Guardians: The Quo (Book 5): Guardians, #5

Judge tenderly of me…

― Emily Dickinson

Did you tell them about us?

No, Ameana replies.

Why?

I need more time.

Do you know how long it’s—

Yes, I know how long it’s been, Rage, she snaps.

Pissed, fireballs instinctively grow inside the palm of my hand. Then I remember she is the only thing I actually give a damn about. I force myself to calm down. The fire recedes from my palm, leaving a faint smoky scent in the air.

If I were to lose it and attack her, she’d sure as hell attack me back. She can be cold, calculated, and deadly.

She’d be the perfect girl if she wasn’t so…good.

Three months is too long to wait, I snap back.

Yes, it’s been three months since you and I got together. But it’s also been three months since ninety percent of the angel population got blown away.

I don’t care about the angel population.

Yeah I know. That’s what makes you so charming.

You had charming. He left you for a human, remember?

She gives me a look filled with pure, unfiltered hate. If I wasn’t an Akon, that look would have caused me to run screaming in fear.

What did I tell you about mentioning the human? she says in a murderous tone.

Forget about her. I didn’t risk my life so I could stay your dirty little secret.

Rage—

Thomas, I correct her.

Everyone calls you Rage, she protests.

You’re not everyone.

You really think we can get away with being ‘Thomas’ and ‘Ameana’?

I don’t know what we can or can’t get away with out there, but in this room, I’m Thomas and you’re Ameana.

It’s not that simple, and you know it.

I will never understand chicks, seriously. This is the third time she’s come to see me in a week. I am almost fully recovered from the poisonous daggers that cut into my flesh. What little medical attention I need, I can handle myself. She only comes over because she likes what’s happening between us. So why can’t she just tell them that?

Maybe there’s nothing going on between us…

Is she only coming to see me out of some stupid sense of duty? Is Ameana just being a good little angel? Can this whole thing be about her guilt?

Guilt, another thing I will never understand. Good beings are always filled with it. I never saw the point of being weighed down by such a useless emotion.

Ameana, you don’t have to keep coming to see me just because I saved your life, I bark at her.

There. I have given her a way out. She’s gonna take it and run.

You want me to go away? Ameana asks.

No!

Do what you want. I shrug.

Just stay still, she scolds as she addresses my wounds.

So you’re okay being a liar? I ask. She looks away.

Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. Now it’s uncomfortable and crap. I bet Marcus would know what to say. That guy’s full of pretty words to make a girl all purr and junk. He’s such a freaking pansy. I hate him. But she loved him. Maybe she still does…

Have you heard from your ex? I ask.

She looks back at me. Worry spreads across her perfect face. Her eyes fill with concern and dread.

Great, yet another thing I should not have said.

Marcus is still missing, she says, her voice filled with pain.

She’s still in love with him…

Ameana, he’s probably dead.

So just get that idiot out of your head.

She looks up at me, and although I’m the one with the gashes across my chest, she’s the one who’s hurting.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

Maybe he’s alive; I don’t know, I offer.

She remains silent and goes back to dressing my wounds.

Mood Ring boy can’t read your ex’s wave? I ask.

He’s been trying, but all he can make out is a shadow where his wave should be.

What does that mean?

We don’t know. Rio has never seen shadow waves before.

What does ‘Hippie Hunk’ think?

His name is Wolf.

Again, don’t care.

We had a deal. We don’t talk about Wolf or Marcus.

I want to change the deal.

Why?

It’s not working for me.

Well, it’s working just fine for me.

Of course it is. You have a First Guardian ex you work with and pine for, a Para angel boyfriend you can sleep with, and a foolish demon you get wild with and lie to. No wonder you haven’t had time to tell them about us.

I’m not pining for my ex. I’m worried about my leader. And I do not sleep with Wolf.

How do I know that?

Because I just told you.

And angels don’t lie?

"What do you want me to do? Take a picture of us not sleeping together?"

You said you would tell them.

And I will.

But in the meantime, Wolf gets to do whatever he wants with you.

We’re facing extinction and you think I can find the time to make out with Wolf?

You find the time to make out with me.

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

I don’t want to be your ‘side’ demon.

You’re not.

If I ever catch Wolf touching you, I’ll incinerate him.

I hate when you do that.

Do what?

Act evil.

It’s not an act.

Yeah, but—

But what? Look, I’ve never lied to you about who I am or what I’ve done. I’ve killed. I’ve tortured, and I’ve enjoyed the hell out of it.

I don’t need to be reminded.

Apparently you do. If I catch the hippie anywhere near you, he’s dead.

He’s a Para. He can take you.

"I would love to see him try," I snarl.

So you would just set him on fire?

Yes.

Wolf matters to me.

So?

So you can’t—forget it. She shakes her head sadly.

What did I say?

She walks over to the window and stares down at the street below. The view sucks. It’s just a series of moldy looking motels and parking lots. But I don’t think it’s the view that’s making her so sullen.

I miss the days when chicks were just something to do between battles. Now I care, and it’s all gone to hell (and not in a good way).

Screw it, I’m just gonna ask her, nicely, to tell me what’s wrong.

What’s your freaking problem?

She looks over at me, rolls her eyes, then goes back to the window.

Well, what’s the problem? I ask again.

Nothing.

ARGH!

We should make out, I tell her.

Seriously, that’s what you think this situation calls for?

We’re in a filthy motel in Jersey. Everything around here reeks of regret and sin. You should be out looking for your leader or helping your pathetic friends identify which body part belongs to which angel, but instead you’re here with me. What else can this situation possibly call for?

Making out is the only thing you could think of to do right now?

You’re upset. You like kissing me. I like kissing you. We do that and you’re not upset anymore. Done.

It doesn’t work like that, Rage.

Thomas.

No, you’re Rage—a demon who doesn’t understand why I would be upset if you killed my friend.

He’s not just your friend. He’s your boyfriend. And you don’t want me to kill him because you still have feelings for him.

You just don’t get it! she cries out in frustration as she hurls me across the room with the slightest wave of her hand. I smash into the tacky writing desk. It breaks in half underneath me.

Fireballs spring into my hands, and before I know it, I’m throwing them. But instead of directing them at the girl that just attacked me, I throw them out the window at the cars below. Something in me won’t allow me to hurt this girl.

There has to be a remedy for this love thing. It’s just not right.

Ameana turns just in time to see the cars exploding below. She gasps, grabs her things, and heads out of the room. I open the door and call after her.

I could have set you on fire, but I didn’t! I remind her.

I call out her name multiple times; finally, she turns to face me.

What? she demands.

I don’t know…

Don’t know what? she pushes.

I remain silent. She shakes her head and storms off.

I lean back against the doorframe.

I don’t know how to change for you…

Her scent filled the air long before I felt her lips press against mine. It’s three hours later, and I’m being kissed by an angel.

I open my eyes and find her looking down at me. She smiles softly and kisses me again. I love and hate the way it makes me feel. It’s like flying but having no control over your wings. You only hope whoever does have control doesn’t drop you because the flight is amazing but the fall is deadly.

You’re back.

Yeah, she replies simply.

Did you come to tend to my wounds again?

No. I came so I could lie next to you. Is that okay?

Yes!!!!

Um...yeah, it’s cool.

She climbs on the bed. She’s facing away from me but she curls up close. Her long hair spreads out and fills the remaining space between us. I play with it. It smells like wildflowers. I never liked flowers. They suck. But right now, they are the best things in the entire world.

Damn, how did this happen?

I promised I would tell the team. I should have. I’m sorry, she whispers.

Okay.

Really?

Yeah.

You’re not mad? she asks.

No.

You sure?

Yeah.

So what’s with the one word responses?

I don’t want to say the wrong thing, the demon thing.

Don’t know.

Look, I get that you don’t get why it’s wrong to kill, but if you get the chance to take out Wolf or any of my teammates, you have to promise me you won’t.

I don’t normally make promises.

I don’t normally kiss demons.

Fair point.

Promise me.

What if they try to kill me?

They won’t.

Why wouldn’t they?

Because I’m going to tell them the truth tomorrow.

What’s the truth?

I’m in love with an Akon.

Oh.

????!!!!?!?!!!??!??!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!

Is the Akon…in love with…the Guardian? she asks hesitantly.

Yes. Yes. Yes. He’s weak. She’s on his mind most of the time. He can’t control it. It drives him to madness and never lets him rest.

A little.

Her laughter breaks into the air and greets the darkness. The only light comes from the moon beaming down above us. Suddenly the grimy motel is the only place I want to be.

I don’t know how I’m going to break it to Wolf, she admits after a long pause.

Just tell him he’s out.

Um…thanks, but I think I can find a softer way to do it.

Softer?

Yes, once in a while it helps to be soft…gentle.

That never occurred to me.

It’s not exactly my first instinct either.

We lie still for a few moments. The darkness invades us. I love the thickness of the night. Apart from a flicker of light from the moon, blackness covers everything. It feels like home to me.

Thomas, can you tell me your Core?

Angels have a Core; some dramatic story of how they died. Demons don’t get that. All we have is a story. A story no one cares about.

I do.

You don’t want to hear it.

Tell me.

There are no heroes in it.

Thomas, how did you die?

In flames…

When I was five, unlike most kids my age, I only wished for two things: I wished for a pet hamster and I wished my father would stop hitting my mom. I made those wishes every day, and every day I was disappointed.

A year later, I was at a pet shop when something told me to grab one of the hamsters and run. So I did. And what do you know, just like that, I had a pet. I began to understand that wishing did nothing; only actions gave you what you wanted. I wanted my father gone from our lives, so I had to make that happen.

The thought that I would one day kill my father never bothered me. What irked me was that it took so long to do it. I would have done it years earlier but something held me back. That something was my mother. She loved him—dearly.

It didn’t matter that my father would split open her face for forgetting to take out the trash or for accidently putting too much salt in his meatloaf. She seemed okay with the daily beating and verbal torments. I think to her, my father’s beatings were his way of bringing her flowers.

When I asked her why he was so mean, she said it was her fault because she got pregnant with me when she was a teenager. She said that put a stop to all my father’s plans. He was going to be a baseball player. He was going to make it to the major leagues, but she completely ruined that for him.

We lived in a small hick town called Gains, a few miles outside of Wyoming. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. They knew my father was beating my mother; all they did was look at her sadly and turn away.

The day I officially decided to kill him was the day that he put her in the hospital. He had broken her jaw and cracked two of her ribs. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it. I was only fourteen years old. I plotted out all kinds of scenarios in my head. In the end, I decided I was going to poison him. I had seen it on the news; some woman had used rat poison to kill her husband for the life insurance.

So, a few weeks after my mother came back from the hospital, I put my plan to work. I stole the poison from Sherman’s Grocery Store. I hid it in my room and waited for my chance. And a few nights later, my chance came.

Every morning before work, my father would walk his lame ass to the kitchen and have a cup of coffee like that would undo the ten hours of drinking he had just done. I volunteered to go get the coffee for him.

That made my mom suspicious. Normally I would avoid my father at all cost. That’s in large part because whenever he spoke to me it was to tell me how much of a mistake I was. But as much as he hated me, he never hit me. I think he could tell that I would hit him back. Even at that age I had a lot of rage. I would have preferred it if he hit me and not my mother. He knew that. So when he was pissed at me, he would take it out on her.

Anyway, I went to pour him the coffee and I put the poison inside it. When I turned around, I found my mother looking straight as me. I will never forget what she said.

Thomas, I love your father more than anything in this world. I love him more than you. I love him more than I love myself; if something were to happen to him, I would cry forever. Do you want me to cry forever?

No.

Good. Throw that coffee out and start again.

I did as I was told.

Then one day, my father fell asleep on the sofa watching a documentary on animal behavior. I stood there watching it over his shoulders.

There was a segment about a spotted wild dog that had puppies. She was always fending off this vicious pack that would come by. Every few hours the frail dog had to fight to protect both herself and her puppies. After several days of this she was tired, wounded, and worn.

One day, when the pack came back yet again, they found that the puppies were dead. The mother killed them so that they would no longer serve as distraction.

The announcer said that the puppies were the dog’s weakness. And that now that she didn’t have to worry about them, she was free to be as focused and ferocious as she needed to be. And sure enough she skillfully hunted and killed the entire pack.

It was then that I realized my father wasn’t the problem. My problem was my mother. She was my weakness. He knew I loved her. My loving her made her a weapon he could load and use against me.

I walked into her bedroom and saw her lying there, looking frail like the puppies. I took the pillow and pressed it down on her face, gently at first. She moved frantically. But I held her down because I could not afford to have a weakness.

When the cops came they took me away. I was sent to a bunch of shrinks. They were stunned. They couldn’t understand why I had done what I did. I didn’t seem crazy, so how could I have killed my own mother?

Two years later, I returned to my father’s house and found that time had gotten the best of him. But even though he was older, he didn’t get nicer by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, you could say he was even more evil than before.

He said he didn’t care too much that I had killed my mother, but it upset him not to have someone cook and clean for him. So he made me do it. And when I didn’t arrange things to his liking, he’d take it out on me.

He said now