The Guardian (22 page)

“Joshua seems pretty excited,” I point out.

His jaw tightens. “Joshua gets excited about everything.”

“Has it been two minutes?” Joshua asks, reappearing.

“Go away. I’m warning you,” Seth says. “You don’t want to cross me.”

“No way,
man!” he shouts. “She has a right to know!”

I frown. “I have a right to know what?” I ask, looking between the two of them, waiting for someone to explain.

“The Guardians,” Joshua begins. “We want you to join us.”

I laugh quietly, not understanding. “I, um
, didn’t think that was possible as long as I was living.”

“Not as a Guardian
Guardian
.
As a Helper of Guardians.
It’s a new position. Just for you. I’ve been sent to talk to you since
Seth
refused.” Joshua throws Seth a nasty look.

I wobble for a moment
, unsteady on my feet. “Wow.
A new position—just for me.
Okay. I’m listening.
Talk.”

“The entire Guardian force is like, freaking out,” he says. “I mean, in a good way.”

“Why?”

“Because of what happened today. Genesis, you changed an entire
course
.”

My bro
w furrows.
“Today?
You mean with the kid?”

“Yeah.
That kid was as good as done.”

“Joshua!” Seth snaps.

“It’s true!” he fires back. “The decision was already made, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop it.” He looks at me.
“Except you.”

“Yeah, s
o . . . now what?”

“It was a major interception! And it proves that your predictions matter, and that you
can
change the outcome. You can save lives. You could save the freaking world, even! We
need
you, Gen. Please say you’ll help us.” He
pleads with his eyes. “Please!”

“Okay,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

“No. You won’t.” Seth remains seated, arms crossed in defiance.

My eyes narrow. “What?”

“I said no. You won’t,” he repeats firmly.

“Yeah, I got that,” I reply. “I’m just trying to fi
gure out who died and made you ruler of my life.”

“It’s not as easy as you think, Genesis.” He stands. “This is dangerous. And I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you do it.”

I scoff. “Last time I checked, you weren’
t in charge of me. If they think I can help . . . why would I turn something like this down? This means that the visions aren’t a burden, Seth. There’s a purpose.”

“These visions are going to get you killed,” he replies icily.

“I can help,” I say, gazing s
traight into his blazing eyes. “I know I can.”

He looks away. “No. There’s no way. They’ll find you and they’ll kill you.”

“‘They’ . . . the Evil Ones?”

“You’re slapping a bright red bull’s eye on your freaking forehead if you do this.”

“The Council will
offer extra protection. For you and your mom and friends,” Joshua interrupts. “You’ll be safe.”

“No one’s safety is guaranteed,” Seth replies.
“Ever.”

“Look,” Joshua goes on. “The fact is that Guardians may only have a few seconds of lead time to prevent
something from happening. You have minutes, and sometimes even hours. Do you know how many people we could save? How many things we could prevent if we knew what you did? You don’t even have to do anything. Just tell us what you see and where we need to be
and we’ll do the rest.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Seth says, rolling his eyes. “Genesis,” he goes on, moving closer to me. “If you do this, you’re putting everyone at risk.
Your mom.
Your friends at school.
Carter. The people you work with. If the
Diab
ols
find out that we’re using a human contact to minimize or undo their damage, they’re coming straight for you. If they can’t get to you right away they’ll go through the people around you.”

I chew on my lower lip, considering this. I don’t
want
to endang
er the lives of anyone else. But assuming that this whole thing is, in fact, a
gift
, it would only make sense that I’d use it to help, right? I
suck
in a fresh lungful of air, unaware that I’ve been holding my breath.

“How would anyone know?” I ask. “If I
see something and pass it on to you, and you pass it on to the rest of the Guardians, how would the
Diabols
even figure out that I’m the source?”

“We’re talking thousands upon thousands of years of evil,” Seth explains. “They’re sneaky. They’re cunning.
They’re deceitful. They don’t play by the rules. There are no rules, even. They’ll find out. I
know
they will. This isn’t your battle. It’s not your responsibility.”

“I have visions, Seth,” I calmly state. “I saw an accident. I saw a pervert in my head rea
dy to pick up an innocent little kid. I saw him bloody and twisted in a pile like a piece of trash. You can’t sit back and tell me, when I see something like that, it’s not my responsibility to do whatever I can to keep it from happening.”

For this, Seth
has no response.

I turn to Joshua. “If I agree to this, I don’t want anything held back. If they hear something, or if my cover’s blown, I need to know. This isn’t going to be one-sided. I can’t enter this battle blind.”

“This isn’t even your battle!” Seth
throws up his hands in exasperation. His voice, though harsh, seems desperate and unsteady. He’s losing.

“This is my world. These are my people. And if I can do something to help, then this is my battle,” I reply.

His brow creases angrily, face transform
ing from a delicate olive to a burning red.
“Fine.
Then I’m done,” Seth declares. His words slice through me, wounding.

“What?” I whisper.

“I’m not hanging around to watch you kill yourself. They can assign you a new Guardian. I’m out.”

Nausea surges throu
gh the pit of my stomach, consuming me. I choke back tears.
“Fine!”
I shout. “Let them! I can’t figure you out half the time anyway! You’re here, you’re not. We spend time together, we don’t. We kiss . . .
we
. . . .” I trail off, unable to finish. “You’re
like a freaking
emo
coaster!”

Seth moves forward. “If I’ve been an
emo
coaster, it’s not my fault,” he says. “This isn’t even supposed to be happening. You’re not even supposed to know I exist!”

“But you do exist!” I scream, shaking, rage-induced tears sti
nging the corners of my eyes. “It’s too late for that! If I’m such a problem for you, why do you even bother coming around?”

“Because he’s in love with you,” Joshua says,
snickering,
amused that this seems to have been lost on me.

Ice flows through my vein
s, sending chills rippling through my body. “Is that true?” I ask Seth, breathless.

He refuses to look at me, face pinched, eyes fixed on the ratty brown carpet.

“Answer me,
dammit
!” I demand.

“Yes,” he replies, eyes flashing. “
Yes. I love you, all right? I’m not supposed to, but I do. But you’ve got to believe me when I say that this is dangerous. And maybe I’m being selfish, but I’m doing this
because
I love you. It’s too much of a risk. I can’t lose you, Genesis. You’re too im
portant to me.”

I turn away from him. On my dresser, the white rose glimmers, still flawless in its vase. There’s not a thorn to be found. No blemishes. Not one tiny, brown spot. The petals are even, the tone consistent. . . . It’s living perfection. I gaz
e at myself in the mirror. Damp hair, the top frizzing as it dries. No makeup.
Shabby clothes.
I swallow hard, and speak to my own reflection more than to Seth, or Joshua, who remain in the background looking on.

“I’ve spent my entire life feeling inadequ
ate—like I was somehow inferior to everyone else. I’m tired of just existing. I don’t want my legacy to be pouring drinks and balancing trays at Ernie’s.” I spin around to face them. “And I need you to understand that this is something that I want to do .
. . that I
have
to do,” I tell Seth.

“Then do it,” he replies. “You have free will, remember? I’m powerless here.”

“You’re not powerless,” I say softly. “You mean a lot to me.” I clear my throat. “Your protection means a lot to me.”

Just tell him that you
love him, too!

“If you do what you say you are, then no one’s protection is going to mean anything. Once this spreads, there will be no such thing as protection.”

“That’s my choice to make.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve already made it.”

“That doesn’t mean y
ou can’t be part of it.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“It doesn’t have to be either/or,” I explain. “Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I help the Guardians, and still have you?”

“Because I don’t work that way,” he states angrily, the hurt registering in his
features. “I’m not hanging around to watch you get yourself killed. It’s all or nothing.”

“Then that’s your loss.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” I repeat.

In an instant, Seth is gone. I let out a frustrated sigh, all the way to the last bit of air trapped in my lungs, h
oping that he just needs time.
Time to get used to the idea that we’re on the same team.

“Tell them I’m thinking about it,” I tell Joshua, who is already fading around the edges. “And make sure he’s okay,” I add, speaking of Seth. “Please try to make him u
nderstand.”

He nods,
then
disappears.

I look around my empty room, feeling . . . alone.
Anxious.
The entire house is quiet.
Too quiet.
I pace, turning, spinning in circles, thoughts racing through my head.
One after the other after the other.
My emotions
at war: rage, fear, excitement, sadness. Not one of them makes sense in relation to the other. My insides twist until, before I even know what’s happening, I grab the glass vase holding the white rose and hurl it across the room. It shatters the moment it
hits the wall, tiny shards of glass gleaming as they sprinkle to the floor. The rose plummets, landing among the fragments. I hold my breath.
Frozen.
Hands trembling.
I stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth watching Seth leave forever for a ch
ance to do something that counts, something that matters. I walk over to the rose and kneel, plucking it from the wreckage. It’s still full.
Still pure.
Still perfect.
 

T
WENTY-SIX

“Three words,” Stu says.
“Chocolate.
Strawberry.
Waffle.”
He lifts a finger with every new word, counting, leaning against the kitchen window. Behind him,
Arsen
flips over a stack of burgers and places a slice of cheese on each, ignoring us. “Smothered in whipped cream,” Stu throws in.

I tie my apron around my wa
ist, knotting it in the back. “Um, yeah, that’s more than three. Am I supposed to know what this means?”

“I stumbled across a recipe this weekend, and I’m
gonna
try it.”

“Are you saying that you’re going to make a strawberry chocolate waffle?”

“That’s
exa
ctly
what I’m saying. And you will be my official taster.”

I shrug.
“Why not?
You totally converted me with the pancakes at dinner thing. I’m not entirely sure chocolate and whipped
cream are
‘part of this complete breakfast,’ but I’ll try anything once.”

He taps his palm against the stainless steel counter. “Excellent.” One final
smack,
and he turns back to the grill, picks up a spatula, and tosses it in the air. I smile, happy that the old Stu—the one who never lets anything stand in his way—has returne
d.

My mom brushes past me, tea pitcher in hand, animosity radiating in waves. “You can take Table Eight,” she says. “They need refills.”