by Kristie Cook
This time, however, he took us to a different island. Sanibel was an undiscovered paradise, lush and green, many of its streets canopied with oak, banyan, and palm trees. We drove along the main road through the island, passing restaurants, shops, and inns, and then followed signs for Captiva Island.
Much of the road at the northwest end of Sanibel was undeveloped, lined with trees whose branches stretched over the road but not quite creating a canopy. The only indication that we crossed over to Captiva was a sign mounted on a small bridge. Then we started passing large homes and small mansions with signs on the mailboxes displaying names such as “The Unicorn’s Lair” and “Magpie’s Delight.”
Eventually the homes became a little smaller and closer together, but even the more developed area of the tiny island wasn’t overdone. Brightly colored townhouse clusters, quaint boutiques, and ice cream shops were surrounded by tropical plants, bushes, and palm trees that survived the hurricanes. It was here the textures of the mind signatures changed. There were just as many not-quite-human signatures as there were Norman ones.
“The colony,” I breathed against Tristan’s ear. He nodded.
Unsuspecting Normans would see the island as a sweet little beach resort, with people walking and riding bicycles and visiting the shops and cafes—enough people to feel neighborly but not overly crowded. They would never know the shop owners were witches and wizards or their waiter might morph into a wolf or the bartender preferred blood to wine. Not even the local Normans knew. The Amadis lived among them, served them, but with the security, support, and camaraderie of being near each other.
Captiva was the perfect name—it captured my heart and soul.
“I told you you would love it,” Tristan said.
As soon as we walked into the real estate broker’s office back on Sanibel, Tristan cursed under his breath and turned around to leave. The office was small, with an unmanned receptionist’s desk in front of us and two sets of French doors leading off the lobby into two offices. One was dark and empty. A plump woman, in her mid-thirties and with short, bleached-blond hair, stood from her desk in the other office.
“Can I help you?” she called out to us as Tristan opened the front door. He stopped short and quietly cursed again.
“I was looking for Don,” Tristan said, nodding toward the darkened office. Don was the real estate broker and another of Tristan’s “guys,” one of many he had throughout the world.
“He’s on vacation, but I can help you,” the woman said.
Tristan blew out a breath of resignation and led me toward the woman. As she took a good look at us, recognition flickered across her face.
“Do I know you?” she asked. Oh, crap. The first person to recognize me. Then she shook her head, and her expression changed, a smile spreading across her face. “Never mind. That would be silly. You look like someone I met many, many years ago.”
Neither Tristan nor I said anything, though my chest tightened with an eerie feeling. I fought the urge to listen to her mind, to find out who she thought we were because she obviously wasn’t thinking A.K. Emerson. But she was a Norman. She wouldn’t know about us or our world. So I granted her privacy, even when, the closer I looked at her, the feeling that she seemed familiar grew. But who could she be? For some reason, my mind kept morphing her into someone with dark hair and a much thinner body. Perhaps she’d been an instructor at the college where I met Tristan, now with bleached hair and a few extra pounds. That had to be it—it would explain the recognition both ways, and she would quickly dismiss it because we shouldn’t look exactly like we did then.
Tristan relaxed with her, probably coming to the same conclusion I did, and we began our house hunt. The woman showed us a few McMansions on the southeast end of Sanibel and two closer to Captiva, but none of them felt right. Tristan admired the architecture of some and criticized others, but he left the final decision to me. As soon as we drove up to it, I knew right away: I was in love. A charming wine-colored house nestled in the trees between the main road and the beach, on the Sanibel side of the bridge that crossed to Captiva, putting several miles between the colony and us. It wasn’t unnecessarily huge like its neighbors, but with four bedrooms and a separate office, it was plenty large enough for the three—and one day soon, four—of us. And it felt like home.
“One of these days, we’ll build our dream home,” Tristan murmured as we stood on the beach while the agent started the paperwork inside the house. “I’m sorry you have to settle on this for now.”
“Yeah, because this house is such a dump.”
He chuckled. “Not exactly what I would design.”
I turned in his arms and placed my hands on each side of his face. “Anything you do would be perfect. But I love our new house. Thank you for it.”
“My pleasure,” he said with my favorite smile, his eyes sparkling. As he dipped down for a kiss, I said a little prayer that we weren’t making a big mistake and bringing our deadly problems to this slice of paradise.
By the time we arrived at the hotel, our offer had been accepted. Of course it had. It was a generous offer, especially because it was all cash. We weren’t even tapping into my money, which Tristan had moved around into various accounts before we left the Keys. With his ability to see all possible options and the best solution, he had an uncanny investment strategy that worked exceedingly well, even when unmanaged for over seven years. He lost some—everyone had—but it was a small dent in what he had accumulated over the previous decades.
We spent the next couple of weeks living out of the hotel and shopping for our new household, starting with a family car. By the time we closed on the house and after buying everything from furniture to clothes to electronics, I felt like a gluttonous pig, and we only bought the basics—beds, a couch, and TV, a kitchen table and chairs, two laptops, and living necessities.
Owen bought his own motorcycle and a condo on Captiva. The Amadis bankrolled his party. I wondered how long they would pay him to protect Dorian and me, or if they would cut him off if he continued to help us. I didn’t think Rina would let it go that far . . . but who knew anymore?
The time wasn’t an entire waste on the search for our daughter . . . well, depending on how you looked at it. Owen checked around for us and talked to a lot of Amadis people, though he couldn’t go anywhere near the villages because the Daemoni still watched. He didn’t find any leads for us, which meant it was either a waste of time or that we should start our search outside the state.
“I haven’t been able to reach everyone, though,” he said our first night in our new house. We sat on a blanket on the balcony, watching the sunset after a picnic dinner. Dorian and Sasha, the Lykora, had already run off to his room. “A certain witch coven refuses to talk to me, and I haven’t heard from one of the wolf packs either.”
“What’d you do to them to make them so hostile?” I teased.
Owen snorted. “It’s not me they’re afraid of. You and Tristan, however . . . they’ve been warned to keep their distance from you.”
Well, that wasn’t good. How would we find the girl if no one would cooperate?
“Did you take care of the real estate agent?” Tristan asked, abruptly changing the subject, which meant he wasn’t too worried about the witch coven or the wolf pack.
“Sure did,” Owen said.
“What did you do to her?” I demanded, all sorts of ideas going through my mind.
“She was very helpful—I really don’t think you had anything to worry about,” Owen said without answering me. “She said her daughter’s available to babysit that cute little boy of yours, though.”
“What did you do?” I asked again.
“She needed to forget some things about us,” Tristan said flatly.
I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, although I already knew it meant Owen messed with her memories and also knew it was probably safest for all of us, including her. But the doorbell silenced me. We all stiffened.
“Amad
is,” Tristan and Owen said at the same time.
They could sense the person on the other side of the door, but they could only identify people they knew, usually by scent for Tristan and magical qualities for Owen. So they both looked at me, and I felt for the mind signature.
“She’s a witch. And she brought us a cake as a welcome gift. She wants to be friends.”
Tristan and Owen followed me to the door. I didn’t know if it was to protect me, or because I said “cake.”
A pretty blond stood on the other side of the door, with the biggest eyes and boobs I’ve ever seen. Okay, maybe not the biggest boobs, but they were disproportionately large on her slender frame—too big not to notice. I peered at the guys on each side of me, smiling inside at what I expected to see. Tristan surprised me—he stared at the cake, actually. Owen, though, was no surprise. He stared above the cake in her arms . . . and not at her hazel eyes. I was thankful for my mental wall, because I didn’t want to know what ran through his mind at the moment. Poor guy. We really need to find someone for him.
She smiled warmly and held the cake out toward us. “Hi, I’m Blossom. Welcome to our neighborhood. Well, I live over on Captiva, but close enough.”
Owen continued staring, and Tristan took the cake from her and carried it off to the kitchen. I shook my head with embarrassment.
“Come on in, Blossom,” I said, stepping aside and purposely knocking Owen out of the way. “Sorry about these guys. They’re just . . . uh . . .”
“Guys?” Blossom said.
“Yeah. Exactly.” I held my hand out. “I’m Alexis.”
She pushed my hand out of the way and gave me a hug. “I know who you are. Oh, I guess I’m supposed to curtsy.”
“Oh, no! Please don’t,” I begged. “Really. A hug is fine.”
“Yeah, hugs are perfect,” Owen said from behind me. I jabbed my elbow into his ribs.
Blossom eyed him. “Hmm . . . maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a hug goodbye.”
Owen became a perfect gentleman. He introduced himself and Tristan, then helped Tristan bring plates and silverware out to the balcony so we could enjoy Blossom’s cake. I liked Blossom. She gave Tristan a once-over, then looked at me with a “nice catch” expression, but she didn’t ogle or drool as most women did around him. After hearing an unusual thump in Dorian’s room and checking on him, I brought him out to meet our guest, and she proceeded to rave about how great he was—the poor kid fell hard with his first crush—and I beamed with pride. And once I took a bite of her heavenly chocolate cake, I liked her even more.
“Oh, my God. This is the best cake I’ve ever eaten.” Part of me wanted to devour the whole piece on my plate and then the rest of the cake itself, and part of me wanted to savor every single crumb. I hadn’t had good sex since . . . since Australia, but I thought the cake could be a perfect replacement. It was orgasmic. My “mmm’s” and “ooh’s” that kept escaping my lips with each bite were met with that look from Tristan.
While we ate, Blossom told us all about the colony—which business owners were Amadis, where they hung out at night, how they managed their secrets, etc. She said they were a big, happy family . . . until we came to town.
“There have been threats, and we heard about attacks. The colony will fight for you if they have to,” she said, “but they really don’t want it to come to that. They like their lifestyle here. It’s comfortable and laid back. The tourists aren’t crazy drunks looking for trouble and attracting Daemoni attention. We want to keep it that way.”
“The Daemoni don’t know we’re here,” I said. “We chose this place because it’s safest for us and the people surrounding us.”
She tilted her head. “You’re like a catch-22. No one else can protect us better in these times . . . but, well, we probably wouldn’t need your protection if you weren’t here in the first place.”
“We’ll keep them away from the colony,” Tristan promised. “We want to call this place home, too.”
Blossom nodded, but she didn’t seem entirely convinced. I couldn’t blame her—if I were her, I wouldn’t want me living nearby either, even when we were five miles from the colony. By the time she left, I didn’t know if she still wanted to be friends, and I didn’t check her thoughts to find out. If any friendship were to develop, I wasn’t going to start it by being a snoop.
I had the same dream that night as I’d had every night since visiting Lisa, and the repetition began to annoy me. I’d always been a dreamer before the Ang’dora, and often my dreams were meaningful. It was part of being a writer, I’d always thought. But since the Ang’dora, I’d hardly dreamt at all, and when I did, they were random and vague. Now I dreamt every night about faeries, my pendant, and Vanessa, endlessly chasing and searching but never quite grasping any of them. I woke up frustrated. The dreams meant something, and there was only one person who, supposedly, had the answers. If only I could get him to talk.
Chapter 15
I opened the door the next morning, wishing the furniture deliverymen waited on the other side, but I already knew Owen stood on the front steps.
“It’s your mom,” he said as my new iPhone rang. The phone was an early anniversary gift from Tristan, who was playing with his own at this exact moment. I glanced at the number on the phone’s screen.
“Are you psychic and not telling me?” That wasn’t the first time he’d done that.
“No. I just got off the phone with my mom.” He walked past me to the kitchen. Apparently, he hadn’t bought his own food yet.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered.
“Hi, honey. How’s your new house?”
I glanced around. “Pretty empty right now, but our furniture should be here any minute.”
“I won’t keep you then. Did you happen to buy a bed for the guest room?”
Uh-oh. “No. Why?”
“That’s okay. I can sleep with Dorian or something. We’ll work it out.”
“Are you coming here?” I tried to sound excited, but my emotions were mixed. I missed her, but I still had to wonder whose side she was on.
“Charlotte and I will be there next Friday. We have an investigation into a witch who’s learned how to enhance breasts, and she might be planning to sell that as a service. We’ll stay for the weekend. Char can stay with Owen, of course.”
So we’d both be buying guest beds.
“That’s great, but Tristan and I might not be here. We’re going . . . out of town.”
I couldn’t tell her where or why; she’d disapprove and probably try to stop us. Tristan decided Owen’s phone calls and investigations weren’t enough—we’d be paying a personal visit to either the witch coven or the wolf pack. He just hadn’t decided which one yet.
“Out of town? Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Mom paused, and I should have known to not try to keep anything from her. “Alexis, you need to get off this wild goose chase. Until the Daemoni settle down, you’re endangering your lives every time you go out in the world.”
“They’ll never settle down. You know that as well as I do. In the meantime, there’s a girl out there . . . maybe our daughter—”
She cut me off. “We’ll talk about it when I get there. In fact, we have a lot to talk about. See you next week.”
“Love you, Mom,” I muttered, but the line went dead.
I sat next to Tristan on the living room floor and watched him download finance and stock-tracking apps onto his phone.
“Great timing on their part,” he said, referring to Mom and Charlotte.
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed.
“No, it is good timing. They can stay with Dorian, so Owen can come with us.”
“Sweet!” Owen called from the kitchen.
That improved things. Owen and his shield were always good to have along, but until now, we thought he’d have to stay home to protect Dorian.
“What do you think about Blossom?” Tristan asked, his head still bent over his phone.
“She
’s hot,” Owen chimed in.
I ignored him. “She seems cool. Why?”
“I was wondering how much we can trust her. It wouldn’t hurt to have a witch along with us.”
“That means telling her everything,” I pointed out.
“Not necessarily. I’ll think about it more, but if she comes around, check her mind out.”
I made a face.
“For me? Please?” He grinned and winked. I must have nodded while the fog clouded my brain because he thanked me.
“If I do that, then you owe me,” I said when my head cleared.
“I don’t have to owe you, because you can have whatever you want from me. Anything for you, my love.”
I rolled my eyes—I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be so easy. “Then tell me what Lisa was talking about. About my pendant.”
He scowled. “Except that. I told you, I have no idea.”
“I think you do, especially if you do a little digging.” When he didn’t reply, I tapped my head with my finger. “I can find out from you if I really wanted to.”
He narrowed his eyes. His voice came out low. “You wouldn’t.”
“I really don’t want to, Tristan, but I feel like this might be important. You can’t think of anything? What about what you were told? Surely, you remember that. You have a perfect memory.”
“It’s irrelevant,” he growled. “Just bullshit that we’re not going to bother ourselves with.”
“So you do know.” It wasn’t a question. He knew and refused to tell me. Usually, I’d let it go, not wanting him to relive any pain or guilt from his previous life, but unlike his other memories, it seemed as though this one had to do with us, not only him.
He jumped to his feet. “Furniture’s here.”