Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) (12 page)

Not unless the mother is at least a minor empath, which, I supposed, wasn’t entirely out of the question. Enough people had that sort of minor empathy that the concept of “knowing” the desperate needs of a close family member was a widely accepted phenomenon, even among the untalented.

“When do you think your daughter died?” I asked.

Before she could answer, Nora broke into the conversation. “She’s been through a lot, can’t you see?”

“I called yesterday morning.” Tracy seemed to be coming back to herself. Her eyes penetrated Nora’s as she went on unrelentingly. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“What time?” I asked.

“She called at three in the morning, raving like a lunatic.” Nora’s face was as pale as a ghost.

Vera’s face, on the other hand, was nearly as red as her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I wasn’t sure if she was talking to Nora or Tracy – probably both. For a moment, she inflated, trying to make herself look bigger than her petite stature. Then, in an instant, she deflated. Throwing her fork in a pile of mush, she pushed herself away from the table and fled in the direction of the restrooms.

Before I had a chance to regroup and try to quiz Tracy on her intuition, one of the search parties returned, causing everyone to turn and look.

“Jack!” Tracy knocked over her chair as she stood, then raced to her husband.

I scarcely noticed them. My eyes flew straight to Evan, who had the white-faced appearance of a sorcerer on the brink of magical drain. A sorcerer can’t just endlessly cast spells. It takes energy, some personal and some from the Earth itself. That’s why the node near Eagle Rock, under that section of Table Rock Lake, drew so many sorcerers. It’s also one of the reasons my parents had never been keen on traveling. It’s not that they wouldn’t be powerful sorcerers anywhere, and it’s not that there aren’t other places with node energies to draw upon, but they had grown accustomed to the way the magic flowed through their own home turf. And they missed it when it was gone.

Apparently, Evan felt the same way. Hadn’t he said he noticed the absence of the node when we’d arrived? He had probably underestimated how much of a difference its absence would make.

I grabbed my purse and the bottle of water Jeff had handed me. Then, as an afterthought, I grabbed another bottle of water for Evan. He had a canteen attached to a strap draped across his shoulders, but might need a refill. He would need water and food, in that order, preferably followed with rest and access to his familiar node. I still had a thousand questions and dozens of people I wanted to interview, but all of that could wait until morning.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I called to the table, partly as a good-bye and partly as a warning. “I’ll want to talk to those people I mentioned,” I added to Nora.

Then I was by Evan’s side. Linking my hand in his without thought to the implications or consequences, I steered him out of the mess hall. He didn’t need to lean on me. Luckily, he wasn’t that far gone, because I didn’t think I could support his taller, heavier frame for any length of time. He clasped my hand tightly, as if he didn’t want to let go.

I didn’t want the touch of his hand to affect me, but it did, and not just because the physical contact sent tremors through my body. I could ignore lust, but it was harder to ignore his vulnerability, much less the reasons behind it. He hadn’t weakened himself for some selfish power trip; he had done it to save the lives of two girls. And whether I wanted it to or not, that affected me a great deal.

“I’ll drive,” I said when we’d left the hall.

“I can drive,” Evan said.

I turned toward him, noting his failed attempt to look cool and untouched. It might have worked on someone else, especially combined with his hard-edged tone of authority, but I saw the telltale pallor and his slightly dilated pupils. His entire body was tense, as if simply walking was a greater effort than usual.

“You’re exhausted,” I said. “How many times do you think you can let yourself drain without actually burning out?”

“I’m not drained.”

No, not this time, but he was too close for comfort, especially when it had only been a few weeks since the last time.

“I know how much I can handle,” Evan said.

“Then give me the keys.” I withdrew my hand from his and held it out, palm up. Then I looked into his eyes, and softened my voice. “Evan, it’s me. Let your guard down.”

For an endless moment, he just looked at me. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me the keys. His fingers brushed against mine, lingering longer than necessary before withdrawing.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

I could see in his eyes that it had been a while since he had let his guard down for anyone. He had been too young when he had hardened, deciding that showing emotions was a weakness. It made him seem older, though he was exactly the same age as me.

“You’re welcome.” I wound my way to the driver’s side door, not letting myself look at him. Or think too hard about the clear overture of friendship I had just made.

D
IDN’T THEY HAVE FOOD AT THE
mess?” Evan asked as I steered his
car out of the grassy parking lot. A few cars had come and gone since we had arrived, but the neat rows remained.

“Trust me, you didn’t want to eat that stuff. It would have made things worse.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. For many, cooking is all the magic they ever need. It can invigorate, sustain, and protect. Under the right conditions, food can make you happy or sad, feel love or lust, influence fertility, and much more. None of these things require what I think of as true magic, just knowledge of how food, and the environment in which it is served, affects us. There is a reason that a candlelit dinner for two is considered romantic; there is magic in the home made food and the darkness, broken only by the soft glow of the candles.

In this case, what Evan needed was a menu designed to increase energy. Since he was a sorcerer, I had little doubt he would have a nice selection of teas available, as well as olive oil, almonds, and oranges. Maybe even some blueberries, if we were lucky.

“Drink some water.” I gestured at his canteen, still draped across his shoulder alongside his satchel. Both were pinned beneath the seatbelt.

Evan nodded, then gingerly began untangling himself. I brought the car to a stop at the intersection of the two-lane highway that would take us home, and took the opportunity to twist the cap off of my own water, taking a long drink. I usually sipped water all afternoon, but that afternoon I had gone dry. I hadn’t even realized how thirsty I had been until half the bottle was gone.

After replacing the bottle in the cup holder, I turned right onto the highway and began to follow the road. My mind was filled with the things I had learned – and especially the things I had not learned – as I moved the steering wheel with the sharp curves of the backwoods Arkansas roads. Beside me, Evan unscrewed the cap from his canteen and began to drink, coming back to himself a little with each swallow. Before long, he had drained his water and a tiny hint of color had returned to his cheeks.

“Do you need more?” I asked.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Later.”

“Can you sleep in the car?” I asked. “It’ll be over an hour before we get you home.”

Nodding, he leaned his head against his headrest. In a surprisingly short period of time his breathing fell into the shallow, regular pattern of sleep.

That left me alone with nothing but my jumbled thoughts for company. I had been so busy all afternoon that there had been no chance to stop and think about the information I had collected, but as I gathered the tendrils of data together in my mind, I realized there really wasn’t that much to think about.

What did I know? That early Tuesday morning, two girls had snuck out of their cabin and gone missing somewhere in the woods? That nobody really liked them and there were ugly rumors about them, probably generated because nobody liked them? That Tracy had a mild empathic connection to her daughter that was severed early Tuesday morning?

I had known before I arrived that the girls were probably dead. So far, nothing I had discovered suggested anything other than a terrible accident. The sheriff’s inability to organize an effective search party aside, they would probably find the girls’ bodies in the next few hours, and that would be the end of it. Even if they didn’t, Evan would probably find a magical way to manage the same feat.

So what was my role in all of this? Both Nicolas and Evan had wanted me on this case, but what did they think I could do? I had a sick sense I knew, and that each had ulterior motives, which had nothing whatsoever to do with my helping to find the girls. Nicolas and my parents wanted to help me out financially. As for Evan...

I risked a glance at his profile. He looked so peaceful in sleep, so deceptively vulnerable, like any normal mortal. He wasn’t, though. Normal or vulnerable.

Why had he wanted me to join him? I couldn’t help but speculate that his reasons had less to do with the possibility that I would find the girls than it did with the certainty that we would have to spend time together over the next few days. Perhaps he had been looking for such an opening, something to put me at ease while we worked together on a common goal. It was the only thing that made sense, since the odds of me finding someone he could not were next to nothing.

Yet he had made his intentions toward me clear, hadn’t he? He wanted to marry me. He didn’t seem willing to force me to do it – yet – but who knew how long he would wait before playing his trump cards? First, there was his magical kiss. His powerfully arousing kiss which, despite everything, I craved. Then there was his final card, and an end to the chase – two words:
Marry me
.

Should I have felt relieved that he was at least making a pretense of courting me first? I didn’t think so. How else would it end, except exactly the way he wanted? His victory was assured, so why not spend some time to at least try to make me think it was something I wanted as much as he did? If, in six months or a year, I still hadn’t come around, he still had those two words.

Why? The question hit me with bruising force, and I found myself studying his sleeping form once again. Why did he want to marry me? It wasn’t something I had given much thought to before, but it suddenly seemed critically important. He hadn’t exactly spouted words of love or devotion, only of care and protection. Well, and desire. But he had desired a lot of girls in his time.

I had felt an attraction toward him for years, but he hadn’t even noticed me as a woman until a few weeks ago. All of a sudden, we had wandered back into one another’s lives. So why now? Why me? He could have nearly any woman he wanted.

Then again, he had always felt an almost noble sense of obligation when it came to protecting others, especially me. Perhaps he had dreamed up the notion the day I informed him I no longer had my parents to protect me. Maybe he thought it was his duty.

My heart twisted at the thought. As if there weren’t enough reasons that this relationship was a bad idea, there came the clincher – he wanted it for all the wrong reasons. It didn’t make him any less inclined to push, and to do whatever he had to do to get what he wanted, but there it was.

I wanted his pity even less than I wanted him to take care of me.

By the time I pulled into the long circular driveway leading up to Evan’s mammoth house, I was fighting back tears. I couldn’t let him see me that weak, so I waited a few minutes before waking him. I steadied myself by taking deep breaths, and drank the rest of my water.

“Did I sleep the whole way?” Evan asked, when I felt steady enough to wake him.

“Yes. I think it helped. You look a little better.”

He nodded stiffly, but gave no further reply as he stubbornly pulled himself out of the car and up to the house. He still looked as if walking was an effort, but he wanted to deny the fact.

I grabbed the water bottles and headed for the house, waiting on the front porch while Evan unlocked the door and disabled the wards. As soon as we made our way to his spacious kitchen, through rooms still largely undecorated, Evan fell heavily into a chair around the oak table.

I tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin and put the other on the counter, then began searching the kitchen for food. I put a kettle of water on the stove to get the tea started before checking out the refrigerator. There was some salmon defrosting on the top shelf–perfect. That, a spinach salad with slices of mandarin oranges, and maybe some angel hair pasta tossed with olive oil would put some color back on Evan’s face.

“Hang in there. This will take me about half an hour to put together.” If I had half the magic of anyone in my family, I could have managed it in less time, although it is typically best not to rush cooking.

“You know your way around the kitchen,” Evan said after a few minutes.

“Thanks,” I said. He couldn’t win me over with a few compliments, though. “Where do you keep your herbal teas?”

“The cabinet just to your left. It’s alphabetized.”

The aforementioned cabinet contained at least a hundred different types of teas, alphabetized as Evan had mentioned. Cloris Floris was on the top shelf, which was a bit of a stretch to reach, but I managed.