I was horrified by the thought. “Booker used to try to seduce May? That’s so ... gross.”
“Hey, your grandmother is a handsome woman. She always has been.”
“I’m saying it’s gross because she’s my grandmother and he occasionally flirts with me to annoy Galen. I’m not saying it’s gross because of her age.”
“Fair enough.” He smirked at my discomfort. “He didn’t flirt with her that way. It was more that he tried to influence her plans for the day. If she wanted to garden, he tried to make her believe she wanted to cook him prime rib. It was simple things like that. Fun things.”
“Oh.” I furrowed my brow as I concentrated. “You’re basically saying that cupids can make people do things that go against what they truly want.”
“Not exactly,” he hedged. “If a cupid were to try to convince you to do something horrible — like murder someone, for instance — your inner morality will be the guidepost. You’re not a murderer, so you won’t acquiesce.”
“But, let’s say I have bad tendencies. What if I really did want to kill someone but I managed to tuck those feelings away until a cupid came along and took advantage of me? Would I be compelled to kill under those circumstances?”
“You’d be more likely to kill,” he confirmed. “Would you be compelled? I don’t know. I’ve never heard of that happening.”
“The thing is, I’m not asking just because I’m curious. That man today was compelled to enter the water. He didn’t remember it. In fact, he was so full of himself he accused us of messing with him. He didn’t strike me as the sort to kill himself.
“And, yes, inherently I know there is no ‘sort’ of person who is more likely to commit suicide,” I continued. “It’s just ... he’s full of himself. He thinks he’s above others. He was adamant he would never harm himself.”
“And you’re asking if a cupid could make him do what he did.” Wesley turned thoughtful. “I don’t know. I think, like anything else, you would already need to play host to those instincts to make it happen. Only someone predisposed to suicide could be forced to take his or her own life.”
That made sense, at least on the surface. “What about other cupids? I mean ... can one cupid force another to do something?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The man who almost drowned himself today was a cupid. He’s from one of the groups that has standing in the cupid community.”
“Huh.” Wesley took on a far-off expression as he gazed at the woods surrounding his property. “That right there is a good question. I’m not sure how to answer it. What does Galen think?”
“Galen has his hands full because that horrible woman accused me of cursing Mark to commit suicide. He couldn’t get me out of town fast enough.”
“That doesn’t sound like Galen. He wants you by his side more often than not. Heck, he wants you by his side ... and on his lap ... and snuggled up on the couch with him ... and sharing a patio lounger ... much more than I’m comfortable with.”
I laughed at his hangdog expression. Wesley had made no bones about the fact that he was struggling with the idea of being a grandfather to an adult woman. His instinct was to protect me. I was capable of making my own decisions, so that didn’t always go over well. “It’s not that,” I explained. “It’s this woman. Darlene Metcalf. I think she might be the devil.”
“Darlene?” The expression on Wesley’s face was almost comical. “Oh, geez. Don’t tell me she’s back. I thought we’d seen the last of her.”
I was confused. “Back? The way she made it sound she hasn’t been to the island in a number of years.”
“That’s true.”
“I was under the impression that she visited only that one time as well. I mean ... wasn’t she part of that entire cupid conference that went down the tubes and resulted in a bunch of people dying?”
The expression that flitted over Wesley’s face was ugly. “Oh, she was definitely a part of that. I was knee deep in that scene, too. Your grandmother insisted on getting involved. No one could figure out what happened, who killed who, and she was determined to find answers.”
“Did she?”
“Obviously not. No one was ever arrested.”
“I wonder if what happened at that conference has anything to do with what happened today,” I thought aloud. “Maybe that’s why Galen was so keen to send me away. He’s usually fine keeping me with him even if it doesn’t look professional. He was practically gassing up the golf cart himself this afternoon to get rid of me.”
Wesley arched an eyebrow, amused. “I think you’re taking this personally when that’s not how it was meant. Galen wants to protect you above all else. He may be a pain in my posterior when it comes to the public displays of affection, but I never doubt his loyalty to you.
“As for why he sent you away, I think that’s fairly obvious,” he continued. “He wants to keep you safe. You’re in a unique position right now. Darlene has set her sights on you. Judy has marked you as a possible thorn in her side. That’s on top of the fact that you’re seemingly immune to the cupids.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The immunity? It’s a big deal. If you can’t be influenced, that would make you far more attractive to certain cupids. Booker, for example, has always wanted a woman who loves him for who he is, not how he smells.”
I chewed my bottom lip. That made sense. “Because then he’s assured it’s real.”
“Exactly. I’m surprised he didn’t go after you.”
“I’m with Galen.”
“Which is probably the only thing holding him back. You have to remember, Galen and Booker grew up together. They were in constant competition. Galen had his nose out of joint because Booker kept stealing his girlfriends. Booker had his nose out of joint because Galen had a natural charm that worked wonders on the girls and he didn’t need to utilize magic tricks to give himself a leg up on the competition. They were both insecure thanks to the other.”
“I’m pretty happy with Galen,” I offered. “I really don’t want to be part of some weird Gossip Girl love triangle. I’m pretty sure I’m too old for that.”
Wesley chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’ve seen you and Galen together. It’s obvious you’re right for each other. Booker might enjoy needling Galen, but he has no interest in hurting you. Making a play for you would result in three people being hurt. Besides, I don’t know that he feels anything but friendship from you. I simply assume that the fact that you’re immune to him would serve as an aphrodisiac of sorts.”
“Good to know.” I went back to pouting about my afternoon. “I still don’t understand why Darlene turned on me the way she did. It’s not as if I thought we were going to be best friends or anything, but it came out of nowhere.”
“Not nowhere. Darlene has always been this way. Ever since she was in school she’s been the devil’s mistress. That’s what I used to tell your mother when she would come home crying from school because of something Judy and Darlene did to her.”
I was beyond confused now. “Wait ... what? Darlene lived on the island?”
“She spent the first eighteen years of her life here. As soon as she reached adulthood, she couldn’t escape fast enough.”
“Darlene made it sound like she was a visitor,” I argued. “She never mentioned living here.”
“She probably wouldn’t. This island is considered Judy’s jurisdiction in cupid circles. Darlene would never admit to living under Judy’s thumb. That’s not how she plays the game.”
I had no idea what to make of the new information. “I wonder if Galen knows that.”
“I’m sure he does. He grew up on the island. He heard the warring Buchanan sisters stories as often as the rest of us.”
It took my brain a few minutes to catch up. “Who are the Buchanan sisters?”
“Judy and Darlene.”
“Wait ... you’re saying they’re sisters?”
; “Of course they’re sisters.” Wesley snorted in delight at my expression. “Judy is the older sister by eleven months. She’s higher in the hierarchy. Darlene couldn’t have that, so she married a man who was higher in the cupid hierarchy than Judy’s first husband. They’re basically neck-and-neck for dominance … and they’re also part of separate families now thanks to Darlene’s marriage.”
I was completely flabbergasted. “But ... how did I not know this?”
“Darlene and Judy hated each other as kids. They weren’t close. I can’t ever remember them being close. Even when they were young — we’re talking kindergarten and first grade — they went out of their way to screw with one another.
“They were always in the market for other kids to join with them,” he continued. “Your mother made the mistake of thinking Judy wanted to be her friend in third grade and helped her pull a prank on Darlene. It had something to do with a yellow dress. I can’t remember.
“Anyway, Darlene had an absolute meltdown and threatened to kill your mother for turning on her,” he added. “For weeks, your mother was too afraid to walk to school by herself. I had to pick her up and drop her off. It got so bad she had to get on medicine because her stomach was so upset.”
I’d never heard the story. And, picturing my mother making herself sick over two vipers when she was only a child made me wish Wesley hadn’t dusted it off. “I knew I disliked both of those women. This is so ... gross.”
“It’s definitely gross.” Wesley was grave. “If you ask me, Galen did the right thing. He sent you out here to make sure you were safe. He knew I wouldn’t let either of those hussies on my property to do you harm. He’s much smarter than he lets on when he makes those growling noises he thinks I can’t hear and chases you through the yard.”
I laughed despite myself, the statement lightening the mood. I had a feeling that was his intention. “Well, I’m stuck here for a few hours anyway. What do you want to do?”
“How do you feel about a horseback ride through the fields?”
“I’ve never really ridden a horse before.”
“You’ll be fine. I have a gentle mare. It will give you something to focus on other than the cupids.”
“That’s probably exactly what I need.”
“I figured. Come on. Finish your lemonade and then we’ll get you suited up. You might as well have some fun while you’re out here.”
9
Nine
I texted Galen when I was about to leave so he would know when to expect me. He sent back some weird kissing emoji that made me laugh — which was probably his intention — and then gassed up my cart before heading out.
Wesley packed a box of snacks in case I got hungry during the drive home. It was only a thirty-minute drive, but he was nothing if not a diligent grandfather.
“That’s a pie,” I noted when I realized what was at the bottom of the box.
“I’m glad to see you can identify food,” he drawled.
I ignored the sarcasm. Apparently I came by it hereditarily. “I can’t eat an entire pie on the way back to the lighthouse. I mean ... I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
His eye roll was pronounced. “That’s for after dinner tonight. My cook made three pies. I can’t eat them all myself. I gave one and a half to the workers, kept a few slices for me, and this is for you.”
“Really?” I was charmed by the gesture. “That’s nice. What kind is it?”
“Blueberry.”
“I love blueberry pie.”
“Good. Then you can eat that instead of playing games with Galen tonight. You’ll do your grandfather proud by focusing on the pie.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I would share the pie with Galen and that eating it would probably involve one of the games he was loath to talk about. He’d been good to me all day — I had pain in my backside from the slow horse ride through the property to prove it — and I didn’t want to disappoint him.
“Thank you.” I rolled up to the balls of my feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This means a lot to me.”
His cheeks colored with embarrassment. “It’s just a pie. I didn’t even bake it.”
“No, but you’re taking care of me all the time these days, even when you don’t realize it. Between the golf cart and this ... .”
“It’s just a pie.”
I ignored him. “I wish I’d had the chance to know you when I was younger.”
“You’re only saying that because you know I would’ve spoiled you rotten.”
I flashed a smile, mostly because I knew that’s what he was going for, and nodded without hesitation. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“I wish I’d had the chance to spend time with you, too.” He squeezed my hand. “You’d best get going. The cart has lights but you’re not going to beat the sunset back. I should’ve sent you home sooner.”
“It’s not so bad. What could possibly happen?”
He graced me with a dark look. “I believe you’ve been attacked once before on this road. I don’t want it to happen again. In fact ... maybe I should drive you back.”
“And leave the cart here?” I was horrified at the prospect. “No way. I love that cart. It’s the best gift anyone has ever given me. Now that it’s not peach I don’t look like I’m driving around in a vagina either.”
His mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you just said that ... and to your grandfather. That is just horrible.”
I grinned and wiggled my hips. “Hey, if you have to live with the visual, so do I. I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Text me when you get home. I’ll feel better.”
“Yes, sir.” I honored him with a saucy salute and then hopped behind the wheel. “I’ll talk to you later. Don’t worry about me. I have everything under control.”
I WAS TEN MINUTES FROM TOWN when darkness fully descended. A sunset on an island is truly majestic and I had a beautiful view for an extended period. Once the sun dropped, though, it was gone. The rosy glow that burned the horizon followed within five minutes. After that, I was truly lost in the darkness.
Somehow I had forgotten that there were no streetlights on the rural highway that led to Wesley’s house. I saw a few lights twinkling in the distance beckoning me, but it was dark.
The cart was quiet. Galen, Booker and Wesley spent a lot of time fixing it up after I received it. Booker painted it and Galen spent hours grunting under the hood. He was shirtless when he did it, so I was fine with the display of testosterone. That’s probably sexist, but I don’t care. The man looks ridiculously good when he’s sweaty and topless.
I still wasn’t used to the sounds of the country. In Michigan, I lived in the city. I grew accustomed to ambient noise — humming streetlights and electrical wires, heavy traffic, even police and rescue vehicle sirens — and I didn’t notice until it was all stripped away exactly how desolate the country feels when you’re alone.
I wished Wesley hadn’t reminded me of the attack I’d faced not long after I’d moved to the island. I was in Booker’s van that night. He’d loaned it to me, and I almost melted down when a huge animal tried to make me an evening snack. Galen showed up that night. He shifted into a wolf and cast my entire belief system into tumult when I realized paranormal creatures really existed. He hunted my attacker for a long time, and the moments I was left alone, stranded, not knowing what was about to happen, were some of the worst of my life.
That’s what I thought about now as I scanned both sides of the road for signs of movement.
I’m a horror movie fan. That’s to my benefit and detriment, depending on the occasion. On one hand, I’m not afraid of random noises and often check upstairs to make sure I’m still alone with little prompting. On the other, I know the terrible things that can happen and my imagination has a tendency to get ahead of me. There’s a reason I’ll never go camping ... or live next to an ancient burial ground ... or try to bring a monster out of my dreams. That way lies death, bloody and cruel.
Two weeks ago, Galen and I were bored during a rainy Saturday and watched five Friday the 13th movies in a row. That was probably a bad idea, because all I could picture now was a crazy person behind a hockey mask, hiding in the bushes and armed with a machete.
It was probably a self-fulfilling prophecy when I heard a loud noise in a stand of trees up ahead. It was so loud I couldn’t mistake it for my imagination. Instinctively, I removed my foot from the gas pedal and let the cart coast to a stop. My heart hammered as I stared into the trees, searching for movement. Even though a variety of shifters lived on the island — I was still holding out hope to see a shark shifter — an animal would’ve been a welcome sight. I was hoping for something innocuous, like a raccoon or a deer. Heck, I would’ve taken a snake at this point.
There was only blackness.
I pressed the tip of my tongue against the back of my teeth and internally chided myself. There was no reason to get this worked up. I was almost home, for crying out loud. All I was doing by stopping in the middle of the road was delaying the trip.
Still, something inside wouldn’t allow me to continue. It was as if I had an inner danger alarm and it was shrieking furiously. It spoke to me, and it said, “Don’t be an idiot.” Because I was nervous I made a series of popping sounds with my lips. I needed something to drown out the sound of my heart.
That’s when something finally moved. It was a shadow, and it didn’t shift much, but I definitely saw it move in the darkness. It was as if someone was readjusting, perhaps moving from one foot to the other to remove the weight from one hip to the other after standing motionless for a lengthy period.
My throat clogged as I briefly pressed my eyes shut. Then I realized that closing my eyes when a foe was directly in front of me was pretty much the stupidest thing I could do. When I snapped them open again, the shadow appeared to be gone.
To Spell With It Page 8