“Now, young lady,” Gavin interrupted my fantasy. “You’ve got to get some sleep.”
I found his old-fashioned terms terribly romantic. I didn’t want him to leave. “I can’t,” I assured him. “I’ve tried.”
A shutter slammed against the side of the house, and I jumped. Between the storm outside and Gavin inside, I was wound up.
“Shhhh, it’s all right,” he soothed. “The way that heart of yours is pounding, I can see why you’re having trouble falling asleep.” He took a few steps closer to the bed. “Is there anything I can do?” The things that came to my mind were a far cry from sleeping . . . “Did your mum have a special trick?” he asked.
“My mom?” I faltered.
“To help you fall back asleep,” he explained. The mention of my mom was as good as a cold shower. Guilt, loneliness, and grief bullied all other emotions away.
Did Mom do something to help me sleep? If she did, why can’t I remember it? Am I that terrible of a daughter, or was she just too involved in her work?
“She wasn’t really touchy-feely.” I blinked back tears.
“Well, when I was a wee angel first on earth, and none too happy about it, one of the elder female angels used to stroke my hair to help calm me down,” he replied. “Worked every time. I could . . .” He motioned to me. “No funny business, of course. This is strictly professional.”
I couldn’t suppress a giggle.
“What?” His eyes widened in defense.
“When you first told me you were an angel, and I said angels helped people sleep, you were all offended, and now, you’re actually . . .” I smiled in spite of myself.
“I don’t have to.” He raised his hands.
“No, please,” I said. “I . . . want you to.”
He sat next to me, resting his back against the worn headboard. Instinctively, I laid my head on his shoulder. He cradled me into his arm. With his free hand, he caressed my temple with short, soft strokes. My body molded into his like we were two halves always meant to make a whole: my knee tucked against his thigh, my arm draped across his stomach, my cheek resting in the swell of his chest. Heaven.
I willed myself to stay awake so I wouldn’t miss a minute of the divine closeness, but the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heart, and the tender massaging hypnotized me. Serenity engulfed me and I slipped into the deepest, sweetest sleep of my short life.
CHAPTER 21
An angry buzzing rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and found I was alone in my bed. The first rays of the dawn were peeking from beneath my curtains, and the whole house was still. It was Sunday morning, but barely. I rolled over at the noise on my nightstand. My phone was vibrating its way to a seizure.
I picked it up and tried to focus on the screen to see what time it was and who in the world would call me so early. I prayed the call had nothing to do with Jo.
5:30 AM
HUNTER
She must be up with the nuns for disciplinary breakfast duty. Knowing Hunter, it wouldn’t be the first time . . .
Before I could even say hello, Hunter started whispering frantically, “Maren! Is that you? You’ve got to help me. I’m in so much trouble!”
The desperation in her voice kicked me awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” she said. “Oh, Maren! He was such a nice guy, he was only trying to help me, and they killed him. They killed him! Then they came after me”—she started to sob—“and I ran to the first place I could find . . .”
“Hunter, Hunter . . .” I tried to sound soothing while my body prickled with fear. She was freaking me out. Hunter was anything but a crybaby. “You’re talking too fast. I can’t understand you. Who’s ‘they’?”
“The guard, the demons, and then these shadows. Everyone! They’re all after me!” Her crying escalated in passion but quieted in volume, as if she’d put her hand over her own mouth.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“In the church. It was down the street. They couldn’t follow me in.”
Sanctuary. She had been chased by darkness, just like in my dream. I crept to the window and cracked it open. Gavin was sitting on the ledge of the roof, about ten feet away. I motioned for him to come back inside.
“Slow down,” I said. “First, are you safe?” Gavin settled next to me on the window seat. I tilted the phone so he could hear too.
“I think so; as long as I stay inside, anyway. But you’ve got to help me, Maren! I’ve no one else to call!”
“Of course,” I answered, unsure of exactly what I could do. “But what happened? Start at the beginning. And calm down. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”
She took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. She managed, mostly, but little wheezy hiccups still snuck into each sentence.
“I knew I shouldn’t have gone—hh-huh-hh,” she said, “but I wanted so badly to prove I was good enough for the Abbey—hh-huh-hh—and they must have seen me looking at the drawings, because—hh-huh-hh . . .”
“What drawings?” I interrupted.
“The ones from your mom’s—hh-huh-hh—book,” she exhaled.
Gavin’s look reminded me I’d sworn I hadn’t shown anyone. I scrunched up my face into a contrite expression and mouthed the word Sorry. I’d have to tell him about Hunter and why I’d sent her the secret pictures; how she was an Abbey orphan too, and that I’d wanted to help her land her dream job.
“I recognized one of the buildings, so I decided to go check it out,” she continued. “The square castle with the turrets. It’s the Tower—hh-huh-hh—of London.”
Even though I didn’t know what it looked like, I did know what the Tower of London was: the infamous fortress where prisoners like Henry VIII’s wives were kept before they were beheaded.
I instantly regretted not telling Hunter I’d been to one of the demon strongholds myself and had barely gotten out alive. I thought about Jo in her hospital bed, her body wracked with poison. Why didn’t I warn Hunter when I’d had the chance? My stomach turned sour. It was all my fault. I brought this evil to Britain with me, thanks to my mom’s journal, and now two of my friends were in danger of dying at the hands of demons. I had to do something.
“Maren? Are you there?” Hunter asked, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Yes, Tower of London. So what happened?”
Hunter took a deep breath. “This terribly ugly guard started bothering me, pushing me on the shoulder, and telling me I was in trouble. He tried to take my phone away, and this nice bloke—this tourist, I think—he came to my defense. He was really lovely, Maren, not as handsome as you said Gavin is, but very good—”
“Okay, I get it. Then what?” I interrupted, now mortified that Gavin was listening in. I leaned away from him a bit, but he followed, moving closer to me. I was pretty sure I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye.