Descendant (Secrets of the Makai)

by Kerr, Toni

"His lab is fine, really nice actually. But the plants are united and choose not to be involved. Even the chamomile—and they're usually among the best behaved." She took a bite of the bread.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm hungry. Besides, you said it yourself. They need me."

  "But what if it's drugged with...something that makes you do what they want?"

  "I just told you, nothing's cooperating. It may very well be drugged, but I wouldn't be affected by it. Although, I couldn't say the same for you."

  He blinked. Could he trust her about something so serious?

  "Here." She handed over a chunk of bread. "It's not going to kill you."

  She grabbed a spoon and dug in. Tristan watched, saliva pooling in his mouth. He gave in and dipped his bread into the stew. "I have a plan," he said, still chewing. The flavor was so much more than he expected, he lost all thoughts for what he was going to say.

  "Let's hear it."

  "I want to do some more exploring, the same way I followed you around. Maybe I can find a key, or maybe find out what their intentions are, so we can be ready ahead of time."

  "Sounds better than mine."

  "What's yours?"

  "We sit and wait for Oliver. He won't rest until I'm found."

  "I guess that's good, but what if weeks go by before they figure out where we are? We can find out when people are mostly gone, how they're guarding us, and maybe who the weakest people are. We ought to start making plans for our own escape. Didn't you find it odd that the guy with the food never considered you might make a run for it? His hands were completely full. You probably could've just walked around him to catch the door before it shut."

  "Just because he's serving food doesn't mean he's a measly cook."

  Tristan silently agreed and let her have the last bite. "If Oliver never finds the place, at least we'll have been doing something to help ourselves." He wriggled back under the bed, feeling more energized and motivated with a purpose. "Besides, they aren't feeding two."

  "But, what if Oliver has to fight everyone to save us, getting seriously injured in the process, just to find we've already escaped?"

  "I can't believe you're willing to sit around and wait." He gave her time to deny it and continued when she couldn't. "Fine. We don't have to actually escape if you don't want to, but I need to know what's going on out there. How long did I sleep?"

  "I don't know, a day and a half maybe."

  "Seriously?"

  "You think I'm lying?"

  "Sorry," Tristan said more to himself, thankful to be under the bed.

  "Look." She dropped to the floor and lifted the covers. "Using your mind takes energy. You probably ran low by doing whatever you did, over-extending yourself by coming here physically when they told you not to. I already told you that."

  "You did?" He paused to consider everything they'd talked about so far, ignoring her huff.

  "It's not like you missed anything important by sleeping, and if you really don't remember, I'll thank you again."

  "You're welcome." Tristan smiled to himself, deciding to leave it at that. She startled him when she stuffed the sheet alongside him. "Yeah," he added. "Thanks."

  "Well, I'm certainly not putting it back on the bed, it's filthy. And we can't leave it out in the open."

  "I meant, thanks for giving it to me in the first place."

  "Oh." She remained silent and Tristan focused on starting the perspective outside his own body, without success. "Do you know how to do this? I can't remember what started it before."

  "You can't remember? Everyone knows how to do it."

  It seemed too abstract, but he had to make this work, All his plans depended on it.

  "Actually," she continued, "I never understood any of it. I don't think I even know anyone who can do what you're describing."

  "That's not very encouraging," he said, though he felt better at her admission and stared into darkness.

  Ten minutes clicked by before he realized he could move freely. "I've done it!" he announced. "Now, if I could just get out of this room somehow." He stepped toward the door, semi lost in a floating sensation, and pressed the essence of his hand against the wall. "It's weird. I can feel it." He moved to the door. "They're different."

  "What are you talking about?" Dorian asked, taking up her usual position at the window.

  "The wall. The door. They're like a vibration instead of substance." He put his hand on the wall again, daring to press into it. "The wall is less dense than the door."

  "Of course it is, birdbrain. The door's made of iron or something."

  "But it feels less dense, there's more room. I'll bet it's the molecular structure Gram talked about. Can you see me at all?" Tristan watched as Dorian scanned the room, then waved his arms to draw her attention.

  "No."

  "Good. I didn't think so if no one noticed me before, but I had to check. Now if I could just...cool! I'm out!"

  "You went through the wall?"

  "Yeah! It's practically all empty space." He started down the spiral stairway. "Warn me if anyone comes."

  All the doors along the staircase went to the right. He peeked through each like a ghost looking for someone to haunt, finding nothing but empty rooms. A narrow, arched corridor led out of the tower and into the main room. Tristan stared at the distant ceiling, amazed by the architecture. He still couldn't figure out where the light came from.

  Along each wall, potted trees stood guard at arching corridors. A spiral design of rock in the floor circled inward to the center, where an arrangement of pale blue furniture sat, dwarfed by the enormity of everything. Muffled voices caught his attention and he turned to face a line of tunnels. The last opening to his right had to be the one leading down to the dungeon. The voices seemed to come from the one next to it.

  "If she can't do it, what good is she?" a man's voice complained.

  "Now see here, I will decide what is to be done with her." The voice was definitely Sabbatini's. Tristan bit his lip and stayed put. "Everything she ever dreamed can be provided. She will be persuaded."

  "And Gram could be useful leverage," suggested yet another male voice. "They are very close."

  "It may come to that, but let us try honey this time. What else have you heard?"

  "My wife says they've indeed obtained Makai assistance, even though the majority of the island is opposed. Alpheus was there in person, just the other day."

  "I think their involvement will work to our advantage. Babysitting the island will be yet another task to hold their attention. Amber has been supplying meaningless escapades; nothing leads them here. What about that boy?"

  "I told you he was nothing to worry about. Apparently, he tried to help Dorian and didn't know enough to keep himself alive in the process."

  "He's dead? That's it?" Sabbatini asked.

  "That's what they're saying."

  The room became silent. Tristan pressed his nose to the wall until his eyes could see though. Freaky. Five people, including Sabbatini, sat around a large wooden table. Grotesque, life-sized statues of various men lined the longest wall. The detail was disturbing: disheveled hair on several, one had misaligned buttons on his shirt, another had a deep scar crossing through a cheekbone. Stone eyes were set in expressions of fear. Except one. Tristan shuddered at the look of pure joy and turned away.

  To his right, he noticed a pedestal in the corner. Something small and boxy lay under a black cloth.

  "I expect to get results from Dorian." Sabbatini rose from the head of the table. Tristan held his breath. "Tynan, take her on a tour of Dr. Morley's gardens. She could be a great resource for both of you. Find out if she even knows how to make the potion, or anything that could be causing our problems. Make her test the soil. Be polite, and if all goes well, she'll choose to work with us for a time. Even if only to prevent us from killing her dear ol' Gram."

  Tynan stood from his chair and bowed slightly.

  Which one of us goes next?

&nb
sp; Tristan's eyes widened as other men's thoughts trickled in. Couldn't Sabbatini hear them?

  "Someone's coming!" Dorian whispered, loud enough to make him jump.

  A jolt in his stomach ripped him through the building, slamming him under the bed with his head throbbing. The same old man entered Dorian's room. His thoughts of relief that she'd eaten the peace offering echoed over thoughts from the meeting downstairs.

  Tristan's stomach heaved and his muscles cramped. He kept himself silent and still.

  "May I bring you anything else?" the man asked, reorganizing dishes on the tray.

  "Water, lots of it."

  "The plumbing is quite safe—"

  "Can you tell me where we are?"

  "My apologies, m'lady." He collapsed the serving table and left the chamber, locking the door behind him.

  "Did you find anything?" Dorian asked, her voice drastically more enthusiastic.

  "A meeting room." Tristan crawled out from under the bed, tangled in his makeshift clothing, and staggered to the bathroom to throw up.

  Dorian stood outside the door. "You okay?"

  Tristan nodded, half-coughing as dry heaves racked his body. "Never better."

  "No matter what they put in the food, it shouldn't have any effect."

  "It wasn't the food." He poured water from a china pitcher onto a hand towel and scrubbed the dusty grime from his face, neck and arms. He opened the door and scanned the room for a place to sit. "It's weird."

  "You look terrible." She sat at the edge of a large, red velvet chair, seeming truly concerned for a brief moment. "What was weird?" she asked.

  "There are statues in the meeting room, a long line of guys with all sorts of crazy expressions. Really creepy. Ever hear of such a thing? Any sort of mythology you can think of…?"

  "Uncle Eric's carved some strange stuff." She shrugged. "Any particular clothing hints for a time period?"

  "Not really. They weren't in togas, if that's what you mean. It also sounds like they have a spy on your island. They said if you didn't volunteer to make potions for them, they'll use Gram against you."

  "They wouldn't dare and Oliver would never allow it. What makes you think we have a spy? Everyone knows Gram."

  "A guy said the Makai were called in. Who are they?"

  Dorian walked to the window to peer through the drizzle of rain. "They're a sort of vigilante group. People don't like the Makai much, but Gram doesn't have a problem with them. She's probably the one who called. As far as spies, everyone would have known about the Makai. There would have been a vote."

  "Well," Tristan shrugged. "Sabbatini was fine with it. He said it would keep them busy to be babysitting. Oh, one more thing. They think I'm dead."

  "But you said you talked to them. They know you're alive."

  "I've never transported myself. I didn't even know it was possible. They're probably assuming I didn't make it."

  A quick rapping on the door sent Tristan diving under the bed. He should have warned her they were coming. He watched her through a gap by the bedpost.

  "I trust you found the food satisfactory?" Tynan asked with a soothing voice after entering the room.

  Dorian stayed at the window, silent. Tristan tried to get in her head, bypassing a loud, stinging sensation. He'd never initiated a mental speaking connection. It's okay, he's taking you to the gardens!

  She stared at the bed with a look of horror.

  Don't stare at me! Tristan shouted, not sure if she could hear him or not. He'll know I'm here!

  Tynan followed her gaze to the bed with his brow furrowed. "Is there a problem?"

  Dorian blinked, still gaping at the bed. "I'm just...you caught me off guard. What were you saying?"

  "If you would care to join me, I can take you out for fresh air and show you our greenhouses."

  Tristan held his breath, certain she was going to blow it for both of them. He stepped out with his mind, careful to move slowly, just in case. Neither person seemed to notice.

  "I need a coat. I seem to have left mine at home."

  Tristan smiled beside her.

  "Pants, perhaps? And a sweater. Or a sweatshirt...sweatpants. I don't really care."

  "Of course, Miss Dorian." Tynan directed her attention toward the cherry wood cabinet and her expression froze. "There is a complete wardrobe for you in the armoire."

  "Never mind," she said, rushing for the door.

  "Please, Miss Dorian." Tynan opened the armoire and thumbed through the selection. "We want you to be comfortable and it is rather chilly this evening. We want you to stay healthy." He removed a dark forest-green cloak and handed it to her, not noticing the empty hanger next to it. "There are plenty of shoes to select from, they should all be the appropriate size."

  "No. No, thank you." She whipped the cloak over her shoulders and flipped her hair out from beneath. "How long will I be here?"

  Tynan shut the armoire and extended his arm. "That is entirely up to you."

  Tristan followed them down the spiral stairs, through the courtyard, and into an entry hall with large, arched double doors.

  Tynan seemed pleasant enough, placing his skeletal hand against the metal. A rainy mist wafted through when the door swung outward. Dorian glanced around nervously. What would happen if he touched the side of her face? He almost couldn't resist. All he could do was hope she knew he was near.

  "Miss Dorian," Tynan announced, getting her attention, introducing her to the outside world with a wave of his hand. He led her down the cascade of steps to an immense span of rolling green hills.

  "Wow," Tristan said to himself, following Dorian. He spun at the bottom of the stairs to gawk at the building they'd just come from. It sat on the edge of a cliff, overlooking an ocean with dark clouds on the horizon. They walked along a path of stepping-stones toward three massive greenhouses constructed of red brick and glass. Dorian stopped and stared at the forest beyond.

  "There's nothing out there for you to worry over. Come along," Tynan suggested, taking hold of her arm and guiding her forward. Tristan glanced for signs of something Tynan might have missed, then hurried to catch up.

  Dorian entered the first greenhouse and stopped at the entryway, clearly taken in by the magnitude. Tristan waved his hand through the molecules drifting around him, amazed by the visual difference between the inside and outside air. The thought of how much he had to learn, seeing things like they really were, overwhelmed him.

  "It's fabulous!" Dorian gushed, seeming to forget her captive status. "I've never even seen some of these varieties." She let the cloak fall behind her and left the brick walkway to be in the dirt, touching each of the plants as she explored.

  Tynan's white skin paled even more, if possible. He stooped to retrieve the cloak and cleared his throat. When that failed to get her attention, he said, "Miss Dorian, it isn't proper—" He stopped short of saying anything that might offend her. "If you would stay on the path!"

  Tristan returned to the outdoors to get a better feel for the land, confident Dorian could handle Tynan if she had to.

  The building they'd come from stood like a simple castle, as if it was the last of its kind to defend the land, proud and operational. Tristan reminded himself they weren't tourists and kept his mind strategic. Especially if he could relay the information to someone later.

  The castle was built with rectangular, tan-colored slabs of boulders. Window openings matched the arched design of the front entrance, but had been sealed up with additional rock. At the top of a single tower, he could see three guards paying special attention to the greenhouses.

  A gentle sea of green grass lay between the castle and forest line. He wondered if someone had to mow to keep it so short and tidy. What did Dorian think of lawn mowers? Upon closer inspection, it wasn't grass at all, but some sort of tiny-leafed groundcover.

  At the edge of the cliff, high above the crashing waves, he scanned the rocks for a way down. An extremely narrow ledge led halfway, but certainly no farther. He w
ent back to the greenhouse to check on Dorian.

  She was kneeling on the ground, pressing dirt around a fresh transplant, when a round little stubby man slammed through a back door. "What are you messing with? How dare you disrupt my plants! No one gave you permission." He shook a dirt-covered fist at Dorian, then Tynan. "No one is allowed in here, not to mention touch anything. If you needed something—"

  "Dr. Morley," Tynan bowed his head, looking shamed, still clutching Dorian's cloak. "This is the legendary Dorian we have been discussing of late."

  "I don't care who she is. This is my space, my plants! No one is allowed!"

  Tristan dreaded how much larger her ego would get by being addressed as legendary.

  "Everything is clearly very happy to be here with you." Dorian sounded completely sweet and innocent, totally unlike the Dorian he knew. Tristan gave her some credit. So did Tynan. Dang she was good. "I wondered if you could show me how such a magnificent environment operates?"

  Dr. Morley stepped into the dirt to inspect her work. A flicker of admiration twitched in his red cheeks. Tristan cocked an eyebrow. How hard could it be to stick a plant in the ground? It probably took her two seconds. Dr. Morley held out his hand, dirt and all, and led her through the paths, talking excitedly about temperatures and moisture controls.

  By the middle of the second building, bored out of his mind, Tristan decided he'd never find an escape route in a greenhouse.

  37

  - DR. MORLEY'S MENAGERIE -

  DORIAN GLANCED OVER HER SHOULDER, searching for signs of Tristan. Could he really leave his body? The plants didn't seem to sense him, though she thought she might have felt the warmth of him near her face before they left the building.

  She followed Dr. Morley into the third greenhouse, closest to the ocean, and wondered how Tristan could speak to her mentally, when Gram and Oliver couldn't. The thought was both threatening and thrilling. Was she becoming as stupidly infatuated as the plants were?

  "Feast your eyes upon the best of the best." Dr. Morley clapped his pudgy hands and shut the door behind her. "Life isn't always about traditional botany, there's science and chemistry." He glowed with excitement and patted the pocket of his shirt.