by T. L. Martin
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE JOURNAL
“The journal,” Desmond concluded aloud. He rose from the stool and completed wiping down the countertop.
I helped, gathering the excess food. “I couldn’t do it with Matt here. He’d tell Priscilla, and it’d be over before it even started.”
“Priscilla is right,” he said, pausing to meet my eyes. “Disturbing their place of rest isn’t taken lightly.”
“I know. But I can’t just do nothing. Ray already died because of me.” I could feel a lump in my throat form at the mention of him, but I stumbled through it. “I don’t know what I’d do if anyone else…and none of us really know anything about what I am. Don’t you think it’s odd that anyone even remotely involved with the last Opal is dead now? Aren’t you a little curious about what happened to Adella Aldridge? I just...I need to know what happened.”
Desmond was quiet for a moment as he inspected my face. I didn’t like baring myself like this, but I couldn’t help it, either.
He shifted his attention outside the tall windows now, and I turned to see what he was looking at. The sky was perfectly overcast, heavy clouds still brewing and fog shadowing the hills. But we had no way of telling how long that would last. By the afternoon, it could go either direction.
“We leave now,” he finally said. He was stern when he spoke, but I didn’t mind. I was just glad he wasn’t going to try to stop me. “And you don’t move from my side.”
I shrugged a shoulder casually, trying to hide my excitement. “Deal.”
I was finally going to get some real answers. Find out the truth about myself, about how to take control of my life. For the first time since this whole thing began, I felt like I could breathe again. Really, truly, just breathe.
He beat me to the door, of course, and pulled it open for me.
It was cool outside, and the dark skies grumbled above us. Desmond led me to an older, classic Lexus parked behind the house, and I slid onto the smooth leather seats. The car looked hardly used, maintaining that crisp, new car smell, which didn’t surprise me. He maneuvered the vehicle onto the main road, and I let my eyes drift to the oceanside.
The silence between us wasn’t tense. It was even comfortable, and I allowed myself to relax against the luxurious seat. Every so often, I could feel his eyes straying to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
“Why are you doing this?” I pondered aloud, keeping my eyes on the gentle waves. “Helping me, I mean.”
Though I didn’t trust Anastasie, her syrupy words kept creeping back into my mind. Could he really be like the others, only wanting me around for the sake of what I could do for them? For using me as the Opal? Or was this other side of him the real Desmond? The side he tried so hard to hide. The side that was thoughtful, kind, honest...human.
He hesitated before answering and kept his eyes on the road once he did. “To keep you safe.”
“But why?” I finally turned to face him. “I get that I’m the Opal, and bad people could use me. But...is that really all there is to it?”
He said nothing for a minute, his gaze still focused on the deserted road before him. Even from where I sat I could see the frustration begin to rise. It was in the way he clenched his jaw, the stiffening of his grip on the steering wheel, the simmer behind his eyes. But when he glanced at me, his grip relaxed slightly, and his eyes gradually softened. There was that flicker of sorrow again. The same sadness he hadn’t fully managed to hide at the mention of his family earlier.
“I have my reasons,” he quietly replied.
He wasn’t letting up. All I was seeming to get from him were closed-off responses. But there was more I wanted to know, and I couldn’t predict when another opportunity would present itself. We still had an hour or so before arriving in Bandon, and I was not going to be intimidated into submission.
“I found an article,” I said, recalling the image I had stumbled upon in the Bandon Library. “French. It featured an old image, black and white, and the headline read: ‘Young Woman Dies in Animal Attack’.”
I peered up at Desmond, and, despite his refusing to look at me, I thought I saw recognition flare in his eyes.
“It was Anastasie. Wasn’t it?”
His answer was distant. “That was a long time ago.”
I waited for him to elaborate for a moment before realizing he didn’t intend on volunteering any further information.
“Were you there?” I prompted.
His head snapped toward me, making me flinch slightly. But it wasn’t anger on his face. Exasperation, maybe.
“You mean, did I bite her?” he snarled. He was quiet for a moment, and I could tell he was trying to calm himself down.
I couldn’t blame him for his severe reaction. He’d gotten so used to my snap judgments, my critical eye. My mood swings probably seemed worse than his at this point, with my constant indecisiveness. Never knowing what, or who, to believe.
When I spoke next, I made sure he could hear the sincerity in my voice. “No,” I whispered. “I mean, did you see what happened to her?”
He seemed surprised, and I wasn’t sure if he believed me entirely. But he appeared to relax slightly, nevertheless.
“No,” he answered quietly. “It was September of 1916 when I found her in France. She had been attacked by a pair of warped, miscreant vampires.” A minacious look flashed on his face as he growled the last sentence before his voice drifted, seeming as though his thoughts wandered. “They forced themselves on her and tormented her before feeding and leaving her to rot. Of course, she didn’t stand a chance.”
I could feel my face grow pale as my stomach threatened an upheaval at the disturbing thought alone. It was no wonder Anastasie was always trying to come across as resilient and invincible. In many ways, she was.
“So,” Desmond carefully continued, “I did what I wish I could have done for my sister. I turned her. And she got her revenge.”
“Your sister?” I repeated, hoping I had somehow misheard.
But he didn’t answer. He stayed quiet, taken over completely by his own memories.
I let him be.
The water was still when we arrived at Coquille Point. Aside from a few locals relaxing near the shore, the lighthouse was deserted. We stepped out of the car, and I carefully inspected the area. There were no obvious signs pointing to this being the burial site, but I knew they had to be here. Climbing past the large rocks surrounding the lighthouse, I made my way to a wide patch of grass and sand on the other side.
“Could this be it?” I asked, searching for any clues I may have missed.
Desmond, who was probing the area alongside me, shook his head. “No. The witches use symbols of peace, longevity, gratitude—something to guide them in their journey forward. It wouldn’t be barren like this.”
“It has to be here, somewhere,” I insisted. “A while ago, Priscilla told me the reason all the ancestral gatherings are held here is because this is where they were laid to rest. Where else could they be?”
We briefly scanned the area again, until I followed Desmond’s gaze beyond the lighthouse, to the shoreline.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“When did she say the first Opal was discovered?”
“Sometime in the 1700’s. Why?”
He looked back at me with a knowing expression, and realization dawned on me.
“The shoreline wouldn’t have reached this area yet,” I muttered. “They’re beneath the water.”
The smallest hint of a smile reached his eyes, and I knew I was right. We made our way back over the rocks until our feet could almost touch the water, and I began to unzip my jeans.
“What are you doing?” Desmond asked.
I looked around as though it was obvious. “I’m going in.”
“No. You’re not.” His voice was decisive.
When the smooth feel of his fingers were suddenly stopping my own, my eyes shot down to our hands. Just like the first
time our hands had touched, we both seemed to stiffen slightly at that instant. Time paused, like a camera freezing the shot, and I finally brought my gaze back up to his face.
He was watching me...every part of me.
Abruptly dropping his hand, he reached both arms around his waist and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a perfectly sculpted body—one that had me immediately rethinking removing my own shirt. I had only taken a glance before quickly returning my eyes to his.
“Oh, but you are?” I asked defiantly. I was disappointed to find it was a real struggle to keep my gaze on his face.
It hit me then, that over these next few days I would be spending more time with Desmond than I had with any other boy. I’d never had a guy take off his shirt next to me. The thought made me uneasy, and my cheeks warmed.
He walked over to me, and I retreated slightly, but it did nothing to settle my nerves. Leaning closer still, my throat went dry when he looked straight at me. “Charlie. If there are going to be consequences for this, let them fall on me.”
I stared right back at him, his words lingering in my mind. Why? Why risk himself for me?
Suddenly turning his head away, he stepped back, and the strange tension between us vanished almost as instantly as it had begun. “I agreed to look after you,” he clarified. Aggravation flashed in his eyes as his lips tightened. “Not endanger you.”
Of course. He was obligated.
“Besides,” he added. “I don’t need to breathe, and I’m fast enough to be in and out of there before anyone realizes what’s happening.”
Biting my lip, I thought it over. It would make sense considering his strengths. But there was no way I could stand by and watch someone else be punished for my own plan.
“Look,” I finally said, “you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I’m not going to let someone else take the fall. My idea—my responsibility.”
“Charlie—”
“I’m going,” I insisted.
Desmond exhaled exasperatedly, and I could tell he wanted to argue. But I was holding my stance. He ran a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was frustrated, and glanced down at me.
“Okay.” His reluctance seeped through his voice. “But we go together, and you stay at my side the entire time.”
“Fine.”
We silently removed our pants, but after a final discreet peek at him, I opted to leave my top on.
As we inched toward the water, he looked at me one last time. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
I only nodded my head, so as not to risk my voice reflecting the lack of confidence I actually felt, and was startled when he wrapped a hand gently over mine. My hand felt small in his, and I looked up to meet his eyes.
He was waiting patiently for my signal.
“I’m ready,” I said.
I followed his lead then, steadily lowering ourselves into the cold water until the depth had us losing our footing. Taking a deep breath, I dove in.
The water was clear enough to see the seaweed and fish wandering along the bottom of the ocean. We scanned the sand for anything out of the ordinary until I felt my throat begin to tighten. Swimming back up to the surface, I took a second to soak in the fresh air.
Desmond appeared beside me shortly after, sweeping his dark, wet hair back from his eyes.
“Anything?” I asked.
“No,” he answered. “Maybe if we head to the other side of the lighthouse.”
I agreed, and we swam to the other side before diving deep once more. It wasn’t long before I glimpsed something metallic beneath the sand. Propelling myself farther, I wiped some of the sand away to reveal two to three feet of steel. It was some sort of tomb, buried solidly in the ground. But what struck me next was the uneven levels of sand surrounding it. More silver spots of steel gently glimmered across the area, each sitting in pockets several feet deeper than the rest of the ground. I looked over at Desmond who seemed to be noticing the same thing.
Someone had already been here. If indeed there had been a journal at one point, it was long gone by now.
I stayed in place for a moment, touching a hand to one of the sandy tombs. All the answers I had hoped to find in there, any knowledge about Adella, who I was, how to keep everyone safe...it was all gone. Without a trace. I closed my eyes, feeling the water around us consume me. I barely noticed when my last breath escaped, bubbles drifting above my head until they disappeared.
Suddenly, a hand was grabbing my wrist and pulling me to the surface. Desperately, I gasped and inhaled an intoxicating breath of air.
“Charlie.” Desmond’s deep voice was sharp and firm, tugging at the blurred lines of my vision.
He held me securely in his arms, and I leaned into his chest, resting against his body as he swam us to shore. He settled onto the sand and began to lay me down, but I clung to him.
“Charlie.” He spoke softer now, almost a whisper. He slowly brushed the dripping hair away from my face and lifted my chin upward.
I felt sick, knowing now I may never be able to find any answers. It was hopeless. I was hopeless. Too much so to cry, to speak. I closed my eyes, letting the cool touch of his skin relax me.
He finally rose. Grabbing our clothes and carrying me back to the car, he laid a towel over my seat before setting me carefully inside. He was leaning over me, slowly lowering my seat back. I wanted to thank him, but no words came out.
The drive back was quiet. Peaceful. My eyelids grew heavy, and I let them. Just when the blue waters gradually faded to darkness, I thought I might have heard the low hum of his voice whisper my name. And I drifted, along with the gentle crashing of waves and the subtle caress of the wind. I faded into the background, leaving it all behind me.
I awoke to the sound of the car door opening, and Desmond’s face peering down at me. He started to help me up, but I shook my head, unbuckling myself.
“I’m okay,” I murmured, pulling myself up.
My feet moved slowly as I forced the weight of my body up the steps. I’d wrapped the towel he provided around my body, but the cold winds still reached my skin, making me shiver lightly. At least the drive back was long enough that my clothes and hair had mostly dried. Desmond wasn’t in sight when I reached the front door, but he’d left it open for me. I had barely made it one step past the threshold when he appeared at my side with a chocolate colored robe extended for me. Grateful, I slipped it on, and the impossibly soft fabric immediately warmed my skin.
I intended on retreating to the bedroom but the impeccable white sofa was first to greet my feeble legs. It was stiff and unyielding when I plopped onto it, and I wondered if he’d ever used it before.
I could see Desmond from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t far from the sofa, idling in a way that seemed notably unnatural for him.
The room’s silence seemed to echo around us, and the longer neither of us spoke the worse it got. We both seemed to be struggling to pretend it wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to having a guest—human, no less—sulk in his living room. Maybe it was the fact that I’d never had a vampire—or anyone else—watch me so closely in my sulking.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, desperate to break the sudden bizarre atmosphere. “Again. For everything.”
He only gave a nod of his head, and I chewed the inside of my lip.
“Well,” he started, glancing toward the hallway, “I’ll give you a minute...”
He was just about to leave when I spoke up.
“Wait...” There was something I had to know. A question I should have gotten an answer to a long time ago. What were his intentions behind seeking me out in the first place? Surely it couldn’t actually have anything to do with using me as the Opal, as indicated by others. Could it? “I know now that it’s probably not true, but I have to ask...something Quinn kind of suggested a while ago and then Anastasie. About, um, why you found me? With me being, you know, what I am and—”
I stopped myself short, shaking my head softly. I could almost chuckle at the absurdity of it now, having seen so much more of him lately and realizing all he’d done. After the way I’d already mistreated him for something he had been wrongly accused of, I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“You know what...” I mumbled. “Never mind.”
But then, the sudden stiffening of his posture and darkening of his eyes made me think twice. Was that guilt again?
He knew. He knew what I was getting at, and I was pretty sure I had my answer.
“Is it—it’s true?” I stammered, wary.
His fists curled and jaw clenched, and it took him a minute to really face me. “Yes.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH
I could feel the blood drain from my skin as I stared bewilderedly back at him, the one person I had been trusting my life with. This creature I had actually felt sorry for, even apologized to. Anastasie’s double-edged voice returned to taunt me: Did you really think he was so unlike the others hunting you?
This time I did laugh. It was brief and bitter and mixed with all kinds of conflicting emotions, but it was the only sound that managed to escape the clutches of my suddenly constricted throat. I only had myself to blame for the unexpected surprise. I was the one who asked the question; all he did was answer honestly.
I forced my frail muscles to lift me and stepped numbly toward him. “I guess I should be impressed,” I all but croaked, my throat not yet doing much to relieve me.
He looked down, his voice a whisper. “Charlie...” But he didn’t continue. What could he say, after all? There was my answer, plain as day.
“So this is the ‘design’ Quinn was talking about, huh? You vampires sure are crafty.”
“Charlie—”
“I’m curious, though.” I interrupted him this time, turning to walk around him. “What was your master plan? No, wait. I know this one: ‘Save the damsel in distress from the evil witch,’ right? ‘Cause, of course, I’d give my hero anything he wanted after that.”