Heavenly (23 page)

his touch stilling her on contact.

"Like it or not, I know what you are thinking, don't I, Miss Abria?"

Abria broke out in a long string of giggles. Her effervescence annoyed me. "That's fine with someone like Abria who

can't communicate. But I can talk just fine. It's not fair for you to jump into my head. This could be... embarrassing."

"You think you're the only one to think something rude or nasty?"

"Oh, man. I'm going to have to do some heavy editing."

His hearty laugh filled the car.

"Are most of the people who are watched over children?" I thought of Chase's experience with the lady in the forest.

"A good percentage." He took Abria by the hand, placed her palm across his and tickled the back other hand in light fluttering strokes that caused her eyes to widen and her body to go still. "There is nothing more precious than a child, and nothing more heinous than those who hurt them."

"How long have you been Abria's guardian?"

"I stepped in when your Mother's aunt Janis moved onto another assignment."

I nearly slammed my foot on the breaks. "Aunt..." I was speechless for a moment. I'd never met Mom's aunt, but Mom

had adored her. She'd passed away before I was born. "Aunt Janis was Abria's guardian?"

Matthias nodded.

"Why didn't I see her before?"

"You weren't ready, Zoe."

No doubt. I probably would have freaked.
"Still, Aunt Janis... cool."

"Family members, if they have been refined, receive first priority to watch over their loved ones. After that, those

closest to the family line are called in."

"That is... wow. That's so awesome." Aunt Janis was a relative, so it made sense to me that she would be in the

position of guardian. "You said those closest to the family." I eyed him. "Where do you fit in?"

His lips lifted. "Nifty question." His gaze fastened to mine, and flickered with sapphire light, sending a beam of

excitement shooting through my veins as if I stood on precipice, my hand in his hand. "Zoe, you and I..."

What? What? Are friends? Distantly related—please, I hope that's not it. Meant to be together? Don't leave me

hanging.
He smiled, as if he'd heard me, and my face prickled with heat.

"That's one question I'm not able to answer yet."

"Grr. Of course not."

He laughed and held up both hands. "But I promise, in time, you'll understand."

Sweet peace tingled in my blood. Someday, I'd know what Matthias and my connection was. I couldn't wait. In the

meantime... I let out a smiling sigh. In the meantime—
deal with it Zoe.

"So, where was Aunt Janis assigned? Or can I know?"

He smiled. "You can know. She's helping out in Transition."

"Transition?"

"When spirits first come into the afterlife, they've a lot to deal with. Many are surprised to find that life goes on. In Transition, other spirits help them adjust."

"That blows me away. Do you know her—my aunt?"

"She's a dandy woman."

I could hardly believe this was happening to me. I was the luckiest girl in the world—I was certain of it, for

possessing this gift. "I have a friend, Chase, who has seen spirits. You told me that someone has to be spiritually sensitive and open, but..." Did he know Chase had ulterior motives?

"Your friend possesses the gift as long as his heart is pure." Matthias' eyes met mine in the dark reflection of the mirror and something flashed in his that sent an uncertain shiver through my body.

"So... he won't have the gift anymore?"

"As long as his heart is pure."

When Matthias spoke of a truth, my bones quaked. Power and conviction was in his every word.

I took the road that wound up the hill to our house. Snow started to fall. White dusty air came at us like millions of

falling stars reflecting against my headlights.

What had started out as a drive to self-indulgence had turned into an uplifting night with the hottest guy on the

planet—when he was
on
the planet. The evening was over. Abria and I were safe at home. Matthias would go.

I let out a sigh and lifted my foot off the gas pedal so the car inched along. I snuck a glance at Matthias to see if he

noticed my obvious change of speed. He was watching Abria, whose head was starting to loll, eyes starting to droop in

sleepiness.

"Looks like our Miss Abria is ready for her dreams." The warm-milk tonic of his voice nearly put me into a state of total relaxation, too. I yawned. "It doesn't feel like this automobile has the horsepower of my roadster." His face lit in a teasing expression that snapped me out of sleepy comfort.

I sat erect, and gave the gas pedal a press. "Okay, so you knew I was trying to slow down."

He nodded, smiled. "Yes, that much I heard."

Yikes.
I'd have to watch my thoughts when I was around him, or I'd implicate myself in all sorts of potentially

humiliating scenarios.

At home, I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. I turned in my seat. Abria was out like a light so I looked at

Matthias, coveting each precious second. "We're here. Mission accomplished."

"Yes." He patted the backseat with both hands, as if readying to launch himself into oblivion. "For now."

"Okay, I admit I was going to a friend's house. But I would never put Abria in danger, you have to believe me."

His gaze softened. "You know, Pop used to tell me, when impulse is driven by desire, it can be perilous."

Kind of funny coming from a man who ran an illegal drinking establishment.
"I'd like to know more about your pop.

He sounds interesting."

He lowered his head without responding. My heart pounded hard and heavy as if trying to beat not just for me, but for

him. My mind swirled with images I'd never seen before, nor could I see them clearly now, the speed with which they spun

like the wheel of a racing car. Matthias' memories? Smiles. Laughter. Faces. Soft dresses. Men in suits. Drinking. Dark

hallways. Darker alleys. Money fluttering through the air like snowflakes.

In a blink the images were gone. No sound. No pictures. My mind was blank.

Matthias lifted his head and his clear blue eyes met mine. "Pop was a man who enjoyed his life." Regret lined his

tone. Had his dad been a
good
man? Where was he now?

"I saw your memory."

He nodded. "Connections can be that way sometimes. I must go now."

"Matthias—" How could I express the depth of my gratitude? "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I'd better get Abria inside. It's getting cold out here. I know you can't feel it, Mr. Tropic, but for those of us here on earth, freezing temps are nothing to play around with." I got out my car, jogged around to Abriaś door and opened it. She slept soundly in her car seat.

Matthias was gone.


FOURTEEN


Matthias didn't leave me.

I wasn't sure if it was the direct line he talked about or what, but in my heart and soul, I felt a definite change—a

presence. Not in a way that he hung over my shoulders, watching me twenty-four-seven, but as though the love inside of me

had opened its arms and embraced him into my being.

As if a missing piece had been found. And fit.

At school the next day. Chase kept a wary eye on me from his desk. After Matthias told me Chase would only be able

to continue seeing spirits if his heart remained pure, I was tempted to share that bit of fact with him. Maybe then he'd drop the opportunistic idea about exploiting guardians.

I shocked Chase when I smiled and waved him over. He looked around, wide-eyed behind his glasses, then stood and

joined me at my desk. "You're not mad anymore?"

I pulled over the chair from the empty desk next to mine. "Of course not. Sit down."

He did. "That's good. I was worried about it."

"Chase." I patted his shoulder, and his gaze locked on where my hand made contact with his shirt. "You're worrying about something you needn't worry about."

Chase swallowed. "You've been touched."

My hand froze on his shoulder. Slowly, I drew it back. "How did you know?"

"I felt it. Just now."

"But... how?"

He leaned close. "I've been touched, too, remember the lady in the forest? I know what it feels like. It just happened,

right?" Chase pressed.

"Last night. And now, he's my guardian."

"What?! That might explain why you didn't feel anything different when I... uh... touched you. You didn't, right?"

"No, I didn't."

Chase tapped his chin. "Must have something to do with how long ago my experience with the lady in the forest was.

Anyway, tell me." When I hesitated, he looked like a cricket had jumped down his underwear. "I won't say anything to anyone, I promise."

"It's what you'd
write
that worries me."

"I put my pens away." He flashed a grin.

I tried to gauge whether or not he was really telling me the truth. His big puppy-dog eyes seemed sincere behind his

glasses. "I doubt God would allow one person to foul things up. Look what happened to Lucifer."

Chaseś eyes grew huge. He swallowed. Without thinking, I patted him again, this time on his knee. His eyes shot to

my hand.

"Did you feel it again?" I asked.

"Yeah." He nodded. "This just reaffirms what I thought before."

"What?"

"People who have been touched by guardians are interconnected. Like Kevin Bacon and actors."

I doubted his theory had any merit. In my mind, the connection might feel like an invisible cable, but it was the spirit

residing within me that was different now because of Matthias. The bond was internal.

"This deserves further discussion," he whispered, stood when he noticed our teacher, Mrs. Brewer glancing over.

"Starbucks. Seven. Tonight."

He walked away before I could answer him. I held back a chuckle. He sat at his desk like James Bond—cocky, with a flair of

drama—then sent me a solemn nod. I nodded back, then turned so he wouldn't see the smile on my face.

- - -

After Journalism, I headed to US history. I had a few butterflies lodged in my stomach anticipating seeing Britt. I

walked in, greeted a few friends, then sat at my desk. Hers was empty.

Where was she? Having not heard from her in over twenty-four hours, I started worrying that she'd done something

stupid—she was so distraught about Weston.

Covertly, I slid out my cell phone and texted her.

where r u?

Ten minutes into Mr. Brinkerhoffs lecture and still no word from Britt. I decided I'd go by her house after school just

to make sure she was okay.

We were still studying the 1920's, so I listened, even more curious now about the time period. Mr. Brinkerhoff, rotund

in his brown suit and pasted hair, looked like an English beetle. When he got passionate about a subject— which was most of

the year because he loved any and all history—spit coagulated at the corners of his mouth into stretchy balls so distracting, it was hard to listen to what he was saying.

Today, the stringy white stuff held the class glued—those of us observant enough to pay attention in the first place—

to his every word. "You have to understand that most of the population was conventional," Mr. Brinkerhoff began. "Working jobs, farming. There was only a small percentage of avant-garde who enjoyed themselves, indulging in the lifestyle

associated with the roaring twenties."

"The speakeasies were a manifestation of the disillusionment that followed WWI."

I opened my history book and browsed the chapter we were studying as he rambled. Photos fascinated me, and were

reminiscent of the flamboyant celebrities and parties of today: girls in dresses dripping with fringe and satin sashes. Pearls and beads dangling around their necks. Men in suits accentuating shoulders and lean hips, their shoes shiny and polished, hair slick and flat, parted with a straight line. The posh crowd looked like nifty designer dolls. This was how Matthias had

dressed. This was his world. My fingers traced the photos with longing. I wished I'd lived then. Known him.

"Life was the cat's meow for some—a popular term then. But it was a hazardous time for others," Mr. Brinkerhoff

said. "If you ran a juice-joint or speakeasy, you watched your back, your front—as in the door—and your sides—as in any

entrance to the place. Double crossing was a danger. When you had something that people wanted, like money and booze,

there were always those who'd bump you off just to prove a point. Owners often paid for protection and when they didn't,

wham."

I looked up. Mr. Brinkerhoff made a gesture of having his throat cut. I shuddered.

"All for alcohol?" somebody asked.

"That's so tame compared to today’s violent outbreaks," someone else put in.

"People die over alcohol every day," another girl said. "They get drunk, get on the road, and kill some innocent person and maybe themselves."

Murmurs followed. I shrunk in my seat remembering last night. That could have been me.

A plain-faced girl in a molly denim jumper sat across from me. Her comments through the semester spoke volumes

about how she hated partiers and socialites. "Serves them right," she said.

Outrage broke out in a verbal fight. I was shocked Miss Molly—I didn't know her real name— had spoken out. She

must have known it was going to cost her. But socially, she was a nobody anyway—which sucked for her.

Her face blanched red and she looked down at the desk, at her hands clasped so tight her knuckles whitened. I almost

jumped into the fight but I saw her lower lip tremble. A pang of anguish rippled through me. Poor girl.

Mr. Brinkerhoff quieted everyone with a loud fingers-in-the-mouth whistle.

"Psycho," a guy mumbled.