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It’s so much to take, even though so much of it sounds familiar. “What about my mother?” I ask quietly. “In the dream you said—”
“And I meant it,” he says quickly. “This is why I’m here. We don’t always have to show ourselves, we can watch from afar if we choose. But you’re tempting the Devil himself here and we can’t have that.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I tell him haughtily. Sometimes I have no idea where my nerve comes from. I had just pointed out earlier that he could be very bad indeed.
“That’s not your mother,” he reminds me. “The demons are manipulating you. They want you to come in of your own will, to find her, to seek her out. She’s somewhere safe. She’s not in Hell. But that’s where they will trick you to go. To keep you there. Or, even worse, to come back out with you. I’m sure that’s how the demon that took over Michael, Dex’s brother, came to be.”
I exhale noisily, running my hand through my hair, trying to think what all of this means. “So you’re saying that you’re watching over me, interjecting yourself into my dreams, because you think I’m just going to create a portal to the Veil – or Hell – and waltz on in, looking for my mom.”
“Pretty much.”
“And if I promise not to do that? I mean, I might be a little stubborn at times, perhaps impetuous, but after all I’ve seen I know the last thing I want is to be fooled, let alone bring the Devil back into this world.”
A small smile graces his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t quite take your word for it.”
“So what next?” I ask with a shrug. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed you’re late on this whole guardian thing, but I’m eighteen. I’ve been dealing with Dex and Perry and my grandmother and seeing ghosts for years now. Are you supposed to enlighten me too? Or just ensure I don’t trespass?”
“I should have known what I was getting into with you.”
“Oh, please,” I tell him. “I am a motherfucking delight.”
Another hint of a smile. It breaks the graveness of his face, making him look younger. I can’t help but wonder who he was before all of this. Why did the Jacobs pick him to be one of them? Did they pick the hottest ginger that ever lived on purpose? Isn’t he curious about his life before?
“So,” I say. “Are we just going to stand here in Bizarro World and talk? I mean, what else haven’t you told me? I’m going to assume there’s a lot.”
“There is a lot,” he says. “But we have time. Now that you know.”
“Now that I’ve been warned.”
“She’s not your mother,” he says again, his voice low. “I can’t watch you twenty-four seven. There has to be trust here.”
“You’re an immortal guide,” I remind him. “You have all the time in the world to watch me if you want.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I’m human, despite everything.”
“You’re dead.”
“No, I was dead. Past tense. I breathe, eat, live, shit, even sleep the same as you.”
I scrunch up my nose, surprised at his humor. “TMI, BTW.”
“I do anything except speak in abbreviations. I use proper words, like everyone else.”
I roll my eyes. “Fucking supernatural grammar police. You’re going to make my life a living hell, aren’t you?”
His eyes pause briefly at my lips, before locking in my gaze. “I’m here to prevent exactly that.” He then abruptly turns and looks back to the house. “I suppose I should take you back. I think your brother-in-law might be getting unruly and even someone like Jacob might have his hands full.”
“And then what happens? You’re going to sequester me into the Twilight Zone whenever you feel like it? Inter-dimensional kidnapping at random?”
“I’ll be next door, living at the Knightlys,” he says.
“Doing what? Is that the new halfway house for gingers?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “As I’ve said, keeping an eye on you. For as long as I have to.”
“Oh great. Are we going to talk about demons over the fence, all ‘Hi ho there, good neighbor’?”
He obviously doesn’t get my Home Improvement reference. I’m starting to think most people wouldn’t. “We can talk some more about all of this,” he says. “In a different place, under different circumstances. Coffee?”
I can’t help but smile, my hands going on my hips. “You’re asking me out for coffee?”
His brow remains expressionless. “Or we can meet here again.”
“No thank you,” I tell him. “Coffee is just fine.”
“Good,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. I eye it and he sighs softly. “If you hold my hand, it makes it a more gentle transition.”
There’s a ‘That’s what she said’ joke on the corner of my lips but I suck it up and take his hand.
