by Kristie Cook
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, moving into the room and reaching my hand out for the books. “I didn’t mean to leave them lying around. I can take them—”
“Oh, no, darling. They must be returned to the Sacred Archives.”
“We don’t get to keep them?”
“I am sorry, dear, but as your stories continue, they can only be written in the Sacred Archives.”
I silenced a growl building in my chest. “But I’m not done reading the past.”
“You have read the whole thing, no?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I mean. I want to study it more.”
She shifted the books into one arm and lifted her free hand to tap my temple with a finger. “If you have read its entirety, its entirety rests in there.”
I scowled, not understanding.
“Look into your own mind, Alexis. It is all in there.”
Then I realized what she meant. I didn’t simply remember what I’d read last night enough to summarize, but I could actually visualize the entire contents of my history book, word-for-word. Wicked.
“Rina?”
She was headed out the door and turned in the doorway. “Yes, darling?”
I hesitated, annoyed at all the “darlings.” How could she be so warm after accusing me of being a liar? I thought about quelling my curiosity, but the question came out before I could stop it. “Who writes the books?”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “It is the secret of the Sacred Archives, but I imagine the Angels write them.”
“Oh.” I said no more. She didn’t believe me earlier, so I definitely didn’t mention what I’d been thinking.
“I am sure you are hungry, no? I will have food brought to you here.” She disappeared before I could say anything.
I gnawed on my bottom lip as I walked the perimeter of the sitting room. Like the rest of the mansion, the walls were made of stone; only a single, narrow window interrupted it, showing the darkened sky and grounds. A blazing fire in the hearth produced the only light, casting dancing shadows on the walls from the antique furniture and filling the room with a relaxing, woody scent. Besides the family vine hanging, which covered the entire wall it hung on, other tapestries decorated the remaining walls. They appeared to be old, yet well kept, each depicting a glimpse into ancient battles between Angels and Demons.
When I turned around from one, I sucked in a breath. The coffee table displayed a spread of food. I’d never heard anyone bring it, and Rina had only been gone a few minutes.
“Ophelia?” I asked—she couldn’t have been far already. The old witch popped right in front of me.
“Yes, Ms. Alexis?”
I’d expected her to come through the door, and she surprised me with her sudden appearance. “Um . . . where does all this food come from? I mean, is it brought in by boat every day or what?”
She nodded her gray head. “We grow some on the island, but most of it is brought in as regular deliveries.”
“Who knows the island is here?”
“Only the Amadis. The Daemoni have an inkling of its location, but cannot see it for themselves.”
“Because of the shield?”
“Shields protect. Cloaks make the item or area invisible,” she clarified.
“Right. Must be a powerful shield and cloak,” I said, thinking of the size of the island.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Martin is more powerful than any of us.”
“Owen’s dad powers the shield?”
“Yes, Ms. Alexis. He is our strongest mage by far, and no one but himself can break his shields. Not even the Daemoni. The rest of us mages keep it reinforced, especially when he is off-island.”
The tight belt of stress constricting my chest loosened a notch. Knowing Martin’s shield protected us and kept the Daemoni out—kept them from taking my son—was a bit of a relief. I gave Ophelia a small smile.
“Thank you, Ophelia.”
She curtsied. “Certainly, Ms. Alexis. Is there anything else?”
“No—wait. Do you know where Tristan and Dorian are?”
“They finished their evening meal a few minutes ago. I believe Mr. Tristan took Mr. Dorian upstairs for a bath.”
I thought about joining them, but the spread of food beckoned me. Father and son needed their time together anyway, and I’d see Dorian before bed. So I sat on one of the old couches, its leather soft and supple from age, and began loading a plate with sausage, cheese, grapes, apple slices, and bread that was crusty on the outside and soft and warm in its center. Except for the couple bites of croissant and strawberry at breakfast, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and I devoured two plates full, along with two glasses of red wine. Then I lay on the couch, closed my eyes, and perused the mental pages of my book.
I found no mention of my daughter or of a girl. Not that I’d expected to—I’d studied the book for hours last night. I would have remembered anything about a daughter, but the book only mentioned the lack of one. If it had been written by the Angels, messengers of God, the story surely would have mentioned my daughter if she truly existed. Right? Why wouldn’t they include her in the book or on the vine?
Which meant I either misheard at today’s meeting or I didn’t get the full story. Perhaps Mom and Rina were right. And even if they weren’t, even if I really did hear Tristan and I already had a daughter, we had no information to use to search for her. If I wanted answers—
“I’ve been looking for you.” Tristan’s lovely voice broke into my thoughts. I opened my eyes as he lifted my legs to sit on the couch with me and then dropped them to drape over his lap.
I sat halfway up. “Is Dorian with you?”
“He’s in bed.”
“So early?”
“It’s not that early. It’s nearly ten.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been lying on the couch, lost in my own mind, for so long. My heart sank as I sagged back against the cushions. “I miss him so much, and I’ve barely spent any time with him since we’ve been here.”
“I think I wiped him out. He crashed pretty quickly.”
“I’m glad you at least got to spend time with him. He’s great, isn’t he?”
“The best.” Tristan smiled proudly. “He loves me.”
“Of course he does. What’d you expect?”
“We’re practically strangers. I suppose I thought he’d be more leery or shy.”
“Hmph. Dorian is afraid of nothing. Besides, I’ve been telling him stories about you since he was born. He’s missed you, too.”
“Thank you,” Tristan murmured. He bent over and brushed his lips across mine. “So what were you thinking so hard about?”
I didn’t answer him at first, still sorting out my thoughts, and when I did, it wasn’t exactly what I’d been thinking. “You flashed with me again. At the council meeting. You’re getting pretty good at that.”
Leading in a flash and following someone’s flash trail were fairly common, but flashing with someone else was supposed to be impossible. Tristan had done it with me four times in the last week.
He shrugged. “You obviously needed help. Why didn’t you flash yourself?”
I sighed and dropped my face into my hands.
“I . . . forgot . . . that I could,” I mumbled, feeling like an idiot. I waited for his chuckle, but it never came. I looked up at him expectantly.
“I think you had your mind on something else,” he said, and I nodded. “But you do need a lot of training. You can’t forget things like that. Flashing is paramount to your survival.”
“I know, but . . .” I didn’t finish, not able to excuse my own failure.
“That’s what you were thinking about when I came in?”
I sighed again. “Sort of. I was thinking about how much I don’t know. How much I have to learn. Including how to use this damn power I’ve been given.”
“So you’ll work with Rina after all?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m still
pretty mad at her.”
“Mmm.” His hand brushed tingles along my shin and calf, and his jaw muscle twitched as he seemed to be lost in thought for a minute. “You don’t really have much choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not leaving this island until you’re trained, and Rina’s the only one who can help you with this particular power.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“And we need you to listen to the council again if we want the information we need to find this girl.”
I shut my mouth. He knew how to get to me.
He took me to bed, and I lay in his arms, unable to sleep after putting the brakes on sex. Although Rina said my shield was nice and tight, I wasn’t about to risk that humiliation again. Another reason to learn control.
I groaned internally and rolled over on my side. Why me? Of all the powers a daughter can be given, why did I get this one?
I wanted to ignore this gift. To squash it. To pretend it didn’t exist until it disintegrated into nothing from lack of use. It caused way too many problems and was completely worthless since I couldn’t use it properly. Which, of course, was exactly the problem.
Tristan was right. I had no choice. I couldn’t return or exchange the power or re-gift it to someone else. The Angels had given it to me for a reason, and my job was to make the most of it. As much I hated it, I’d better learn to control it and use it. I blew out a breath of resignation and closed my eyes.
Rina? I silently called out, hoping she wasn’t asleep yet.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Ophelia served us breakfast again, which included a note from Rina that Tristan and I were to meet Charlotte in the gym and Rina and I would work together afterwards.
“I wonder what we’re doing with Char,” I said.
“Who’s Char?” Dorian asked.
“Uncle Owen’s mom,” I said.
Dorian’s mouth dropped open, as if I’d just told him Owen was with a pink elephant in a tutu. “Uncle Owen has a mom?”
“Of course, silly. Everyone has a mom.”
“She has some skills to teach you, I do believe,” Tristan said.
“Sounds boring.” Dorian crinkled his nose. “I’m gonna go play games. Uncle Owen said we got a new Harry Potter game.”
He gave Tristan a hug, smacked a wet kiss on my cheek, and ran off.
“Games?” Tristan asked.
“If there’s a computer anywhere in this mansion, Dorian would find it and all the games on it, too. Kind of like you and your toys,” I said, then something occurred to me. I couldn’t believe, being a writer and usually tied to my laptop, I hadn’t thought about it before. “Are there computers here?”
“Of course. In the media room.”
My brows furrowed with another thought. “How do they run? And how come I just now realized I haven’t seen any electricity since we’ve been here? I’m a disgrace to my generation.”
Tristan chuckled. “The island does that to you. Especially this mansion. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world and another time.”
“It feels so . . . natural, though.” This place—this world—seemed to become stranger every time I turned around, yet it still felt like . . . home, I supposed. Almost as though I belonged here. Almost, but not quite.
“There’s a power plant on the island. Fueled by magic, of course.”
“Of course,” I muttered.
“Rina prefers to keep things old-fashioned.” Tristan rose from the table and held his hand out for mine. “You ready?”
I placed my hand in his, and he led the way. We left the mansion through the front door and walked along a path lined with sixty-foot-tall cypress trees and a series of ancient stone arches overhead.
“I can’t believe this place is so old,” I said, awed by the huge arches. The island and the mansion had been a part of the Amadis since the beginning.
“A couple of millennia,” Tristan said. “About as old as anything in Greece.”
“It’s been well taken care of.” I ran my hand along the smooth marble of one of the arches as we passed through.
“It’s protected by the Otherworld. This place—the mansion and the whole island—is practically sacred.”
We turned off the main path and down a narrower one through the trees that led to a short, stout building. The two-story stone structure was a miniature replica of the huge mansion, bigger than Mom’s cottage in Cape Heron had been, but smaller than our beach house in the Keys. The wooden door stood ajar.
Tristan led me into a room that took up nearly the whole building. The walls and hardwood floor were bare, and a grid of wooden beams stretched overhead where a second floor would have been, with the roof far above the beams. The grid was multi-dimensional—the beams weren’t level with each other but set at different heights. Sunrays streamed in through open skylights and created an interesting pattern of shadows on the floor.
“I’m in here,” Charlotte called from our right.
We followed her voice into a small area near the door, and my jaw dropped. Weapons of every kind imaginable except firepower lined the walls and floor—short knives, daggers, curved sabers, long swords, stars, chains, axes, and other things I had no names for.
“No guns?” I asked, trying to hide my bewilderment.
“Guns are pretty useless in our world,” Charlotte said. Instead of the leather of yesterday, she wore a tight black tank, black spandex pants, and black boots, and her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. And she was still intimidating. “Unless you’re were-hunting, which is outlawed for the Amadis. Remember: our goal is not to kill unless there is no hope or if it’s absolutely necessary to protect yourself or someone else.”
Her blue eyes traveled up and down my body as though sizing me up, and then she wrote something on a clipboard.
“These are practice weapons,” she said, casually waving her hand in the air. “Sophia put me in charge of training you. We’ll figure out your strengths before deciding on your weapon of choice.”
Ah. Charlotte wanted to train me. This was one of her rewards for Mom dragging her onto the council.
“But we have powers. Are they not enough?”
“You always want choices,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly.
“Especially with vamps. They’re nearly impossible to kill,” Tristan added.
I regarded the weapons, intimidated by the number and variety. The idea of actually using them, practice or not, made my stomach lurch. I hated fighting. I hated watching it, and I sure as hell hated doing it. I’d already had enough violence in the last week with Vanessa and Tristan and wished I’d never have to fight again.
But I had to be logical, and I knew those weren’t my only battles. Apparently, everyone thought I needed to improve my skills, which I couldn’t disagree with, although I could think of other training I’d prefer to be doing. Like with my telepathy. Now that I’d decided I wanted to learn how to use it, I was anxious to begin my lessons with Rina.
“So where do we start?” I asked, wanting to get this over with.
Charlotte eyed me again and wrote something on her pad. “We start with hand-to-hand combat.”
She flicked her hand and pointed us toward the main space. What had been a bare room only a few minutes ago now held various sized punching bags on stands and hanging from the beams. I glanced down at the sundress and Mom’s borrowed cardigan I wore.
“Mom could have warned me,” I muttered. “I don’t have many clothes that fit, but I do have running wear.”
“No worries. You both have training clothes in there.” Charlotte pointed to a doorway next to the weapons area. “And you should have new clothes in your suite by the end of the day, by the way.”
Tristan and I changed together in the little room that contained only a bench with two piles of clothes on it. I held up a black sports bra and black spandex pants—the only clothes for me—and nearly groaned, until I remembered my new body. Tr
istan had been given nothing but a pair of loose black pants. With his hair pulled back in a ponytail, he looked as though he belonged in a martial-arts film, ready to fight in a tournament or take on his self-righteous teacher. In other words, he looked delicious.
“I’m supposed to concentrate with you in that?” Tristan asked, his eyes traveling up and down my body. I couldn’t help it. I shivered.
“Ditto,” I muttered and forced myself to tear my eyes from his very bare, very lickable chest. I contemplated our feet instead. “But no shoes or boots?”
“Not necessary yet,” Charlotte answered as we returned to the main room. She stood by a hanging bag. “So, we start small, and we’ll get as far as we can, while we can. I could be called to the field again at any time. Tristan can always take over for me, but it’s easier to have us both here.”
“Okay, then let’s do it.” I had nowhere else to be except with Rina, so the sooner we finished today’s training, the sooner I could work with Rina and the sooner I would learn about the mysterious girl.
We started with various punches: jabs, hooks, crosses, and uppercuts, as well as martial arts chops and strikes. I’d learned many of these long ago, when Tristan had taught me basic Aikido before his disappearance, but I’d grown rusty. Besides, my body had changed, and it moved differently now. So Tristan demonstrated the moves, and Charlotte watched my form as I relearned everything.
“Some inaugural meeting for the two of us, huh?” Charlotte asked as I practiced my right hook.
“Hmph,” I grunted as my fist slammed into the bag. “Are they always so intense?”
“Martin says they can be. I guess it’s better than boring. I could have killed Sophia for making me go to those meetings.”
An “I know” almost slipped from my lips, which would have required an explanation, so I simply hummed in agreement.
“I think she did it just so she wouldn’t have to be alone with all of them,” Char continued as she circled me and the punching bag, eyeing my technique as I threw the punches. “They can get . . . intense, as you said. Especially when it comes to the next daughter.”
“So I noticed,” I muttered.