Rush (8 page)

She sent me a wide-eyed, disbelieving
glance and started down the stairs. “If you say so.”

I couldn’t tell her about Max and Carter.
I just couldn’t. Trent would be furious with me if I did. He’d had a difficult
enough time trusting me with the information in the first place; if I betrayed
his trust, he’d never tell me anything again.

Still, it would be good to get an
outside perspective on the situation.

“You were kinda rude to Max in there,”
she said.

“I know.”

“Is he the one you’re mad at?”

“Paige, I’m just tired. That’s all it
is.”

“Sure.”

I sighed. “There’s some stuff going on
with Trent. I can’t talk about it.”

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t just
tired. So tell me all about it.”

“I told you; I can’t. He’d be pissed if
he found out I told you.”

She stopped me with a hand on my
forearm. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I almost laughed. “No. Not pregnant.”

“Whew. Good.”

“It has to do with his family. It’s not
something he wants to get out.”

“Ooh. Mysterious. Now I have to know.”

“I’m not telling,” I said in an overly
dramatic tone. “Nothing you can do will make me betray my secrets.”

She put her hands on her narrow hips and
gave me a menacing glare. “I have ways of making you talk.”

“No! I’ll never talk.”

We both laughed as we broke into a run
for the gym.

Chapter 6

Max

I had only a few seconds to contemplate
Caroline’s hostile behavior before Fred showed up. He took the seat across from
me and clasped his hands on the table, smiling like I should be glad to greet
him in the middle of a very public place. Which I was not. Since I was the only
one who could see him, I’d look like a loon sitting here and talking to him. I
didn’t mind being unconventional, but carrying on a public convo with my
invisible friend was something else again.

I bent my head and muttered at the table
top. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking to you. What does it look like?”

“I’d rather not look like a nutcase in
public, thank you.”

“No-one is paying any attention to us.”

I glanced around. The commons was nearly
empty and, at the moment, his statement was true. But who knew when someone
would walk past my table, probably at the worst possible moment?

“You couldn’t wait until I was alone at
home?” I said in an undertone.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Okay, what’s so damned important, then?”

“There’s a spirit attempting to contact
you.”

I raised my brows at him. “So? I thought
we’d already established that.”

“Before, all I knew was there were
spirits gathering around you. Now, I’m aware there is one in particular who
wishes to speak with you.”

“Who?”

He spread his hands. “I don’t know yet.”

I shook my head. “When you find out, let
me know. Until then, stop trying to embarrass me.”

“You know I’d never deliberately
embarrass you, Max.”

“Do I? Sometimes I think you spirit
types forget what it was like to be alive. You forget how freaked out people
get when they see anything the least bit unusual.”

He gave a short nod. “Perhaps we do.”

“Try to remember that we mortals do care
about the opinions of other mortals.”

“Even you?” His dark-blue eyes crinkled
at the corners. “I thought you were above all that.”

“Not me.”

“There was a time when you claimed you
didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of you.”

“Yeah, and I was about fifteen at the
time. I didn’t know any better.”

“So you’ve decided to turn over a new
leaf and become entirely conventional?”

“Of course not.” I tapped my fingers on
the table. “Just because I care a little about how others see me doesn’t mean I’m
going to turn normal.”

“So you care, just not very much.”

I grinned. “That’s it in five seconds.”

“I could materialize, and then anyone
passing by would see me as an ordinary person.”

Yeah, except for the fact that he was
dressed in nineteenth-century clothing. What was with the sack suit, anyhow? It
was kind of ugly, if you asked me—not that he ever had. But he could change his
appearance at will, so maybe it would work out, except for the minor detail
that it could make the room as cold as the inside of an industrial fridge.

“Wouldn’t that take an awful lot of
energy?”

He shrugged. “Yes. But it might be worth
it. I don’t want to embarrass you, after all.”

I decided to ignore that. “Did you hear
Caroline’s story?”

“About the ghost?” he said, raising his
brows.

“What do you make of it?”

“I’m not sure who her ghost is, but I am
sure she’s connected to yours.”

My breath left me in a rush. “That’s
what I was afraid of.”

“Why afraid?”

“Let’s just say it’s damned
inconvenient. How can I help her or find out how her spirit is connected with
mine with Trent hanging around? Plus, I think she’s mad at me.”

“You want your brother’s girl,” he said
with a knowing look.

I sighed. “What’s your point?”

“Trent could make a lot of trouble for
you. Give him any excuse and he’ll be after you.”

“Thanks. I didn’t know that.”

Fred tilted his head slightly to the
side. “Are you trying to provoke a confrontation?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. You know
that. What could he do to me that he hasn’t already done?”

“You’re breaking the law, Max.”

“Not at the moment,” I said with a
shrug.

He smiled wryly. “Quit smoking
marijuana. I don’t want to see you go to jail. After all, I’d have to visit you
there and I’ve seen enough of prison to last me for eternity.”

Fred had gone to jail for a few years in
his youth for an unspecified crime. Unspecified to me, that was.

“Why would you have to visit me there?”
I said. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, understand.”

“You’re my descendant. It’s my job to
look out for you.”

I stared openly at him, forgetting all
about the other people in the room. “You’re what?”

“I’m your great-great-something or other
grandfather on your mother’s side. Didn’t you know?”

“I had no idea.” In all the years I’d
known him, I’d never guessed he was my ancestor. No wonder he looked so
familiar. We were relatives.

“It’s why I came to you in the first
place.”

He’d appeared to me when I was eleven,
still so torn up over Carter’s death I could barely function. I’m not sure I
would have survived if it hadn’t been for Frederick. He talked to me in a way
my dad couldn’t—or wouldn’t—and helped me understand that the accident was just
that. An accident. Not that I fully believed him—I had been playing with a gun,
something I’d had no business even touching.

“Your mother was gone,” he said. “And
your dad didn’t seem to care about you anymore. In fact, I was starting to
think he was going to murder you during one of his rages. I had to do
something.”

“Thank you,” I said through a tight
throat.

Here I’d thought no-one gave a shit
about me and all along Fred had been looking out for me. Even if he couldn’t
physically interfere with my dad, he’d kept me sane and whole in my mind. He’d
made it possible for me to survive long enough to grow up. If we hadn’t been in
a public place, I might have given him a hug, something I rarely did with
anyone. There were too many potential witnesses here, though.

Let’s face it, talking to your invisible
friend isn’t nearly as bizarre as hugging that friend.

“You know, you don’t need Caroline’s
cooperation to deal with any of this,” Fred commented.

“I realize that.”

The problem was I wanted it. I wanted an
excuse to spend more time with her and I wanted to protect her from whatever
spirit entity was trying to intrude on her. Not that I thought Caroline was in
danger, but I didn’t like the idea of her being made uncomfortable or afraid.

She claimed not to believe in ghosts. I’d
seen fear in her eyes, though, when she’d described the blonde to me. Part of
her believed, even if she hated to admit it. And she was no witch, like Selene;
she’d have no tools or experience to fall back on in this situation.

Damn it. What was I doing? The only
reason I was friendly toward Caroline was to take her from my stepbrother. I
wasn’t supposed to care about her or get emotionally involved with her. I
needed to get hold of myself before I blew the whole project.

A disturbing thought wormed its way into
my brain. Was it truly so important that I hurt Trent? Did I really want to use
Caroline that way?

I pushed out my breath without looking
at Fred. Yeah, it was and I did. The gods knew he deserved some kind of
consequences for everything he’d done to me over the years.

She’d seemed so upset, though, and the
ghost-girl wasn’t the only reason. Trent had told her about my past. He’d put
the worst spin on it that he could, probably embellishing with all kinds of
bogus details.

My gut went cold at the thought that
Caroline knew what I’d done. She hated me now. She judged me—I’d seen it all
over her face. I’d never be able to get close to her now she knew the truth
about me.

My face flushed as a wave of shame
washed over me. My prick of a stepbrother would never let me get past what I’d
done to Carter, no matter how many years went by. That hideous deed would
follow me everywhere I went, haunting me until the day I died.

Caroline’s good opinion meant nothing to
me except for the fact I wouldn’t be able to use her as a weapon against Trent
if she kept avoiding me. I had to find out exactly how much she knew. Maybe I
could explain myself, get her to understand.

Ah, hell, who was I kidding? Nothing
could explain away the shooting death of my three-year-old brother. Nothing.

Chapter 7

Caroline

Mid-November days in the Willamette
Valley tended to be rainy and cold, but the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was
an exception. We had a rare blue sky and I took advantage by taking my studies
outdoors to a bench outside the student union. Unfortunately, the bench was
wet, something I didn’t think of until after I’d already sat down.

I hadn’t seen Max since Monday. He hadn’t
even been in class this morning. He must be avoiding me.

That was sensible of him. Neither of us
needed any extra drama in our lives and Trent would never tolerate me being
friendly with his stepbrother, even if nothing ever happened between us. The
ridiculous thing was, I couldn’t get Max out of my head. I’d thought about him
every day since I’d met him, and the thoughts always came with generous sides
of lust and butterflies in the stomach, even after finding out what he’d done.

I should have been catching up on my
reading. But instead of pulling out my books, I took out my phone and called my
mom.

“Looking forward to Thanksgiving?” she
said cheerfully as soon as greetings had been exchanged.

“Yeah.” I guess. “Trent and I are
leaving as soon as we’re done with our afternoon classes.”

“I hope you drive carefully, especially
if you hit any ice.”

“We will.”

“You sound kind of down. You don’t want
to go?”

It was always annoying when my mom saw
through me so easily. She had mom superpowers, including mind reading and eyes
in the back of her head.

“It’s kind of weird,” I said.

“How come? Trent’s a great kid.”

He wasn’t a kid at all, but I let that
one pass. I guess to someone my mom’s age, we college students were all kids.

“I’m just not sure where this
relationship is going.”

“Oh. I thought things were good between
you.”

How much should I tell her? “They’re
okay, I guess.”

Only they weren’t okay. I was
daydreaming constantly about another guy. My feelings for Trent had gone from
fantasies about marriage proposals to resentment and boredom. This wasn’t going
to end well.

“He’s got a lot of potential, Caroline.
And he’s so good looking.”

“Yes, he is.”

I couldn’t tell her I didn’t feel any
passion for him. I mean, she’s my mom. That would be, like, the most awkward
conversation in the history of all mother-daughter conversations.

“Well, I think you should go. Sometimes
you have to put some work into a relationship.”

“Yeah, I know. And anyway, it’s too late
to back out.”

“It’s never too late if you’re that
uncomfortable. You can stay in the dorms, can’t you?”

“Yeah, mine is open for the holiday. But
I don’t want to do that to him.”

The conversation lagged. I watched
clumps of students pass me as they crossed the quad separating the student
union from huge, old Merriweather Hall. Everyone seemed happy, lookign forward
to their holiday.

“How are studies going?”

“They’re fine,” I said.

“It’s not too late to pick up a minor in
education, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to teach.”

There was a long pause. Mom was probably
trying to pull herself together on the other end. She got so worked up over the
fact I didn’t have a solid career plan.

“And Paige?” she said, with a bit of
strain in her voice.

“She’s great, Mom. We see each other
almost every day.”

“I’m so glad you have such a good
friend. Is she going home for the holiday?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s family lived down in
Medford, so she’d be traveling in the opposite direction from me.

“I think it’s great that you’re getting
to meet Trent’s family. He’s been to see us, so now it’s your turn to meet his
folks.”

I hesitated, wondering how much I should
confess to my mother. “The thing is, I found out something about him, Mom.” And
that discovery had irrevocably changed the way I felt.

“Oh?”

“He has a stepbrother named Max. He
never told me about him. I found out by accident.”

“Why didn’t he tell you?”

“Because Max’s family hates him. I met
him on campus. He seems like a nice guy. I don’t understand why they hate him
so much.”

Actually, I knew exactly why, but I didn’t
want to say that to her, or go into any details about his odd involvement in
magic. I didn’t want to prejudice her against Max, just in case.

In case what?

Yeah. I didn’t want to go there, not
even with myself.

“That’s too bad,” my mom said. “I had no
idea there was anything like that in Trent’s family.”

“Neither did I. How do you date someone
for a whole year and not know something like this?”

“Maybe you’ll find out more over the
holiday.”

Maybe I would. The thought of spending
over three days with those people made my stomach feel like I had swallowed a
really big rock, though.

“Yeah. I don’t think they’ll talk to me
about him,” I said. “They hate him.”

Oops. I so did not want to explain Max’s
history to my mom.

“Really,” she said. “Why is that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you accepted Trent’s invitation
already, so go up to Montana with him and do your best. You should probably
avoid talking about Max. And if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll have
important information about his family.”

“Such as that I can’t get along with
them?”

“Exactly.”

We both laughed. I loved my mom, even if
she did push me in the direction of a life I wasn’t sure I wanted. What would
she think of Max and his unorthodox beliefs?

My parents were the kind of people who
thought that if you couldn’t see it, touch it, taste or hear it, then it didn’t
exist. The idea of spirits and the unseen were ridiculed when I was growing up.
I mean, look at Aunt Jo. She was a shining example of what could happen to
people who messed around with that stuff. If I said anything about Max, or my
recent experiences with Retro-girl, I’d get an earful. Or maybe just pained
silence, which might be even worse.

***

It takes about fourteen hours to drive
from Avery’s Crossing to Billings, and that’s if you don’t stop for lunch,
snacks, and pee breaks. Of course, it’s also if you don’t drive eighty miles an
hour, like Trent. Either way, we had to stop overnight in a motel somewhere in
Idaho.

I wished I’d brought something beefier
to wear than my pea coat. It was made of wool but relatively thin. The mountain
wind drove right through it and every time I got out of the car, I was
shivering nonstop.

We made Billings at four o’clock on
Thanksgiving Day. Compared to Avery’s Crossing, it’s a big town but compared to
Portland, not so much. At least, that was the impression I had as we drove
through the outskirts and into Trent’s subdivision, one of those developments
where both the lots and the houses are enormous.

A thin layer of snow covered the ground.
We went past a parade of gigantic houses in all kinds of styles until he
finally turned into the driveway of the biggest one of all. It looked like a
lodge hotel or something, it was so huge, and all made of logs. A log castle.
There was a giant bank of windows in the front and through them you could see a
palatial living room glowing with lamplight from the gigantic Western-style
chandelier hanging from its cathedral ceiling.

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah. Wait until you see the inside.”
He pulled up in front of a separate, five-car garage and parked.

“Is this where you grew up?”

“Mostly. My stepdad built it not too
long after they got married. I was six, I think. Carter was a baby.”

And Max didn’t even get a mention. Not
that I could blame Trent, considering what his stepbrother had done.

I stared up at the beautiful monstrosity
in front of me and tried to imagine him living here. The Max I knew didn’t seem
to fit in a place like this. Of course, no-one I knew would really fit here,
except maybe Trent. The house I’d grown up in was a featureless little ranch
from the seventies that my dad had bought right after Aunt Jo moved out. My
parents were so busy working that they’d never really updated the place and now
all that seventies stuff was cool again.

But this house...this house had seen a
murder. Was it haunted? Did a little boy ghost run through its rooms?

That was such an Aunt Jo train of
thought that I shut myself down before I could follow it any further.

We pulled our bags from the car and
scrunched through the snow to the front door, which was one of those giant
double doors made to intimidate visitors with how grand they are. These were in
a rustic style with wrought-iron hardware. Each door sported a wreath made of
Indian corn and wheat.

One of them opened to a slim blonde of
indeterminate age with a huge smile on her face. She wore an apron, but her
hair was up in a French twist. She looked so much like Trent that I knew she
must be his mother.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, putting her
arms around Trent. “It’s so good to see you finally.”

“Hi, Mom.” His voice was muffled against
her hair.

She released him and turned her blinding
smile on me. “And you must be Caroline. We’re so glad you could come for
Thanksgiving. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Kincaid. I’m glad to be
here.” A little polite lie wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?

“Come on in and put your bags away.
Dinner is ready.”

We made our way into the foyer, which
rose at least two stories above us. Somewhere in the stratosphere, another
Western chandelier like the one in the living room dangled above our heads. A
sweeping staircase with a wrought-iron banister led upward. The floor was
covered in slate tiles and a mountain landscape painting hung on one wall. They
were really working the Western theme here.

“I’ve put Caroline in the blue guest
room,” Mrs. Kincaid said. “Go get your stuff put away and come to the kitchen.”
She almost bounced with eagerness.

I gave her another polite smile as Trent
led the way to the second story. I was hungry and the house smelled delicious,
like roasting turkey along with something oniony and a hint of sweet spices.
But I was also incredibly tired after such a long drive and what I wanted more
than anything was to soak in a very big tub of really hot water.

“Sorry about the guest room,” Trent said
when we reached the second floor landing. “My mom doesn’t want us sleeping
together.”

“That’s all right.” I didn’t mind at
all.

The landing was more like a grand hall.
It was so broad there was room for a bench on one wall and some potted plants,
plus more landscape paintings and a table with a bronze sculpture of a horse. I
looked at the procession of doors along its length and wondered which one had
been Carter’s, which one Max’s.

Trent led me to a generous room
decorated in blue toile, thus breaking the strict Western theme. There was a
floral rug on the floor in blue and cream, and curvy French-looking chairs in
the reading nook. It even had a crystal chandelier, very ooh-la-la.

“This is a beautiful house,” I said as I
set my bag on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks. My mom hired a decorator.”

“I’ve never even been in such a nice
place.”

He grinned at me. “I’ll tell her you
like it.”

“No, I’ll tell her. It’ll score me a
couple of points.” I winked at him, although I wasn’t really feeling it.

The truth was, I couldn’t get Max out of
my head. He’d grown up here, too. Had he run up and down that gigantic upstairs
hallway when he was a kid? I would have.

Had they replaced the flooring after the
shooting? My skin crawled as I thought about what had really happened here
twelve years before.

“Let’s go eat,” Trent said, taking my
arm.

The kitchen was super-sized, just like
the rest of the house. It had black granite counters, Shaker-style cabinets in
some kind of pale wood, and more Western-style light fixtures. A long,
farmhouse-style table covered in platters of food took up the breakfast nook. A
low arrangement of green and white hydrangeas marched down its center like a
floral stripe.

“I hope you don’t mind that we’re doing
this so casually,” Mrs. Kincaid said to me. “We decided to make it family only
this year, so we’re eating in the kitchen.”

This was casual? My family ate in the
kitchen every year because we didn’t have a formal dining room. And we never
had floral arrangements on our table.

“This is great. You have a beautiful
home,” I said.