Page 29 of The Chosen Two

He raises one eyebrow. “Growing up, did you ever believe in a guardian angel that would protect you from the monster under your bed?”

With no hesitation, I answer. “I didn’t have a monster under my bed. I had a monster down the hall. And no. I never believed anyone would protect me. I knew that was up to me. I was always my only great protector.”

George smiles. “Exactly.”

***

Two full cups of coffee later, one made a little bit Irish, we’re back in the Keating family library. While I read through the giant book of docents’ notes, George peruses a shelf of books to my right, searching for some more anthology-style reads to give me a general background of knowledge. I watch him, giving my eyes something farther away to focus on because the words have started to blur. His fingers trace the book spines. Watching him I realize don’t know anything about this random guy that walked into my life without giving me an option. Not that he had much of an option himself.

“Hey George?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s your story?”

He stops and furrows his brow before he straightens his shoulders and neck and turns to me. “What do you mean my story?”

I slide down in my chair a bit so my shoulders meet the backrest. “I mean, what’s your story? You have a file you’ve committed to memory of every detail of my life, down to which girl scout badges I earned in Brownies. But when it comes to you,” I use my fingers to enumerate the few facts I’ve learned, “I know your name is George Keating, you live here, and you’re my docent. Does that seem fair to you? It doesn’t to me. If we’re going to spend all this time together, I think I should get to know more about you.”

George walks toward me hesitantly, hands in his pockets. He collapses into the chair across from me and rests his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers that he presses to his lips. His pupils are dilated, leaving just a ring of bright blue around them. Being he’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever been so close to, I begin to feel physically uncomfortable staring into his eyes like this. Maybe this is his version of playing chicken. Maybe he’s trying to make me squirm, so I give up my quest for knowledge about him and try to skim the open pages in front of me.

Finally, he speaks. “What do you want to know?”

I swallow, not sure anymore. “Um, you know, whatever you want to tell me, I guess.”

He doesn’t change his posture or position, but his eyes drift to the side as he thinks.

I’m not sure how much longer I can take this silence, so I try to speed things along. “How did you become my docent? I know your dad was supposed to be, but how did you end up getting the gig? Does it always run in families?”

“Excellent question. It doesn’t run in families. Just like the Guardianship does not. But my father was always open with me, wanting me to be prepared if I ever had to deal with anything. Thus, when he passed, the League decided I should be the one to train you.”

I nod along. “That must have been hard. Where’s your mom? And have you been local this whole time, or did you need to come back?”

He sighs. His shoulders drop and he slouches down in his chair. He no longer looks like my sturdy docent; he looks like a little boy. “My mom moved to Florida about a year ago. She has family there and wanted to be closer to them. She was never a fan of the docent lifestyle, but she loved my dad and put up with it for him. She would have moved sooner, but she didn’t want to leave the house vacant. When she knew for sure I would be coming home, she took the out.”

“So, you weren’t living local?”

He shakes his head and lower his hands, and eyes, to the table. He studies his thumbnail as he talks, avoiding eye contact with me. “Nope. I was in California. I went to school out there. Lived out there.” He keeps his eyes downcast.

And then there is silence. I need to know what he’s not saying. “Ok…So you were living out in California. And now you’re back home. Was that a hard transition for you? Can you go back?”

His answer is abrupt. “There is no going back.” I keep my gaze on his face. I hope he will continue but I don’t want to push him too much. His eyes flick up to mine. “I was living with the love of my life. We were planning our wedding when COVID hit. He was not happy when the League told me I would be your docent. He wanted me to tell them no. He didn’t understand it wasn’t a question.”

His eyes turn glossy. I reach out my arm and am about to put my hand on his, but he retracts his arms and wipes the tears away before they can fall. “Anyway, we spent two years trying to pretend everything was okay, hoping I’d never get the call. But then I did. He told me if I left, that was it. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a minute before I dare speak again. It’s my turn to stare down at the table. “I’m so sorry, George. I feel responsible.”

He grabs my hands. “Miranda, you are as much a victim in all this bullshit as I am. As Evan is. Do not blame yourself. Okay?”

I nod, wanting to cry for him, but I keep it together because he doesn’t seem the type to want pity. He nods back, then stands up and returns to his post across the room. We resume our respective research for a few minutes until another question pops into my head.

“George? I have one more question.”

He drops his head only a fraction of an inch in exasperation, which is much better than I have done when faced with a barrage of questions. “Yes, Miranda?”

“Should I be concentrating on studying Jinn? You made it sound like their exceptionally bad for me.”

He stops moving but continues to stare at the books on the shelf, until he sucks in a deep breath exhales forcefully. Then he looks at me, apologetically.

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