by T. L. Martin
Pixie rose from the wooden floor and joined him, a row of books stacked between her hands and chin, teetering with each step she took.
She didn’t want to speak what had been on her mind, especially not to Desmond. But she had been avoiding it long enough, and one’s own pep talks can only work for so long.
“I’m not usually the ‘glass half empty’ kind of girl,” she finally began, a cloud of dust escaping as she plopped the pile down, “but...what if we don’t find any answers?”
“We will.” Desmond didn’t miss a beat. He sounded so certain, so determined, that she would have believed him without a second thought if it hadn’t been for the past week of fruitless page turning she’d already endured.
“Yes, but...we’ve been looking non-stop ever since we got back in touch. And that’s been, like...over a week now? Eleven days? None of these old books have provided anything useful so far, and you’ve traveled to how many countries? Contacted how many of the oldest witches and demons?”
He kept his eyes on the pages, and Pixie felt guilty for even bringing it up. But someone had to, and thanks to Priscilla’s spell, they were the only two people who knew about any of it. The only two people who hadn’t forgotten the Opal. Charlie. And, of course, the violet eyes...though Desmond had yet to see them for himself, having only heard Pixie’s secondhand account.
“Desmond...”
He finally peeked up at her. His expression had hardened, his strong jaw clenched firmly and eyes bold.
When he still didn’t speak, Pixie tried again. She spoke softer this time, hating that she had to be the one to point these things out. “Sula is still possessed, off who-knows-where, and we have no idea what she’s up to. Plus, no one seems to know what kind of spell Priscilla used to cast such a huge memory wipe.” She gave an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “We haven’t got much to go off of right now...”
The line of his jaw tightened further, but his voice was still definitive. “The spell isn’t our focus right now.” At least they were on the same page there. “The creature possessing Sula is, and we now know she’s a Traveler. We know her survival depends on transferring from body to body. And we know the journal went missing the same day Sula was possessed and disappeared.”
The journal. It still sent chills straight down to her toes to think something as important as the journal could be in the hands of such a Traveler—one who tried to kill her, no less.
But he had a point, she realized with some relief. Desmond discovering a link between this mysterious Traveler and the journal put the pair of them ahead of the game in many ways, even if they didn’t know exactly what that link was just yet.
“That’s true,” she said, regaining her hopeful smile. “It could totally be worse.” She plucked a fresh book from the stacks and flipped it open, content to quit her nagging. But the feeling didn’t last long before another tidbit of information insisted on popping back into her head. “But...we also know Travelers went extinct centuries ago. And, I mean...why is she suddenly showing up now? And how did she even remember anything about the journal or the Opal in the first place if this spell seemed to work on everyone else? Is she immune to it, too?”
He got quiet again, returning his attention to the book propped open before him, and Pixie didn’t know what to say anymore. Already, she regretted mentioning it again. She rolled her eyes at her big mouth. What was the point, anyway? To make them more hopeless than they already felt? Especially him. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must be, having to watch the person you love as an outsider. To look them directly in the eye, only to have them not even know who you are. Everything you’ve been through together.
“Don’t listen to me. We’ll figure it out,” she finally said, shaking her doubts away and giving a firm nod of her head. Why not be optimistic? A little faith never hurt anyone. “It’ll be okay. Charlie will be okay.”
Desmond’s entire body stiffened at the mention of her name, his fingers grasping the pages tightly. He closed his eyes, squeezing them briefly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
He gave a shake of his head, but his voice was pained, almost broken, when he spoke. “No. It’s better this way. For her.”
She gave a soft nod, redirecting her eyes to the book before her. It was strange to see him like this. Desmond—a vampire who’d earned a reputation fierce enough to make most creatures cower in his presence—wasn’t the sort of man to reveal this side of himself. The fact that she could glimpse it at all, the pain, told her how much he was hurting.
Before she’d had a chance to turn the page, the sharp sound of Desmond’s book snapping shut made her look up.
He was standing now, a fresh look of determination on his face. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” Pixie shoved her book aside and rose from her seat, excitement brewing in her at his sudden streak of confidence. Could he have thought of a new lead? Some way to make some real progress? “Where are we going?”
Not that she cared. She’d follow him to hell and back if it meant they were going to get a handle on this thing.
He was already at the door, holding it open for her, before she’d fully scooted out of her chair. “To get some answers.”
***
It felt good, being back in my bedroom. All I wanted was to bury myself beneath the familiar comforter and hide for a little while. But I knew better. Doing so would only lull me into a deep sleep, and after what I’d just experienced in the car...I shuddered at just the thought of what might come next.
Instead, I tore my eyes away from the inviting bed, shoving my suitcases against the wall. What I needed was a shower, cold enough to snap me out of it and maybe keep me from passing out for a little while longer. Strolling across the room to my window, I flipped the latch and pulled it open. It was as cloudy a day as ever in Bandon, and judging from the sudden onset of thunder, it wouldn’t be long before the rain was pouring. I inhaled a full breath of the fresh oceanside air, glad that fall was just days away.
I had to admit, I missed the rain. Summer in Ontario, Canada had been far hotter than I’d expected, and the humidity in itself was enough to have me missing home.
Letting out a loud exhale, I reached my arms around my neck and carefully unhooked my mother’s necklace. I knew I should probably think of it as mine now, after all these years, but I still preferred calling it hers. I gently set the chain down on my pine desk and began to tug off my shirt when I heard a soft thunk as it hit the ground and paused.
I peeked back at the desk with a groan. The necklace had managed to slide in the fraction of a gap between the bulky piece of furniture and the wall. I would’ve ignored it completely if it had been any other item but not this one. Not the necklace my father had given her. It took a few heaves and grunts, but when the desk was finally pulled away far enough, I kneeled down.
Just as my fingers grabbed hold of the old rock dangling from its chain, I noticed something strange. It was only a white piece of paper, but what struck me was the way it was curled. I snatched both items up, setting the necklace aside on the desk before uncurling the sheet.
Except, looking at it now, it didn’t look like ordinary paper at all. More like a parchment, something you might find in another period. It was a note of some kind, and even the cursive letters, beautifully written as they were, appeared somehow old fashioned. I leaned in and began to read.
Charlie,
I hope you will forgive my scarce presence and accept this letter in my stead. I’m finding that it’s the only way for me to be able to keep my word. To keep you safe.
There is something urgent I need to do this morning, which may take up to several hours, but trust that I will return well before the ritual. In the meantime, remain in your house where the others can protect you. They will look after you well.
One more thing. Something I haven’t yet had the chance to tell you in person.
Charlie, I owe you thanks.
Thank you... For baring y
ourself to me. For showing me all of the beautiful parts that make up Charlotte Marie Eden. I will be forever grateful to you, Charlie, for waking me up. Reminding me of what it’s like to be human once again.
To truly care for someone.
To love.
Three more times of carefully rereading it, and I was still fairly sure that was my name written in there, plain as day. I couldn’t take my eyes off the strange letter. The ritual... Where the others can protect you... Reminding me of what it’s like to be human once again... To love...?
Where in the world had this come from? There was no name at the bottom. It had to be some sort of prank, right? A sick joke? It certainly wouldn’t be the first trick someone had played on me for their personal amusement. But I’d thought those days were long gone. They ended three and a half years ago, the moment my aunt pulled me out of public school and switched me to online homeschooling. Three years of living life in peaceful solitude, free to experience my panic attacks in the privacy of my own home. Free from bullying.
My palms were getting sweaty. Who would want to mess with me now? My only friends were my aunt and Ray—was Ray. I swallowed hard at the thought. Now there was just Stacy.
A knock at the door made me jump, and I turned to find Stacy poking her head inside. “Hey. Joe just texted asking if I wanted to come by the restaurant and grab a bite. I told him no, of course. But it made me realize you must be starving, right?”
“Oh. Um...” I glanced back down at the letter in my hand and quickly rolled it back up.
“You okay, Charlie?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to pull myself together. “Sorry. You should go. I’ll come with you.”
“Really?” Stacy looked doubtful when she pushed the door open farther, stepping into my room. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying in all day. We can have one of our little rainy day Netflix binges, if you want.”
I shook my head, stuffing the letter into the back pocket of my jeans and forcing a small smile. “Yeah, no. I’m sure. I wanted to visit Mrs. James anyway. You can drop me off at the library, then I’ll meet you at Tony’s Crabshack.”
She opened her mouth to question me again, so I grabbed my raincoat and boots from the closet before she could change either of our minds. “Really,” I insisted. “It’ll be good to get out.”
Mrs. James gave me a final hug before holding the library’s front door open for me. I offered a parting smile over my shoulder at the sweet, grey haired librarian and pulled my raincoat tighter around my body. Water was pouring down now, competing with the increasing thunder. I kept my head down below my hoodie, watching my black boots smack against the parking lot’s wet cement. Smooth, squared blocks of the sidewalk had just come into view when a woman’s voice met my ears, the roll of her r’s from her heavy accent growing clearer with each step I took.
The winds were strange from the storm, blowing warmly beneath my ear and yet slowly chilling my spine.
The woman’s voice suddenly halted to silence just as her blue rain boots came into view over the pavement, and I found myself looking up out of sheer curiosity.
Her short hair, dark but for a few thick, purple streaks, was almost dry, thanks to the rainbow-colored umbrella shadowing her head. She stood in front of a brown house’s door that she seemed to be locking up, with keys still jingling from the lock. And she was looking right at me.
But she wasn’t alone. A red haired girl, no more than a couple of years older than me, stood right beside her, wearing a small, almost sad smile on her lips that seemed to match the look in her brown eyes.
And, finally, a young man.
It was at that instant that everything around me seemed to trickle into slow motion—my footsteps, the rainfall, even my breathing, all but froze as he came into view.
He was quite tall, and I had to tilt my head upward to see him clearly, my eyes eventually finding their way to his. My breath hitched as something as strong as lightning shot straight down to my toes. With tousled dark hair escaping under his black hoodie and deep blue eyes intense enough to practically pierce right through me, to say he was strikingly handsome would be an understatement.
But that wasn’t what rattled me so. Something about him...it was, somehow, familiar, tugging at my senses.
I was passing the three of them now, but my eyes stayed locked on his, refusing to let go when I tried to look away. My foot suddenly thumped against an uneven patch of cement, and the stranger’s solid arms were around me just before I completely lost my footing.
A kite twirling above my head, his smooth lips pressing against mine, the smell of sea salt as he held me in his arms to the sound of 1950’s music...images quickly flooded into my head, too fast to follow but rich enough to freak me out.
Pushing my way out of his grasp, I struggled to get it together. “I-I’m fine,” I barely managed, sure to avoid his gaze now. “Sorry. Thank you.”
I didn’t know what the hell that was, but it was enough to confirm I was losing it. One foot in front of the other, it wasn’t until I was at least ten feet away that I remembered the note in my back pocket—a pocket which suddenly felt oddly empty. I paused to check it and turned back toward the strangers when it wasn’t there.
Finally, I spotted the white sheet of paper still drifting toward the ground, just barely sheltered by the woman’s rainbow umbrella. The young man followed my gaze. When another second passed and I was still glued to the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot, undecided on whether to go back for it or leave before risking more unwelcome visions, he leaned down and picked the sheet up.
He took a step toward me but suddenly stopped short, glancing back down at the note in his hand. Slowly, he opened it up, and when he brought his eyes back up to meet mine, there was something there I hadn’t seen before. Something distant...lost, almost. Even with the space between us and beneath the dark clouds, I could see the way his fingers seemed to tighten around the edge of the page, a page which was now drenched, falling limply in his hand.
Lightning struck in the distance, and I pried my feet from the ground, forcing my body to turn around. To walk away.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T.L. Martin lives in sunny Southern California with her husband, three young children, and two cats.
Though she spends her days homeschooling, tripping over legos, and pretending she can cook, when the lights go out and the rest of the house is fast asleep, you can find her typing away on her MacBook with a box of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk quickly disappearing from beside her.
One of T.L.’s favorite things to hear is the singsong ding of an email being received, and she encourages readers to reach out to her with questions or comments.
www.officialtlmartin.com
[email protected]
Twitter: @tlmartinauthor
Copyright © 2016 by T.L. Martin
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, real business establishments, or real locales are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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