin. If you say so.”

He didn’t dare reply. In the interest of self-preservation, he stared unblinking out the passenger window.

Grace all but ran from the car to the front door. She needed to get out of the heat. Not bothering to shut the door behind her, she carefully put the backpack on the table in the foyer, then booked it to the powder room for a towel. She was sweating like a you-know-what in church, in places girls should never
sweat. Quentin didn’t have so much as a slight glisten on his upper lip or brow. That seemed to be a constant with him—being calm, cool, and collected. So not fair, she thought.