The Heart of a Hero
Page 29
He cracked open one eye when he apparently heard something in her tone, then sat the chair up again. “I’ve seen that look before, Julia; specifically when you’re wanting to bludgeon someone. What’s going on in that intelligent—and may I remind you, pregnant—head of yours?”
“What?” she said in surprise. “I can’t even want to smack someone who tried to kill you?” She turned to stretch out on the couch, clasping her notepad to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. “Trust me; I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize our child.” She took a deep breath, deciding she might as well be as forthcoming as he was being. “I was pregnant once before,” she whispered, “my senior year of high school. I didn’t tell anyone—not my mom or even Peg—that that was why Clay and I were planning to get married right after graduation.”
“What happened?” he asked just as softly.
“I worked at the cedar mill every day after school, and one afternoon when I was about six weeks along, the pallet of shingles I was stacking shifted. I scrambled out of the way in time, but one of the bundles knocked me into the log feeder.” She turned onto her side to look over the arm of the couch. “But a little later I started . . . spotting, so I drove myself to the hospital in Millinocket because Clay was at a baseball game out of town. I didn’t think I had hit the log feeder that hard, but I lost the baby,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly as she shot him a sad smile. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of having my own little tribe of heathens, so you don’t have to worry; I’m going to take very good care of this one.”
“I intend to see that you do,” he said, returning her smile with what she recognized as his muscle-flexing grin. But then he frowned. “You still went ahead with the marriage.”
Julia turned onto her back again. “Clay had been accepted at UMO, so he talked me into sticking to our plan of putting each other through college.” She snorted. “And I was still desperate to leave Spellbound Falls and just dumb enough to believe he’d keep his end of the bargain.” She let out a big, loud yawn. “I vote we have a nice long nap before you get to watch me cook supper.”
“Works for me,” he murmured, making her smile up at the ceiling when she heard his contagious yawn. “If you’re still looking to get out of Spellbound,” he murmured, “I happen to know a pretty little island somewhere in the middle of the ocean we can visit, where we’ll have our own private quarters in a beautiful palace.”
“For real? Wait—in what century?”
“In whichever century you want, although Atlantis has changed little over the course of its existence.”
“You’d really take me to Atlantis?” she whispered.
“We can honeymoon there if you wish.” He yawned again. “If you don’t mind being within earshot of your in-laws when you . . . explode.”
“Aren’t there any hotels or fancy resorts on Atlantis?”
There was a long pause, then a heavy sigh. “A myth can’t be a tourist destination, Julia, if it’s not supposed to actually exist.”
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot.”
The house fell silent after that, except for the stereo purring of Snowball and Eos on the recliner’s footrest. Gilgamesh and Ajax were outside, Bastet was curled up on the hearth soaking up the fire, and last she’d seen, Sol was stretched out the length of Nicholas’s legs with his big fat head on Nicholas’s belly.
Julia must have also fallen asleep to the purring lullaby, although she didn’t know for how long, but it was still daylight when she came awake with a start to see a bank of dark clouds was obscuring even the closest treetops, and it was snowing. She flinched again when a series of flashes turned the clouds a brilliant white, and held her breath waiting for the thunder—which she assumed meant Mac and the others were returning from taking Sampson home.
Except the boom never came.
Just another plain old weather anomaly, she guessed, watching the snowflakes swirling in every direction as she tried to decide how she felt about what she’d discovered earlier. Because she truly would have to stretch her imagination to wrap her mind around the fact she was deeply and madly in love with the illegitimate son of the biggest bad-assed Norse god of them all.
Which once again had her wondering what that made Nicholas.
Which also had her wondering how much Titus knew.
For instance, had the elder Oceanus known who the infant found on the beach was? Nicholas must suspect that he did, because why else was he reluctant to show Titus the brooch? And who had made the brooch, anyway? The Norse dwarves were supposed to have been amazing metalworkers, reputed to have made Thor’s hammer and other magical objects and jewelry, so she guessed they could have made the piece.
But that didn’t explain why it was showing up only now. Had the person who had ambushed Nicholas been given the brooch as a means to find him?
Julia stopped breathing. Oh God, what if it was some sort of magical homing device and was right now leading them straight to Nicholas? Darn it to Hades, they’d spent the last three days hiding that stupid brooch from the two people—no, the two wizards—who likely had the power to overcome its magic.
Julia got up and walked over to Nicholas to gently shake him awake—only to stop in midreach. Just what did she expect him to do with this wonderful piece of information? Try to reverse the brooch’s energy and . . . what? Jump out of his chair, leap onto his trusty steed, and charge back through time to kill whomever was trying to kill him? Yeah, well, the man might have the heart of a hero, but at the moment he had the body of an invalid.
Julia went to the side door to see if it would open, but when it wouldn’t budge she ran in the office and got the resort phone, deciding to call Rowan. Except she couldn’t get through, not to anyone she dialed. She tossed the phone on the desk and stood staring out the window at the snow that seemed to be picking up in intensity, then walked to the hall and eyed the wall opposite the office door.
When she’d turned on the hall light on one of her trips to get more books to lug upstairs two evenings ago, she’d happened to see a faint boot print on the hall floor that she hadn’t noticed before; the problem being that half of the bloody print was behind the wall. And since everything else about the over-the-top house was as mysterious as the man who owned it, she hadn’t been surprised to eventually discover the wall actually opened. But when she’d crept down into the softly glowing basement carved out of the ledge under the back half of the house, she had been surprised to find a small arsenal of weapons that not only appeared to be from all parts of the world but also various centuries—from samurai swords to medieval crossbows to modern pistols.
A fact that had really driven home the definition of mythical warrior.
But it had been the small, upward-sloping tunnel that had really caught her attention, realizing it was probably the real shortcut Rowan and the other men had used the night they’d brought Nicholas home.
Julia looked toward the living area to make sure Nicholas was still asleep just as Solomon lifted his head. Sucking in a deep breath, she slowly opened the panel just as Sol came padding over and stopped between her and the descending stairs, emitting a low, warning growl.
“You don’t even think of flexing your muscle at me,” Julia growled back at him in a whisper. “Somebody has to go tell Titus what’s going on.” She went to the pegs by the door, slipped on her coat, checked to make sure her gloves were in the pocket, then walked to the couch and sat down. She picked up her notepad and tore off a new page, figuring she’d better tell Nicholas what she was doing so he didn’t panic when he woke up and couldn’t find her. She thought a minute, then smiled, and had just started writing when lightning flashed again—again not followed by thunder, although she’d swear she felt the house softly shiver.
Julia continued writing, succinctly telling Nicholas what she’d discovered as well as why she’d left to go tell Titus. She stopped the pencil, smiled again, and added a little muscle-flex of her own before tossing the pad on the couch and pic
king up the book she’d been reading.
She walked over and gently brushed a lock of hair off Nicholas’s forehead. “I guess we’re going to find out if you meant everything you said about loving me, big guy,” she whispered, bending down and kissing his cheek, “because I’m pretty sure I’m about to put that unconditional part to the test.” She folded the letter, tucked it inside the book she’d found the answer to their mystery in, and gently set it on his lap. She took one last glance toward the windows just as another silent flash lit up the swirling snow, then ran to the hall, took another deep breath, and followed Sol down the stairs.
Julia hesitated before starting into the tunnel she assumed led to the summit, instead eyeing the small arsenal of weapons. She really didn’t think she should show up at Titus’s cottage brandishing a sword or crossbow or gun, but she wouldn’t mind having something in her hand if she ran across a rat or fox or some other animal calling the tunnel home.
She dug a peppermint out of her pocket and popped it in her mouth, grabbed what appeared to be a short lance, and headed into the softly glowing tunnel—once again following Sol. Only she hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards when the tunnel forked off in three separate directions. “Lovely,” she muttered around her candy, staring into each tunnel. She looked down at Sol looking up at her. “Any suggestions?”
The cat sat down, lifted a paw, and started washing himself.
“Hey,” she said, nudging him with her leg—which made him stop in mid-lick. “You want to be a hero like Nicholas, man up and pick a tunnel.”
Sol gave a bored yawn, flopped down, and rolled onto his back, stretching out to expose his big white belly as he gave another yawn.
“Fine, I’ll pick one,” she snapped, heading down the center tunnel. “I know they’re supposed to be secret, but is there a reason they’re not marked?” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder and not seeing Sol. “Dammit, where’d you go?” she called in a whisper, walking back and reaching the fork just in time to see a big fat hairy tail disappear around a curve in the right-hand tunnel.
She ran to catch up, then once more fell in step behind Sol, walking ten or fifteen minutes before the tunnel forked again. Julia unzipped her jacket when she realized she was starting to sweat. “Okay, I choose left,” she said, taking several steps down the left-hand tunnel before looking back to see Sol had disappeared down the right one. She gave a growl of frustration and raced after him.
Not ten minutes later, however, Julia realized they were descending instead of walking uphill, and half an hour—and four friggin’ intersections—after that, she decided it was time to backtrack. But she didn’t feel the first twinge of alarm until she arrived at an intersection she hadn’t been to before—having started leaving peppermint candies to mark the tunnels she’d come up.
An hour later Julia finally had to admit she was lost. Honest to God, none of the tunnels seemed to lead anywhere. She should have stumbled onto something by now; a door, an opening in the side of a cliff—something.
Julia stopped at a four-way intersection and sat down right in the center of it. Solomon, the useless big lug, flopped down beside her and started washing himself. “Some hero you turned out to be,” she said with a sigh, laying her lance across her folded legs. “Yeah, well, you’re just as lost as I am. And Nicholas is going to panic when we don’t show up by suppertime, and he’s going to save whoever wants him dead the trouble when he kills himself coming after—” Julia stilled when she felt the faint stirring of a breeze coming from the tunnel to her left, the air slightly cooler and . . . salty. “Oh, God,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “We’re all the way down by the fiord.”
At least they were somewhere. “Come on,” she said, heading down the tunnel at a run. “Even a snowstorm beats wandering around in here until we starve.”
The air grew cooler and more salty as the breeze became an actual wind, until Julia was forced to stop and zip up her jacket and put on her gloves. She continued on, finally noticing flashes of light intermittently overshadowing the glowing walls, and started running when she spotted snow blowing into the tunnel—only to slide to a stop when she realized that instead of a tree outside the opening, that tall dark blob was the outline of a man.
She started running again when she recognized Titus’s white hair sticking out of the wide-brimmed hat. “Oh, thank God. You’re not going to believe this, but I was looking for—Oh, crap,” Julia muttered, sliding to a stop again when he turned.
Nope, not Titus—unless he’d grown a foot-long beard in the last four days and recently poked out an eye. Oh, and unless the one eye he did have—which was widened in surprise—had suddenly turned a vivid Nordic blue.
* * *
Nicholas woke up to a dark house just as lightning flashed through all the windows, revealing the blinding snowstorm raging outside. He straightened the back of his recliner and turned on the floor lamp beside the chair, stilling in surprise when he didn’t see Julia on the couch. Bastet was sitting there instead, flanked by everyone but Solomon, the five of them blinking their eyes to adjust to the light.
He looked around the silent home, then back at the cats. “Where are Julia and Sol? Julia,” he called out, closing the footrest to stand—only to catch the book sliding off his lap. He finished standing and opened the book to the page marked by a piece of yellow paper, then turned toward the light as he unfolded the note and started reading.
It’s you! We didn’t see it because it was hiding in plain sight. Salohcin is Nicholas spelled backward. (I could point out that gods always have only one name, but let’s save that little talk for when we’re ninety, okay?) Anyway, I don’t know if Titus knew who you really were when he gave you that name or if he merely suspected, or even if the brooch was made after the fact. But I do think the obscure reference in this book about a rumored affair between the Norse god Odin and some starry-eyed Roman goddess might really be true. I assume the legend was discounted because two separate mythologies shouldn’t actually be able to . . . intersect, so the resulting child—um, that would be you—shouldn’t actually exist.
But you do, for which I am very glad.
Anyway, knowing you have a bad habit of charging headlong into a problem, and knowing you might forget you can barely stand much less fight this freaky storm I’m afraid might be coming for you, I tried calling Rowan. But the energy flashing through the air must be interfering with the phone signals, so I decided to go find Titus myself and let him know who we think is trying to kill you. Don’t worry; I’m just going to very sweetly ask that he deal with this particular problem personally, since it’s mostly his fault for not telling you what I believe he’s suspected since you washed up on his island.
I promise I won’t take any foolish chances, and I’ll come right back after. And if you still want to marry a woman who apparently is no more afraid of the magic than you are, we can pledge our troth on New Year’s Day.
I love you. Unconditionally. (In case you forgot what that means, I don’t care who or what you are, big guy, just so long as you’re mine.)
Try not to worry, okay? I’m not going out in the storm, but instead using the tunnel shortcut in your basement—that I guess you forgot to tell me about. I’m taking Sol with me (okay, he’s pretty much insisting on going), and we’ll be back by suppertime. No climbing the stairs and stay away from the garage, and if you’re good, I’ll give you a really nice surprise when I get back.
Love, Julia
Hey, will I not have a last name, either?
Nicholas lifted his gaze and released a heavy sigh, staring at the snow slapping against the windows. That should teach him to want a lovely intelligent lady to spend the rest of his natural life with—although natural might be a relative term if Julia’s conclusions were correct. He lifted the book he was still holding, quickly scanned the pages she’d marked with her letter, then closed the book to read its title—snorting at the realization they’d completely discounted Roman mythology.
But then, anyone else would have simply killed the babe.
Nicholas tossed the book and letter on his chair and scrubbed his face with another heavy sigh, then dropped his hands with a grin. He wasn’t afraid Titus would do anything worrisome to Julia, but he did wonder if she’d taken her tote.
Yes, he definitely should consider bringing her to one of their war games, if for no other reason than to let her work off six years of frustration trying to prove to everyone she was not the town slut. For the life of him, he didn’t know how Julia had managed not to explode all over some poor unsuspecting schmuck before now—either sexually or with a big stick. Sweet Prometheus, the woman was practically a virgin; if not physically, then at the very least emotionally.
Yet she’d certainly sounded sure of herself this morning when she’d said she loved him—even declaring it again in her letter after discovering who his father was.
Nicholas walked to the hearth and flipped the switches to illuminate the floor and outside deck floodlights, then sat down when he felt his legs threatening to buckle. He looked toward the hall, not only not surprised Julia had found his secret entrance to the basement, but that she’d also realized it was the one way she could bypass Mac’s selectively locking doors. He just hoped she didn’t get lost in the labyrinth of private tunnels, although knowing Solomon was with her was reassuring.
He looked back out at the snow blowing past the floodlights, not happy but also not worried that Julia had left the house. As long as she stayed in the tunnels or on the resort grounds, who or whatever the storm was bringing in couldn’t touch her, thanks to the powerful magic Mac had securing Nova Mare.