Redemption

Chapter 3

She is being watched. His interest in her has brought her to the attention of unsavory sources. He will endanger her. He will get her killed.
~Bezaliel~

The weekend wore on me, leaving me with an odd sense of foreboding, as I walked to my car the next morning while balancing my backpack in one hand and a paper cup full of sugary coffee in the other. Coffee sloshed over the side of the cup, burning my palm, and I swore. My car was a good five minute walk from the Abbey, but my aunt refused to let me park it closer. It was a pain in the ass, but the optimist in me was glad I was burning calories.

The old metallic purple '86 Pontiac came into view and I grinned. My aunt hated the clunker, but I'd earned it working for old Elsie Davis one summer cleaning out a rundown shed and doing odd jobs on her property and, to me, it had character. My aunt considered it a mark of shame. The work had been for charity; therefore, I shouldn't have expected payment. I didn't disagree. After all, Elsie had been charitable. She'd convinced my aunt it was a gift. When it wasn't in use, Aunt Kyra made me park it behind the Abbey near an old shed. It was such a shame.

My finger ran down its dusty side. "Hello, Lady."

Climbing in, I threw my backpack into the messy backseat before flipping on the radio and pulling out of the drive. I still had to pick up Monroe-we carpooled to save on gas-and I was running behind.

There was only a ten minute distance between the Abbey and Monroe's, and I pulled up to the curb to find her leaning against a light pole, her gaze sliding from a silver watch on her wrist to my car, a scowl on her face.

She trotted to the Pontiac. "About damn time!"

One glance through my window and she paused, a green flush sweeping her cheeks at the sight of the old drive-thru bags strewn haphazardly on the seats. For the first time all morning, I fought not to laugh. According to Monroe, the Goddess had a sense of humor when Fate proclaimed I be born under the sign of Virgo. No one would ever describe me as tidy, and a perfectionist I was not.

She threw open the door. "You should really clean this thing out soon."

Knocking junk to the floorboard, I smirked. "And give my aunt a reason to think I'm becoming responsible? I think not."

Monroe swiped crumbs off of the seat before sitting down, plopping her bag beside her gingerly. It was beaded, big, a loud minty green color, and ugly. My brows rose. Only she was allowed to complain about my car, and I her accessories. This morning, I managed to refrain, but I was sorely tempted to tell her the bag was entirely too retro for our era. Even if vintage was in.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Monroe crossed her eyes. "It'd take a lot more than a clean car to convince your aunt of that. Does Lady Ky know how often you sneak fast food?" She kicked at the trash on the floor and cringed. "Better yet, does she know you pay for it by filching money from the congregation?"

I threw her a look. I didn't filch. I simply did side work my aunt was unaware of. "You'd take tips, too, if you had to help Mrs. Gunther clean out her closets and wash her cat. Her house smells like moth balls and the cat scratches."

Monroe moved a breakfast wrapper to the side gingerly. "Her house probably smells better than your car."

"Are you insulting me, Roe?"

She flicked a crumb off of the seat cover, and grinned. "If you're insulted, then you know it's true."

The teasing lapsed into silence, our thoughts occupied.

Chewing on a piece of gum, Monroe snapped a bubble before finally glancing at me. "I've been worried," she muttered. "This weekend-" her voice faded, her gaze moving to the window.

I stole a glance before focusing on the road. My skin crawled, our reluctance to broach the vision she'd had eating at me. Something seemed different. Even the energy at the Abbey felt wrong, more intense.

"It's strange ..."

Monroe blew another bubble. "Yeah."

"Maybe it's paranoia."

"So we're crazy now."

We shared a shaky laugh as Monroe moved her feet awkwardly on top of the trash. There was an audible squish, and she squealed, her horrified gaze flying to the floorboard. "I seriously don't want to know what that was!"

"You remember that cat I picked up for the Abbey? The one that went missing a few months back?" I glanced at Monroe, lips twitching. "You just found him."

Parking lopsided in the school parking lot, I shifted into park.

Monroe wheezed. "Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" She threw open the door and leaned over, her head between her legs to keep from retching.

"Couldn't handle the Dayton Mobile?" a voice asked wryly from beyond the car.

Conor Reinhardt leaned casually against the side of his black Mercedes, his sandy blond hair impeccably groomed. His navy T-shirt went well with the brand name jeans he favored. I knew without looking that, not unlike the pristine white Cadillac Monroe drove, the inside of his ride was clean enough to eat off of. I squelched the urge to stick out my tongue.

Tucking her shining blonde hair behind her ears, Monroe stood carefully. "Someone should burn that thing!"

Seriously, she was being positively over dramatic. I leaned in to grab my ratty backpack. "Hey, don't insult the Lady."

Monroe flipped me off.

Conor slid between us. "No fighting until I can gather bets."

Lita Delgado sauntered up behind us from the parking lot. "They haven't turned cannibalistic yet, have they? Or better yet, built the impenetrable Wall of Silence?"

Being around the same people for years invited the digs. The freshman silent treatment applied as such.

Monroe pointed crone bent fingers toward Lita's forehead. "Watch yourself."

My groan was drowned out by the shrill ring of the tardy bell. Rushing students crowded the hall. Jacin Young sauntered toward us, his head bent and hoodie pulled low over his forehead, the sight of our shoes keeping him from plowing into us. At 5'6, Jacin wasn't a tall guy, but what he didn't cover in height, he more than made up for in muscle. As the quarterback on the school's football team, he was an instant school celebrity. And he had it pretty bad for Lita, our resident punker.
Lita made most girls look tame, but she did it in a my attitude doesn't match my look manner. With shining black hair highlighted in neon blue, tribal tattoos on her dark Hispanic skin, piercings in places the school board hadn't yet managed to make her take out, and leather dominating her wardrobe whenever she could get away with it, she was, surprisingly, the quietest girl in our group.

"You could hear the bell if you pulled your ear buds out," Monroe teased. She tugged on Jacin's iPod. "Class is that way."

Jacin fell in beside Lita, his tennis shoes contrasting sharply with her combat boots. "Not for me. I'm meeting with coach, and anything that gets me out of Fitzpatrick's class is a godsend."

Sticking one of his ear buds into her ears, Monroe immediately scrunched her nose and threw it down, her hatred for most modern music obvious. "Whatever happened to Sinatra? Hell, Elvis or the Beatles would do."
Conor grunted. "Try appreciating us alive guys a little more, Roe. What is it we're missing that disgusts you so much?"

Jacin whispered something into Lita's ear, causing her to smile as he broke away from the group. I'd choose coach over Fitzpatrick any day, too. Lucky guy.

"A certain civility, gentility, and sensitivity," Monroe answered.

Conor snorted. "You looking for a dog or a man?" He broke away from the rest of us, Lita on his heels.

"Dumb ox," Monroe called out.

We walked into Fitzpatrick's first period English class. Listening to them quarrel had been distracting, but it hadn't been enough. I could spin a mean fantasy world in my head, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pretend the weekend away.