Quicksilver

by Dean Koontz

“Guardians?” I said. The word unsettled me no less than had being scrutinized by the Screamer. “Guardians of what?” The traffic light changed to green, and Bridget motored on. When neither she nor Sparky answered my question, I repeated it. “Guardians of what?” “Maybe of everything,” she said. “‘Everything’ as in . . . ?” “Everything as in everything,” she said. “Now isn’t the time to discuss our theory of all this, Quinn.” “When will it be time?” “It’ll be time when it’s time, sweetheart.” “When will I know it’s time?” “When I tell you.” “That’s what I thought you’d say.” She smiled at me. “Maybe you’re becoming psychic yourself.” After we traveled awhile in silence, I said, “‘Guardians’ sounds like a full-time lifetime job. Maybe we’re not guardians. Maybe instead we’re just being sent on a quest.” “We’re guardians,” Bridget said.