“Yes. It’s all a conspiracy. He’s here to rob us of our nonexistent Viking treasure. We might as well just kill him.” She threw her hands in the air with an exasperated growl, privately hoping it concealed her true feelings...and fearing that it didn’t.
For the first time in her life, she’d lied to Lamb. Ian wasn’t just a friend. What she felt for him went beyond friendship into something much more unsettling. She could hardly look at him without wanting to touch him. She could hardly touch him without wanting to find out where touching him led.
“A bit irritable, aren’t you?” Flintrop asked.
She sneered. “Between you and Lamb expecting Ian to be at the center of some big plot, yes, I’m irritable.”
Flintrop cocked his head. His cobalt gaze roved across her features. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
“What business is it of yours if I am or I’m not?”
He stepped around a group of fishermen heading out to the marina. “I’ve known you for almost ten years, Sara. You don’t let people get close to you. What is it about Waverly? What’s he got on you?”
Unease buzzed through her. “You’ve got some nerve, thinking you know anything about how I tick.” Turning on her heel, she tromped forward down the dock.
“I do know. I’ve made it my business to know,” he said, pursuing her.
She came to an abrupt halt. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed. “Dating Faith was possibly the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I didn’t want to be with Faith. I never wanted her.”
She stopped. Soaked that in. Kicked herself. “You and me? Nothing could possibly be more unlikely.” Shaking her head, she started walking again.
He jogged in step with her. “Why not? We’ve worked together for a long time—”
“You mean you’ve been usurping my projects for a long time.”
“Don’t. Don’t turn this into another pitched battle. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“You should have thought about that before you took every single project I started that Gemini didn’t get to finish. You’re a scavenger, Flintrop.”
With a dark look, he grabbed her by the arms. She wrestled in outrage, but he held fast. “What other way did I have to get close to you? Everything you are is in your work, Sara. It was all I had to go on.”
She dropped into a stunned silence. Her entire body flamed with embarrassment. She felt foolish even asking it. “Are you...in love with me?”
He didn’t answer. A pained look crossed his clean-cut features.
“Oh, my God.” She fled away down the dock.
During the awkward trip into town, their taxi driver kept up a stream of chatter that, to Sara’s relief, distracted Flintrop from speaking to her. When they arrived in town, she paid their driver and they got out of the cab. She couldn’t look at Flintrop. Without comment, she started for the first general store she saw.
Locals and tourists alike crowded the tiny shop. Two elderly women stood at a table along one end of the store, presiding over a large array of hand-knitted sweaters, jewelry, giftware, and homemade foodstuffs. “Is there a party going on in town this week?” Sara wondered, surveying the multitude of shoppers.
One of the women smiled in answer. “We’re having a spring fundraiser. Would you like to try a tart?”
“No, thank you.” Sara drifted along the table to the other end, where her gaze landed on a small rack of tour flyers. The one in front read Hermaness National Nature Reserve, and featured a large, mottled-brown bird on the front. She longed suddenly to rush back to Hvitmar, and Ian. Her imagination picked up where it had left off earlier. She was once again in his tent, kissing him, running her hands over his broad shoulders, lifting her chin so he could press kisses along her throat...
Flintrop passed behind her. She tore her gaze away from the brochure to a folded stack of sweaters resting nearby.
The second woman reached for the sweater on top and unfolded it. “These are all made right here in Unst. This one would look beautiful on you. Did you want to try it on?”
“Oh. Thank you, but no,” she murmured, moving on.
Her gaze landed on an assortment of books, including a thin, garish softcover titled The Sleeping Princess. The cover bore an illustration of what appeared to be Sleeping Beauty, her long blond hair strewn across the stone dais on which she lay. Sara took it for a common children’s book, until she saw what dangled from the prone woman’s hand in the drawing:
The amulet.
Or, if not the amulet, a necklace that could have been its cousin. Sara glanced behind her. Flintrop stood across the shop, surveying the available grocery items. She pasted an expression of polite interest on her face and picked up the book.
The necklace in the drawing didn’t exactly match the one hidden under her sweatshirt. No Celtic knot graced the pendant. The serpent didn’t intertwine with anything; rather, it circled the outer perimeter of the discus, but its center bore a gold-colored oval. She flipped through the pages, not really seeing them, and smiled at the elderly woman. “I’d like this, though. And on second thought, maybe a couple of those tarts.”
She waited on edge while the woman rang up her purchases. She had just finished putting the book in a paper bag when Flintrop returned to her side. “What did you get?”
“Just some touristy magazines,” she lied. “Oh...and a peace offering.” She handed him the small bag of tarts.
He shifted his groceries to one arm and looked inside the bag. “Snack food. How astute. Thank you.”
She tucked the bag containing her book under one arm. “We’d better go. Are you finished getting supplies?”
He nodded and let her lead the way out the door. They returned to the boat, and she drove them back to the island. Sara spent half the ride with part of her attention on their route, part on the awkward pre-shopping conversation with Flintrop, and the rest hovering anxiously on the little book in the bag by her feet.
As they neared the island, Flintrop took out one of the tarts and bit into it. His gaze settled on her like a cement block. “Are you going to get all distant for the rest of the project now?”
“What do you think that peace offering was about?” she asked over the hum of the boat’s motor.
He held up the tart. “While appreciated in its own right, pastry doesn’t necessarily denote reciprocal sentiments.”
It took a few minutes to find words. “Let me just say this,” she said. “I’ve spent the past ten years not liking you. Right now, pastry is about all I’ve got to spare.”
“What about Waverly? You never answered my question, earlier.”
Ian again. She gritted her teeth. “Which question? Am I attracted to him, or what’s he got on me that makes me want to be his friend?”
Flintrop shrugged. “Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten.” The boat drew close to the dock, and she cut the motor.
He stuffed the rest of the tart into his mouth, then jumped onto the dock to tie up the mooring lines. They secured the boat and pulled the cover on. As they gathered the supplies to return to camp, he said, “You just... I’ve been around you off and on for years, and I’ve never seen you so...animated.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Had she been so withdrawn before that even Flintrop could notice the difference? Was there a difference?
Oh, yes.
“I’m just asking about him because I’m worried about you,” added Flintrop.
God, he was like a gnat in her ear. She snatched her backpack from the floor of the boat. “Quit worrying. I’m able to take care of myself and whatever ‘animations’ I might have.”
They started the hike back to the dig, passing once again by Ian’s tent on the way. She scanned his camp, but it appeared he’d gone climbing. She looked away and caught Flintrop watching her. Pursing her lips, she hurried ahead of him.
She couldn’t wait until cover of darkness that night, when she’d be able to st
eal away to the inlet. And, she hoped, to Ian’s arms, because Flintrop was totally right. She’d never wanted anyone like this.
****
Faith sat reading in her tent, making notes in her new journal, and chewing meditatively on her pen cap. After the last journal disappeared, she’d gotten into the habit of keeping this one in her possession at all times. Rolling the pen cap between her teeth, she turned the page and continued her new entry.
Excavated the skull found in the fissure today. We haven’t dated it, but I assume it’s Norse due to its proximity to the house ruin. I haven’t touched it, but I get a strange feeling about it. Maybe I’m just creeped out lately.
We also found a silver belt buckle. It’s exciting to find our first artifacts. Too bad Sara went to Unst today.
She’s been happier than I’ve ever seen her, here in Shetland. Probably equal parts respect for Dad’s legacy, and the presence of Ian Waverly. He’s been good for her.
Now the bad news: Flintrop showed up to help with the project. Can’t say I am happy, but Flintrop supported us in the decision to stay and finish digging despite tremor activity. Wish there were a way to get his funding without having to work with him.
Sara interrupted Faith’s account by dropping a bag into her lap. Faith jumped and shot her sister a glare.
“Open it,” Sara demanded, looking grim.
Faith pulled the book from its bag. “A children’s book?”
“Take a closer look.” Her sister sat on the cot.
Faith did so. Her gaze landed on the lady’s necklace. “What the...?”
“I just finished looking at it. Basically, it reads like your usual bedtime story. A jealous evil wizard puts a curse on a princess, and her prince has to rescue her. Which, unlike your usual bedtime story, he doesn’t.”
“Huh?”
Sara sat forward and rested her hands on her knees. “The wizard curses her into an eternal sleep, and the prince who’s supposed to rescue her loses the battle against the wizard. The wizard gets mad and curses the prince, too. Prince and princess spend the rest of forever as a standing stone split down the middle, always together but never touching. Kind of romantic, in a tragic sort of way.”
“What does the necklace have to do with it?” Faith wondered, flipping through the book.
“The necklace is what he uses to curse them.”
Faith went through the pages again, pursing her lips. She stared at the cartoony necklace. “Okay, just for a minute, let’s assume this is the amulet in the story. Since the wizard had it, my guess would be that’s the druid from my vision. The prince in the story would have to be the man who killed the druid and stole the amulet. I don’t get where the girl comes in.”
“And you’re the emotional one,” scoffed her sister. “Obviously, the guy in your vision killed the druid over the girl.”
Faith frowned in thought. “God, this is familiar. Why is this so familiar?”
“I don’t know. I thought the same—” Sara ground to a halt, and they gaped at each other. Faith knew her sister had reached the same conclusion as she had.
The fairy tale book.
Faith sprang out of her chair and searched through the trunk at the end of her cot. She retrieved the disheveled copy of Fairy Tales of Western Europe, the book they’d discovered in their father’s safe box. She’d borrowed it from Sara to look for clues, and they had found it was the same book he’d read to them during their childhood bedtimes.
Frowning, Faith searched the book, then stopped short when she reached a damaged page. The top part of the page where a story title and illustration should have been was missing, torn out by a careless prior owner before the used book had even come to the Markham family.
She skimmed the story. “I think this is it. It mentions a wizard and a divided standing stone, but the necklace isn’t in it. It just talks about the wizard calling a serpent demon.” She met her sister’s gaze and laid the book on her cot. “There’s our serpent ceremony.”
“Research from children’s stories,” Sara rumbled, toying with the amulet’s leather cord. “What kind of wild goose chase was Dad leading us on?”
“Old stories and legends usually have some kind of metaphorical meaning, some basis in fact. Magic the way they would have seen it back then—”
“—could be what we’re able to do now,” interrupted her sister, looking startled. Her eyes turned green, and she floated the copy of Fairy Tales into the air. “Do you think the wizard—druid—was one of us?”
Faith recoiled. “I think we’re in big trouble. You’d better take that thing back to a jeweler and have it dismantled. If someone like us is looking for that thing, I don’t think I want him to find it. Especially if he knows how to use it.”
Sara let the book come to rest on the blankets of Faith’s cot again, and blinked her eyes back to hazel. “Did Beardsley give you anything on this?”
“No, but ley lines are nothing to kid around with. There’s a lot of power in them, especially with the collective conscious of every ghost walking them. You saw what happened to me. I couldn’t handle it.”
Sara grabbed Faith’s arm. “What if this druid could? What could he do with it?”
Horrified, Faith started imagining all sorts of things that could have linked the amulet to as much blood as she’d sensed on reading it. “Anything. If he could harness the power, if he wanted to do damage...anything. It would be the psychic equivalent of an atom bomb.” She shook her head. “But it could kill someone, trying to control that kind of power alone. You’d have to be incredibly powerful.”
“Or a whole druid order working together?” Sara suggested.
A chill seeped into Faith’s bones. “I don’t like this.”
A commotion outside the tent interrupted Sara’s reply. Voices rose in alarm. They rushed outside in the direction of the sound.
A knot of crew surrounded a figure lying prone on the ground. Faith heard Lambertson’s voice booming above the others, ordering them to lift. “What happened?” She bullied her way into the circle. Then she saw for herself.
Cameron lay pinned underneath a section of fallen scaffold. He groaned in agony, pushing at the heavy rigging and gasping for breath. Lamb and the rest of the crew struggled to haul it off the young man’s chest. Horrified, Faith sprang to help.
Sara jumped in beside her and crouched down over Cameron. “Hang on, Cam,” she murmured. Faith knew that her sister had called on her telekinesis, and her eyes changed, when Cameron’s eyes sprang wide. Sara bent a shoulder to the scaffold and glared at it, pushing and using her power at the same time.
Faith jammed her shoulder against the bars and hauled upward with the others. The bulky steelwork dug into her body, resisting her efforts. With tacit understanding, she waited until Sara blasted it with another wave of telekinesis and gave a simultaneous heave, shouting for the others to do the same. It rose a few grudging inches. “Get him out, get him out!”
Luis and Dustin grabbed the young man by the shoulders and dragged him out from under the scaffold. Cameron gave a broken shout of pain. When he was clear, the crew let the steelwork slam back onto the ground.
“Dustin, the stretcher. Luis, my first-aid kit. Hurry!” Lamb shouted.
Faith saw them tear away in the direction of Lambertson’s tent. She bent over Cameron, assessing the damage. The young man’s ribs were crushed in on one side. Bile rose in her throat. All this from a scaffold that shouldn’t have been that heavy to start with?
Sara crouched on Cameron’s other side. Faith caught a glimpse of her sister blinking away tears and the evidence of her power. Cameron coughed. A reddish froth of sputum covered his lips. His glassy gaze fixed on Sara. “You— Your—” His chest heaved once, twice, then his breath hissed out and his stare turned blank.
Sara made an inarticulate sound and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Feeling sick, Faith checked for a pulse and found none. “Lamb. Radio the mainland for a helicopter.” Lambertson was
already walking as she spoke. She glanced up at Thomas and Michael and caught them staring, stone-faced, at Sara. Even without her sister’s skill at reading expressions, Faith saw It’s your fault we stayed here on their faces.
Flintrop’s voice spurred them into action. “Someone get a blanket to cover him. The rest of you, help me put this goddamn thing back.” Becky dashed off to find a blanket, and the others put their shoulders under the steel bars of the scaffold.
Faith watched it swing upright with less trouble than it had given moments ago. Suspicion raced through her. Thomas and Michael found sledgehammers, and secured the rigging with extra posts. Faith wanted to throw up.
Lamb returned. “They’re on their way.”
Sara got to her feet, swaying. Becky came back with the blanket, and swept it over Cameron’s body. Sara swallowed convulsively, glanced once at Faith, then bolted away.
Lambertson made a move to follow. “Let her go,” Faith said, stalling him with an outstretched hand. Lamb frowned, but stayed where he was.
Faith stared after her sister, sensing waves of guilt and anguish even from that distance. Oh, Sara, she thought, heartsick.
It would be no use telling her sister that she couldn’t have saved him, or somehow done something to bring him back.
Sara had felt exactly the same when their father died.
Chapter Ten
Sara pushed the empty beer bottle onto the table to join its fellows. The bottle’s lines blurred and swam in the lantern glow. How many drinks had she had since the helicopter had brought the police to investigate? They’d determined it an “accident,” which was complete crap. That scaffold was rock solid. Her crew made sure of it every morning. She reached into the cooler at her foot for another beer, counting the chirps of a night insect outside her tent.
“Hey,” came a hushed voice from the doorway.
Sitting in the chair facing away from the door, she couldn’t see her tormentor. “Go away.” She heard the person enter the tent in spite of her warning. “I said go away. Let me get drunk in peace.”
The figure rounded the edge of the table. She recognized Ian from the corner of her eye and glanced up.
The Serpent in the Stone (The Gifted Series) Page 13