“Don’t let them keep you up too late,” I tell Joshua with a wink.

  “Yeah well, I have my stock of Red Bull handy in the fridge,” he says, giving me a shy smile before turning back to his work.

  Mason reappears, buttoning the top button of his coat which reminds me to put my own jacket back on. He holds his hand out to me.

  “Shall we?”

  I put my hand into his and find us standing in the Watcher station in Tunica.

  It’s a madhouse as usual on a night like this. Most of the tearers are upset, some to the point of being inconsolable. As I look into the glassed in waiting room, which looks a lot like a police precinct with its array of desks and computers, I see some of my fellow Watcher agents try to consol the tearers placed in their care.

  At the front desk, Albert, our dispatcher, looks up from his computer screen. Not being an agent, Albert isn’t forced to meet the physical requirements Watcher agents have to adhere to. We are all required to maintain a healthy weight and be able to physically deal with the demands of our job. At almost 270 pounds, Albert is sometimes called Fat Albert by some of my colleagues. A nickname I have never used myself.

  “Hey Jess,” Albert’s eyes look from me to Mason and I see him visibly flinch slightly when he sees the scar over Mason’s left eye. “Who’s your friend?”

  “No one of importance,” Mason tells him, apparently wanting to keep his identity concealed.

  “I guess you heard about my accident?” I ask Albert.

  “Yeah, Isaiah told us about it. Said you were all right though.” Albert walks to a lock box on the wall and picks out a set of car keys. He walks back to the counter and hands them over to me. “He said you would need a new car too. We already sent out a road crew to clean up the mess. Can you tell me what happened? Isaiah wouldn’t go into too much detail.”

  “Sorry,” I reply, truly apologetic. “If he didn’t say much I probably shouldn’t either.”

  “Ok, Jess,” Albert says, clearly disappointed but understanding you should never over step your boundaries where a Watcher is concerned.

  “I won’t be around much anymore. I’ve been reassigned to another project for a while,” I say, realizing for the first time I won’t actually miss working with many of the people at my station. Albert is the only one I’ve ever considered a friend.

  “Yeah, Isaiah told me that too. Sure gonna miss seeing you around here,” Albert says and I know he’s sincere in his sentiment.

  “I’ll come by to see you when I can,” I tell him. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise to bring you some of Mama Lynn’s sugar cookies when she gets them done.”

  Albert smiles and rubs his rotund belly. “I really shouldn’t but you know how I love her cookin’. I won’t complain at all if you bring me a tin full.”

  I smile at Albert. “You can count on it.”

  I wave goodbye and Mason follows me out the front of the building to the parking lot.

  When we get into the new Dodge Pheonix, the automated system asks, “What is your destination, agent?”

  “Manual control,” I tell the computer.

  “Switching off automated driving system. Manual control enabled. Drive safely.”

  I crank up the car and leave the parking lot to head south down Hwy 61 again.

  “You don’t let the computer drive for you?” Mason asks.

  “I don’t trust computers that much. They’re not infallible. Plus, I like to feel in control of where I’m going.”

  “Can’t say I’m too surprised to hear that.”

  I glance over at Mason and see he’s actually grinning at his own conclusion about me. The expression makes him look more relaxed and I find myself wondering how often he lets himself smile.

  He must feel me staring at him because he turns his head to look at me. I quickly look away feeling slightly flush for being caught.

  “Does it bother you?” He asks in a low voice.

  I glance in his direction briefly before returning my eyes to the road.

  “Does what bother me?” I ask, not having a clue what he’s referring to.

  “My scar.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see him absently touch his only visible imperfection.

  “No,” I answer truthfully, “it doesn’t bother me. Does it hurt?”

  “It did when it was first made,” he confesses, letting his hand fall back onto his lap as he continues to look at me.

  “If it bothers you, why not go to a plastic surgeon to have it fixed?”

  Mason lets out a harsh laugh and turns his head to look out the side window of the car. “It’s not that kind of wound. I’m the only one who can heal it.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about but decide to let the matter drop. I feel like I might be delving into a deeply personal matter that is none of my business considering we’ve just met one another.

  I turn off of Hwy 61 onto Cypress Lane. The town I live in is small and only has one traffic light and one convenience store. Being so close to Tunica, the children are allowed to go there for school since Cypress Hollow is unable to sustain one. As we come to the red light in the middle of town, I slow down and come to a stop to wait for it to turn green.

  “What is that?” Mason asks, confusion in his voice as he continues to look out his side window.

  I glance over. “It’s our convenience store.”

  “Why does it have those large pink dog paw cut-outs mounted on top of it?”

  “Beau just never took them off when they shut down the dog grooming business after his dad died. That’s why the store’s called Paw Paw’s.”

  I hear Mason let out something close to a real laugh but it is so short I’m not sure if I imagined it or if it really happened.

  The light turns green and I drive through until I approach the street I live on, Willow Bend.

  There are no people out tonight because anyone with a lick of sense knows you shouldn’t be out on the night the Tear opens. The street lights illuminate the quaint neighborhood I reside in with its white picket fenced in homes and Christmas decorated lawns. I see Mama Lynn’s house at the end of the street and almost reach for my sunglasses.

  For years, Mama Lynn and Margaret Lawson have had a silent duel over who could place the most Christmas lights on their homes and in their front yards. Since they live right across the street from one another, the end of our neighborhood never goes dark during the Christmas season.

  “Isn’t that against your laws?” Mason asks me, looking straight ahead at Mama Lynn and Ms. Margaret’s homes.

  “Not really,” I say. “I suppose if they lived in the middle of the neighborhood instead of at the end of a dead end street there might be some complaints. But Mama Lynn and Ms. Margaret have been decorating like that for years now. Everyone expects it.”

  I pull into my red brick drive way.

  “You have a nice home,” Mason says, looking at my house.

  “Thanks, I just had it built last year.”

  I had to buy two lots to build my dream home but money wasn’t a problem thanks to my parents. The large, country style, light olive painted clapboard house with white trim was exactly what you would expect to find in a quiet southern neighborhood like mine. With its three bedrooms, vaulted ceiling great-room and large kitchen it was a home I felt comfortable living in, and one I could see raising a family of my own one day.

  Mason gets out of the car and follows me as I walk up the brick sidewalk and steps. I turn around to face him when I reach the porch.

  “What time should I be ready for you to pick me up in the morning?” I ask, wanting to make our goodbyes on the porch instead of inside the house.

  Since he said he could only phase to places he’d been to before, I quickly came to the decision I would not let him inside my home. All I needed was for him to pop in whenever he deemed it necessary.

  From the look on Mason’s face I can tell he had expected an invitation inside, but he doesn’t say anything besides, “I’ll be here at eight. Allan should have the results of your blood work by then and we can discuss what he discovers.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach at the reminder.

  I nod. “All right. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

  I wait until after Mason phases away before turning to slide my key into the front door lock.

  “Well,” I hear a strange male voice say behind me.

  I whirl around to face a man I don’t recognize. He’s tall with shoulder length blonde hair and a muscular build. From the glow of the street lights behind him, I can tell he’s handsome, with lips spread into a smile most girls would probably swoon over, but I’m not most girls. For the second time that night, I see a glow around someone I have never seen before. The man before me is surrounded by what appears to my eyes as an ominous black glow.

  I feel my hand involuntarily lower towards my plasma pistol on my right thigh.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  The man shrugs. “I’m not sure. Can you tell me what you are?”

  Chapter 4I feel like pulling my pistol and shooting the stranger for just asking the question.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get off my property. I don’t know you and I don’t care to. Now please leave before I call the police.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. I detect a slight Australian accent in his voice. He makes a move to take a step forward, but I draw my pistol before he gets a chance to lift his foot.

  He pulls his hands out of his trench coat pockets and holds them up to show me he isn’t carrying anything.

  “I’m not here to harm you in any way, agent,” he says. “I just wanted to meet you in person. It’s not everyday I find someone who can kill a demon without actually doing anything.”

  I feel my heart start to race faster. How does he know what I did?

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “You can call me Lucian. Might I ask what your name is?”

  “Agent Riley,” I say, not feeling like I should be on a first name basis with the man standing in front of me.

  “Well, Agent Riley, I can assure you that your pistol is not necessary. I’m not here to harm you, just talk.”

  “What do we have to talk about?”

  “Well, I would certainly caution you about the company you keep. Has Mason even told you what he is yet?”

  “That’s not really any of your concern,” I say, realizing he’s hit on a sensitive point.

  “No, it’s not,” Lucian agrees, “but it is a concern for you. I would find out who it is I’m associating with if I were you, Agent Riley. And if he refuses to tell you, well, I guess that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

  As if he sensed we were speaking about him, Mason materializes beside Lucian holding my Kevlar vest in one of his hands.

  As soon as the two men look at each other it’s like the night air is suddenly charged with electricity. Mason’s body tenses like he’s holding himself back from beating the other man to a pulp.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Lucian smiles at Mason like he’s made a funny joke. “I was just telling Agent Riley here that she should get to know the true you better, Mason. How goes the search by the way? Any luck?”

  Mason’s jaw muscles tighten. “Do you really think I would answer that question?”

  Lucian chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. It’s more like he’s laughing at Mason, not Mason’s answer.

  “And how about you?” Mason asks. “Found what you’re looking for yet?”

  Lucian’s smile slowly disappears. “Perhaps.

  Each new year brings it’s own small miracle, but I have a feeling this might be my year. I’ll just have to see what tonight’s reaping has brought to me.”

  “Well, I would wish you luck but you know I wouldn’t mean it.”

  “I could say the same old friend.”

  “We were never friends,” Mason says in a low menacing voice. “I don’t make friends with traitors.”

  “Watch your tongue boy,” Lucian’s voice booms, “or have you forgotten I can wipe out your existence with one touch?”

  “If you’re scared of me, by all means do it and stop talking about it every time we meet,” Mason says. “Your bluff has become a bore…what name are you going by now anyway?”

  “Lucian.”

  “Is that how you choose the bodies? Wasn’t there a Lucas once? Why not just go by your real name?”

  “Alas, that name has been tainted by the monkeys on this planet. Far too obvious and conspicuous now.” Lucian turns to look at me. “I must be saying goodnight, Agent Riley. Unfortunately, our time together was cut far too short. Perhaps next time we’ll have a chance to get to know one another a little better.”

  Lucian phases, leaving Mason and I staring at an empty space.

  I slide my pistol into the holster on my thigh.

  “Who was he? Another Watcher?” I ask.

  “It’s a long story,” Mason says, looking up at me.

  “I have coffee,” I say, turning back to my door silently inviting my very first Watcher into my home.

  After I start a pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen, I find Mason in my living room looking at the Christmas tree set up in front of the large pained glass window which faces towards the backyard.

  “This doesn’t quite look like your taste,” Mason says, examining a white crocheted angel, one of many, hanging on the tree.

  “That’s because it isn’t. Mama Lynn put it up for me.”

  “She’s the woman who adopted you, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You got lucky to find someone so generous.”

  “I know. A lot of Tear children ended up on the streets or worse. I kinda hit the adoption lottery. I’m not sure what would have happened to me if I’d been sent anywhere else.”

  Mason turns to face me. “Why do you still live here?” He asks, his eyes travelling around my home. “You’re a millionaire. Why not live somewhere else? And why did you choose to become a Watcher agent? You obviously don’t need the money. You could do whatever you want.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the one digging for answers,” I tease, wondering why he’s asking me so many personal questions. “Money can’t buy my parents back,” I say, deciding to answer his questions.

  “What if you never get them back?” Mason asks.

  I shrug. “Then I don’t get them back. But I have to try. If I don’t try, I’ll always wonder if I could have done more. I don’t want doubt following me around for the rest of my life.”

  “How old were you when the Tear appeared?”

  “Seven.”

  “You seem wiser than most twenty-two year olds I’ve met.”

  “I think everyone became a little wiser when the Tear appeared. We didn’t have much choice. It was either learn how to deal with the changes or go nuts. Crazy doesn’t work for me.”

  I hear the coffee pot buzzer go off and head towards the kitchen.

  “How do you drink your coffee?” I ask.

  “Black.”

  While I’m in the kitchen, Mason asks, “Would you like me to start a fire in the fireplace for you?”

  “Sure. Matches are on the mantel in the silver box,” I call back.

  I’ve never liked black coffee so I spend a little time adding in sugar and heavy cream to my cup. By the time I get back to the living room, Mason is still crouched in front of the fireplace watching the flaming embers. I walk up to him and hand him his cup. After he takes it, he doesn’t make like he intends to move, so I sit down on the built up brick hearth and wait for him to speak.

  “So, it’s my turn to answer your questions,” he finally says, dragging his eyes away from the flames to my face. “What do you want to know?”

  “What are the Watchers?” I ask. It’s a question the regular people of the world have been asking for fifteen years but no one has provided an answer.

  “You’ll need to have an open mind about everything I tell you,” he says to me. “And everything I say to you can never be repeated to anyone else. I must have your promise on that or I can’t tell you anything. Can you make that type of promise to me?”

  I nod slowly, not sure I like the way this conversation is starting. “I won’t tell anyone what you say to me. You have my word.”

  Mason nods his head indicating he believes my promise to him.

  “The Watchers are angels.”

  Mason pauses like he’s waiting for his statement to sink into my brain.

  “So you’re telling me you’re an angel? Like from Heaven?”

  “Yes.”

  If anyone else had made such a ridiculous statement, I would have told them to get the hell out of my house. But, as I look at Mason, I know what he’s telling me is the truth, or at least the truth as he knows it. If I allow myself to believe in angels and demons, I have to allow for the possibility of there being a God, something I’m not willing to believe in as fact just yet.

  “So why are you here?” I ask. “Why are you on Earth and not Heaven?”

  “A long time ago, we were sent here by God to teach the human race,” Mason explains. “We were supposed to act as your guides and observe your behaviors.”

  “Supposed to? You make it sound like you failed.”

  Mason looks back into the fire, either unwilling or unable to meet my eyes. “We did the one thing God forbade us from doing while we were here. We married human women and attempted to have children with them. We did it because we all yearned to have what human men had, a family of our own.”

  “And I take it your God didn’t like you doing what He told you not to?”

  “No, He most definitely did not. We were exiled from Heaven because of our sin and forced to live here.”

  “Was that so bad?” I ask, not quite seeing that as a punishment. “I mean you wanted to have families here, right? If you didn’t have to go back to Heaven then you could just stay here and be with them.”

  “Because of what we did,” Mason says, his voice sounding haunted by his memories, “our families were made to pay the price. When our wives became pregnant, the children within them consumed their bodies while they grew in their wombs, killing the mothers. And after the children were born they were cursed to live a half life.”

 

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