by Lisa Ladew
Gemma had been silent for a whole minute. Her limit, if he remembered correctly from school. “I want to hear about the vampires.”
Riot nodded. That’s what he’d brought her for, and now he was out. “I gotta go,” he muttered, and turned to leave.
Gemma gasped lightly and grabbed his elbow, her scent reaching him, stopping him. Shit.
Riot turned back to see Gemma’s wide eyes looking at him with something like hope. Damn. There had been times, back in class when their teacher would break them into research groups, when Riot would glance around for Gemma and think he’d caught her looking at him like that. Not that it would have changed all the reasons they couldn’t be together, but at least he could have comforted himself with knowing the attraction wasn’t one-sided. But every time she’d looked away, and Riot had known it was wishful thinking. And this is different, how?
Gemma blinked her couldn’t-be-hopeful eyes. “You’re not staying? I thought… ”
Riot ran his hands through his hair. Double shit. “I’ll stay,” he said quickly. “If... if you want me to.”
Gemma smiled at him. Riot smiled back. He couldn’t help it, but then he remembered who the fuck he was. He curled his lip, then curled her fingers off his arm. “I’ll be back. I’ve got to go take care of that vampire’s car and… some other stuff.” Like retrieving an enormous pack of weed from the forest before anybody else finds it.
There were too many reasons why coming back to Resperanza was the wrong call, but… Gemma. Shit. Riot snarled and clenched his fists as he stalked out of the garage through the open door.
Chapter 7 - Home
Gemma watched Riot walk away with the same wrong-side-of-the-tracks-badass strut he’d had when they were in high school. She’d loved to watch him walk - even if it had induced that same full-body shiver that felt like fear but couldn’t be, not with Riot - almost as much as she’d loved daydreaming about his eyes. She would get to Marine Biology as fast as she could and linger in the hallway just for the chance to see him coming.
She’d always watched him from afar, because she’d been different then. Shy, unassuming, not up to being anyone’s girlfriend, but especially not ever dreaming she could be Riot Cofield’s girlfriend. But things were different now. Gemma was more than ready for a front row seat and, at the risk of overdoing her bulldog routine, she wanted Riot to know it. He was part of this, and she wanted him to be the one explaining to her what “this” was.
They were two grown adults with every right to be attracted to each other. Unless he’s not? But the memory of their time on the forest floor and the zings of pleasure it sent through Gemma’s body were evidence to the contrary.
Riot disappeared out the garage door, letting Gemma concentrate again. She turned back to the two petite women - switches, she corrected herself - and their enormous companion. The blonde, Goldie, who had introduced herself as she told Gemma about the marks on each parking space, was wearing crisp khaki bermuda shorts and a t-shirt that Gemma was pretty sure was vintage Disney. Goldie had a gentle, friendly way about her that drew Gemma in, made her feel comfortable in spite of being in a strange new place.
The big guy standing with one hand pressed to Goldie’s back like he was her boyfriend, had deep chocolate eyes, a gnarly pink scar on his throat, and a scowl etched onto his face that disappeared when he glanced at Goldie, then back at Gemma with a half-smile. “Name’s Flint Gibson. Come on in.”
The woman standing next to them had wavy chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, and an engagement ring on her left ring finger, no wedding ring. She smiled at Gemma as she brushed by, leading the way inside. “I’m Cora.” Gemma got a good look at that style as Cora held the door for her: a teal cotton dress, lace-up granny boots on her feet, and brass clockwork earrings in her ears.
Cora waved her hand towards the space inside. “And this… is Resperanza.”
Gemma looked around, confused.
Flint explained. “It’s the house. That’s her name.”
Gemma’s jaw dropped, all pretense of chill gone. “But you said she painted the marks on the wall.”
Goldie nodded. “Well, none of us do it. So it’s got to be the house, right? She’s magic… we’re pretty sure… somehow, she’s magic.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Gemma put two fingers to each of her temples and pressed, trying to hold her pinball mind still. From the moment she’d pulled into the driveway, Gemma had been enchanted. And then, when the house came into view, she had been enraptured. But when she’d seen her name painted in Japanese on the garage wall? She’d been sold. Whatever this was, she wanted in.
How could a house know that there was nothing so beautiful to Gemma as the way Sakura and her extended family wrote Gemma’s name using the traditional Japanese characters that, as a child, had reminded her of smiling faces? Seeing her name on envelopes addressed to her in her grandmother’s hand had been a highlight of Gemma’s childhood.
Gemma’s mind took her mouth over at a sprint. “How can a house do that? And why did you name her that - Resperanza? What does it mean? ‘Esperanza’ like ‘hope’, but with an ‘r’ as in ‘respiration’…” The meaning came to Gemma suddenly, like a memory. “Breathing hope?”
Cora smiled at her. “The sign in the hall says ‘Breath of Hope’. You’re good.”
Gemma shrugged. “Languages are my thing.”
Flint coughed out another laugh and gave Gemma a genuine smile, wide, showing off his white teeth and a warmth in his brown eyes that reminded Gemma of a big, burly bear. But in a good way. “You’re definitely in the right place. Come meet Resperanza.”
Gemma followed him inside, catching view of a grand basement, like the coziest nest she’d ever seen. Gemma had grown up mostly in military post housing, which was fine but not fancy. Since then she’d picked her apartments by how close they were to the airport, so she could take off at a moment’s notice for a story lead. A bed, a shower, and no bugs; those were her only expectations, but this place blew those out of the water. In one direction was a hallway with a handful of doors leading off it, and in the other was an enormous carpeted space filled with couches and a massive television.
Ahead of her, Cora was already leading the way to a staircase, gesturing to either side as she spoke. “Over there is our meeting room slash rec room, and down there are a bunch of single rooms. Riot, Goldie’s sister Darby, Flint’s brother Bryce; they all live down there.” Gemma tilted her upper body to one side as she walked, to get a better look. Riot’s room was down there? Good to know.
Then she realized what else Cora had said. “Meeting room?”
Cora stopped at a door at the top of the staircase with her hand on the knob, looking down at Gemma. “Yep, for the Cause of the Forest, of which you are now part.” She put on a sardonic smile. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your magical motherfuckin’ life.”
Chapter 8 - Defend Your Riot
Gemma followed Cora as she pushed open the door and crossed a stretch of glazed terracotta tile floor, with Goldie and Flint right behind them. Gemma tried to take it all in, but there was so much! They passed through an arched threshold and into a kitchen that was something out of Southern Living meets Arizona Highways magazines. Colorful mosaic tiles covered the walls, and the space was dominated by a bigger-than-life butcher block island, an oversized fridge, and a country-style sink spacious enough to wash a dog in. A Newfoundland. Gemma was impressed.
Flint scanned the kitchen with a contented look on his face, like he was particularly proud of this room. He flashed Gemma another warm look. “You hungry? Want a snack?”
They settled onto stools and Gemma followed with a nod, gazing around the kitchen as the questions fell out of her. “So the Cause is about fighting vampires? How did I become a switch? Can anyone do it?”
When no answers came back immediately, Gemma glanced at the other two women. Cora and Goldie were looking at each other with reluctant grimaces on their face. That doesn’t bode well. Ge
mma attacked the issue head-on. “What? What’s wrong?”
Cora smiled at her. “It’s just… we’re all pretty new to this. I only found out I was a switch a little over a month ago, and Goldie just a couple of weeks. We don’t have all the answers yet.”
Gemma couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m an investigative journalist, a reporter.”
Goldie leaned forward. “Fascinating… Is that how you ran into the vampire?”
Flint brought over bowls of olives and nuts, what looked like homemade zucchini bread, and some fruit, placing them near the women. She caught the look on Goldie’s face as the blonde switch watched Flint, her affection for him radiating from her eyes and gentle smile. Oh, Gemma realized, not just Goldie’s boyfriend. The love of her life. Then Flint looked at Goldie, too, and the love coming off of the couple was almost too much for Gemma to believe.
What would it be like to have a man look at me like that? Like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him and no way was he going to let me go? Then Flint pulled away, going back to the fridge, and still it took Gemma a moment to get past that look, to remember what Goldie had asked her.
The story. Right. Gemma explained, “I was up at the county hospital, checking out the psych ward.” Cora’s eyebrows went up and she shifted on her stool, reaching for the bowl of nuts in front of her and tossing back a handful. Is she blushing? But Gemma was just getting to the good part, the vampire part. “When I left the hospital, that vampire was there.”
Goldie’s expression was sober. “You hunted him. Couldn’t even stop yourself.” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “Thank goodness Riot was there, or who knows what would have happened.”
From behind the refrigerator door Gemma thought she heard Flint scoff, but she couldn’t be sure. A protective fire flared in her belly. She had noticed when Riot brought her here that there didn’t seem to be any love lost between those two. Usually tidbits like that only sparked Gemma’s curiosity, made her want to find out what and why and since when. This time it was different. And she knew exactly why. Riot.
Let’s just see what’s what. Gemma tuned her voice to curious as Flint backed out of the fridge and closed it. “You don’t like him?” She tossed an olive in her mouth, as if she didn’t care about Flint’s reply, but already her mind was stacking arguments in Riot’s favor.
Flint grunted. Didn’t answer.
Gemma didn’t react, just chewed and swallowed. “I’ve known Riot since high school.” Ok, so she hadn’t seen him in the last twelve years, but she knew what she was talking about. “He’s a good guy,” she said softly, her voice uncompromising. She wouldn’t give on this.
Flint didn’t say anything but he shook his head slightly, like she didn’t know what she was talking about. Goldie’s head had been pinging back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match, but now she spoke up, trying to make peace. “He’s always been nice to my sister, Darby. What was he like back then?”
Gemma shrugged, watching everyone’s reaction. “Quiet, but nice. He had a bad reputation. His family didn’t have much money. He had a job, though. He got in trouble sometimes, but no more than anyone else.” Gemma wasn’t too proud to admit she’d been intimidated back then by Riot, by all his girlfriends, by who he was and how he looked, and how experienced he was.
Now, though? Gemma knew she was spectacular, whether Riot said so or not. But she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to state her case and have him agree. Nor how important it was to her that Riot get a fair shake with Flint, or anyone else who thought he wasn’t good enough.
She looked pointedly in Flint’s direction. “He even saved one girl from getting raped at a graduation party, beat the shit out of the dude who tried. I’d say he’s a good guy.”
Flint didn’t say anything, but gave a short nod as Cora and Goldie both jumped in, asking for details Gemma didn’t want to give, so she changed the subject. “Hey, I’m the one who needs answers.”
Cora took a deep breath and fixed Gemma with a sympathetic look. “Okay, and we’ll do our best to answer. Let’s fix some tea and move in the other room, it’s a long story.”
Cora hopped off her stool and walked to a cabinet, opening it to reveal a shelf full of boxes of tea, a sugar bowl, a teapot, and a book. Her voice rose. “Who the fuck put this in here?”
Cora snatched the book from the cabinet and turned around, holding it in front of her, an indignant flush on her cheeks. “Jameson’s book! Someone stuck it in the tea cabinet!”
Gemma’s eyes landed on the book, and suddenly she couldn’t see anything else. The feeling was almost like the one she’d had when Riot’s knife landed in her hand. Enchanting. Enchanted. She had to see more. Learn more. Know more. “Can I see it?” she asked.
But Cora hadn’t heard her, was already storming off at a stomp toward the archway they’d come in, grumbling. “We may need this book someday, you know. If we can ever figure out what it says.”
Gemma hopped off her stool, frantic at the idea of the book leaving her sight. “Cora, wait. What is that?”
Cora stopped, turned so that Gemma could get a better look at the book in her hands. “The Keeper’s Book.”
For the second time that night, as if she wasn’t even in charge of her own body, Gemma’s hands reached out for the book. Slowly. Reverently. Cora handed it over without a word.
The instant her fingertips touched the metal cover on the back, Gemma’s mind sharpened. It was like her vision cleared, magnified, sharpened as she gazed at the book she held. She caressed the topmost page of the book and felt the stiff material give only slightly to her touch. Old. Ancient, maybe. Powerful.
She could see where the leather binding had been torn when the cover was removed, whatever timeworn adhesive had been used taking some of the animal hide with it. And there was scrawled writing on the exposed front page. It was an old-fashioned English that Gemma skipped over. Too easy. With delicate hands, she lifted the front page.
And there the sense of wonder, hovering over Gemma since she turned up Resperanza’s drive, finally took flight. The page was covered with characters written in various colors of ink, in rows and columns, so very like the east-Asian characters that had been the starting point for her passion. But wait… Gemma turned to the next page, and the next, where the characters were broken up with illustrations.
This wasn’t any language she recognized. Not Chinese or Korean or Japanese. Not Arabic or Hebrew. But she was sure that each character meant something. It was like it was on the tip of her brain but she just couldn’t grasp it. “What language is this?”
When nobody answered, Gemma looked up to find all three of her hosts staring at her with blank faces. Cora was the one who finally spoke up. “Nobody knows. My fiancé, Jameson, he’s at sparring or he would have been here, his uncle gave it to him before he died. He’s never been able to read it.”
Gemma’s eyes returned to the book, her mind tuning out the questions that wanted to intrude. She looked at the characters, and again had the sensation that she could almost read them. Like one of those 3D optical illusion photos, where you could only see the subject if you looked at it cross-eyed first. “Languages are my thing,” she said again.
Flint spoke. “You’re bilingual?” he asked.
Gemma couldn’t take her eyes off the book. She laughed. “Bilingual, yeah, you could say that.” In truth, she knew forty-three languages, which was one more language than the world-record holder. A total coincidence, really.
Cora poked at the Keeper’s Book. “Could you translate it?”
Gemma felt a familiar buzz in her middle, the pull of a challenge. She smiled. “Can I borrow a notebook and a pen?”
Gemma gathered up the book, still mesmerized by the illustrations on the pages. Drawings of men and animals, women and plants, and towards the back, just in front of a handful of blank pages that ended the book, a spiral design flanked by squares of different colors. The others fell away, their voices muted an
d unimportant to her. Book in hand, Gemma left the kitchen, unnoticed by the others, in search of a study spot. As she passed through the archway she glanced to her right and saw a long dining table, with at least twelve rustic, straight-back chairs. She would pass.
Directly ahead was the door to downstairs, and Gemma veered left before it, to a room so big it took her breath away. It had pale stucco walls with little lighted alcoves cut in every so often, pieces of artwork and what looked like artifacts displayed inside. The heavy, dark beams on the ceiling gave the room a warmly rustic look, and Gemma’s eyes followed their lines all the way to the other end, to the rounded walls of a library.
It was the inside of a turret she spotted from outside. Halfway between her and the furthest point, past a group of sectional sofas aimed at a television smaller than the one downstairs, was a scattering of easy chairs, a small table beside each one. Perfect.
Gemma carried her newest mystery book to one of the cozy chairs. She sat down and curled her legs beneath her, murmuring thanks when Goldie appeared and set pen and a notebook on the table just a few inches away. She parsed the pages, taking in images as a whole, one page at a time, before returning to the front of the book to puzzle over the symbols one by one.
Occasionally she’d realize she was thirsty, or hungry, and she would glance over to see food and drinks on the table beside her. Every time she vowed to catch the person bringing the snacks, to say thanks, but every time she missed them. Didn’t even hear them.
It was as if the book had cast a spell on her, and Gemma was helpless to resist. Even when her eyelids grew heavy and a blanket tumbled gently from the chair’s back to settle around her shoulders, she couldn’t put the ancient pages aside. Midnight passed. Then two in the morning. She could sleep here, right in this chair, she’d check into her hotel tomorrow…
She fell asleep in the chair with the figures from the book dancing in her dreams.