“That may be true, but I need you here.” Greer looked at his men and then at me. “I think we can handle a Ph.D. and some campus security.”
I trusted his judgment, but I was still a shaky mess when it came to controlling my powers. Our session at CTC had opened up the door between my two selves. But even though I was now supposedly capable of recognizing friend from foe, it hadn’t been tested in an actual combat situation. In other words, I had no idea if the next time someone cut me, I would politely ask for a Band-Aid or blindly try to kill everyone in the room.
“It’s going to suck if I kill a security guard or a student. And what about Dr. Oxford? What if I end up offing him?”
Rhom looked from me to Greer and nodded. “Yeah.”
“No one’s killing anyone,” Greer said. “We’re going up there for due diligence. If what Isabetta said turns out to be true and we find something, then we’ll take it. Peacefully.”
Rhom shook his head and sighed. “How many times have I heard that before?”
“Okay, look,” Thomas interrupted. “No point arguing. They’re going, so let’s move on to something we can all actually agree on.” He walked over to me and lifted the amulet from where it rested on my shirt. “We all agree that the amulet has to be protected.”
I knew where he was going with this, but I didn’t like it. Giving it up for a meeting with Isabetta Falcone was one thing, but leaving it hundreds of miles away for a day or two was not okay.
“It comes with us,” Greer decided. “You never know, we might get lucky. We might put on those magic glasses and see it in the middle of the damn road.”
Thomas sneered but then realized Greer was serious.
“Stranger things have happened,” Greer said, shrugging. “We know it’s in New York, but it is possible it’s been moved somewhere outside of the city. Not likely, but possible.”
The faces of the three men standing in front of us went ashen, like children being informed that Santa Claus was a lie.
“You fucking with us?” Thomas asked.
Greer took a deep breath. “Forget I said that, but the amulet stays with us.”
We took the elevator to the garage and headed for the big black Yukon, a vehicle I’d never seen him drive before.
“I guess you’re not worried about the price of gas.” Not that it mattered to someone with Greer’s bank account.
He nearly cracked a smile. “I like a little extra cargo space when I travel. Never know what you might pick up on the road.”
We crossed the George Washington Bridge heading west, and I enjoyed my first trip outside of the city since arriving the previous fall—if I didn’t count the night in Paris with Constantine a couple of months back.
That’s the thing about living in New York; you can go for months or even years without leaving the perimeter of the five boroughs, because there’s no need to. If you can’t find what you need within those borders, it probably doesn’t exist.
It was my day off from work, but I made it clear I had to be back in the city by nightfall to get some sleep for my shift the next day.
We drove for a little over an hour when my stomach started to growl. Greer had given Sophia the day off, and instead of fending for myself and cooking a proper breakfast, I settled for a banana. The fuel from that banana had just run out.
“Can we—”
“Hungry?”
“I’m going to eat my purse if I don’t get some food very soon.”
We pulled off the interstate and followed the signs toward the main street of a small village. As we drove down the center of town, I felt a bit of déjà vu because it reminded me of some of the buried little towns in Indiana I’d past through. Not the dead kind with the CLOSED signs in the windows in the middle of the day, but the kind that lived at a slower pace by choice. These shops looked cared for, and they were open for business.
“Look at that.” I pointed at a dog with a paper bag in its mouth. Its jowls were wrapped around the folded top like someone had carefully placed it there to be taken to its master.
We drove past a few antique shops and an old-fashioned pharmacy. The town looked like a snapshot from another time.
“That place looks popular.” Greer nodded toward a packed diner that probably served as the town’s social nucleus. People lined the booths along the front window, and there were more seated on the benches outside waiting to get in.
“Yeah, but there’s a long wait. Let’s drive a little farther.”
On the next block, I spotted a place with an interesting façade and a sign in bold chartreuse letters. The Trillium Café’s windows were draped in fuchsia fabric—on the outside of the building—and the front door was painted a bold shade of turquoise, the kind of color you see on the front doors of old English cottages. The box running along the length of the window spilled over with violas and moonflower vines.
“A little early for annuals,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” I pointed to the café. “Let’s eat there.”
We found an empty space directly in front of the place and headed for the boldly colored door. In comparison to the diner a block back, this place was much more relaxed. There were a few people sitting at the tables scattered around the room and a couple leaving as we walked in, but it was clear who did the bulk of the business in town.
“Take any seat you like,” a waitress said as she balanced three plates of food and a bowl of soup. “I’ll be over in a minute.”
We took one of the tables by the front window. The room felt warm and cozy with the smell of coffee and baked pie moving through the air. The walls were covered with old paint-by-number paintings and photographs of people who were probably repeat customers or local celebrities: the mayor, a local kid who landed a part in a film, the harvest queen.
My eyes were drawn to the weathered green paint on the floor, and the wide gaps that would disappear as the heat and humidity of summer moved in. “My kind of place.”
Greer looked around the room. “It does have its charm.”
The waitress hurried over to our table to take our order. She was wearing one of those retro uniforms, but instead of pink or blue pastel under the white apron, her dress was fire-engine red with a neckline that plunged to the center of her cleavage. Her brown eyes reminded me of a doe’s, the color so deep it blended seamlessly with her pupils.
“You folks just passing through our little town?”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked.
She glanced out the front window at the shiny black Yukon. “I know everyone within a thirty-mile radius of this town. Unless you’re someone’s kid back from school, I’m guessing you’re either coming from or heading to the city.”
“We’re on our way to Ithaca.”
“What’s good here?” Greer cut off the conversation before I could divulge our full itinerary.
The waitress turned her eyes to Greer. “Can’t think of a bad thing. You just let me know what looks good on the menu, and I’ll warn you if it’s a bad idea.”
“Perfect. Can we have one?” he asked. “A menu.”
The waitress glanced at the bare table. “Well, I guess that would help, wouldn’t it?” She grabbed two menus from the vacant table next to ours.
Greer ordered a burger, and I ordered a grilled cheese with a cup of vegetable soup. The waitress nodded her approval to both our choices, then disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen.
“What’s the matter, Greer? Worried she might be a spy?”
“Right now, everyone’s a spy until I know otherwise.” He motioned to the golden retriever trotting past the window with the bag still wedged between its jowls. “Even that dog out there.”
Two tables over, a group of teenage girls glanced at us between huddled whispers. It was Greer they were interested in. One of them kept dropping her napkin on the floor so she could get a better look as she bent down. He ignored the attention, and I wondered if
he was even aware of the effect he was having on them.
“I think you have some fans.”
He said nothing as he turned and made eye contact with each of them. One by one their faces sobered, and a rash of heat crawled over their skin. They squirmed in their seats as it passed through them. When the waitress brought their check, they paid it immediately and took the long way around the room, avoiding our table. They wouldn’t even look at us as they hurried down the sidewalk in front of the window.
“What did you just do to those girls, Greer? I think you scared the hell out of them.”
“That was the point. I just taught them a valuable lesson about men.”
“That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”
“Creepy is the fact that the one with the short brown hair is already pregnant.”
“How—”
“Here you go.” The waitress set our food down on the table. “I’ll check back on you in a few minutes.”
We thanked her and dove in. The food was good, dripping with fat and calories just like diner food should. Even a salad in a place like this was mainly a pool of ranch dressing with a few vegetables taking a swim.
Greer must have been hungrier than I was, because he polished off his burger before I finished the first half of my grilled cheese. He pushed his fries toward the center of the table to share.
“You know,” I began, “this Oxford guy could turn out to be fake. Maybe Isabetta Falcone just wanted to get us out of the city for a day or two. Maybe she’s got a different lead and wanted to act on it without any interference from you. Did you think about that, Greer?”
He tossed his napkin on the table and sank back in his seat. “Such little faith, Alex. Why do you think I left the others behind? You don’t think I’m that stupid, do you?”
I didn’t think there was a stupid bone in his body, but it was a valid question.
“Finish your food. We need to get back on the road or we’ll be finding a hotel tonight.”
The waitress came back and placed a cup of tea on the table in front of me. She looked at Greer. “Would you like one, too?”
“No, thank you,” he said, eyeing the cup suspiciously.
“I didn’t order this.”
“That’s okay, hon. Someone did.” She patted me on the shoulder and walked away.
I looked at the tea leaves floating to the top of the brew. “I think you forgot to strain it,” I called out, but she was already heading down the aisle.
She turned to look back at me, and my breath caught at the sight of her emerald green eyes. “That’s the good part,” she said before disappearing through the kitchen door.
The tea leaves floated to the top of the liquid like donuts rising to the surface of a fryer full of oil. As they moved around the perimeter of the cup, they picked up speed, circling as if an invisible spoon had stirred them into motion. The leaves spun faster, creating a mini cyclone in the center of the delicate china, and then they abruptly stopped and took their places to form a perfect circle. A line formed on one side of the circle, and then two more grew from each end to form an equally perfect triangle.
As I stared at the replication of my birthmark in a cup of tea, the leaves collapsed into a solid black mass that filled the top surface of the water. I looked closer and the leaves were moving in a clockwise direction, forming another cyclone in the center of the cup.
I closed my eyes as the room began to spin. I could hear Greer in the background calling my name, his voice fading as if we were moving apart. When my eyes reopened, I was in a circle with grass under my feet and soft glowing light illuminating the space. The light was coming from a wall of candles placed along a stone ledge around the outer edge of the circle. There was something else around the perimeter. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a row of black figures creating a second circle between me and the stones. The figures remained perfectly still, like sentinels guarding a sacred tomb, their faces hidden by the long hoods veiled over their heads.
A brief laugh slipped from my lips as I recognized the monuments marking the four quarters of the circle. I don’t know how I knew, but the meaning and the directions of the stones came to me just like breathing.
At the north end of the circle was a massive table made of stone. I stepped closer and reached for the smooth surface with my left hand, but my right hand seemed to dominate and ended up on the table first. A pair of tall candles marked each side, surrounded by various objects made of metal and wood. They were tools for the honoring and worship of the gods, and I recognized every one of them as my own. I was standing before an altar.
My eyes trailed up to the dark wings spreading beyond the edges of the stone, following the lines of the black feathers until I was looking into the eyes of a stone raven.
I bent down to touch the carpet of lush grass, feeling each blade through my fingers, through the leather soles of my shoes. The circle was alive and I was its beating heart.
A hand slipped over my shoulder as I stood back up. The waitress with the bright red uniform, and the brown eyes that now looked like shining emeralds, was smiling back at me when I turned around. This was her temple, and it was my temple. I was looking into the eyes of my mother.
The light from the wall of candles flared, and in a swift symphony of movement, the figures around the circle removed their hoods. One by one I looked into the eyes of my people, recognizing only Lumen but still knowing each face.
I tried to speak, but when I opened my mouth my vocal cords wouldn’t move. My mother raised her finger to her lips and instructed me to remain silent. “They’re coming,” she whispered. “The Rogues are coming.”
She went to the altar and reached for a wooden box carved with symbols on each side. A small object reflected the light from the candles as she lifted it from the velvet lining and enveloped it in her hand. “Find the prophecy before they come.” She opened her hand and revealed a piece of glass in the shape of a long triangle.
I took it. “What is it?”
Her lips were moving, but there was no sound as the light around her face darkened. Her mouth stretched wide, and her eyes rolled in a strange flowing motion. It was like a drug had kicked in and everything was starting to gel together.
I stumbled back and looked at the robed figures circled around us. They were moving, too, morphing like blobs of black wax in a giant lava lamp.
The ground shook. I fell to the cold grass and looked up at the sky. Not a single star or cloud floated in its orbit. All I could see was a black hole getting wider until everything was gone. My mother was gone.
My eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the bright light. I looked back up at the sky and took in the blue canvas of billowy clouds. I was on fire, and then Greer’s face came into view and I realized I was pressed against his furnace of a chest.
I panicked and pushed him away.
“Whoa.” He pulled me tighter as I squirmed.
“You’re smothering me!”
His grip loosened, and I catapulted from his lap and landed on the ground. When he bent down to help me up, I shoved his hand away and burst into tears.
“Alex, what the hell just happened?” My protests were ignored as he lifted me off the ground and sat me down on the bench next to him. His arm wrapped around my shaking shoulders, and the tears streamed down my face as the image of my mother stuck in my mind like a brand.
“I…I saw her,” I managed between choking breaths.
“Her?”
“My mother.”
Greer let up on my shoulders. He took my face in his other hand and forced me to look at him. My vision cleared as he wiped the tears from my eyes with his thumb. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know. I was looking at the cup of tea, and then I was in a circle surrounded by candles and an altar. She was there, Greer. My mother was right there.”
I gasped. “The waitress!”
He lost the worried expression and stiffened. “What about her?”
“She was there,
but she was my mother!”
Greer was up and running before I could blink. We were in a small park somewhere in town, and my guess was he was heading back to the café. I ran after him.
When we got there, he looked around the room for our waitress. He spotted her waiting on a customer at the back of the room and headed for the table. She reacted the way you’d expect from being grabbed from behind and turned sharply—she swung at him. He caught her wrist and looked her in the face.
“I’ll ask you nicely to take your hand off of me,” she warned in an even tone.
The customer sitting at the table started to get up. “Dude, let go of the lady.”
Greer outweighed him substantially, and by the look on the guy’s face, he was regretting the chivalry.
Greer looked in her eyes for a few more seconds, and then gently lowered her wrist to her side, keeping his hand on it for a moment longer. “My apologies. I thought you were someone else.”
The waitress looked at him with a confused expression. Then she looked at me. I thought I saw a slight grin cross her face before she turned back to Greer.
He grabbed my hand and led me out of the café. When we climbed into the Yukon, we sat in silence while he waited for me to say something.
I reached into my pocket, wondering if it had all been some wild hallucination, a side effect of all the stress I was under. When I pulled my hand back out, I was holding the piece of glass.
“Where did you get that?” he asked as his eyes went to the object.
“She gave it to me. My mother. I don’t know what it is.”
He studied it for a few more seconds. “It’s a prism.”
TEN
We arrived in Ithaca a few hours later. On the way, I told Greer what I remembered about the strange vision. But seeing how I had physical proof in my pocket, I guess it was more than just a vision.
He took his eyes off of the road to look at me, which wasn’t the safest thing to do. “Considering who and what you are, it really isn’t that unusual for her to manifest and speak to you.”
“Yeah, well…I wish she would have shown up all those times when I really needed her.”
The Blood Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 2) Page 9