Her pale blue eyes distorted with tears. His explanation sounded like a lie, even to himself. He gave up and stood, thinking he should find someone more capable of helping her.
"No, please stay. Call me Gram." The woman leaned back in the rocker, fanning herself with her hand. "Tell me what she said."
Tristan rinsed out the towel and returned to the wet stain of tea on the wood floor. "She was frantic, she spoke too fast." The image of bubbling ooze that had been the woman's body kept overriding his thoughts.
"Don't slow it down, just say it."
"She said they wanted the emerald, and that something about it—" His mind drew a complete blank. He shut his eyes and let random thoughts and words come to the surface. The two kids from school had come through the door, or was it four? The woman was already dead. Something about dragon blood, and the emerald had memories of something extinct. Faeries. No, a Valkyrie.
Gwenna sounded ceremonial.
I renounce my guardianship and declare you the Balance.
An image seared his mind, the three-layered map. Then he was outside, breaking into her house. He slid through the puddle of ooze to get to her. She was going to make arrangements for him. But it was too late. Though having the map might force some issue. He held the woman's shoulders in his arms and asked her name. Gwenna Winters.
Sabbatini loomed above them both, holding the ornately carved wooden box with a proud smile. Tristan stared into Gwenna's eyes. Blood trickled through her words.
Be careful, have faith.
Gwenna gripped his arms and shook him until it was the other woman, Gram. Tristan blinked, then pulled away as fast as he could, getting to his feet. He'd never remembered the night that clearly before.
"What's your name, boy?" She asked like she'd been saying it over and over.
"Tristan."
The woman nodded, leaning back in her chair with half-dried tears on her cheeks. She kept her thoughts to herself. "I don't mean you harm, but I had to know the truth."
Tristan believed her, relaxing slightly.
"She said you had dragon blood?" Gram asked.
"No, not really." Tristan eyed her suspiciously. "I don't know what she meant."
"How did you arrive here?"
Tristan explained about his mother, the train to Seattle, and how he'd hidden in a fishing boat that went north instead of south as planned. He also told her about the falcon and how it led him to the cliff house in the middle of the night. He pulled the pouch with the Cyanea coral from around his neck and handed it to her.
"A fine work of art and a very powerful piece." She rolled the coral in her fingers. "You don't know how you got this?"
Tristan eyed the coral, having no idea what it was worth or where it really came from. "It was in my stuff when the police drove me home. But I'm not entirely sure they were the real police."
Gram slipped the coral into its pouch as tears filled her eyes again. "Did Gwenna give you anything else to work with?"
Tristan shook his head. "Just the paper. Did you know her?"
She nodded, her lips quivering into a smile. "A very dear friend, we used to teach together. I didn't know she was no longer with us."
"I'm sorry." Tristan glanced around the room, wishing he had not been the one to break the news. "Do you have any idea what she expected me to do?"
"No." Gram dabbed at her eyes with her kitty apron. "Was there a second page?"
"Not really. I'd say maybe three pages overlapped into one. From the outside, the paper looks blank, but when you touch it...it's like another world. I don't know what to do with it."
Gram's brow furrowed as she settled deeper in concentration. "When the time comes, I'm sure it will be revealed to you properly." She straightened herself and looked ten years younger, a shining sparkle returning to her glassy eyes.
"It's too late. I didn't have the page sealed when I got here. I mean, being dumped in the ocean wasn't exactly part of my plan. It got wet. And mashed. And dirty. And now there's mold."
"But you kept it, yes?"
Tristan nodded, even though the paper seemed to be nothing more than a dried-out, solid mass of cardboard pulp.
Gram smoothed her apron and stood, taking the damp towel from Tristan. "Since you've gone through so much to get to me, the least I can do is teach you what I can." She held out her hand to stop him from denying he had come on purpose. "I feel I must inform you, this is really not my area of expertise. Whoever thought I could—well, I'll need some time. And you'll need much more than what we, here on this island, can give you if you intend to pursue that emerald." She offered a wastebasket for the broken pieces of teacup. "Go back to the cliff house and wait—"
"I can't wait."
"Only for a day or two. I need to help Dorian organize a plan for re-harvesting and arrange repairs. I'll also need to research some things and chat with a few people." The woman smiled genuinely, then changed her expression to something he couldn't read.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Of course not. It's just, well…. It's curious you've gone so long without…. I mean, it's odd they would neglect you on purpose. You're practically an adult." Gram spun around and put her attention to the mess in the storeroom. "Away you go, before Dorian gets here." She returned for the towel on the central counter.
Who could have neglected him more than his mother?
"If you get tired of waiting, young Tristan, play with those cards."
"Cards?"
"Didn't I catch something about a deck of cards?"
Tristan remembered her use of the word 'focus' bringing the Focus Pocus deck to mind.
"It's an excellent idea," she continued. "I'm only sorry that after all these years, I never came up with it myself."
"What am I supposed to do with them?"
"Just play around. It's quite simple. See what happens."
"But they're just ordinary cards, aren't they?"
"Of course they are. Now go on. I'll come see you when I can." She weaved through the chaos to get to the far corner while Tristan kept himself from jumping in to help.
"I promise I won't forget about you," she said, shooing him away without looking.
"But the emerald—I made a promise."
She took a deep, exaggerated breath and glared at him. "Do you honestly believe that man will just hand you the emerald if you ask nicely?"
Tristan scowled. "No. But...cards? How is that important?"
"Trust me. And I wouldn't want to set limits for you, by telling you what to do with a silly deck of cards. Consider them a learning tool." She turned her back on him again. "Now go away! Lord only knows what Dorian would think to find you here with all this mess. She's
never
going to let me hear the end of this one...." Her voice trailed off to a mumble, and something about dragon blood.
"Won't he come back?"
"Who, Sabbatini? I'm sure he will, but you don't have anything to worry about. He's not after you." Gram paused, narrowing her eyes. "If Sabbatini had something to do with Gwenna's death…. He never approached you to ask what you were doing there? Just to make sure Gwenna didn't give you something he might need?"
Tristan shook his head. "I was going to tell the police about the map, that the murderer would probably be after me for it, but it didn't feel right. It was like they didn't remember arresting me in the first place. So I ran. I've never talked to the murderer."
"Maybe you
have
been followed." She seemed to work out the rest of the scenario to herself. "Yes, perhaps more than one guardian angel has followed you, if you've managed to avoid him entirely. Without even knowing it. Nothing would have prevented him otherwise."
"He probably just knew I knew nothing and never suspected a map. I mean, seriously, who am I? He'd already gotten away with murder, and the emerald." Tristan shut his mouth and swallowed hard when she grimaced. "I'm sorry."
She nodded, turning away. "I attempted to prevent him from noticing anything particular about you, you may have felt it when he looked at you."
The woman did more than that—Sabbatini didn't seem to see him at all. Like he was completely invisible. "Why?"
"I didn't want him snooping around in case…well, in case I needed to know something first. See? I can be very self-centered. But, it appeared to be unnecessary."
"Is that why he left?"
The woman stared at him hard, like he was guilty of something. He began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "What?"
She looked about ready to say something, then changed her mind. Her eyes softened. "He could've easily overpowered the two of us. Maybe something more important came up. Maybe you confused him with your…." She didn't finish. "Let's just hope he didn't have enough time to recognize you under all that soot." She smiled. "Or, maybe a guardian angel is here with us now."
Tristan used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead, transferring all sorts of black grime. He cracked a smile and had to laugh at himself. "Guess I was in too big of a hurry to get here."
"Why?"
"I saw smoke. At first, I thought the fire had spread, but then it looked more like someone's campfire. A chimney maybe? Anyway, I rushed over to, well, to get off the island."
Gram nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. "Aren't you full of surprises."
"I'm sorry about the fire. I saw a plane and didn't realize…."
"It's okay." Gram straightened herself and took a deep breath. "Everyone has some sort of power, some more than others. For you, it will be a matter of how far you're willing to open your mind. Then, it'll be based on how strongly you wish to deal with what you find. 'Focus' is common terminology."
"But how—"
"I've agreed to help you, but you must be patient. I really do need more information before I can work with you. Otherwise.... And this—" Gram waved a hand over the mess and sighed.
Tristan understood. "Where does he live? I mean, what if I accidentally run into him when you're not around?"
Her steely sharp eyes made him wish he hadn't asked. "You don't believe he lives here among us on this island, do you?"
"Well…." What other explanation was there? "When I asked where he'd gone, you said he went home. Doesn't that mean…?"
"I also said we have an international clientele."
"Yes, but how do they get here?"
She shook her head and eyed him from head to toe. "They transport themselves."
Was she joking? She started shoveling things into the pot faster, mumbling something about much work and little time. Tristan stared. Why would he leave, to play cards of all things, with so much to do? The cleaning would go faster if she'd let him help and the emerald was closer than he'd ever imagined.
Gram's stern expression caught him off guard. "Your first lesson is trust. If you can't trust me now…I'm telling you to start with those cards. They just might teach you how to focus."
Serious? To trust her immediately, under such unexplainable conditions, for no good reason, other than the fact that she seemed willing to help...to an unknown degree…. She could be senile for all he knew.
The woman seemed to be waiting for his decision and he hated that every thought waved at her like a big red flag. She was his only chance. He couldn't face Sabbatini alone. He had to trust her. With a resigned sigh, he nodded and left the cottage so as not to upset her further.
He'd give her two days. Max.
22
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J
EALOUSY
R
EARS ITS
L
EAFY
H
EAD -
DORIAN LEFT THE WORKBAG in her bedroom and toured several areas for the latest gossip. She tried to stay open-minded about the new kid, but plants from the Himalayan gardens on the east side of the island were actually bitter for being planted on the highest mountaintop, complaining at the unfairness of it all, unable to uproot themselves and move to the rocky hilltop above the cliff house. She gritted her teeth and moved on.
The Sierra gardens showed signs of withered dehydration in their angst, while the silvery luster and fragrance of the moon garden was half of what it should be. And all because he had found a place to live and would probably never meander their way. The shade-lovers in the Lost Woods and Bayou felt the same, disappointed moping weakening their strength and will.
What was with everyone? Dorian didn't dare swing through the trees, afraid the tension might cause a lack of flexibility in their limbs. By the time she reached Arcadia, the plants had stopped speaking with her.
Anger mixed with the threat of tears. What could Arcadia possibly have against her? She looked over the best of the best—hand selected for this prime location; full sun to heavy shade, mist from a waterfall to hot rocky cliffs, aerated and calm waters. Overcrowding was the only problem anyone ever faced.
Dorian dove from the top of the waterfall, determined to coax information from the more even-tempered water-dwellers. They were just as upset as the Himalayan rockers because, apparently, word had spread from Atlantis that the boy was leery of going under water—that he probably couldn't swim—which meant he would likely never go in deep water. Their water.