The Guardian of Whispers


 
 
 
 
 
 A novel by
 B. E. PADGETT
 
 
 Copyright © 2022 Emerald Forest Books All rights reserved
 Cover art Copyright © 2022 
 
 
 The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
 No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
 ISBN: 9798986162911
 Cover design by: Annie Loomis
 Professionally Edited by Kite String Editing
 Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910453
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 
 DEDICATION
 To Mackenzie. Auntie loves you. 
 
 
 The Reed Family
 CHAPTER 1
 “Jon, he can’t see us, can he?” Franklin whispered. 
 The twins peered through the bushes they were kneeling inside. There--pacing the yard with a grumpy scowl was Eugene. His brownish curls laying over his eyes as he squinted in their direction then peered away. 
 “No, he can’t see us,” Jon said. It was a hot day in southern Florida—upper nineties at least—and he pulled at the collar of his space t-shirt to let some fresh air travel down his chest.
 “Good.” Franklin wiped his own sweating forehead, and the branches swished with his movement. “What is our plan of action?” 
 Jon rubbed his chin as he focused on their target: the soccer ball on the patio table. The ball had been swiped from them an hour ago and now it was being held captive by the meanest of captors—Eugene, their older brother. “We need a distraction.”
 “How about Shakes?” 
 Across the yard, Shakes, their golden retriever, was sniffing behind a shrub. 
 “Good idea, Frank.” The distraction would be easy, but they needed an entry strategy. Jon’s eyes traveled to a low-hanging branch above the table, and a smirk touched his lips. Shoving a hand into his back pocket, Jon retrieved his Swiss army knife. Carefully, he cut a couple limbs from the bush they were hiding in and stuffed them into his backpack. “All right, I have a plan.” 
 Frank gave him a look. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like it much?”
 “Don’t be a wimp,” Jon whispered as he pulled his pack onto his back and gave Frank a little shove. 
 They kept to the edge of the lawn, crushing the crab grass under their sandals until they reached the mango tree. It was tall for a mango tree, but despite its height and width, the branches hung only a few feet over the patio table. 
 The brothers creeped around the trunk, and Jon helped Frank climb into the dense branches, trying not to make noise. As soon as Frank reached the nearest stable branch, he twisted around to sit on it, lending a hand to help Jon up. Below their perch, Eugene was still eyeing the bush line some distance away. 
 Putting a finger to his lips, Jon grabbed a rock and slingshot out of his back pocket. He closed one eye and took aim for the far-left fence. 
 The rock shot forward and hit its mark. Eugene’s concentration shifted, and he walked in the direction of the sound. 
 This was their chance. 
 Jon yanked a branch out of his backpack. He whistled, and Shakes’s ears perked up, his tongue sloshing out of his mouth in excitement. The dog watched intently as Jon waved the stick above the mango tree leaves—he was not going to let the stick out of sight until it was in his mouth. 
 “Just throw it!” Frank said through clenched teeth as he scooted into position, moving one leg so he was sitting sideways on the branch.
 Jon tossed the stick high in the air with all his strength. It twirled and twirled until landing—thunk—right into the overfilled kiddy pool near Eugene. 
 The stick bobbed on top of the water, and Shake dashed toward it. 
 “Hurry, Frank, we don’t have much time!” Jon whispered.
 Frank swung himself upside-down from the mango tree—Jon hanging on tight to his legs—and stretched his arms for the soccer ball. 
 Splash. Shakes had made it to the pool. 
 “What the . . . ?” an angry voice yelled. “Stupid dog!”
 “A little lower, Jon,” Frank said, his voice strained and his face turning red. 
 Jon’s hold on his brother tightened as he let him down a couple more inches. It was hard for him to get a good grip. 
 “No, Shakes . . . no! Don’t!” Eugene yelled. Shakes was prancing in the kiddy pool and splashing water everywhere. He stopped to shake, showering Eugene.
 “Frank!” Jon’s own face was reddening as he clung to Frank’s jeans. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.” 
 “I’m almost there!” Frank’s fingers curled around the soccer ball. “Pull me up!” 
 Biting his lip, Jon grabbed a handful of Frank’s shirt and tried to haul his twin into the tree again. 
 Frank put the ball under one of his armpits so he could grasp Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t let go, Jon!” 
 “You’re really heavy . . .” Jon tugged desperately on Frank’s shirt. “I don’t know if I can—” His sweaty hands started to shake. A wave of nausea rolled in his stomach and he suddenly felt dizzy. 
 A shadowy image flashed through Jon’s mind of Frank slipping out of his grasp and landing on the table below. 
 The image disappeared, and Jon blinked to clear his head. His grip on Frank started to slip. 
 “Jon, NO! You can’t let me—”
 “Boys! What are you doing?” 
 Startled, Jon let go of Frank’s shirt. In the exact way he’d seen it in his mind, Frank fell the three feet onto the patio table.