Angels of Belle Meade Read online

  “No, sweetie, you won’t need to kill anyone. I’ll never allow them to burden you with these demons.”

  “Who’s taking care of you though?” Sarah Beth glances up at me, and her tears feel like knives to my veins, spilling my life onto the floor.

  I stand with her in my arms, neglecting the task of snooping in my father’s personal files, and help her out of the room.

  “I’ll keep my ears and eyes open,” Sarah Beth whispers as we enter the kitchen.

  “Don’t forget you’re nine, Sarah Beth.” I rustle her hair. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Anita hustles around the island, plating stacks of pancakes. The air smells like bacon, but thickens with tension.

  “What’s the plan today?” my dad asks, taking a sip of his orange juice before checking the time on his gold Rolex. It was a gift from my grandfather when my dad made his first million. When I was younger, I always watched the hands tick by, wishing life to hurry, so I could escape the time expected to be spent with my mother.

  “I have to meet with the girls and Mr. Reynolds. He’s going to teach me how to kill people I’ve known my entire life. Maybe even my sweet old kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Heard,” I whisper, quiet enough so no one but the four of us hear.

  “Lennox!” Mother whisper yells, eyeing a none-the-wiser Anita.

  “I have to go.” I kiss Sarah Beth on the crown of her head and offer my pinky. She entwines hers around it. “No secrets, no lies.” My promise to my littlest shadow.

  She wiggles our hands. I kiss my dad on the cheek, allowing my gaze to skim to the end of the table where my mother angrily watches my departure.

  *****

  “Now what?” I ask, pacing the damn library that’s quickly becoming the bane of my existence. Who knew one small room inside The Archives could cause me so much trouble?

  “Have you done any of your reading?” Mr. Reynolds taps his finger on the cover of my book.

  Amilee quickly averts her eyes, while people-pleaser Emerson nods and grins.

  “Of course, you have,” I mutter. Maybe I should’ve read more. I don’t know anything about what is going to happen, or what is expected of us.

  “What are the cardinal rules?” Mr. Reynolds asks.

  “Loyalty before anything else. Don’t make a choice for another you wouldn’t be willing to accept for yourself. The Peacekeeper will never fail us,” Emerson rattles off.

  “You two”—he scolds Amilee and me —“need to become well acquainted with these books. Most of these traits are inherited, so they’ll be like second nature. Others will not. With every trial, you will learn something new about yourself. Be open to the experience and to the responsibility. Your blood was created for this.”

  At his words, he walks out of the room. He leaves us alone a lot. I’ll never know, but I think this is his way of pushing us to dig deeper into our history.

  A chill settles on my skin. Your blood was created for this. If that is true, why haven’t I felt it? Shouldn’t I be able to sense what has always been within me?

  I rub my fingertips over my temples, hoping to dull the ache pounding behind my eyeballs. If this isn’t a sign this is too much on my body, I don’t know what would be.

  “Should we divide and conquer our homework?” Amilee giggles, flinging herself into the wingback chair.

  “Shut the hell up, Amilee. This isn’t something you can smile your way through.” I glare at her, sitting forward toward Emerson.

  “She’s right, Ami. You may want to take this more seriously.” Emerson tosses a book into Amilee’s lap. “According to the scripture, our time of free-riding is nearly up. There’s more crime to control in Belle Meade than we were ever aware of.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of crime?” I ask, tucking my legs under me and swallowing the golf-ball-sized lump that’s just climbed my throat from the pit of my stomach. “And how exactly will we know when there’s a trial? Is that in your little book?”

  “In our books, yes, it is.” Emerson sits on the floor near my chair. “There’s a whole lot about this town we don’t know anything about. Things go boom in the night, and we’re here to silence the noise.”

  “You saying there’s vampires and demons roaming amongst us, Em?” Amilee rolls her eyes, picking at her chipped red nail polish.

  I really wish she would realize this isn’t funny, and no matter how much we dislike all of this, it isn’t going anywhere.

  Emerson slowly nods.

  Like we share the same brain, Amilee and I spring to attention. We aren’t alone, and I’ve been naïve enough to believe we are.

  “Emmy, speak,” I bark, suddenly well aware of the pulse in my wrist and the ferocious beat in my chest.

  “If we exist, if we can walk amongst everyone we’ve always known and go undetected, do you honestly think we’re the only ones like us?” Emerson glances over her shoulder, and the worry lining her face when she turns back draws a chill through my body.

  Amilee crosses her arms over her chest. “There’s more of us, then. Big deal.”

  If I could, I’d slap the nonchalant attitude straight out of her body.

  “Do Angels have any enemies?” I ask, pulling one of the books onto my lap. Just being aware of other creatures and beings roaming amongst us at the grocery store is enough to get my mind reeling. I have so many questions.

  “Demons.” Emerson’s eyebrow perks up, practically waving at me to pay attention, to hear her words.

  “Like devil horns and crinkly faces?” I’m incapable of understanding how that’s possible. They would’ve been spotted immediately. How do they sneak through the fortifications surrounding our town?

  “No, something tells me they look much different here.” She holds the open book above her head, and a black and white photo draws my full attention.

  “Give me that.” I pull the picture close, inspecting the details. There’s something familiar in the man’s eyes. Even in the black and white ink, I get the sense I’ve seen them before. They’re the kind capable of digging into one’s soul, holding its prisoner captive.

  “Let me see.” Amilee yanks the book from my hand.

  I’m thankful for her intrusion. Even in a picture, eyes like that have a way of holding you hostage.

  “Pick your jaw off the floor, Ami,” I joke. “Jesus.”

  “If that’s what demons look like . . .”

  “Does mortal enemy mean anything to you?” Emerson shakes her head and sighs.

  For the next three hours, we read and share the bits of information we find until we feel confident in the basics. The three of us are a unit, and we will act as such if we don’t want the wrath of some sort of higher power council to bring a deadly hammer down on us.

  “So, we stay in line, and we won’t ever have to deal with this council. Is that what it’s saying?” I ask out of survival. I don’t know what is and isn’t real anymore. The only thing I have on my side is knowledge, and I will ask every question and dig up every source if it means I survive this new life.

  “Here it says, the Angels of Belle Meade will hold itself to the highest standards under the council. Anything asked of them will be completed in a timely manner. If the council feels intervention is the only way to complete a task, the Angels will succumb to their gavel,” Emerson reads from the book. Her eyes shift from the pages to Amilee and me.

  “Holy shit!” Amilee whispers my exact thoughts.

  A light knocking startles me, and I yelp, spinning to find the source of my scare. Mr. Reynolds waves from the doorway, and I shake the fog from my mind. I’m out of sorts. I suppose hearing you no longer belong to yourself will do that.

  “Lennox, can we chat for a second?” Mr. Reynolds asks.

  “Sure thing.” I hand my book to Amilee and walk into the hallway.

  Mr. Reynolds leads me down the dark corridor. I stop at the entrance to a room we haven’t spent much time in. Searching the hallway, I wonder what the other rooms have hidden behi
nd their doors.

  “You can come in, Lennox.” Mr. Reynolds waves me forward.

  “What is this?” I take in the room, completely awed by how well maintained the building is.

  When I was young, I’d ride my bike past here and wonder what the inside looked like. It’s the kind of building you know must hold so many secrets by its dark stature and picturesque windows. There’s some sort of wonderment about its exterior.

  “I’ll be meeting with each of you individually to teach you something only you need to be aware of.” As he speaks, he works the large silver lock on the floor-to-ceiling cabinet and sets it on the table.

  “I thought we were a team?” I question.

  Why does he need to speak to each of us alone? If we are a team, isn’t my knowledge also theirs?

  “You are every bit a team, but each of you holds different strengths the others will not be able to ever comprehend, Lennox. It’s important to understand that, together, you’re a machine, but each of you possess the power to turn individual wheels.” He opens the cabinet doors. “This is your tool box.”

  Rows of shiny, sharp objects gleam in the light. My reflection in the blades draws me forward. I run my finger over the edge of an axe with a deep purple handle, wrapped in gold leaf. The skin splits, and a trickle of blood drips on the floor. With a wince, I stick my finger between my lips and suck. When I pull my hand back, the cut is gone. What the hell? I squish my eyelids shut, only to open them to a nonexistent wound. How is that possible?

  At my feet, a small pool of blood is on the carpet. To prove to myself I’m not actually delirious, I bend down to touch the wet, sticky spot. On the tip of my finger, a crimson hue paints my skin. I rub it into my thumb, lightening the color to feel the tacky texture.

  I stand, searching for an explanation from Mr. Reynolds.

  “You can’t be harmed,” Mr. Reynolds explains.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. My mother got me good this morning.” I show him the scabs.

  “You can’t be harmed by an outsider.”

  “Ever?”

  “All things in this universe have been created to be weakened. It’s just a matter of our enemies discovering what will ruin us.” Mr. Reynolds runs his hand over one of the blades.

  “I’m not completely invincible, then? And I’m assuming if my mother can harm me, then other Angels, past and present, can as well?”

  “No, you aren’t invincible, but you’re protected.” His gaze travels to the symbol on my forearm.

  “By who?” I ask, running my hands over each weapon, wondering how much blood has been shed by these swords.

  Mr. Reynolds shakes his head. “This isn’t something I can explain to you.”

  His refusal to answer my question is perplexing. He’s supposed to be my mentor, the conductor on this crazy train.

  “You know who it is though, right?” I sigh, frustrated with all the unknowns. “We don’t just do what we do out of tradition. Someone controls us.”

  “You’re a smart girl, Lennox.”

  “So, we aren’t actually in control. We’re strong, but there is always someone stronger.”

  “Like I said, Lennox, you’re a smart girl. It’s best you don’t try to dig too deep into the Peacekeeper’s affairs.”

  “Okay. Well then, teach me how to kill,” I deadpan.

  “There is nothing to teach. You’ll feel the compulsion.” He presses a palm to his forehead. “What you may not understand is, you’ll never be asked to harm anyone who hasn’t harmed another. Injustices need to be handled quickly and efficiently.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, when the time comes, when the Peacekeeper speaks, or shows, or whatever the hell it is, I’ll know which of these to use, and I won’t have any concerns.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. Taking another’s life should never be easy. You’ll feel the burden whispering against your back, but you’ll also feel this innate pull to rid the ugly from your town. That will silence the whispers.”

  “Each of these hold a purpose, right? A different impact on the victim,” I observe.

  Mr. Reynolds spends the next thirty minutes pulling weapons from the wall, explaining how each should and can be used. Some are obvious. There’s only so much use for a heavy blade. When I say just that, Mr. Reynolds glares at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about.

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” I sit on the table, crossing my legs, genuinely curious how someone with his knowledge goes without shedding blood.

  “I have. I’m no angel.” He smirks at his clever use of words. “I can see the struggle in your eyes, and I need you to know, as things happen, everything will make a lot more sense.”

  My body betrays me, and I cross my arms over my quivering stomach. Hiding my apprehension is a lost cause.

  “It’s okay to be scared, Lennox. No one is expecting you to run the rivers red, but there are certain expectations you need to try to live up to. If you don’t, there are consequences.” His eyes burrow into my soul, begging me to understand his warning.

  I nod, realizing there’s much more at stake in this than I’d understood. “What’s this?” I jump from the table and grab a dark brown rod from the cabinet.

  “Be careful with that.” Mr. Reynolds takes it from my hands. “See this button here.” He pushes it and grabs a pillow from the chair beside him, poking the end of the rod into the fabric. Sparks fly, and a loud zap rings in my ears. When he pulls the rod back, the fabric has two holes burnt into it.

  “It’s a cattle prod,” I suggest.

  “It’s a picana,” he corrects.

  “To torture the victim.” I shrug, realizing some we cross paths with won’t have an easy death. Some will be painfully dragged out.

  “Emerson will decide their fate.” Mr. Reynolds places the picana back in its rightful place, and I send up a prayer that I’ll never have to use it.

  “I’ll yield the punishment though.”

  “You’re beginning to understand the way things work, Lennox, but don’t think for a second you are the weakest in the group. It may feel like that at times, but strength comes from here”— he points to my temple— “not here.” He taps my hands that up until a few days ago were used most often to text my best friends.

  “How will I know when a trial is meant to happen?” I ask, needing more information to survive this insane transition.

  “You’ll feel it coursing through your veins.” He runs his wrinkled fingers over the scar on my wrist. “You’ll come here. All trials are performed here at The Archives.”

  “How does the process work?” I ask.

  “Emerson will decide if a crime has been committed. From that point, Amilee will decide the punishment.” Mr. Reynolds grabs a book from the shelf beside the cabinet and hands it to me. “Read this. Learn it front to back. It’s your guide. No one else has any business seeing it. Not even the other girls.”

  “Okay. I better get back.” I tuck the book close to my chest.

  “And, Lennox, be bold. Don’t let anyone push you around or make you feel inferior. You’re stronger than you’ll ever understand. Maybe the strongest we’ve ever seen.” Mr. Reynolds closes the cabinet, and I watch him for a second or two.

  He says a lot of cryptic things. Is he trying to tell me something more without overstepping some imaginary boundary?

  Back in the room, Amilee and Emerson are packing up their stuff.

  Amilee tosses her black leather bag over her body and smiles. “Everything all good?”

  “Oh, yeah, he just wanted to show me my, uh, my weapons.”

  “This is all kind of crazy, right? Like we’ve been living these normal lives, and all of a sudden, we’re thrown into some family secret we’ve known nothing about,” Emerson says.

  “Oh, come on. Are you two trying to tell me you haven’t always felt a little different? That this town hasn’t felt different than any of those surrounding it?” Amilee’s mouth opens far enough a bat could fly
in, mistaking it for its cave.

  She’s right. Once I cross over the city limits, I feel a shift in the air. It’s like we’ve been dropped from some mythical world, and now, we are simply existing here. Strange things happen often enough, we write them off as normal. To realize I’ve lived in a twisted world makes me question everything. Nothing I know feels real.

  Anyone could be anything at this point, and the three of us have to wait until our Peacekeeper calls us to trial to learn the dark truth.

  *****

  “Do we really think this is a good idea?” I ask.

  Emerson and Amilee are on a rampage to figure out their own deep-seated blood roots. Apparently, I am the only one who sees the trouble in practicing our talents in the small wooded patch of land beyond Main Street.

  “Come on, Lenny. This is what we’re meant to be doing. You heard Mr. Reynolds,” Amilee says, unable to hide the smirk stretching her lips. She knows this isn’t a good idea. Unfortunately for me, Amilee loves trouble.

  Emerson hunches over the book, her attention focused on the scribbled words. “It claims if we concentrate enough, we’ll be able to have clarity. When that happens, our talents will be forced forward.”

  “Maybe if the three of us hold hands.” Amilee stretches out her arms.

  There’s no possible way to hold back my snicker. “Sorry, but we aren’t witches. This isn’t a coven.”

  “Isn’t it?” Emerson glares at me, taking Amilee’s hand, thereby forcing me to do the same. “Close your eyes.”

  Our hands gripped together—both a lifeline, and maybe a spark to a pile of dry leaves—are capable of uplifting and destroying each other.

  There’s no way to be certain of how long we stand, waiting for something in our universe to shift. I dare to peek, only to find Amilee staring at me.

  “You’re the strongest out of the three of us,” she says.

  Is she talking about me? I don’t feel like the strongest right now. My entire life feels like it’s in shambles.

  “No, I’m not. Are we even sure what our talents could possibly be? I don’t know about you two, but maybe I don’t want to stir it up.” I pull my hair in a messy ponytail. It’s a nervous tic. Once I have it up, perfectly secure, I pull the hair tie out, and my hair falls around my shoulders.