“Fun,” I answered, yanking my hair back into a messy ponytail just to get it out of my face. I adjusted the air vents to suit me. “We had an interesting dinner with Katherine and some other girls from work. Then, at Myrtle’s, my neighbor showed up and we imbibed a little more than I’d planned.”
We passed the ride in idle chitchat until we turned down a curvy drive, lined on either side with pretty white fences. Cows and sheep grazed side by side amid tall clumps of grass. I pressed my face to the cool glass window, watching them roll by, until the drive ended at a small white Victorian decorated with pink curlicues and shutters. Very feminine, very pretty, and kind of like a gingerbread house. An extremely fluffy white cat lounged on the railing of the wrap-around front porch, the tip of its tail the only thing moving. Brett brandished an old fashioned skeleton key and let us in.
The interior was much lighter than I’d expected. The late afternoon light, though gray, filtered through large windows covered only by sheer white curtains. The floors stretched around us, pale hardwood mottled with natural knots and defects. A staircase traveled up the wall to my right, wooden banister matching the floors and polished to a high sheen. I followed Brett into the open area to the left, a big room cluttered with mismatched furniture and knick knacks.
“I’m going to grab something to drink. Would you like something?”
“Sure. Just whatever.”
He took a swinging blue door in the rear wall, disappearing into what I assumed was the kitchen. Spotting a beautiful oak china cabinet of framed photographs, I scooted over to take a peek.
An older couple, who I assumed were Brett’s parents, were sporadically pictured with relatives of various shapes and sizes. There was a sizeable amount of Brett pictures, clocking his growth from toddler to adult. It surprised me to find Brett didn’t resemble either of his fair haired, fair skinned parents.
On the middle shelf, behind the glass doors, three photos sat in the place of honor, flanked by three well-burned candles and a small portrait of the Virgin Mary. It was a fair haired child with bright blue eyes in various stages of childhood, but no more than seven or eight at the oldest. One picture had him cuddled in the youthful arms of Brett.
I heard the door swing open and a soft drink pop open before his soft footfalls stopped beside me. I pointed to the little blonde boy. “Who is this?”
Glancing up at Brett’s face, I saw the shadow that crossed it. He offered me a soda can. “My brother.”
“What happened?”
He clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “He was taken by the Wild Hunt.”
Chapter 13
The rain was coming down even stronger, drenching the landscape before us with deep shadows. Slowly swaying on the double-wide porch swing, I held Brett’s hand in my lap, playing gently with his fingers. He’d been silent for an inordinate amount of time. My soda was almost gone, sitting on the glass-topped table next to me. I waited patiently, the chill breeze brushing my hair from my face and the sturdy porch roof keeping the rain away, for him to elaborate about his brother. The cat was happily sprawled across his lap, oblivious to anything but her nap.
“Nathan was eight when they took him,” he finally said, his eyes somewhere far in the distance and on something I couldn’t see. “I was twelve. It was a Wednesday. We had school the next day and Mum’d let us stay up to watch a show. Don’t remember now what show it was, but it was something we’d really wanted to see.” He paused, both his feet planted to the wooden planks of the porch, pushing us back and forth. My knees curled beneath me, I waited. “Mum thinks she heard his name being called, only at the time, she believed she’d imagined it. We were all asleep when it happened. He screamed. At three o clock, my father went outside and found him crumpled on the ground. Gone.”
I tightened my grip on his strong fingers, rubbing my nails lightly across his knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything more.
*********
We went on to York and had dinner together, a casual, candlelit affair overlooking the city walls. We didn’t want for topics of conversation and we never ran out of jokes or reasons to smile. Under it all, I was thinking of his brother’s sweet smile and the fact that a child had been killed so long before his time. I wanted to take Brett’s pain and fix it, change it somehow, to bring him happiness.
The drive home was much too short. I’d made my decision before we even stepped on the porch to the sound of Hunter’s toenails clicking on the floors inside. Turning to face him, I placed a hand on the warmth of his chest. I watched my long fingers slide up the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling every dip and hollow in the skin beneath. His chest rose and fell with every breath, deepening when I stepped into his space, pressing my body to his, our lips barely apart.
“It’s only eight. Come in for a little while,” I whispered, barely letting my lips touch to his. I felt his need, heavy in the air around him, the evidence of his desire hot on my abdomen, even through his blue jeans.
At his nod, I threw my arms around his neck, our lips melding into one entity, my body seeking to merge with his. When his tongue took over my mouth, gently teasing my own with strokes mimicking what I wanted him to do with my body, I moaned in the back of my throat. He cupped my ass in one hand, pressing me harder to his erection…something looking more and more promising by the minute. I was a jiggling pile of estrogen when I finally forced myself away, giving him what I hoped was a seductive look instead of a terrified one, and turned to open the house.
I pressed my code into the pad and made a whirlwind trip with Hunter into the backyard, yanking him back inside the moment he finished. Brett waited for me in my living room, perched on the arm of my couch with both hands shoved in his pockets. His black eyes glittered in the darkness of my living room. He had shut and locked the front door.
Stepping past him, I set the alarm. Looking pointedly at the bulge in his pants, I gave him a wry grin, “Men always think putting their hands in their pockets keeps it from being obvious. To tell you the truth, we’d rather see the evidence that we’re desirable.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled, sliding his hands out and reaching for me. His warm fingers locked around both my wrists. Once in his arms, I yanked off his shirt, tasting every spot of bare skin my lips could reach. I was a mass of nerve endings and fantasies. He unbuttoned my cardigan, pushing it off my bare shoulders, eyes widening when he discovered I wore no bra. “Goddess, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning to press his mouth to my belly button, trailing his tongue up the curve of my rib cage until he captured a nipple in his teeth. I squirmed against him, aching for him to touch the inside of me.
He relieved me of my jeans so I stood before him only in my lacy black underwear, his hands tracing the lines of my body, moving over my butt, my hips. Through the veil of my desire, I thanked whatever woman in my life that had warned me to always wear sexy underwear. Something about it making you feel sexy even in sweats—screw that, it’s more important when a delicious guy was with you in a state of dishabille.
Warm palms slid inside my thighs, his lips above the hem of my thong, until one finger slid home and I bucked against him. His lips were fire on my skin. “Upstairs,” I croaked, sliding a hand up the arm connected to the most intimate part of my body.
I don’t remember making it to the bedroom. I don’t remember getting him out of his clothes or whether he took my lacy thong off with his teeth or his fingers, but I remember the first moment he slid inside me, filling me up like no one had ever before. His body blanketed mine, the friction of his hips on my thighs and his length brushing that special spot inside me enough to send me falling over the edge, his name a prayer on my lips.
Chapter 14
At ten forty five, Jordan met me at the door. His red sweater looked like someone had knitted it by hand before tossing it in a blender. “Your paycheck is in your mailbox. Have a good night.”
“No updates?” I asked him as he
shouldered by me and out the door, dropping the keys in my hand and taking mine away.
Glancing back at me, he shook his head and disappeared into the darkness beyond the spotlight. I closed the door, throwing the locks, my hand lingering on one of the deadbolts. Anya was behind me, I could feel her. Hoping to keep her around a little longer than I have been, I decided not to look at her. “Hello, Anya.”
“Vale.” I felt her follow me to the altar in the far left hand corner of the temple, her presence like cool tendrils probing at my essence. “I think he saw me tonight.”
I struck a match and held the flame to a new stick of incense until it caught. Fitting it in the holder, I blew gently on the tip until the smoke wafted into the air. “Who?”
“Jordan.” She was certainly in fine form with her one word answers.
Taking slow steps back towards the statues, I felt rather than saw her nod. “What makes you think he saw you?”
“He looked right at me and jumped,” she giggled. My hair swished around my neck as if she’d ran her fingers through it. I shivered at the cold her fingers left behind.
Taking a seat at Cerridwen’s feet I finally glanced over at her. She was in full apparition mode, no missing face, no misty feet. “Anya, what happened to you?”
“Offerings,” she whispered. “You should be careful. He’s looking for it. Fire and brimstone, witchlight is dark, pain before pleasure for the next mark.”
As she babbled, she finally began to waver out of existence. “Anya! Stay with me. Were you a sacrifice?”
Her soulful eyes caught mine. “Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.” And she was gone.
*********
I gave in to my inner child and climbed Cerridwen.
When I was little, I was a champion tree climber in my own mind. I spent more time shimmying my gangly body up the trees in the forest behind our house than I ever did with dolls or toy cars. Something about nature drew me.
The spotlight that stayed on her made the stone warm, as if she were putting off body heat. Using the folds of her cloak, I slowly made my way up to her face.
It wasn’t noticeable from the floor, but the paint was chipping around her eyes. I gingerly touched a flake of her eyebrow, pressing it to the stone and watching it bounce back with a crackle. I’d have to mention it to Edward.
I sat on her shoulder, tucking my butt into a dip in her cloak. Above my head, the tower door was closed, but I could hear the rain. The storm sounded just like it was—only a storm. No wolves, no horses, nothing. For a minute, I felt like there was no mystery beyond that of Mother Nature. I couldn’t argue with myself anymore, though, and I knew I was just being obstinate.
Leaning against Cerridwen’s graceful neck, something clicked beneath my shoulder, startling me. I fumbled to push myself away in time for a small door, only big enough for a hand, slid open in her stone.
“Well,” I said to no one, scooting closer to her neck and peering into the dark hole. “Too bad I don’t have Jordan’s fire power. Stay right there,” I told Cerridwen with a grin, and scrambled down to find a flashlight.
I hit paydirt in the office. I scaled once more to the goddess’ shoulder, and shined the weak beam into the hole.
Something shiny blinked at me. Without thinking, I shoved my hand inside and grasped something smooth and cold, drawing it out with bated breath.
It was a knife.
The blade was not quite ten inches long, free of blemish or fingerprints. The T-shaped hilt was black and inlaid with tiny white mother-of-pearl stones, arranged in a triple spiral pattern. The word “triskele” came to mind, another holdover from my childhood. I flashed the light down the hole again, and found the sheath, a matching black and pearl sleeve that clicked nicely into place over the blade.
“I’ll be damned,” I murmured, looking up at Cerridwen’s secret, smiling face.
*********
Google told me that the spiral on my knife was not a “triskele” so much as a “triple spiral.” Connected to the Celts and found throughout Ireland, the Neolithic triple spiral was a mystery, but in modern times, was used by witches to represent a slew of three-fold beliefs. Mainly, of course, as a connection to the goddess.
I slid the blade from the sheath, brandishing it under the bright fluorescent lights. The metal sang through the air, making me feel equal parts silly and Amazonian. It made me feel strong.
When Brett showed up to relieve me, it was safely stored in my boot, the sheath warm against my skin.
“Hey,” he said shyly when I opened the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. His hair fell over his eyes endearingly, and then I fell on him.
He tasted like peppermint. I pressed into him as his arms slid around me and lifted me, never breaking the kiss as he pushed me into the Temple and kicked the door shut.
“It’s good to see you,” I breathed when his mouth left mine to trail down my neck. I slipped both my hands under his T-shirt, sliding them across bare skin.
Pulling away, he turned me so my back was to the wall and pressed me into it with a grin. “Ditto,” he grunted, all man, as his lips slanted back over mine.
I don’t know how it happened, but one minute we were kissing, and the next my pants were gone, his were around his ankles, and I was anywhere but in my body. If I had been, I would’ve remembered there were security cameras. Whoops.
*********
Katherine beamed at me from behind the desk when I strolled up to her. For such a plain looking woman, she was really quite fetching in her lavender skirt suit. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Hello, Vale! We have your paycheck.” She reached into a box behind the desk and withdrew a long envelope as I signed in Brett’s keys. “Don’t spend it all in one place!”
“Thanks, Katherine,” I told her, giving her a smile. “We had a great time Saturday.”
“Oh, we did too!” Katherine replied. “We should do it again sometime.”
With a wave over my shoulder, I jingled my keys on the way out the door. It was freezing in my Cooper. I cranked the heat and let my car sit for a minute to warm up before putting it in drive.
By the time I’d fed the animals and fallen into my pajamas and bed, I was exhausted. I was thinking about Brett and the exhilaration of our encounter inside the Temple, my eyes on the knife as it lay silently on my nightstand, when I fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 15
I woke up to the annoying beep of my alarm clock at noon and slammed a hand down on the snooze button, burying my face in the pillow. The sun was beaming like a spotlight through my bedroom window. It was time to invest in some dark colored curtains. Ivory wasn’t cutting it.
Hunter stuck his wet nose in the curve of my neck and snuffed at me before drawing his big tongue across my skin. “Ewww,” I grumbled, pushing him away gently with a laugh. His furry tan face smiled at me, tongue lolling out the side. Don’t let a dog owner tell you they ever get allowed to sleep through an alarm.
My meeting with Hilda Manning was at one. I stepped into an ankle length cotton skirt the color of eggplants and a black turtleneck with my silver studded knee high boots, and clipped downstairs to brew some coffee.
One look in the refrigerator showed that I’d used the last of my eggs for omelets the morning before. I marked them on my magnetic pad and pulled out the last of the bacon. Wrapping a couple pieces in paper towels, I put them for a minute in the microwave, and dropped the last two pieces of whole grain in the toaster. Five minutes later, I was sitting down with a bacon and cheese sandwich and a steaming mug of yummy goodness.
I pulled my yellow pad across the counter from its position by the phone, and popped open a pen. I needed questions to ask the reporter. I tapped my bottom lip thoughtfully, going over what I knew already. Taking a crunchy bite of sandwich, I jotted down a few notes.
It was brisk outside. Even Hunter in his fluffy layered coat was shivering when he hiked his leg on one of the trees at the edge of the yard. I was stunned by the sun
glinting off the rushing surface of the river, and half tempted to trot down there for a better look. Remembering my high heeled boots, I opted out of that idea. I left the two cows grazing in my kitchen; Addie on her last tin can of vet recommended fish guts and Hunter on his grocery store dog food, and drove the Coop in to town.
The Courier was nestled in the heart of the city in a Greco-Roman building dated from 1812, or so the carved numbers on one of the five columns announced. I pulled open the extremely heavy wooden door, studded with black nails, and stepped into a light-filled atrium.
Above my head, the rotunda was ringed in little windows, flanked with a walkway around the circle that I imagined would give one a nice view of the countryside. The floors were white and pink flecked marble, the reception off to the right a mahogany monstrosity. I smiled at the flamboyantly gay man behind the computer.
“Hi, I have a meeting with Hilda Manning?”
“Alright, darling, here’s a name tag,” he answered, sliding a white sticker and black permanent marker across the counter. “Put your name on it, you must wear it at all times in the building. Hilda should be back from lunch at anytime if you want to go ahead on up to the second floor. Her office is at the end of the hallway on the right. There are a few chairs outside. Make yourself comfortable.”
I took the wide central staircase and turned down a narrow, dimly lit hallway until I found the glass door at the end marked Hilda Manning in gold cursive. Turning to take a seat next to it, I saw a heavyset, heavily made up woman waddling down the hall towards me.
She tap-tapped to a stop before me on her pink stiletto heels and stuck out a pudgy hand. “You must be Vale? I’m Hilda, wonderful to meet you.” Pulling myself back to my feet, I gripped her cool hand and shook.
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