Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “You were worthy.”

  “No, Declan.” I shook my head, knowing from deep within my soul that I was uttering the absolute truth. “The only Fairchild who cherished us stripped our childhoods from us, perverted our affections, then raped and tried to kill Jasmine.”

  He grimaced. “I’m not sure she sees it as rape.”

  “We saw it for what it was,” I said.

  I knew that Declan remembered that day as vividly as I did. We had ripped through Jasper’s wards, discovering him in the basement with Jasmine. We’d fought him together, tearing Jasmine from our uncle’s grasp.

  We saw it for what it was. All of it done in the name of power. All in the name of fortifying the coven.

  Declan’s face flushed with some intense emotion he couldn’t quite keep contained. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or regret. Perhaps it was both. “And now they want us back,” he murmured.

  My voice fell to a soft, fierce whisper. “The only elder Fairchild who ever loved us was Jasper himself.”

  Declan nodded agreement — though he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “So,” I said, “logically, the only Fairchild who would want us back is him.”

  “Do you think he’d arrange for Jasmine to be kidnapped in order to draw us here?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t doubt it.” I pressed my napkin to my lips, then stood and stepped back from the table. “I’ll get Kett.”

  “He’s in the library. I’ll meet you out front with the Jeep.”

  Skirting the table and keeping my gaze steadily focused beyond the door, I pressed my hand to Declan’s shoulder. My little finger rested on the warm skin of his neck, just at the edge of his black T-shirt.

  He reached up, covering my hand with his own. “Maybe we should finish it today,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion.

  “Maybe we won’t have a choice,” I said. “If he’s even there.”

  “We always had a choice.”

  I laughed mirthlessly. “Jasmine was never negotiable.”

  “No,” he said. “And I haven’t blown up a house for at least six months. So, hey, maybe a bonus?”

  I threw my head back and laughed. Then I dropped my hand from his shoulder, heading toward the library to recruit an ancient vampire for our mission of vengeance. I had no idea whether Kett would be able to even raise a hand against Jasper directly without breaking the Conclave contract. It was an easy guess that such an action would have consequences, even for the executioner.

  But if I was going to storm the manor, I wouldn’t want anyone by my side other than Kett and Declan.

  Except Jasmine.

  If I was going to die, I would want Jasmine holding my hand.

  I found Kett sitting at the computer tucked between shelves of Greek mythology and Elizabethan poetry. As he often did during the day, the vampire looked disturbingly human, quickly clicking through files and pictures on the screen.

  Rose’s library was tiny compared to the one at the manor, and canted toward classical literature. It would be unlikely to stumble upon Keats or Austin, or even Hemingway, under Jasper’s roof. But I’d read all those authors in this room whenever Jasper was out of town for more than a day or two, when the three of us had been bundled off to stay with Rose rather than our parents. Otherwise, Declan wouldn’t have had anywhere to go, and Jasper didn’t want us separated.

  The niche that had been built between the bookshelves for the computer was a newer addition to the library, but everything else remained the same.

  “Good morning,” I said, stepping close enough to see the pictures on the monitor but not close enough to read the text. As unpleasant as the exchange with Rose had been, I had no desire to inadvertently destroy her computer as long as it was a potential link to anything Jasmine had found. “Declan is pulling the Jeep around.”

  “We’re heading to the manor,” Kett said.

  “Are you guessing, or did you hear us?”

  “I never guess.”

  I laughed quietly in response to his brief smile.

  “He’s not there,” Kett said. “Or he wasn’t early this morning. It’s unlikely he would deny me entry.”

  Jasper. He meant that he’d gone to Jasper already. “Since he wants you to remake him in your image.”

  “Indeed. Though I’m certain he doesn’t see it that way.” Kett started closing files, but not before I caught a glimpse of a driver’s license bearing Yale’s picture — and a series of images of the teenagers we’d investigated the previous October, including Ben Vern.

  “Vampires have driver’s licenses?”

  “If they’re trying to walk in the mundane world, yes. And credit cards and bank accounts.”

  “Do you have a driver’s license?” I asked. Though I knew Kett drove, I was still oddly perturbed by the idea.

  He was suddenly standing beside me. I hadn’t even seen him move. “Same picture as my passport.” He laughed quietly. “Why does the idea disturb you so, little witch?”

  I tilted my head, pretending that he hadn’t just startled me. “It’s so normal.”

  He chuckled again as he leaned in to me. “I’m anything but normal.”

  “And the pictures of the boys?” I asked, drawing back from him and keeping us on the track of the investigation. “Is Ben okay?”

  “He’s in Vancouver. Teresa has him well under control now that he is fully realized.”

  That didn’t exactly answer my question. “Kett. Is there anything about the investigation you and Jasmine were conducting that I need to know? Anything that could … affect the outcome of this situation?”

  “Nothing confirmed.”

  “But you suspect … what? Do you think Yale … do you think he plans on hurting Jasmine, or turning her against her will? Like he did with Nigel, or even Amaya?”

  Kett became utterly still, casting his gaze toward the wall of mythology tomes behind us. “What had drawn my interest was his ability to turn so many in such a short period of time. And for them to have retained some aspect of their Adept powers, suggesting that he himself was an Adept before he was remade.”

  “The silver or white magic around him …” I murmured, recalling the scene in Jasmine’s hotel room. “Suggesting what? Some sort of mind magic? He was a telepath or a reader? An oracle? But how would that have helped the others retain their abilities?”

  Kett shook his head. “In the reconstruction, Yale appears to be no older than two hundred years. Yet he has clearly remade three vampires that I know of, and four if the male you spotted in the lobby is his progeny.”

  “You thought that Yale’s youth could have accounted for Nigel’s … frailty? Coupled with his lack of magic?”

  Kett didn’t answer me. I reached out and tentatively touched his forearm. He smiled, possibly pleased at the intimacy implied in my willingness to make contact with him.

  “Yes,” he said, delicately wrapping his fingers around my wrist. “But then there were the boys, as you call them …”

  He trailed off, releasing me, and bemusedly looking at his hand.

  He’d been touching my white-picket-fence bracelet.

  I grabbed his wrist, tugging it toward me. An outline of the bracelet was seared across his palm. Tiny charms and all.

  I looked up at him, aghast. I hadn’t even felt any magic shift between us. “I would never … well, I didn’t intentionally —”

  Kett laughed, the sound filled with warmth and satisfaction. “Armed for vampire,” he said, repeating Jade’s declaration after she’d tied his magic to my bracelet with seemingly effortless alchemy.

  The wound on his hand healed.

  I let go of him, stepping back so we weren’t huddled by the bookshelf so intimately. I wasn’t jealous of the affection he held for the dowser. Whether or not I accepted his offer of immortality, he’d made it clear that what he wanted from me went beyond a temporary infatuation. The fact that he could think in terms of centuries — that he could plan for centuries — was unset
tling.

  But none of that was more important than finding Jasmine before nightfall.

  “What about the boys?” I asked, pulling our conversation back on track and trying to figure out what would still interest Kett in the case. “The fact that they rose at all? With only three pints of blood?”

  He nodded.

  “So you think … that ability is something Nigel inherited? You said your maker inherited a gift from your grandsire, yes?”

  “I did. And perhaps.”

  “So that makes Yale interesting. Even valuable.”

  Kett locked his silver gaze to mine, seemingly pleased at my assessment.

  “A Fairchild witch would be a valuable ally,” I murmured. “For you.”

  “For Yale,” Kett said, correcting me. “I already have connections to the coven. You and Jasper.”

  “So … with that all taken into account, do you think Yale would try to take Jasmine against her will?”

  “I think he’d be a fool to try.”

  “How foolish do you think he’s already been?” I whispered the question, though I didn’t really want an answer.

  “Quite foolish.” Kett brushed his fingers across the back of my hand. Then he was gone.

  I wandered out of the library at a slower pace, then climbed the stairs to collect my coat and bag from my room. Too many unknowns were whirling around in my mind.

  All the hard evidence pointed toward Kett and Jasmine’s investigation being the center of everything, with Yale having come to Litchfield just as part of whatever game he was playing. But still, I recognized that some self-destructive part of me desperately wanted Jasper to be responsible, so that I could immolate myself while rescuing Jasmine from him a second time.

  So that I could destroy the Fairchild coven, avenging my childhood in the process.

  The sight of Fairchild Manor was still impressive, even though I’d spent almost every day of my life from the age of nine to sixteen effectively trapped on the property.

  Not that I had known I was trapped at the time.

  I glanced over at Declan as we drove along the sparsely forested western edge of the estate’s two hundred and eighty acres. His hands were steady at the wheel of the Jeep, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, but tension was etched across his jawline and his thinned lips.

  Kett remained a silent accomplice in the back seat, as he had for the entire drive.

  I knew that this land didn’t call to Declan in the same way it called to me. It never had, even though the manor was more his home than it was mine. I could remember every footstep, every breath of air, every apple blossom in the spring, and every snow sculpture we’d magically coaxed to form in the yard in winter.

  My memories of my childhood were few and far between, but I remembered the feel of Fairchild land. The manor grounds were the magical epicenter of the coven, and had been from even before the main house was built in the early nineteen hundreds.

  A dozen yards from the front gates, Declan pulled to a stop.

  I glanced over at him questioningly.

  “Don’t want the Jeep caught in the line of fire,” he said grimly.

  “You think we’ll have a shoot-out at the gate?”

  “You don’t?”

  I glanced at the six-foot-high stone wall that radiated out from the gate to encircle the acreage. The manor was situated at the top of a gradual slope, and it was a ten-minute walk from the gates to the front door. “I assumed we’d at least make it to the front yard.”

  Declan snorted, climbing out of the vehicle.

  Kett chuckled to himself, then exited out Declan’s open door.

  I gathered my bag, buttoning my coat as I followed them. By the time I reached the twelve-foot-high gatepost, Declan had rung the bell twice. Though the day was colder than the previous night had been, it was bright. Kett was sporting his sunglasses-and-baseball-cap look. He’d abandoned the black cashmere coat — or what was left of it after the damage from Declan’s blasting rod — opting instead for a dark-blue sweater, a scarf woven in different shades of gray, and dark-blue jeans.

  Declan reached toward the buzzer a third time.

  “Don’t,” I said. “If he’s here, he’ll know we’re anxious.”

  “We’re standing by his wards.” Declan pressed his finger to the buzzer and left it there as he eyed me belligerently through his sunglasses. “He knows we’re anxious.”

  “Don’t punish me, Declan,” I whispered. “You called. I’m here.”

  Declan released the buzzer, looking away from me. “Announce yourself, then,” he said bluntly. “He won’t turn you away.”

  I stepped forward, raising my right hand to the impenetrable wall of ward magic that coated the outer edges of the property and could be called forth at any other point on the acreage and used to shield the outbuildings. A separate, even more powerful ward protected the manor itself.

  Jasper had often used the centuries of magic embedded within the estate to contain Declan, Jasmine, and me in turn, teaching us to break through that magic. Each time we managed to free ourselves, he had called up another layer with which to contain us. In the end, Jasmine hadn’t been able to free herself. We’d been fourteen at the time, and surreptitiously using Bluebell the brownie to slip Jasmine food and water. After three days, I’d freed her myself. Jasper had responded by punishing Declan for a week, confining him to his room and limiting him to one meal a day. Because punishing Jasmine or Declan was always much more effective than simply punishing me.

  Pressing my hand to the magic, I laughed wryly at the painful memory, earning myself a quizzical glance from Declan.

  That had been the first time I realized that my uncle couldn’t track or contain Bluebell. It was also the first time it became clear that I was the most naturally powerful of the three of us.

  My hand slipped through the ward with no resistance. Declan muttered something nasty under his breath. I pressed my palm toward the lock at the center of the gates. It released.

  “We’re expected,” I said, not at all surprised.

  The gate slowly opened before us.

  “Or you’re still just tied to all of this somehow,” Declan said.

  I glanced over at him. “I’m quite possibly about to face the man who destroyed everything I thought to be true and real. Including you, and what I mistakenly thought you felt for me.”

  Declan set his jaw as if ready to chew through whatever retort he was about to voice, but I cut him off.

  “Except for Jasmine,” I said. “She’s all I have in this world.”

  “I would do anything —”

  “Either you’re with me,” I said carefully, “or I’ll face whatever’s to come alone.”

  “Not alone,” Kett said.

  Declan’s gaze slid over my shoulder as he frowned at the vampire.

  “I won’t fight you any longer, Declan,” I said. “This is too important.”

  “So I’m just supposed to follow you like a besotted acolyte?”

  “There is an in-between,” I said. “Make a choice.”

  Turning away from him, I reached back with my left hand without looking. At my unspoken invitation, Kett threaded his fingers through mine. Then I pulled a vampire through the wards of the Fairchilds’ most significant stronghold.

  At the last possible second, Declan grabbed my elbow and followed us through the gates and onto the driveway.

  We paused as the magic that protected the property from uninvited guests flowed in and around us. The invisible energy tugged at my eyes and hands, as if coaxing me to drop my personal shields.

  “Impressive,” Kett said.

  “You’ve been here before,” I said.

  “Not with you.” The vampire’s hand was still entwined with mine.

  Declan dropped my arm as soon as the boundary magic accepted his presence. Though I suspected he could have walked through the ward line on his own just as easily.

  I scanned the grounds before us. Extensive, unado
rned and gently rolling lawns extended out on either side of the driveway, marking the edges of a broad forest of winter-bare trees. Dogwood, red oak, maple, hickory, poplar, birch, and elms occupied well over two hundred acres of the estate.

  Up a slight hill toward the center of the forty or fifty acres that had been cleared around it, the ten-thousand-square-foot, three-level main house had been built by my great-grandparents in the Tudor Revival style — a behemoth English country manor in stone and stucco.

  “Can you sense whether or not he’s here?” Declan asked.

  I didn’t respond. Though I’d used the ward magic at Fairchild Park to send a message to Declan, I wasn’t about to try to do the same in Jasper’s territory.

  “It was never a problem for you before,” Declan said, somehow picking up on the thread of my thoughts.

  “Only a fool would open herself up to magic controlled by a potential enemy,” Kett said.

  “Helpful, vampire,” Declan growled. “And what do your far superior senses tell you?”

  Kett untangled his fingers from mine, taking a step away. He slowly pivoted his head, scanning what seemed to be every inch of the property within immediate view, as if he was taking Declan’s sarcasm seriously. “No humans currently occupy the lands within the boundary magic,” he said. “But the magic is saturated in various places. Impenetrable to casual assessment.”

  “No humans?” Declan asked. “What the hell else would be here?”

  Before Kett gave us a rundown on every woodland creature, rodent, and bird currently nesting on the estate, I interrupted. “The wards on the manor are extensive. Is it safe to assume you also can’t penetrate those at this distance?”

  Kett nodded.

  “You think he’s lying in wait for us in the house?” Declan asked mockingly. “Giving us a false sense of security by opening the wards?”

  “He didn’t open the wards,” I said. “They were still keyed to us.”

  Declan grunted noncommittally.

  “We’ll have to physically search the house for residual magic,” I said. “As well as the orchard and gardens.”

  “And most of the front yard,” Declan said.