by Tamar Sloan
I’ll head over. I’ve got some photos for you to check out.
And I’ll bring brownies.
“I do love you, Tess.” Tristan chuckles as he tucks his cell back in his pocket.
Tristan pauses outside the library. It’s an old building like many of them are, brick without a lot of windows. But it’s not the one from his vision. Not large enough. No sense of familiarity.
Pushing open the door, Tristan breathes in the scent of books and—he tilts his head—is that cinnamon? And sugar? A soft chime echoes somewhere in the back and he hears the sound of a paper bag scrunching up, then rushed, uneven footsteps.
Seems the librarian has a limp. And they just finished some cinnamon donuts.
Tristan walks through the shelves of books, not really paying attention. Most libraries have the fiction section up the front, people never realizing there’s an evil out there far scarier than the ones crafted in the pages.
Because this one is real.
The nonfiction is always relegated to the back, which is fine by Tristan. He’s not here to hang out away from prying adult eyes like so many people his age are. He’s here for information.
The smell of sugar and cinnamon gets stronger, and the area opens out to reveal a large desk to the left. An older man, tall and slightly gray, is standing with his back to Tristan, stacking books on a trolley.
Tristan approaches the desk, pulling up a smile as he waits.
“Internet computers are to the left,” the man mutters without turning around. “Don’t forget to fill in the sign-in sheet.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t after the computers.”
The man turns around, the books he was about to put down still in his hands. Tristan blinks, trying to hide his surprise. The guy has a patch over his left eye.
“I don’t validate parking, either.”
Tristan recovers his grin. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping to spend a bit of time here.”
The man’s only visible eye narrows slightly. “We close at five.”
“Noted, ah…”—Tristan glances at the man’s name badge—“Alden.” He dials up the biggest smile he can. “I’ve got an assignment for school. It’s on the history of Mirror Point.”
Alden puts down the books with a thwump. “The Mirror Point Women’s Society has a website with all the information you’ll need.” He points to the computer bank at the back of the room. “Don’t forget to sign in.”
Tristan grits his teeth behind his smile. This dude has to be the most unhelpful librarian he’s ever met. Tristan checked out that website during math and all he learned was that people didn’t like smiling much back then and that cross-stitch classes are on Wednesday nights.
“It’s just that I really need to get an A on this assignment.” Tristan leans forward. “My parents said if I don’t, they’ll send me to stay with Aunt Ida for the summer break.” He makes a show of shuddering at the thought of visiting his non-existent aunt.
Alden grunts, clearly communicating he doesn’t care what Tristan’s summer break looks like. “Local history is down there,” he indicates with his chin.
“Much appreciated, Alden,” Tristan says cheerfully. He needs to keep this guy on his side, even if he’s determined to be a cranky pirate rather than a helpful librarian.
The local history section is exactly where Alden indicates, but it still takes Tristan a minute to find it. Not only is it in the bottom corner, it’s much smaller than he expected. Most places he’s been to, the section documenting the history of the town has any book ever published on the area. And it’s placed far more prominently.
A quick scan of the spines doesn’t give Tristan much hope. There are only seven books. And three of them are on cross-stitch. Taking the others to a nearby table, he flips through them.
Nothing jumps out as worth investigating further. Established back when most places around here were. Population not worthy of mentioning. Their claim to fame is their annual embroidery fair. Mirror Point has to be the most vanilla town he’s ever come across.
Taking one of the books back to the front desk, Tristan figures he can at least have a closer look at the pictures of some of the buildings. Maybe he’ll recognize one from his vision. He finds Alden where he left him as if the man turned to stone once Tristan walked away. Alden watches Tristan put the book down on the counter so closely that Tristan wonders what kids have done in here before. Booby trapped a book with a mouse trap? TNT? Frowning dust?
Tristan keeps his posture relaxed. “Who would’ve thought that many people would travel so far for an embroidery fair, huh?” Alden doesn’t respond but Tristan doesn’t expect him to. “Are there any other books?”
“That’s everything.”
“Are you sure? I was kind of hoping to write about something…cool.”
Alden arches a brow. “And the art of the slip stitch isn’t?”
“Whip stitch was probably the only one that caught my eye, to be honest. Look, I’m more thinking of”—Tristan’s eyes light up as if he just thought of something—“something like alien sightings! Now that would be cool.”
Alden’s brow looks like it might have atrophied up there. “Nope. Sorry. You got the wrong town.”
“I read this story once about this alien pod landing in a field. There are a lot of fields around here—”
“Nope. No pods.”
“What about downstairs? Are there any extra books—”
“Nope.”
Before Tristan can open his mouth to ask about any strange murders or deaths, Alden has turned away. “We’re closing soon.”
Tristan deflates. You’d think he’d be used to dead ends by now, but for some reason this one stings even more than they did back in the beginning. It’s just that with the vision, with meeting Cassandra so quickly. Then the moments with Brielle.
It’d felt like this time was different.
Tristan turns away. “Thanks, Alden. You’ve been really helpful.”
There’s no answer behind him, but Tristan didn’t expect there to be. Alden is probably sterilizing everything Tristan touched in case smiling is contagious.
He’s just closed the door when Tess rounds the corner. She stops, surprised. “You’ve finished already?”
“Yeah. Library closes at five.”
Tess glances at her watch. “But it’s only four thirty.”
Tristan flops onto a bench seat facing the street. “Did you know size matters when it comes to your embroidery needle?”
“I can’t say that I did.” Tess slides in next to him. She passes him a container, several glistening brownies inside. “But now I know who to go to if I’m ever making a sampler.”
Tristan takes out a fudgy slice of awesomeness, trying to focus on the sweet sugar dancing over his tongue as he takes a bite. He chews for a few moments, waiting for the buzz he always gets with Tess’s brownies. When it doesn’t come, he sighs. “I saw both girls from my vision today. They’re at the school.”
“You did?” Tess presses her hands between her thighs, a sure-fire sign she’s excited, but he doesn’t look at her.
“I still need to find out whether Cassandra, the blonde girl, could be a match. Brielle, the other one.” The one with the hair the color of coffee and eyes the color of rich moss. “She’s an orphan.”
This time, Tess doesn’t move. “And?”
“She said she can detect lies.”
“And?” This time, Tess’s voice is cautious. She’s picked up that Tristan isn’t matching her enthusiasm.
“I told her the truth and she looked at me like I needed to be committed.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Tristan’s head falls into his hands. “I didn’t keep my cool, Tess.”
Tess’s warm hand falls on his shoulder. “You’ve never done it like that before, Tristan. What happened?”
Brielle felt…different. Tristan pushes to his feet, his body feeling like a live wire. “Because that vision was a reminde
r, Tess. We’re running out of time.”
Chardis is starting to kill.
Tess looks up from the bench, her gaze soft. So full of patience. “She’s an orphan, that’s one step closer.”
“So was Sophie,” Tristan points out. And Anne. And Danika.
They were all lovely. And none of them turned out to be a Zodiac Heir let alone his Gemini Twin.
“And she says she can detect lies.”
Tristan throws Tess an unimpressed look. “One, you just need to be good at reading people to do that. Two, lie detection isn’t the most offensive power when it comes to fighting off Skins.”
Three, when he told Brielle the truth, she looked like she’d be happy never to see Tristan again. Not exactly Gemini Twin material. Tristan flops back onto the bench beside Tess. That’s what’s gotten to him.
It’s the fact that it doesn’t look like Brielle is…her.
“Here.” Tess holds out a sheaf of papers. “Maybe this will give us something. I printed any images I could find of buildings in this area that could match. Big. Empty.”
Tristan shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. This woman is like Flubber, she can bounce back no matter what. He takes the pages, scanning the top one. “Nope.” He flips to the second one, barely glancing at it. “Nope.”
Great, now he’s starting to sound like Alden.
The third, the fourth, then the fifth are all rejected. None of them feel familiar. He passes the sheaf back to Tess and the container of brownies. Even they’ve lost their ability to lift his mood right now. “Surprise, surprise. Nothing.”
Tess slips an arm around his shoulder. “I know this is taking longer than any of us expected. Especially after Zarius found you when you were a baby.”
Tristan doesn’t point out he’s seventeen. That’s seventeen years of searching. Seventeen years of zilch.
“But we’ll find them, Tristan. I know we will.”
The quiet conviction in Tess’s voice wraps around him. He straightens. “We have to.”
The alternative isn’t something anyone wants to consider.
Tess smiles. “What would you normally do next? Those times you’ve come up empty handed.”
“You mean all the other times?” Tristan asks wryly. Despite that, he leans back, staring in thought. “Looked for more clues. Didn’t give up.”
“Exactly.” Tess squeezes his knee before standing up. “If you were genetically related, I’d say you inherited your determination from Zarius.”
Tristan stands too, drawing her into a hug, realizing Tess’s unwavering belief in him has been his foundation his whole life. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Tess pulls back, her hand stroking his cheek before she pulls away. “Speaking of Zarius. I haven’t seen him all day. He’ll be hungry when he gets back.”
Tristan chuckles. Tess’s love language is cooking. “Cool. I’m going to drive around for a bit, it helps me think.”
Tess nods. “I’ll see you back at home.”
As Tess takes a right to leave the parking lot, Tristan takes a left. He passes Creamy Dreams, surprised to find the place closed. Small towns aren’t big on nightlife, it seems. When Mirror Point High appears ahead Tristan realizes he was unconsciously retracing his steps. The café where he scared off Brielle.
The school where he first set eyes on her.
Even if she’s not the Gemini Twin, there’s still a possibility she’s a Zodiac Heir. Now the challenge is getting her to talk to him again.
Tristan pulls in, noting there are still a couple of cars parked out the front. It looks like he’s going to be spending more time in cooking class.
The door to the school opens and Tristan sits up straight when he sees who’s leaving. Her hair pulled up in a perky ponytail and her slim figure encased in workout gear, Cassandra skips down the stairs. She looks up, stopping when she spots Tristan.
Her smile grows as she sashays over. “Hey, can’t stay away from the place, huh?”
Tristan grins, liking the teasing glint in her eye. “I thought I’d forgotten something.” He holds up his cell. “Turns out it was in my pocket all along.”
Cassandra’s smile grows, telling Tristan she can’t detect lies, unlike Brielle’s claim that she can. “Good timing, then. I just finished training.”
“Oh? What’s your specialty?”
Her nose wrinkles as she looks down, twisting a leg one way then the other. “You can’t tell from the calves? Sprints.”
Tristan keeps his eyes steadfastly up. “Perfectly proportioned, I’m sure.”
Cassandra bites her lip, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder as she leans against the open window. “How was the date with Brielle?”
Tristan shrugs. “It was cut short.”
“Probably a good thing. You don’t want to hang out with the likes of her.”
“Oh?” Judging by those words, and the hard edge to them, Brielle was telling the truth—friends isn’t how to describe Cassandra and Brielle’s relationship.
“Anyone who spends time with her quickly learns it was a mistake.”
Tristan keeps his posture casual, knowing he can’t look too interested. “Sounds like there’s some bad blood there.”
“We were in the same orphanage as kids.” She flicks her hair as if that’s of no consequence. “There’s a reason everyone else got adopted and Brielle didn’t.”
Holy pitch—Cassandra’s an orphan!
Staying still and casual is hard work considering his brain wants to whoop out loud, but it seems Zarius has trained him well. Tristan hooks an arm out the window. “Well, if hanging with Brielle isn’t a good idea, it looks like I’ll have some spare time on my hands.”
Cassandra angles her head, her lips tipping up. “It seems so,” she purrs. Moving her bag around to her front, she rifles around. Pulling out a pen, she lifts a brow. “I’ll give you my number.”
Tristan’s about to look for a piece of paper when she grasps his arm. Extending it, she leans down, her perfume tickling his nose as she holds his wrist. With eyebrows raised, Tristan watches as she scrawls her number on his arm.
“There.” Cassandra smiles as she returns the pen to her bag. She steps back, cheeks a little pink. “I’ve gotta go or my dad will have a fit.”
“I’ll call you,” Tristan tells her, retreating back.
She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
Cassandra climbs into a shiny Mercedes—seems she hit the jackpot when she got adopted—and drives off. Tristan glances at his arm, his skin tingling where the numbers are printed in small, round numerals.
That’s two orphans at Mirror Point. And one willing to talk.
Tristan punches the air. “I’d call that progress.”
He puts the car into gear, looking forward to telling Zarius and Tess the news, when something catches his eye. Tristan stills, glancing back at the school. The front steps are empty, the afternoon light casting long shadows down one side.
He takes his time scanning. The door’s shut, there’s no one around.
But still…
Tristan narrows his eyes, peering closer. Nothing moves, there’s barely a breeze. Even the shadows are as peaceful as the rest of this town. He’s probably overreacting after the rollercoaster today has been. But something keeps him there.
You’re not the only one looking for Zodiac Heirs.
Tristan climbs out of the car, closing his eyes as he holds still. The softest sound reaches him. The subtle crunching of gravel.
Then the smell. The scent of a person.
Yet there’s no one around.
Tristan’s eyes fly open, his muscles flooding with adrenaline. There’s no time to call Zarius.
He’ll be facing this Skin alone.
8
Brielle
I’m an alien prince and I’m here to find others like me…
Tristan’s words keep replaying in Brielle’s head like an annoying song ly
ric all the way back to the orphanage.
He actually believes he’s an alien prince. And what, he thinks Brielle’s an alien, too? She’s not sure what’s more upsetting; that the only guy to ever ask her out thinks he’s an alien, or that she’s such an outcast that he thinks she’s one as well.
I may be a freak who has visions and can sniff out lies like a bloodhound, but I’m certainly no alien. Thanks for the confidence boost, Tristan.
She sighs as she walks up the steps to the front door. She can’t let this distract her. The Pierces will be here soon, and she needs to be her best self. She’s just going to have to shake the unpleasant encounter off and get ready for the most important meeting of her life.
Getting to her room, Brielle tosses her backpack on her bed and takes the brush off her nightstand, running it through her hair for good measure. She examines her reflection in the mirror, pulling in a steadying breath. Her clothes aren’t the most fashionable, but this outfit is the best she’s got. At least the pant legs fit all the way down and have no rips like the others, even if they do now have a rip at the knee, thanks to Cassandra. While ripped and frayed jeans may be a fashion trend, they’re just too real when it comes to being an orphan.
Before she can debate changing her pants, someone knocks at the door.
“Brielle.” It’s Sister Agatha.
Brielle turns around, her heart clambering up her throat. She’s out of time.
“The Pierces are in the drawing room waiting for you,” Sister Agatha says, the eager glint in her eye betraying her serene façade. “Are you ready?”
Brielle inhales slowly and nods, following Sister Agatha out of the room.
“Relax, Brielle,” she says softly. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just be yourself.” Sister Agatha doesn’t hug, but her kind tone wraps around Brielle, offering the same comfort that an embrace would.
Brielle nods, the walk to the drawing room feeling more like a procession down death row, with the eyes and whispers of her inmates following her as she passes.
Too quickly, they cross the threshold into the drawing room. Frank and Beatrice are sitting on the green paisley loveseat, and the welcoming smile they cast as she approaches helps to ease the tension that has Brielle’s shoulders aching.