I try to ignore the shadow following me around. I tilt my head, and so does the shadow. I touch something; the shadow does as well. I ponder a piece, and my shadow does the same.
“Stop that,” I order the shadow.
“No. You’re looking through the pieces instead of at them. It’s showing a lack of appreciation.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I ask. “Saying you can read people’s minds?”
Callie rolls her eyes. “This, again? I don’t know,” she replies, continuing to follow me around her store. “Don’t most rich, good-looking bachelors have strange quirks? I mean, that Christian Grey guy did,” she argues.
I roll my eyes. “Christian Grey is a character in a book. Everett Weston is not.”
“Character or not, I am definitely on board with his quirks,” she counters. “Speaking of red rooms, what do you think of this crimson velvet chair for the reading room with the fireplace?”
“I love it,” I reply, honestly. “Where do you find all these great pieces?”
Callie shrugs. “Estate sales. Antique stores. Auctions. Being Romani, and from Europe, my family tends to know a lot of people with old money. They call on us when they’re ready to donate heirloom or museum-quality pieces. And my mom has an amazing eye for things of value.”
“I didn’t know you’re Romanian.”
Callie’s brows pinch together. “I’m not. I’m Romani.”
A commotion on the first floor, near the front of the store, pulls our attention.
“Hey!” Callie shouts over the ledge. “Serena, I warned you not to show your face in here after you destroyed that pair of 1970s Gloria Vanderbilt hip huggers,” she scolds, and runs down the stairs, toward the teenage girl who’s ignoring her. “I swear, if you do anything to that Ramones shirt, I will actually ban you for life from shopping and selling your jewelry in my store. I don’t care how cute it is. I mean it this time.” Her tirade goes on.
Chuckling, I continue wandering the second floor and admiring the furniture. As I’ve come to know Callie better, I’ve realized she has a passion for keeping vintage pieces intact. Purchases from the consignment store come with a no-altering clause, and if you do, you should run and hide from her wrath, stemming from the emotional attachment she has with the items she sells.
A large bronze statue in the back corner pulls my attention, and I make my way over to the carved phoenix. The closer I get, the more and more my stomach plummets. What in the . . .
The sculpture is the spitting image of Everett’s back tattoo. Everything, right down to the shading on the feathers and the layers of depth in the eyes, is a perfect match. I pick up the label and read, “Barcelona Cathedral, Barcelona clan of gargoyles.” The artist signed it, Camilla.
I step back and stare at it, recalling the witch story and gargoyle references Everett’s made recently. And he lived in Spain . . . before Havenwood Falls. Pulling out my cell phone, and after a few frustrating shifts to catch a decent signal, I bring up Google and type in the artist’s name and sculpture. Photos of the phoenix pop up along with a detailed description of Camilla Gallagher, the deceased sculptor. It mentions her husband Gage, who owns a gallery in Spain, which was also her studio. Even more strange, Gage also owns a few architecture firms in Europe.
Including one in Barcelona, which Everett oversaw before coming here.
Trying to put the pieces together, I cock my head toward the sound of Callie’s argumentative voice, causing me to type in Romani. The words nomadic ethnic group and gypsies pop up.
I look around at all the furniture. Pieces that could easily be thousands of years old. There is no way Callie’s family could have acquired all this by simply traveling.
“That girl has no sense of loyalty to vintage fashion. Pieces are not meant to be flipped.”
I stare at Callie as she approaches me, her expression morphing from angry to concerned.
“Everything okay?”
“You’re a gypsy,” I whisper.
“Didn’t I mention that already?”
“I mean, a real gypsy.”
She slowly sets down a basket of beaded bracelets she was carrying. “Yeah, Graysin.”
“Oh god,” I push out. “When we did the Painting Plates in the Park thing, I thought it was the purple pig cocktails that had you rambling on about witches, vampires, and sirens.”
Callie looks thoughtful for a second, like she’s wondering who I am.
“What?” I ask.
“I can’t decide which is worse, all the P-words in that statement or the fact that you assumed I’d actually drink the purple pig cocktails, which are like, the worst cocktail ever made.”
“How can it be the worst? It was purple vodka and lemonade.”
“My point exactly. Purple vodka?”
Firmly, I press my lips together, trying to keep my anger in check at her diversion.
“Look, Graysin, your sister lived in town, with an Old Family. She was married to Roman Bishop. I thought you knew what Havenwood Falls was.”
“Which is?” I pin her with a hard look.
“A town where supernaturals and humans live together. It’s been this way for centuries.”
“Supernaturals,” I repeat quietly.
“You really didn’t know?” She pales, lowering her voice. “I can’t . . .” Her eyes dart around wildly. “We can’t discuss this, I’m sorry. I could get in trouble with the Court if they fin—”
“Does that include gargoyles?” I interrupt, and she falls silent.
My eyes snap back to the phoenix statue in the corner.
“I have to go,” I state, moving quickly down the stairs, and I all but run out of the store.
Callie’s voice follows me as she calls out my name.
Ignoring her, I keep walking faster. As I do, I look around and start to notice all the weird nuances about the town I’ve never picked up on. How could I not see it before? All the beautiful people who look unnaturally pretty, or the oddly muscular, good-looking men lingering around, some in groups, while others glide through the square appearing ethereal. Or the strange and exhilarating energy in the air. As if the particles seep into your soul, bringing it to life.
Before I even realize it, I’m back in the Cook’s Corner park I was in when I’d first arrived.
Angrily, I approach the water fountain in the center. My fingers reach out to touch the water, but a familiar voice stops me. “I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“The water filters in from Smalls Falls. The liquid can either be beneficial to your well-being or poisonous, depending on the being touching it.”
“Poisonous,” I repeat in a quiet murmur mixed with a crazed laugh.
“Graysin, you have to calm down.”
“Why?” My eyes snap to Everett’s. “And how did you know I was upset? Or here?”
“I will explain, just not here,” he warns, looking around.
“Why? Why not here, Everett?” I yell like a lunatic.
In two large strides, he’s at my side, grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me toward one of the walled gardens placed throughout the park, this one behind a swing set.
I don’t fight. I just let him take me.
As soon as we step into the garden, everything around us begins to shimmer, and the land transforms. Within seconds, we’re standing on a mountain, looking down at a stunning waterfall in front of us.
“How the hell did we get up here?” I ask, wondering how far a fall it would be if I jumped.
“I teleported us up here.” Everett looks down at the waterfall, then back to up to my eyes. “I wouldn’t. I’m pretty sure the fall alone would kill you.”
I stare at him a moment, taken aback by how spot-on his words are. His response isn’t a lucky guess. He knew what I was thinking. And I wanted to know how—right now.
“How did you know I was considering jumping? Did you read my thoughts?”
The light disappears from his eyes, and every i
nch of him tenses. “Yes.”
“Yes,” I repeat, on a heated whisper. “What the ever-loving fuck, Everett!”
“I told you . . . before . . . that I could,” he spits out.
I stare at him, unblinking, before my mouth opens and I shout, “Well, stop doing it! It’s annoying. And incredibly rude and intrusive.”
“Unless you turn them off, or block me, I can’t,” he barks, the tendons tight in his neck.
The hair at the nape of my neck stands on end. And it hits me. “We teleported,” I point out.
“So?” His eyes connect with mine.
“So?” I snap. “Teleported, Everett? People. Don’t. Teleport.”
“People don’t. Supernatural beings do.”
A beat of silence passes between us, and the edge in his eyes hardens.
Feeling his gaze burn into me, a strange feeling comes over me. I’ve always noticed that Everett’s movements are smooth and quick. He has this extraordinary strength and confidence that exudes from him, eclipsing everything and everyone else around him. And there is something ageless and ancient about him. He has this way of making me feel mesmerized, terrified, aroused, and safe all at the same time. Something deep in my gut stirs as we hold each other’s gaze.
Like my soul recognizes something within him.
As he steps closer, I step back, almost tripping on a rock, causing him to stop his approach.
“Don’t,” I spit out.
“I’m a gargoyle, Graysin, which means I’ve taken oaths to protect humans. Not hurt them.”
We stare at one another, his green eyes blazing bright, searching mine.
“It’s true, then. How is this possible? Or real?”
“In the seventh century, a dragon—a demon of darkness—tethered himself to an archbishop—a soul of light—creating the gargoyle race. It is a lineage designed for one purpose: to protect mankind against evil.” His voice is low and even, meant to sound gentle and soothing. “We are protectors and guardians. Bound by this symbol.” He points to the Celtic tattoo on his forearm. “It symbolizes the Spiritual Assembly of Protectors and allows us to accept divine assignments and watch over humans, cities, objects, or anything that they feel needs protection.”
“And the phoenix on your back?”
“We tend to live in clans. The phoenix is my clan’s crest, the Barcelona clan of gargoyles.”
I recall reading that name on the statue at Callie’s. “The one on your chest?”
“A protector mark. For me, a yin and yang of the phoenix. The dark is for the protector, and the light is for a human appointment. When a gargoyle is assigned a human charge, the protector tattoo is infused with the human’s blood to open a link for a mind and spirit connection.”
“Blood . . . links . . . as in exchanging blood?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit! Do you . . . turn into stone or something?”
“No. I have wings that can extend and retract when I want them to. That is the only physical change. I can heal myself in a stone state sleep. We have heightened hearing and sight. Each protector has certain supernatural gifts, or powers. One of mine is mind reading. The smoky brown quartz that you see on my wrists, and around my home, is my protector stone.”
“What does it do?”
“It keeps my vitality and life force alive and re-energizes my gifts.”
I stare at his timeless face. “Are you immortal?”
“Most of us live about a thousand years. Each hundred is called a cycle. We age and can die.”
“Oh god. I need to sit,” I say, and start to sit, but quickly change my mind. “No. I think standing is better. Or wait, maybe I need air. Air in my lungs would be great. Holy shit, Everett.”
“Breathe. You’re overreacting, just a little.” His voice is still calm, lulling me into compliance.
I glare at him. “Are you serious?” I huff, and then immediately fall into a quick, short pace.
After a long, silent pause, he eyes me. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh. I’m processing,” I reply.
Everett gives me my space for all of ten minutes before he walks toward me.
When I meet his stare, his hypnotic eyes start messing with my mind, and I stop pacing.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit.”
“If I say I’m fine, Everett, I’m fine.”
One of his brows arches skyward. “You’re still acting weird.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me how I should act, knowing what I now know about you?”
“Didn’t you know about supernatural creatures before you came here?”
“From books. Movies. You know, not real-life existence.”
Everett looks less than amused. “I assumed you knew.”
“What is it with you and Callie assuming? How the hell would I?” I shoot off in a snappy tone before I can stop myself.
The silence that falls between us again quickly becomes an unbearable tension.
He takes a step forward. “Why are you really in Havenwood Falls, Graysin?”
My stomach twists. “What?”
A condescending look passes over him. “The truth.”
Avoiding Everett’s gaze, I speak. “My sister, Jenni, was the girl who burned in the fire.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” His voice is deep and husky, sending vibrations through me.
“When Jenni graduated from college, she sent my parents a letter stating that she had found the love of her life.” I pause. “That she was married. It detailed how her husband was from a prestigious family in Havenwood Falls, Colorado, and that they were moving there. For years, we tried to find this town to visit her— and yet, we always came up empty-handed. It’s as if it doesn’t exist to the outside world.” I point out. “The letter went on to explain that due to her husband’s family commitments, she would not be able to visit or have much contact with us. That she would call when she could.” I frown. “It didn’t even sound like her. The words, the flow, the tone of the letter. It was all so . . . formal and mysterious. And it had this odd scent to it, like it was sprayed with a strange perfume. After a while, it was almost like my parents forgot she existed. I guess we all just accepted her choice and respected her wishes.”
“What did it smell like?” he asks, and I throw him a questioning glare.
“The paper?” I ask.
“Yeah. Can you recall the scent?”
“I don’t know. A strange form of rosemary, maybe.”
“Mages use rosemary oil in their potions for memory spells.”
“Mages?” I parrot, but he ignores me, walking me through his thought process.
“It’s normally used to enhance one’s memory, but . . .”
“But what?” I inquire.
“If it was used in black magic, then it would have the opposite effect. Make someone forget.”
“Are you suggesting my parents and I were spelled so that we would forget her?”
“It’s possible,” he replies reluctantly. “The Court enforces memory wards on those who leave or have a connection to the town. Roman might have stepped in where your family is concerned.”
Everett moves closer, and when he does, his arm brushes mine. A burst of heat encompasses me at the touch, feeling like heaven. I bask in it, longing to soak in more of his warmth.
Needing to focus on something other than how much I like his touch, or want more of it, I continue. “Sometime after Christmas, I started getting these odd calls from her.”
“Odd? How so?” He moves me away from the cliff’s drop, which my pacing had brought me closer to.
“They were quick. Never more than a few seconds. None were casual discussions. They were always strange reminders of our childhood. One sentence discussions. Right before the fire, she called and left a message asking me to remember her favorite book was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. A few days later, we received word that she had died. A week after that, a small box
of her belongings arrived at our home. And that was it. She was gone. No further explanation.”
I get lost in the way he moves over the steep, rocky terrain—with an assured gracefulness—as he paces. After a short time passes, our eyes lock, and a form of understanding passes between us.
“So, you’ve come searching for answers about the circumstances surrounding her death? That would explain why you’re so obsessed with the library and its old books. You think she’s left a clue or something?”
“I think the circumstances surrounding her death are strange. Nothing adds up.”
“It’s dangerous for you to continue looking into her death, Graysin.”
“I’m not afraid of Roman Bishop.”
“You’re stubborn and apparently naïve.”
“Hey, no. I’m not,” I argue.
“Havenwood Falls’s secrets are well protected by the Luna Coven, a group of mages led by descendants of three of the Old Families. The Beaumonts, the Augustines . . .” He pauses, rubbing his jaw.
“And?” I push.
“And the Bishops.”
“When you say mage, do you mean a witch?”
“Yes.”
“Are you suggesting that Roman is a witch?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that he is one. A very powerful, well-known, and respected warlock within this town, and he sits on the High Council of the Luna Coven, which maintains wards on the town to protect it. In addition, he holds a seat on the Court of the Sun and the Moon.”
“What do they do?”
“They maintain peace in Havenwood Falls, especially among the supernaturals, while ensuring the town’s secrets are protected—particularly the one about the existence of the supe population.”
“So, not all humans here know that they’re living among witches and the like?”
“No. And the Court doesn’t take kindly to newcomers stirring shit up.”
“What did Miss Mary Beth mean when she said Roman registered me with the Court?”
Covetousness: A Havenwood Falls Novella Page 6