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Black Halo (Grace Series #3)
Black Halo (Grace Series #3)
Black Halo (Grace Series #3)
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Black Halo (Grace Series #3)

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Feeling betrayed and broken-hearted, Grace Shelley is finding it impossible to move on with her life, especially when the angel who broke her heart refuses to stay away.

But, dealing with seeing him every day might be the least of her problems when an old enemy returns, this time more intent than ever to finish what he started only this time, he's looking to destroy her soul.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 30, 2010
ISBN9781452415062
Black Halo (Grace Series #3)
Author

S.L. Naeole

S.L. Naeole has always loved the smell of books, the feel of books, and the destination that a book is guaranteed to take you. She knew from an early age that she was meant to write, to create those very same books she loved so much and vowed that one day, she would.Now, after getting married and starting a family, she has finally made her dream come true. As the author of Falling From Grace, she's found a venue with which to allow her dreams to become the reader's, and transport them to worlds and lives where fantasy and reality blend seamlessly. With several more books in the works, including three sequels to Falling From Grace, she's hoping to give to her fans the same desire and affection for the written word that she had as a child.S.L. Naeole writes from her home in Hawai'i, with her husband, four children, and cat by her side cheering her on and providing endless amounts of inspiration.

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    Black Halo (Grace Series #3) - S.L. Naeole

    PREFACE

    The fire in my chest raged, the need for air fighting against my need to keep running, to not stop until the darkness was behind me. The sounds around me were mocking, jeering at the pains that shot through my arms and legs. Their sinister laughter, which echoed behind me hinted at the promise of something dark and evil that I had knowingly invited, and now ran from.

    The trees, under the cover of their starless canopy began to move and sway with glee at the activity that swirled around them. I cried out as my foot wedged itself in the small hollow of a curious root, and I tumbled to the ground, the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh silencing the sounds around me.

    Quiet had never sounded so deadly.

    JUST DEAL

    The beginning of the final chapter of senior year usually starts off with incredible excitement—there are only three months left before graduation, then college and the rest of your life. But the sentiment around my house couldn’t have been any gloomier.

    Getting up for that first day back felt like the hardest thing I’d ever had to do—probably because I hadn’t even gone to sleep yet. I looked at the clock on my dresser and pulled the covers back over my face, not wanting to admit that it was six in the morning. I hadn’t been sleeping well—or at all— these past few days, each night spent tossing and turning until I finally gave up and stared holes into my ceiling until it was time to quit pretending.

    A loud knock on my door was followed by a rough shaking of the bed as my best friend—and now my housemate—Graham Hasselbeck jumped in beside me.

    Holy cow, your feet are cold! I shouted, quickly squirming away from him until I ran out of bed space and fell with a resounding oomph onto the carpeted floor. Why are you in here so early? And with glaciers for toes?

    Because I heard your alarm go off. And it’s cold downstairs; I think the heater’s busted. Hey, did you know it snowed last night?

    I crawled to the window and stood on my knees to peer over the sill. Indeed, the street and the houses across it were covered in a nice blanket of pure, white snow. That’s weird—it hasn’t snowed after spring since we were ten.

    I know. I remember that. You slipped on the sidewalk and sprained your ankle while walking to the bus. I had to carry you back inside and then I slipped coming back out. We spent the next two days watching old movies and eating stale popcorn downstairs.

    And the RHPS tradition was born, I laughed before turning around. Hey, get out of my bed!

    I told you, it’s cold downstairs! he cried as he pulled my comforter up to his chin defiantly. I’m staying here until you make breakfast, so if you want me out, you’re gonna to have to get cracking.

    Oh, I’ll crack something alright, I replied and launched myself onto the bed. I laughed as he tried to cover his head with the blanket. That never worked as kids and it certainly won’t work now!

    We wrestled on the bed, each vying for control, before tumbling off and landing sharply onto the floor in peals of laughter.

    I’m glad the two of you seem to be enjoying yourselves.

    I peeked from between the mess of my hair, while Graham pulled back the comforter from his face to see my dad standing in the doorway, a suitcase in one hand, a white box in the other.

    Uh…hi, Dad, I managed to get out while Graham stuttered an incoherent reply.

    Mr. Shelley-Grace-morning-yes-hi.

    Dad laughed and shook his head. It’s okay, Graham. I’m not dumb enough to think that you and Grace were up to no-good.

    Why are you home so early, Dad? I asked. And where’s Janice?

    Dad walked over to me and handed me the box before pointing to the suitcase. She’s in the car—she’s having contractions and the doctor says that it’s too early, so we’re here to drop off this bag and pick up the hospital one before heading off there.

    I handed the white box to Graham who opened it and hooted at the contents. Donuts! Thanks, Mr. S!

    Well, I’m coming, too, I announced.

    Dad shook his head vigorously. "No. You’re going to school. We don’t know what’s going on yet so there’s no need for you to miss out on any classes. If anything does come up, I’ll call, alright?"

    I nodded reluctantly and stood up to give him a hug. You tell Janice that I’m thinking about her, okay?

    Of course, he replied, returning my hug. Have you been eating okay? You seem…thinner.

    I nodded with slight agitation and eased away from dad. I’m fine, Dad.

    "Well, I know you left the wedding feeling sick—how are you feeling, by the way? How’s Robert?"

    I shrugged my shoulders and looked away, unable to answer him.

    She’s been stuck in bed mostly, Mr. S, and Robert’s been busy at work, so she hasn’t seen much of him lately, Graham said hastily. I mouthed the words thank you to him and then turned to nod my head in agreement.

    Well, I guess that’s better than I expected—I admit that there were a few moments that I was afraid I’d come in and find you and Robert in here…alone. It’s nice to see that I can trust you to behave yourself, Grace, Dad said, patting my shoulder with a slight bit of reservation.

    Okay, kiddo, I’m going to get that bag now. Go-to-school! And don’t let Robert take you to school on that motorcycle of his in this snow!

    I nodded my head and watched him walk out of my room. As soon as I heard his bedroom door open, I sank to the floor.

    I can’t get out of it, can I?

    Gedowduvwot? a muffled voice asked behind me.

    I turned my head to see Graham shoveling the back end of a glazed donut into his mouth. Never mind, I told him and reached for the box. You ate them all?! I shouted, looking at Graham’s gluttonous face in shock. Ugh!

    Wot? He quickly swallowed the hastily chewed donut and wiped his mouth on the corner of my comforter. You know better than to stick food in my hands. Besides, I told you to make breakfast—you snooze, you lose, woman.

    I snatched my comforter from his hands, glared at the sugar-stained corner with disgust, and fought back the urge to punch him in his donut-filled gut. You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t want you to talk to Lark anymore—there’s nothing in this world that she could have done to deserve you for a boyfriend.

    His mouth dropped open in surprise as he stared at me, his eyes disbelieving. Are you serious?

    I held my face stern for as long as possible before I burst into laughter. Oh God, duh! You know I meant what I said about you talking to her.

    I had. There was a genuine connection between Lark and Graham, the two people least likely to fall in love, yet had done just that amid everything that was going on around them involving me and Lark’s brother. I blinked my eyes rapidly as that last thought caused the burning of moisture to appear.

    Graham nodded, his jaw closing slowly though he still looked at me with doubtful eyes. Well, I thought I’d do it today. You know, since we’ll probably see her at lunch and everything.

    I smiled sadly and then turned my body around to face my window. I stood up and walked over to it, climbing over my bed in the process and pushed it up, opening it just wide enough to allow a hint of the cold morning air to flow through while allowing the stale air to escape.

    "I’m going to the bathroom—do not get back on my bed," I warned him before heading out of my room, closing the door as I did so.

    Here, kiddo. I thought it was best to save an extra one, Dad said as he handed me a napkin wrapped donut. He was standing in the hallway, a mini duffel slung over his shoulder and a small travel bag in one hand.

    Thanks, Dad, I said, grabbing it. I bit into the soft pastry and closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the not-so-subtle sweetness of the glaze over the buttery ring of fried dough. Are you leaving now? I mumbled.

    Yeah. I don’t want to keep Janice waiting any longer. She didn’t honk the horn yet, so I know that I haven’t taken too long, but the roads are a mess right now from all this snow and I don’t want her to have to sit in the car longer than necessary, he answered. You be good and I’ll call you later this evening if nothing else happens, okay?

    He bent to press a quick kiss to the top of my head before heading downstairs. I followed him and helped hold the door open as he bent down to grab the morning paper sitting on the welcome mat.

    Oh, and could you do something about all of these pots? he said as he passed by the lily graveyard that had once been our front yard. I don’t know what’s going on with all of them but they’re an eyesore, Grace, and I’d like to think that you’d take better care of the house than this.

    Sorry Dad, I answered, avoiding looking at the mass of pots that littered the lawn, each one holding lilies in varying stages of decay. For the past week, the deliveries had been non-stop, and these represented only the past couple of days’ worth of flowers, the rest having met their fate elsewhere.

    I caught a glimpse of my new step-mother’s figure in the front seat of dad’s car. Hi Janice, I called as I waved to her. She smiled and waved a lazy hand towards me, the other resting protectively over her abdomen. I saw her wince with pain and knew that while Dad hadn’t taken too long to get what he needed, he was cutting it pretty close.

    Drive safe, Dad! I shouted as he got into the car after loading the bags into the back seat.

    Remember what I said about Robert and that motorcycle, Grace, he called back before pulling out.

    I simply nodded and waved, the words unwilling to leave my mouth.

    Once he was gone, I walked over to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of milk and sat down in the semi-darkness to finish the rest of my donut. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the entire house, and I counted along with each one until I found myself losing track. I got up to wash the glass and finish getting ready for school.

    The sun was just peeking through the windows, casting golden rays of light across the walls and floor, turning the otherwise invisible dust motes floating in the air into tiny sparkles of glitter. It would have been a beautiful sight if it wasn’t a reminder that I hadn’t cleaned the house in over two weeks.

    I’d make a horrible housewife, I muttered to myself without realizing what I was saying, and started up the stairs. I walked into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, intending on removing any traces of donut and skim milk from my breath before taking a shower. As I began to brush my teeth, I looked over to my bedroom door. I couldn’t help the smile that crossed over my lips, and I only hoped that my meddling had paid off.

    After rinsing, I realized that I didn’t have my clothes with me, so I rushed into my room.

    Oh- dear-bananas.

    A flustered and slightly embarrassed Graham pulled away from an equally flustered and embarrassed Lark as they stood in the middle of my bedroom, their eyes glassy, their mouths pulled into secretive smiles.

    Uh—hi, Grace, Lark said with a slight wave of her fingers. Graham grinned.

    Hi, Lark, I said, smiling. I’m just going to grab some clothes and I’ll be out of here in a second.

    Oh, no, don’t do that. I have to leave anyway—I don’t have anything to wear to school, and these clothes are so last quarter, she said apologetically. She approached me, her movements slow and tentative. Grace?

    I looked at her, confused. Yes?

    Thank you.

    What for?

    She hugged me and I had to push her away, the scent of her skin and hair far too familiar, each note like a knife slicing into the tattered remains of my heart.

    I…I’m sorry, I said, covering my mouth and nose with my hand. I can’t do this.

    I ran outside and headed towards the only place I thought was safe. Matthew’s room was a cluttered mess at the moment, with unpacked boxes and linens scattered around the floor, but the crib was nearly finished being put together, the outward facing rail still needing to be attached, which made it a perfect place to sit and calm myself.

    I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them, the pressure of my thighs against my chest enough to help ease the painful tension that had been building inside of me. Things were supposed to get easier with each day—instead they seemed to only become more difficult.

    How long does it take to mend a physical wound that no one else can see? What are the limits to what you can do to ease the pain that simply grows in intensity as each day passes? I didn’t understand it; I tried to remain busy after simply lying like a lump didn’t work—it hadn’t worked the first time, I don’t know why I thought it would have now—but just the slightest hint of a fragrance had turned the hollowed remains of my heart inside out, exposing new areas to the already all-consuming pain.

    I brought my head down, pressing my eyes against the tops of my knees and tried desperately to keep the tears from flowing. The hurt at such a small reminder had almost eclipsed the hurt from the betrayal that I had experienced at the hands of the one person whose word should have been infallible.

    Robert should have been the last person in this world who would’ve hurt me; he wasn’t human with human weaknesses and faults. He was born an angel, one of the divine creatures who roam the world disguised as normal, if not extraordinary humans who possess seemingly limitless powers and abilities that often times defines, if not dictates what their call, their sole purpose in their divine life will be.

    And no call could play as important a role in human society as the one that Robert had received. He had been born amid flames and death, gifted with life eternal that would be used in return to take life. Robert’s calling, his purpose in his world and in mine, was to serve as Death himself. The reality of such a thing was horrifying and upsetting to me at first, but I loved Robert so intensely, so wholly and unconditionally, my fear disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared because I knew that I had nothing to fear from him—he wasn’t Death to me. He was simply Robert.

    But, I had also come to realize that as divine as angels might be in our eyes, their very existence depended on deception. Without it, they’d never be able to blend into society as they had done since the beginning of mankind. And it was that deception that I had taken for granted when Robert’s portrayal of a human being crossed the boundary between his kind and mine.

    He lied to me. He lied to me about my mother’s death, hid from me the fact that Samael, the archangel of death who had served as Robert’s mentor and best friend, had been sent to kill not just my mother, but me as well. It was unexplainable why I had not died as intended, but whether or not it could have been, Robert chose never to reveal any of it to me, instead letting me believe that the car accident that had killed my mother had been unintentional and merely a random event.

    But, as I learned not once, but twice, dying cannot be escaped, only postponed. Robert had somehow convinced Sam not to take my life after I was mowed down by a drunk driver. But this had only set into motion a series of events that would later convince Sam that I was more of a threat to him than he was to me, and so he tried to take my life…again.

    I must have had a guardian angel by my side that night because I somehow managed to survive his attack. The events that occurred afterwards remain a mystery to me, but I had been led to believe by Robert that Sam was dead and unable to hurt me or anyone else again. But Sam wasn’t dead. Until Robert’s confession two weeks ago, I had no idea that because I hadn’t died like I was supposed to; Sam had done nothing wrong, and had never been punished. I was the one who should be dead.

    Because I had chosen to remain ignorant of what it was that Robert did, and how it was done, I never asked him how he knew who was supposed to die. Not wanting to know was simply my way of trying to appease this growing obsession within me to maintain a sense of normalcy in my life—what little I could, anyway.

    And now it was clear to me that for however long I had left to live, my life would be as far from normal as humanly possible.

    ***

    The bells ringing in the school hallways and classrooms sounded like a scream, announcing the tightness that had built up in my chest. First period loomed ahead as students around me began to stand up and gather their bags and books, homeroom now over.

    Mr. Frey, who had died from an aortic embolism shortly after confessing to the hit and run that had nearly killed me, had left behind many unanswered questions that the students still spoke about. His confession had further served to confuse and titillate my fellow classmates, who found the idea of me somehow being a jinx to be quite amusing.

    There was some merit to the idea, of course, when one looked at the evidence that had been compiled against me. The first point being that Graham Hasselbeck, Heath High’s star quarterback, had somehow managed to lead Heath to its biggest loss ever at Homecoming last year, with the largest point deficiency in probably all of Ohio. Maybe even the world.

    Erica Hamilton, Graham’s ex-girlfriend, had been publically humiliated during a first quarter assignment with me. It hadn’t been my intention—I had only wanted to keep from being thoroughly trashed in front of what I later learned was nearly half of the school—but the results were just the same. I had cemented myself as enemy number one in Erica’s eyes.

    Stacy Kim, one of my best friends, had suffered as a result of that hatred when Erica had confused her with me and shoved her into a doorway, causing a significant gash on her head and a concussion. Erica had received a mild suspension, but not until after I blackmailed the vice-principal.

    And then there was my biology teacher, Mr. Branke, whom I had first accused of being the person who had run me over. He had been known as the Octopus in school because he was always putting his hands on every girl in his class, including me. My accusation had destroyed what little good faith the students had held for him, and he had retreated into himself. Though he no longer touched the girls, he had also seemed to have lost whatever it was that had made his classes tolerable and even semi-enjoyable.

    Finally, there was Mr. Frey. No one wanted to believe that quiet Mr. Frey had been an alcoholic who had lost his family to his drinking, much less a hit-and-run driver who had mowed me down, but his confession couldn’t be ignored. Unfortunately, its importance had been lost in the news that he had died just as suddenly as he had confessed.

    I had spent a decade being called Grace the Freak by my classmates and even adults, but it appeared that I would spend the rest of my high school career being called Graveyard Grace—I killed reputations, careers, and now…people.

    And even now, as everyone began to head towards the door, their whispered mutterings echoed to me like they were on loudspeakers. I tried my best to ignore them, but it was difficult when there were only two voices absent from the overwhelming consensus that I was, without a doubt, a walking jinx, and one of those absent voices belonged to a very pale, exhausted looking Stacy.

    So what did the doctor say about that experimental-drug-thing? I asked her as I pulled my backpack onto my shoulder.

    He said that I’m a good candidate for the drug trial, but that it can only happen when my markers get to a certain level. That means that I’ll have to get a whole lot sicker before they’ll let me be a part of it, she replied as she slowly stood up, her body under obvious strain.

    Stacy had suffered from Leukemia as a child, finally going into remission just after her eighth birthday. A few months ago, a routine exam and blood test showed that the cancer had returned. Stubbornly, she had chosen not to tell anyone but Graham, and the doctors have given her less than a year to live.

    I think Sean is trying to rush me to the grave—he caught a cold from his new girlfriend and brought it home to everyone else. I was up all night last night coughing. I must’ve I hacked up half a lung and the leftovers from last month’s school lasagna.

    Stacy started walking and I joined her, not minding at all that her pace was unusually slow; whatever it took to postpone the inevitability of me having to enter Madame. Hidani’s classroom and face Robert. Thanks for the visual, I said half-jokingly. It’ll really help me stick to my diet.

    "Speaking of which, you really should start eating more, Grace. You look worse than I do, and I’m the one dying here, remember?" Stacy chided.

    I shrugged my shoulders at her scolding. I’m not exactly on the live-long-and-prosper list either, you know. Besides, I had a donut this morning for breakfast—my dad brought them.

    The change of subject seemed to lift Stacy’s mood considerably. They’re back already? How was the honeymoon? Any baby news yet?

    I nodded, but didn’t return her smile. Janice started having some early contractions, so Dad took her to the hospital this morning after picking up her hospital bag. The doctor says it’s too early for her to have Matthew so I think they’re going to try and stop the contractions from coming.

    Wow. That must have been some honeymoon.

    I looked at her in shock and semi-disgust. Stacy! That’s my dad you’re talking about! Ew—there are some things a kid should never have to—just…ew!

    She laughed at my reaction and her pace picked up as a result. I think it’s cute—they’re still all lovey-dovey at their age. The only thing my parents ever do is ask each other to pass the soy sauce.

    Well, it should be pretty obvious that they’re into each other—they did just get married, after all, I pointed out.

    That’s true, but a lot of people get married who simply have nothing between them other than a bank account and some debts.

    I bit back a reply when I realized that we had come to my classroom door. It was shut, which meant that my entrance would draw everyone’s attention.

    You can do it, Grace. It’s just French, Stacy said reassuringly. Plus, I don’t think he’s going to be in there.

    I looked at her, surprised. I opened my mouth to ask why, but closed it quickly. I didn’t want to know why. At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself.

    Bye, Stacy. See you at third period, I said with a wan smile and opened the door.

    As I had expected, every eye was on me as soon as I entered the class. Madame Hidani smiled at me weakly. I managed to avoid eye contact with everyone and found my seat at the back of the class. The chair beside me was empty, just as Stacy had suggested, and though I should have felt a sense of relief, instead I felt the burn of disappointment.

    As the bell rang, and class began, I felt the occasional stares, but chose not to turn my head to see whose eyes they belonged to. Instead, I focused on what lessons Madame Hidani had in store for us this quarter. She spoke about the year’s final, and what it was she expected us to know. I began to jot down some notes, listening to her lilting French as she explained the different methods of testing that we’d be given, and wondering just when it was that I had become able to write so neatly and efficiently.

    The rest of class passed by at a snail’s pace. It took a strong effort to not believe that Madame Hidani had somehow morphed into the unseen teacher in all of those Peanuts cartoons as I fought against the pull of exhaustion. I felt a silent cheer run through me when the bell announcing the end of class finally rang. I gathered my backpack and ushered myself out of the classroom as quickly as possible, avoiding any attempt at distraction and conversation by the girls around me; I knew it would be patronizing at best.

    The walk to Mrs. Hoppbaker’s second period calculus class felt like a funeral procession, and I was the corpse. My legs felt numb, but they continued to propel me forward until I was once again seated in that all too familiar chair, trying to ignore the growing number of eyes that trained on me.

    When the bell rang, and the teacher launched into her usual comic monologue that preceded every class, I removed my text book and binder, preparing for an hour of what would hopefully be more mind-numbing, and altogether help me forget everything that kept creeping up to the edge of my mind, ready to leap out. The laughter that surrounded me was staggered; it was proof that once again, I was topic for whispered discussion and hidden glances of curiosity…or worse.

    As humor gave way to derivatives, the class quieted down, leaving me to stew in my thoughts. I tried not to wonder why Robert wasn’t in school. It wasn’t for me to know anymore and I shouldn’t want to, either.

    But the question was there, sitting in front of me like a stupid birthday cake, and I was a starving, sugar-crazed child needing a fix.

    I looked up at the clock and groaned when I saw that we still had more than half an hour before class was over. I picked up my pencil and opened my binder—what was the point in thinking when my thoughts weren’t going to cooperate—and resigned myself to working on formulas for the remainder of class.

    I bit back a squeak.

    I closed my binder and looked to the seat next to me, giggling nervously when I saw that it was empty.

    A few heads turned in my direction to glare at me for what they probably assumed was typical freakish behavior from me before turning away, shaking with disgust. I grit my teeth and pressed my hand against my lips as I once again opened my binder.

    On a single sheet of paper was a flawless drawing of Robert. It would have been remarkable all on its own had it not been for one minute detail that I knew would have been missed by anyone else but me.

    The lines that made up the chiseled angle of his jaw, the curve and spikes of his hair, the bends and bows of his mouth, even the silver of his irises were made up by the spelling of my name. Grace Anne Shelley ran throughout the construction of his face, down to his torso, and finally extending outwards, into the dark wings that separated him from the rest of his kind. The detail was amazing, the script small and tight, yet freely flowing and moving, fluid in its purpose. I was awed.

    And angry.

    And hurt.

    I placed my hand on the sheet and began to squeeze my fingers around it, prepared to crumple it up and toss it into the trash on my way out, but I stopped. The image was too intricate to destroy—I wasn’t about to be the person responsible for that—and so I simply closed my binder once more and waited for class to end.

    PROTECTION

    Third period—free period spent in the library—was filled with Stacy lecturing me on the dos and don’ts of walking around campus without either her or Graham at my side. After being left worrying when I had unknowingly walked to second and third period without waiting for her to join me, she had made it her mission to remind me to the point of exhaustion the danger I was in.

    You know that psycho is just waiting just shove you down some stairs or something, she chastised from her seat. You can’t just walk off, Grace. Graham and I already talked about this; I get first half, when I’m feeling the strongest, and he’ll get the second half, after he’s had lunch.

    I shook my head at how ridiculous that plan sounded. Let me get this straight. The girl with terminal cancer is supposed to protect me from Erica in the morning, and Graham’s supposed to protect me after eating toxic waste for lunch? Oh yeah. I feel safer just thinking about it.

    Stacy rolled her eyes at me and pointed to a hand drawn school map. Just look at this, okay? Erica’s got three classes on the second floor at the same time you do. You two pass each other between fourth and fifth period, plus share sixth period together. That gives her more than enough time to try something.

    So what if she does? I asked. It’s not like she’s going to kill me. That would totally mess up her hair. As an attempt at lightening the mood, it failed miserably.

    This isn’t funny, Grace. You saw what she did to me. She’s not going to stop until something bad happens to you, and Graham and I are both convinced that could very well mean trying to kill you, Stacy said in a low whisper.

    I looked at her and smiled grimly. Stacy, you know that my time here isn’t exactly long—you heard it yourself that Sam’s still alive because I’m not dead. You should be more concerned with keeping yourself healthy and stop worrying so much about me. I can take care of myself.

    "That’s just it, Grace, you can’t. Look, whatever it is this Sam person-angel...thing has against you, Graham and I can’t protect you from him; that’s where Robert and Lark come in. But Erica is one of us and we can take care of her."

    I started to scratch at the table with my thumb, staring at the small indentation that I was making as I tried very hard to respond without sounding too angry. Stacy, I know that both you and Graham mean well. I know that Lark does, too. But this is my life, and I’d like to live it as normally as possible. That includes not having body guards being played by my best friends and my ex-boyfriend and his sister, okay?

    Stacy let out a humph and folded her arms across her chest, a stubborn line forming across her forehead. She looked at me quizzically. "Wait. Did you say ‘ex-boyfriend’?"

    I looked at her and then looked away, nodding as I tried to focus on the numerous books sitting on the shelf to my right.

    Whoa. I thought…I mean, I guess I had hoped that…wow. Are you sure?

    I can’t pretend that nothing happened, Stacy. He-

    She held up her hand to cut me off. I know that, Grace, but honestly, what he did wasn’t done to hurt you. It was the exact opposite. He did it because he wanted to save you. You can’t break up with the guy for that.

    I pushed her hand down, furious at her defense of him. My eyes narrowed and my voice lowered to a barely audible hiss. "He did it for himself. He knew about what Sam did to my mother and me, and he put my life in danger all over again because he wanted things done his way.

    Everything has been his way from the very beginning, and I’ve had no choice but to accept it because he’s the one with the divine wisdom, remember? He never gave me a choice on this matter, never stopped to think what it would do to me. He just went ahead and made the decision to keep me ignorant, all so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his association with Sam. I can break up with him for that; I did break up with him for that.

    Grace, you’re angry and for the right reasons. But what happens when the anger goes away? What will you be left with? Stacy asked.

    The same thing that I’ve always had, Stacy. Nothing, I ground out before grabbing my things and storming out of the library, leaving a path of shocked teachers and students to stare as I left.

    ***

    The open door to the empty classroom was like a gift from Heaven. I walked in and found a hidden corner behind the stacked chairs and dust covered desks. The cold tiled floor offered strange comfort to me as I sat down, throwing my backpack onto the floor beside me. The sparkled sunlight shining through the closed windows cut ribbons of golden light across everything in the room.

    I reached for my bag and pulled out the binder. I flipped it open and stared at the drawing that had awed me less than two hours earlier. How can someone so beautiful cause so much pain? I asked it before tearing it out and ripping it into several small pieces.

    I ask the same question of you.

    The shredded scraps of paper fell from my fingertips as the voice filled the empty room. I lowered my body to the ground and placed my hands on the floor to look beneath the legs of the desks. No one was there.

    Laughing, I raised myself back up to a sitting position, and reached for the scraps of paper on the ground. They weren’t there. What?

    My eyes flicked to the binder that had fallen out of my lap and I heard a sharp intake of air come from within me. The drawing was whole, the paper smooth and straight, locked in the folder like it had never left.

    Robert?

    Yes, Grace?

    I felt a bubble of anger start to rise in me. Why did you follow me here?

    Because it’s you.

    I scoffed at the reply that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Oh how convenient. Just go away, Robert- I grabbed the sheet of paper from the binder and tore it out. I crumpled it and threw it over the piles of chairs on desks -and take this with you.

    Um…thanks, but I’m not going anywhere.

    I jumped up at the strange voice. Oh!

    Why are you in my classroom?

    I turned towards the door and squeaked. Standing before me was a rather tall, almost too tall woman, who held her head cocked to the side as she obviously took in my appearance while I took in her own. Her hair was a ferociously deep shade of burgundy, pulled so tightly back in a conservative bun, her bronze eyes tilted up in an unnatural angle.

    I asked you a question.

    Confused, I stared at her. She walked towards me and tapped my shoulder, but I was still unable to answer her.

    Not much for talking or are you afraid of what your answer is? Her voice was deep, husky as she looked at my face with the same curiosity that I did hers. What’s your name?

    G-Grace, I stuttered.

    Okay, Guh-Grace. Let’s try this again. Why are you in my classroom?

    I came in here to think. I needed to get away from a meddling friend and the door was open. My answer was honest and she knew it.

    Well, you’re an odd one to come to a classroom to get away. Most girls go to the bathroom or go for a long walk, Guh-Grace, not to an empty classroom.

    I snorted. I haven’t had much luck with bathrooms, and I’m a little wary of long walks at the moment, so an empty classroom looks very appealing to me. And it’s Grace.

    Excuse me?

    My name; it’s Grace.

    She smiled, her teeth long and white. Well, thank you for the clarification, Grace. If you don’t mind me asking, which class are you currently skipping in order to escape your meddlesome friend?

    It was impossible not to smile back at her; her face was so warm and inviting. I’m not skipping class; I’ve got free period right now. I normally spend it in the library, but Stacy—my friend—she just wouldn’t leave things alone. I didn’t want to end up saying something to her that I’d end up regretting later, so I left.

    She nodded and waved her arm in a semi-circle, indicating the classroom as she spoke. Well, welcome to my classroom, Grace. I’m the new Psychology teacher. I was hired to replace one of your teachers that no longer works here, a Mr. Oliver Frey I believe his name was.

    Oh, I managed to say as I looked away, suddenly flustered.

    Did you know him? Were you in any of his classes?

    I nodded, and continued to look elsewhere, unable to give her a verbal answer.

    I’ve heard some stories about him that aren’t all too flattering. He’s going to be a pretty difficult hurdle to overcome, but I think I’ll be alright. What do you think?

    I forced a smile onto my face and nodded once more before turning and heading to gather up my binder and bag. I shoved the folder into my backpack and then hurried towards the exit.

    Aren’t you forgetting something?

    Slowly, I turned to face her and grimaced when she held out a heavily wrinkled, yet un-crumpled sheet of paper. It’s very beautiful. I don’t know who did this, but it must have taken a lot of time and effort to get such a message across. Who is he?

    I grabbed the drawing from her and shoved it into my backpack alongside the binder. A meddler, I replied before leaving.

    I was four steps out of the doorway when I walked straight into a wall. I looked up to see my meddler standing directly in front of me, a very concerned look on his face.

    You’re in my way, I seethed. I tried to step around him, but I knew that the moment I thought of it, he was there, blocking my way once more.

    I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger like this, Grace, he said in a soft voice, one that caused an unnatural pain to burn through my chest.

    The only danger I was ever in was put there by you. Get out of my way, Robert.

    No. I left you alone once, resulting in someone messing with your memories. I will not let that happen again, Grace, regardless of where you and I stand at the moment.

    At the moment? Where we stand isn’t going to change, Robert, and I’m not in the mood to discuss my memories, or my safety with you or anyone right now. I simply want to be left alone.

    I tried to push past him, but he grabbed onto my arm and held firmly. I looked at his hand and then at him, quickly shutting my eyes to the hurt stare that came from those silver irises. I will let you go, Grace, when I know you’re safe. I won’t bother you, but I’m not leaving your side. Your safety is paramount, not just to me, but to your friends and family as well. Think of how your father would feel, knowing that you were hurt again just as Janice is in the hospital. Think of what it would do to him if something happened to you.

    The truth in his words stung, and I couldn’t admit to it. Fine, was all I could say.

    He nodded. I didn’t see it. I just felt it. It was a relieved, almost elated motion, and then the pressure from his hand was gone. I opened my eyes and saw that he was as well.

    Are you still here, Grace?

    The teacher from inside the classroom was standing in the doorway. She looked at me with a curious stare, her posture showing a slight annoyance that I was still there.

    Um. Yeah, I replied. What was your name again, Ms…?

    Deovolente. Mrs. Deovolente.

    I quickly glanced to her left hand and felt my lips twitch when I saw the glint of silver on her ring finger. You’re married then?

    She smiled and nodded, quickly hiding her hand behind her back. "Is there any particular reason you wanted to know this, Grace?

    Just…curious.

    Well, curious or not, it seems rather forward for a student to ask such questions. However, quid pro quo, right? I asked you some questions that probably felt a little forward for your liking, and now you have done the same to me. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to the cafeteria to get some lunch.

    She walked past me and stopped several feet away, her head turning from left to right.

    She turned around to face me, her mouth opening to ask the question I already knew the answer to. I pointed to the left and watched as she smiled and headed in that direction. I listened as the sound of her heels clicking on the ground faded away, and then sighed.

    She’s new to Heath.

    Gaaah! Why are you still here?

    I threw my hands up in frustration as Robert looked on sadly. I said you could follow me. I didn’t say you could hang around like nothing happened.

    Grace, one day we will have to talk about what happened. We cannot leave things the way they are.

    I glowered at him and shook my head. We don’t have to talk about anything. It’s over between us. It probably never should have begun but it did, and now we’re done. There’s nothing that you can say or do to change my mind.

    You still love me, Grace.

    Of course I do, I said, swallowing the pain that accompanied the admission, yet unable to mask the crack in my voice. That doesn’t just disappear because my heart’s dead, no matter how much I want it to. But it’ll go away or be replaced, one of the two.

    I saw it. A flicker of anger that darkened the silver in his eyes to a deep, antique pewter. He took a step towards me and then stopped. Sometimes you can be so…so…

    What? Human?

    He shoved his hands through his hair, the pitch strands gliding through easily and laying back perfectly, the image causing such an indelible pain to shoot through my chest, I nearly fell over. So amazing.

    What could I say to that? What was there to say? I stood there, silent as he took a hold of my right hand and brought it to his face. I felt the coolness of his skin against mine and against my will, the electrical connection that had always existed between us lit ablaze. It was all consuming and the heat was beginning to overtake what little sense I might have possessed.

    Where is your ring?

    The question acted like a damper, and immediately the flames were gone. What?

    He pointed to my bare finger, the look in his eyes accusatory. Your ring? Where is it? Did you get rid of it like you did everything else? Thrown in the trash like some meaningless piece of garbage?

    I stared at my finger and tried desperately to recall what it was that I had done with it, but I kept drawing a blank. I looked at him and saw that my inability to answer his question was only confirming what he believed.

    I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what happened to it. I can’t remember.

    He let go of my hand and stepped away from me. You did throw it away. Clothing and pictures…I can understand that. Those are meaningless. But that ring—I gave you that ring as a pledge of myself. It was a promise to you that I would always be with you, always love you, and you just tossed it aside like it was worthless. Like what we were was worthless.

    Though I wanted to apologize, instead I grew angry.

    "You mean like how worthless you viewed my trust? You were the only person I ever felt safe with, and you threw that away for ambition and who knows what else. I honestly don’t remember what happened to the ring, but at the moment, I wish I did throw it away because it obviously holds more value to you than I ever did."

    I stormed off, heading towards the cafeteria just as the bell rang. He didn’t follow me. He wouldn’t risk continuing this argument in front of the school. The little round table that had held such fond memories just a few weeks earlier now seemed like such a cold and lonely place.

    I placed my backpack on the ground beside me and my head on the table’s surface. I listened as quickly, the noise level in the cafeteria grew to its normal state, a cacophony of laughter and chairs scraping against the ground, of forks clinking against dishes, and liquids being slurped through slim straws. I waited for the familiar sounds of the chairs beside me being pulled back, waited for the slamming of heavy, food filled trays against the table; I just…waited.

    It felt like an eternity before I felt a familiar hand against my shoulder. I peeked up to look at warm and friendly green eyes and smiled. Hi.

    Hey yourself, he said smiling back. He placed his fork into a mound of something unrecognizable and shoveled it into his mouth, chewing slightly before beginning to speak. So Lark told me that you’ve agreed to let Robert follow you around. Are you going to be okay with that?

    I shook my head. Do I have a choice, though? He’s going to do it whether I want him to or not, although I think he might not want to anymore.

    Graham’s fork was poised in the air at those last words. What do you mean? What did you do?

    I showed him my hand, my bare finger showing evidence of a ring having once sat there. Ouch. Did you throw it away?

    I shook my head. I don’t remember what happened to it. I know that I didn’t throw it away, though. I wouldn’t have done that.

    He touched my finger with his thumb and rubbed the pale band the ring had left in my skin. Of course you wouldn’t have. He’ll realize it soon enough.

    I didn’t know those why five words meant so much to me, especially when Robert’s feelings were the last things I should have been concerned with, but hearing them gave me a slight comfort. I rationalized it as me simply not wanting to be the bad guy in any way, to have that title belong wholly to him.

    Stacy and Lark soon joined us, Stacy sitting next to me, while Lark sat beside Graham. Her face was exceptional, the smile on her lips one of genuine happiness and it was enough to cause most people who passed by to stop and stare for just a moment.

    You look like a loon, Stacy quipped as she spooned some orange gelatin into her mouth.

    A happy, content loon I hope, Lark replied. She turned her attention to Graham, who had suddenly forgotten the mountain of food he had in front of him. Instead, he had eyes only for her, and as the two of them stared at each other, their mouths not moving, I knew exactly why.

    And I hated it.

    I grabbed my backpack and stood up. I’ve got to…go to the restroom.

    I heard another chair scrape against the floor and saw Stacy stand up beside me. I’ll join you.

    I groaned in disappointment, but saw that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I sighed and nodded in defeat.

    As we walked out of the cafeteria’s doors and headed towards the restroom a quick burst of pain in my head caused me to close my eyes. Behind my lids, I could see a blur of movement, a flash of gold wisps before it was swallowed up by the darkness of my shut eyes.

    When I reopened them, we were still walking, as though nothing had happened. Stacy was rambling on about something one of her brothers had done to another, and she was laughing, obviously whatever it was being funny though I had completely missed the joke. I could see the sign on the ceiling with the little blue arrow pointing towards the bathroom just a few feet away, and I sighed in relief.

    As we passed the stairwell that led to the basement classrooms, I heard an exaggerated hiss, followed by the pumping of feet against tile. A curtain of gold suddenly appeared, and I was jolted from the ground. People say that sometimes, when something happens to you that’s traumatic, things seem to pass by very slowly, as though to help you remember them better when questioned about it later.

    This wasn’t the case with me as everything happened in real time. I saw the edge of the top stair move past me and saw the corner of a step further down come closer to my face before it made contact with my left cheek. I shut my eyes to the crunch of bone against concrete and reopened them to see my feet tumble above my head as I toppled downwards, landing awkwardly on my arm as a very loud and distinct pop could be heard in the empty stairwell.

    Stacy’s angry shouts could be heard above me, but all I could see was the mismatched pattern in the tile beneath my face. I could see a slow trickle of blood flow past me. I knew it was pouring out from my mouth, following the natural pull of gravity downward, and I watched as it made its way through the gap between the stairs.

    The commotion at the top of the steps was growing louder, but no one seemed to be coming to help. I tried to move my arms to push me up, but only one wanted to work, the other one stubbornly lying useless beneath me. I grunted as the pain shot through me, but finally managed to get myself to a sitting position, pushing myself back against the wall. It hurt to breathe, but I was grateful that I could do it.

    My legs were fine but my left arm hung limply at my side. I reached up with my right hand and pulled myself to a standing position, groaning as a pain shot through my side. The groan, in turn, caused my face to sting, and I gingerly pressed my fingers to my left cheek, hissing as I did so.

    Grace? Are you okay?

    Stacy’s voice called out above me and I raised my head to see a crowd of onlookers standing at the top of the stairs, their curious gazes all aimed directly at me.

    I’m okay, Stacy. I think I’ve got a dislocated shoulder though, and a cracked rib, I replied, wincing. I also bit the inside of my cheek, but that’ll heal.

    I saw the crowd move and Graham came rushing down to greet me, his face stained with worry and anger. Are you alright? Anything broken?

    "I’m alright, Graham. I probably won’t know about anything being broken until I get to the

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