Discovery

by Lisa White

  Discovery

  Book One of the Council of Powers Trilogy

  Lisa White, author of The Laws of Love

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Lisa Crockett White

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6705-0

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6705-6

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6706-9

  eISBN 13: 978-14405-6706-3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  For Collin and Christopher,

  whose powers are immeasurable.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue: And Then There Was One …

  Chapter One: The Meeting

  Chapter Two: Flash of Light

  Chapter Three: Frustration

  Chapter Four: Apologies

  Chapter Five: An Unexpected Kiss

  Chapter Six: Purpose

  Chapter Seven: Making Up

  Chapter Eight: The Party

  Chapter Nine: Darkness and Movement

  Chapter Ten: Awakening

  Chapter Eleven: Discovery

  Chapter Twelve: New Reality

  Chapter Thirteen: Eyes

  Chapter Fourteen: Cooper

  Chapter Fifteen: The Mountains

  Chapter Sixteen: The Trio of Boulders

  Chapter Seventeen: The Misfit Community

  Chapter Eighteen: Forbidden Feelings

  Chapter Nineteen: The Ball Game

  Chapter Twenty: The Dance

  Chapter Twenty-One: Expectations

  Chapter Twenty-Two: The Gift

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Making Plans

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Prisoner

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Lost

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Found

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jamison Reich

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: First Kiss

  About the Author

  More From This Author

  Also Available

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, thank you, thank you again to editor extraordinaire, Jennifer Lawler. You continue to make happily-ever-afters and dreams come true.

  Thank you to Meredith O’Hayre, Jessica Verdi, and all the other Ladies in Red at Crimson Romance. You are a kind, talented, and supportive group and I am grateful to be on this journey with you.

  Thank you to Sarah Blevins, Morghan Clark, and Sarah Luther who took the time to read Discovery and reminded me how to be young again.

  Thank you to Lori Byington, my “sista” cousin and mistress of the English language. Your continued insight, guidance, support, and love are gifts from above. Udooo!

  Thank you to my family whose power of love is consistent and unconditional.

  And most importantly, thank you to my husband and our two wonderful children whose powers bring me joy. You are true blessings from God and I thank you all for loving me.

  Best Wishes,

  Lisa

  Prologue: And Then There Was One …

  The highway patrolman wrote “Unknown” on the blank line across from the word “Cause.” He hated using that word, especially when death was involved, but the seasoned officer did not know what else to write in his report.

  The weather was clear. The road was dry. No other cars were involved. But here he was, staring at a crushed wad of metal in the middle of the road while the sun glimmered brightly off the van’s chrome accents. The chrome accents that had adorned the van only a few hours earlier. The shiny chrome ribbons contrasted sharply against the black tar of the hot pavement underneath and it seemed strange to the patrolman that, despite the acrid smell of burnt metal lofting around the van, there was no evidence of fire. None of the chrome pieces were burned or even scratched. They were dented and twisted, sure, but no burn marks could be seen anywhere.

  Looking closer at what used to be the family’s minivan, the patrolman noticed that the same was true for the van’s paint. It was a metallic light blue that matched the color of today’s clear sky, but the van’s blue parts, while wadded up together like one large piece of notebook paper, were as clean as the day the car rolled off the assembly line. There were no scratches crossing through the blue, no burned spots dirtying up the paint’s glitter. Instead, it looked as if the parts were originally molded in their present contorted form and then sprayed with the shiny blue paint like some modern-day sculpture on display in the latest hip art gallery.

  The patrolman stopped writing his report, placed his pen in its usual spot on his clipboard, and peered down through the shattered window into what was left of the van’s interior. In all his years on the job, he had never seen anything like this. Except for the dark red blood stains running through the beige leather and the copious used gauze pads left behind by the paramedics, the van’s crushed interior was pristine, as clean as the new models sitting on the showroom floor at an auto mall. It was as if someone had picked up the minivan, dunked it in bath water and, while still holding it under the water, crushed the van and its occupants, ending the massacre by delicately placing the washed metal mess back in the middle of the road from whence it came.

  The patrolman took a deep breath, kicked at a stray gauze pad, and began writing his report again. Four of the van’s five occupants died that day and the patrolman reasoned that the van’s unusual pristine interior somehow helped protect the surviving, slender, four–year–old girl from the other occupants’ fate. He had dealt with dozens of crashes during his years on the force, but those involving children never failed to affect him, especially those that produced orphans. The young girl’s wide eyes frantically darting around the scene as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance left another scar on the patrolman’s memory and he knew her blue eyes would haunt his dreams for quite a few nights going forward. He was so captivated by the girl’s eyes he never saw the man standing on the high ridge overlooking the crash site.

  The man who smelled of burnt metal.

  The man who did not understand why the girl was still alive.

  Chapter One: The Meeting

  Almost eighteen years later …

  Her hands were tingling.

  Again.

  From her wrists to her fingertips, each hand shook and pulsed with tiny electric shocks. The minute Grace felt the tremors return, she shoved her vibrating hands into her pants pockets. How in the world was she supposed to work today? She could not even carry one plate, let alone a whole tray of them. But while the shaking made it difficult to use her hands, the sensation itself wasn’t really painful. Most of the time, her hands felt more like they had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, Grace had not figured out how to make the shaking sensation go away so she just stood to the side of the stainless steel serving counter with her hands in her pockets, hoping this episode would be a short one.

  There. Almost gone. Only her fingertips shook now.

  “Order up!” the cook’s assistant said.

  Grace slowly pulled her hands out of her pockets and gave them one last squeeze.

  “Gracie? I said order up!” Grace’s best friend, Annie, shoved a martini glass filled with shrimp cocktail in her face. “Lady Covington is waiting.”

  Grace glanced down at her hands. They were no longer shaking, not even her fingertips. Surely she could carry one simple glass. She smiled at her fr
iend and reached across the serving counter for the shrimp cocktail. “Annie, this isn’t a diner. You know you’re not supposed to yell ‘Order up’ like that. What if Julian heard you?” Grace stood at the serving counter until she was certain she could hang on to the glass full of shrimp.

  “Oh, calm down. He can’t hear me.” Annie peered over at the banquet manager on the other side of the kitchen. “Besides, I just do that to bug him. You know how snobby he is over this place.”

  Grace sighed and shook her head as she gripped the shrimp cocktail with both hands and headed into the formal dining room. It was a packed house at the Southern Pines Country Club that spring afternoon, so even the waitresses were pulling double duty in the kitchen. Luckily for Grace, however, Lady Covington had dropped by for lunch. The elderly woman preferred to have Grace wait on her, so Julian, the banquet manager, had chosen his nemesis Annie to abandon her waitress duties and play first mate to the club’s cook.

  As Grace expertly weaved in and out of the crowded dining room tables toward Lady Covington, another club member seated nearby waved to the young waitress. “Gretchen, over here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Williamson.” Grace smiled without bothering to correct him on her name. Even though she had waited on Mr. Williamson a hundred times, he had yet to get it right. He was one of the club’s regular golfers and his penchant for hideously bright plaid golf knickers made him a well-known figure at the club. In return, he knew just about everyone working there, even down to the deliveryman who restocked his Dewar’s Scotch each week. But for some reason Mr. Williamson had a mental block on Grace’s name. The other day she was Gwen, today it’s Gretchen, but he never could remember to call her Grace. His consistent memory loss didn’t really upset her, however, because being anonymous made it easier to blend in.

  “Can you ask Ben to bring me another Scotch? He knows how I like it.” Mr. Williamson half-smiled, swirling his ice cubes as he tipped up the almost empty glass to Grace.

  “Of course, sir,” Grace nodded before continuing on her way. She finally made it over to Lady Covington seated at a corner table and, using both hands, carefully placed the shrimp cocktail in front of her discerning diner. “Here you are, Lady Covington. Your salad should be out in a minute. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, dear. I’m fine. Just trying to get back to my mahjong game in the ladies lounge so this will be a quick lunch today.” Lady Covington smiled up at Grace. The matriarch of the country club was a large woman who, despite her size, carried an air of sophistication around her in the same way other women wore perfume. Grace did not know why she was called “Lady.” In fact, her Chanel suits and Jackie Kennedy triple-strand pearl necklace made her look more like a 1960s New York socialite rather than some titled English matron. The rumor around the club was that Lady Covington had actually run in the same circles as Mrs. Kennedy when she lived in New York City, but no one had ever figured out why she was a “Lady” or how the elderly New Yorker ended up all the way down here in Southern Pines, South Carolina. Normally grouchy with other wait staff, Lady Covington was more tolerant of Grace for some reason and, so, by default, Grace had become her private servant at Southern Pines. Despite the incessant teasing from her coworkers for being Lady Covington’s favorite, it was not a bad deal for Grace considering the tips the elderly patron left her. That and she was one of the few club members who actually remembered Grace’s name.

  “Well, I’ll be back to check on you in a bit,” said Grace as she turned to head back to the kitchen. Her hands were back to normal now so she took the long way around the dining room, discretely checking on her other tables and even on some that did not belong to her. She eventually made her way back to the kitchen’s swinging doors but almost plowed down another waiter in the process.

  “Hey! Gracie, watch it!” The waiter, Ben, reached down and caught a falling wine glass just before it hit the marble floor. He moved so fast, Grace almost did not see the glass until it was already placed back on Ben’s tray. “What’s the rush?”

  “Sorry. I’m just trying to get it all done.” Grace stood to the side and held the door open for Ben with her foot as she reached behind her head and adjusted the hairclip holding her long, brown hair back from her face. Julian liked all his waitresses to be perfectly coiffed but Grace’s wispy tendrils would never stay in the required ponytail. She spent most of her time between orders unsuccessfully fussing with her hair.

  “Well, slow down a little and try to remember how clumsy you are. You’ve got to give the rest of us a little room to maneuver.” Ben smiled at Grace with a contagious mixture of amusement and mischievousness. He was one of those people who smiled with their eyes more than their mouth and Grace liked that about him. She also liked the fact that Julian hated Ben’s hair almost as much as he hated Grace’s. Ben’s thick, dark hair always had that messed up look. The kind of look that male models used gallons of expensive hair product to achieve, but for Ben all he had to do was get out of bed and he had runway hair. Combined with his high cheekbones and aqua eyes, Ben’s messy model look often made women stop and stare. But while women liked Ben’s look, Julian hated it. He said Ben’s hair belonged on some rock star wannabe and not on a member of the Southern Pines Country Club staff. Of course, Julian’s comment only ensured that Ben never cleaned up his messy look and Grace envied her friend’s silent defiance of Julian.

  “More room. Got it.” She started for the door again but stopped when she saw a bright red plaid napkin on a nearby tray. It reminded her of Mr. Williamson’s golf knickers and his present need for another Scotch. She turned back to Ben. “Before I forget, Mr. Williamson wants another drink.”

  “Mr. Williamson?” Ben grinned. “Who were you today?”

  “Today I’m Gretchen.” Grace winked as she tightened her ponytail again and reentered the kitchen.

  The club was unusually busy for such an early spring day, and the kitchen’s bustle left no room for mistakes. Workers were all over the place, and Grace had to push her way through the crowded kitchen to get to Annie who was still in the back helping the cook and probably thinking of new ways to annoy Julian. Just as Grace had almost reached her friend, the banquet manager abruptly appeared out of the kitchen crowd and stepped directly into Grace’s path.

  “And how is Lady Covington today, Miss MacKay?” Julian looked down at Grace over his wire-rimmed glasses. He seemed to be purposefully ignoring the mocking faces Annie made at him just three feet away.

  “She’s fine, Julian. Don’t worry. I’ve got her covered,” Grace assured her boss. She bit the inside of her cheek and held her breath, trying to suppress the laughs bubbling inside her. Annie’s facial expressions got her every time.

  “Very good. Please let me know immediately if there are any problems. And get that silly hair out of your face. You know how I feel about that.” Julian wagged a finger at Grace’s flyaway hair and then turned up his pointy nose, put his hands behind his perfectly straight back, and strode over to his office as if he were a captain on a ship. When he reached his office door, he stopped without turning around and, enunciating each word with his British precision, added, “Miss Anne, if you put as much effort into your job as you do mocking me, you might actually make something of yourself.” He then disappeared into his office without looking back.

  The minute the office door closed, the entire kitchen erupted in stifled laughter.

  “You’re going to get fired,” Grace said to Annie. Sometimes she could not believe how far Annie pushed it with Julian.

  “No, she won’t,” Ben said as he reentered the kitchen with a new tray of dirty dishes. “Julian loves the attention he gets from Annie. Doesn’t everyone?” he teased as he emptied the tray on the counter near the sink.

  Annie blushed, causing her long, blonde hair to look even lighter against her rosy skin. “Oh, shut up. You’re just jealous because I’m more into your brother’s hot bod than whatever that thing is you have going on,” she teased back as she finished prepa
ring Lady Covington’s salad.

  “Too bad my brother’s not into blondes with smart mouths,” Ben smirked. “I can promise you that will never happen.”

  “Enough, you two.” Grace grabbed the finished salad from Annie. “Let’s just get this shift over with so we can get out of here.” Grace shook her head and smiled at her two best friends as she left the kitchen to dote on Lady Covington. She was still smiling after depositing the salad as she thought of the constant banter between Ben and Annie and how work was a little more tolerable with their back and forth mock hostility. Ben’s family had lived next door to Grace’s foster family as long as she could remember, and Annie had joined their close duet when she moved to their small South Carolina town their senior year in high school. Since then, the Three Amigos, as they called themselves, had been inseparable and, with none of them having any money to speak of, they had accepted jobs at the local country club after graduation. Grace wanted to take the college route but no money and no parents backing her left her with few options. She had hoped serving the Southern Pines elite would open other doors for employment but so far it had only led to free food and use of the club gym after hours. College was looking like an unrealistic goal.

  “What time do you all get off work today?” Grace asked them when she returned to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got another hour or so,” said Ben.

  “Me too,” sighed Annie. “I really think this shift would go by faster if I was working the tables instead of being stuck back here in the kitchen.” She had left her post with the cook and was staring into the dining room through the small window at the top of the swinging kitchen door. Suddenly, she gasped and her tired posture stood erect. “Wow. Talk about beautiful.”