Sheltered Roots

by Jeanne Allen

I nod grimly. They definitely saw the battle and Raul’s suicide. Pushing aside my questions, I decide the rest can wait until I’m back with the guys. Already, my hands shake and it feels like someone is trying to pull my organs out through my throat.

  Taking a deep breath, I glance around for the car. Sarah mentioned that tweeny-bopper here was our ride, though I seriously doubt he’s old enough to drive.

  Sarah notices my confusion when I don’t find any cars near us. “He’s a Portal Key.”

  “A what?”

  “A Portal Key.” The kid puffs out his chest like it’s something important.

  I try to give him the proper awe, but I still don’t understand what that means. The best I manage is an indulgent smile like he’s just finished introducing his imaginary friend.

  Behind me, Kieran chuckles as the kid deflates. “A Portal Key is a Knight born with the ability to open portals. Strong ones can create new portals, but most can only open the ones that already exist, like the one in Queen Njay’s tunnels.”

  I nod, finally understanding. I remember the glowing circle we went through to make it from the estate gardens to the volcano. That must be why Captain Damarae was always the one to guide us; he might be the only Portal Key in Queen Njay’s Region.

  I raise my eyebrows at the kid and motion for him to do his thing.

  He scrambles to the side of the building.

  When we’re all tucked away from the prying eyes of other passengers, he turns toward the airport wall, which is covered with graffiti and tags. Before I can even blink, a human-sized circle appears on the wall. It glows a deep orange color, with some red streaks in it as well.

  Weirdly enough, I can tell that whoever made this portal wasn’t the same person who made the one in Region Twelve. I can also tell right away that the kid didn’t make it, either; his hands glow with a fuchsia-colored Gift.

  Nervously, I glance over my shoulder to check if any of the staff or passengers notice the new addition to the wall, but the few people in our line of sight don’t seem fazed by the glowing door.

  “They can’t see it, or us, now. Portal Layers always bring along a Barrier Maker to keep out unwanted guests,” Sarah explains, stepping past me and up to the portal.

  She holds out her hand, silently offering to go together like we did in St. Lucia.

  I shake my head. I don’t want the first image my Omás sees of me since we separated to be someone too scared to even go through a portal alone.

  To prove my point, I overtake Sarah and walk through the entrance ahead of her.

  The room I step into is dark. Dark and damp. Rough stone walls, barely visible through the flickering firelight, curve overhead in an arch like we’re in some kind of cave.

  Behind me, the others join me, the bright orange-red of the portal illuminating the rest of the room as it opens up again. With more light comes clarity. I feel certain now that we’re in some sort of underground tunnel, like the one in Queen Njay’s Seat, but this one somehow feels older. There are small alcoves indented into the walls, and in some of them, bones rest amidst cobwebs and dust; evidence that their resting place hasn’t been touched for a long time.

  “The twins’ safe house is in a crypt?” I whisper to Sarah, who came to my side the minute she stepped through the portal.

  She nods, grinning wryly as she whispers back, “Half of London is crypts. No place better to create a stronghold. Though, technically, this was the Wellington safe house long before the Monks got here.”

  “This is a monastery?” Just where are we?

  Sarah’s grin only widens, amusement dancing in her eyes. “No, but it was. A long, long time ago. Now it’s a pub called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, one of the oldest pubs in London and a favorite amongst our people for generations.”

  If my eyebrows could go anywhere else, they would have flown off into the sunset by now. The fact that the Wellington safe house is under a pub is surprising enough. But a pub frequented by Phósopoi for generations? Given the lifespan of most Phósopoi, generations is code for centuries upon centuries.

  A sobering thought when you think that, during that whole time, no one had thought to change the name.

  As if she senses where my mind went, Sarah laughs. “Remember, you’ve met Lucas. Let’s just say Lyle is more likely to be the black sheep in the family than his brother.”

  I nod slowly. Suddenly the weird name makes sense. I can’t hold back a slight shudder at the thought of an entire family of people like my Goblin. No wonder they needed a safe house. Probably more to keep the rest of the Phósopoi safe from the Wellingtons rather than the other way around.

  “I resent that.”

  I turn toward the voice, my heart beating faster than, well, since our last battle.

  Surprising both of us, I leap at Lucas and throw my arms around his neck. Burying my head against his chest, I deeply inhale the somewhat spicy scent he and his brother always seem to carry with them, though Lucas is always a tinge sweeter.

  “Hey there, Sweet Pea, miss me?” Lucas jokes, though his tone is soft and the arms holding me tremble as much as I do.

  Too wrapped up in centering our Bond to voice even the smallest noise, I don’t respond.

  Lucas doesn’t say anything, either.

  The warmth of our Bond strengthens, and when I open my eyes, I see the light-blue color of Lucas’s Gift. When I first met him, he used that same Gift on me to take away my choice. I’d been wary of his power for a long time after that.

  Even after we became an Omás and I accepted what the guys could do, what I could do, I was still wary of Lucas’s Gift in particular. But now, I don’t care. The only emotion I feel is gratitude that he can read me this way and know the multitude of things I feel now for him, for the rest of the Omás.

  It’s particularly freeing knowing I don’t have to find the words to express the depth of my love for them, or how much our separation cost me. Until I heard his voice and felt his arms around me, I hadn’t even realized how fractured I felt without my guys. Now that I’m securely back where I belong, I can allow myself to fall apart, just a little.

  When we finally detangle ourselves, the crypt is empty. It’s just the two of us, eyes over-bright and chests heaving with the force of our combined emotions.

  After a few minutes, Lucas grins at me. His eyes are still softer than usual, but that familiar Goblin-glint inches its way back the longer we stand apart.

  “Where are the others?” I whisper, feeling weird talking at a normal volume while surrounded by the dead.

  “In the safe house. The portal only opens to the crypt under the pub; we have to go up and over to enter our place.”

  That seems overly complicated. “Why can’t you just get a portal to the safe house?”

  “This portal isn’t ours. It’s by the airport, which is a popular way to get into the city,” he explains.

  I nod. “And going through the pub is added security,” I guess.

  Lucas nods in affirmation. “All the workers are Bonded to my family.”

  His admission reminds me of something I’d been burning with curiosity about since the kid met us at the airport. “I thought only Royals or nobles could—” I start before seeing the look on Lucas’s face.

  Lucas’s grin takes on the sharpness that comes only when he’s found something particularly juicy to tease someone about. “You didn’t know? All this time with us, and you still don’t know?” He clutches his heart in mock outrage, Sarah-style. “I’m so hurt. Lady Agora, you wound me.”

  I laugh and shove him playfully in the shoulder. “Stop. Just tell me whatever it is that has you looking like a cat who caught the mouse.”

  Lucas laughs, his distinct, low rumbling bouncing around in the chamber. “Wellingtons are related to Queen Victoria. Cousin of a cousin, basically. But most of us carry enough Royal blood to Bond some retainers. Not as many as, say, Jackson, but enough.”

  My eyes grow wide. That makes four members of my Omás carrying Roy
al blood, since Jin had alluded to being a noble as well. Is that normal? As soon as I form the thought, I nearly smack myself in exasperation. Of course, it’s not normal. None of this is normal. Kin had said she selected my Kladí specifically to aide in her grand scheme. She would have chosen the most powerful Kladí who, more often than not, are Royal.

  “Ready to go?” Getting over his theatrics, Lucas now looks eager for me to join the others.

  The same sense of urgency spurs me on as well. Lucas healed the weakening strands of our Bond, but the need to see and touch the others still drums away at my nerves.

  “Let’s go.” I take his outstretched hand, reveling in the smoothness of his skin and the strength of his grip.

  He leads me down the narrow tunnel to a set of ancient stairs. As we ascend, I hear the pub before we arrive in it, the shouts and loud chatter nearly drowning out the soft jazz.

  We walk into what looks like a back room of some sort, though there are a few tables set up in alcoves that seem to mirror the ones in the crypt. The room is nearly as dim, too. Very little natural light seeps in, even as we head toward the front. Only one darkened window faces the street, and the hunter-green and dark-brown décor provides a mysterious and somber atmosphere.

  Without a doubt, most of the regulars here are brooding writers and misplaced philosophers.

  Lucas drags me through the crowded front room, only stopping to nod once at the bartender whose sharp eyes lead me to suspect his job entails far more than slinging drinks for tipsy tourists all day.

  The noise dies down the farther back we go, traversing through several different rooms until we reach a set of stairs nearly identical to the ones we came up in.

  These lead to a finished-looking room where the natural stone walls had been painted over and the alcoves stuffed with rickety tables and even more rickety chairs.

  Passing the few patrons sipping their drinks, Lucas pulls me to walk faster toward the one alcove with no table.

  “What—” I begin to ask, but before I can voice my question, we step through the wall and into a very modern-looking room on the other side.

  “How very platform nine and three-quarters of you,” I mutter.

  Lucas bursts out with a sharp laugh. “First of all, I know for a fact that Rowling stole that from us. Some of her friends are Phósopoi. Secondly, I know that’s not the first wall you’ve walked through. Just because we’re in London—”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down, brother. We all know your issues with that bespectacled wizard boy.” Lyle places a calming hand on Lucas’s shoulder.

  I hadn’t known Lucas’s issues with a certain popular franchise, but now that I see how riled up my casual mention made him, I gleefully tuck the information away for when he annoys me too much.

  I’m distracted from my new discovery by the arms that pull me back into a broad chest. The Bond leaps to brush up against my most gentle Kladí, and even my Agora Power comes out to wrap around him like a spoiled kitten.

  “Hi,” I breathe out, sinking into Forrest’s embrace.

  He leans down so only I hear his words, and even though I can’t see him, a smile fills his voice. “I missed you.”

  Spoken with such caring and honesty, his words take away the ones I began to form.

  Again, I let the Bond do the talking for me. Though Forrest can’t feel my emotions like Lucas can, through the Bond, he must get an impression of them because his breath hitches and he nuzzles closer to my neck, breathing me in.

  Sooner than I’d like, he passes me off to Jackson where the process happens all over again.

  I go through all of my Kladí, strengthening the Bond and centering my heart back where it belongs. The pieces of me that broke off the day I decided to accept these men are now whole once more.

  Finally, I’m finished. Resting my head against Jin’s arm as he holds me from behind, I look out into the room, noticing for the first time where we stand.

  The floor is dark wood, but the rest of the room is done in much brighter colors than the pub outside. Cheery yellow paint covers the walls, which look like regular house walls, not the hollowed-out stone of the crypt. Plush, sandpaper-colored leather couches are spread throughout the circular-shaped, cavernous room with a domed roof.

  A hallway branches out directly opposite the wall we stepped through, but there are no other entrances or exits. While I suppose they could be invisible, like the one in the pub, somehow, I doubt it. I have a feeling this is a receiving room of sorts, with limited access points making it easier to control who can get in and get out of the safe house.

  Lucas proves my assumption when he glares at the wall. “I wish there was another bloody entrance to this place.”

  Behind me, Jin grunts in agreement.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Lucas turns to answer me, but Jackson speaks up. Ever the eager professor, he’s one well-placed question away from slipping into lecture mode. “Because now everyone knows you’re here. This is called a safe house because you need Wellington blood to cross the entrance, but it’s not actually secret.”

  “I thought the whole reason we were meeting here was because we could hide out?”

  “Hide out, yes. Queen Victoria knows we’re here, but as long as we don’t make trouble, she doesn’t care. She’s been Monarch for a long time, and as of late, she cares little for family squabbles,” Jackson explains.

  “We came to this safe house because it’s the most fortified,” Sebastian adds. “The Wellington family has been adding to their wards here since Region One was established and the first Monarch built his Seat in London.”

  I nod, not totally understanding but getting enough of what’s going on to quell the million other questions that buzz around my head. With my curiosity sated, my body finally releases the tension that’s kept me upright since the battle on St. Lucia.

  My body sags against Jin, who tightens his hold to keep me from falling to the ground.

  “You need rest,” Lyle says, his usual Mother Hen tendencies back in full force. His eyes flit around me, checking for injuries, though he’ll find none.

  He’s right, I’m just tired. Bone tired. The weight of everything that has happened since we separated, of everything that happened since everything went turkey-jerky that night in the alley, bears down on my shoulders. Giving in to my fatigue, I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to catch the look the guys share.

  I know that look, it’s the look they share when they’re trying to decide if they should tell me something or not.

  “What is it?” I ask, too tired to be annoyed.

  “There’s someone else here, for you,” Jackson says. His voice is calm and steady, but his face belays an emotion I rarely see on my confident Professor-Prince.

  “Who?” I ask cautiously. If this person is making Jackson wary, I’m not sure I’m going to like his answer.

  “Before we tell you, just know that we didn’t call him here. We let him in because we know he can help you, but if you don’t want—”

  “Just tell me who it is,” I demand.

  Pushing away from Jin, I look at the guys, wondering who will be the one to pick up his big boy hat and tell me who this mystery person is.

  Not surprisingly, it’s uber-calm Sebastian who volunteers the information. “Alexander. He arrived a few hours ago. He’s in your room now, waiting to talk to you.”

  Fear, apprehension, curiosity, and a deep sense of something I don’t want to admit to crashes into me, wiping away some of my fatigue. Since we met him on the way to Atlanta, my father has been in contact with the members of my Omás, but we only shared a few words after that first night. I’ve grown up on my own without any sort of parental guidance to turn to, to lean on, and I don’t really know how to start now.

  Or even if I want to start, the back-of-my-mind voice supplies.

  Despite having good reasons to do so, Alexander abandoned me. He couldn’t have known the abuse and trauma I would endure because of his decisi
on, but the fact remains that when I needed him most, he wasn’t there, which is why I hadn’t reached out to him, and possibly why the guys look like they’re braced for either a meltdown or a temper tantrum.

  I give them neither.

  With a heavy sigh, I turn toward Forrest, holding my arms up in a pathetic imitation of a child. “I’m too tired to deal with that now. Can we do this tomorrow?”

  “Whatever you want, baby girl,” Forrest answers.

  I can feel the agreement of the guys’ behind me, but I keep my attention on Forrest’s slate eyes as he gently picks me up and cradles my frame in his arms like I weigh less than a feather, even though I know that’s far from true.

  Nestled in Forrest’s warm hold, the last thing I remember is tracing the shape of a wolf on his bicep, idly wondering why he chose that tattoo, before slowly closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 19

  I wake up hot and sweaty, despite the relatively cool temperatures in London now that it’s mid-April. The source of the heat comes from the arms and legs piled on top of me, making it nearly impossible to wiggle away from the sleeping logs.

  Eventually, I break free of my Kladí. Sebastian rolls over to his side, away from his position draped over my stomach, but other than that none of the guys stir at my retreat.

  Silently, I stretch my legs over Forrest’s’ broad shoulders to reach the other side of the bed. With a move more first-day-at-the-circus than prima-ballerina, I finally reach solid ground. Breathing heavily, I look over my sleeping Omás, allowing myself time to soak in the peace and love I feel in their presence. Moving to the door, I walk as quietly as possible into the hallway, which is brightly lit and as cheery as the crypt was morose.

  The walls are the same pale-yellow as the entry room, and I think back to the Better Homes bachelor pad. It always amused me that the guys painted it bright-yellow due to Lucas’s penchant for the cheerful hue, and it seems the Wellington safe house also succumbed to his rather one-track décor preference. To my right, the hallway opens up into the entrance room, so I turn to my left, hoping to find something to eat.