After Raghib left, the temperature dropped. Flurries accumulated in the grass.
The One.
What a cliché. She couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. She didn’t buy the concept of—what was this even called? Magic?
She didn’t feel like The One. The Protector. She couldn’t protect jack shit.
Just ask Bruce’s wife, or Elizabeth’s parents.
Ann had a sudden need to make sure Maggie was okay. Elizabeth had only been Maggie’s age when the Stabber cut her life short. She jumped in her truck, turned it on, and ran the wipers. The snow was still fairly light, but that could change in an instant. She cranked up the heat, flipped on the headlights, and set off toward the other side of town to the newer residential district where the houses were only forty years old instead of eighty-plus.
The snowflakes thickened. Visibility worsened as the sun slipped behind King Mountain. The defroster in the old beast wasn’t up to snuff. Ann wiped at the glass, and her headlights caught the figure of a child walking with her shoulders hunched against the storm.
Ann swerved. The truck spun and thudded to a stop when the ass-end slammed into a telephone pole. She jumped out and ran to the sidewalk.
“Holy sh–crap, kid,” Ann said. Maggie stood shivering and wet without a coat. Ann tore off her own jacket and wrapped it around the girl. She stuffed her into the truck.
“What are you doing out here without a coat?” Ann demanded.
Maggie’s teeth chattered so fiercely she couldn’t talk.
“I’ll get you home,” Ann said.
“No!” Maggie yelled. Her face contorted, and she started to cry. The mark tingled. “They were fighting. Teresa hates me.”
“Okay, okay. Calm down, please calm down. I’ll take you to the station, warm you up, and we’ll call your dad.”
Maggie leaned forward to adjust the vent, and Ann’s jacket fell away. She had the book clutched against her chest.
“You carry that thing with you everywhere?”
Maggie didn’t answer. Ann maneuvered the truck back onto the road. A minute later, she drove past the station.
“That’s the sta—hey, where are you going?” Maggie asked.
“I’m sorry, kid. Protocol. I gotta check if your parents are home first.” Guilt settled in Ann’s gut. Maggie kept shivering despite the blasting heat.
At Derrick’s house, lights flooded from the front room. She peeked in the window next to the door and thought she saw movement down the hall, but she couldn’t be sure. She knocked, rang the bell, and waited. No one answered.
Ann climbed back into her truck.
“Wh–Wh–where are we g–going now?” Maggie asked.
“The station to call your parents.”
Maggie slumped back against the seat. Her teeth chattered so violently Ann thought she might break a tooth. Her lips were a little blue. Ann needed to get the kid warmed up, and from what she’d seen, they didn’t have a lot of options at the station.
“Change of plan,” Ann said. “We’ll call your dad from my house.”
Two blocks later she pulled into her driveway and lifted Maggie out. She carried her to the front door. The book radiated against the mark on her chest.
“It knows . . .” Maggie whispered through her vibrating jaw.
Ann gently shushed her and went inside. She deposited Maggie on the couch and pulled a bunch of blankets out of the linen closet.
“Can you put the book down?” Ann asked. Maggie released it, and Ann put it on the coffee table on top of the Stabber file. She threw all six blankets over Maggie’s shoulders and tucked them around her. “You are now a Maggie burrito,” she said.
Maggie smiled through the chattering. “W–what h–h–happened in h–here?” she asked.
Ann glanced around. Oh, yeah. The house was still wrecked.
“Oh, just looking for something.” Ann went to the kitchen and opened the freezer, not sure what she was looking for now.
“Did you find it?” Maggie asked. “The necklace, right?”
Ann closed the freezer door. “What.” The question came out without the inflection.
“Did you find your dad’s necklace?” Maggie asked again.
“What are you talking about?” Ann’s voice was an octave too high. Her ears were on fire.
Maggie nodded toward the book since her arms were swaddled against her body.
“Flip to the last page,” she said.
Ann sidled into the room and sat on the couch next to the little burrito girl, who struggled and finally got her arms free. Maggie opened the book and flipped through the pages.
“See?” Maggie pointed. All but the lower left corner of the page was missing. Ann leaned in closer to read the word “Logan” followed by a comma. The shape of the tear was familiar. She retrieved the rolled-up paper from the wooden box. If it fit, lined up exactly, she would likely pass out. Or maybe just, who knows, die, or something.
Ann unrolled the piece of paper and held it to the book. Perfect fit. Ragged edges and all. Logan comma Bram. Beneath that, Bram Logan’s Offspring. Whoever wrote the list wrote it before Ann was even born.
“The missing part,” Maggie whispered. “Mr. Bram is your dad, right?”
Ann nodded, uncertain of what might fly out of her mouth if she dared open it.
Maggie flipped to the middle of the book.
“You can read this now, can’t you?”
Ann looked at Maggie. The girl’s eyes sparkled with urgency. Ann glanced at the book. Though it was still in—what did Maggie call it?—Coptic Egyptian, words flashed in her mind as her eyes darted across them.
She took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Yes.”
Maggie jumped out of the blankets and hugged her. “It’s you! I knew it. The book told me—like Baba said it would. It’s you!” Her little fingers toyed with the chain at the back of Ann’s neck. She leaned away and pulled the necklace from beneath Ann’s shirt. Her eyes widened.
“This is it,” Maggie said. “This was Mr. Bram’s Protector necklace. You don’t need it, of course, because you’re you.” The little girl shifted her hand to Ann’s shirt collar and pushed it aside. Ann swallowed hard. “The mark.”
Maggie pulled her own shirt collar down and showed Ann she had a similar brand on her chest in the shape of an Ankh. The most popular Egyptian symbol—meaning “the breath of life.”
“Bonded by blood and soul,” Maggie whispered. “Did it hurt?”
Ann nodded, afraid to speak.
“Mine, too. It happened on my birthday.” She let go of her shirt. “I didn’t tell my dad.”
“Why not?”
Maggie shrugged and met Ann’s eyes. “I think I knew he wasn’t the one.” She scrunched her nose. “He probably would have freaked out.”
“Where did you learn all of this?”
“My Baba told me. When he sent me away, he said you would find me,” she said. “Daddy didn’t find me. I was given to him.” Maggie touched the necklace. “Baba told me you would know what to do.” Maggie’s honey-colored, bright and expectant eyes met Ann’s again.
Ann didn’t want to tell the girl she didn’t have a damn clue what to do, that she had just learned all this herself from someone Maggie thought was dead.
“Let’s call your dad.” Ann got to her feet and stumbled to the kitchen. She held onto the counter and reached for the phone. “What’s your number?”
Maggie shook her head and clamped her lips shut.
“I have a phone book. I can just look it up.”
“Please, Ann. Please don’t call him yet.”
“He’s probably worried sick. Don’t you want to at least tell him you’re safe?”
Ann opened the phone book and flipped to the H section. She dialed D. Hart. The phone rang and rang and finally went to voicemail.
“Hey Derrick, it’s Ann. I found Maggie wandering the streets in this storm without a coat. We’re at my place if you want to come get her.” She hung up. “He’s not there.” She moved back into the living room. “He’s probably out looking for you.”
Ann knelt in front of the TV and started picking up the DVDs to avoid talking to—or even looking at—Maggie.
“You have to take the book,” Maggie said. “You have to keep it safe. It’s your job as the Protector.”
“I am a whole lot of things. But I really don’t think I’m a Protector.” Denial was still her defense.
“But the book says—right there.” Maggie pointed to the torn page, which, without someone holding it down, had curled up. “You’re Bram Logan’s daughter. You’re next on the list.”
“Just because my dad’s name and his offspring are on some old list doesn’t mean anything.”
“I can prove it.” Maggie’s voice had taken on a smart-ass tone Ann didn’t like. The girl was determined. She’d give her that.
“How are you going to prove it?” Ann paused in alphabetizing the DVDs.
“You’ll see.” She crossed her arms and looked smug. “Come closer.”
Ann sat on the coffee table again, across from Maggie.
“Let me see your hand,” Maggie said.
Ann held out her right one. Maggie brought it close to her face. Ann jerked away.
“I’m not gonna to bite you.” Maggie laughed. Ann raised an eyebrow. Then she held her hand out again.
Maggie leaned in and blew a steady stream of air onto Ann’s skin. A silvery-blue glow blossomed in her palm.