Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  We didn’t talk much, opting for casual conversation about the weather and news, then digging into our food. But the third time I caught Declan staring at Jasmine’s bowed head with sorrow etched across his face, I reached across the table and touched my fingertips to the back of his hand.

  I knew that fiddling with technology and exercising her magic were simply Jasmine’s first steps toward healing herself emotionally. Declan nodded at my unspoken assurance, then withdrew his hand from the table. “Eat more,” he said to Jasmine.

  She dutifully broke off a piece of battered cod, dipping it in tartar sauce and popping it in her mouth without looking up.

  “What did that damn vampire mean, calling you his child?” Declan finally asked while scarfing fries. He’d already inhaled his sandwich.

  “What?” Jasmine said, looking up. “When? Where was I?”

  “Taking a nap, apparently,” Declan said. Then, relenting, he added, “That whole ‘chosen child’ thing. He was referring to Wisteria.”

  “What the hell, Betty-Sue?”

  “Right,” I said, popping the last piece of shrimp in my mouth. “I guess I’d better tell you.” I tugged my bag into my lap, pulling out the Conclave contract.

  “Oh, we get to be in on the big secret, do we?” Declan said mockingly.

  Jasmine kicked him under the table.

  “Ouch.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Jasmine snarled, only half playfully.

  Ignoring them, I unfolded the contract, flipping to the final page. My gaze instantly snagged on the list of handwritten names in the For Consideration addendum.

  Declan’s name had been struck out and initialed with a blood-red letter K.

  Relief, followed by a spike of fear, rushed through my body. I exhaled heavily.

  “What is it?” Jasmine whispered.

  I looked up to meet her fearful gaze, then glanced over at Declan, whose face was impassive.

  I reordered the pages, then slid the ream of parchment across the table toward Jasmine. “I’ve had a lawyer look at it. It’s … it’s binding, unbreakable.”

  Jasmine picked up the contract, setting it down on the other side of her plate and angling it toward Declan. They both bowed their heads over it, reading it together.

  I picked at my plate, waiting with a hollowed stomach that should have been comfortably full of scampi. Then I decided it wasn’t worth ruining great food over a pending decision.

  The world wasn’t ending. I simply had a choice to make. And I would approach that choice with the same efficiency I used for every decision, major or minor. It would help, at least emotionally, to have Jasmine and Declan as sounding boards.

  Jasmine flipped to the last page.

  Declan let out a string of curses under his breath as the true nature of the contract became clear to him.

  A contract inked and signed by our Uncle Jasper. With my name being the last on the list For Consideration, other than Jasper himself.

  “In his defense,” I said, anticipating their reactions, “the Conclave insisted on that list. I doubt Jasper thought there was even a remote chance of any of us actually being in consideration over him.”

  “In his defense?” Declan echoed, incredulous.

  “Poor choice of words,” I said.

  “He’s in a goddamn wheelchair,” Declan said fiercely, leaning across the table toward me while jabbing his finger on the contract. “And you … you put him there. At sixteen. What were the chances the damn vampire wasn’t going to want you?”

  Jasmine reshuffled the pages in order to read the contract a second time, front to back. Her movements were jerky.

  “Well …” I said, trying to maintain some composure. “How was he to know that Kett would find that out?”

  Declan slumped back in his chair, looking at me in disbelief. “You told him. In the manor, after getting caught in that damn reconstruction with the fucking rabbit. To what? Keep yourself in contention?”

  “Declan!” Jasmine snapped. Then she glanced up at me. “Kett already knew.”

  I nodded. “He’d picked up something while he was investigating everyone,” I said. “Though I’m not sure he knew the fine details.”

  “Plus he … he wants something,” Jasmine murmured, dropping her gaze to the final page again. “Something he thinks only you can give him.”

  “The guy is a complete asshole,” Declan said. “Trying to have both of you at once.”

  Jasmine eyed him angrily. “What makes you think I didn’t proposition him? What makes you think he wasn’t completely clear about the parameters of our relationship? You think I’m some fool? Maybe with an older uncle complex?”

  Declan’s anger crumpled. “Hey, hey. No. But he is a bloodsucker, and —”

  Jasmine swiftly slid the black phone she’d been programming across the table toward him. He barely caught it before it hit the ground.

  “Copper,” she said nastily, “is trying to get hold of you.”

  Declan glanced down at the phone, pressing the home button with his thumb. Even from across the table, I could see the notifications lined up on his screen.

  “Jasmine,” he said, pleading.

  But his sister turned her fierce gaze from him to me. “So … you’d leave us?”

  I looked at her, then I glanced at Declan. He pushed his uneaten fries away and didn’t meet my eye.

  “What would you do?” I whispered. “If you were the only thing standing between Jasper and immortality?”

  Declan stood up abruptly, walking away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

  “Well, we know what Declan would do,” Jasmine said wryly.

  “Don’t be upset with him,” I said. “He … it’s a lot to deal with.”

  “Don’t try to play peacemaker.” Jasmine’s tone was harsh, though she reached across the table to brush her fingers across my wrist and bracelet.

  “No,” I said softly. “That’s your role.”

  “I didn’t know Declan was living with her. Copper.” Jasmine scooped up some of her coleslaw viciously with her fork, then chewed it thoughtfully. “Not until Christmas. She’s a witch.”

  “He’s not ours to own,” I whispered. “Not mine.” Though a sharp pain lodged in my chest, just over my heart, at the confirmation that Declan was in a serious relationship.

  “He’ll always be ours,” Jasmine said.

  I nodded, not wanting to fight about semantics with her when she was injured, her soul bruised.

  “Kett thinks Declan and I aren’t powerful enough,” she said, changing the subject so swiftly that it took me a moment to follow her. “Like with Ben. Something about his blood, and all the power he’s accumulated. Except you, apparently.”

  “He told you?”

  Jasmine tapped the contract that still lay open before her. “It’s in here. And, yeah. He doesn’t talk much, but occasionally he’d trade, secrets for secrets. Like it was a game.” She twined her fingers through mine, steadily holding my gaze. “I’m not in love with him, you know.”

  I nodded, though I hadn’t known that for sure.

  “I mean, he’s a fun ride and all. But it’s easy to lose track of your life around him.” She withdrew her hand from mine, carefully refolding the contract before handing it to me. “I guess that won’t be a problem for you, if you accept.”

  “Because I’ll be dead.”

  “Remade, yes. But … I don’t think we’ll be getting brunch or lunch together …” Her voice cracked.

  Spotting Declan returning from across the restaurant, I quickly whispered, “What would you do?”

  “You know what I’d do,” Jasmine said. “Same as you. Protect the other two. At all costs.”

  I nodded, brushing away the stray tear that had made it past my resolve to be focused and rational.

  “I tried to pay, but my credit and bank cards are useless,” Declan declared as he neared the table. “Fried. Same as the phones.”

  “I’m still eating,�
� Jasmine said snottily. And without offering to pay with the credit card she’d used for the new phones.

  “There’s a branch of my bank down the block,” I said. “I’m sure a teller can issue me a new card and some cash.”

  “I’ll go,” Declan said.

  “Let Wisteria go,” Jasmine said. “We need to talk.”

  I chuckled despite myself at the look of horror that flitted across Declan’s face at this pronouncement. I tucked the contract back in my bag, pulling my wallet out instead.

  Declan sat down with a heavy sigh.

  I stood, weaving my way out of the restaurant but turning back at the front door to catch sight of Jasmine and Declan across the room.

  My cousin threw her head back, laughing. Declan was leaning into her, smiling. Their body language was open and caring.

  I should have been heartbroken at the confirmation that Declan was seriously committed to someone else. I should have been worried for Jasmine and all the healing she was going to have to live through. Again. I should have been frightened of how the future seemed likely to unfold.

  Except I wasn’t.

  I had them back. Both of them. It was fractured and tentative, but the two of them made my heart full, not heavy.

  It didn’t take long to get things straightened away at the bank. While I waited for the clerk to return with a temporary card and the cash I’d requested, I stood at the rounded, chest-high reception desk, watching as traffic slowly rolled past the front windows.

  An older man approached to my right, moving slowly, then pausing when he reached the edge of the counter. He was looking at me as if he knew me, so I glanced his way.

  It took me a moment to recognize him.

  Jasper.

  Back from his island retreat — if he’d been there at all — and using a cane, not a wheelchair.

  He stared at me, magic dancing in his otherwise expressionless blue eyes. “Wisteria,” he said, once he had my full attention. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with your mother.”

  “She’s easy to reach,” I said coolly. “Same address and everything.”

  “I see.”

  I turned so I could really look at him, scanning him up and down. I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t recognized him at first glance. His hair had thinned and lightened, and he wore it shorter. His face had sagged and thickened, though he didn’t seem to be carrying any extra weight. Whatever he’d done to get out of his wheelchair must have involved some nefarious magic, but I couldn’t assess such things simply by looking at him.

  And I certainly didn’t want to know how he’d tracked me down, because bumping into each other at the bank was an impossible coincidence.

  I could inform the Convocation of my suspicions easily enough, though. Telling them that he was walking again. Asking them to open an investigation into what kind of dark magic might have fueled such a miraculous transformation.

  If I wanted to get tangled up in the Fairchild coven once again.

  Silent tension built up as the bank clerk returned, glancing uneasily between us.

  I reached over the counter and plucked the card and cash out of her hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she said, overly cheerfully. Then she grabbed a stack of papers and bustled away.

  I met Jasper’s gaze. He was laughing at me without smiling, thinking he could dominate me by his mere presence. “I heard you were in trouble.”

  “And you flew in to help.”

  “You are my beloved niece.”

  “You look old, Jasper.” I sneered his name, making it an insult.

  “You look weak, child.”

  I smiled, feeling dark-tinged laughter burbling up from my belly. I pinned my gaze to his washed-out blue eyes, deliberately placing my right arm on the curved counter between us.

  His gaze flicked to the bracelet teeming with magic on my wrist, then back up to my face.

  My perfectly pleasant smile morphed into a vicious baring of my teeth. Something beside me crackled. Then the computer sitting on the desk below the counter began to smoke.

  “Look again,” I said. My heartbeat was steady and sure.

  My uncle blinked. Once.

  I turned and walked away, not looking back.

  He had no power over me now.

  Are you interested in baking the cupcakes from the Dowser Series? Well, now you can!

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  Acknowledgments

  For Michael

  without whom I’d still be entangled in darkness

  * * *

  With thanks to:

  My story & line editor

  Scott Fitzgerald Gray

  My proofreader

  Pauline Nolet

  My beta readers

  Terry Daigle, Angela Flannery, Gael Fleming, Desi Hartzel, and Heather Lewis.

  For their continual encouragement, feedback, & general advice

  SFWA

  The Office

  About the Author

  Meghan Ciana Doidge is an award-winning writer based out of Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, Canada. She has a penchant for bloody love stories, superheroes, and the supernatural. She also has a thing for chocolate, potatoes, and cashmere yarn.

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  For recipes, giveaways, news, and glimpses of upcoming stories, please connect with Meghan via:

  @mcdoidge

  MeghanCianaDoidge

  www.madebymeghan.ca

  info@madebymeghan.ca

  Also by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Novels

  After The Virus

  Spirit Binder

  Time Walker

  Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1)

  Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2)

  Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3)

  I See Me (Oracle 1)

  Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4)

  Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser 5)

  I See You (Oracle 2)

  Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic (Dowser 6)

  I See Us (Oracle 3)

  Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)

  Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

  * * *

  Novellas/Shorts

  Love Lies Bleeding

  The Graveyard Kiss (Reconstructionist 0.5)

  Dawn Bytes (Reconstructionist 1.5)

  * * *

  www.madebymeghan.ca

  TANGLED ECHOES (RECONSTRUCTIONIST 2)

  Copyright © 2017 Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Published by Old Man in the CrossWalk Productions 2017

  Salt Spring Island, BC, Canada

  www.oldmaninthecrosswalk.com

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be produced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, objects, and incidents herein are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual things, events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada

  Doidge, Meghan Ciana, 1973 —

  Tangled Echoes/Meghan Ciana Doidge — SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Cover design by: Damonza.com

  ISBN 978-1-927850-57-2

 
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  ISBN: 978-1-927850-57-2