Page 20

Trouble

“W hat the bloody hell do you mean ‘that’s not the plan’? I think it’s perfectly feckin’ clear your plans haven’t been working so far!”

Glaring at the phone in my palm, I try to take a few calming breaths, like Peanut’s taught me. My Irish temper gets the best of me, and I’ve had my fill of the blessed Council and the higher-ups, leaving everything up to fate. My girl hasn’t emerged yet—it’s true—but it’s becoming clear that she will soon enough. She’s definitely one of the ‘lost’ ones, which is why they assigned her a Guardian.

That would be me, though I haven’t been her Guardian for her entire life, as most are.

“We have been made aware she is not the only lost one to emerge. There is another, and there may be more. The leaders are both excited and concerned. We’ve never had this happen so late in life—typically the lost emerge later than usual and we find them as we did the vet you’ve spoken of. When it happens, we can have their Guardians notified and get them inducted. This is unprecedented, Guardian 1989.”

The disembodied voice bit always gives me the giggles, and I canna wait to share this James Bond shite with Peanut when she gets inducted. Being a Guardian without a charge for most of my life was bollocks—all I could do was train for the day I got tapped. The day it happened, I was on tour with a famous rock band, working their stage costumes and I had to drop off to locate my new bestie.

Lucky for me, my charge was feckin’ amazing, and I didn’t have to hide in the shadows. Some Guardians get right arseholes, and if they didn’t grow up together, they spend their time lurking like a stalker.

“Look, ye ruddy control freak. There’s more at stake than some grand plan. They tied myself and a few other inductees to her, and the longer we keep this secret, the more likely it is she’ll cut us all out and go on the bloody run,” I growl, my frustration making my tone sharp.

“Your personal needs are not our concern, 1989. The other lost to us by an...ally, of sorts, brought one to us. This organization is completing research of the utmost importance to us now that we are aware they have a sample of this individual. We rarely engage with this sort of group, but they have proximity and unparalleled access to the lost one. Their research may hold the key to the mystery we’ve been trying to solve for hundreds of years. We may save everyone if they are successful.”

This whole situation is minus craic, and I’m about to lose my marbles. They’re worried about some greater good for all of us, and I’m worried about my friend. She may have had Bane as her Guardian as a child, but once I got assigned, she became mine.

Speaking of which…

“Where the bloody feck is Bane? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the bitch, and Peanut hasn’t mentioned her being at the school. When is she coming back?”

A sigh echoes over the line, and I’m sure I’m trying their patience. I never know if I’m talking to one handler, a room full of cheeky bastards, or a sodding goddess in a temple. I do know I always get this reaction because I’m not the type to take orders and hup-to. I ask questions and demand answers—which have kept both of us alive, thank you very much.

“Agent 1989, you notice more than most. Agent 302 is meeting with Agent 1985 about the lost one she has reconnected with. 302 is attempting to keep 1985 from doing what you do—going off half-cocked and ruining our ability to monitor without involvement. Since 1985’s charge was not only reported by our ally, but through seeking 1985 in her home, we must tread carefully. The lost one that is now found is extremely powerful, and connected across the globe, both through the human world and the supernatural. Negotiations are beyond delicate.”

Frowning, I try to remember which Guardian is 1985. We get together once a year to bitch about our charges, the handlers, and the world on the whole. But I can’t seem to remember ever meeting 1985. She must not attend, and for that to be true, they shamed her for losing track of her charge. I hope she’s able to reclaim her heritage and help rather than stay on the outside. It’s freezing in our world without connections to the larger society.

“If you could let me know when other Guardians are passing through this place, I’d be chuffed, mate. I need to know who’s safe and who’s not, because we have some issues here. I’m handling it with the help of the other agents, but I’m also distracted. I have to secure a place of my own so I can set up all the things I need for the assignment.”

I know they won’t, but it never hurts to ask. At least then I know if it’s a rogue shifter, a threat, or another of my kind slinking around Peanut’s house at night.

“Find Cantwell and Boone. Arrange what you need through them. Agent 302 will return in a week, and it will please you to know that Agent 1998 and her…” The pause is deafening as the idiot on the phone flounders. “... associates will join you in your abode. Expense the construction, labor, and supplies, but get it done before they arrive. Have Boon throw his weight around if need be. I want every Guardian in that town on high alert.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. They took my concern about the night wanderer and determined it’s a threat to everyone in town. It doesn’t matter that three-quarters are inductees, retired agents, retired Guardians or even active agents and Guardians. All the big wigs heard is there is danger lurking and we must protect Project Chimera.

Politics can suck donkey balls, that’s for bloody sure.

“I’ll do as suggested, but I am concerned that we don’t know enough about the threat to flood this town with foreigners and new people. It’s a wee bit backwards here, and I’m drawing enough attention. Agent 1998 and her crew will stand out like a virgin in a strip club,” I chuckle, my lips curving. I don’t mind Agent 1998; in fact, I dig her.

We had a few wild times before I got assigned to Peanut, and her charge was the hottie vet. Once he got inducted, she became a freelancer, helping other Guardians when needed and traveling the world with her two lovers. That was the bit that gave my echoing voice pause, and most of our species have multiple mates or spouses makes it even funnier. Why such a struggle to talk about something so mundane? Guardians are polyamorous by nature and necessity, given our lives of travel and vigilance.

Do the weirdos who run all of this stick with one mate or lover? How odd and old school.

“We have decided that you will cloak yourself in a more normal speech pattern, and not seem like an outsider to the people who live in Project Chimera’s headquarters. We will instruct Agent 1998 and her...associates...to blend in more thoroughly when they arrive. Get to work, 1989. We must confer with the elders and with the colleagues who are running their own experiment with one of our subjects. It would be tragic if they somehow destroyed hundreds of years of work to achieve a short-sighted goal related to money.”

“Let me get this straight… You feckers think that if I talk without an accent and get a house, we’ll be able to hide four new people that look like we do in a small, Southern town in America. How out of touch are you people? Do any of you ever leave the Conclave at all?”

If we were talking about Europe or Asia, this wouldn’t be an issue. Hell, if we were talking about New York or L.A., no one would even notice us. But here, in the land of Vineyard bloody Vines and Lilly puking Pulitzer, we do not blend in. They did not train us to blend into places like this.

Lost ones gravitate towards large cities with diverse populations—we’re not sure why, but given that the areas where the Society’s various projects are located are rural, it makes sense. A need to escape the grasp of the small and embrace being lost in the new is appealing to those who don’t feel as though they belong.

“Figure it out, O’Flanagan! We select Guardians from the strongest bloodlines, and are raised with immeasurable skills. You do not need us to give you instructions. Your obstinance is tiring. We expect a report by the end of the week.”

The line goes dead and I drop my head. It sucks great yak balls, but the great git on the phone is correct. Chance did not choose this life for me. I’ve earned it every day since I was wee, and I can figure this out. I have a little time before Julia and her men arrive, so I should find that idiot Boone and get started. He can’t ignore a direct order, either, and he’ll have to help me bend the rules to find a fucking supe team that can construct, detail, and then hide a massive building project in a town full of nosey Southerners.

Guess I’ll have to be a miracle worker, huh?

* * *

“Look, leprechaun. I don’t have the time to?—”

“This was not a request, Boone. They said ‘get Cantwell and Boone to sort it out’. Here I am, and here you are, so sort it out!” I screech, rolling my eyes into the back of my head.

I don’t have the foggiest how this bastard is going to get Peanut to forgive him. He might have had a good reason for hot footing it after they had their moment, but his bloody alpha tendencies were going to be the death of him. Edgar can’t keep his own mouth shut long enough to keep his size thirteen feet out of it. If I know our girl—and I sodding do—she’s going to make him squirm for a dog’s age until she even lets him attempt to explain himself.

“Fine. I’ll go to Jamie and get the deed settled. He can finagle Nelia with some excuse. I’ll even call the bitchy elves for you, but you’re dealing with the pointy-eared little shits. I don’t have the patience or self-control not to eat the damned things when they mouth off,” he growls.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. I cannot imagine Peanut dealing with one of him, much less him and the other two in tandem. How is she going to wrangle that much dick and attitude without losing her bloody brain cells? The testosterone is drowning me and we’re only on the feckin’ phone. “Thank you, Edgar. I will mention to Peanut how helpful you were.”

“Fuck off, O’Flanagan. I don’t need your help with my drugar. She’ll see reason soon enough.”

“Edgar, you might as well buy stock in tissues if that’s going to be how you handle her. Jolene Athena Whitley will never let you tell her what to do. She’s like a bolt of lightning on a spring day—she goes where she wants and shocks the shit out of you when she gets there. But good luck with your grumpy asshole schtick.”

The line goes click on my end this time, and I giggle at myself. I’m not wrong, and even if the good docs get it, this professional moron does not. I cannot wait to watch Peanut put him in his place.

It’s going to be grand.