Edge of Seventeen (2 page)

“Why do you want her? This Incarnate? Why
would we do this for you?”

Bernadette’s jaw tightened and her eyes
narrowed further. Dissent, even merely questions, weren’t something
she tolerated from subordinates. And she certainly wouldn’t
tolerate it from a pack of dogs.

“You have heard of the Incarnate, have you
not?” Though Stephen’s expression didn’t change, she continued as
though he had answered her. “Then you know of her great power and
of what she means to our community. The Incarnate is a being unlike
any other that exists in our world. Born human, she is the link
between the profane and the divine. Incarnates rise as they are
needed in society. For a century, there has been no tell of one.
Yet, if you recall, the lore on them is rich through the stories of
countless faiths and countless epochs. An Incarnate can cause
floods to rise for forty years or heal a vast population from
plague.”

As Stephen considered her request to
intervene, the room filled with silence. Bernadette glared at the
Alpha, awaiting his response. It was a good contract and a
particularly profitable one as any contract for the matron witch of
the Northwest would be. The job, on the other hand, seemed risky.
They were accustomed to taking risks, but this was the
Incarnate.

There were at least two strong Alphas living
between Washington state and Oregon, yet the Seattle matriarch
reached out to them for this mission. Outside the area, there were
at least a dozen more who would have taken the job, no questions
asked. But Bernadette needed soldiers, and she needed expedited
services. Stephen boasted experience as a Special Forces commander
in the last two major wars. His was a pack comprised of former
military, other SpecOps, some-time mercenaries, rogue enforcers,
and the like. No other pack in the greater Northwest claimed that
level of combined experience. The Alaska pack was her only
choice.

“What is it you think you’re going to
accomplish by bringing her here? Why don’t you just ask us to
terminate her?”

“I believe I am in a unique position to teach
the Incarnate her true purpose. I am confident that, with our
intervention, my coven can rear this child into a savior for our
kind. With proper guidance, an Incarnate can uplift our world.
However, left to exist in the world with nothing but the erratic
whims of the mundane, she can wreak havoc to catastrophic
proportions.”

“You say that the Incarnate poses a threat
and we all know the stories about her incomparable power. If we’re
going to face her, then we know we’ll be doing so at great risk.
I’m not about to put my men on the front lines of some unwinnable
supernatural war.”

For this, Bernadette had no answer but that
the Incarnate was, of yet, only fourteen. She was still no more
than a little girl and that was her greatest weakness.

“It is likely that your men won’t be harmed.
Of course, it is possible, but it’s not likely. She is
human
, after all. I’m confident that you will find that this
child is no great threat to your lives.”

A glint shone in Bernadette’s eyes. The
fifty-some year-old witch raised a mocking eyebrow to Stephen and
smirked. This was not the kind old grandmother on those television
ads. The Bernadette that stood before them, spouting the perils of
allowing the Incarnate to live freely was an angry woman; aged more
so by her desire to acquire a necessary asset than by the years
that she had roamed on this earth.

“Are you telling me that your elite
werewolves are afraid of taking on a fourteen year-old girl who
hasn’t yet risen to her full potential? A mere
child
who is
in the care of
nuns
, and would likely be shocked to terror
by facing any one of you, even in human form?”

The witch leveled her mocking insult at the
Alpha, silently daring him to reciprocate. But Stephen, true to
form, kept a firm grip of his wolf, and let the woman try her best
and fail to incite him.

“Then how have you failed in taking her for
yourself?” Stephen cut back with a grin. “You’re
Bernadette
Archer
, great sorceress of the Western United States. With all
your witchcraft and all your millions, you come, instead, to my
men. How is that, Ms. Archer?”

The witch’s face reddened. No one referred to
her by her full name.
No one.
Bernadette was the name she
went by when speaking casually and, among her coven, she was Mother
Bernadette. “Ms. Archer” landed like a stone in her gut. Her jaw
clenched so loudly that the werewolves mouths salivated with the
urgency of fight. She was testing the Alpha, and no matter how much
they chose to contain it, they were still beasts of battle. As
Bernadette’s anger rose, the wolves threatened to tear free of
their flesh. For younger, less skilled werewolves, any insolence
thrown at the face of their Alpha would have led to a most certain
catastrophe, but the three Betas remained steadfast.

“We have failed,” she said, the words coming
out between her gritted teeth. “Only because her will is strong as
are the protections around her. Her magic is something that we do
not fully comprehend.” It pained Bernadette to admit it, but she
did. “Though we know where she may be and we know when she is most
vulnerable, she is impossible for us to find.”

Everything about what the witch was saying
frustrated Cyrus to the point where he could no longer stay quiet.
Before Bernadette could continue, Cyrus jumped in with a growl,
“Did you not tell us where to find her? Don’t you know where she
is?”

Stephen turned to glower and silence
Cyrus.

Cyrus dropped his eyes in a show of
submission to his leader, but not without continuing to speak, this
time addressing his Alpha.

“She is playing games. Our pack isn’t a bag
of toy soldiers for her to play with.”

Stephen turned and reiterated Cyrus’s
concerns to the woman.

“Yours is a different kind of magic,” she
explained. “We did not anticipate what her magic would do to us,
and we do not anticipate what your magic will do to her. If you do
not succeed, then we will pursue other options.” Her voice was all
finality. Her request had been made, her position had been argued,
and now she waited for the Alpha’s decision.

Stephen remained stoic, massive arms crossed
against his chest, dark eyes staring into those of the powerful
witch. The standoff lasted minutes while the other werewolves
looked on, eyes fixed on their Alpha. However long it would take
him to voice it, they knew as soon as he had decided it. They would
agree to find the girl and bring her to Seattle.

Stephen returned to the pack with Cyrus,
Angel, and Neal. They convened a meeting and Stephen informed them
of his decision to move forward with the contract to retrieve the
Incarnate. The entire excursion would take no more than three days,
one for travel, another for them to take her, and the last to
deliver her to the coven. Stephen would take Angel with him to
Louisiana. That’s where they had been told the Incarnate resided
under the name Sunday.

They would find a way to take the girl while
she was away from home. The pair would then take the girl to
Albuquerque, New Mexico, where Cyrus would be waiting. Once the
three wolves reunited, and with the Incarnate in tow, they would
contact Bernadette and hand off the Incarnate. It was all rather
simple considering the risks.

Sunday rushed
into the kitchen nearly knocking over Sister Amy’s latest decoupage
creation. The once plain green vase rocked an inch from the edge of
the counter, and Sunday came to a high-pitched screeching halt as
her sneakers pivoted on the tile. In one swoop, she leaped toward
it, catching it as it teetered and resettled it, albeit a few
inches further from the edge. Over her shoulder, Sister Margaret,
or Maggie, as everyone affectionately called her, shouted, “Just
one minute! Don’t run out the door just yet!”

“I gotta go, Mags! I’m running late.”

She jogged to the table to pull her bag from
the back of the chair where it always perched, from when she got
home from school to when she left the next morning. From the living
room, she heard the sounds of Maggie shuffling quickly to make it
to her.

Sunday looked up at the clock hanging beside
the kitchen door. It was already past seven o’clock, and she was
going to miss the bus. Clark would only wait for her so long before
he’d drive off again. She had to be there in fifteen minutes, or
she could consider herself tardy and grounded in detention for at
least an hour after school. Besides that, it was going to rain
soon. The last thing she wanted was to spend a day sopping wet and
then be punished for it by having to stay in those clothes even
longer than usual.

Maggie made it to the kitchen just as Sunday
fastened the top button on her jacket. As soon as the nun crossed
into the room, Sunday felt the gloom emanating from her body. The
slight smile Maggie wore was a fraud. It’s not like Maggie didn’t
know that Sunday could sense her mood, but she didn’t want to make
a big production of it anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Sunday asked, suddenly
stilled.

Maggie forced her grin wider, but it did
nothing to change Sunday’s perception. Maggie was always so
refined. Her silver hair was pulled back into a low ponytail from
which not even a single thread stuck out. Her clean, pale face was
almost translucent. Her clear blue eyes saw straight to her soul
and, Sunday knew from years of intimacy, that Maggie was truly that
transparent. There was nothing about the woman who had raised her
like a mother since her own had died that Sunday didn’t trust. At
this moment, however, Maggie was trying her best to hide something.
It just wasn’t working.

“You’re not telling me something,” she
continued. “You know I won’t buy it if you lie to me, so
spill.”

Maggie took a few slow steps toward her, and
stopped just shy of arm’s length. The closer she got, the more
evident the feeling of dread became. It was a penetrating sensation
that made Sunday’s belly flip and tightened her chest around her
heart. Her face fell to match Maggie’s expression, even forming a
wan grin to reflect hers.

“Sunday, there is something that I need you
to know,” Maggie said, visibly hesitating to speak. Her lip
quivered as she paused, and she gulped hard. Softly, she raised her
hand to Sunday’s face, leaning closer so she could reach her. It
was rare that Maggie touched her at all. Maggie’s eyes glistened
with moisture, and she tucked her chin slightly as she watched her
finger trace the line of Sunday’s cheek.

If Sunday wanted to speak, she couldn’t. The
lump in her throat was growing until she could hardly breathe.
Maggie’s aura pulsed with sadness and grief. Maggie had a gift.
Hers was the ability to know things,
really
know things,
before they occurred. She rarely talked about it and even more
rarely acted upon it, but it was something that she was keenly
aware of all the time.

Sometimes, if Sunday was paying close enough
attention, she could even guess a little bit of what Maggie knew.
It didn’t transmit like clear images on a television screen or even
like a voice through radio static. It was just a feeling, an
emotion. Maybe Sunday and Maggie would be sitting together at the
park, and then a warm feeling would come over Sunday like a cosmic
hug that made her all gooey inside. Maybe, just for a second, her
heart would flutter like she was falling in love. Then, she’d look
at Maggie, and she could see in Maggie’s expression that she was
feeling it too. But it wasn’t Maggie that was falling in love, it
was someone else.

When Sunday followed Maggie’s line of sight,
she’d see a man walking his dog. He wouldn’t even know that Maggie
and she were watching, and he’d go about his walk without a care in
the world. He’d even pass a woman pushing her kid on the swing
without thinking about her twice. What neither the man nor the
woman knew was that Maggie was watching their life together play
out in her mind. Crystal, perfect images flicking by as though she
was flipping through a photo album of theirs, except it was of a
life they hadn’t lived yet.

Maggie didn’t tell anyone this and, even
though the other sisters knew, it wasn’t something they talked
about either with her or when she wasn’t there. It was, however,
something that Sunday felt privy to, in part because of her power
to tap into Maggie’s energy just like everyone else’s. But, right
now, Maggie was working hard to rein in her gift, just as she’d
trained Sunday to rein in hers. Whatever Maggie was thinking wasn’t
something that was going to spell out over her head in fluorescent
neon letters. Sunday would just have to take whatever Maggie
said.

“Today,” she started again, her voice
wavering, “is going to be a difficult day for you, I believe. But,
you need to remain strong, and remember that you are a very special
girl with very special gifts. You must never forget what we have
taught you, and what your mother had taught you.”

Maggie paused, and removed her hand from
Sunday. She shook her head in apology, her eyebrows tight, deep age
lines carved in the space between them.

“Mags, what’s going on?” Sunday asked,
hammering her words harshly while shaking her head.

“It is not our place to stop Fate. You can do
a lot of things, but you cannot do that. No one is the exception,
Sunday. Not even you. And you remember this as your life goes on
and until it ends, because you will try to fight it. You’re my
prize fighter, no matter how much I push you to let go. You’re a
little rebel, Sunday, but you can’t rebel against everything—not
against the way that things, simply,
are
. Some things, like
this, you must just accept.”

Sunday took a step closer to Maggie, but
Maggie took a step back. Her blue eyes, now a few blinks from
streaming with tears, hovered over Sunday’s shoulder, and she
pointed to the clock on the wall with her chin.