Sins of the Innocent - Jamie McGuire Page 0,6

her brother. “Sometimes, they’ll use the ones you love.”

Bex rubbed his chest, more offended than hurt.

“Eden,” Claire said, waiting. When I didn’t respond, she continued, “The lesson is …”

“Trust no one?” I asked.

She pointed at me. “No one outside of family. Even your friend.”

“Morgan?” I said. “He’s harmless.”

“Listen to what I’m saying, not what you want to hear. There is a thin line between enemy and friend. Even if it’s unintentional, they could use someone you love to influence you. Don’t let them.”

“You trusted Ryan,” I said.

“That’s different. He’s my Taleh,” she said. “You’re not me either. Your rules are different.”

“Hell can’t hurt me though. This all seems like a waste of time.”

Claire frowned. “That doesn’t mean they won’t try. They’re always thinking of loopholes, Eden. They have nothing else to do but plan for your demise. You are in their way, so you must always be on guard.”

One side of my mouth curled up. “On guard.”

Claire crouched. “Bring it, little girl. I’ve killed scarier things than you.”

“You haven’t been home in a year,” I said. “You haven’t seen scary.”

Bex rubbed his shoulder, sore from training the day before. I smirked as I walked across the school parking lot. Claire had been up half the night, nursing a broken wrist.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I said. “She’s already healing, and you told me not to hold back.”

“You still held back.”

“I know.”

A river of students converged as they climbed the concrete steps and passed through the threshold of the school entrance. I paused, glancing over my shoulder.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My fingers twitchy, my muscles were ready to react. I’d felt a presence for nearly a year, so much that it was becoming familiar, even though I couldn’t classify it. A combination of druden, goblin, and demon, the entity was a mixture of dark and light, something formidable. Like a word on the tip of my tongue, like an escaped thought, I couldn’t discern what it was.

“What is it?” Bex asked. “Getting that feeling again?”

I simply nodded, ignoring the tingling just beneath my skin, as I joined the other students, my light-blue collared shirt and gray skirt blending in perfectly. I was one of them, yet I couldn’t be further from what they were or what they hoped to be.

The only truth my peers knew was that I was the daughter of Nina Grey Ryel, CEO of Titan Shipping. Among the wealthy of Providence, we were in the top one percent. I was more interested in what my classmates didn’t know or what they hadn’t noticed over the years. I was athletic but didn’t participate in sports. I was confident but not outgoing. I was friendly but had no friends. That was the way it had always been. They wouldn’t know my whole truth until they knew what real terror was—to look into the face of a dragon and realize I was their only shield.

I tried to keep that in mind—my purpose—every time Lacie not so accidentally poured her soda down my back or over my shoulder.

My eyes pulled to the top of a locker where a Druden sat. I wasn’t sure if it was the same one from yesterday, but it didn’t seem too interested in me.

“Hey, Eden!” Morgan called, walking in quick small steps to keep up with my pace.

“What’s new?” I asked, turning toward my locker.

Morgan gripped the straps of his backpack. “Turned in the final edition. It’ll be out just in time for graduation. I, um … put in your quote.”

“Oh?” I said, barely listening, while I turned the combination and pulled up on the handle. I unloaded my books onto the shelf and then hung my bag on the center hook. “What quote is that?”

He cleared his throat. “At the park. You know …” He squirmed. “The day? The one about feelings.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Feelings. How did you quote me if you couldn’t remember what I said?”

He fidgeted. “‘Loneliness and fear aren’t real. They’re not feelings, Morgan. They’re only things that happen to us.’ I left out the ‘Morgan’ part. I didn’t really want everyone to know you were consoling me after being thrown headfirst into the park trash can.”

“Morgan,” I said skeptical, “I said that in eighth grade.”

He shrugged. “It stuck with me.”

I hugged him, feeling his burred hair poking my cheek. When I released him, he pushed up his glasses, the splash of freckles over his nose and under his eyes moving with his