telling me if you can’t be honest for the sake of honesty, you’re not really being honest at all.”
The man tipped his head to one side. “Your mother sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She was,” Bryan said. He turned back to the rack of headphones beside the counter.
The stranger cleared his throat, and Bryan turned again, surprised to see him still there. “I don’t mean to pry, but, uh…do you go to school around here?”
Bryan shook his head. “I’m taking a semester off, but I have a private tutor so I won’t fall behind.”
“Ah. A private tutor, is it? That’s very wise. One of the teachers, I assume?”
“No, she’s not teaching right—” He bit back the rest of the sentence, as his father’s coaching and warnings came whispering through his brain. He was talking about Beth Slocum, the woman they were here to protect. A woman in hiding. “I mean, I don’t really know what else she might do. I’m brand-new in town.”
“I only ask because I’m a teacher myself.” The man dug a card from his pocket and handed it to Bryan.
“You teach here in Blackberry?” Bryan asked.
“Well, it’s not official yet, but I expect to be hired any day now. What subjects are you taking with this tutor? Maybe I can offer to cover the ones she doesn’t?”
“No, thanks,” Bryan said, deciding to err on the side of caution. “I don’t want to take on too much at once. But, uh, I’ll keep you in mind if I need another tutor.”
“You do that. And thank you again for your honesty. Your mother would be proud.”
Bryan had to swallow past the lump in his throat as he watched the man go. Then he looked at the card. Oliver Abercrombie. There was a telephone number, but no address. What an odd man.
Mordecai got into his car—a car far below his standards, but one that would stand out far less than his former one would have done. It was a nondescript brown sedan, five years old and nothing fancy. Nothing noticeable or memorable. He was dying to get back to searching for Lizzie.
No, not yet. You have to stay.
You have to watch the boy. We sent you into that shop for a reason, Mordecai. When will you learn to trust us?
“But Lizzie—”
She’s not going anywhere, Mordecai. And finding the heir to your powers and your gifts is just as important as finding Lizzie.
He blinked. “The boy is the heir?”
He could be. Only you can decide that, Mordecai, and that is the primary mission right now.
Maybe it should be, he thought. It wasn’t, though. To him, nothing was more important than finding Lizzie, reclaiming her, purifying and redeeming her. He supposed that was yet another symptom of his flawed human form. It was selfish. The will of Spirit must always come first.
That’s right, Mordecai. You’re a tool. A messenger. A servant. So stay and watch the boy.
He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. Forgive me my sins. I surrender all, Father. Not my will, but thine, be done. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” His throat felt tight, and his eyes hot and damp.
Here he comes!
Mordecai looked up, brushing the moisture from his eyes so he could see as the boy came out of the shop. He went into a couple of others but didn’t stay long anywhere, and finally, with a few bags in his hands, headed to a white pickup truck in the town parking lot. He started it up. Mordecai started his own vehicle, as well, and followed the boy home.
He lived, apparently, in a Victorian house two miles past Blackberry. The style of the place was similar to the one Mordecai was renting in Bonnie Brook, six miles in the other direction, except that it wasn’t as well kept. It showed signs of neglect, needed paint, and the lawn was a weed patch.
Mordecai did everything he could to ensure he wouldn’t lose track of the boy. He pulled over and memorized the address, the directions, the license plate number of the pickup truck. It was nearly noon. He whispered, “Can I go and search for Lizzie now?”
No.
He swallowed, lowering his head. “The school might have phoned for me. God knows Nancy Stillwater has to be quite ill by now.”
You have your cell phone.
“They may have left a message on the machine. If I don’t return the call, they’ll hire someone else.”
Your lack of faith will be punished, Mordecai!
Pain—splitting, racking, blinding pain—blazed through his skull. Mordecai slammed his palms to either side of his head, squeezed his eyes shut tight and grated his teeth. Pressure built inside his head as if it were being inflated, until finally it felt as if it would surely burst.
And then it was gone.
He lay limp against the seat of the car, panting, trembling, his cheeks damp with tears. “All right. All right. I’ll stay.”’
Use the cell to check your messages, and keep your eyes on the boy.
“Yes, yes. I’ll obey.”
Chapter Three
Friday
“No, Bryan, you cannot stay home. I let you slide in the city, but that’s over. You’re going to school. You’re going to register, and you’re going to take classes. This is your senior year. It’s important.”
Beth couldn’t help but hear Joshua’s raised voice as she stepped up onto the porch to join Maude for their morning tea. The front door was open. The screen door was closed, but sound traveled right through that. Maude looked up, shaking her head sadly. She was in the middle of her morning injection—one before every meal was the routine—and she pulled the hypodermic from her arm and set it on the tray table.
“Important to you, maybe,” Bryan said. He wasn’t shouting, but he wasn’t quiet, either.
“No, Bry, it’s important to you. To your future. I told you before we left Manhattan, you’d have to register at the high school here.”
“And I told you to forget about it.”
“If you keep letting school slide, Bryan, you’ll never get into a good college.”
“I don’t give a damn about college.”
“Since when?”
“Just leave me alone, okay?”
Beth went slowly to her chair as Maude poured their tea. “Doesn’t sound like they’re doing too well, Maude.”
“They aren’t. But it will get better.”
“Maybe
