Scrabble

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gizmo blinked in surprise under Megan’s scrutinizing eyes. He was beginning to find it harder and harder to concentrate.

She was beautiful.

With soft blonde hair cascading down her back and electric blue eyes, she was the epitome of beauty. And her spectacles just made her look completely… Megan-like.

He remembered how he had felt when he first saw her. Memories flitted through his head. Would she still remember?

No! Gizmo scolded himself immediately. He couldn’t remind her. It was wrong and would only lead to more problems. He couldn’t tell her. And once she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to listen to a word he had to say.

She was now saying something, her blue eyes searching his face. “What makes you so special?” she murmured.

Gizmo’s blood ran cold. Was this it? Was this when he told her, and lost her for the second time? Did he have the courage to tell her?

He opened his mouth. This was it, wasn’t it? Yet no words came out. Come on, Gizmo, he coaxed himself. Why couldn’t he say it?

Hadn’t he, for years, prided himself for his title? Didn’t he announce it to every living being he passed by? Wasn’t he looking forward to his future?

“I have no idea,” he responded, smiling softly. He mentally smacked himself. That was the perfect opening; he could have easily told her. But it was her reaction that he feared.

*

Megan nodded slowly. Of course. How would Gizmo have any idea anyway? He must be as clueless as she was in a situation as complex as the present.

Sighing, Megan walked to the edge of the bed and sat down slowly, thoughts whirling through her mind. Finally she looked up at Gizmo.

“You’re wearing shoes too,” she remarked with amusement, “And I’m not. Someone must really adore you somewhere.”

Gizmo let out a nervous laugh, and finally Megan opened her mouth again.

“You said you met Anthony,” she began, her voice coming out in a tired whisper. “What did he say?”

“Maybe if you told me, I would be able to relate,” Gizmo reasoned, sitting down beside her leaving considerable distance between them.

“Why so?” Megan requested.

“He…Anthony…talked to me in French. I have a feeling your dialect is English. I wouldn’t want to launch into a word-by-word account in a different language now, would I?” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Gizmo’s lips, enhancing his boyish features. Megan watched on in awe; it was only in books did she read about the sheer beauty of a person. Yet here she was, experiencing it in the flesh.

It was surreal.

“No,” she smiled too, “That makes sense.” She took a deep shaky breath, averting her eyes from his. Slowly, she began talking about her encounter with Anthony, which occurred what felt like centuries ago, but was probably only this morning.

Eventually, she found herself telling Gizmo about her discoveries in the mansion they were in. When she got to the part where she had read about Anthony Crown, the Archangel of Death, she raised her eyes to meet Gizmo’s, not wanting to break away from his steady, calm gaze.

Gizmo’s posture, however, grew more and more stiff as she explained what she had read, until it came to such a point that he broke their eye contact, looking at the empty wall with a pained expression.