Shattered Grace

When Grace woke the next morning, she was disappointed. Neverland never appeared. Come to think of it, she hadn’t dreamt at all. Her night’s sleep was just a huge black hole of nothingness. All she wanted was one simple happy thought to counter her sour mood and get her through the day. But she couldn’t even get that.

Frustrated, she threw her blankets back and stomped to the bathroom to get ready for school. Showering, primping, and dressing did nothing to lighten her mood. If anything, the mindless chore of getting ready gave her too much freed-up brain time. The additional time moved her from frustrated to plain ticked off.

Grace grabbed her school bag and a light jacket and stomped even louder to the kitchen. After her reaction the last time, it was no surprise to see Laney wasn’t making pancakes this morning.

“Good morning,” Laney said.

“Morning,” she grumbled back.

Laney raised her brows as she sipped her coffee. Setting the cup on the counter, Laney turned back around and pinned Grace with a questioning stare. “You okay? Did something happen after we talked last night?”

Yes, something happened last night, she screamed silently. Everything happened last night and she wasn’t about to play a pretend game of mother-daughter with Laney. Not today. But she couldn’t say that to her. Heck, she was still floored she’d actually yelled at her mother the other night. And at Quentin. Oh yeah … and the lawyer. What the hell was going on with her? She wasn’t this emotionally distraught girl.

“No, nothing happened,” she lied. “Why do you ask?”

Laney’s gaze remained fixed on her for a couple of seconds before she dropped it to her hands. “Oh, I don’t know. You seem a little irritated. Like maybe something is bothering you. Do you want to talk about it? You can talk to me.”

Like hell she could. “I’m fine.” Grace opened the refrigerator, pretending to scrounge for breakfast.

“I was going to make myself some toast with strawberry jam. I can make you a piece or two if you want,” her mother offered.

Grace thought it would be better to play nice despite the fact she didn’t want to play Laney’s game. She muttered a “Yeah, thanks” and sat down on a barstool at the kitchen island. Grace watched her mother spread butter and jam on her toast, and continued to watch her even after she placed it in front of her. Laney was easily within arm’s length, tempting Grace to reach out and touch her to see why she was really being nice. But like always, fear made her keep her hands to herself.

“You want some juice or milk?” Laney asked, pulling Grace’s gaze from her arm, back to her face.

“I can get it.”

“I know you can. What do you want?”

More than something to drink, she thought. “Juice is fine.” What she really wanted to say was, “What exactly is it you want, Mom?” But she chewed the words over with her toast and concentrated on getting through breakfast.

On the way to school, Grace was stricken with a sudden craving for coffee. Latté Da’s wasn’t that far from school, and luckily not busy. It was so empty that she was the only one in line. Patiently, she stood in front of the register, waiting to be noticed by someone. Apparently, they all went on a simultaneous coffee break. Either that, or they were just being rude. Waiting to catch one of the baristas’ attention, she glanced at her watch as they continued to chat about the new JB song. Class was going to start in twenty minutes. She couldn’t stand there unnoticed for too much longer. Irritated, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said from behind her. Curious, she twisted on her heel, and glanced over her shoulder. “Hi,” Darius said with that magnificent boyish grin.

Instantly, her stomach jumped and tumbled nervously. Her stomach wasn’t the only thing jumping. As soon as one of the little baristas saw him, she jumped in a single leap to the counter. And of course, only acknowledged him. “How can I help you?” she asked, her mascara-caked lashes flapping.

Darius’ head dipped toward Grace. “She was first.” The edges of the girl’s eyes and mouth pulled down as she scowled at Grace. Like she’d done something wrong.

Not entirely able to stop the hint of triumph that tugged on the corners of her mouth, she spoke around it. “I’ll have a sixteen-ounce Snickers with soy. Two straws.” She purposely left off the “please.”

Darius stepped up next to her. “And I’ll have a sixteen-ounce coffee, black. I’ll pay for them both.”

Grace’s gaze lifted to his. The fact she had to lift it at all was a huge plus. “You don’t have to pay for my coffee.”

He smiled as he stared back down at her. “I insist.”

A familiar warmth rushed up her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to the counter. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Anytime had her pondering other times. She sighed. This guy was trouble.

When her coffee was done, the hateful little barista simply put it on the counter, and diligently went to work on the black coffee. Yeah, that’s tough, she thought. Before Grace got completely out the door, Darius said, “Try to have a good day.” She smiled back; her day was definitely looking brighter.

The brighter day didn’t last long. The crappy mood followed her to school, to the parking lot at least. Grace parked the Shelby in its usual spot, close to the lot exit. If she’d learned anything from her three years at Woods Cross High, it was that it’s always easier and faster to get out of the parking lot from here.

The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little when she noticed Emily and Tommy waiting for her by the school’s front doors. Like usual, Emily looked ready for the runway. Tommy was her complete opposite. Everything about him appeared sloppy. His sandy hair looked like he just rolled out of bed. His shirt was partially tucked, and his surfer shorts hung loosely from his hips. If she didn’t know for a fact they were a couple, Grace wouldn’t believe they were together.

“Hey, babe!” Emily yelled, her black hair swaying in rhythm with her waving hand.

“Hi,” Grace replied.

Emily’s brown eyes curved with concern as she gave her a thoughtful look, her head tilted slightly to the side. “That bad, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“You look like you could use a coffee.” Then Emily spied the cup in her hand. “Guess not.”

“I could use something a little stiffer,” Grace said with a slight chortle.

“Well,” Emily began. “We could cut all day and park at the airport for some morning and afternoon delights.”

Today was the first day she’d woken up without feeling a distracting sadness. Unfortunately, what she felt was extreme irritation, almost anger. And oddly enough, the days when she was upset were the days she was able to focus and get the most done. So, cutting class wasn’t her best choice today.

“Thanks, Em, but I need to get to class.”

“You sure?” Emily asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

Grace entered first period with her head down until she got to her seat. Everyone knew who her grandfather was. And almost every single one of them felt obligated to say something nice about him, which always ended with “sorry.” She didn’t want to talk about her grandfather today, or hear any more apologies for her loss. Come to think of it, she hadn’t really been in any kind of mood to talk at all since her grandfather died. Except with Quentin. Talking with him was so easy. She was going to miss that. Don’t go there, Grace, she hissed in her head.

As more students made their way to their seats, Grace eased back into the hard seat. Everyone seemed to have received the body language memo to leave her alone, and she could sulk in silence.

“Hey, Grace.” Most everyone, she mentally recanted.

“Hey,” she said, as Amanda sat at the desk across from her.

Amanda looked like one of those models with a unique look about them. Many times Grace had stared at her, taking in the sharp-angled features of her face and trying to decide if she was beautiful or not. Her big blue eyes were definitely amazing. Amanda was also the only one of her friends that equaled her height, but unlike Grace, she wasn’t tall until high school.

Grace and Amanda had been friends since elementary school. She should have known Amanda would ignore the signs. Amanda had always shamelessly ignored boundaries. In fact, she seemed to thrive on pushing them to prove she could when told she couldn’t. Daddy issues, they called it. Teachers, doctors, husbands, next-door neighbors … who they were didn’t matter, as long as they were male. Nor did their age.

Amanda was downright scandalous. In the ninth grade, she “accidentally” texted a not-so-fully-clothed photo of herself to most of the male students at Woods Cross High. Even to the ones with girlfriends. She’d said it was an accident, but none of the girlfriends had bought it. Amanda became the most loved and hated girl in a single day. For a long time, she had to watch her back. The lynch mob had since then dispersed; however, Amanda hadn’t made much headway with the female friendlies. She still only had a couple of friends.

Grace knew she’d brought it on herself, but she felt bad for her anyway. She understood how having a dad walk out on you could mess you up a little in the head. Others? Not so much. And to Grace, the dad excuse was the only one that explained Amanda’s behavior.

Amanda leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “Are you going to Brian’s party in a couple of weeks?”

“Didn’t know Brian was throwing a party,” Grace said, half interested.

“Huh, who woulda thunk I’d get the 411 on a party before you? You always know the details before I do,” Amanda said. “Apparently Brian’s brother is coming home for a week while their parents go on vacation, so they’re throwing a big par-tay. I heard some of his college friends are even going to make it.” Like she needs that, Grace thought, rolling her eyes mentally.

“Yeah, I’ll go if Em’s going. I’m sure Leah’s already going since it’s at Brian’s.”

“Like she’d miss it,” Amanda scoffed, fingering an obviously new piece of jewelry hanging from her wrist. Grace didn’t even want to know where that came from. “Besides, she already told me she was. How do you think I found out about it?” Girl, Grace thought, you really don’t want me to answer that.

The bell rang seconds later and the loud chatter of students quieted as soon as Miss Township entered the room.

“Welcome back,” Miss Township said in an attempt at teacher humor. They all had been there the day before. “I hope you all read the reading last night, chapters one and two of The Crucible.”

Miss Township glanced around the room, daring anyone to confess they hadn’t. Grace kept her eyes and hand down, which was a new one for her. She never forgot to do her homework. Ironically, Miss Township seemed ready for her own witch hunt.

The rest of the period went by without incident, and as soon as the bell rang, students were out of their seats making their way for the exit.

“Make sure you read chapter three tonight,” Miss Township said, raising her voice to be heard over the rumble of shuffling feet and excited voices.

Grace made a note of her American Lit homework on her iPhone and grabbed her Chemistry book from her locker. Five more classes and she could move on to something else that might be a little better at keeping her mind off last night.

Funny, lately her life moved from one emotional assault to another. What Quentin had said was a lie. Not just a simple lie, but an I-need-to-be-locked-in-a-padded-room crazy kind of lie. No matter, she already missed him. She didn’t know what that made her. Crazy herself, or an enabler? She looked down at her phone. A part of her tried to convince herself to text him, while the other part held her hand still. Classic telltale signs of being hung over with regret. Slamming her locker shut, she put her phone in her pocket and trotted to class.

She half expected Zeke to be sitting at her seat waiting for her, and was relieved to see he wasn’t when she got to Keyboarding. He wasn’t even sitting in his own seat. Putting her backpack under her desk, she logged in to the computer to start working on today’s lesson, plus yesterday’s since she didn’t get any of it done.

“Hey, beautiful,” a familiar voice said. “Miss me?”

Grace swiveled in her seat to find Zeke standing behind her chair—backpack slung over one shoulder, baseball cap on backward, wearing faded jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt. Zeke’s blond hair and blue shirt made the blue of his eyes appear to glow. He was cute, but compared to Quentin or Darius? As soon as she thought his name, the butterflies fluttered wildly in the center of her tummy. Wow! Surprised by how giddy the mere thought of Darius made her, her cheeks began to warm. She quickly turned back to her screen.

Zeke sat on the edge of her desk, arms folded, looking down at her. “How’d your meeting go?”

Grace brought her face up to him, knowing the crimson glow faded. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“Good. That’s good, right?” he asked encouragingly.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she said, unconvincingly even to her own ears.

“Does that mean you’re ready for that coffee then?”

The contrasting look of cool and hopeful in his eyes as he waited for her to say yes pulled at her heartstrings.

“Actually, Zeke, I have tons of homework to do already tonight.” Not entirely true, but sort of. She did have some to do.

“Ouch.” He gripped his chest dramatically. “Shot down again.”

“It’s not like that,” she protested.

“Yes it is.”

“It’s not!”

“It’s alright, Grace, really. I’m a big boy. I can take it.” Eyes focused on his feet, he started for his seat.

Inside, her resolve splintered. She was a horrible person for hurting his feelings. Grace searched for something to say that would make the situation better. Make herself feel better was more like it. Her regret container was filled to the brim at the moment and couldn’t hold any more. Soon it would start spilling over, and that wouldn’t be pretty for anybody involved. “I said not tonight, I didn’t say I wasn’t ever. What about Friday?”

A light twinkled in the depths of his blue eyes at her suggestion. “Hey, don’t do me any favors,” he said with a wave of his hand. His smirk told her he was giving her a hard time.

“I’m not. Besides, it’s just coffee.” She didn’t know why she threw that qualifier in there, but it felt right to say it. “It’d be fun to have a group of us meet at Latté Da’s.”

Disappointment tugged his face down. “So, a group thing then? Yeah, that’d be fun. I can pick you up, or meet you there.”

Meeting him there would be best. She simply wasn’t interested in him like that and didn’t want to give him the wrong idea again. “I can meet you there.”

“Sounds good.” Zeke shuffled a few more feet toward his seat before turning back to Grace. “Now get to work, Miss Morgan. I noticed you didn’t get much done yesterday.” He smirked and winked and continued walking. Because his smile was so infectious, she smiled at his back.

Grace completed both lessons and had ten minutes to spare before the end of class. Ready for the bell to ring, she leaned her head against the back of the chair, and tried to visualize pictures in the holes of the ceiling tile. All she could visualize were eyes, which only reminded her of Darius. Swiveling slightly from side to side, she wondered where he was, if that redhead was with him and, more importantly, if he ever thought about her too. Probably not, she admitted to herself.

Bothered by the thought, she bent over for her backpack when the bell rang and left class. A lingering mental image of Darius’ emerald eyes watching her had her heart picking up its pace as she made her way through the droves of students in the hallway. Beneath her backpack strap, her fingers crossed as she hoped he’d be at Latté Da’s again on Friday.

Quentin found himself parked outside Woods Cross High School on stakeout. Everything about this assignment was different. Sure, none of the other Chosen were female; it wasn’t that. The seneschal band, the bond, what he sensed, all of it was heightened and he wasn’t sure why. He pulled up the left sleeve of his shirt, and gazed down at the band marking him. It had finished changing in the night, which meant Grace was fully Chosen when she woke up this morning. He was out of time to prepare her, and she’d run out of time to come to terms with her new life. The acceleration confused him. She wasn’t eighteen, so this wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not yet.

A sense of alarm kicked in overdrive and had him jerking his head toward the school. Not his internal alarm, but Grace’s. With one hand grabbing for the door and reaching for his blade with the other, he suddenly paused, feeling Grace’s calm wash over him. Quentin hoped this up-and-down thing would get easier. The daily roller coaster ride of emotions was driving him bat-shit crazy. His head lolled back against the headrest as he struggled to focus. He sensed where she was in the school, and also felt the other Guardian near her. His knuckles laced with white and pink as he unknowingly crushed the steering wheel in his grip. The woman didn’t pose a threat to Grace. Even so, he had to fight himself to stay in the car.

That settled it; he was about to get on Grace’s really bad side. If she didn’t like him last night, he had no doubt she was going to hate him later.

Right before walking through the doors of the cafeteria, Grace saw someone—or something—that caught her attention. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human, despite its appearance. With the heel of her palms she rubbed her eyes, not caring about smudging her mascara, and thought she might be hallucinating. Immediately her heart quickened and an unfamiliar energy coursed through her veins, feeding her limbs the necessary adrenaline to get out of there. An urgent flight instinct overcame her and she prepared to run in the other direction, but froze as a realization hit her. The black roped hair falling from the crown of the non-human’s head was familiar. Grace watched as the being entered the girls’ restroom.

Limye? Great, the crazy woman found me, she babbled to herself. As if the last week wasn’t enough? Two things occurred to her, each equally as disturbing as the other. Limye wasn’t human. Oh my God! And what in the heck was she doing at her school? Grace felt the energy subsiding and stormed toward the bathroom. Lunch would have to wait. Limye might be crazy, but Grace was done feeling pushed around.

With students walking all around her, she stood staring at the bathroom door. Grace took in a large breath, just in case it was her last, and stiff-armed the door open. Limye was bent over the middle sink, pretending to check her eyeliner in the mirror. She was dressed in regular teenager attire—jeans, T-shirt, and sandals—but something was unusual. There was a soft halo of color surrounding Limye. That was definitely different. What was startling was how much clearer she looked. It was like Grace’s eyes got a pixel app download.

Grace looked to the bathroom stalls. They were the same boring, scratched-up, dull blue. The floor was the same small square white tile. Her gaze moved to the light above Limye, thinking maybe it was trick lighting. Nothing was different about that light compared to the others. Grace rubbed her eyes again and looked back to Limye. It didn’t change anything. Limye still appeared lit up in HD. Quentin’s words ricocheted through her mind: “You’ll start to notice things, hear things—your eyes will begin to open.”

Oh, heck no!

This was a simple case of the power of suggestion. That was it. Feeling better about what she was seeing, she stared at Limye again. “What are you doing here? Are you a new student?”

Limye’s gaze pierced Grace through the mirror. “Children these days, you don’t believe in anything unless it’s on YouTube.” The ropes of Limye’s hair swayed back and forth as she tilted her head, continuing to eye Grace. Then she turned her body around, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the sink. “I told you at the bank who and what I am. Do you remember me telling you I am a new student at your school?”

At first, the weight of Limye’s stare made Grace want to shrink and hide, but her scolding tone lit a fire under her. She mirrored Limye’s stance, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip to the side. “No, you didn’t tell me you were a student. You told me you were a kind of Guardian and that you wanted me to know I could call you if I needed. Did you get a call, because I don’t remember dialing your number?”

Limye didn’t say anything right away and for a heartbeat, Grace felt a twinge of fear crawl across her skin, raising goose bumps and hair in its path. The sound of laughter bounced off the stalls behind her. Limye was laughing so hard she doubled over. When she finally was able to catch her breath, she beamed at Grace. “I know I said it before, but I have no problem saying it again. They definitely chose well.”

Grace forgot, in the five minutes they were in the bathroom, that Limye and Quentin apparently drank from the same crazy Kool-aid. She didn’t know how many more cryptic messages she could handle. From her grandfather, Quentin, and now Limye. It was beyond aggravating. In all fairness, Quentin did try to tell her everything. She just didn’t want to hear it. Because he’s crazy, she reminded herself.

“What exactly did they choose?” Grace asked.

“Oh come, child. Don’t ask me to repeat what your Guardian’s already explained.” Limye placed her hands on the edges of the sink behind her, leaning against it as she shot a glare at Grace. Limye focused on a ring on her left middle finger. Grace focused on her face.

“Did Quentin call you?”

Limye met Grace’s eyes. “No. His job is Guardian, not tattletale.”

Grace had expected her to say yes. She was a little disturbed Limye didn’t. “Then how’d you know where to find me?”

Limye raised an ebony eyebrow. “You’re a Chosen, Grace. We can all find you now.”

Limye’s simple statement sent tendrils of unease snake up her spine, forcing Grace to wonder if she should be worried.

“How exactly should I feel about that?”

“You should be mindful of it and trust your Guardian like Christophe advised you.”

It would appear a break from stress wasn’t in the cards for Grace. She was stuck in a perpetual pinball game, bouncing off emotionally charged targets. That’s how her whole life had been, but in the past week it had been compacted into high concentrations. Lucky me, she thought, as a teensy bit of hysteria hummed within her.

Grace couldn’t lie to herself, she was a little nervous about the being found part. “Fine, I’ll get in touch with Quentin tonight.” Actually, she’d wait until later to decide if she’d call him, but Limye didn’t need to be privy to that.

“If you’re smart, you will. Now off with ya, girl.” Limye shooed Grace with both hands. “I have a schedule to keep.”

“Okay, okay,” Grace mumbled as she went for the door. Before walking through it, another question occurred to her. She turned back to ask, “When will…” but Limye was gone. “Limye?” Grace called out in a whisper. Quickly, she spun around, intent on finding her. She crouched down and crept quietly, peering under each stall. Nothing. It’s all part of the suggestion, she reminded herself, and got up and quickly made her way out to the hall.

The halls were quiet except for the fast tapping of her flats since all the other students were either in class or at lunch. Now sensitive to her surroundings, her ears perked at a slight noise and she paused. It was a girl’s muffled laughter. Grace relaxed and breathed easier. The laughter was coming from the cavern of a darkened classroom doorway, a little ways from where she stood. Grace continued walking to the cafeteria, glancing absently at the entrance as she passed. Stunned at the visual her mind had just processed, she stopped and whipped her head back. Her chemistry teacher and a student were locked in a completely unprofessional embrace. The student? Amanda.

Grace stood stock-still outside the door, staring for a few moments before either realized they were being watched. Mr. Peters instantly jumped back, staring intently at Grace. Amanda brought her hand up in front of her, observing the dark polish covering her nails.

“Hey, Grace.” Amanda smiled from over her fingers splayed in front of her face, a triumphant look lighting her eyes.

Without a word, Grace schooled her face to show no emotion and turned, briskly walking toward the cafeteria.

“Grace?” Mr. Peters called out as he followed her. Amanda simply leaned against the wall where she stood, watching the scene play out before her as a small smile tilted her lips. “Please, Grace, wait. It’s not what it looks like,” he forced out in a hiss as he halted awkwardly behind her.

Grace stopped, but not to listen. “Seriously, Mr. Peters? How about you save your lies for the wife. Okay?”

His mouth fell open and his face paled. “Why would I have to lie? Are you going to tell her? You’re not going to say anything to anyone, are you, Grace?”

“No, I’m not.” But she wanted to. She felt bad for his wife for being married to such a slimeball. “I’m not the homewrecker.” She tilted her head and looked pointedly at Amanda.

Amanda pushed off the wall, walking to where Grace and Mr. Peters stood. “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen. It was just a kiss.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “Just a kiss? He’s married! Have you no shame?”

“Shame?” Amanda pondered over the word, trying it on to see if it fit. “No. What I do have is an empty stomach.” Amanda hooked elbows with Grace. “Bye, Mr. Peters,” she said, blowing a kiss with a flirty wave as she pulled Grace with her to the cafeteria. From over her shoulder, Grace saw a very worried Mr. Peters watching them walk away.

Once inside the cafeteria, Grace yanked her arm free. “Are you insane?”

Amanda’s eyes went all Precious Moments as she tried pulling off the complete look of innocence. “What do you mean?”

Grace raised one brow and threw out her hands in a wide arc. “Duh!”

“Oh, that?” she asked with a thumb over her right shoulder. “That, my sweet Grace, was an A.”

“What, so you’re screwing teachers for A’s now?” Grace knew it was none of her business, but Amanda was her friend and she didn’t want to see her in trouble.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Of course I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t have to.” Her smile turned smug. “You walked by at just the right time.”

“How do I have anything to do with this?” Grace’s stomach clenched at the thought of how much she really, really didn’t want to get involved. Again, plate full right now, people.

“You’ve made it so that little show back there is no longer my word against his and he knows it. So I can skip his class the rest of the year and I’m sure to get an A.” Grace’s stomach turned a little at how Amanda was completely at ease with herself.

“Please tell me you haven’t slept with any teachers.”

Amanda’s eyes went wide with shock. “Of course I haven’t.” Grace breathed a sigh of relief. “None of them are my type.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Grace muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Grace shrugged and turned toward the cafeteria. “I’m hungry.”

Amanda followed Grace to the sandwich bar. Grace looked around at the selection of breads, deli meats, cheeses, condiments, and trimmings, but seemed to be suffering from a lack of appetite. All she’d had earlier was toast. Grace hoped once she sat down she’d be able to force a sandwich down. Amanda followed close behind Grace while she led them to their usual table.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked as soon as Grace sat down.

“It’s going.” Not very well, but the day kept moving forward. Unfortunately.

“You wanna do what we talked about earlier?” Emily asked in all seriousness.

“Yeah!” Tommy whisper-shouted with a fist pump.

“What?” Amanda and Leah asked at the same time, watching the three of them.

“Nothing,” Grace said as she studied her tray. The food she’d chosen seriously lacked appeal. She took a bite anyway and forced it down. “Hey, you guys want to go to Latté Da’s with me and Zeke on Friday?” she asked between bites.

Tommy didn’t wait until his mouth was empty to reply. “Can’t,” he mumbled, then went back to eating.

“Zeke?” Emily asked, with a raised brow. “What about Quentin?” Grace sighed, frustrated that Emily even asked. She wanted to forget about Quentin, not talk about him with anyone, let alone while everybody was listening.

“Who’s Quentin?” Leah asked in her shrill voice.

“Yeah, Grace. Who’s Quentin?” Amanda smirked at her, raising a suggestive eyebrow. She leaned forward expectantly, as if she hoped she’d caught Grace in something she shouldn’t have.

Grace threw a few eye daggers at Emily, who simply shrugged her shoulders and took a bite of her salad. “No one. What’s going on Friday, Tommy?”

Still chewing his food, Tommy looked up from his tray. “This guy heard the band play at Latté Da’s the other night and asked us to play at The Board Shop in Bountiful.” At this he grinned, cheeks full of food. Disgusting, but cute in his own surfer-boy kind of way. “You and Zeke should come to The Board Shop and hear us play instead.”

“Is it going to be wild with a lot of moshing?” Grace frowned, trying not to shudder at the memory of the other night. A repeat definitely wasn’t in her future if she could help it.

“Not this time. Not that kinda crowd.” Well, she wasn’t that kind of crowd either, but there was still screaming and moshing. “Zeke’s in my fifth period. I can talk to him if you want,” he offered.

“Sure, that sounds fun.” Grace crossed her fingers under the table, hoping he’d want to go.

“I want to go too,” Leah chimed in. “Did you invite Brian?”

Tommy frowned at Leah, then shook his head. “Why don’t you two just hook up already?” Not waiting for a response, he dipped his head and went back to shoveling in his lunch.

“Why?” Leah leaned over and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Did Brian say he likes me?”

“Uh-uh,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “I’m not going there. I’m not an online dating service.”

“Tommy!” Emily chastised, elbowing his ribs.

“Ow! What? It’s true.” Tommy narrowed his eyes and rubbed at his side, leaning a little out of Emily’s poking range.

“You don’t have to be such a jerk.” Emily’s eyes softened as she turned to Leah. “Yes, Brian’s going.”

Leah’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes curved into upside down crescent moons while she bit into her food, smiling around her fork.

“Well, I’ve got plans. In case anybody was wondering,” Amanda muttered.

Before anyone could ask what her plans were, a loud, incoherent grumble from Tommy had everyone turning their attention to see what was wrong just as Zeke pushed him across the bench.

“Hey, speak of the devil,” Emily said. “Shouldn’t you be in class?

Zeke stared at Grace, his mouth lifted into a crooked grin. Not taking his eyes from her, he held up a hall pass in explanation. “So, was it fast-spreading gossip, or not-worth-repeating gossip?”

“Neither. We were talking about Friday,” Grace said uncomfortably. His smirk was going for sexy and his eyes were hungry. As if fingers were snapped in front of his eyes, he finally tore his gaze away. She wondered why she wasn’t into him. “So,” Zeke said to Tommy. “You guys in for Friday?”

“Dude, The Board Shop,” Tommy said.

“Oh, yeah,” Zeke said, resting an elbow on the table. “Grace, do you care if we go to Bountiful instead?”

Grace sighed with relief inside. “Actually, I was hoping you’d want to go.”

Zeke smiled at Grace again from across the table. “I’m guessing you could talk me into going anywhere.” She smiled back, but quickly diverted her gaze to the uneaten sandwich before her.

After Zeke headed back to class, Leah continued her nonstop “he likes me, he likes me not” poll, and Grace snickered a little to herself as she realized that everyone else seemed to be as annoyed by it as she was. As soon as the bell rang, the group split up. Grace, Amanda, and Emily went one way for fourth period, Leah and Tommy the other.

“I can tell you this,” Amanda said, as they cleared the double doors of the cafeteria. “If the party’s going to be that much fun, I won’t be staying long. Especially if I have to listen to her talk about the what-ifs all night.”

Grace glanced around, relieved Leah was out of ear-shot. “Be nice. She’s just excited.”

“Yeah, well, my Pomeranian gets excited too, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to walk up and kick the little bitch when she starts yapping too much.”

Emily gasped and shot a glare at Amanda.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Relax, I’m not going to kick Leah.”

“I was worried about the dog,” Emily snipped.

“I haven’t kicked her yet either.” Amanda’s lips lifted in a smirk.

“Oh, what a relief.” Emily narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips, her displeasure apparent.

Amanda laughed. “Man, you guys definitely need to go to that party. If for no other reason than to get your drink on and chill. I’m outie.”

Grace and Emily stood shoulder to shoulder and watched Amanda walk down the hallway, unconsciously provoking responses in her wake—guys staring, girls glaring.

“There’s no hope for her. You know that, don’t you?” Emily’s voice was thoughtful as they watched Amanda walk away.

“She’s fine. She’s just going through … a phase,” Grace said, hoping she was right but not believing the words as they left her lips.

“Whatever. We need to get to class.”

After school, Grace caught up with Emily and Tommy, and told Emily she’d call or text her later.

“Okay,” Emily said from against Tommy’s lips. “Bye.”

Grace rolled her eyes and headed for the Shelby. It was at least 102 degrees outside. She hoped the freakishly unusual burst of warm southwest air would head in a different direction. She could feel the heat through her flats and see the mirage undulate from the blacktop. She dropped her backpack from her shoulder to her hand when a noise from her right made her pause. Nonchalantly, she peeked over her shoulder, but no one was there. With a shrug, she continued walking to her car.

Again she heard a noise, but this time to her left. Annoyed, she glanced over her other shoulder. Nothing. Whipping around, she was ready for whoever was sneaking up on her. What the hell? No one was there, only a low growling noise that increased in volume the longer she stood there. Nervously, she flashed her gaze around the parking lot, spinning her body back and forth. Grace saw only students making their way to cars and buses—nothing to explain the noise.

When she spun on her heel to beat feet out of there, she noticed a shadow. And then another. Not shadows of people, but amorphous black blobs roiling and slithering a little above the ground. Grace wondered if clouds might be casting the shapes, but the sky was bright blue and clear. No birds, planes, clouds … nothing. They were getting closer. And growling? She ripped her key from the front pocket of her backpack and fumbled to shove it into the lock. Fighting with her key, she risked a quick glance behind her. The things were only a couple of car lengths away.

Finally making a connection and unlocking the car door, she threw herself and the backpack in the front seat. As soon as she was out of the parking lot, Grace heard her cell buzz from a text.

Quentin: We need to talk.

“Uh, yeah,” she said aloud.

Grace: U think? Manor in 10.

Not waiting for a reply, she tossed her cell in the passenger seat, pressed her foot against the gas pedal, and hoped like heck the cops were patrolling somewhere else in Woods Cross.


“Shadow Hounds?” Grace plopped down on the sofa. Not this again. This conversation had no room for Bible stories or folklore. Something seriously freaky was stalking her in the parking lot and she wanted to hear something logical. Shadow Hounds sounded anything but. “What exactly is that?”

“Have you ever heard of a Hell Hound?”

“Should I have?” Grace snapped. With two fingers from each hand, she massaged her aching temples. Another headache was settling in just behind her eyes. Wonderful.

Not hearing a reply, she opened an eye. Quentin was scrutinizing her. “Are you alright?” he asked.

It was obvious from his gentle tone he was concerned, but Grace didn’t want his pity. “I’m fine.” Her voice was edgy; her hands trembled slightly as she dropped them to her lap. “Tell me what a Hell Hound is.”

“Are you sure? I can get you an aspirin if you need one.”

If one more person asked if she was fine and if she was sure she was sure, she was sure she was surely going to lose it. Surprisingly though, his offer managed to soften her irritated edges a little. “No, I’m fine. Tell me what a Hell Hound is and why I need to know about them.”

Quentin still watched her. Probably because he doesn’t know what’s going to come from me next, she thought. Nice one minute, angry the next; telling him to leave, then asking him to come back. The more Grace thought about it, the more she made herself dizzy with motion sickness. She could only imagine how he must be feeling right now. She changed tactics, putting on her most encouraging face, hoping he’d continue.

“You remember everything we talked about last night?” he asked.

Sarcasm tempted to spill out with her words, but she bit her tongue. “How could I forget?” Quentin didn’t take his gaze from hers, apparently still trying to gauge her mood. “I remember, Quentin.”

“Remember when I told you others would try to find you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What I didn’t tell you was that a Chosen becomes completely Chosen on his or her eighteenth birthday. From that day forward, a Chosen is no longer off the grid. You’ll feel other Nephilim, and other Guardians. And they’ll all sense you. What you won’t be able to sense are Fallen.”

Quentin sat back on the couch with a large breath, hands rubbing anxiously across his knees. She could feel his eyes still on her, but she couldn’t move. Like a pivotal point in a movie, where everything comes together for the character, she could see the truth in his words. Logic swooped in, however, and cut it all to shreds. He might as well have been telling her for her eighteenth birthday, crazy aliens were going to stop at nothing to abduct her. Surprise! No thank you, she didn’t want that kind of present. Like that would ever happen anyway. Aliens. Don’t. Exist.

But what happened with Limye didn’t make sense either unless she bought his explanation about being able to see and sense things once she turned eighteen. Wait a minute, I’m not eighteen yet, she realized. “But I’m not eighteen, and I saw and felt something weird today. How could that be if your story’s true?” She plopped back against the sofa, raising an eyebrow in smug triumph as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“That’s just it, your change didn’t wait for you to turn eighteen. Your change completed in the middle of the night. You’re a Chosen now, Grace.”

The slight shake of his head couldn’t have been a good sign. As the furrow of his brow deepened and worry clouded his eyes, she felt a chill rush over her and had to remind herself to take air in and out of her lungs. “How do you know I’ve changed?”

With his right hand, he lifted the left sleeve of his shirt to show the tattoo wrapping around his bicep.

She chuckled awkwardly. “What, a fortune-telling tattoo?”

Quentin sat up and scooted along the couch closer to her, determination in his eyes. “This isn’t a tattoo. It’s a seneschal band and it links me to you.”

Caught up in the fire glinting from the diamond specks in his gray eyes, she heard herself say, “What does that mean?”

Quentin lowered the sleeve of his shirt, fisted his hands, and scooted away again, bringing her out of her stupor. “The band completed its change and that only happens when you’ve completed yours.”

“But I’m not eighteen!” she snapped.

“I know!” Quentin shot back.

“And. What. The. Hell. Are. Shadow. Hounds?” Her temper rising, Grace bit her lip to keep from completely freaking out.

Quentin must have sensed her fear because he reached for her hands. Grace recoiled to the far end of the sofa, leaning dramatically away from him. She could barely deal with what she was feeling. If she was bombarded with his feelings too, it might be enough to push her over the edge. “Don’t touch me!”

With palms up, Quentin moved to the sofa across from her. “I’m sorry, I won’t. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Grace wasn’t afraid of him. He would never hurt her; she knew that. Quentin completely misunderstood her response. So like a man.

“Shadow Hounds are the shadows cast from Hell Hounds. They were on your trail. Well, they were on a Chosen’s trail, not Grace Morgan’s.”

“How can you be so sure they don’t know who I am?” she asked doubtfully.

“Because the Shadow Hounds didn’t touch you.”

“And how the heck do you know that?” she shrieked. Wound up like a tight coil herself, Grace flinched with surprise as she sensed him relaxing, seconds before he visibly released his tension, easing back into the couch and slouching down into the sofa cushions. What the hell was that, her inner voice shrieked.

“I was watching the whole time. It was close, too close, but they didn’t.”

Over and over she replayed the second she heard the first growl, and how fearful she was. The thought of Quentin watching her while those things stalked her—and doing nothing—was like a swift kick to the gut. Anger spiked her heart rate instantly. The roaring whoosh of beats sounded like a steady drumbeat in her ears before settling to a hammering pain behind her eyes. She resumed rubbing her temples, unwilling to meet his gaze. “You saw what happened today and did nothing?” Her accusation was quiet, almost a whisper. “I thought you were my Guardian?”

Before she could stop it, he was kneeling before her, his hands covering hers. Grace focused on the onslaught of sensation as she dragged air in and out of her lungs. An ethereal heat washed over her skin as their emotions collided. Fear matched fear. Despair with despair. Confusion. Quentin was wound as tightly as she was. Miraculously, he was holding himself together.

“Please understand, Grace. It took everything I had to hold myself back. If I had come anywhere near you, they would have found you instantly.” His eyes pleaded with her.

“Why is this happening? I just want to be like everyone else.”

Quentin softly shook his head. “But you’re not like anyone else, Grace.”

“I don’t want to be the Joan of Arc of the twenty-first century. I’m not even eighteen.” The panic inside picked up in pace with each passing second as she hugged herself and rocked numbly. The calm Quentin managed to channel did nothing to tame it.

“Joan of Arc was only nineteen herself.”

“Yeah, and then she died!” she threw out frantically. “See, another reason not to be like her!”

Quentin lifted her chin with his finger. “Look at me. I am your Guardian, and I swear to you I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. Ever.”

That’s about when she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her two-day streak of dry eyes was over. Instead of holding it in, she let it out. All of it. Her issues with her grandfather, her parents, her greedy family, and her fear of what was coming—all of it spilled out in wracking sobs. Quentin gently pulled her off the couch and onto his lap, rocking back and forth, stroking her hair with one hand and holding her tightly with the other while she cried.

“This sucks, Quentin,” she sobbed against his chest.

Over and over he shushed her fears and told her it was going to be okay. When the sobs faded away and the tears were finished, she wiped her face with the palms of her hand and noticed the large round wet pools she’d left on his chest. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He gazed at her with compassion as he brushed a lock of her hair from her face. “It’s just a shirt. You’re way more important.”

No one had ever been so tender with her. Sure, she’d had a boyfriend before, but she’d never call him tender and he certainly didn’t light any fires within her. His first kiss had been soft and sweet, and totally misleading. The ones that had followed weren’t anything like the first. He’d had one thing on his mind. The only thing on Grace’s mind after she realized what her boyfriend had wanted was to drop him like the slimeball he was. And so she did.

Cutting through her thoughts, Quentin cleared his throat and gently transferred her to the floor. She watched as he got up and walked out of the family room. He came back with the box of tissues he’d brought for her last week.

After pulling a few tissues from the box, he offered them to her. “Here you go.”

She blew her nose, most definitely unladylike, crumpled the tissue, and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans. The gravity of the situation rested heavily against her, pressing her into the floor. Grace tried to see through blurry eyes. “Now what? No more surprises, Quentin. Just give it to me straight. Please.”

“Now you move here to the manor so I can protect you better.”

That was the second time in two days her moving to the manor was brought up. Wondering why in the hell she had to move, she folded her arms over her chest and looked back to Quentin. “How can you protect me better if I live here? And what about my mother?”

Even though she and her mother had their obvious differences, she couldn’t just leave her. If the Shadow Hounds came searching for Grace and found her mother instead… The mere thought sent a violent shiver racing up and down her spine. She couldn’t leave her mom now, even though she’d thought about it.

Quentin’s eyes were guarded as he spoke. “You and I need to be together always, so I can protect you. Your mother will move too.”

Her heart rate was not beating normally, at all. The thought of Shadow Hounds finding her mother kicked her in the chest, but the thought of Quentin being with her always stopped her heart completely. Confused, she shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she should be feeling. But then she wondered if her mom would be willing to move. “What if she won’t? I can’t just leave her.”

Quentin’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Don’t worry about that, she’ll move.”

Instead of arguing the possible reasons Laney might not want to move, or why he seemed different all of a sudden, she relented, trusting in Quentin’s quiet confidence.

“Anything else I should know?”

Grace noticed Quentin taking a couple of steps back, his confidence noticeably wavering. “And, tomorrow you’ll withdraw from Woods Cross.”

Wait, what? Suddenly she felt like she was thrown back in time before women’s suffrage. Any possible aspirations or future plans she had were wiped away as if she had no right to them. Grace was slowly disappearing and the new Chosen was taking over. It was bad enough she didn’t get any choice in being Chosen; she wasn’t going to let it rule every facet of her life. Standing up to Quentin, she squared her shoulders. “I’m not quitting school.”

He stared at her as if she wasn’t speaking English. “Why go to school when you no longer have to? With what your grandfather left you, you won’t have to worry about school or money for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, and then I’d be no better than the rest of my family,” she scoffed. Tension began to roll off Quentin in waves. He looked ready to do battle, but Grace braced herself, determined not to back down. “Look, I appreciate what my grandfather did for me. I’ve literally won the lottery, I get it. But this windfall doesn’t make me lucky because I don’t have to work anymore, or ever go to school again. I’m lucky because of all the opportunities I have now. I can afford to go to any school I want and not settle on a job I hate.”

She paused for a moment and smiled. “Or I could not go to college and get a fun job at Latté Da’s or Starbucks. I can travel to other countries and do some kind of mission work. I don’t know, something, anything. To me, the possibilities are endless.” The smile fled her face as she locked her gaze with his. “But I will not allow this duty, which was forced on me, mind you, to rule my life. It sounds like you want me stuck here, imprisoned, and I won’t settle for that.”

She peered down at him from her soapbox. Resolve and courage settled in the frame of her shoulders while she stood her ground, ready for him to fight back. Quietly, she watched as a twitch set to motion in the corner of his left eye. Grace refused to cower at what he might say, and braced herself for battle.

Without a word, the weight of his shoulders slumped forward, the fight obviously leaving him. “You’re right. I don’t know how keeping you here is going to solve anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She looked away, waiting for a clue to tell her what might come next.

“So, how does this work,” Grace began, when they finally slid into Quentin’s Jag. “Am I your boss, or are you mine?” The last half of her question made her face scrunch up.

“This,” he said, waving a finger between them, “is a partnership, not a dictatorship. My job is to keep you safe and advise you on how to keep out of trouble. Got it?”

“Got it.”

A million more questions bounced around in her head. Overwhelmed, she left the questions to their bouncing, their all too persistent bouncing. It was upsetting, to say the least, to think about what she was—a Chosen—and what that meant. What if she didn’t have it in her to do this? What if she didn’t want to…would the others still come to find her? As she leaned her head back against the coolness of the leather headrest, she felt the weight of all the unanswered questions wrap coldly around her already laden shoulders, pressing her further back against the seat. What could she possibly do? She wasn’t even eighteen yet. Heck, she was just a kid! Not that I’d ever admit that to my mom, she thought darkly.

Spiderman was just a kid himself, she mused, and yet he was able to fight villains and protect the people around him. On the flip side, his uncle told him, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Could that work in reverse? With great responsibility comes great power? Because she could use a little power right now. If not, she had nothing. In gym class the other day, she barely managed a pull-up.

It should have bothered her that Quentin didn’t need an address or directions to find her home. He probably guarded outside while she slept. Her heart squeezed a little, finding a small amount of comfort in knowing someone cared enough to watch over her. Parked in the driveway, she could see the inside of the house was pitch black. Her mother’s car wasn’t in the garage either.

“Looks like we’re waiting if we want to talk to my mom.” After she unlocked the door, she stepped aside to allow Quentin by and shut it behind him. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked as she walked to the kitchen. Pausing, she turned back to him. “Actually, we haven’t eaten dinner. Are you hungry? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Sure, I could eat.” One corner of his mouth lifted.

That smile, she decided, was her favorite. “What?” she asked.

“You cook?” The look he gave her teetered on the edge of disbelief.

O, ye of little faith. “Yes, silly man, I can cook and I’m pretty good at it.” With her back facing him, she continued walking. “I’m not sure what there is to cook though.”

With one hand on the handle of the refrigerator door, she noticed a note from her mother hanging from the top panel. She twirled around to tell Quentin about the note and was startled by how close he and her favorite smile were. Her stomach fluttered, her heart raced, and her breathing came in quiet pants. “Um, my mom’s out. Won’t be home till late,” she said, stumbling over her words.

He inched a little closer, reaching for the note hanging slightly above her head. “That’s what it says, alright.” He took a step back and shrugged indifferently. “Looks like a sleepover.”

Like there wasn’t enough on her mind already? “Why do you need to stay here?” Not that the thought of him in the same house while she slept wasn’t kind of exciting, because it was.

“Well, you made it very clear you weren’t going to leave your mom. And I thought I was clear that I wasn’t leaving you.”

Giddiness had no place here. But she felt it. It wasn’t a promise of love forever. It was a vow to protect. Simple as that. It was nice getting caught up in the fantasy of being the regular girl she was yesterday, bound to a regular Quentin for love and not duty. A scary thought tore through the fantasy with its claws. Could she have any sort of love life now?

“Hey,” Quentin said, pulling her back with a finger tilting her face up to his. “You have a scared, distant look and the seneschal band is screaming you’re worried. Don’t be, I won’t let anything happen to you or your mom. I promise.”

Then he did what every girl wishes a guy like him would do—he stepped closer, wrapped his hands around her shoulders, and kissed her gently on the forehead. But he pulled back…too soon. She realized seconds later that even though he touched her, this time she didn’t feel his emotions. Not only did he take her breath away, he briefly muted her curse, which left her wondering the same thing she had a little earlier when they left her grandfather’s. How was it supposed to be between them? Technically, she’d only been Chosen for a day, but one didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know the two of them getting involved in any way other than a Chosen-Guardian arrangement would be very, very bad juju. They needed to have boundaries. Forced, necessary boundaries. Even if she didn’t want them.

“Food,” Grace said, sidestepping him to check the refrigerator for something to make for dinner, then checking the cupboards instead since he didn’t move. “I can make homemade mac and cheese. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Rooting through the cupboards for ingredients, pots, and cooking utensils, she turned and bumped into Quentin as he still stood stock-still in front of the refrigerator. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, as she felt her cheeks start their familiar burning. She thought for sure she was getting her cheek-warming issue under control, but was reminded of its unwelcome presence when she felt her face heat up. Again. She averted her eyes to the shapes in the tile flooring. “I need to get the cheese and milk.” Still, he didn’t move, just stood there and looked at her with a slight smile on his face. “What?” she snapped self-consciously.

“Nothing, I just like it when you blush,” he said, and continued to stare at her as she studied the wall behind him. “It’s cute,” he finished.

“Um, thanks?” What else could she say? Sometimes Quentin was so easy to talk to and then other times he would get her all flustered and tongue-tied. Boundaries. She definitely needed boundaries. Clearly, he didn’t.

“You can go watch TV while I make dinner, if you want. You don’t have to stand in here and keep me company.”

As he grabbed the refrigerator handle, he talked and reached. “I’m actually pretty good in the kitchen.” He walked to the counter and put the milk and cheese down. He leaned against the Formica, arms and ankles crossed, looking back to Grace. “Now what?”

“So,” she said, loosening up a little. “Guardian by day, cook by night?”

“No.” His face was intense and serious. “Guardian always. I just have other things that I’m pretty good at too.” He smiled and winked. Boundaries, she sang in her head. Quickly, Grace whipped around, grabbing the pot to fill it with water and put it on the stove.

“What can I do?” Quentin asked again.

“Uh…grate cheese?” she suggested.

He smiled, making little wrinkles form at the edges of his steel-colored eyes. “I am an expert cheese grater.”

She leaned against the cabinets, smiling back at him, and rested her palms behind her on the counter.

“No really, I am.”

He smiled, and she smiled back. Neither moved.

“Just need a grater.” He snickered.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she jumped away from the cabinets, leaping for the drawer where the grater was. “Here, sorry, I’m kind of out of it right now.”

“I understand. You’ve had a lot thrown at you. It’ll get better, I promise.”

As Quentin went to work on the cheese, she watched tiny bubbles rise from the bottom of the pot. She agreed, she did have a lot thrown at her. Her issue at the moment, strangely, had nothing to do with finding out what she was, and everything to do with what she was beginning to feel for Quentin. She knew what she was feeling. She felt everything he was feeling. Lines were beginning to blur. Boundaries, physical distance, strictly business—all lines she had to, for the sake of her own sanity, draw between them.

“Done.” Quentin had grated all the cheese in record time.

Grace nodded with approval. “Expert Grater, you are.” She laughed, and he chuckled along with her. As Grace finished with the meal, Quentin poured them something to drink and placed both in front of the chairs at the island.

“This is really good,” Quentin said a short time later, his face practically in his plate, mouth full of macaroni.

“Thanks, pig.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Grace beamed at the compliment. “It’s okay, I’m happy you like it.”

Quentin’s shoveling slowed and Grace’s nerves calmed. They talked about favorite movies, foods, places to see. When he learned they shared a love for The Godfather, his jaw dropped in surprise.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Girls usually don’t like The Godfather, is all. They just don’t get it.”

“Well, those girls—”

A woman’s voice called from the foyer. “Grace? I’m home.”

Grace’s eyes widened as she stared back at Quentin. Her mother was home early. “Ready?” she asked softly.



Laney got up from the sofa. “Okay. Let me pack a couple of bags.”

Grace watched in shock as her mother made her way down the hall. “That’s it?” Unbelievable. “No questions? Just…okay?” She crossed her arms, her features pulled downward as her voice rose with her disbelief.

Laney paused and hesitated a moment before returning to the doorway of the living room. “Right now we need to get back to Christophe’s. Any questions you have for me, or I have for Quentin, can wait until we cross that threshold.” Laney didn’t wait for any more questions. As Grace listened to the shuffling of suitcases and pings of hangers hitting the walls of the closet, she knew her short reprieve of worry was over.

That was too easy. Her mother wasn’t telling her something.

Great, she thought. What now?