She wrapped her arms around me tighter. “I
love you, Cay. I love you so much. Promise me you won’t leave me.
Please.”
I felt as if a ball of warm light exploded in
my chest, shedding radiance on the painful memories that floated
like ghosts in the darkest corners of my mind. Love. No one had
ever said those words to me. No one. I’d given up hope on a family
to call my own a long time ago. I’d given up hope on everything.
But with those three words, she’d given me heaven. It was as if the
world was opening his arms to me, as if I had a place in it once
more.
The emotion was so overwhelming that I let
myself go and said something I never should have. “I promise.” I
buried my face in her hair. “I promise I’ll never leave you.”
I pulled myself back from the memory with a
crack in my heart. Remorse biting me harder than ever. I looked up
at the jutting rocks above my head, as if looking for an answer,
and sighed. Why had I left her? Why had I let fear conquer my mind?
She was worth the risk. That and much more. But I disappointed her,
losing her love and trust. I had no more anchors in the human
world. Just the family that'd offered me a second chance to redeem
myself in a new life. A family I could finally call my own.
A muted hum buzzed in the back of my head. I
focused on it.
Damnit, Caleb!
Nick?
No. It’s God. Of course it’s me asshole!
What happened
?
The Benandanti. That’s what happened
,
he said, exasperated.
I’ve been trying to reach you for minutes
but you fucking closed your mind!
Shit!
I punched the rocky wall with my
fist, tearing some skin from my knuckles. I must've done it
unconsciously when I took the trip down memory lane.
Is everyone
okay?
Yeah. She’s not a problem anymore. Now get
your ass down here! Gavran is already with the girl.
I'm on my way
.
KALISTA
After a quick shower, I put on a black skinny
jean and a white blouse with a Victorian flare to it, guessing
Tristan might like this vintage style—he’d been born in the great
depression, after all.
I replaced my Converse shoes for some knee
high leather boots my dad had given me last year—and that I’d never
wore. Heels weren’t for me. I still didn’t get why women wore them
so much. They were foot-killers and excruciating. But they made me
look good, like those models in the magazines, and I wanted to look
nice. So foot pain or not, they would stay on my feet.
I went to the bathroom and picked up the
curling iron. I was done in less than five minutes. My hair looked
beautiful, shiny and wavy. I picked up the static spray from the
shelf on top of the toilet and applied two sprays on each hand. I
didn’t want my Duracell-like body ruining anything between us. I
hurried down the hall and down the stairs. The heels of my boots
making a sharp click-clack on the wood. Tristan was waiting at the
bottom and once he spotted me, his eyes sparkled with surprise. A
good sign. He held out his hand toward me with a smile lighting up
his face. I stopped on the last step and looked as his lips leaned
to kiss my hand. His eyes never left mine.
“I’ll be the envy of everyone,” he said.
I snorted. “Right.”
“Really.” He tweaked one lock of my hair
around his finger. I loved the fact that he liked to touch my hair
so much. “Do you have any idea how—” He trailed off, dropping his
hand.
“Tristan?” I said, eyeing him worriedly. His
line of thought seemed to be on an entire different track.
“It’s Elan,” he said, looking down, as if he
was listening to something. Then he stopped and hissed under his
breath, “Wait.”
Was he talking to me? Suddenly, I remembered.
Telepathy
. He was talking to Elan. “I'm sorry,” he told me.
“Elan needs to speak with me. Do you mind?”
I shook my head.
I tried to read what could be possibly going
on between their minds. But it was unreadable. I only could guess.
Perhaps Elan was worried about Tristan’s whereabouts. Or Chloe.
He’d been out of reach for a long time.
Yeah, that must be
it.
Or perhaps not.
Definitely not.
His face was tense now. The way his eyebrows
were pulled together over the bridge of his nose showed more than
angst. What was he telling him?
He looked at me. “We need to go.” He turned
and rushed to the door.
“What? Where?” I said, confused. It didn’t
seem like we were going to a restaurant anymore.
“I need to go to the Studio,” he opened the
door, clearly in a hurry. “And I don’t want to leave you alone
here,” he added..
“Okay,” I said, pulling my jacket off the
hook.
He shut the door. “I’ll tell you later. We
really need to get going,” he said and led me to the car.
He turned on the engine and in less than
three seconds (I didn’t know how he managed to do that) the house
was out of sight. We were speeding down the road at God knows what
speed—I didn’t want to look at the screen with the speedometer—and
God knows why.
“Tristan,” I said nervously, my hands glued
to my legs. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
He didn’t look away from the road. “I can’t
tell you right now.”
“Why?”
“It may be too…shocking for you.”
“For me?” I asked. Now my head was spinning
with crazy ideas. “Tell me.”
He hesitated and looked at me.
“Tell me!” I said. “Don’t you see I'm
panicking here?” And imagining things like my dad in, oh my God, a
car accident.
He sighed. “Elan and Mingan found a dead body
while hunting—the body of an old lady.”
I shook my head, trying to clear my mind.
“What?” I muttered. The image of that dry splotch of blood in the
bookstore’s desk flashed into my mind. No. It couldn’t…It couldn’t
be her.
“We think an Insurgent might be behind
it.”
A Bugbear
. That feeling in my gut
sharpened. “Might or certain?” I asked, fearful.
His dark expression told me the answer.
“Oh my God.” I whispered. This wasn’t
happening.
The car stopped. The huge windows of the
Studio stood beside, but no lights were illuminating the paintings,
just a black veil covering them in darkness. A vivid memory of our
encounter almost two weeks ago swept through my mind. So much had
changed since then, so much had happened.
“Kalista.” He looked down at my hand, grasped
it, and stared into my eyes. “My father found her bookstore torn
apart. He thinks him or they were after something specific.”
It was her. The old lady. I’d known something
about that smear of blood wasn’t right. I’d felt it. And I’d
ignored it. A deep wave of guilt and regret coursed through me. I
could’ve done something. Just…something. She’d been at my house
yesterday, still alive. And maybe she’d wanted to tell me something
important. Maybe that’s why she’d left the book out in the porch in
such a hurry.
How could—the book! The realization hit me.
Could it be? Was the book at the center of all of this? She wanted
to protect it and there was no one else besides me who knew about
it. That’s why she’d trusted me with it. She knew they were coming,
and they killed her because she wouldn’t give it to them.
She gave it to me. She sacrificed herself for
the book! My brain was processing as fast as a computer, and I
remembered. She’d said I hadn’t gotten to the core of the book.
That I’d just seen the “garnish.” Now those crazy words made sense.
What if the bugbears were after some hidden information in the
book?
“What were they looking for?” he asked,
waking me up from my deliberations. I looked at him. I could see
the wheels turning behind his eyes. I was dying to tell him what I
knew, but I couldn’t betray the old lady’s trust in me. She’d kept
it secret for a reason.
He sighed heavily. “I don’t want to lie to
you, Kalista, so here’s the problem. We can’t smell him or them.
That’s why we couldn’t stop this. For some bizarre reason, its
scent is untraceable.” He frowned. “They’re here for something
specific, and probably they’re still wandering around. I’ll stay
with you tonight until we’re able to figure this out, okay?” He
stroked my cheek.
“Okay,” I said, relieved. Being alone at my
deserted house wasn’t a good idea, not when something so dangerous
was out there. And not when the book was lying under my bed.
He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on my
lips, the gentleness soothing my worry. “Nothing is going to happen
to you. I promise.”
I smiled.
“Let’s go. I need to pick up something.”
We stepped outside the car. The night was
cold, as if black ice had melted in the skies. The frosty breeze
wrapped my body instantly, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
The wintry air seemed to go down my throat and up to my head like a
fresh current, cleansing the murky brain waves in my mind. It was
as if the ghastly wounds of the old lady’s death had been suddenly
swabbed with analgesic ice, relieving the anguish for a moment.
Tristan pulled the white front door open and
the wind bell chimed our arrival. “Can I stay outside?” I
asked.
He turned and looked at me. “I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”
“I need some fresh air,” I told him with
pleading eyes, holding his hand. “Just for a while.”
He shook his head. “No.”
I stepped closer. “Please, Tristan. I really
need it.” The cold was like a balm to me, and it wasn’t like a
bugbear was coming after me or something. I was perfectly safe
here. “I'm not going anywhere.”
He looked at me hesitantly. “Don’t lose more
time. You need to hurry up,” I urged.
He sighed, won over. “Stay here,” he said
with a firm voice, as if he was talking to a kid. “I’ll be back in
a few minutes.” He turned and strode into the gallery, vanishing in
the darkness.
I walked back to the car. In the distance,
café tables sat on both sides of the street. They were empty. Most
certainly because of the wintry breeze that was sifting through the
trees. Only the light that seeped through the windows of the coffee
shops, touching the edges of the tables outside, showed the
activity bubbling inside. There were enough cars lining the street
to drive a waiter crazy. But even if there weren’t people walking
around hand in hand, or sitting outside, it looked like one of
those happy Christmas scenes in a movie. A glow seemed to wrap the
street.
But some of us knew this night wasn’t as
lovely as it appeared. One person was dead and a couple of
bugbears—sorry, Insurgents—were on the loose. Insurgents that were
looking for something, perhaps something I had. But nobody knew.
And it was…
“Excuse me, miss?” said a man’s voice. He was
crossing from the other side of the street. From what I could see
he was in his late twenties, six feet tall, blond hair, and he
sported a long black coat. Even from here I could see the man was
attractive (he reminded me in some way of Jude Law in his early
days, without the British accent). He looked like he'd stepped out
from a Hugo Boss ad.
“Sorry to disturb you, but could you please
tell me where Sudderth Drive is?” he stopped a few feet away.
Jeez. You’re asking the wrong person
.
“Um…I don’t know, I just moved here. Sorry.” I wasn’t good with
directions. And even if I tried to point out the way, he would
probably end up in California.
No kidding.
“Oh,” he said, thwarted. He took out a folded
map from the pocket of his coat. “This is…Mechem Drive, isn’t it?”
he asked, pointing his finger at the map.
I walked toward him. “Yes, this is it.” I
said. Where was he from? A sudden urge to find out rushed into my
mind. “You’re not from here I take it?”
He fixed his chocolate eyes on me and smiled
back. “No, I'm not. This is my first time around here. Actually, my
first time in this part of the country. It’s different.” He raised
his eyebrows, looking around.
“You came here on a business trip?”
“No, I came to visit my grandmother. She
wanted me to pick something for her at some store in Sudderth
Drive,” he said.
How cute. He was helping out her granny. “So,
you’re not from here either?” he asked, pulling out from his pocket
a small plastic bag filled with blueberries.
“I'm from New York,”
He caught my eyes and offered me some. “No
thanks. I don’t like blueberries.”
He paused and looked me in the eye. “They’re
pretty good,” he said. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were
black. Pitch-black. The strange color shift didn’t startle me,
though. I couldn’t take my eyes from him. He was so…
fascinating…magnetic. “You should taste them. Eat.” And as if
someone had flipped a switch inside of me, I followed his words
without thinking, pulling out some shiny dark berries from the
bag.
Wait. Wait. Why am I eating berries when I
don’t want to?
The flavor was all wrong. Sweet, but not
berry-sweet.
He blinked and his eyes turned chocolate
brown again. “New York is a big city, the difference is rather big
don’t you think?” he carried on with the conversation like nothing
had happened.
My heart started pumping faster. There was
something wrong about him. “It’s because of my dad,” I answered.
“He needed a place like this.” My heart was seeing red flags, but
my legs refused to leave. My whole body refused to leave.
Why was Tristan taking so long?
“Take some more,” he told me.
“No…I'm good.”
“Eat.” He looked at me once more with those
deep black eyes.
Click
.
Oh God, he was so gorgeous…and his eyes…Hey!
Why was I grabbing berries again? I didn’t want to! Why was I
obeying him like some dumb puppy?