by Pat Esden
He turned toward me. “Yeah?”
The morning sun slanted across his face, sending shadows gliding along his jawline. I could have stared at that face forever, the strength of its lines, the hint of dark stubble, his tan, his dark cropped hair, his amazing eyes. He was beautiful, and he was about to risk his life to keep my dad safe and rescue my mom. Lives I should be saving because I alone was responsible for setting in motion the events that led to her kidnapping—and to my grandmother’s death.
My chest tightened and I swallowed back my words. Telling him would ease my anxiety. But he had enough to think about without shouldering my secrets. Besides, I wanted to enjoy every minute I could with him. Once—or if—Mother came back, decisions would have to be made: if she and Dad were going to live here or go back to our house in Vermont, where I was going to stay . . . things like that. It seemed far off in the future right now, but I’d also planned on taking a Sotheby’s course in London this fall, to work toward my goal of becoming a certified fine art appraiser. Dad had even agreed to pay for it. I had to decide if I still wanted to do that. “Nothing,” I said. “It just—it kind of pissed me off when you didn’t kiss me. Like, really kiss me.”
An amused smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and a glisten sparkled in his eyes. “You sure you can handle it?”
A wildfire ignited inside me and I giggled as he dramatically swept one hand around my waist, dipping me backward like a Disney prince sweeping his princess into a kiss. His lips smothered my laughter. I hooked my hands around his neck and returned his kiss, openmouthed, our lips and tongues teasing and tantalizing each other’s. His lips withdrew for a heartbeat, then returned even more insistent, his free hand claiming my chin, holding me prisoner, making me surrender to a round of even more sultry kisses. A blast of pleasure shuddered through me and I groaned. His lips left mine, nibbling their way to my ear.
“Better?” he whispered.
“And then some.” I could barely breathe.
“I’m thinking one more,” he said.
Two or maybe three kisses after that, I drifted back to the cottage, squashed on my helmet, and took off on the ATV. As I headed up the driveway, I was lost in the buzz still zinging through my body and the vibrating hum of the engine. But when I reached where the drive overlooked the sprawling main house and the ocean beyond, my searing guilt and shame returned with a vengeance, and those unrelenting memories hit me full force.
Whispers wake me. I crack my eyes open. I’m in Mama’s bed, in her and Daddy’s room. Everything is blue and hazy, moonlit. A broad-shouldered man with a bare chest and a shaved head is holding Mama, kissing her. Another memory follows: I stand in the hallway outside the room. Grandmother kneels in front of me, her gentle hands cupping my face, so much love in her gray-blue eyes. She asks me something and it makes my stomach hurt. I raise my chin and lie. “No, I haven’t seen Mama with a man.” A day or maybe a week later: Moonhill’s parlor is filled with yellow roses, the air heavy with their scent. Mama, Daddy, everyone’s crying. Grandma. Sudden death. A curse? A strange illness? Roses everywhere. I push a thorn against my thumb, tears flooding down my face as a voice inside me chants: “Liar. Liar.”
I gave the ATV as much gas as I dared and flew full-tilt down the hill toward the house, focusing on the bite of the wind against my face, struggling to shove those painful memories aside. But try as I might, I couldn’t forget what they’d already made perfectly clear: If I’d told Grandmother the truth, then she would have known for sure that Malphic was visiting Mother. She would have told everyone, protected herself, and done something to free Mother from his grip before he kidnapped her. Still, remembering wasn’t what was important and changing the past was impossible. The only thing I could do now was help with the plans to free my mother and bring her home again—and, by doing so, start to set right what my lie had put into motion.
I parked the ATV in the garage, then strode to the front door and into the mansion’s museum-like foyer. My sneakers squeaked against the marble floor as I marched to the west wing hallway. It was silent and dark, except for the flicker of light coming from the mirror-backed display cases, packed with whirring apparatuses.
When I reached the door to Kate’s study, I took a deep breath, knocked once, and let myself in.
Kate sat behind her desk. Most people with a bandaged neck and arm would look haggard. But not my aunt Kate. Even her lingering bruises only served to make her look more like a dominatrix than usual, not like a weakened woman recovering from a battle with genies.
Next to her desk, my cousin Selena lounged in a chair with her legs stretched out in front of her. Her blond hair swished across her back as she pivoted to smile at me.
“Hey, Cousin,” she said, “haven’t seen you all morning. Did you get my text?”
“Ah—no. I was kind of busy.” I settled into the chair next to her.
Kate wrinkled her nose at me. “It would appear you’ve been out somewhere?”
I attempted to flick my helmet-flattened hair back, but my fingers snagged on a jelly-sticky snarl. I grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, ATV riding.”
“Of course you were,” Kate said. Then she cleared her throat. “Whatever. We’re not here to discuss your hobbies.”
The f-word danced on the tip of my tongue, but I pressed my lips into a reserved smile and resisted the urge to say it out loud. Not reacting was more likely to get under Kate’s skin.
“I’m assuming both of you know that the men have gone to acquire a flute?” she asked.
Selena shifted upright, crossing her legs. “Mom said you and her are working on making the Methuselah oil scent-free?”
“Yes. The plan is to have that done before the men return.”
I tilted my head, taking it all in. When Kate and Selena’s dad had attempted to rescue my mother five years ago, they’d used the oil of Methuselah to prevent their bodies from becoming ethereal in the djinn realm. Unfortunately the oil had a strong odor that the genies detected. Kate and David had managed to escape with Chase, but the warning set off by the oil had given Malphic all the time he needed to seal the veil with a quick warding spell before Mother could get through. Still—judging by the way Kate was nervously fiddling with her signet ring—I suspected the oil wasn’t the only issue this time.
“Dad said you’re only fairly sure this flute idea will work,” I said, pinning her with a pointed look.
She pursed her lips. “That’s not quite accurate.”
I swallowed a smile. Gotcha. The ability to read body language had its perks, at auctions and times like this.
Without taking her eyes off me, Kate plastered on a fake smile as if she’d figured out what I’d noticed. “We are certain it will work. But we’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle. We still don’t know how the flute-magic works—what combination of notes can force the veil open and break wards, if additional spells are required, those sort of details.”
I snorted. “That’s a pretty major stumbling block. Isn’t it a bit ridiculous to go all the way to Slovenia for a flute before you know how to use it?”
“What you’ve failed to take into consideration is that flutes like this don’t become available every time one turns around.”
“Well, that depends on where one gets it, right?” I said, injecting a healthy dose of innuendo into my voice.
Kate flagged her hand as if going into more detail would be wasted on me. “At any rate,” she continued, “the Professor is getting in touch with some of his Oxford connections about the music aspect and going to keep researching here as well. And Zachary—”
Selena cut her off. “I know where this is going. Annie and I get the joy of babysitting Zachary while everyone else does interesting stuff.”
I nodded my agreement. Selena’s little brother, Zachary, was seven years younger than her. I liked him. He was super smart for an eleven-year-old, like Mensa-smart—which was why the Professor was tutoring him. Still, Selena was right, we deserved to have a mor
e important role than glorified babysitters.
Glancing up, Kate hesitated as if thinking. “Babysitting, that’s not a half-bad idea.” Her gaze came back to us. “But this time Zachary will be helping the Professor.”
“Really?” Selena grinned.
I met Kate’s eyes. “So what are we doing, then?”
She rested her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers. “There’s a bone flute at the old Abbe Museum in Bar Harbor.”
“Bar Harbor?” Selena’s grin widened.
Kate scowled. “This is not a shopping trip. We’ve already used photos to study the flute, but images are never the same as seeing something in person. We’d like you to make sure we didn’t miss a detail, and also double-check the other exhibits and the museum’s downtown location, look for anything that could represent opening the veil between realms—specifically with the music produced by a flute. We’ve long suspected that some otherworldly beings in Native American mythology are likely genies of one variety or another. But it’s an area that hasn’t been thoroughly explored.”
“Ah—I hate to ask this,” I said. “Why are they going all the way to Slovenia to acquire a flute? Couldn’t you figure out how to get access to the Abbe flute? You could use a 3-D printer to make a reproduction. It isn’t like the flute has to be old to work, right? I mean, when the original shaman made and used the flute, it would have been new then.”
Selena grabbed my arm, her white-tipped nails digging in a little. “That’s a great idea. The printer in the research room’s really good. Super advanced.”
“In theory, it’s a sound idea”—Kate looked down her nose at me—“but it has one insurmountable flaw. The Abbe flute is made from a swan’s bone. The one the men have gone after was created from a cave bear femur. It’s our belief that man’s ability to force the veil open died with the cave bears’ extinction. However, we could be wrong. That’s part of the reason for your trip.”
My mind raced as I flipped through the millions of tales Dad had made up and told me since I was little, looking for one involving a flute. As wild as Dad’s home-brewed stories were, coming to Moonhill had made me realize they were more fact than fiction—almost pure fact for that matter. But there weren’t any that involved a flute.
Kate’s eyes homed in on mine. She rubbed her fingers across her bandaged neck for a long moment. Finally she said, “I’m asking Chase to go with you since he’s more familiar with the veil and genies than either of you are. This is not an excuse for monkey business.”
My cheeks warmed. God, I wished they wouldn’t do that.
I straightened my spine and took a deep breath. “I’m not an idiot, Kate. And I have more reasons to want this plan to succeed than you do.”
Her voice lowered, sending a foreboding chill across my skin. “Just don’t forget that.”
CHAPTER 3
A rose petal for each eyelid, a thorn for your mouth, and a whisper in your ear. “There are no rules here, only my desire and your obedience.”
—Dream spell attributed to Malphic, Warlord of Blackspire
Two hours later, we headed to Bar Harbor and the Abbe Museums. Since we’d taken my dad’s Mercedes, I got to drive while Chase rode shotgun with his elbow resting on the edge of the open window, his eyes trained on the road ahead. Selena was camped out in the back, totally focused on her phone. Most likely she was texting her boyfriend, Newt. Her parents had banned her from seeing him after she’d been arrested for underage drinking. Well, actually, they’d never allowed her to date or go out to start with, which was stupid since she was eighteen. They claimed she wasn’t mature enough to handle that kind of relationship—that was sort of true, but the no-social-life thing was ridiculous.
“Is there anything else you want to do while we’re in town?” I asked Chase.
He didn’t answer. Instead he shifted away, all his attention focused out the passenger-side window.
For a second I was pissed by his seemingly rude response; then I realized he hadn’t heard me. His mind was elsewhere, his eyes trained on the edge of the road as he watched for a street that I knew was just ahead. Harbor View Lane: where his mom lived.
A couple of weeks ago—right after the battle with the genies when I’d almost lost my dad forever and Kate had gotten hurt—Chase had told me his mom was still alive. It seemed weird that he hadn’t tried to contact her. After all, he had been back in the human world for five years. But he was afraid he’d only remind her of the horrific events that had led up to his being kidnapped, and he was certain she’d be ashamed of what he’d become, a man trained to be a killer. My grandfather and Aunt Kate agreed with this. I disagreed, especially after I learned his mom and stepfather lived a short distance from Moonhill—and, even more so, when I found out about Chase’s nightmares.
My chest tightened and dampness formed at the corners of my eyes. I took my hand off the wheel, wiping away the moisture before anyone could notice.
Yeah, Chase had nightmares, really bad ones. I’d discovered it the first time we’d spent the whole night together. His twitching and thrashing had woken me. His body was soaked with sweat. He’d curled up and whimpered, “Mommy, don’t let them take me. Mommy. No.”
When he’d gotten up and left the bed for a few minutes, I’d pretended to be asleep, that I hadn’t noticed anything. I didn’t want to embarrass him. Chase was such a strong guy, physically powerful and determined to take care of any person or animal that was a part of his life. I wasn’t surprised he had nightmares, after being raised as a warrior slave. But the panic in his voice and those words echoed in my heart. Maybe Grandfather and Kate thought it was better if he didn’t see his mom. I didn’t think he’d ever make peace with his past and break free from the nightmares until he did.
Chase’s head lifted, his neck craning as we passed Harbor View.
I slowed the car. “I can turn around if you want. We could drive past, just check out the house.”
“No. That’s okay,” he said, still watching out the window.
Selena leaned forward. “Aren’t you at all curious? If it were me, I’d be dying to see it.”
“We don’t have time right now.” He said it with finality, but there was a catch in his voice that made me wonder what he’d really prefer to do.
I glanced toward him and then looked back at the road ahead. What was it he’d said this morning . . . focus and control? Perhaps he was right about not stopping today. Visiting his childhood home undoubtedly fell squarely in the middle of emotionally difficult and very distracting. Still, was there a better way to not feel distracted than to come to terms with things that gave you nightmares?
“Are you sure?” I said. “It would only take a minute, if you want to.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
Okay. That message was clear.
For the rest of the trip, Selena chattered about the time she’d gone to Slovenia and how we needed to hurry at the Abbe Museum’s older location so we could get lunch in town. I barely listened to her. I longed to know what Chase was thinking as he stared out the open window at the houses and shops, the breakwaters and ocean, or whatever he was looking at. Actually I suspected he wasn’t seeing any of that. His fingers pulled at a loose thread on his T-shirt’s hem, his chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths. I suspected he was lost in the past, another nightmare or perhaps a good memory, something I might have asked him about if we’d been alone.
As I pulled into the entrance of Acadia National Park where the older museum was, Chase sat up straighter. “Looks busy,” he said.
He wasn’t kidding. The parking lot was packed with cars, no surprise since it was the beginning of August and the peak of the tourist season. However, everyone must have been off hiking or having picnics because there were hardly any people around.
“It shouldn’t take us more than fifteen minutes,” Selena said as we left the parking lot and started up the sidewalk toward the tiny trailside museum. “I’ll show you the fl
ute and stuff, then we can head downtown.”
Chase’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Is there a reason you’re in a hurry?”
“What do you think?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and flounced into the museum.
“Newt, what else?” I grumbled under my breath. Normally I wouldn’t have cared if she met up with him, but what we were doing was important and we needed her help. After all, she knew about a zillion times more about supernatural things than I did.
Goose bumps prickled my sun-warmed skin as I stepped into the museum’s cool air. The place was charming and eccentric, more like a private collection than a fancy modern museum. I guess technically it was one man’s collection, so my impression made sense.
My mind went to Slovenia and Dad. Hopefully, the private party they were meeting was like the person who had discovered and collected these artifacts, not some dangerous black-market dealer.
Selena grabbed my arm and tugged me to a display. “There it is,” she said, pointing to a gray bone flute.
It was about a foot long and the diameter of my middle finger. Some people might have walked right past it without a second glance. But to me, it was amazing, cool as hell, especially considering it was thousands of years old. I leaned closer, studying it carefully from one end to the other. I sighed. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything about it that Kate couldn’t have seen in a photo.
We moved on to the next display, pottery shards from local excavations. Interesting, but the designs were basic, nothing odd or anything that hinted at crossing between realms.
Selena flopped an arm over my shoulders and rested her head against mine. “This is the same stuff they had the last time I was here. We might as well go to the downtown museum.”